There was an emotional detachedness to the novel for me. Never once did I feel any sort of deep connection to the protagonist, which left me feeling listless the whole way through. I guess I expected more— something along the lines of the sweeping romanticism and longing of Aciman’s first novel— but expectations and reality didn’t coalesce.
Paul is a frustrating MC. His romantic contradictions and incessant whining threw me off completely. At first, I was bored with him. Part 1 was a grueling trudge of first love (infatuation?). At 12, he thinks it’s the end-all-be-all with Nanni. He pined (and pined some more), and complained and whined when his feelings didn’t turn into how he expected. Older, still, he holds fast to this deep, irrational line of thought. “He’s still feeling himself out, though”, I told myself. So, I let it slide. And then Part 2 was a lesson in patience, because Paul’s irrational paranoia over his girlfriend and her alleged adultery, is just more cause for him to complain and think himself “freed”. His über-pretentious friends and dinner conversations also didn’t help me connect in a positive way. I just wanted these well-to-do New Yorkers to shut the fuck up and be real for once. Part 3 comes along, and Paul has grown into quite the walking contradiction, and fallen so thoroughly for someone else (while he and they are both with someone else). He’s back to longing from afar, and Aciman makes it seem like THIS is the quintessential love of Paul’s life. The story felt like it could be picking up at this point— Our aggravating protagonist has finally settled. That is, until we arrive at Part 4, and all of Paul’s feelings are once more like, “Wait, no, I love this person now. I always have.” It’s too much.
I’ve never been in “love” (let alone multiple times, like Paul). I do fall for many often, and love them each in my own way, but I’m not IN anything. So, I can’t necessarily speak to jumping from one extreme infatuation to the next. And it annoyed me. Aciman made each particular lover sound like the
ONE
, and that’s just ridiculous to me— falling so madly for one person, and then years later another and another and another. Paul so casually flits from caring so deeply for this man, and then his relationship with this woman is wonderful, but that man over there is surely his soulmate (“oh, and couldn’t she and I have something, too?”) but of course no... after years his TRUE soulmate comes back, and he wants her now, but that can’t last, no. And then times goes until he finds someone else to obsess over. It reminds me of that song by Hozier, ‘Someone New’, the lyrics go: “I fall in love just a little, oh, a little bit every day with someone new.” But in Paul’s case, it’s not remotely a “little bit”. I don’t get it. Maybe I never will.
Part 5 finally slogged in, but by then, I was totally indifferent to the story. Again, Paul’s pretensions put me off. Of course, he’s so very cultured and intelligent, and everyone he meets/falls for, are also the type of people that, in my experience, are vaguely condescending and untouchable on a social level— I doubt I could ever tolerate them for very long (not to say that I’m a moron. No. I think I’m well-educated and quite a bit the polymath, and can hold a conversation as to the ones expressed herein). But everyone in this novel... they’re so very grandiloquent in the sense that they never seem to spend any time with people outside of their posh, ‘la-di-da’ circles.
Paul is searching for himself; to understand— Constantly, in fact, until well past his quarter-life. But here’s the thing: he’s a fucking douche about it. Paul’s a cheater, plain and simple, and he doesn’t seem to have any qualms with infidelity or cuckolding. And he uses his bisexuality to excuse himself (although, never explicitly) and his lifelong self-discovery. He gives the ‘B’ in LGBTQ+ a bad name. The little “twist” (if you want to call it that) at the very end, surprised me, but infuriated me. It made me hate Paul more than I already had.
I didn’t find much to say in a positive regard to this book, but what little good there was came again from how, when you least expect it, André Aciman perfectly captures the crucial, seemingly-insignificant little moments in a life. Whether it be longing to hold a hand, or touch another’s cheek, or the ways in which we wait and regret and break our own hearts... he can really spin feelings to pull you in. I was caught off guard a few times with how well he writes.
I shouldn’t compare this novel to Aciman’s other work, but where I appreciated the isolation and dreamy slowness of Call Me By Your Name, in which the love felt self-contained in a bubble of hazy romanticism, Enigma Variations took that and made a mockery of it. Where Call Me By Your Name’s pseudo-pretensions felt unaffected and appropriate, Enigma Variations’ came off gaudy and superficial, and in the end, so did the “love”.