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丨賷孬 兀噩丿 賳賮爻賷
賮賷 賲夭噩賺 睾乇賷亘 賷丐丕賱賮 亘賷賳 丕賱鬲賲丕賴賷 賵丕賱丕睾鬲乇丕亘貙 亘賷賳 丕賱亘賴噩丞 賵丕賱賷兀爻貙 賵亘賷賳 丕賱賴賵丕噩爻賽 賵丕賱鬲兀賲賾賱丕鬲貨 鬲匕賴亘 噩賵賲亘丕 賱丕賴賷乇賷 賮賷 賴匕賴 丕賱乇賵丕賷丞 亘孬賷賲丕鬲 丕賱賰鬲丕亘丞 賳丨賵 丕賱丨丿賵丿 丕賱賯氐賵賶. 賳賯乇兀 賮賷 賮氐賵賱賴丕 丕賱賯氐賷乇丞 丕賱賲鬲賱丕丨賯丞貙 毓賳 丕賲乇兀丞賺 鬲爻丕卅賱 賰賷賳賵賳鬲賴丕 賮賷 賴匕丕 丕賱毓丕賱賲貙 賲鬲兀乇噩丨丞賸 亘賷賳 丕賱丨乇賰丞 賵丕賱爻賰賵賳. 賳乇丕賴丕 鬲噩賵亘 丕賱卮賵丕乇毓 丕賱賯乇賷亘丞 賵丕賱賲賯丕賴賷 賵丕賱爻丕丨丕鬲 賵丕賱賲鬲丕噩乇貙 丨鬲賾賶 鬲禺賮賾賮 卮毓賵乇賴丕 亘丕賱賵丨丿丞. 賵賳乇丕賮賯賴丕 廿賱賶 丕賱賲爻亘丨 丕賱匕賷 鬲乇鬲丕丿賴貙 廿賱賶 賲丨胤丞 丕賱賯胤丕乇 丕賱匕賷 賷兀禺匕賴丕 賱夭賷丕乇丞 兀賲賽賾賴丕 丕賱睾丕乇賯丞 賮賷 毓夭賱鬲賴丕貙 賵丕賱兀賲鬲毓 賲賳 匕賱賰貙 丨賷賳 賳毓亘乇購貙 亘卮賷亍 賲賳 丕賱賲賷鬲丕賮賷夭賷賯丕貙 廿賱賶 丿丕禺賱 乇兀爻賴丕.
賴匕賴 兀賵賱 乇賵丕賷丞 鬲賰鬲亘賴丕 賱丕賴賷乇賷 亘丕賱廿賷胤丕賱賷賾丞 孬賲 鬲鬲乇噩賲賴丕 亘賳賮爻賴丕 廿賱賶 丕賱廿賳噩賱賷夭賷賻賾丞. 爻賷噩丿 丕賱賯丕乇卅 賮賷賴丕 賰賱賾 丕賱禺氐丕卅氐 丕賱鬲賷 鬲噩毓賱 乇賵丕賷丕鬲 賱丕賴賷乇賷 賲丨亘賵亘丞賸 賱賱睾丕賷丞: 丕賱匕賰丕亍 丕賱賲鬲亘氐賾乇 賵丕賱卮毓賵乇 丕賱毓賲賷賯貙 丕賱賲卮丕賴丿 丕賱胤亘賷毓賷賾丞 賵丕賱賲賵丕賯賮 丕賱廿賳爻丕賳賷賾丞 賵丕賱賵噩丿丕賳賷賾丞 丕賱賲賳爻賵噩丞 亘亘乇丕毓丞賺 賵兀賳丕賯丞貙 賮囟賱賸丕 毓賳 卮毓乇賷賾丞 賰丕賲賳丞 賮賷 丕賱鬲賮賰購賾賰.
廿賳賾賴丕 乇賵丕賷丞 鬲丨乇賾賰賴丕 丕賱乇睾亘丞 賮賷 毓亘賵乇 丕賱丨賵丕噩夭貙 賵鬲購卮賷乇 廿賱賶 鬲丨賵購賾賱 噩乇賷亍 賮賷 賲爻鬲賵賶 丕賱兀爻賱賵亘 賵丕賱丨爻丕爻賷賻賾丞貙 亘丕亘鬲賰丕乇賴丕 賱睾丞賸 兀丿亘賷賾丞賸 噩丿賷丿丞貙 鬲丿賮毓 賱丕賴賷乇賷 廿賱賶 兀賮賯 噩丿賷丿 賲賳 丌賮丕賯 丕賱廿賳噩丕夭 丕賱賮賳賷賾.
賴匕賴 兀賵賱 乇賵丕賷丞 鬲賰鬲亘賴丕 賱丕賴賷乇賷 亘丕賱廿賷胤丕賱賷賾丞 孬賲 鬲鬲乇噩賲賴丕 亘賳賮爻賴丕 廿賱賶 丕賱廿賳噩賱賷夭賷賻賾丞. 爻賷噩丿 丕賱賯丕乇卅 賮賷賴丕 賰賱賾 丕賱禺氐丕卅氐 丕賱鬲賷 鬲噩毓賱 乇賵丕賷丕鬲 賱丕賴賷乇賷 賲丨亘賵亘丞賸 賱賱睾丕賷丞: 丕賱匕賰丕亍 丕賱賲鬲亘氐賾乇 賵丕賱卮毓賵乇 丕賱毓賲賷賯貙 丕賱賲卮丕賴丿 丕賱胤亘賷毓賷賾丞 賵丕賱賲賵丕賯賮 丕賱廿賳爻丕賳賷賾丞 賵丕賱賵噩丿丕賳賷賾丞 丕賱賲賳爻賵噩丞 亘亘乇丕毓丞賺 賵兀賳丕賯丞貙 賮囟賱賸丕 毓賳 卮毓乇賷賾丞 賰丕賲賳丞 賮賷 丕賱鬲賮賰購賾賰.
廿賳賾賴丕 乇賵丕賷丞 鬲丨乇賾賰賴丕 丕賱乇睾亘丞 賮賷 毓亘賵乇 丕賱丨賵丕噩夭貙 賵鬲購卮賷乇 廿賱賶 鬲丨賵購賾賱 噩乇賷亍 賮賷 賲爻鬲賵賶 丕賱兀爻賱賵亘 賵丕賱丨爻丕爻賷賻賾丞貙 亘丕亘鬲賰丕乇賴丕 賱睾丞賸 兀丿亘賷賾丞賸 噩丿賷丿丞貙 鬲丿賮毓 賱丕賴賷乇賷 廿賱賶 兀賮賯 噩丿賷丿 賲賳 丌賮丕賯 丕賱廿賳噩丕夭 丕賱賮賳賷賾.
192 pages, Paperback
First published August 30, 2018
2409 people are currently reading
47072 people want to read
About the author
Jhumpa Lahiri
97听books14.2k听followersNilanjana Sudeshna "Jhumpa" Lahiri is a British-American author known for her short stories, novels, and essays in English and, more recently, in Italian.
Her debut collection of short-stories, Interpreter of Maladies (1999), won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and the PEN/Hemingway Award, and her first novel, The Namesake (2003), was adapted into the popular film of the same name.
The Namesake was a New York Times Notable Book, a Los Angeles Times Book Prize finalist and was made into a major motion picture. Unaccustomed Earth (2008) won the Frank O'Connor International Short Story Award, while her second novel, The Lowland (2013) was a finalist for both the Man Booker Prize and the National Book Award for Fiction. On January 22, 2015, Lahiri won the US$50,000 DSC Prize for Literature for The Lowland. In these works, Lahiri explored the Indian-immigrant experience in America.
In 2012, Lahiri moved to Rome, Italy and has since then published two books of essays, and began writing in Italian, first with the 2018 novel Dove mi trovo, then with her 2023 collection Roman Stories. She also compiled, edited, and translated the Penguin Book of Italian Short Stories which consists of 40 Italian short stories written by 40 different Italian writers. She has also translated some of her own writings and those of other authors from Italian into English.
In 2014, Lahiri was awarded the National Humanities Medal. She was a professor of creative writing at Princeton University from 2015 to 2022. In 2022, she became the Millicent C. McIntosh Professor of English and Director of Creative Writing at her alma mater, Barnard College of Columbia University.
Her debut collection of short-stories, Interpreter of Maladies (1999), won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and the PEN/Hemingway Award, and her first novel, The Namesake (2003), was adapted into the popular film of the same name.
The Namesake was a New York Times Notable Book, a Los Angeles Times Book Prize finalist and was made into a major motion picture. Unaccustomed Earth (2008) won the Frank O'Connor International Short Story Award, while her second novel, The Lowland (2013) was a finalist for both the Man Booker Prize and the National Book Award for Fiction. On January 22, 2015, Lahiri won the US$50,000 DSC Prize for Literature for The Lowland. In these works, Lahiri explored the Indian-immigrant experience in America.
In 2012, Lahiri moved to Rome, Italy and has since then published two books of essays, and began writing in Italian, first with the 2018 novel Dove mi trovo, then with her 2023 collection Roman Stories. She also compiled, edited, and translated the Penguin Book of Italian Short Stories which consists of 40 Italian short stories written by 40 different Italian writers. She has also translated some of her own writings and those of other authors from Italian into English.
In 2014, Lahiri was awarded the National Humanities Medal. She was a professor of creative writing at Princeton University from 2015 to 2022. In 2022, she became the Millicent C. McIntosh Professor of English and Director of Creative Writing at her alma mater, Barnard College of Columbia University.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 5,015 reviews
April 4, 2021
A tiny novel about everything and nothing.
May 4, 2021
La solitudine
Whereabouts - Dove mi trovo - my first foray into Jhumpa Lahiri鈥檚 work turned out to be her first novel she has written in Italian since she moved from the US to Rome, chose to leave English behind and to write exclusively in Italian instead. When I was reading the book (in Dutch), it had been published already in Italian, Spanish and Dutch, but not yet in English. Other than for her bilingual book , Jhumpa Lahiri announced that this time she would self-translate her first novel written in Italian into English. In an interview she deemed 鈥榯he idea of my own creation in Italian not having a life in English yet interesting鈥�, assuming that for translating her book she 'will have to go into a place where she is two people鈥�. In the meantime Lahiri published the English translation of her own book under the title Whereabouts.
Realising I was reading a novel in Dutch that was translated from the Italian written by a Bengali-American author who chose to leave the language she used to write in behind and express herself in a newly acquired foreign language, puzzled me and made me wonder if I was possibly reading Lahiri鈥檚 thoughts as if diluted through a double filter. Why an author would chose deliberately to substitute the precision instrument that is one鈥檚 mastery of a language for one that can only be a blunter one, rendering what is perhaps solely an approximate expression of one鈥檚 thoughts?
In her Lahiri clarifies she considers her writing in Italian is a flight, her linguistic metamorphosis an attempt to free herself. And freedom, and the price coming with it, is a central theme of Whereabouts. From the pages sounds the voice of a vulnerable, nameless woman living in a nameless Italian city (which is by several hints identifiable as Rome). A voice that discloses more fragility that the woman is willing to acknowledge, a voice that speaks of solitude and loneliness 鈥� a loneliness that is particularly candid and often aching when the middle-aged narrator is with and among others, her friends, her mother, an ex-lover, at a party or in a bar. She ruminates on her childhood, the troubled relationship between her parents, the expectations her mother had of her and which weren鈥檛 fulfilled, taking the reader to various places, the university where she teaches, the trattoria where she eats, alone, the bar, the swimming-pool, the supermarket, a friend鈥檚 holiday home in the country, the doctor鈥檚 waiting room. The joys of being alone and mental tranquillity when she is on her own, writing while sitting in the sun on the balcony of her flat are larded with her observations of others from her outsider鈥檚 point of view, contemplating what is and what could have been.
What struck me about this woman for who 鈥榮olitude turned into a profession鈥� is the uprightness with which Lahiri imparts the concept of freedom: one can be entirely free, but as no man is an island the price to pay for living without compromise is loneliness, and freedom doesn鈥檛 countermand the insight that one cannot escape oneself, one鈥檚 needs, background and family history 鈥� simply oneself.
