Asya and Manu are looking at apartments, envisioning their future in a foreign city. What should their life here look like? Can they create their own traditions and rituals? Whom can they consider family?
As the young couple dreams about the possibilities of each new listing, Asya, a documentarian, spends her days gathering footage from the neighborhood park like an anthropologist observing local customs. “Forget about daily life,� chides her grandmother on the phone. “We named you for a whole continent and you're filming a park.� Life back in Asya and Manu's respective home countries continues-parents age, grandparents get sick, nieces and nephews grow up-all just slightly beyond their reach. But the world they're making in their new city is growing, too, they hope, into something that will be distinctly theirs. As they open up the horizons of their lives, what and whom will they hold onto, and what will they need to release?
Hailed by Lauren Groff and Marina Abramovic, Savas's fine, precise craft turns The Anthropologist's simple apartment search into a soulful, often funny, examination of modern coupledom, home-building, and expat life in the universal modern city.
Ayşegül Savaş grew up in London, Copenhagen, and Istanbul. Her work has appeared in The New Yorker, The Paris Review, and Granta, among others. She lives in Paris.
This book is for people who love to watch strangers “morning routine� videos in the hopes that they will rub off by exposure and suddenly you’ll wake up one day a motivated, well adjusted member of society who doesn’t spend the first two hours of their day rotting in bed with their phone clutched between their hands letting the sweet wave of serotonin scrolling wash away their sins (me)
Ayşegül Savaş builds on her background in sociology and anthropology for her novel. A piece which grew out of her New Yorker story “Future Selves.� It centres on Asya and her partner Manu both relocated from their homelands to study in a European city not unlike Paris, there they met and became a couple. Now they’re ready to put down deeper roots, hunting for an apartment to buy, the perfect space in which to carve out their future life � an idea that grew out of Savaş’s own experiences of searching for a new home in a time of wider, post-pandemic restlessness.
Savaş sets out to chart the ways in which people might decide how to be in the world, particularly when uprooted or “estranged,� inhabiting spaces which operate according to a different set of rules and rituals, far removed from the ones they grew up with, and far away from their families. For Asya and Manu their everyday’s shaped by their relationships with each other, the shows they watch, the friends they chose to spend time with � particularly their close friend Ravi, and their neighbour the older Tereza who welcomes them into her home so that it becomes a familiar spot in their landscape.
Asya trained in anthropology but is also a filmmaker, working on documentaries similar to the kind associated with directors like Agnès Varda. Her latest project revolves around a neighbourhood park and its regulars, interviews with these are scattered throughout the novel. Asya uses anthropological frameworks around culture, about kinship, to analyse her own behaviour, to ponder the unspoken rules of the society around her. She’s fascinated by how others attempt to define her through what she does, where she comes from, how she speaks�
Savaş’s narrative’s deliberately episodic, broken down into short, captioned scenes that have a slightly cinematic quality, a reflection of the scenes that might stand out in daily life: a sighting of a local celebrity at a café; breakfast with a friend; a day trip. Here, these events unfold against the backdrop of a troubled world, marked by climate change, ageing and illness, all of which Asya and Manu must grapple with yet somehow strive to make individual choices.
Savaş was influenced here by writers like Tove Jansson and by New Wave cinema. But I felt her narrative lacked Jansson’s charm or the quirkier, more memorable aspects of New Wave. I could see there was a conscious overlap with Rohmer, films like Godard’s Une Femme Est Une Femme, but I found Savaş’s characters far less engaging, verging on one-dimensional - they never fully came to life for me. There were very few memorable scenes or lines; Savaş’s exploration of banality was often just too banal to stir my interest.
The concept itself has potential but the use of anthropological and sociological frameworks - drawn from theorists like Bourdieu � seemed rather unsophisticated, although the writing on a sentence level is more than decent. I was puzzled too by the lack of any real political analysis, there are obvious issues here around taste groups, around class, that are underexplored, taken as given. Nor is there any recognition of the impact of globalisation, the products, the customs that have been widely exported from Christmas to McDonald’s, so that much of contemporary society is both varied and curiously uniform. So, while I found this perfectly readable, the narrative never quite took off for me, perhaps I just wasn’t the right fit?
Thanks to Netgalley and to publisher Scribner for an ARC
told through short vignettes, this is a story of the every day mundanities that make up a life; posing reflection on existence, belonging, community, and emerging adulthood. unexpectedly tender in its prose and delivery, this book made more of an impact on me than i originally thought possible.
…and now for something different. It’s hard to peg what kind of book The Anthropologists is. You might say it’s an immigrant story, but not really � at least, not at the level of, say, Dinaw Mengestu. Or you might think it’s an urban novel, but not like Teju Cole’s. Or a novel of a young 20-something couple’s trajectory, but not like Sally Rooney’s.
