Scan barcode
chelseamayall's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
reflective
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.5
psijic's review against another edition
4.0
Now this is like a far too intimate diary entry, as oxymoronic as that sounds, but that's what it is. My first relationship was with a girl from New Zealand. She was 16, I was 20. We both knew she would have to go in three months, and that it would hurt, but never in my life have I fallen in love so fast. We met in the theatre, and the same night I went to her and talked with her until the morning. So much that I, having a strained voice through working in a club at that time, lost my voice entirely. No talking for one week, doctor's orders. So we still met, and I wrote on paper or whispered. Many things happened. Many things were felt. And then she had to leave.
We slept in a lent van with a built-in bed as she was allergic to animals. Neither of us had a smartphone, so we wrote e-mails with each other which I accidentally deleted (once I even lost the entire script of my first novel, I'm that kind of person). In other words: when she left, I didn't only lose all messages of her, didn't only have the regret of never taking one picture of her (as that would have been admitting the fact of the inevitable); I even lost the place where we spend time together when my friend sold the car. She was the center of my life. And then she was gone.
I always knew we had something special, something straight out of a romance novel. Call Me by Your Name breathes these feelings in such an intimate fashion it's unbelievable, and got me right back to my time with her. One sentiment I will likely never forget: Thanks for that, Aciman. Really.
I'm surely not trying to imitate Aciman because what he did here is goddamn amazing. But it's those amazing pieces of literature that force you to be introspective, or that help you relive moments long gone. The beginning is pure honeymoon, the middle is beautifully romantic and the final third is where the emotions become more than feeling elevated or longing, but where I truly lost myself in Elio. And, no doubt, will lose myself again.
Needless to say (or is it?), as someone who's both bisexual and polyamorous as well, it was unbelievably refreshing to see a protagonist who is both without that being the center of some taboo story or problematic jealousy odyssey à la Eric Rohmer (as much as I like that). I don't think I've ever seen both things written out so organically, so uncontroversial.
For my classes, I wrote a diary entry from the perspective of Marzia, interpreting her character rather freely. So that it may not be lost forever, I'll just add it here:
In the end, where the river flows
Make amends, so that the center grows
But how to make amends with him
He doesn't care
doesn't share
He doesn't speak
doesn't -
Oh, why am I the forlorn brim?
-
What do you know of me, Elio?
Do you not know that he's my favourite writer, that when I read, I think of him, of his prose, thoughts, his wit? You called Calvino child's play, didn't you, or was it junk? Compared to... to whom? I forgot. It didn't matter. It was just a recommendation, a banter with tourists. Or to impress, maybe? Where does this need come from to put one writer over another as if they produce some mere tools? Where is your romanticism, Elio (you seem so romantic otherwise)?
From all the works you've translated, did you ever translate Byron? Have I ever seen you play Vivaldi? Surely he's not in Beethoven's league to you, is he? But the biggest question: as easily as you put one artist over another – how do you perceive me? Is fucking lower to you than intellectual conversation? I wonder, Elio, where do you rank me? Between transcribing Bach and eating an apple?
Tell me when it's over, when I rank below that apple. I like you, and I'm sure you like me. You certainly like fucking me. But if I'm that book that if you had more than one life would certainly also read but unfortunately your days are numbered, tell me. I'm not stupid. You've been distant, absent, and you're more shut off. It's the scariest thing of polyamory - surely he has someone else. But does he... prefer... her? Or does he love her differently? Or am I, too, child's play, lesser literature? As much as I enjoy your presence, enjoy you, don't stay with me just because you forgot to break up.
-
How stupid I was yesterday. Must have been the wine. We just have sex. The casual nature is what makes it so great. We wouldn't work together on a deeper plane. Stupid. Sorry, Elio, sometimes I am childish.
