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4.04 AVERAGE
4.04 AVERAGE
Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher Catapult, Counterpoint Press, and Soft Skull Press for a free digital ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.
I tried to stick this one through, but I realized that I was forcing myself to keep going and not enjoying myself. There isn't much story to this memoir, and it was a lot more philosophizing on love and definitions of different words than I expected it to be. The writing was also a bit inaccessible to me; I'm not sure if it was too poetic or convoluted? It didn't feel like it was saying anything new to me either. The book was incredibly slow moving, and I felt like I was trudging through, so I have decided to put this aside for at least now. The mixed media nature of this book was cool though with its photographs, photography, and art sprinkled throughout.
I tried to stick this one through, but I realized that I was forcing myself to keep going and not enjoying myself. There isn't much story to this memoir, and it was a lot more philosophizing on love and definitions of different words than I expected it to be. The writing was also a bit inaccessible to me; I'm not sure if it was too poetic or convoluted? It didn't feel like it was saying anything new to me either. The book was incredibly slow moving, and I felt like I was trudging through, so I have decided to put this aside for at least now. The mixed media nature of this book was cool though with its photographs, photography, and art sprinkled throughout.
emotional
reflective
fast-paced
i have so many thoughts about this book. i went through a breakup this year so have been drawn to books about heartache, but i found myself thinking much more about the person i thought i loved when i was 18. this feels like the book i would’ve written then. meaning: it’s ridiculous and often infuriating, but also relatable and demands my compassion as much as my 18-year-old self does. i’m very interested by the idea of women exposing their worst, most shameful, grotesque selves in writing— i think that’s what abraham’s doing but it’s hard to tell if she’s in on it. when she explains that this person is her first love, it all makes sense and falls into perspective. she writes about her feelings and the way she continues to express them to this person in a way that makes me as a reader feel uncomfortable and disturbed— obviously pushing boundaries and occupying a solipsistic, righteous victimhood. but, she’s letting us see it. she’s publishing it. and i think about all the times i have longed to be that unabashed in my righteousness, in my demand to be loved and to be met in the middle. it’s unclear if she actually believes she is in the right in all of these circumstances or if she is incapable of summoning the perspective to see how her actions may be harmful and selfish, but that blurring of boundaries is something i find artistically interesting.
challenging
informative
*ARC from Edelweiss+*
elseship is an exploration of the author, Tree Abraham's, relationship with a housemate, who remains unnamed but is addressed directly throughout the book as 'you'. Abraham (who deliberately notes that sexuality labels do not encompass how she feels), is nonetheless estranged from amatonormativity/compulsory sexuality and appears to have a queer relationship with romance that reads as some sort of grey/demiromanticism. This informs her relationship with her housemate, whom she is in love with, although those feelings are not reciprocated.
elseship feels like an intensely intimate perzine. There are swaths of pages dedicated to the author's personal doodles, photos of her home, and ephemera from the books she shares with the unnamed 'you' of the book. She has divided the book into the eight types of Ancient Greek love: agape, philautia, ludus, philia, eros, mania, pragma, and storge. Each of these chapters is filled with anecdotes about Abraham and 'you' that fulfill that particular kind of love. This structure is supplemented by a running list of bolded words who's definitions Abraham seems to be collecting.
However, it feels as though Abraham's lacks the distance to write this story properly at the moment. She is very much still in the throws of these emotions and yet almost insistent on her emotional balance. This, despite the fact that she repeatedly notes the ways that her emotions depend on those of her housemate. This is especially true of the mania chapter, where she pushes some blame onto her housemate for her obsession. Towards the end of the book, she mentions a friend who accused her of writing the book for her housemate. She denies this, which I was surprised by-- the whole book is addressed to the housemate (hence the use of the word 'you') and seems to be both a love letter and an indictment.
There is an imbalance in the narrative that seems to parallel the imbalance in Abraham and you's relationship. You's perspective remains eerily unclear-- there are sparse bits of dialogue and little pieces of ephemera. The audience is left with only Abraham's perspective, which is clearly skewed (a fact she acknowledges). This makes it a fascinating literary read (although, perhaps questionable psychologically and relationally).
My main disappointment is that this book is framed so clearly around this relationship that it only brushes upon some of the more interesting questions. As someone who is also demiromantic, I think it's fascinating to see someone grapple with first love as someone 'older'. How is this different from allohet people? Does first love in one's late twenties fundamentally differ from first love in your teens? Also, Abraham seems to follow a very if you know you know perspective on love, but what if you don't know??
Regardless, this book has lodged itself firmly in my ace-spectrum, queer platonic, queer relationship canon (even if Tree Abraham herself would bill it differently). I'll certainly purchase it as I think it will greatly inform my own work.
elseship is an exploration of the author, Tree Abraham's, relationship with a housemate, who remains unnamed but is addressed directly throughout the book as 'you'. Abraham (who deliberately notes that sexuality labels do not encompass how she feels), is nonetheless estranged from amatonormativity/compulsory sexuality and appears to have a queer relationship with romance that reads as some sort of grey/demiromanticism. This informs her relationship with her housemate, whom she is in love with, although those feelings are not reciprocated.
elseship feels like an intensely intimate perzine. There are swaths of pages dedicated to the author's personal doodles, photos of her home, and ephemera from the books she shares with the unnamed 'you' of the book. She has divided the book into the eight types of Ancient Greek love: agape, philautia, ludus, philia, eros, mania, pragma, and storge. Each of these chapters is filled with anecdotes about Abraham and 'you' that fulfill that particular kind of love. This structure is supplemented by a running list of bolded words who's definitions Abraham seems to be collecting.
However, it feels as though Abraham's lacks the distance to write this story properly at the moment. She is very much still in the throws of these emotions and yet almost insistent on her emotional balance. This, despite the fact that she repeatedly notes the ways that her emotions depend on those of her housemate. This is especially true of the mania chapter, where she pushes some blame onto her housemate for her obsession. Towards the end of the book, she mentions a friend who accused her of writing the book for her housemate. She denies this, which I was surprised by-- the whole book is addressed to the housemate (hence the use of the word 'you') and seems to be both a love letter and an indictment.
There is an imbalance in the narrative that seems to parallel the imbalance in Abraham and you's relationship. You's perspective remains eerily unclear-- there are sparse bits of dialogue and little pieces of ephemera. The audience is left with only Abraham's perspective, which is clearly skewed (a fact she acknowledges). This makes it a fascinating literary read (although, perhaps questionable psychologically and relationally).
My main disappointment is that this book is framed so clearly around this relationship that it only brushes upon some of the more interesting questions. As someone who is also demiromantic, I think it's fascinating to see someone grapple with first love as someone 'older'. How is this different from allohet people? Does first love in one's late twenties fundamentally differ from first love in your teens? Also, Abraham seems to follow a very if you know you know perspective on love, but what if you don't know??
Regardless, this book has lodged itself firmly in my ace-spectrum, queer platonic, queer relationship canon (even if Tree Abraham herself would bill it differently). I'll certainly purchase it as I think it will greatly inform my own work.