And so the depiction of this woman鈥檚 life reads as a metaphorical journey echoing Lahiri鈥檚 transformation, which as well as having freed her also must have made her aware of her inescapable inner boundaries:
"I鈥檝e been writing in Italian for almost two years and I feel that I鈥檝e been transformed, almost reborn. But the change, this new opening, is costly; like Daphne, I, too, find myself confined. I can鈥檛 move as I did before, the way I was used to moving in English. A new language, Italian, covers me like a kind of bark. I remain inside: renewed, trapped, relieved, uncomfortable". (from ).
The title Dove mi trovo (literally: where I find myself) operates on two levels, as both the nameless narrator and Lahiri herself in a way are concerned with their current place in the world, taking stock of their lives and situations.
Is a life on one鈥檚 own necessarily a skimpy, barren life? As the impression the narrator leaves behind stays vague, the answer on that question seems ephemeral too. Although when the narrator recounts in one laconic phrase how it suffices for her to get some crumbs of affection that fall from the table of her best friend鈥檚 family life in the shape of the attention the friend鈥檚 husband devotes to her, I wonder who is she fooling anyway.
Having not yet read anything of Lahiri鈥檚 work written in English, it is impossible for me to fathom Lahiri鈥檚 transition/transformation as a writer and to compare this first Italian novel to her other narrative work, but I found myself savouring the short chapters eagerly in spite of the absence of any plot, as every word seems so well-chosen and apposite, and the sober descriptions of nature and city life are alluring, without falling into the trap of gushy Italophilia (maybe also because it is not hard to empathise with the ambivalent attitude towards solitude of the middle-aged woman). Nevertheless I closed the book with a hole in my heart, as this book exudes a forlornness, an inner homelessness that no place in the world seems able to cure. Such made me want to give the narrator as well as Jhumpa Lahiri (who both would probably disagree) a big hug, as this book feels so personal I cannot imagine not sensing traces of her own experiences and emotions in it.
This weekend this enlightening was kindly brought to my attention, in which she elaborates on the origin of this book and announces she has finished writing a collection of short stories (in Italian) and that her first book of poetry - also in Italian - will be published in June - which I thought exciting news, as in the process of learning Italian myself.
Although not capturing Rome but the Italian city of Matera, Federico Scarchilli鈥檚 gorgeous picture on the cover of the Dutch edition harmonises wonderfully with the novel.
(***1/2)
Whereabouts - Dove mi trovo - my first foray into Jhumpa Lahiri鈥檚 work turned out to be her first novel she has written in Italian since she moved from the US to Rome, chose to leave English behind and to write exclusively in Italian instead. When I was reading the book (in Dutch), it had been published already in Italian, Spanish and Dutch, but not yet in English. Other than for her bilingual book , Jhumpa Lahiri announced that this time she would self-translate her first novel written in Italian into English. In an interview she deemed 鈥榯he idea of my own creation in Italian not having a life in English yet interesting鈥�, assuming that for translating her book she 'will have to go into a place where she is two people鈥�. In the meantime Lahiri published the English translation of her own book under the title Whereabouts.
Realising I was reading a novel in Dutch that was translated from the Italian written by a Bengali-American author who chose to leave the language she used to write in behind and express herself in a newly acquired foreign language, puzzled me and made me wonder if I was possibly reading Lahiri鈥檚 thoughts as if diluted through a double filter. Why an author would chose deliberately to substitute the precision instrument that is one鈥檚 mastery of a language for one that can only be a blunter one, rendering what is perhaps solely an approximate expression of one鈥檚 thoughts?
In her Lahiri clarifies she considers her writing in Italian is a flight, her linguistic metamorphosis an attempt to free herself. And freedom, and the price coming with it, is a central theme of Whereabouts. From the pages sounds the voice of a vulnerable, nameless woman living in a nameless Italian city (which is by several hints identifiable as Rome). A voice that discloses more fragility that the woman is willing to acknowledge, a voice that speaks of solitude and loneliness 鈥� a loneliness that is particularly candid and often aching when the middle-aged narrator is with and among others, her friends, her mother, an ex-lover, at a party or in a bar. She ruminates on her childhood, the troubled relationship between her parents, the expectations her mother had of her and which weren鈥檛 fulfilled, taking the reader to various places, the university where she teaches, the trattoria where she eats, alone, the bar, the swimming-pool, the supermarket, a friend鈥檚 holiday home in the country, the doctor鈥檚 waiting room. The joys of being alone and mental tranquillity when she is on her own, writing while sitting in the sun on the balcony of her flat are larded with her observations of others from her outsider鈥檚 point of view, contemplating what is and what could have been.
What struck me about this woman for who 鈥榮olitude turned into a profession鈥� is the uprightness with which Lahiri imparts the concept of freedom: one can be entirely free, but as no man is an island the price to pay for living without compromise is loneliness, and freedom doesn鈥檛 countermand the insight that one cannot escape oneself, one鈥檚 needs, background and family history 鈥� simply oneself.
And so the depiction of this woman鈥檚 life reads as a metaphorical journey echoing Lahiri鈥檚 transformation, which as well as having freed her also must have made her aware of her inescapable inner boundaries:
"I鈥檝e been writing in Italian for almost two years and I feel that I鈥檝e been transformed, almost reborn. But the change, this new opening, is costly; like Daphne, I, too, find myself confined. I can鈥檛 move as I did before, the way I was used to moving in English. A new language, Italian, covers me like a kind of bark. I remain inside: renewed, trapped, relieved, uncomfortable". (from ).
The title Dove mi trovo (literally: where I find myself) operates on two levels, as both the nameless narrator and Lahiri herself in a way are concerned with their current place in the world, taking stock of their lives and situations.
Is a life on one鈥檚 own necessarily a skimpy, barren life? As the impression the narrator leaves behind stays vague, the answer on that question seems ephemeral too. Although when the narrator recounts in one laconic phrase how it suffices for her to get some crumbs of affection that fall from the table of her best friend鈥檚 family life in the shape of the attention the friend鈥檚 husband devotes to her, I wonder who is she fooling anyway.
Having not yet read anything of Lahiri鈥檚 work written in English, it is impossible for me to fathom Lahiri鈥檚 transition/transformation as a writer and to compare this first Italian novel to her other narrative work, but I found myself savouring the short chapters eagerly in spite of the absence of any plot, as every word seems so well-chosen and apposite, and the sober descriptions of nature and city life are alluring, without falling into the trap of gushy Italophilia (maybe also because it is not hard to empathise with the ambivalent attitude towards solitude of the middle-aged woman). Nevertheless I closed the book with a hole in my heart, as this book exudes a forlornness, an inner homelessness that no place in the world seems able to cure. Such made me want to give the narrator as well as Jhumpa Lahiri (who both would probably disagree) a big hug, as this book feels so personal I cannot imagine not sensing traces of her own experiences and emotions in it.
This weekend this enlightening was kindly brought to my attention, in which she elaborates on the origin of this book and announces she has finished writing a collection of short stories (in Italian) and that her first book of poetry - also in Italian - will be published in June - which I thought exciting news, as in the process of learning Italian myself.
Although not capturing Rome but the Italian city of Matera, Federico Scarchilli鈥檚 gorgeous picture on the cover of the Dutch edition harmonises wonderfully with the novel.
(***1/2)
December 2, 2024
"I feel sad as I laugh; I didn't know love at her age.
What did I do?
I read books and studied.
I listened to my parents and did what they asked me to. Even though, in the end, I never made them happy.
I didn't like myself, and something told me I'd end up alone."
I like the writing.
First of all, before you pick up this book I would like you to not expect a typical storytelling.
The story is made up of fragments of other characters and taking life each day kind of scenarios which fill up the chapters.
The story tells us about a woman in her 40s living life on her own, reflecting on the life she has lived so far.
I would say it is melancholic at times, depressing at some parts and I would say I felt too bad about the silent loneliness throughout the whole book.
The main parts of the story is made of the people the character met in her life. Weird, selfish, manipulative people and problematic parents.
She knows them, sees them but she knows them more in her mind rather than confront them. It is more like the character owe each of these characters something but she never demanded from them.
Themes handled in the plot have infidelity, mental health conditions and broken families.
At times the narrator feels like they are being a stalker and quite disturbed. You will not like this character. Quite judgemental at times and making assumptions about people they've just met, the character does well with being not able to be in good terms with anyone. But somehow you will be able to relate.
I like the mention of books here and there. I love how the author mentions her love of books in most of her books.
The readers would like the parts which reflect the middle class family background.
You will enjoy this book if you enjoyed books by Sally Rooney and Janice Pariat.
I liked this book more because of the flawless writing.
And that stationery love chapter? I adore it.
My favourite chapters are about the character and her mother. That's complicated but so well-written.
I do feel adults will enjoy this book more. Short book. Just enjoy with a cup of tea. Lots to reflect while reading it I feel.
What did I do?
I read books and studied.
I listened to my parents and did what they asked me to. Even though, in the end, I never made them happy.
I didn't like myself, and something told me I'd end up alone."
I like the writing.
First of all, before you pick up this book I would like you to not expect a typical storytelling.
The story is made up of fragments of other characters and taking life each day kind of scenarios which fill up the chapters.
The story tells us about a woman in her 40s living life on her own, reflecting on the life she has lived so far.
I would say it is melancholic at times, depressing at some parts and I would say I felt too bad about the silent loneliness throughout the whole book.
The main parts of the story is made of the people the character met in her life. Weird, selfish, manipulative people and problematic parents.
She knows them, sees them but she knows them more in her mind rather than confront them. It is more like the character owe each of these characters something but she never demanded from them.
Themes handled in the plot have infidelity, mental health conditions and broken families.
At times the narrator feels like they are being a stalker and quite disturbed. You will not like this character. Quite judgemental at times and making assumptions about people they've just met, the character does well with being not able to be in good terms with anyone. But somehow you will be able to relate.
I like the mention of books here and there. I love how the author mentions her love of books in most of her books.
The readers would like the parts which reflect the middle class family background.
You will enjoy this book if you enjoyed books by Sally Rooney and Janice Pariat.
I liked this book more because of the flawless writing.
And that stationery love chapter? I adore it.
My favourite chapters are about the character and her mother. That's complicated but so well-written.
I do feel adults will enjoy this book more. Short book. Just enjoy with a cup of tea. Lots to reflect while reading it I feel.
June 17, 2021
I can鈥檛 begin to tell you how much I enjoyed this little 鈥榮tory鈥� of urban loneliness. 150 pages of nuanced prose that reads like a poem. Constructed of the fewest words possible in order to cut to the core of what their writer meant to convey: the outer dialogue of a single woman with her surroundings as she goes through the motions of her every day life; and the deeply rich inner monologue that accompanies this same existence.
The place is an unnamed city, somewhere in Italy; it could be Rome but that鈥檚 only a guess, it could be any old town where past and present meet. The time is an unspecified present spanning the course of a year, complete with all the scenic props the change of seasons entails. The unnamed narrator is a 40ish dottoressa in the local university who has consciously chosen to lead a life quite detached from intimate relationships. Throughout nearly 50 vignettes/chapters with titles like 鈥淥n the Sidewalk鈥�, 鈥淚n the Piazza鈥�, 鈥淥n the Couch鈥�, 鈥淎t Dawn鈥�, "In the Mirror鈥�, 鈥淚n My Head鈥�, we get glimpses of her solitary life 鈥� and in the process we put together the personal landscape the author set out to paint.
Lahiri has always been adept at describing emotional depths with spare literary means: the simplest words, the least elaborate sentences.
Starting from her previous book and advancing the challenge she undertook when she decided to start writing in a language other than English (I am reluctant to use the term 鈥榤other tongue鈥� since her mother鈥檚 was actually Bengali), she鈥檚 driving her no-frills prose to new heights here. She wrote this one in Italian sometime before translating it herself in English. As I constantly find myself trying to communicate in a language that鈥檚 not my own, I have the utmost admiration for what authors like Lahiri are doing. There鈥檚 a lot of effort involved in choosing the right word from the assortment available in a dictionary that hasn鈥檛 got a clue of the subtle difference between, say, loneliness, solitude, privacy or reclusiveness. Never mind trying to achieve a personal tone of voice, as distinguishable as the one in my mother language. Nabokov made it seem as something easily attainable 鈥� it is nothing but. However, being able to not only talk but think in another language is an alluring challenge and a rather innocuous escape from one鈥檚 self that is well worth the trouble, in my opinion.
