Been reading Andre Acimon’s novel Call Me By Your Name and it’s alternately consuming me and devastating me, bringing up all kinds of memories and strange connections. As Nicole Krauss states in her dust jacket quote:
“If you are prepared to take a hard punch in your gut, and like brave, acute, elated, naked, brutal, tender, humane, and beautiful prose, then you’ve come to the right place. If you can’t handle the violence of regret the novel will awaken in you, or the agony of remembering wanting someone more than you wanted anything in life, or the exquisite suffering that comes with the gain, and loss, of something that neared perfect understanding, then don’t read this book.”
Yep, pretty much. Ah, the pain of being seventeen again.
Lately I’ve been on another book binge, having finished Louis Theroux’s The Call of the Weird and Cormac McCarthy’s Pulitzer Prize-winning The Road in the last two weeks.
So, while reading “Call Me” this particular snippet stuck out:
“People who read are hiders. They hide who they are. People who hide don’t always like who they are.”
True? Maybe it’s time to step away from the literature for a bit.