The third book in a trilogy that explores the limits of individual expression, Honestly is an intimate, quiet, and unresolved little book about talking and listening.It begins with research into a forgotten relative who was kicked out of the author's family after he was jailed for conscientious objection to WWII, and who then moved to New York to become a composer. From there the poem swerves into a series of minor-key personal anecdotes, interlaced with conversations with friends about work and relationships. Throughout, communication is framed by the economics and psychology of the home. Dialogue takes place in close quarters—constrained by money, space, ego, and empathy.
If "Honestly" was a sketchbook, its chapters would be almost transparent watercolours. It's a collection of lyrical urban sketches about daily discoveries and reflections, stories we tell and hear, events, feelings, decisions and longings. About nothing in particular, but about everything: our life is built from moments like these.
When I think of it, I realize that most stories are sad, but they left an easy dreamy aftertaste somehow. They are so recognizable and humane it's hilarious. A perfect summer read. I really enjoyed it.
She already knows that love involves repeatedly performing your bitterness about the world as if it were bitterness about your loved one, as if your loved one were the center of the world, until the bitterness really does become about your loved one and then folds back into the love you have for them so that the love feels like it's deepening or doubling (or some other metaphor for abstract intensification) and your loved one seems even more central - doubly central - to the world as you know it.
"She already knows that love involves repeatedly performing your bitterness about the world as if it were bitterness about your loved one, as if your loved one were the center of the world, until the bitterness really does become about your loved one and then folds back into the love you have for them so that the love feels like it's deepening or doubling (or some other metaphor for abstract intensification) and your loved one seems even more central - doubly central - to the world as you know it."