In Nogia’s novella, a lonely young man drifts between generic hotel rooms and backbreaking short-term work as he navigates the bureaucracy of the immigration system.

Mark Bonen has been away from his home country for seven years. Shy but determined, he works for months at a time on mining rigs in the desert, living in campers and jotting down fragments of poetry in a notebook. As an immigrant without a visa, Mark finds his life to be a series of temporary routines and relationships that seem insubstantial and surreal. During long, hot days at the rig, he often disappears into himself, alienated from the work and from his fellow laborers. “The papers would make him real,” observes the terse, third-person narration. “He wanted a life that didn’t have an expiry date.”

The prize of Mark’s labor—a visa—is just over the horizon, promised to him by his contract with the mining company. So, Mark keeps working, despite his aching body, despite the solitude, and despite the tenuousness of his connection to each new place he finds himself. Nogia’s tightly written story features spare prose that perfectly situates the reader inside Mark’s grinding existence. The loneliness and boredom that the quiet, anxious protagonist experiences render the stakes of everyday interactions impossibly high: An attractive restaurant server, the first woman he’s seen in six months, mesmerizes him as she cleans his table; an aborted attempt to join a local salsa class becomes a symbol of his inability to connect. “Need to go with friends,” Mark thinks on his way to the class. “Don’t have any.” This novella is quiet and simple, but it’s never banal. Indeed, reminders of Mark’s immigration status drive home the fact that the details of his future, large and small, are in someone else’s hands, as when he watches helplessly as officials hash out the sponsorship of his visa over a series of blasé emails.

A short, affecting story of one man’s search for stability and dignity.

A lonely man working toward a new life finds his plans stymied by corporate changes in the subdued novella Labor.

In Eric H. Nogia’s gritty novella Labor, a man hopes to obtain a permanent visa sponsored by his employer.

Mark is a month from the end of his guest worker status. With submitted documentation confirming his fulfillment of his company’s requirements in exchange for a visa, he’s sure he’ll soon cross off this first item on his yearslong to-do list. In the meantime, he focuses on the company’s drilling operations, which bring up mysterious rocks and elements; his coworkers; and what he does, and avoids doing, in his off time, when he fights his urge to withdraw by working out, fielding invitations to the bar, and having conversations with people whose lives feel brighter than his own. An email regarding corporate restructuring throws his plans for the future into new turmoil, though.

Its focus singular, the story fleshes Mark’s predicaments out as both personal and universal. He struggles to relate to his coworkers, to fight depression, and to meet his job’s demands; he flails when it comes to exercising his own agency. His everyday disconnect is represented in a shift in the photographs on his phone as well: He scrolls from pictures of his family and friends to pictures centered on his job sites. He also compulsively compares himself to his boss, Simon, who reads, drinks less, gets up early, and has a family life that Mark finds aspirational.

As the novel progresses, Mark works to live up to his new role model in fits and starts. He finds relief in forming healthier habits and in challenging unsafe working conditions. He encourages a coworker and leans into reliable relationships too. But he also relapses into old behaviors at times, calling the truth of his evolution into question.

The prose is stark and workmanlike, with brief sentences and efficient descriptions, as with rooms that are fleshed out in terms of objects within them. The narration’s passivity reflects Mark’s narrow, downtrodden focus, and its pace is sometimes weary. The tasks of Mark’s job are detailed in a more exacting manner, existing in sharp juxtaposition to Mark’s tentative attempts to plumb his own feelings and find a sense of meaning. A new challenge to socialize at a salsa dance carries the novella toward its close, in which Mark chooses to be undefeated by his unhappiness.

In the allegorical novella Labor, a man’s unceasing work and sense of determination come to subsume his end goals.

Reviewed by Mari Carlson
September 18, 2026

In this minimalist tale, a migrant worker chronicles his days moving from job to job on a drilling rig.

Protagonist Mark Bonen’s life on the job is an austere one. At an unnamed location, work is 12 hours a day, 7 days a week in a temporary town of containers made into offices, a mess hall, and caravans where the crew sleeps.

The day’s routine begins when it’s still dark, the mess hall smelling of old coffee and damp vests, with fluorescent bulbs buzzing overhead and rubbery eggs and toast for breakfast. Even if he doesn’t talk much, Bonen laughs at others’ jokes and listens to the complaints, and he has his notebook, filled with unrealized plans and unfinished tasks.

If life sounds dismal, it’s all aimed toward achieving the dream: the visa. “A signed bond between the company and himself … Just a few more weeks to fulfil [sic]l the requirements … Maybe citizenship after that. The papers would make him real.”

Then, the job suddenly ends; Bonen is sent to a new job where he meets a mentor of sorts, Simon; and for a time, life is fuller. But then comes the email: “Restructure Announcement. Corporate language. Professional.” And just like that, his future is again uncertain.

As the story unfolds, the novella’s spare style complements the tale of one man far from home and family, seeking a better life via back-breaking, soul-crushing work. While the lack of information about the actual location or other identifying details can initially feel off-putting, it’s an apt choice for the aloneness and uncertainty of the protagonist’s life. Small moments, such as the phone call with Bonen’s “mum,” or his gratitude for Simon’s kindness, help make Bonen a sympathetic character – even as he’s largely unknown.

It’s no easy job to create a full tale using only minimal details, but the author impressively succeeds. Readers who appreciate a spare, literary style will admire this story.

An excellent read. Flawlessly written, this novella will appeal to many people.

Labor depicts the life of a migrant, trying to get permanent residency status in a new country. Filled with dreams of a secure future kept in a precious notebook, protagonist Mark Bonen works on mining rigs in the desert, where he learns life lessons incidentally. The setting is not defined, so could be in any number of countries with mining rigs in desert areas.

The novella is separated into three parts – Body, Mind, Spirit. Each arc focuses on a different part of the human condition, and the emulation of growth from newborn to adulthood (moving from physical awareness to independent thought through to personal fulfilment) mirrors Mark’s attempts to find grounding in a new country. Unexpectedly called upon to mentor a new worker, the protagonist realises that after seven years of “no proof he’d been there at all” in a range of desert rigs, “it felt good. Teaching. Being competent. Being called Number One.”

The physical hardship of the mining camps is evident: Mark’s hands develop callouses and cuts so deep they don’t heal. While the narration moves forward chronologically, the setting switches with the arcs between the desert for work and the city for breaks. Author Eric H. Nogia creditably captures Mark’s disorientation in the city after months on the rig, noting that there was “No high-vis. No boots. No dust. After six months, he didn’t trust any of it.”

Nogia’s writing is as sparse as the landscape, eliminating superfluous words. Short, sharp sentences bring the audience right into the visceral environment, directly into the characters: men who work hard and play hard, while supporting families in distant places. This stylistic choice, where everything is stripped bare, is highly effective: it draws the reader to the essence of the narrative, as well as to the contemplations of the main players. Although it is not specified, Nogia writes as if from personal experience, which enables him to get beyond mere descriptions and into the introspections of the workers.

The ending is left open. Wherever Mark is headed next, he resolves “The dirt comes with me. I earned it.” Uncertainty is a continuation of the migrant’s status throughout the novel, and it leaves the reader with the same sorts of questions as the protagonist has repeatedly asked of himself.

Labor is an excellent read, in which the reader travels Mark’s journey intimately. Flawlessly written, this novella will appeal to many people