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Jayne Anne Phillips’s newest novel, “Night Watch,” follows the unwinding progression of the American Civil War in rural West Virginia. Jumping between 1864 and 1874, “Night Watch” tracks the perspectives of a disjointed family as the War splits them apart. Phillips uses lyrical language and a suspenseful plotline to propel the historical drama into deeper themes of grief, trauma, and memory. Although “Night Watch” at first struggles to keep its focus clear, by its end it captures the chilling legacy of the Civil War and the trauma left in its wake.

“Night Watch” replicates the gauzy effect that trauma can have on memory by layering itself in metaphorical language. Nothing is described in its literal sense: A tortured soldier becomes “a swarm of dark hornets trapped in a mud cell, sleeping in his room before the Night Watch,” and a child’s hand transforms into “a crumpled moth on the huge black door.” This lyrical language veils the traumatic memories of the novel’s many characters. ConaLee and Weed, the two children in the novel, are particularly effective perspectives through which memories are cloaked in beautiful prose. Phillips’s focus on language successfully displays the fractured and wandering memories of those affected by the Civil War.

However, the novel’s lyrical writing does not always work to its advantage. In the first third of the book, the multi-perspective narrative and heavy use of figurative speech, while evocative, leads to a sense of confusion. The characters have unclear names — one man calls himself “Papa” but isn’t anyone’s father, and another is referred to alternately as Eliza, Janet, and Mama — and are introduced in unclear ways. This disorienting introduction combined with the novel’s poetic language may leave readers stranded before the story can even begin.

Yet once the novel begins to settle into its narrative and the characters’ roles click into place, readers are unlikely to be able to turn away. As “Night Watch” unfolds, it switches between 1864 and 1874, tracing how its characters drift apart and come back together. Many characters have undergone events so painful that they have repressed or completely lost their recollections of the War. Phillips leaves just enough detail to allow the reader to piece together these missing memories before the characters do. This sense of constant discovery drives the reader deeper and deeper into the unfurling story and makes the later pages of the novel feel engrossing.

Phillips’s novel is preoccupied with the historical aspects of its narrative — it is littered with real photographs from the Civil War era and direct references to events and places. Huge amounts of historical research were obviously poured into the book. While this makes “Night Watch” a history buff’s dream, Phillips’s preoccupation with the historical also works to the novel’s detriment. Some scenes, such as descriptions of historical dress or accounts of the period-accurate interiors, appear only to demonstrate Phillips’s awareness of the era instead of to serve the story. These vignettes are historically accurate but distract from the narrative’s larger themes of grief, trauma, and the legacies of war. The novel would have benefitted from a tighter focus on character and theme instead of setting.

Despite these downsides, the strength of “Night Watch” lies in its haunting prose and complex understanding of memory. The first section does not easily welcome readers, but with some time, the narrative begins to unfurl into a compelling mystery. Phillips displays deep empathy for those affected by the Civil War, whether it be the enslaved people fighting for freedom, the soldiers injured on the battlefield, or the families torn apart by violence. Overall, “Night Watch” is unafraid to examine trauma as a set of individual and complex experiences instead of as a monolith.

—Staff writer Hannah E. Gadway can be reached at hannah.gadway@thecrimson.com.