It should be said that there鈥檚 not much of a plot here, not in the traditional sense. But because the story is deliberately vague, a sort of build-up game is offered to its readers who are invited to make what they want of its missing details, reasons and possibilities. In almost every chapter I found thoughts or gestures that could have been my own although the particulars of my life couldn鈥檛 have been further from those of that woman. Are they really, I wonder鈥� Solitude and its management is after all part of our lives much more than we鈥檇 care (or dare) to admit.
I started this write-up with the phrase 鈥淚 can鈥檛 begin to tell you鈥�. I realize it鈥檚 only a figure of speech; but I鈥檒l make use of my non-native-speaker status and proclaim that, indeed, I can: the minute I reached the last page I returned to the first and started reading this all over again. Lahiri鈥檚 double-translated words (Italian to English by her, English to Greek in my own mind) had an even more soothing and satisfactory effect the second time around!
Nowhere
Because when all is said and done the setting doesn鈥檛 matter: the space, the walls, the light. It makes no difference whether I鈥檓 under a clear blue sky or caught in the rain or swimming in the transparent sea in summer. I could be riding a train or traveling by car or flying in a plane, among the clouds that drift and spread on all sides like a mass of jellyfish in the air. I鈥檝e never stayed still, I鈥檝e always been moving, that鈥檚 all I鈥檝e ever been doing. Always waiting either to get somewhere or to come back. Or to escape. I keep packing and unpacking the small suitcase at my feet. I hold my purse in my lap, it鈥檚 got some money and a book to read. Is there any place we鈥檙e not moving through? Disoriented, lost, at sea, at odds, astray, adrift, bewildered, confused, uprooted, turned around. I鈥檓 related to these related terms. These words are my abode, my only foothold.
Many thanks to Ilse, whose insightful review (of the Dutch-translated edition!) /review/show... gave me early notice of the publication of this latest book of a favorite author.
The place is an unnamed city, somewhere in Italy; it could be Rome but that鈥檚 only a guess, it could be any old town where past and present meet. The time is an unspecified present spanning the course of a year, complete with all the scenic props the change of seasons entails. The unnamed narrator is a 40ish dottoressa in the local university who has consciously chosen to lead a life quite detached from intimate relationships. Throughout nearly 50 vignettes/chapters with titles like 鈥淥n the Sidewalk鈥�, 鈥淚n the Piazza鈥�, 鈥淥n the Couch鈥�, 鈥淎t Dawn鈥�, "In the Mirror鈥�, 鈥淚n My Head鈥�, we get glimpses of her solitary life 鈥� and in the process we put together the personal landscape the author set out to paint.
Lahiri has always been adept at describing emotional depths with spare literary means: the simplest words, the least elaborate sentences.
Starting from her previous book and advancing the challenge she undertook when she decided to start writing in a language other than English (I am reluctant to use the term 鈥榤other tongue鈥� since her mother鈥檚 was actually Bengali), she鈥檚 driving her no-frills prose to new heights here. She wrote this one in Italian sometime before translating it herself in English. As I constantly find myself trying to communicate in a language that鈥檚 not my own, I have the utmost admiration for what authors like Lahiri are doing. There鈥檚 a lot of effort involved in choosing the right word from the assortment available in a dictionary that hasn鈥檛 got a clue of the subtle difference between, say, loneliness, solitude, privacy or reclusiveness. Never mind trying to achieve a personal tone of voice, as distinguishable as the one in my mother language. Nabokov made it seem as something easily attainable 鈥� it is nothing but. However, being able to not only talk but think in another language is an alluring challenge and a rather innocuous escape from one鈥檚 self that is well worth the trouble, in my opinion.
It should be said that there鈥檚 not much of a plot here, not in the traditional sense. But because the story is deliberately vague, a sort of build-up game is offered to its readers who are invited to make what they want of its missing details, reasons and possibilities. In almost every chapter I found thoughts or gestures that could have been my own although the particulars of my life couldn鈥檛 have been further from those of that woman. Are they really, I wonder鈥� Solitude and its management is after all part of our lives much more than we鈥檇 care (or dare) to admit.
I started this write-up with the phrase 鈥淚 can鈥檛 begin to tell you鈥�. I realize it鈥檚 only a figure of speech; but I鈥檒l make use of my non-native-speaker status and proclaim that, indeed, I can: the minute I reached the last page I returned to the first and started reading this all over again. Lahiri鈥檚 double-translated words (Italian to English by her, English to Greek in my own mind) had an even more soothing and satisfactory effect the second time around!
Nowhere
Because when all is said and done the setting doesn鈥檛 matter: the space, the walls, the light. It makes no difference whether I鈥檓 under a clear blue sky or caught in the rain or swimming in the transparent sea in summer. I could be riding a train or traveling by car or flying in a plane, among the clouds that drift and spread on all sides like a mass of jellyfish in the air. I鈥檝e never stayed still, I鈥檝e always been moving, that鈥檚 all I鈥檝e ever been doing. Always waiting either to get somewhere or to come back. Or to escape. I keep packing and unpacking the small suitcase at my feet. I hold my purse in my lap, it鈥檚 got some money and a book to read. Is there any place we鈥檙e not moving through? Disoriented, lost, at sea, at odds, astray, adrift, bewildered, confused, uprooted, turned around. I鈥檓 related to these related terms. These words are my abode, my only foothold.
Many thanks to Ilse, whose insightful review (of the Dutch-translated edition!) /review/show... gave me early notice of the publication of this latest book of a favorite author.
November 7, 2023
"the woman at the center wavers between stasis and movement, between the need to belong and the refusal to form lasting ties"...me af.
this was clean and thoughtful, very ahead of its time 鈥� it has a sigrid nunez/sheila heti reflectiveness and coolness that feels very of this year 鈥� but there was some feeling of it being a little shallow or effortful.
maybe it's the swap to writing in italian by the author. it's funny how much language can shift voice听鈥斕齮his felt ferrante-y when nothing else i've read by jhumpa lahiri has ever felt that way.
regardless, i liked it. but i didn't love it.
bottom line: meh-to-good.
3.5
this was clean and thoughtful, very ahead of its time 鈥� it has a sigrid nunez/sheila heti reflectiveness and coolness that feels very of this year 鈥� but there was some feeling of it being a little shallow or effortful.
maybe it's the swap to writing in italian by the author. it's funny how much language can shift voice听鈥斕齮his felt ferrante-y when nothing else i've read by jhumpa lahiri has ever felt that way.
regardless, i liked it. but i didn't love it.
bottom line: meh-to-good.
3.5
April 20, 2021
Blame Hemingway.
Since Papa published 鈥淭he Sun Also Rises鈥� in 1926, a subgenre of literary fiction has swelled around Depressed Guys Wandering. For a certain kind of dead serious writer, it is an irresistible pose. Stripped of anything so lowbrow as a plot, these slim, grim novels offer a flatlined vision of life reduced to its terrifying aimlessness. You can spot such books because they are praised as 鈥渆xquisitely nuanced,鈥� and they are exceedingly tedious.
One thing that can be said about Jhumpa Lahriri鈥檚 new novel, 鈥淲hereabouts,鈥� is that by adding to this gray subgenre, it strikes a victory for female representation. Lahriri, who won a Pulitzer Prize in 2000 for her first collection of stories, 鈥淚nterpreter of Maladies,鈥� is a careful explorer of subterranean emotional pain. She wrote 鈥淲hereabouts鈥� in Italian and then translated it into English, which contributes to its sheen of deliberateness and distance.
The story is about a lonely, unnamed woman in Italy, where Lahiri lived for several years. The narrator tells us early on, 鈥淚鈥檓 saturated by a vague sense of dread.鈥� If publishing were just a little more savvy, every copy of 鈥淲hereabouts鈥� would come with a coupon for online therapy. . . .
To read the rest of this review, go to The Washington Post:
Since Papa published 鈥淭he Sun Also Rises鈥� in 1926, a subgenre of literary fiction has swelled around Depressed Guys Wandering. For a certain kind of dead serious writer, it is an irresistible pose. Stripped of anything so lowbrow as a plot, these slim, grim novels offer a flatlined vision of life reduced to its terrifying aimlessness. You can spot such books because they are praised as 鈥渆xquisitely nuanced,鈥� and they are exceedingly tedious.
One thing that can be said about Jhumpa Lahriri鈥檚 new novel, 鈥淲hereabouts,鈥� is that by adding to this gray subgenre, it strikes a victory for female representation. Lahriri, who won a Pulitzer Prize in 2000 for her first collection of stories, 鈥淚nterpreter of Maladies,鈥� is a careful explorer of subterranean emotional pain. She wrote 鈥淲hereabouts鈥� in Italian and then translated it into English, which contributes to its sheen of deliberateness and distance.
The story is about a lonely, unnamed woman in Italy, where Lahiri lived for several years. The narrator tells us early on, 鈥淚鈥檓 saturated by a vague sense of dread.鈥� If publishing were just a little more savvy, every copy of 鈥淲hereabouts鈥� would come with a coupon for online therapy. . . .
To read the rest of this review, go to The Washington Post:
May 5, 2021
[2.5 stars]
Feeling more like an exercise than a fully formed novel, Whereabouts marks Lahiri's return to fiction for the first time in nearly 8 years. We follow an unnamed female narrator in her mid-40s who lives, presumably, in Italy. Everything is anonymized. She has no strong ties to anyone or anything, though she mentions her family (in passing or in reflective moments on old memories) and her co-workers, nothing is concrete.
The story unfolds in vignettes, sometimes only a single page long, all triggered by her location, with chapter titles such as: On the Street, In the Piazza, In My Head, At the Beautician, etc. Though it covers around one year of her life (context clues are given by occasional references to the seasons), the happenings are very interior. She's observant and detached from her surroundings, mentioning her romantic flings with a coldness that keeps the reader at a distance as well.
My biggest issue with this book was its navel-gazing. That can be done with finesse, but I found this novel to ultimately leaving me wondering: So what? I like character-driven stories with beautiful writing; I don't need a plot. But when a 109 page novel starts to drag, you've lost me. I didn't care for our narrator much, though she wasn't abhorrent by any means. I just never got to really know her very well. The only moments that glittered and showed potential were her internal conflicts around her parents and formative moments from her childhood. If she'd explored that more, rather than wandering the city and using each short chapter to muse about some random topic, I would've felt more invested in her story.
Though I love Lahiri and highly recommend her short stories, I continue to struggle with her longer form narratives. She's a brilliant thinker, and often captures some glittering moment of life in a way that's poetic and compelling (even in this novel the way she describes dishware, the thick ceramic juxtaposed with brittle stemware moved me). But I find that perhaps she loses steam a little by focusing too much on process and not enough on progress.
Feeling more like an exercise than a fully formed novel, Whereabouts marks Lahiri's return to fiction for the first time in nearly 8 years. We follow an unnamed female narrator in her mid-40s who lives, presumably, in Italy. Everything is anonymized. She has no strong ties to anyone or anything, though she mentions her family (in passing or in reflective moments on old memories) and her co-workers, nothing is concrete.
The story unfolds in vignettes, sometimes only a single page long, all triggered by her location, with chapter titles such as: On the Street, In the Piazza, In My Head, At the Beautician, etc. Though it covers around one year of her life (context clues are given by occasional references to the seasons), the happenings are very interior. She's observant and detached from her surroundings, mentioning her romantic flings with a coldness that keeps the reader at a distance as well.
My biggest issue with this book was its navel-gazing. That can be done with finesse, but I found this novel to ultimately leaving me wondering: So what? I like character-driven stories with beautiful writing; I don't need a plot. But when a 109 page novel starts to drag, you've lost me. I didn't care for our narrator much, though she wasn't abhorrent by any means. I just never got to really know her very well. The only moments that glittered and showed potential were her internal conflicts around her parents and formative moments from her childhood. If she'd explored that more, rather than wandering the city and using each short chapter to muse about some random topic, I would've felt more invested in her story.
Though I love Lahiri and highly recommend her short stories, I continue to struggle with her longer form narratives. She's a brilliant thinker, and often captures some glittering moment of life in a way that's poetic and compelling (even in this novel the way she describes dishware, the thick ceramic juxtaposed with brittle stemware moved me). But I find that perhaps she loses steam a little by focusing too much on process and not enough on progress.
May 20, 2021
Library overdrive...Audiobook....read by Susan Vinciotti Bonito
3 hours and 23 minutes
鈥淲hen there was nothing left to say, we went out for a meal鈥�
Nice plan!
I have little to say about this book 鈥� kinda neutral ....
......It gave me the moody blues. ....I鈥檇 like a nap now!
