Austerlitz

For the first third of this book I remember thinking ‘if I wanted to read meandering prose, I would have re-read Proust', and for the last third: ‘... and now? this seems anticlimactic', but that middle third is harrowing and haunting. This chilling description of the walk to the meeting point will stay with me:

The closer we came to it, the more often did small groups of people carrying and dragging their heavy burdens emerge from the darkness, moving laboriously towards the same place through the snow, which was falling more thickly now, so that gradually a caravan strung out over a long distance formed, and it was with this caravan that we reached the Trade Fair entrance, faintly illuminated by a single electric lightbulb, towards seven in the morning.
Ultimately you realize how it all fits together. Masterful.