Every now & then, I come across books that leave me feeling deeply conflicted. If you had asked me a ¼ into The Tiny Things Are Heavier, I would have had nothing but praise. I loved its restrained prose, ambiguous atmosphere and characterization, as well as the author’s sharp, often scathing portrayal of academia. It reminded me of campus novels like The Idiot by Elif Batuman and Tell Me I’m an Artist by Chelsea Martin, or even Jamaica Kincaid’s Lucy and American Fever by Dur e Aziz Amna—which follow protagonists attempting to ‘adjust’ to a new country, only to find themselves on the fringes, either due to their own temperament, past traumas, or the microaggressions and indifference of others. Sommy's early experiences in the States brought to mind Kincaid’s Lucy: “Everything I could see looked unreal to me; everything I could see made me feel I would never be part of it, never penetrate to the inside, never be taken in.”
I was particularly intrigued by Sommy’s past and her frayed relationship with her brother, Mezie, who has completely cut her off. His coldness and silence bruise her already lonely heart, and this uneven dynamic had the potential of exploring that specific type of hurt, that of a one-sided longing to be loved or understood by parent or sibling.
And then… I don’t know what happened. The story shifts into a new-adult-style bad romance, full of melodrama and moralizing. The plot becomes a cautionary tale with a predictable conflict that forces the cahracters into a crossroad that reveals/says something about their morals and values. Too much time is spent on Bryan, a character whose erratic behavior makes him feel inconsistent rather than complex. Meanwhile, Sommy—who was initially rendered with such striking nuance—becomes flattened, her desires and anxieties sidelined as she orbits around Bryan. Before, her silence and opaqueness made her intriguing and realistic…but no longer is her character the focus on the story. While this shift was, to some extent, intentional—meant to illustrate how completely consumed she is by him—I found the way it is rendered on the page, sudden and perfunctory. Even the prose itself seems to change, becoming less insightful and introspective.
By the end, the novel lands somewhere in the realm of, if not as bad as CH, then not too far off. Even Sommy’s unhealthy dynamic with her roommate Bayo felt more compelling and realistic than whatever was happening with Bryan. The Lagos arc, which should have been an opportunity for Sommy to interact or be in the proximity of her family and best friend, is disappointingly Bryan-focused. Even Sommy and Mezie’s strained relationship is framed around Bryan and Mezie not getting along.
The novel’s early emotional resonance stemmed from Sommy’s heartbreak over her brother’s indifference, and it would have been far more interesting to have the novel continue focusing on her studies, her time at university, and her forming meaningful or tentative bonds with her new university friends. Instead, they are relegated to the background in favor of yet more Bryan.
Maybe I’m just too much of a lesbian to buy into a character like Bryan, let alone Sommy’s supposedly intense relationship with him. I’m all for flawed relationships but the characters have to be realistic or compelling. Bryan and Sommy were boring, and I could not care about their arguments and miscommunications (which often struck me as forced, stilted even).
If this novel is on your radar, I recommend looking up some more positive reviews. I didn’t hate it, but once Bryan and Sommy became entangled… well, I emotionally checked out.