Senegal-born and Paris-based Mohamed Mbougar Sarr’s kaleidoscopic second novel, fluently translated by Alison Anderson, opens with a surreal scene. A naked man in a thicket of trees who represents “the end of one story, and the opening of the one to come”. His presence vividly evokes the circuitous nature of the refugee experience.

When 72 African men arrive in a small town in rural Sicily, we know they will get a mixed reception. Referred to as the “ragazzi” (the guys), they are looked after by the Santa Marta Association run by Sabrina, an immigration lawyer.

The main part of Sarr’s epic tale is taken up with the men’s long wait to discover whether they will be granted asylum. Meanwhile, a negative tide of feeling against the ragazzi is whipped up by a malcontent, Maurizio Mangialepre, and his nationalistic thugs.

Sarr employs various narrative forms (including diary entries, newspaper accounts and a mini playscript) to tell the men’s stories. Together with a diverse cast of Italians – comprising a corrupt politician, sympathetic doctor, conscientious policeman and reclusive poet – they make up the titular chorus of voices. The sympathetic Padre Bonianno listens to their experiences – “the death of hope, the broken dreams, the temptation of a great journey, the moral dilemmas, decisions taken on the verge of the unendurable” – and advises them how to present their stories.

Sarr sees the humanity and flaws of both the ragazzi and the townspeople, and raises fundamental questions about “respect and dignity”, belonging and what it means to be welcomed. “The source of hatred,” he suggests, “is less in the heart than in the mind that abandons its first raison d’être: thinking.” Distrust is easier than acceptance: “for the human mind, rejecting others is the simplest thing there is”.

Sarr lays bare the many reasons people leave their homes and offers a clear-eyed interrogation of disrupted lives and alienation. His masterly novel serves as a powerful call for compassion.