In other words, The Anthropologists claims a territory all its own. It’s insightful, engrossing, and unique. Asya, a documentary film=maker and her childhood sweetheart (now her husband) Manu are living in a big city, where they are foreigners.
After graduating from university, they are “playing out our adulthoods rather than committing to them.� Asya spends her day filming a nearby park (her overseas grandmother says, “We named you after a whole continent and you’re filming a park.� ) They live “without a shared native tongue, without religion, without the web of family and no obligations to keep us in place.� The rituals and ties of kinship are absent. They are, you might say, a tribe unto themselves. How, then, do they define themselves and “make a life, as some people called it.�
They begin dipping in their toes by viewing a series of apartments, with the hope of finding one they can purchase. But each seems a little…off. Similarly, they bring various individuals into their “tribe�, but none of them (except, at times, their nomadic friend Ravi) seem like a particularly good fit.
At a time when life feels infinite � and also surprisingly constricted � how does Asya move forward when she “didn’t quite know where my life began and how it is extended. I didn’t want to risk cutting off any real parts.� This Turkish author really nails what it’s like to be at the cusp of a world that is foreign, unknowable, and enticing when you’re feeling estranged from yourself. In doing so, she extends the appeal of the novel to not just immigrants, but to every person who is about to leave their childhood and college years behind.
The very experience of this book is sitting on a park bench with a lover at the height of the afternoon to people watch. And as you watch, you make funny refrains of others, imagining their lives, how they look like people you know. The kind moments. Sweet ones too. And then you realize your afternoon is Seurat's 𝘈 𝘚𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘐𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘓𝘢 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦 𝘑𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦. Here it is, life in plain sight, all for you.
Adulthood in all its vagaries and wonders, sweet and sad, saccharine all the way down. Full of life. And I want it to happen all over again.
Reminds me so beautifully of the in with the Truman Capote look-alike-contest where Truman Capote is actually walking through Central Park.
A coolly written yet intimate story of a young couple who, used to moving around and staying in foreign places, living largely unencumbered lives, make their way to a larger city and decide to stay. They enjoy simple things, they like to spend a day doing nothing much, pleasurably “rotting.� The events, or nonevents, of an ordinary day are enough for them. But they’ve begun to feel uneasy. Away from family, away from their ethnicities with their shared languages and customs, in a foreign city with no deep connections, no serious obligations or traditions to uphold, to Asya the narrator especially their life begins to feel unreal. She wants to feel tethered in some way and “yearns for a specific existence.� She likes her life and doesn’t wish to make any big changes, but she begins an attempt at establishing some little routines and rules for living, and casting a net that goes beyond the world that consists of just the two of them.
I ate this basically conflict-free novel up. Asya and Manu love each other and their relationship is and stays a good one. The novel is perhaps unusual for that, in a good way. Its considerations and insights were illuminating. It was a treat to think about Asya and Manu’s life, and to observe with Asya, with respect and close attention, different people and their ways of being, as well as the little daily patterns that make up ordinary lives.
I get along with Savaş‘s writing, her voice, her delicacy. The prose is elegant in its clarity and stylish simplicity.
Purchased in hard cover thanks to reviews on here and put it down around page 90, consistently zoning out. Thought it was monotextured more or less (occasionally steps out of first-person POV to present brief monologues from people in the park where the narrator works on her documentary but there's little modulation in voice); nearly humorless (narrator at one point says sense of humor isn't very important to her); its sentence tempo uniformly set to adagio. But then I found the audiobook on Spotify and listened to it while driving from outside Philadelphia to Princeton, NJ, and thereabouts and then back the next morning. It was just perfectly fine to listen to while driving, very clear, easy listening, intentionally about everyday life but just not particularly engaging for me, minimal without seeming exaggeratedly minimal, just sort of rendered in easily accessible text organized into short titled bits perfect for readers accustomed to looking at their phones every two minutes. Just because an author or narrator acknowledges the small everyday graces, naive arts, Agnes Varda, anthropology, doesn't make it Agnes Varda-like, filled with small everyday graces, a sort of anthropological study of the contemporary, urban, Euro, not particularly all that interesting, millennial intellectual longing to own property, establish roots, and belong. Never really believed that the narrator was a documentary film maker -- her "grant" clearly seemed more like an advance to write this book. Generally, not terrible but not my bag, perfectly professional, readable, respectable, lower-geared, typical short-story rhythms, thematic recirculations, and syntax overextended to assume short novel form, not exciting or, more importantly, inciting of emotion for me other than a desire to read or listen to something else. The dictionary definition of "mid" -- maybe in a good way if mid is your preferred aesthetic stance, approach, pace, level, emotion?