The writing was filled with pretty words .....and sentences.....but I keep having thoughts that Lahiri is practicing her Italian writing on us while hoping her past reputation will hold long enough until she gets her groove back.
Personally....I鈥檓 a little tired about the emphasis that Lahiri wrote this in Italian....then translated it to English.
鈥淯naccustomed Earth鈥� and 鈥淚nterpreter of Maladies鈥� ....were my 鈥榲ery鈥� favorite Lahiri books...
Moving right along.....sending love to my friends....
And....(just sharing).... contemplating once again, and it鈥檚 not been the first time I've said this --
I鈥檇 kinda like to retire from writing reviews--
I鈥檓 clear now that I won鈥檛 leave this site --its is kinda 鈥榟ome鈥� for me ....
But.....I may 鈥榮lowly鈥� start to cut back and or cut down.
3 stars
3 hours and 23 minutes
鈥淲hen there was nothing left to say, we went out for a meal鈥�
Nice plan!
I have little to say about this book 鈥� kinda neutral ....
......It gave me the moody blues. ....I鈥檇 like a nap now!
The writing was filled with pretty words .....and sentences.....but I keep having thoughts that Lahiri is practicing her Italian writing on us while hoping her past reputation will hold long enough until she gets her groove back.
Personally....I鈥檓 a little tired about the emphasis that Lahiri wrote this in Italian....then translated it to English.
鈥淯naccustomed Earth鈥� and 鈥淚nterpreter of Maladies鈥� ....were my 鈥榲ery鈥� favorite Lahiri books...
Moving right along.....sending love to my friends....
And....(just sharing).... contemplating once again, and it鈥檚 not been the first time I've said this --
I鈥檇 kinda like to retire from writing reviews--
I鈥檓 clear now that I won鈥檛 leave this site --its is kinda 鈥榟ome鈥� for me ....
But.....I may 鈥榮lowly鈥� start to cut back and or cut down.
3 stars
November 19, 2019
I was very impressed by this reading, I didn鈥檛 really think to find pages and pages of complete loneliness and melancholy....
Jhumpa lists many places where we w will find her female character ( unknown name) by giving an accurate description of the actions and feelings felt in that particular place.
What unites all the pages is this sense of total abandonment to the impossibility of enjoying life, everything is crushed by this dark and sad vision of oblivion and sadness.
A total solitude that sincerely suffocates the reader, the protagonist seems deliberately created without the possibility to ask and give herself the reason of things and without strength and desire for a "real" change. In Italian we鈥檒l call it a "piagnona".
The writing is very delicate, as Italian, I understand and feel her search for syntactically word by word., and i have read with tenderness some small words here and there still "unripe" in its typical construction. or the very correct use in the real Dante鈥檚 Italian, like "ambascia" or " vescicose" reading them warmed my heart.
I only hope that she did not have in her heart that depressed vision if not jealous of the reality described there, otherwise Juhmpa, what a great woman you are!!
Sono rimasta molto colpita da questa lettura, non pensavo proprio di trovare pagine e pagine di totale e completa solitudine e melanconia....
Jhumpa elenca molti posti dove verr脿 a trovarsi un personaggio femminile cui mai si conoscer脿 il nome, facendo cosi un accurata descrizione delle azioni e dei sentimenti provati da questa donna in quei luoghi.
Ci貌 che accomuna tutte le pagine 猫 questo senso di totale abbandono all' impossibilit脿 di godere della vita, tutto 猫 schiacciato da questa visione cupa e mesta di oblio e tristezza.
Una solitudine totale che sinceramente soffoca alla fine il lettore, la protagonista sembra volutamente creata senza la possibilit脿 di chiedersi e donarsi il perch猫 delle cose e senza forza e desiderio "vero"di cambiamento. In Italiano la chiameremo " una piagnona".
La scrittura 猫 delicatissima, da italiana, capisco questo suo ricercare sintatticamente parola per parola.. leggendo con tenerezza qualche piccola frase qua e l脿 ancora acerba nella sua costruzione tipica., o l'utilizzo correttissimo nel vero italiano dantesco, come "ambascia" o " vescicose" che a leggerle mi si 猫 scaldato il cuore.
Mi auguro solo che non abbia avuto nel cuore quella visione depressa se non gelosa della realt脿 ivi descritta, per il resto Juhmpa, che grandissima donna che sei!!
Jhumpa lists many places where we w will find her female character ( unknown name) by giving an accurate description of the actions and feelings felt in that particular place.
What unites all the pages is this sense of total abandonment to the impossibility of enjoying life, everything is crushed by this dark and sad vision of oblivion and sadness.
A total solitude that sincerely suffocates the reader, the protagonist seems deliberately created without the possibility to ask and give herself the reason of things and without strength and desire for a "real" change. In Italian we鈥檒l call it a "piagnona".
The writing is very delicate, as Italian, I understand and feel her search for syntactically word by word., and i have read with tenderness some small words here and there still "unripe" in its typical construction. or the very correct use in the real Dante鈥檚 Italian, like "ambascia" or " vescicose" reading them warmed my heart.
I only hope that she did not have in her heart that depressed vision if not jealous of the reality described there, otherwise Juhmpa, what a great woman you are!!
Sono rimasta molto colpita da questa lettura, non pensavo proprio di trovare pagine e pagine di totale e completa solitudine e melanconia....
Jhumpa elenca molti posti dove verr脿 a trovarsi un personaggio femminile cui mai si conoscer脿 il nome, facendo cosi un accurata descrizione delle azioni e dei sentimenti provati da questa donna in quei luoghi.
Ci貌 che accomuna tutte le pagine 猫 questo senso di totale abbandono all' impossibilit脿 di godere della vita, tutto 猫 schiacciato da questa visione cupa e mesta di oblio e tristezza.
Una solitudine totale che sinceramente soffoca alla fine il lettore, la protagonista sembra volutamente creata senza la possibilit脿 di chiedersi e donarsi il perch猫 delle cose e senza forza e desiderio "vero"di cambiamento. In Italiano la chiameremo " una piagnona".
La scrittura 猫 delicatissima, da italiana, capisco questo suo ricercare sintatticamente parola per parola.. leggendo con tenerezza qualche piccola frase qua e l脿 ancora acerba nella sua costruzione tipica., o l'utilizzo correttissimo nel vero italiano dantesco, come "ambascia" o " vescicose" che a leggerle mi si 猫 scaldato il cuore.
Mi auguro solo che non abbia avuto nel cuore quella visione depressa se non gelosa della realt脿 ivi descritta, per il resto Juhmpa, che grandissima donna che sei!!
February 18, 2021
Whereabouts takes the ordinary and makes it extraordinary. Reading this book is like reading art.
This book is beyond beautiful, the writing is precise, moving, and gives you this calming effect that you are exactly where you need to be. In Whereabouts we follow a woman who is a professor at a university, Lahiri takes us through her daily wonderings to the supermarket, vacation, pool and friend鈥檚 dinner. We get the inner workings of her mind, how she views herself, the people and the world around her. There is a strong presence of aloneness but strength in owning your time and being fine with being alone.
I think what I love about this book is that there is an undercurrent of loneliness but never in a depressing way. I loved that the author focused on a single middle-aged woman without children who is seemingly good at her job and has built a live and home she likes for herself. Yes, it is clear she may have some regrets but there is peace about the way she decided to live her life and that for me was so affirming.
If you love people watching this is a perfect novel for you. The character鈥檚 ability to take us into their world and show us what they are seeing was seamlessly and flawlessly executed. I felt I was there experiencing life with the main character. It was like getting this inclusive intel into this person鈥檚 life, while it is not super life changing it gets increasingly interesting. The author鈥檚 ability to write about the ordinary things such as going to the pool and making it interesting is what got me. I was thoroughly invested.
This is a character I will think about for years to come. I will definitely be going about my business and thinking, 鈥� I wonder how she鈥檚 doing?鈥�. When I closed the book, I felt like I was leaving my friend behind. I think it was the solace for me, there is something deeply moving about a character who firmly stands in who they are, know exactly what they want and continue to live wholeheartedly.
I cannot recommend this book enough. This may be one of my favourite books for 2021.
This book is beyond beautiful, the writing is precise, moving, and gives you this calming effect that you are exactly where you need to be. In Whereabouts we follow a woman who is a professor at a university, Lahiri takes us through her daily wonderings to the supermarket, vacation, pool and friend鈥檚 dinner. We get the inner workings of her mind, how she views herself, the people and the world around her. There is a strong presence of aloneness but strength in owning your time and being fine with being alone.
I think what I love about this book is that there is an undercurrent of loneliness but never in a depressing way. I loved that the author focused on a single middle-aged woman without children who is seemingly good at her job and has built a live and home she likes for herself. Yes, it is clear she may have some regrets but there is peace about the way she decided to live her life and that for me was so affirming.
If you love people watching this is a perfect novel for you. The character鈥檚 ability to take us into their world and show us what they are seeing was seamlessly and flawlessly executed. I felt I was there experiencing life with the main character. It was like getting this inclusive intel into this person鈥檚 life, while it is not super life changing it gets increasingly interesting. The author鈥檚 ability to write about the ordinary things such as going to the pool and making it interesting is what got me. I was thoroughly invested.
This is a character I will think about for years to come. I will definitely be going about my business and thinking, 鈥� I wonder how she鈥檚 doing?鈥�. When I closed the book, I felt like I was leaving my friend behind. I think it was the solace for me, there is something deeply moving about a character who firmly stands in who they are, know exactly what they want and continue to live wholeheartedly.
I cannot recommend this book enough. This may be one of my favourite books for 2021.
November 29, 2024
噩賵賲倬丕 賱丕賴蹖乇蹖 丿乇 讴鬲丕亘 賴賲蹖賳 丨賵丕賱蹖 貙 亘賴 夭賳丿诏蹖 乇賵夭 賲乇賴 蹖讴 夭賳 賲蹖丕賳爻丕賱 丿乇 丕蹖鬲丕賱蹖丕 倬乇丿丕禺鬲賴 貙 乇丕賵蹖 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 丿乇 46 亘禺卮 讴賵鬲丕賴 夭賳丿诏蹖 禺賵丿 乇丕 亘丕 噩夭卅蹖丕鬲 卮乇丨 丿丕丿賴 丕爻鬲 .