We slept in a lent van with a built-in bed as she was allergic to animals. Neither of us had a smartphone, so we wrote e-mails with each other which I accidentally deleted (once I even lost the entire script of my first novel, I'm that kind of person). In other words: when she left, I didn't only lose all messages of her, didn't only have the regret of never taking one picture of her (as that would have been admitting the fact of the inevitable); I even lost the place where we spend time together when my friend sold the car. She was the center of my life. And then she was gone.
I always knew we had something special, something straight out of a romance novel. Call Me by Your Name breathes these feelings in such an intimate fashion it's unbelievable, and got me right back to my time with her. One sentiment I will likely never forget:
Spoiler
We live parallel lives, and when one person leaves us, that life isn't just over. There's no "forgetting it". I know that if I'd meet her again my whole world might implode in an hurtful but good fashion. And yet I still live, I'm not in a coma. Life goes on. Just... well, another life.I'm surely not trying to imitate Aciman because what he did here is goddamn amazing. But it's those amazing pieces of literature that force you to be introspective, or that help you relive moments long gone. The beginning is pure honeymoon, the middle is beautifully romantic and the final third is where the emotions become more than feeling elevated or longing, but where I truly lost myself in Elio. And, no doubt, will lose myself again.
Needless to say (or is it?), as someone who's both bisexual and polyamorous as well, it was unbelievably refreshing to see a protagonist who is both without that being the center of some taboo story or problematic jealousy odyssey à la Eric Rohmer (as much as I like that). I don't think I've ever seen both things written out so organically, so uncontroversial.
For my classes, I wrote a diary entry from the perspective of Marzia, interpreting her character rather freely. So that it may not be lost forever, I'll just add it here:
Spoiler
The passage has been crossed out more than once.]In the end, where the river flows
Make amends, so that the center grows
But how to make amends with him
He doesn't care
doesn't share
He doesn't speak
doesn't -
Oh, why am I the forlorn brim?
-
What do you know of me, Elio?
Do you not know that he's my favourite writer, that when I read, I think of him, of his prose, thoughts, his wit? You called Calvino child's play, didn't you, or was it junk? Compared to... to whom? I forgot. It didn't matter. It was just a recommendation, a banter with tourists. Or to impress, maybe? Where does this need come from to put one writer over another as if they produce some mere tools? Where is your romanticism, Elio (you seem so romantic otherwise)?
From all the works you've translated, did you ever translate Byron? Have I ever seen you play Vivaldi? Surely he's not in Beethoven's league to you, is he? But the biggest question: as easily as you put one artist over another – how do you perceive me? Is fucking lower to you than intellectual conversation? I wonder, Elio, where do you rank me? Between transcribing Bach and eating an apple?
Tell me when it's over, when I rank below that apple. I like you, and I'm sure you like me. You certainly like fucking me. But if I'm that book that if you had more than one life would certainly also read but unfortunately your days are numbered, tell me. I'm not stupid. You've been distant, absent, and you're more shut off. It's the scariest thing of polyamory - surely he has someone else. But does he... prefer... her? Or does he love her differently? Or am I, too, child's play, lesser literature? As much as I enjoy your presence, enjoy you, don't stay with me just because you forgot to break up.
-
How stupid I was yesterday. Must have been the wine. We just have sex. The casual nature is what makes it so great. We wouldn't work together on a deeper plane. Stupid. Sorry, Elio, sometimes I am childish.
ashareads88's review against another edition
This book is so incredibly slow i could not finish it ☹️
eneidah's review against another edition
emotional
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.5
melakinesis_'s review against another edition
emotional
reflective
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
miss_laura_smith's review against another edition
3.5
the prose is beautiful and it’s a masterclass of mood.
I used to think I was an over thinker but elio makes me look completely rational.
Overall I just felt like it went on a bit too long? and I was like ok I get it (but I also didn’t get it)
I used to think I was an over thinker but elio makes me look completely rational.
Overall I just felt like it went on a bit too long? and I was like ok I get it (but I also didn’t get it)