A Distant Shore, the seventh novel by Caryl Phillips and a finalist in the 2004 PEN/Faulkner awards, is a bleak work -- even depressing, at times - but one can't help being drawn in and carried along by the intensity of the writing. It did not take the PEN/Faulkner prize, but Phillips' book certainly deserves the accolades accorded it.

Phillips unfolds his tale in five interrelated sections, progressing roughly from the end to the beginning. Within each section, he jumps around in time so abruptly that the reader may end up reading a paragraph or two before noticing the transition. This scattershot style of writing is jarring but effective. Perhaps Phillips chose this method of presentation to keep the reader off balance, something he does with admirable skill.

The book opens in the mind of Dorothy, a retired English schoolteacher who lives in a newly constructed development on the outskirts of a stodgy, provincial town in northern England. The narrative proceeds as a stream of consciousness, recounting Dorothy's interactions with her sole piano student, whom she alienates to the point of quitting; with her neighbor Solomon, the development's black night watchman and handyman, and Dorothy's sometime chauffeur; and with Dorothy's sister Sheila, who is dead, a point that Dorothy seems unwilling -- or unable -- to grasp.

Dorothy is one of the less likable protagonists in the annals of literature. She is opinionated, judgmental, and brimming over with anxieties. She does not make friends easily, but manages to form a tentative relationship with Solomon, who confides that he has been receiving threatening hate letters, including one filled with razor blades. Not long after, Dorothy returns from a trip to find that Solomon has drowned in a nearby canal. Her ex-piano student, who was involved in the killing, confirms her suspicions of foul play. Phillips is not clear about what eventually happens to the culprits, but the omission is not to the detriment of the book, which makes no pretense at being a whodunit or a police procedural.

Dorothy's fragile mental state deteriorates further and she ends up in an institution, at which point the narrative rewinds and takes up Solomon's story. He is revealed to be Gabriel, a young rebel commander from a war-torn African country that is not identified. The story follows Gabriel on his hellish journey from his home country to northern England. There he transforms into Solomon and meets a trio of charitable souls who show him the only real kindness he has known since leaving home and are instrumental in helping him build a new life.

Phillips' book is full of horror and death, and he does not shy away from any of it. There is a massacre of innocent civilians by Gabriel's troops, the incident that drives him from the army and causes his own family to be marked for a harrowing end at the hands of a coldly vicious government death squad; there is the probable death of a friend Gabriel robs for money to emigrate; there is the death of a fellow traveler; of Gabriel's cell-mate in an English jail; of Dorothy's sister Sheila; of Mike, one of Gabriel's guardian angels; and finally of Gabriel himself. Phillips presents this carnage in a blunt, matter of fact way, with no attempt to moralize or draw conclusions. People die, people hate, and some people hate enough to kill. As much as we'd like to pretend otherwise, this is how life is.

Gabriel is probably the most likable character in the book, in spite of the fact that he may have killed a man and ordered or even taken part in who knows what manner of atrocities as a rebel commander. Gabriel seems almost to be a victim of circumstances. He takes what is thrown at him and reacts, for the most part, in a curiously passive manner. The exception being the moments leading up to his death at the hands of a group of racist hooligans, when he erupts into a frenzy that may have actually hastened his demise. The most interesting facet of Gabriel's personality -- and a masterful stroke on Phillips' part -- is how unfailingly proper and polite he is, is spite of all that he has been through. Though he comes from a land whose citizens are slaughtering each other in the most horrific manner, Gabriel is truly baffled by what he perceives as a gross lack of manners and family values on the part of the English.

The book ends on a downbeat note, befitting the subject matter which has preceded it. Dorothy, who is still institutionalized, is visited by her estranged husband, whom she sends packing. She assumes she will be released soon, but considering her still delicate mental state, the reader suspects that probably will remain where she is for a while, perhaps indefinitely.

After finishing A Distant Shore, the reader may be overcome by the desire to tackle a nice book about lovable, fuzzy bunnies hopping around in a meadow and getting along smashingly well. Phillips' book is not light entertainment, suitable for beach reading, or otherwise whiling away a few pleasant hours, but it is a powerful work that is worthy of attention.

NOTE: Caryl Phillips' A Distant Shore was nominated for the 2004 Pen/Faulkner Award for Fiction. John Updike will accept the award for his Early Stories at the presentation ceremony on May 8.