Conversations with Friends | modern, ironic, millennial

Review: 4 stars

‘Conversations with Friends’ was the September 2019 selection for the ‘Now Read This’ bookclub. I had been on a bit of a reading hiatus given how busy work was, and was looking for a lighter, romantic read. I found this and more upon diving into Sally Rooney’s witty novel about two friends - Frances and Bobbi - and the love affairs that entangle them.

Frances and Bobbi are ex-lovers and co-workers. They perform spoken-word poetry together in clubs, with Frances harnessing the power of words to write, and Bobbi captivating audiences with her beauty and star power. Their relentless banter reveals how highly they regard one another and themselves, forming a fierce twosome that gleefully view the world through ironic, anti-establishment lenses. This unified front begins to crumble with the introduction of a married couple - Melissa and Nick - into their lives. Frances, known for her steely facade and general dislike of people, finds herself falling tumultuously into lust and love with Nick, a handsome, seemingly bland actor who she delightfully discovers can rival Bobbi in conversational ability. As the two make bad decision after bad decision to continue their affair, it is this masterful conversation that inhibits their ability to emotionally come clean to one another. It is as though the articulation of real feeling is the only topic that cannot be broached, and so begins the unravelling of the romance.

I found it difficult to be wholly sympathetic to any of the characters. Rooney presents each of the four-some in full - charms, shortcomings, messy back stories and all - which is what a life truly is. Her three-dimensional rendering of the key characters inflicts on the reader the same realization as growing up inflicts on everyone. There are no clean lines that love nor friendship can be boxed in - no fully right or wrong way to feel or act. This was what I found most appealing about the book, and what I think elevated it from being a simple romantic narrative. I’m looking forward to tackling Rooney’s sophomore release - ‘Normal People’ soon…just a few more books on my nightstand to get through first!

Exit West | imaginative, surreal, intimate

Review: 4 stars

‘Exit West’ was listed as a Top 10 book of 2017 by the New York Times, and so I ordered a copy off Amazon earlier this year. It piqued my interest because the novel seemed to be a contradiction - at once eerily realistic in its description of the refugee experience, all the while ignoring the laws of physics.

‘Exit West’ follows a pair of new, young lovers - Saeed and Nadia, who are" “subversives” in an anonymous Muslim country, teetering on the brink of civil war. The heady concoction of marijuana-tinged forbidden romance draws the two together, as curfews, bank runs and downed phone lines wreak havoc across their city. They catch wind of magical doors that are opening at random, bending distance to teleport willing travellers to unknown destinations. Thus begins Saeed and Nadia’s journey through this secretive network of doors, with each destination warping their relationship slightly more than the last.

Hamid has written a very clever story - one that adeptly blends ambiguity with the detailed emotional tapestry of the migrant experience. Saeed and Nadia could be fleeing Yemen, Syria or Somalia - their origin is of no import. By stripping this away and urging the reader to accept teleportation as reality, Hamid generalizes the refugee crisis so that it is the responsibility of the world. How would we act if a door were to spontaneously open in our bedrooms, shadowy, beleaguered figures emerging at all intervals throughout the day? What would we protect, what would we give? This surreal, yet genius interpretation of global diaspora insists upon activating the reader’s empathy.

I also thoroughly appreciated the deterioration of Saeed and Nadia’s romance, proving that circumstance and proximity are not enough to sustain love. Saeed is drawn more and more to the trappings of his home country, and shrouds himself in devout prayer. In contrast, Nadia finally feels as though she can shed her skin, and camouflage herself to be whoever she desires now. Their growing chasm is so honestly captured, and feels like a story repeated in every city in the world. Hamid writes this to illustrate their tenuous bond:

“Saeed wanted to feel for Nadia what he had always felt for Nadia, and the potential loss of this feeling left hm unmoored…Saeed made a point to smile with Nadia, at least sometimes, and he hoped she would feel something warm and caring when he smiled, but what she felt was sorrow and the sense that they were better than this, and that together they had to find a way out.”

This story feels old and clairvoyant at the same time. Refugees escaping certain persecution with uncertain promises awaiting at their destination. Upcroppings of peripheral migrant neighbourhoods, like outstretched tentacles from the world’s urban apexes. The right to electricity and connectivity wielded as new-age weapons by iinvaded authorities, against the invaders. New generations of ‘natives’, lighter in colour than those who previously donned the name.

