An epic poem about the Trojan war is merged with the domestic heartbreak of the scholar who discovers it in this ambitious, structurally problematic novel

In Yann Martel’s fifth novel, a Canadian classicist, Harlow Donne, has been offered a year’s fellowship at Oxford University. His wife, Gail, has a full-time managerial job, and they have a seven-year-old daughter, Helen. Who will pour out her breakfast cereal and pick her up from school while Harlow is away? He and Gail quarrel. He leaves for England, and as she sees him off Gail whispers in his ear: “Don’t come back.”

So far, so everyday: but once Harlow gets to Oxford, the narrative shifts its form and becomes odder and more interesting. His prescribed task is to help sift through and translate a hoard of ancient papyri from Oxyrhynchus, in upper Egypt. It’s tedious work. Soon, though, Harlow is piecing together from words or half-words on wisps of desiccated reeds what he believes to be a long-lost epic poem. It relates the story of the Trojan war, but not, as Homer tells it, from the viewpoint of princely warriors and gods. The protagonist is a common soldier, a “son of nobody” named Psoas.

The Scapegoat by Lucy Hughes-Hallett (HarperCollins Publishers, £12.99). To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.

Son of Nobody by Yann Martel is published by Canongate (£20). To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.

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Your novels Life of Pi, Beatrice and Virgil, and The High Mountains of Portugal all feature animals in starring roles. If you could be any animal, which would it be, and why?

A sloth, because it has a peaceful, long life. Or maybe a koala. They both look like stoners. A sloth just hangs there in its tree, it sleeps 22 hours a day – or maybe it’s meditating. Most creatures take the strategies of overt camouflage or speed to stay alive, whereas the sloth’s like, “I’ll be so slow that no one will notice me.” It grows a kind of algae on its fur, which makes it hard to see in the South American jungles. So it’s kind of hiding and being at one with the universe.

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Yann Martel’s writing studio, where he sits while we talk over Zoom, is a mere 10ft by 12ft; beyond his treadmill desk lie the drifts of snow that separate him from the house he shares with his wife, writer Alice Kuipers, and their four children. Martel was born in Spain, but his father’s academic work took the family to places including Portugal, France, Costa Rica and Alaska; perhaps it’s no surprise that, after all that travelling, he’s been settled in Saskatoon, Canada, for many years. But his novels couldn’t be any less rooted, in time or place: from the sea-tossed raft of the Booker prize-winning Life of Pi to the Dante-inspired Beatrice and Virgil and the era-shifting triptych of The High Mountains of Portugal, Martel is clearly possessed of an itinerant imagination.

Now comes Son of Nobody, for which Martel has written what the novel’s dismissive professor would term “pseudo-Homerica”; a version of the Trojan war seen from the perspective of an unknown soldier, Psoas, and discovered by an eager researcher in present-day Oxford, Harlow Donne. The poem appears in full, with Harlow’s story – including the breakdown of his marriage and his relationship with his young daughter, Helen – presented via digressive footnotes, at times scholarly but just as often humorous and domestic.