乇丕賵蹖 讴賴 賮乇丿 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 丕蹖爻鬲 貙 亘丕 丿賯鬲蹖 亘爻蹖丕乇丿乇 丨丕賱 賵 丕丨賵丕賱 賲丨蹖胤 倬蹖乇丕賲賵賳 貙 賮乇賵卮賳丿诏丕賳 貙 賲睾丕夭賴 賴丕 貙 爻蹖乇 讴乇丿賴 賵 丌賳趩賴 丿蹖丿賴 丕爻鬲 乇丕 亘乇丕蹖 禺賵丕賳賳丿賴 乇賵丕蹖鬲 賲蹖 讴賳丿 . 丿乇 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 丕賵 賲蹖 鬲賵丕賳 丕購賳爻 乇丕賵蹖 乇丕 亘丕 賲丨蹖胤 倬蹖乇丕賲賵賳 蹖丕 賴賲蹖賳 丨賵丕賱蹖 丿蹖丿 . 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 賵 夭賲丕賳 夭蹖丕丿 丿賵 毓賳氐乇 丕氐賱蹖 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 賴爻鬲賳丿 讴賴 賴乇 蹖讴 亘賴 诏賵賳賴 丕蹖 乇丕賵蹖 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 乇丕 賲蹖 丌夭丕乇賳丿 . 丕賵 丕賳夭賵丕 乇丕 賲爻鬲賱夭賲 丕乇夭蹖丕亘蹖 丿賯蹖賯 夭賲丕賳 賲蹖 丿丕賳丿 貙 亘賴 倬賵賱 丿丕禺賱 讴蹖賮 賲蹖 賲丕賳丿 : 亘丕蹖丿 亘丿丕賳蹖 趩賯丿乇 賵賯鬲 亘乇丕蹖 鬲賱賮
讴乇丿賳 丿丕乇蹖
丕賲丕 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 亘賴 丕賵 丨爻 乇丕讴丿 賲丕賳丿賳 賵 爻丕讴賳 卮丿賳 乇丕 賳賲蹖 丿賴丿 貙 丕賵 賴乇诏夭 蹖讴 噩丕 亘賳丿 賳賲蹖 卮賵丿 貙 賴賲蹖卮賴 丿乇 丨乇讴鬲 丕爻鬲 貙 丕賵 禺賵丿 乇丕 爻乇诏卮鬲賴 貙 诏賲卮丿賴 貙 丿乇 丿乇蹖丕 貙 禺賱丕賮 噩賴鬲 貙 诏賲乇丕賴 貙 丌賵丕乇賴 貙 倬乇蹖卮丕賳 貙 诏蹖噩 貙 亘蹖 禺丕賳賲丕賳 賵 亘乇诏卮鬲賴 賲蹖 丿丕賳丿 . 丕賵 噩丕蹖蹖 丕夭 禺賵丿 賳丿丕乇丿 . 丕賵 丕蹖賳 讴賱賲丕鬲 乇丕 爻讴賵賳鬲诏丕賴 禺賵丿 賲蹖 丿丕賳丿 貙 鬲賳賴丕 爻乇倬賳丕賴 丕賲賳
乇丕賵蹖 讴賴 賮乇丿 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 丕蹖爻鬲 貙 亘丕 丿賯鬲蹖 亘爻蹖丕乇丿乇 丨丕賱 賵 丕丨賵丕賱 賲丨蹖胤 倬蹖乇丕賲賵賳 貙 賮乇賵卮賳丿诏丕賳 貙 賲睾丕夭賴 賴丕 貙 爻蹖乇 讴乇丿賴 賵 丌賳趩賴 丿蹖丿賴 丕爻鬲 乇丕 亘乇丕蹖 禺賵丕賳賳丿賴 乇賵丕蹖鬲 賲蹖 讴賳丿 . 丿乇 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 丕賵 賲蹖 鬲賵丕賳 丕購賳爻 乇丕賵蹖 乇丕 亘丕 賲丨蹖胤 倬蹖乇丕賲賵賳 蹖丕 賴賲蹖賳 丨賵丕賱蹖 丿蹖丿 . 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 賵 夭賲丕賳 夭蹖丕丿 丿賵 毓賳氐乇 丕氐賱蹖 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 賴爻鬲賳丿 讴賴 賴乇 蹖讴 亘賴 诏賵賳賴 丕蹖 乇丕賵蹖 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 乇丕 賲蹖 丌夭丕乇賳丿 . 丕賵 丕賳夭賵丕 乇丕 賲爻鬲賱夭賲 丕乇夭蹖丕亘蹖 丿賯蹖賯 夭賲丕賳 賲蹖 丿丕賳丿 貙 亘賴 倬賵賱 丿丕禺賱 讴蹖賮 賲蹖 賲丕賳丿 : 亘丕蹖丿 亘丿丕賳蹖 趩賯丿乇 賵賯鬲 亘乇丕蹖 鬲賱賮
讴乇丿賳 丿丕乇蹖
丕賲丕 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 亘賴 丕賵 丨爻 乇丕讴丿 賲丕賳丿賳 賵 爻丕讴賳 卮丿賳 乇丕 賳賲蹖 丿賴丿 貙 丕賵 賴乇诏夭 蹖讴 噩丕 亘賳丿 賳賲蹖 卮賵丿 貙 賴賲蹖卮賴 丿乇 丨乇讴鬲 丕爻鬲 貙 丕賵 禺賵丿 乇丕 爻乇诏卮鬲賴 貙 诏賲卮丿賴 貙 丿乇 丿乇蹖丕 貙 禺賱丕賮 噩賴鬲 貙 诏賲乇丕賴 貙 丌賵丕乇賴 貙 倬乇蹖卮丕賳 貙 诏蹖噩 貙 亘蹖 禺丕賳賲丕賳 賵 亘乇诏卮鬲賴 賲蹖 丿丕賳丿 . 丕賵 噩丕蹖蹖 丕夭 禺賵丿 賳丿丕乇丿 . 丕賵 丕蹖賳 讴賱賲丕鬲 乇丕 爻讴賵賳鬲诏丕賴 禺賵丿 賲蹖 丿丕賳丿 貙 鬲賳賴丕 爻乇倬賳丕賴 丕賲賳
June 1, 2021
A middle aged woman, never named, in an unknown city, this book contains over 40 vignettes. The woman is a people watcher, a depressive and wants to connect with others, but also loves her solitude. An internal rendering of daily events in a life, she explains what she does and what she thinks, about events, and people. Does she want more, less? She's not certain and so neither are we the readers. A plotless book, there is no clear path to the denouement. What does it all mean?
Her first book in Italian, translated to English, I had no problem with her writing. Different from her other books, one can see at various times, glimpses of old self, her previous works. But for me, she didn't quite get there. It's a short book, but one whose focus is centered on one person and her experiences. Is this enough? Think each reader will have to decide this for themselves.
ARC from Edelweiss.
Her first book in Italian, translated to English, I had no problem with her writing. Different from her other books, one can see at various times, glimpses of old self, her previous works. But for me, she didn't quite get there. It's a short book, but one whose focus is centered on one person and her experiences. Is this enough? Think each reader will have to decide this for themselves.
ARC from Edelweiss.
October 28, 2021
趩賯丿乇 賯卮賳诏 丿乇 賲賵乇丿 乇賵夭賲乇诏蹖鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 卮丕蹖丿 亘賴 賳馗乇賲賵賳 讴賲 丕賴賲蹖鬲 亘丕卮賳丿 貙 賳賵卮鬲賴 亘賵丿... 趩賯丿乇 毓丕賱蹖 亘賵丿 ... 趩賯丿乇 丿賵爻鬲卮 丿丕卮鬲賲.... 亘毓囟蹖 噩丕賴丕卮 趩賯丿乇 丨乇賮鈥屬囏� 賵 賮讴乇賴丕蹖 禺賵丿賲 亘賵丿馃尰
October 19, 2021
[賮讴乇 讴賳賲 蹖賴 讴賲 亘蹖卮鬲乇 丕夭 趩賴丕乇]
丕丨爻丕爻 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁� 亘蹖卮鬲乇 讴賱賲丕鬲 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘貙 賳卮爻鬲 鬲賵蹖 賵噩賵丿賲. 禺蹖賱蹖 賳丕诏賴丕賳蹖 诏乇賮鬲賲卮 賵 丕蹖賳 卮蹖乇蹖賳鈥屫必� 讴乇丿. 鬲賵蹖 賲賵賯毓蹖鬲 賳爻亘鬲丕賸 賲賳丕爻亘蹖 禺賵賳丿賲卮 賵 賴賲蹖賳 亘丕毓孬 卮丿 讴賴 丕夭 鬲賴 丿賱 丿賵爻鬲卮 丿丕卮鬲賴 亘丕卮賲.
亘賴 亘賯蹖賴 賴賲 倬蹖卮賳賴丕丿 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁呚� 賳賲蹖鈥屫堎嗁�. 丕夭 爻賱蹖賯賴 卮賲丕 禺亘乇 賳丿丕乇賲. 丕夭 卮禺氐蹖鬲 賵 夭賳丿诏蹖鬲賵賳 賴賲 亘蹖鈥屫ㄘ辟�. 賲賳 賮賯胤 夭賳蹖 乇賵 賲蹖鈥屫促嗀ж迟� 讴賴 賴賲蹖賳 丨賵丕賱蹖賴貨 鬲賵 讴鬲丕亘禺賵賳賴鈥屬� 夭賳丿诏蹖 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁�. 乇賵夭賴丕卮 鬲讴乇丕乇蹖 賵 亘蹖鈥屬囒屫з嗁� 賵 賴賲蹖賳卮 噩匕亘賲 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁�. 卮丕蹖丿 卮賲丕 乇賵 賴賲 噩匕亘 讴賳賴貙 卮丕蹖丿 賳讴賳賴. 賳賲蹖鈥屫堎嗁�.
丕夭 毓賳賵丕賳 讴鬲丕亘 禺賵卮賲 賲蹖鈥屫⒇�. 賮讴乇 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁� 亘賴 亘毓囟蹖鈥屬囏� 賲蹖鈥屭�: 芦賴賲蹖賳 丨賵丕賱蹖 鬲賵 丌丿賲鈥屬囏й屰� 賴爻鬲賳 讴賴 賵噩賵丿卮賵賳 亘乇丕鬲 倬乇乇賳诏 賳蹖爻鬲. 賵賱蹖 禺亘貙 丕賵賳丕 賴爻鬲賳. 賴爻鬲賳... 賵... 賴賲蹖賳.禄
亘賴 亘毓囟蹖鈥屬囏� 賴賲 賲蹖鈥屭�: 芦鬲賵 鬲賳賴丕 賳蹖爻鬲蹖 賵 丌丿賲鈥屬囏й� 卮亘蹖賴 鬲賵 賵噩賵丿 丿丕乇賳. 丕賵賳鈥屬囏� 賴賲蹖賳 丨賵丕賱蹖賳.禄
亘賴 賴乇丨丕賱貙 亘乇丕蹖 乇丕丨鬲鈥屫� 卮賳丕禺鬲賳 丕蹖賳 丕賮乇丕丿貙 蹖丕 亘乇丕蹖 丕丨爻丕爻 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 讴賲鬲乇貙 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 蹖賴 夭賳蹖 鬲賵蹖 倬蹖丕鬲夭丕 賲蹖鈥屫堎嗁� 讴賲讴鬲賵賳 讴賳賴.
倬鈥屬�: 倬蹖丕鬲夭丕責 丕蹖賳 丕蹖鬲丕賱蹖丕蹖蹖鈥屬囏� 賴賲 讴賴 賴賲賴 趩蹖夭卮賵賳 賲孬賱 倬蹖鬲夭丕爻鬲. 丌賴 倬蹖鬲夭丕!
丕丨爻丕爻 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁� 亘蹖卮鬲乇 讴賱賲丕鬲 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘貙 賳卮爻鬲 鬲賵蹖 賵噩賵丿賲. 禺蹖賱蹖 賳丕诏賴丕賳蹖 诏乇賮鬲賲卮 賵 丕蹖賳 卮蹖乇蹖賳鈥屫必� 讴乇丿. 鬲賵蹖 賲賵賯毓蹖鬲 賳爻亘鬲丕賸 賲賳丕爻亘蹖 禺賵賳丿賲卮 賵 賴賲蹖賳 亘丕毓孬 卮丿 讴賴 丕夭 鬲賴 丿賱 丿賵爻鬲卮 丿丕卮鬲賴 亘丕卮賲.
亘賴 亘賯蹖賴 賴賲 倬蹖卮賳賴丕丿 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁呚� 賳賲蹖鈥屫堎嗁�. 丕夭 爻賱蹖賯賴 卮賲丕 禺亘乇 賳丿丕乇賲. 丕夭 卮禺氐蹖鬲 賵 夭賳丿诏蹖鬲賵賳 賴賲 亘蹖鈥屫ㄘ辟�. 賲賳 賮賯胤 夭賳蹖 乇賵 賲蹖鈥屫促嗀ж迟� 讴賴 賴賲蹖賳 丨賵丕賱蹖賴貨 鬲賵 讴鬲丕亘禺賵賳賴鈥屬� 夭賳丿诏蹖 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁�. 乇賵夭賴丕卮 鬲讴乇丕乇蹖 賵 亘蹖鈥屬囒屫з嗁� 賵 賴賲蹖賳卮 噩匕亘賲 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁�. 卮丕蹖丿 卮賲丕 乇賵 賴賲 噩匕亘 讴賳賴貙 卮丕蹖丿 賳讴賳賴. 賳賲蹖鈥屫堎嗁�.
丕夭 毓賳賵丕賳 讴鬲丕亘 禺賵卮賲 賲蹖鈥屫⒇�. 賮讴乇 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁� 亘賴 亘毓囟蹖鈥屬囏� 賲蹖鈥屭�: 芦賴賲蹖賳 丨賵丕賱蹖 鬲賵 丌丿賲鈥屬囏й屰� 賴爻鬲賳 讴賴 賵噩賵丿卮賵賳 亘乇丕鬲 倬乇乇賳诏 賳蹖爻鬲. 賵賱蹖 禺亘貙 丕賵賳丕 賴爻鬲賳. 賴爻鬲賳... 賵... 賴賲蹖賳.禄
亘賴 亘毓囟蹖鈥屬囏� 賴賲 賲蹖鈥屭�: 芦鬲賵 鬲賳賴丕 賳蹖爻鬲蹖 賵 丌丿賲鈥屬囏й� 卮亘蹖賴 鬲賵 賵噩賵丿 丿丕乇賳. 丕賵賳鈥屬囏� 賴賲蹖賳 丨賵丕賱蹖賳.禄
亘賴 賴乇丨丕賱貙 亘乇丕蹖 乇丕丨鬲鈥屫� 卮賳丕禺鬲賳 丕蹖賳 丕賮乇丕丿貙 蹖丕 亘乇丕蹖 丕丨爻丕爻 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 讴賲鬲乇貙 丿丕爻鬲丕賳 蹖賴 夭賳蹖 鬲賵蹖 倬蹖丕鬲夭丕 賲蹖鈥屫堎嗁� 讴賲讴鬲賵賳 讴賳賴.
