A Review by Caiden Leavitt
Georges Saunders’ second novel, Vigil, is a sort of 21st-century retelling of Tolstoy’s Death of Ivan Ilyich. However, in this deathbed, instead of a soon-to-be-forgotten bureaucrat, Saunders places a world-famous oil tycoon, in place of the dying man’s own conscience, a spirited specter. It’s a lofty premise, in all senses of the word. Jill “Doll” Blaine has returned to earth after her untimely death to comfort the dying from her newfound position of “elevation.” Though in life she was a meek, ultimately unmemorable woman, now she is what we might call, for lack of a better word, an angel. Through the unusual conditions of her own death, Jill has concluded that each human being is an ‘inevitable occurrence’ of their genetics, conditions, and experiences and therefore should not be punished for any wrongdoings in life.
I suspect most readers find themselves sympathetic to Jill’s position, which is why Saunders provides a worthy counterpoint: KJ Boone, whose aggressive drilling and climate denialism the book positions as all but wholly responsible for the current state of environmental collapse. Boone is not just morally culpable. He’s irascible and defensive and completely resistant to Jill’s gentle consolations.
Fortunately, it’s not just up to Jill. A whole cast of angel-specters have come to transition the stubborn Boone from life into death. One, a Frenchman, holds a penitential perspective; Jill’s comforting, he argues, is only closing his eyes to the necessary repentance for his conscience to be cleared and his actions forgiven. Two others, Boone’s former associates, are more like demons than angels, eager to drag him into the post-life punishment many would argue he deserves.
The novel oscillates between these two poles of justice and compassion but seems to land where it began—siding with Jill and her endless compassion. I was sympathetic to this conclusion, yet had hoped for a sort of Hegelian synthesis, itself perhaps too lofty a hope. After all, Psalm 85:10 says it is only in heaven that love and truth will meet, that righteousness and peace will kiss.
Yet, perhaps even more interesting is the book’s polarity of spirituality and humanity, best explored through Jill. Because Jill is not wholly elevated, she still retains aspects of her former humanity, including an obsession with the wedding happening next door to Boone’s home and fond memories of her simple, unremarkable life. At one point, elevated Jill tries to rid herself of human Jill and the two collapse into one human-divine hybrid: “Jill was refusing/declining to be dislodged. That is, I could not seem to expunge some clinging last bit of her. Although, why couldn’t we be, maybe, a team? Wasn’t this awesome? The way that you’re so eternal and I’m so in love with time and my place in it that I can barely stand it” (125).
Ultimately, elevated Jill wins out and leaves behind her humanity for good. This is largely positioned as positive, leading to the novel’s compassionate climax, yet set against the backdrop of environmental collapse, it was hard not to see this abandonment of humanity as a tragedy too. Because isn’t this what is at risk? Those ordinary, forgettable details of a life. Parking lots and dandelions and bug bites and petty fights. “This lovely old place ruined forever maybe” (168).
It is this that Vigil does most effectively. Reminding us what stands to be lost. As we watch what we fear might be the remains of a dying world heave its last breath, this book—or arguably all great art—can help us recognize what’s at stake. Revel in its beauty. Mourn. Ask for a miracle. Keep vigil.
Vigil by George Saunders was published by Random House in 2026.
Caiden Leavitt received her MFA from Seattle Pacific University in 2025 and her bachelor’s from Cornell University in 2008, where she wrote for The Cornell Daily Sun. She currently lives on the coast of southern Maine.