Between Memory and Oblivion: A Novel

Going into Between Memory and Oblivion, I didn’t expect to connect so deeply with a story about a middle-aged rare book dealer. As someone who works in tech and spends most of his time in digital spaces, I’m immersed in cloud computing, app ecosystems, and constant innovation. But Peter Briscoe’s quiet, meditative novel resonated with me more than I anticipated—it made me pause and think about the costs of progress and the value of preserving the past.

The protagonist, Michael Ashe, is something of a dinosaur in the modern world: a specialist in antiquarian books, selling rare and historic volumes to libraries that are increasingly prioritizing digital resources. Michael thrives on physical books, on the weight of leather-bound volumes and the smell of paper that’s endured centuries. His knowledge of obscure titles and long-dead authors is encyclopedic. But when he returns from a buying trip and finds that his longtime client has retired—replaced by a librarian uninterested in physical acquisitions—his world starts to unravel.

As someone who writes code for a living, I found Michael’s devotion to analog fascinating. It’s the complete opposite of what I do. But that contrast is what makes the book so interesting. His crisis—losing clients, being rendered obsolete, trying to sell beautiful things to people who only want searchable PDFs—isn’t just about books. It’s about relevance. And in a world that changes as fast as mine, that anxiety hits close to home.

Briscoe writes beautifully, especially in the Paris sections. Michael’s time there is filled with quiet melancholy. The city becomes a backdrop for both his professional pursuits and personal memories. When he reconnects with Elise, a former lover, the emotional stakes rise. Their final meeting is poignant. Elise tells him, “Please, never phone me again,” and it’s clear Michael waited too long to choose love over work. It’s the kind of moment that sneaks up on you and stays with you.

One of the things I appreciated most was the inclusion of María, Michael’s young assistant. Her character provides a sense of continuity. She’s curious, capable, and beginning to understand the depth of what Michael does. Their relationship is never romantic, but it’s one of mentorship and mutual respect. In a novel so concerned with fading legacies, María is the thread that suggests something might survive after all.

The book’s pacing is slow and deliberate. At times, the detailed descriptions of old books, libraries, and 17th-century bibliographers like Gabriel Naudé border on the academic. I had to Google a few references just to keep up. But in the end, I didn’t mind. These details grounded the story and helped me understand why Michael clings so tightly to his way of life.

Between Memory and Oblivion is about more than rare books. It’s about memory, legacy, and what happens when your life’s work feels like it’s slipping away. For readers open to a reflective and literary journey, it’s a quietly profound read that asks us to think deeply about the things we choose to preserve—and the things we let go.