Most books tell a story. Some makes us rethink how stories are told. Apeirogon by Colum McCann belongs firmly in the latter category.
The title itself provides a clue to the novel’s structure and intent. In geometry, an apeirogon is a shape with a countably infinite number of sides. McCann adopts this idea as both a literary device and a philosophical framework. This is a novel about war, grief, memory, and humanity, but it is told through countless perspectives, fragments, stories, facts, and reflections that together create something much larger than the sum of its parts.
At the centre of the novel are two real-life figures: an Israeli father and a Palestinian father, each of whom lost a daughter to the conflict that has shaped their homeland for generations. Their stories form the emotional heart of the narrative. Yet McCann could have presented a simple tale of loss, instead, he uses their experiences as a gateway into a broader meditation – their stories are only the centre of a much larger narrative: one that encompasses the suffering of countless families before them, after them, and, tragically, continuing into the present day.
One of the most striking aspects of Apeirogon is its structure. The novel unfolds across 1,001 chapters, a number that inevitably evokes One Thousand and One Nights. These chapters range from a one word to few words, one sentence to few, one paragraph to few, and sometimes few pages long extended narratives. A few are presented through photographs rather than text. At first glance, the format may appear unconventional, even intimidating. Yet it soon becomes clear that the fragmented structure mirrors the subject itself. History, memory, and grief do not form a chronological order; they emerge in fragments, connections, and recurring echoes – through a sense of smell, a note of music, a familiar taste, or a long forgotten picture.
Reading Apeirogon often feels like assembling a vast jigsaw puzzle. The novel moves effortlessly between art and music, ornithology and geography, mathematics and mythology, literature and politics. Birds recur throughout the narrative, becoming symbols of movement, migration, freedom, and observation. Historical anecdotes sit alongside philosophical reflections. Scientific facts share space with personal memories. Music and art play a tandem role with theatre of politics. What could have become a chaotic collection of unrelated stories instead forms a carefully constructed mosaic.
What impressed me most was McCann’s ability to balance the personal and the universal. The conflict at the heart of the novel is specific to Israel and Palestine, but the questions it raises are relevant everywhere. How do people continue after unimaginable loss? How do communities trapped in cycles of violence find ways to listen to one another? Can empathy survive political and ideological divisions? And what happens after all is over?
These questions linger long after the book is finished.
The novel is also a fascinating example of how fiction can be built upon non-fictional foundations. Many of the historical events, cultural references, and biographical details are drawn from reality, giving the narrative a sense of authenticity while still allowing McCann the freedom of a novelist. The result is a work that feels both literary and documentary in nature.
Apeirogon is not always an easy read. Its structure demands patience and attention, and readers expecting a conventional narrative may initially find themselves disoriented. Yet the rewards are immense. It is a novel that asks for active participation, encouraging the reader to make connections and discover meaning within its many layers.
Beautiful yet heartbreaking, brutal yet hopeful, Apeirogon is ultimately a book about human connection. In a world increasingly defined by division, it offers a powerful reminder that every conflict contains countless stories, and that understanding often begins with listening to another person’s grief.
It is one of the finest novels I have read in recent years; and one I suspect I will return to again.
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