I...loved this? Kind of unexpectedly? The concept was what drew me in, and it was executed beautifully. So many lovely sentences to quote, and such a perfect way of describing all the ways we build our little human lives.
“You have to start romanticising your life� and its consequences.
Parts I liked but as the culture I’m apart of chooses to turn inwards on itself more and more, I find I have a rather hard time tolerating unashamed solipsism. A book seemingly obsessed with provoking the “wow, they’re just like me and my humble little life� reaction.
When I saw Fran Lebowitz live, she lamented the fact that so much of the way people choose to engage with art these days is by trying to relate it to themselves. They finished by stressing that “books are not a mirror, they are a door.� This is not to say that Savaş has no interesting perspective to provide, but whatever allusions to the ideas of alienation in a foreign country are so parenthetical to their trite observations that they’re barely worth including.
It was a quick breezy read but beyond that, I'm not sure it's more than just a pallet cleanser. Not that every book has to be consequential. Just sayin'.
Asya and Manu are looking at apartments in a new, foreign city. They are thinking about how to live, how to become adults, meanwhile trying to form connections with others. This is a quiet, thoughtful story about loneliness and belonging. It draws you in and doesn't let go, and Savas's writing is fabulous! Thank you Bloomsbury Publishing and Edelweiss for the ARC.
İlk yarısını biraz tereddütle geçsem de sonrasını hiç sıkılmadan hatta severek okudum. Sıradan olanı anlatmasını, ufak anlardan derin şeyler çıkarmasını ve gündelik hayatı ele alışını çok sevdim. Öyle büyük olaylar, acayip çatışmalar beklemiyorsanız kesin seversiniz. Normalde bu tarz metinlere (tekrara dayanan, sade bir dille, basit bir olay örgüsü/karakter gelişimine sahip) bayılmıyorum ama bu tarzın hiç de fena olmayan örneklerinden.
If you live in a foreign city and find solace in the quiet rhythms of everyday life, RUN don’t walk to the bookstore!!
The story centers on Asya and Manu, a couple from different, unspecified, countries adrift in a foreign city. Without the web of language, history, or religion to anchor them in tradition, they craft their own rituals—intimate, and fragile.
As we follow them in their search for a new apartment, we question the nature of belonging, the ties we choose to forge, and those we gently let go 🩵
I think writing an introspective, character-driven story this concise is very challenging, but Savaş pulls it off effortlessly by immediately connecting us to Asya. She does this through the use of first-person narration and by weaving in continual chapters about Asya’s conversations with her grandmother back home, her interviews in the park, the couple’s interactions with their newfound friends, and their recurring dinners with their elderly neighbor.
Oh how I loved the phone calls with her grandma 🩷 What a spot on observation that in these conversations the small and the big, the faraway and the close by, intermingle. “My grandmother might not know the new developments in our lives—that I had received a grant, that we were looking for an apartment to buy—but she would ask what we’d made for dinner the previous day or whether I had taken down my winter clothes already, with the cooling weather.�
Reading this book was like tracing the contours of my own thoughts. The pages are now full of underlined passages. I can’t wait to see what she writes next!
Asya and her partner Manu, expats from different corners of the world, search for an apartment to buy in the city they now call home. What makes a place a home is a big theme in this book, as is the sense of alienation that can come from living in a culture that is not your own.
I was SO sure I was going to love this book, but it just didn’t hit me in the way I hoped it would. The plot moves very slowly and I didn’t feel attached to the characters. There were some beautiful moments, but the prose wasn’t powerful enough to me to make up for the lack of plot. As someone who lives a plane ride away from my family, I was definitely moved by the parts where Asya watches her family members age from afar and worries about their health. I’m sure this book will resonate even more with those who’ve immigrated far from home. But overall, this book wasn’t for me.
This book is on the 2025 NATIONAL BOOK CRITICS CIRCLE award for fiction longlist. Narrated by a young woman recently graduated from college, it portrays the questions and doubts many young adults face as to what they want their lives to be. All the characters they meet up with are so strongly portrayed and realistic that the title seems to apply to this narrator.
Asya and Manu. Foreigners in a foreign city, the couple looks forward to starting anew, away from their homelands and families, though they are constantly present in calls and visits. They seek an apartment to make room for their dream of belonging, but are they doing whatever is enough to belong? Through Asya's narration, we follow their lives, visits to apartments for sale, and meetings with a couple of friends who she tries to gather but are like water and oil.
I enjoyed it till about 1/3 of the book, but then, Asya started getting on my nerves with her vision of the world and everyone else. It felt like she was seeking a dreamy world, instead of making life happen in a real one, regardless of the constraints she constantly found. The book felt like a twin to Amina Cain's Indelicacy.
