Review of Skylighting by Charles Hansmann by Britta Stromeyer

Poetic Exploration of Grief: Charles Hansmann’s Skylighting

“I feel countless lesions scarring inside me, internal marks to mock my survival.,” writes Charles Hansmann in the opening pages of his short novel Skylighting—an introspective and lyrical exploration of grief. Through the lens of Nick Nacht, a bereft protagonist adrift after his wife Erin’s tragic death, Hansmann crafts a fragmented narrative that is both arresting and lyrical, inviting readers to contemplate the shattering aftermath of loss and the search for meaning in its ruin. 

The novel begins with Nick recounting the accident in Ireland. Enjoying the countryside and each other’s company, Nick made a wrong turn while driving, resulting in a fatal crash. Erin dies, and Nick is left with her ashes in a rosewood urn. He returns to New York, consumed by sadness and guilt, feeling disconnected from the world. Nick quits his job at a law firm, gives up his apartment, and moves to Florida. He spends his days swimming in the ocean, trying to wash away his guilt, but the grief remains. ​ He begins working as a freelance lawyer, but his nights are consumed by mourning Erin and the life they shared. ​Nick’s grief leads him to engage in fleeting, disconnected relationships. He is drawn to the mystery and complexity of those encounters, but he remains unable to fully commit to them. ​

Feeling distant and indifferent, much like the world around him, Nick’s gaze is drawn to the overcast sky which aligns with his despair, creating a sense of nature being “in sync” with his suffering. The pallor of the horizon morphs into a canvas for his feelings of isolation and longing,​ “I am thankful for the overcast sky, the shortening light, nature in sync with my gloom.” ​

Nick’s fixation on the sky also reflects his reluctance to fully process Erin’s death. In its various forms—clouds, sunlight, moonlight—it acts as an evolving mirror to his inner struggles, charting his search for meaning and growth. It transforms into a space where memories of Erin are preserved: moments of shared joy, their intimate discussions on light and reflection, and the weight of their unfulfilled dreams: “I hold up my hand and measure the gap between sun and horizon. Two fingers mean thirty more minutes till sunset. I am eager to see it—the flash, of all colors green, if conditions are right, as the rim of the sun drops out of sight.

“Some times of day don’t show themselves direct, they’re just reflected on.”

This idea—that certain junctures are only understood in hindsight—parallels Nick’s journey to process his loss. The sky, with its shifting light and reflections, embodies this sense of impermanence and the difficulty of holding onto what has passed.  Much like the “gap between sun and horizon,” Hansmann’s prose focuses on the spaces between actions and words. The narrative unfolds in vignettes—each a snapshot of Nick’s experiences and thoughts. This structure brilliantly reflects the disjointed nature of bereavement, where memories surface in scattered, non-sequential pieces. The dialogue is equally impactful, sparse but often carrying a quiet, philosophical weight that forces the reader to pause and reflect alongside Nick, “Two thousand feet up we break through the clouds and a peaceful sunlight brightens my page. The planeis coasting as if it were still, and the clouds now form a horizon below us. In the blue sky above them the two-thirds moon looks dented and bunched—imprint on a pillow.

“Troposphere of dreams,” Erin would say as wisps of cloud scattered about us.

“The skylight zone,” is what I still answer, embraced once again in the floating bliss.

Ultimately, Skylighting reads like an ethereal prose poem that, with its gorgeous imagery, reveals a tender portrait of a man undone. It’s a challenging and rewarding read for those seeking literary depth over traditional narrative structure.

To order your copy: https://regal-house-publishing.mybigcommerce.com/skylighting/