by DAVID HILLA
ndré Aciman’s sequel to his mega-
praised Call Me By Your Name is a
narrative in three semi-separate,
increasingly short sections. Bear
with me while I tell you quite a bit about
the first (Tempo, followed by Cadenza
and Da Capo) because it encapsulates the
content and character of this painstaking,
unengaging novel.
It starts with two strangers in the
same compartment of a Florence-Rome
train. Samuel, father of the earlier book’s
protagonist, Elio, meets Miranda, who is
three decades younger – a daring trope,
these days – and in a huff. He’s on his way
to meet his adult son; she’s off to visit
her ailing elderly father. That should be
warning enough for both of them, yet
by day’s end they know that theirs
is the greatest love since Orpheus
and Eurydice. Don’t suspend
your disbelief; chuck it out the
window.
Before then, Samuel (never
“Sam”, please) and Miranda
talk. Oh, how they talk. They
question, soliloquise, analyse
themselves and each other
and spray aphorisms,
such as “A parent
is always scared
of being an
imposi-
tion,
to saynothing of being a bore”, and “The magic
of someone new never lasts.”
Within the first 15 pages, they’re dis-
secting Dostoevsky. Not to be outdone,
characters in the later sections reference
Greek poet Cavafy’s home and critique
Beethoven’s Waldstein sonata.
He’s turned on by her directness, her
warm and trusting smile, her ankles. She’s
aroused by his ... I’m not sure, actually.
They drink espresso in charming cafes, sip
the best white wine, and talk.
Love and lust recur in the subsequent
sections: Elio is instantly besotted with
Michel; Oliver was previously besotted
with Elio but is now panting after multi-
ple others. It means some pretty risible sex
scenes – a lighthouse metaphor may have
you falling off your chair.
And how about: “His sudden candour
aroused me more, which was why Ipressed his body against mine”? Was there
an editor in the house?
I don’t want to disrespect this meticu-
lous, intricately wrought, glowingly
sincere work, with its meditations on
intimacy, parenthood and the brevity of
youth. But how can you settle into
narratives where the characters
are as exquisitely remote as
a Fragonard painting, and
where the dialogue is more
like operatic recitative, inter-
spersed with the odd BBC
interview?
It may be life, Jim, but not
as most of us know it. l
FIND ME, by André Aciman
(Faber & Faber, $32.99)It means some pretty
risible sex scenes – a
lighthouse metaphormay have you falling
off your chair.Lost in
bombast
The follow-up to Call
Me By Your Name
aspires to depth
but sinks into
anonymity.
G
ET
TY
IM
AG
ES
André
Aciman