This timeless novel successfully melds reality with fantasy, while providing a gentle, patient periscope into an unravelling relationship. I found it to be a thought-provoking read, and highly recommend it for those who would enjoy an inventive lens on today’s refugee crisis.

Less | self-deprecating, light, human

Review: 2 stars

I could’ve done with less of Less. I decided to read it as part of the Now Read This bookclub, and also because it won a Pulitzer. It also came recommended by Kevin, from the BMVQ store, and he recommended ‘A Little Life’ also, which I adored. Given all this, my expectations were pretty sky high, and they quickly plummeted as I kept reading.

Less follows the whirlwind travels of 50-year-old Arthur Less, a faded novelist who is escaping his ex’s nuptials. As we go from Mexico to Germany to Japan, Less encounters new paramours, all the while reminiscing about his old ones. Our protagonist is highly self-deprecating, at times over-confident (as when he believes he can speak German), and above all, unmoored. Where the novel succeeds is in the charm Less brings to embarrassing situations, juxtaposed with his comically critical self-regard.

Perhaps this novel was difficult for me to relate to given the stage of life Less is in, but I felt that too much effort was exerted to create the whimsical atmosphere that permeates the novel. I also didn’t personally like Less’ character, as much as I may have found it to be a very round and well-developed persona. Flirtatious and awkward exchanges between Less and lesser characters are drawn-out and not in line with my sense of humour. Even the mysterious first-person narrator who tells us of Less’ trials and tribulations is who we expected it to be all along, making for a anticlimactic ending.

For those who have read Greer before, or are interested in a fairly light LGBTQ comedy, this might be a good fit for you. However, personally, I felt my time could’ve been better spent on another read.

A Little Life | tortured, unforgettable, compulsive

Review: 5 stars

I recently discovered the Queen Street BMV store in Toronto, where you can buy new (and recently released) books for 10-50% off list price. As usual, I was taking my baby out for an afternoon stroll and decided to pop in to find my next read. 

I thumbed through the stacks of popular reads on display, hesitating on "Americanah", before my eyes wandered to "A Little Life" on the staff picks shelf. The novel is often described as a portrait of the friendship between four men, and it piqued my interest since I thought I could gain insight into the mysterious world of male relationships. 

I was forewarned by Kevin, the staff recommender, that this would be a heavy read - one that I would need to mete out over days, if not weeks. I had felt the same way about "A Fine Balance" by Rohinton Misry, one of my favourite books, so readily jumped at the challenge. 

How can I appropriately synthesize this book?

Intensely, compulsively readable and plot-driven. Emotionally draining and replenishing. I found myself rushing through sentences, and then abruptly closing my eyes to abate the inevitable tragedy I knew would transpire several lines down. My heart chilled and physically ached as Jude tentatively unfurled his past and as he reviled and hacked at his own body. I blinked back tears during the small domestic moments and effortless gestures of affection between Willem and Jude. I raged against Caleb and his monstrosity. I reflected on my own friendships and how at a loss I was when dear friends have questioned their self-worth or will to live. I had to steel myself constantly for the next paragraph, the next page, the next chapter, for the onslaught of pain, misfortune and sorrow that I knew might obliterate the pockets of warmth that enveloped the characters just short pages ago (especially during "The Happy Years" period). 

It is an emotionally difficult read. Yanagihara distils the essence of being a friend, a parent, an enemy to yourself, and reveals it through small thoughts, small feelings, small actions. It speaks truths and assaults your lack of creativity - for there are so many different lives, so many different kinds of pain, that we cannot begin to imagine. She gets it so right, and stumbles so infrequently that it is difficult for me to understand how she conceived of this tale and its details. The addictive cycle of hurt, intervention, half-hearted appeasement and willful pretending is likely one that rings true for many friendships who have endured through pain. 

This book is a gift - a story that I thought about before I went to sleep and as I was on vacation in Vancouver (and cursing myself for leaving it behind in Toronto). It will stay with me for a long time, and will be a book that I consistently recommend to all serious readers.