It's crazy how Savas pulled this book directly out of my brain. Simply yet immensely wise, about the challenges and rewards of building an independent and sturdy life in your 30s. Topics discussed: curiosity, connection, real estate listings, the drinking spirit, city parks, and that nagging concern that everything is passing you by.
"Because it often seemed to me that our life was unreal, and I summoned the anthropologist to make it seem otherwise."
4 stars
The in between phases of life. How we handle those days of living. Navigating new people, new relationships and becoming the person you imagine in your head you're meant to be. It brought me back to those feelings and moments in life so perfectly.
A couple not long out of university, Asya and Manu, are looking at apartments in an unnamed European city. They are establishing their life together in a new country, as both protagonists are from different (unidentified) places elsewhere. Asya makes documentary films, on which she comments: “For now, I knew little beyond the fact that I wanted to film daily life, and to praise its unremarkable grace.� This quote could easily be used to describe this book. It does not have much in the way of a plot. It is about young adults preparing to strike out on their own by adding structure to their lives (i.e., what my Millennial friends call “adulting.�) It is a low-key book. I enjoyed the writing style and the setup, but the ending is rather abrupt.
Svedeno, a opet dirljivo i upečatljivo. Sve što sam očekivala kod npr. Sali Runi, a nedovoljno pronalazila u njenim knjigama. Priče zaista mogu biti i jesu u malim i svakodnevnim momentima.
Asya and Manu, after years in an anonymous foreign city, embark on a house-hunting journey. Asya, a documentary filmmaker, focuses her next project on the local park. While exploring potential homes, she films and interviews people in the park. Much of the novel takes place during these intervals—reading, walking, shopping, and leisurely moments in bars and cafés.
The story flows gently, emphasizing the rhythm of everyday life rather than dramatic plot points. This subtle novel celebrates the beauty and significance of living authentically.
The novel evokes the mundane moments of life with undue insight. Asya and Manu's experiences connect with readers, inviting them to appreciate the simple pleasures and complexities of their own existence. In The Anthropologists, Savaş captures the singularity of the couple’s logic in lucid prose.
Sweet and beautiful but ultimately feels like an episode of House Hunters International minus the suspense. I really needed a plot. Instead, I got a bunch of wonderful thoughts scribbled down on napkins and a few diary entries.
So boring and also dually vague/specific a la most autofiction —but in a way I ultimately felt was lovely! The slowness and the mellow, repetitive tone become meditative by the novel’s final third, and the characters and their lives feel real and sweet. Agree with another reviewer that reading The Anthropologists feels like watching a lifestyle-vlogging couple somewhere in Europe, focused on being pleasant, observant, and artistic without being over the top in front of the camera, noticing aesthetics and beauty but wondering about their place in the world—what do they do with their days? Go to apartment viewings, buy new dishes and then cook for a dinner party, wander around the park, drink with friends, make breakfast, FaceTime their families, have visitors in their guest room, vacation at a cottage, stroll new neighborhoods�
This is a special book I know I’ll return to time and again. Plotless novels driven by atmosphere alone have become a kind of gimmick in contemporary literary fiction. It’s rare to find one that is intentionally plotless and deeply profound, with a subtle yet powerful undercurrent running just beneath the surface. The Anthropologists is one of those elusive gems that manages that perfect balance between plotlessness and storytelling.
From the opening page, I was captivated by Asya’s voice. She and Manu are foreigners in an unnamed city—she, a documentary filmmaker; he, working for a non-profit. Together, they lead an insular existence, their social world largely revolving around a mutual friend, Ravi, with only a few others occasionally entering their orbit. They rent an apartment and, over the course of the novel, search for a place to buy and call their own.
The story unfolds in quiet vignettes—over breakfast, late-night drinks, and the rhythms of daily rituals. We catch glimpses of distant family dramas as Asya and Manu, shaped by their own cultures (she, Turkish; he, likely Indian), navigate their differences in an attempt to build a shared life in a foreign city.
Savaş’s writing is understated, elegant, and beautifully restrained. This is an introspective, generous, and soulful novel about finding home in a state of perpetual rootlessness.
living away from home. the insecurity of a new city, the anonymity and effort you need to make to meet new people. the idea of us and them. us the expats, them the natives. the desire to make it to the native circle while you also despise them, find them too comfortable, too conforming. the few friendships we make as expats, but they stick like glue. the expectations from a new place. this will be my ‘local� restaurant. i will go running in this park. here i will sit in the sun. and all of this intertwined with descriptions of everyday mundane things, favourite alcohol, morning coffee, strolls to the park, family worries and friends moving away from you, once again. above this all, i felt sunshine from the book, and a very collected calmness.