倬鈥屬�: 倬蹖丕鬲夭丕責 丕蹖賳 丕蹖鬲丕賱蹖丕蹖蹖鈥屬囏� 賴賲 讴賴 賴賲賴 趩蹖夭卮賵賳 賲孬賱 倬蹖鬲夭丕爻鬲. 丌賴 倬蹖鬲夭丕!
April 10, 2022
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re-read: I was curious to read Lahiri's self-translation, just to see whether I would like it us much as the original, and I can confirm that I did. I'm glad Lahiri translated the novel herself and I can't actually decide if I preferred this English translation or its original Italian version. Anyway, I loved re-experiencing the story through a different lens.
Dove mi trovo, which will be published in English as Whereabouts next spring, is the first novel Jhumpa Lahiri's has written in Italian. Having read, and deeply empathised with, Lahiri's In Other Words鈥攁 nonfiction work in which she interrogates her love for and struggles with the Italian language鈥擨 was looking forward to Dove mi trovo. Although I bought this book more than a year ago, during my last trip to Italy, part of me wasn't ready to read it just yet. A teensy-weensy part me feared that I would find her Italian to be stilted. As it turns out, I should have not second-guessed Lahiri.
This novel consists in a series of short chapters, between 2 to 6 pages long, in which we follow a nameless narrator as she occupies different spaces. The titles of these chapters in fact refer to the place鈥攏ot always a 'physical' one such as in the case of the recurring 'Tra s茅 e s茅' chapters (an expression that for the life of me I cannot translate in English)鈥攕he is in or thinking of. She's on the street, in a bar, a restaurant, a museum, her apartment, by the seaside...you get the gist. The novel takes place during a single year, and our narrator will often remark on the current season. She's a solitary woman, and although she's deeply aware of her loneliness, she's not burdened by it. It is perhaps because she's alone that she can get lost in her surroundings or in her thoughts. Even in those occasions where she interacts with others鈥攚ho also remain unmanned and are referred to as her former lover, her friend, a professor, etc鈥攕he remains a lonely person. By seeing the way she interacts or navigates certain spaces, we learn more about her. Ultimately, however, she retains an air of mystery.
One should not approach this novel hoping for a plot-driven novel. Dove mi trovo is very much about language. Lahiri's Italian is crisp and deceptively simple. There are observations or conversations that are rendered with clarity, and there are passages that convey a sense of disquiet. While I can't say whether Lahiri always articulated phrases like an Italian would, I didn't notice any Englishism on her part. I loved the way Lahiri articulated her phrases and the correct if d茅mod茅 terms she used.
While Lahiri's 'Italian voice' differs from the one in her English works, Dove mi trovo is the kind of quietly reflective and deeply nostalgic novel that I would happily revisit time and again.
re-read: I was curious to read Lahiri's self-translation, just to see whether I would like it us much as the original, and I can confirm that I did. I'm glad Lahiri translated the novel herself and I can't actually decide if I preferred this English translation or its original Italian version. Anyway, I loved re-experiencing the story through a different lens.
Dove mi trovo, which will be published in English as Whereabouts next spring, is the first novel Jhumpa Lahiri's has written in Italian. Having read, and deeply empathised with, Lahiri's In Other Words鈥攁 nonfiction work in which she interrogates her love for and struggles with the Italian language鈥擨 was looking forward to Dove mi trovo. Although I bought this book more than a year ago, during my last trip to Italy, part of me wasn't ready to read it just yet. A teensy-weensy part me feared that I would find her Italian to be stilted. As it turns out, I should have not second-guessed Lahiri.
This novel consists in a series of short chapters, between 2 to 6 pages long, in which we follow a nameless narrator as she occupies different spaces. The titles of these chapters in fact refer to the place鈥攏ot always a 'physical' one such as in the case of the recurring 'Tra s茅 e s茅' chapters (an expression that for the life of me I cannot translate in English)鈥攕he is in or thinking of. She's on the street, in a bar, a restaurant, a museum, her apartment, by the seaside...you get the gist. The novel takes place during a single year, and our narrator will often remark on the current season. She's a solitary woman, and although she's deeply aware of her loneliness, she's not burdened by it. It is perhaps because she's alone that she can get lost in her surroundings or in her thoughts. Even in those occasions where she interacts with others鈥攚ho also remain unmanned and are referred to as her former lover, her friend, a professor, etc鈥攕he remains a lonely person. By seeing the way she interacts or navigates certain spaces, we learn more about her. Ultimately, however, she retains an air of mystery.
One should not approach this novel hoping for a plot-driven novel. Dove mi trovo is very much about language. Lahiri's Italian is crisp and deceptively simple. There are observations or conversations that are rendered with clarity, and there are passages that convey a sense of disquiet. While I can't say whether Lahiri always articulated phrases like an Italian would, I didn't notice any Englishism on her part. I loved the way Lahiri articulated her phrases and the correct if d茅mod茅 terms she used.
While Lahiri's 'Italian voice' differs from the one in her English works, Dove mi trovo is the kind of quietly reflective and deeply nostalgic novel that I would happily revisit time and again.
May 4, 2021
Disoriented, lost, at sea, at odds, astray, adrift, bewildered, confused, severed, turned around.
I spring from these terms. These words are my abode, my only foothold.
This novella was written by the Booker shortlisted (and Pulitzer Prize winning) author Jhumpa Lahiri in Italian, a language with which she has said that she fell in love since first visiting the country in 1994 prior to moving to Rome), one in which she has written and from which she has translated (most noticably a novel by Domenico Starnone 鈥� an author at the heart of Elena Ferrante identify claims). Published successfully in Italian and already translated into a number of European languages, this English translation is by the author herself.
The book is set out in a series of short chapters 鈥� set over a year, in which the unnamed narrator, living in the unnamed City (which seems to be Rome) in which she was born traces her life over the course of a year. With a small number of exceptions, each chapter is set in a location (the sidewalk, the street, at the trattoria, in the bookstore, in the waiting room, at my house, in bed), time (In Spring, In August, In Winter) with a few set 鈥淚n My Head鈥� (I believe these are 'Tra s茅 e s茅' in the original).
In each, in a first person present tense, the narrator 鈥� an academic who lives alone 鈥� describes both her own life and the lives of others and the City around her, and reflects on a number of relationships (her mother 鈥� with whom she had a tumultuous relationship as a child and teenager but who is now old and frail; her frugal father 鈥� who largely distanced himself from the mother-daughter rows, old lovers, and a married friend with whom the never acted on possibility of an affair serves as background music to their interactions). The sense is of someone who enjoys a solitary life, something of an observer 鈥� but also someone who seems (as the opening quote to my review implies) something of an outsider searching for a sense of place and identity.
The writing is elegant, but also slightly rather restrained. If I had a mild disappointment with the book it is that I had hoped the process of writing in a third language (the author鈥檚 mother tongue was Bengali) and self-translating into English 鈥� would mean that the author would bring a new perspective to English 鈥� a new way of assembling the language to explore and express ideas 鈥� and I did not really sense that (in fact in some ways the opposite - a perhaps deliberate downplay of English).
The book in Italian is 鈥淒ove mi trovo鈥�, which word for word would be perhaps 鈥淲here I find myself鈥� and as an expression perhaps 鈥淲here I am鈥�. The Spanish translation of 鈥淒onde me encuentro鈥�, whereas the German and Dutch split the two ways of translating it - 鈥淲o ich mich finde鈥� and 鈥淲aar ik nu ben鈥� respectively. So I was a little puzzled at the title 鈥淲hereabouts鈥� 鈥� and think 鈥淲here I find myself鈥� would have worked better. I have (just ahead of publication) read an interview where the author says she spent months thinking of the English title and eventually picked it as 鈥渨hereabouts is an incredibly English word: it doesn鈥檛 even have Latin roots鈥� which somehow gives me the sense of a deliberate distancing of the English translation from its original.
I was also puzzled by the passage with which I open my review. Only because I had seen it in an English language review on 欧宝娱乐 of the Italian book, but I had searched for this excerpt as I loved the original Italian of 鈥渄isorientata, persa, sbalestrata, sballata, sbandata, scombussolata, smarrita, spaesata, spiantata, stranita鈥� - with its mixture of alphabetical ordering and clustering and its alliteration (and the great sixth word).
So while the English translation above keeps the alphabetical ordering, and a rough literal word-for-word translation it loses for me the real unique essence of the sentence (even rather losing the rhythm by adding composite words). Now this could be simply the author feeling that her old flame of English can no longer match the promise of her new Latin lover 鈥� but I would think that 鈥渄is鈥� could and should have served for the negative of 鈥渟鈥� and so picked up both the alliteration and clustering, and why not use the literal translation 鈥渄iscombobulated鈥�? Again I have the feeling that the English translation is being almost deliberately distanced and even downplayed.
However I would stress that my Italian is almost non-existent - so this is less a criticism of the translation but of the resulting experience of an English reader.
Definitely though a worthwhile read and one I would not be surprised at all to see longlisted for the Booker 鈥� although this time the International 2022 version (the 2021 prize being the first to feature a self-translated book).
My thanks to Bloomsbury for an ARC via NetGalley.
May 13, 2021
Whereabouts is the latest novel by Jhumpa Lahiri that is captivating not only because of the beautiful prose but the dreamlike quality to the book as we follow an unknown narrator through an unknown city in Italy for an entire year. And the fifth shining star was given because Lahiri moved to Italy quite a few years ago embracing the country, the culture and the language. She wrote this book in Italian and then translated it herself into English. Brava Signorina!!!
Lahiri's book explores and celebrates ordinary life as it ponders how we all fit together as well as apart as we go forward. It is during this time that our unknown narrator not only explores where she is now in her life but where she has come from and how that has shaped her and where she may or should go in the future. There are so many layers and textures with Lahiri's poetic prose as she explores family and community, goals and dreams. And a few of her poignant quotations:
"Every blow of my life took place in spring. Each lasting sting. That's why Im afflicted by the green of the trees, the first peaches in the market, the light of flowing skirts that the women in my neighborhood start to wear. These things only remind me of loss, of betrayal, of disappointment. I dislike waking up and feeling pushed inevitably forward. But today, Saturday, I don't have to leave the house."
"I'm about to leave but then I stop, I take off my jacket and start looking for a necklace to perk up my dress, it must be here somewhere, in some jewelry box (though I prefer 'joy box' for 'portagioie,' which, come to think of it , is the most beautiful of Italian words)."
"The town, practically abandoned this afternoon, starts to drown in a piercing light. We're doubled over by a sharp wind and our eyes are filled with tears. We see the church at the top of the hill, and an ancient olive tree decorated with shiny red balls, in place of a Christmas tree. The higher we climb, the more we feel the wind and the cold. We're enfolded by the wide-open space, enclosed by all that emptiness."
"Even though I can't draw, I'd like one of those sketchbooks, hand bound with thick cream-colored paper."
"The father oversees the fountain pens stored in a glass case, as if they were precious jewels, bottles of ink lined up like costly perfumes."
Lahiri's book explores and celebrates ordinary life as it ponders how we all fit together as well as apart as we go forward. It is during this time that our unknown narrator not only explores where she is now in her life but where she has come from and how that has shaped her and where she may or should go in the future. There are so many layers and textures with Lahiri's poetic prose as she explores family and community, goals and dreams. And a few of her poignant quotations:
"Every blow of my life took place in spring. Each lasting sting. That's why Im afflicted by the green of the trees, the first peaches in the market, the light of flowing skirts that the women in my neighborhood start to wear. These things only remind me of loss, of betrayal, of disappointment. I dislike waking up and feeling pushed inevitably forward. But today, Saturday, I don't have to leave the house."
