Trust by Hernan Diaz: Who Owns the Story?

Swallowed (there’s no other way to put it) Trust by Hernan Diaz – his second novel, now Pulitzer-winning.
The book is built like a hall of mirrors: four versions of the same story, each slightly (or not so slightly) distorting the previous one.

The narrative shifts four times, making it a novel within a novel: a fictionalized account of a New York power couple—a tragedy. An unfinished, egotistical autobiography called My Life—a comedy. A typist’s account, drifting through her own daydreams—a biography-biography. And finally, the diary of his wife, a woman dying in Switzerland, recording her last days. The morphine frequently mentioned in the book doesn’t cloud the fact that Mildred is brilliant, possibly a genius. Yet men seem particularly eager to rewrite her identity after her death.

For me, this book is about revenge and ego—perhaps Andrew was trying to tarnish his wife's legacy, painting her as a naive philanthropist who arranged bouquets inspired by still-life paintings. Meanwhile, lost in these four perspectives, we no longer know how she actually died, whether she really narrated detective stories over dinner while the food got cold, or if the main character was ever truly as brilliant as he thought.

The novel plays a lot with the idea of fiction of money. Everything in the world is money, and the protagonist’s house—an embodiment of America—is its temple. Money is every product ever made. Money is the ultimate illusion, "bending and straightening reality." Power belongs to those who control the narrative.

There’s the 1929 Wall Street crash, manipulation, accusations, power, and truth as an instrument. The stock market interests the protagonist more than his wife. Or does it? He writes his own version of events, but as they say, denial is just another form of confirmation.

The Guardian summed it up well: if truth is your goal, you might be better off relying on a novelist than a banker.

Did it change my worldview? No. But I’m keeping it on my shelf.