I don’t really do book reviews (you already know this if you’ve ever seen my brief comments on Goodreads). My head is in a strange cloud when I read, making it impossible for me to translate my feelings into a coherent report once I’ve returned to earth. (I admire my book blogger friends for their ability to not only enjoy a book but then in a few words make me want to read it too!).
When it comes to books that really touch my heart, however, I feel almost a compulsion to express my thoughts in some way. (That doesn’t mean those thoughts will be very coherent, so please bear with me). The latest one on my list: Call Me by Your Name, by Andre Aciman. It’s about a passionate relationship that develops between two young men one summer in Italy.
I knew I was going to love this book as soon as I read the first couple of paragraphs. That’s usually the case for me. I fall for a writing style and there’s no turning back. I’m not giving anything away about this novel, but I can say that the last sentence is a masterpiece.
So what left me this in awe, this filled with admiration for the author? It’s his ability to convey such emotion that the explicit sexual content didn’t even seem shocking or awkward. And the fact that this love story transcends sexual orientation. It doesn’t matter if we are talking about two men, two women or a man and a woman. What is important is the relationship, the dynamic between them. I like that idea.
The only negative thing about this novel is that it was so good that I forced myself to read it too quickly… So now what? I may just have to move on to Aciman’s next book and hope that it can somehow live up to this wonderful first impression.