"I'm about to leave but then I stop, I take off my jacket and start looking for a necklace to perk up my dress, it must be here somewhere, in some jewelry box (though I prefer 'joy box' for 'portagioie,' which, come to think of it , is the most beautiful of Italian words)."
"The town, practically abandoned this afternoon, starts to drown in a piercing light. We're doubled over by a sharp wind and our eyes are filled with tears. We see the church at the top of the hill, and an ancient olive tree decorated with shiny red balls, in place of a Christmas tree. The higher we climb, the more we feel the wind and the cold. We're enfolded by the wide-open space, enclosed by all that emptiness."
"Even though I can't draw, I'd like one of those sketchbooks, hand bound with thick cream-colored paper."
"The father oversees the fountain pens stored in a glass case, as if they were precious jewels, bottles of ink lined up like costly perfumes."
August 27, 2023
If you know me you know I love Jhumpa Lahiri. She鈥檚 one of my all-time favorite writers. Unfortunately Whereabouts lacked the elements of her work I love the most, namely her rich characterization and understated yet powerful prose. I found Whereabouts rather listless, about an unnamed woman wandering and meandering around a European city. She observes her surroundings and doesn鈥檛 do much else; she seems to struggle with depression or a depression-adjacent worldview and perspective. Perhaps there are some themes about isolation, the intermingling of solitude and self-fulfillment and connection, and navigating an urban landscape, through the writing dragged so I couldn鈥檛 feel much connection to the story either way. I know she wrote this in Italian and translated it to English so perhaps that played a role.
Anyway, The Lowland and Unaccustomed Earth (especially 鈥淗ell-Heaven鈥�) both have played a huge, huge role in helping me navigate my mid to late 20鈥檚 and bolstering my mental health, so I鈥檓 always grateful to Lahiri even if I didn鈥檛 enjoy Whereabouts. I鈥檓 not sure if I鈥檒l check out her upcoming collection Roman Stories when it comes out though no matter what I鈥檓 grateful for her already existing body of work.
Anyway, The Lowland and Unaccustomed Earth (especially 鈥淗ell-Heaven鈥�) both have played a huge, huge role in helping me navigate my mid to late 20鈥檚 and bolstering my mental health, so I鈥檓 always grateful to Lahiri even if I didn鈥檛 enjoy Whereabouts. I鈥檓 not sure if I鈥檒l check out her upcoming collection Roman Stories when it comes out though no matter what I鈥檓 grateful for her already existing body of work.
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June 26, 2021sonder (n.) the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own
A meditative, slow-moving read compiling mundane moments in life that may seem unimportant but actually hold value.
The ending felt a bit abrupt, but I love novels like this, just rich with descriptions and very introspective
A meditative, slow-moving read compiling mundane moments in life that may seem unimportant but actually hold value.
The ending felt a bit abrupt, but I love novels like this, just rich with descriptions and very introspective
August 7, 2021
The unnamed protagonist of Whereabouts is a 40-something-year-old Italian woman. The short entries are very much like pages of a diary. Each tells about a person she knows or a place she has gone, often with recollections of her unhappy childhood. There is no plot, rather inconsequential observations by this mysterious woman of solitude.
Although Lahiri's writing is sparse and the book is short, I felt her observations were very poignant. Lahiri is one of those writers who can convey much with few words. I felt like I came to know this woman; a woman who could be from anywhere.
I have read most of Lahiri's work. I admire her tenacity in immersing herself in the Italian culture and language, writing this novel in Italian, and translating it into English. Whether she writes first in Italian or English, her writing is exquisite. I look forward to any future book written in English or in translation.
Although Lahiri's writing is sparse and the book is short, I felt her observations were very poignant. Lahiri is one of those writers who can convey much with few words. I felt like I came to know this woman; a woman who could be from anywhere.
I have read most of Lahiri's work. I admire her tenacity in immersing herself in the Italian culture and language, writing this novel in Italian, and translating it into English. Whether she writes first in Italian or English, her writing is exquisite. I look forward to any future book written in English or in translation.
April 1, 2025
芦亘賴 爻賳 丕賵 丕氐賱丕賸 賳賲蹖鈥屫з嗀池� 毓卮賯 趩蹖爻鬲.
毓賵囟卮 趩賴 讴丕乇 賲蹖鈥屭┴必呚� 讴鬲丕亘 賲蹖鈥屫堌з嗀呚� 丿乇爻 賲蹖鈥屫堌з嗀�.
诏賵卮鈥屫ㄙ団€屬佖辟呚з� 倬丿乇鈥屬堎呚ж辟� 亘賵丿賲.
賴乇 讴丕乇蹖 賲蹖鈥屭佖嗀� 賲蹖鈥屭┴必� 賵賱蹖 丌禺乇爻乇貙 賴蹖趩鈥屬堎傌� 丕夭 丿爻鬲賲 乇丕囟蹖 賳亘賵丿賳丿.
禺賵丿賲 乇丕 丿賵爻鬲 賳丿丕卮鬲賲貙 賵 鬲賴 丿賱賲 賲蹖鈥屫з嗀池� 讴賴 爻乇丕賳噩丕賲蹖 噩夭 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 賳丿丕乇賲.禄
毓賵囟卮 趩賴 讴丕乇 賲蹖鈥屭┴必呚� 讴鬲丕亘 賲蹖鈥屫堌з嗀呚� 丿乇爻 賲蹖鈥屫堌з嗀�.
诏賵卮鈥屫ㄙ団€屬佖辟呚з� 倬丿乇鈥屬堎呚ж辟� 亘賵丿賲.
賴乇 讴丕乇蹖 賲蹖鈥屭佖嗀� 賲蹖鈥屭┴必� 賵賱蹖 丌禺乇爻乇貙 賴蹖趩鈥屬堎傌� 丕夭 丿爻鬲賲 乇丕囟蹖 賳亘賵丿賳丿.
禺賵丿賲 乇丕 丿賵爻鬲 賳丿丕卮鬲賲貙 賵 鬲賴 丿賱賲 賲蹖鈥屫з嗀池� 讴賴 爻乇丕賳噩丕賲蹖 噩夭 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 賳丿丕乇賲.禄
August 27, 2021
Novel doesn't feel like the correct descriptor for this slim and delicate self-portrait of a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Fictional Memoir or Dramatized Journal, perhaps. But whereas the plot is slender, the story is as fat and ripe and juicy as a late summer Italian plum.
An unnamed narrator in an unnamed Italian city recounts a year in her life through a series of short, simple, quiet vignettes, each stamped by a "whereabout" in her life: In the Hotel; By the Sea; In My Head, At the Coffee Bar, etc. She is a university professor in her mid-forties, single, never married, mourning her father who died when she was fifteen, and feeling vaguely guilty about her aging mother, who also lives alone in another city. She's an understated introvert in an ebullient culture that values large groups of friends and family members, that prizes abundance in its art, music and food. She carefully segments her time to fill the spaces in her life: the hours at work, meals in local trattoria, twice-weekly swims, reading before bed, the weekend's empty hours when she can hide under the covers all day if she chooses.
The vagueness of the narrator and her location and the abstract way she views her life unmoors the reader and leaves her feeling adrift. Yet, I cannot think of a more elegant and stirring representation of this past year and a half of isolation and sadness and anxiety than this lovely book. It's astonishing that Lahiri published her novel in its original Italian in 2015 鈥� years before the pandemic and its lockdowns and forced distancing 鈥� presenting her own translation this year. The narrator embodies our pandemic sense of loss, giving voice to how it feels to wander through one's own life like a ghost. The pared down style is incredibly refreshing; for this introvert it's like entering a conversation without all the small talk bullshit that is my personal nails down a chalkboard. Like a poem, every word has weight and meaning here; it forces you to stop and listen, to reflect deeply.
I can't get over how such a slender work can contain such multitudes. I read Whereabouts in an evening and through an hour's stretch of insomnia later that night. I was prepared not to enjoy this; I wasn't prepared to be so sad to see it end.
I think my review may be longer than the actual book. That tells you something. I loved it.
An unnamed narrator in an unnamed Italian city recounts a year in her life through a series of short, simple, quiet vignettes, each stamped by a "whereabout" in her life: In the Hotel; By the Sea; In My Head, At the Coffee Bar, etc. She is a university professor in her mid-forties, single, never married, mourning her father who died when she was fifteen, and feeling vaguely guilty about her aging mother, who also lives alone in another city. She's an understated introvert in an ebullient culture that values large groups of friends and family members, that prizes abundance in its art, music and food. She carefully segments her time to fill the spaces in her life: the hours at work, meals in local trattoria, twice-weekly swims, reading before bed, the weekend's empty hours when she can hide under the covers all day if she chooses.
The vagueness of the narrator and her location and the abstract way she views her life unmoors the reader and leaves her feeling adrift. Yet, I cannot think of a more elegant and stirring representation of this past year and a half of isolation and sadness and anxiety than this lovely book. It's astonishing that Lahiri published her novel in its original Italian in 2015 鈥� years before the pandemic and its lockdowns and forced distancing 鈥� presenting her own translation this year. The narrator embodies our pandemic sense of loss, giving voice to how it feels to wander through one's own life like a ghost. The pared down style is incredibly refreshing; for this introvert it's like entering a conversation without all the small talk bullshit that is my personal nails down a chalkboard. Like a poem, every word has weight and meaning here; it forces you to stop and listen, to reflect deeply.
I can't get over how such a slender work can contain such multitudes. I read Whereabouts in an evening and through an hour's stretch of insomnia later that night. I was prepared not to enjoy this; I wasn't prepared to be so sad to see it end.
I think my review may be longer than the actual book. That tells you something. I loved it.
June 4, 2021
Oh this one pains me. I love reading Lahiri's books. One of her books is in my top all time favorites. She is an author that I beg my library for her books without even reading what they are about. I did the same her, but in the end, I was disappointed with this one.
Whereabouts seemed like someone was reading diary entries to me. A middle aged woman, unnamed, living in some city (probably somewhere in Italy) tells her 'stories' of her daily encounters. No real story there, just pieces of thoughts here and there. Lahiri made a move to Italy some time ago and since her writing has changed a bit. With her previous novels, she wrote in English. Here, she wrote this in Italian and then she translated it to English. This is a short book. Perhaps it was more of a goal of writing a book in Italian, and then do the translation vs a story.
This one was a buddy read with Dana where I felt I pushed 'gotta read Lahiri' and in the end, we both felt it was OK. I will still continue to add blindly anything that she writes. But might need to revisit one her earlier books next.
Whereabouts seemed like someone was reading diary entries to me. A middle aged woman, unnamed, living in some city (probably somewhere in Italy) tells her 'stories' of her daily encounters. No real story there, just pieces of thoughts here and there. Lahiri made a move to Italy some time ago and since her writing has changed a bit. With her previous novels, she wrote in English. Here, she wrote this in Italian and then she translated it to English. This is a short book. Perhaps it was more of a goal of writing a book in Italian, and then do the translation vs a story.
This one was a buddy read with Dana where I felt I pushed 'gotta read Lahiri' and in the end, we both felt it was OK. I will still continue to add blindly anything that she writes. But might need to revisit one her earlier books next.
September 13, 2024
乇丕爻鬲卮 丕賵賱鈥屬囏ж� 丨丕賱賲 诏乇賮鬲賴 卮丿 賵 爻乇丿乇诏賲 亘賵丿賲 讴賴 丕蹖賳 趩蹖賴 丿丕乇賲 丕夭 噩賵賲倬丕 賱丕賴蹖乇蹖 賲蹖禺賵賳賲 賵 賲賳 賯亘賱丕 禺蹖賱蹖 讴丕乇賴丕蹖 亘賴鬲乇蹖 丕夭卮 禺賵賳丿賲. 丨鬲蹖 賮讴乇 讴乇丿賲 丿蹖诏賴 鬲賵丕賳丕蹖蹖鈥屬囏й� 丿丕爻鬲丕賳鈥屭堐屰屫� 禺卮讴 卮丿賴 賵 卮乇賵毓 讴乇丿賴 乇丕噩毓鈥屫ㄙ� 丿乇 賵 丿蹖賵丕乇 賴乇趩蹖 讴賴 亘賴 趩卮賲卮 賲蹖丕丿 賲蹖鈥屬嗁堐屫迟�. 賵賱蹖 亘毓丿卮 蹖賵丕卮 蹖賵丕卮 賲鬲賳 噩賵賳 賲蹖诏蹖乇賴 賵 趩卮賲 亘丕 丕蹖賳 爻亘讴 噩爻鬲丕乇蹖 禺蹖賱蹖 讴賵鬲丕賴 毓丕丿鬲 賲蹖讴賳賴. 丕賵賳 賲賵賯毓 賲蹖鬲賵賳賲 賲胤賲卅賳 卮賲 噩賵賲倬丕 賱丕賴蹖乇蹖 賴賲 丕夭 丕賵賳 丿爻鬲 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴鈥屬囏й屰� 賴爻鬲 讴賴 丌丿賲 乇賵 賳丕丕賲蹖丿 亘乇賳賲蹖鈥屭必堎嗁�.
賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 禺蹖賱蹖 賯卮賳诏 賵 賴賳乇賲賳丿丕賳賴 夭賳丿诏蹖 蹖讴 禺丕賳賲 讴賴 鬲賳賴丕 夭賳丿诏蹖 賲蹖讴賳賴 乇賵 亘賴 鬲氐賵蹖乇 賲蹖讴卮賴 賵 賲賳 趩賯丿乇 丕夭 亘禺卮鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 賲乇亘賵胤 亘賴 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 賵 乇丕亘胤賴 卮禺氐蹖鬲 丕氐賱蹖 亘丕 賲丕丿乇卮 亘賵丿 賱匕鬲 亘乇丿賲 賵 賳诏丕賴 噩夭卅蹖鈥屬嗂必� 亘賴 賲賵囟賵毓丕鬲 賵 丌丿賲鈥屬囏й� 丕胤乇丕賮 乇賵 丿賵爻鬲 丿丕卮鬲賲. 丨鬲蹖 睾乇夭丿賳鈥屬囏ж� 賴賲 亘乇丕賲 賯丕亘賱 賱賲爻 亘賵丿.
丕賱亘鬲賴 賴賲趩賳丕賳 賲毓鬲賯丿賲 賱丕賴蹖乇蹖 讴丕乇賴丕蹖 賯賵蹖鈥屫臂� 丕夭 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 丿丕乇賴 賵賱蹖 禺亘 賲賵賯毓 賳賵卮鬲賳 丕蹖賳 乇蹖賵蹖賵 丨爻賲 亘賴 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 禺蹖賱蹖 禺賵亘賴 賵 鬲氐賲蹖賲 诏乇賮鬲賲 鄞 爻鬲丕乇賴 亘丿賲貙 卮丕蹖丿 丕诏乇 丿賵亘丕乇賴 亘禺賵賳賲 賳馗乇賲 鬲睾蹖蹖乇 讴賳賴
賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 禺蹖賱蹖 賯卮賳诏 賵 賴賳乇賲賳丿丕賳賴 夭賳丿诏蹖 蹖讴 禺丕賳賲 讴賴 鬲賳賴丕 夭賳丿诏蹖 賲蹖讴賳賴 乇賵 亘賴 鬲氐賵蹖乇 賲蹖讴卮賴 賵 賲賳 趩賯丿乇 丕夭 亘禺卮鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 賲乇亘賵胤 亘賴 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 賵 乇丕亘胤賴 卮禺氐蹖鬲 丕氐賱蹖 亘丕 賲丕丿乇卮 亘賵丿 賱匕鬲 亘乇丿賲 賵 賳诏丕賴 噩夭卅蹖鈥屬嗂必� 亘賴 賲賵囟賵毓丕鬲 賵 丌丿賲鈥屬囏й� 丕胤乇丕賮 乇賵 丿賵爻鬲 丿丕卮鬲賲. 丨鬲蹖 睾乇夭丿賳鈥屬囏ж� 賴賲 亘乇丕賲 賯丕亘賱 賱賲爻 亘賵丿.
丕賱亘鬲賴 賴賲趩賳丕賳 賲毓鬲賯丿賲 賱丕賴蹖乇蹖 讴丕乇賴丕蹖 賯賵蹖鈥屫臂� 丕夭 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 丿丕乇賴 賵賱蹖 禺亘 賲賵賯毓 賳賵卮鬲賳 丕蹖賳 乇蹖賵蹖賵 丨爻賲 亘賴 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 禺蹖賱蹖 禺賵亘賴 賵 鬲氐賲蹖賲 诏乇賮鬲賲 鄞 爻鬲丕乇賴 亘丿賲貙 卮丕蹖丿 丕诏乇 丿賵亘丕乇賴 亘禺賵賳賲 賳馗乇賲 鬲睾蹖蹖乇 讴賳賴
December 21, 2024
The beginning of my reader-author relationship with Jhumpa Lahiri was not pleasant. I read The Namesake for an assignment for my MA, and while I was struck by her beautiful usage of the language that formed a charming writing style, my interaction with the story and the characters was poor. I read only to feel the beauty of her language and style. So, when I came across Whereabouts, I was nervous. I knew I'd enjoy her writing, but I wasn't sure if I'd like the story. But since the novel thematically touched on a woman's solitary life and the choices that she'd made in life, I felt a pull towards this book. And here I am, having read it and being happy that I wasn't disappointed with my decision to read it.
Whereabouts tells us the choices a woman had made in life; some choices she had made consciously but many were made for her. Family and society had subtly navigated her life in a particular direction and she has neither strength nor tools, not even a sense of direction to which she should steer her life.
The unnamed protagonist who is also the narrator is a woman in her forties. She lives a solitary life. She works but not energetically or enthusiastically; she socialises but has no social life; her relationship with her aging mother is strained; and the past looms over her like a dark shadow. The story is told through a collection of events and incidents in the protagonist's life. Her reflections as she goes about life give the readers an insight into her present situation. Not only do we learn that she leads a solitary life but also why she leads such a life. The invariable pressures to which she was subjected by her family from a young age play a major role in her present lonely existence. She says: "What did I do? I read books and studied. I listened to my parents and did what they asked me to. Even though, in the end, I never made them happy. I didn't like myself, and something told me I'd end up alone."
This quotation struck a chord in me. Aren't we women subjected to this kind of pressure by our families? Isn't a woman expected to be a mother, sister, friend, caregiver, adviser, or protector from a very young age? Girls are burdened more with family duties. The worst is the expectation of playing the companion to the mother as she seeks affection, understanding, and caring which the husband doesn't provide. How the distance between husband and wife and the wife's turning towards the child for affection and understanding impacts a young mind negatively is demonstrated through the protagonist's reflections. She says: "When I was young, even when my father was alive, she kept me close to her side, she never wanted us to be apart, not even briefly..." and "How can I link myself to another person when I'm still struggling, even after your death, to eliminate the distance between you and my mother? Even today I see you walking three feet ahead of her." The psychological struggle of this grown-up woman, who finds it difficult to cast off the burden that was unfairly enforced on her when still a child, finds proper expression when she says:"There is no escape from the shadows that mount, inexorably, in this darkening season. Nor can we escape from the shadows our families cast. That said, there are times I miss the pleasant shade a companion might provide."
One can choose solitude of one's own accord. But sometimes a solitary existence can be imposed on you for various reasons. When solitude chooses you without you choosing it, you'll find that it is a difficult discipline to maintain. Solitude: it's become my trade. As it requires a certain discipline, its condition I try to perfect it. And yet it plagues me, it weighs on me despite my knowing it so well." And in that imposed solitude one can be "disorientated, lost, at sea, at odds, astray, adrift, bewildered, confused, uprooted".
Jhumpa Lahiri highlights beautifully and emotionally a woman's solitary life, the reasons behind it, and its positive and negative impact on her life, creating a strong connection between this unnamed woman protagonist and the reader. The amazing fact is that she achieves this feat by demonstrating the woman's life through events and incidents without getting into a direct narrative. I truly enjoyed her style.
More of my reviews can be found at
Whereabouts tells us the choices a woman had made in life; some choices she had made consciously but many were made for her. Family and society had subtly navigated her life in a particular direction and she has neither strength nor tools, not even a sense of direction to which she should steer her life.
The unnamed protagonist who is also the narrator is a woman in her forties. She lives a solitary life. She works but not energetically or enthusiastically; she socialises but has no social life; her relationship with her aging mother is strained; and the past looms over her like a dark shadow. The story is told through a collection of events and incidents in the protagonist's life. Her reflections as she goes about life give the readers an insight into her present situation. Not only do we learn that she leads a solitary life but also why she leads such a life. The invariable pressures to which she was subjected by her family from a young age play a major role in her present lonely existence. She says: "What did I do? I read books and studied. I listened to my parents and did what they asked me to. Even though, in the end, I never made them happy. I didn't like myself, and something told me I'd end up alone."
This quotation struck a chord in me. Aren't we women subjected to this kind of pressure by our families? Isn't a woman expected to be a mother, sister, friend, caregiver, adviser, or protector from a very young age? Girls are burdened more with family duties. The worst is the expectation of playing the companion to the mother as she seeks affection, understanding, and caring which the husband doesn't provide. How the distance between husband and wife and the wife's turning towards the child for affection and understanding impacts a young mind negatively is demonstrated through the protagonist's reflections. She says: "When I was young, even when my father was alive, she kept me close to her side, she never wanted us to be apart, not even briefly..." and "How can I link myself to another person when I'm still struggling, even after your death, to eliminate the distance between you and my mother? Even today I see you walking three feet ahead of her." The psychological struggle of this grown-up woman, who finds it difficult to cast off the burden that was unfairly enforced on her when still a child, finds proper expression when she says:"There is no escape from the shadows that mount, inexorably, in this darkening season. Nor can we escape from the shadows our families cast. That said, there are times I miss the pleasant shade a companion might provide."
One can choose solitude of one's own accord. But sometimes a solitary existence can be imposed on you for various reasons. When solitude chooses you without you choosing it, you'll find that it is a difficult discipline to maintain. Solitude: it's become my trade. As it requires a certain discipline, its condition I try to perfect it. And yet it plagues me, it weighs on me despite my knowing it so well." And in that imposed solitude one can be "disorientated, lost, at sea, at odds, astray, adrift, bewildered, confused, uprooted".
Jhumpa Lahiri highlights beautifully and emotionally a woman's solitary life, the reasons behind it, and its positive and negative impact on her life, creating a strong connection between this unnamed woman protagonist and the reader. The amazing fact is that she achieves this feat by demonstrating the woman's life through events and incidents without getting into a direct narrative. I truly enjoyed her style.
More of my reviews can be found at
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January 22, 2021I am honestly quite perplexed to find this book's page brimming with fairly positive reviews. While I understand what Lahiri was trying to do here (an exploration of solitude and alienation told in a series of vignettes from the perspective of a middle-aged single woman who lives alone in an unnamed city), it did not work for me. Although the book was short and the chapters even shorter, I struggled to finish it. The writing was flat, the descriptions fairly dull and the narrator's observations fell between the clich茅d and the pedestrian. The best way I can describe this book is that it reminded me of those writing exercises you do in foreign language classes, where they ask you to keep a diary and describe something you've seen or done during a particular day.
There were flashes of the type of brilliant insight I expect from a writer of Lahiri's caliber, but they were few and far between.
And this might be petty, but I take some issue with how she translated the Svevo quote that is used as the epigraph to the book. Lahiri's translation reads:
"Whenever my surroundings change I feel enormously sad. This is especially true if the place I leave behind is linked to memories, grief, or happiness. It's the change itself that unsettles me[.]"
Except that that is not what the original Italian says. A more accurate (and logical) translation would be: "Whenever my surroundings change I feel enormously sad. And if the place I leave behind is linked to memories, grief, or happiness, that does not magnify my sadness. It's the change itself that unsettles me[.]"
Not my best translation, but you get the gist. Overall, I was not really impressed with this one.
There were flashes of the type of brilliant insight I expect from a writer of Lahiri's caliber, but they were few and far between.
And this might be petty, but I take some issue with how she translated the Svevo quote that is used as the epigraph to the book. Lahiri's translation reads:
"Whenever my surroundings change I feel enormously sad. This is especially true if the place I leave behind is linked to memories, grief, or happiness. It's the change itself that unsettles me[.]"
Except that that is not what the original Italian says. A more accurate (and logical) translation would be: "Whenever my surroundings change I feel enormously sad. And if the place I leave behind is linked to memories, grief, or happiness, that does not magnify my sadness. It's the change itself that unsettles me[.]"
Not my best translation, but you get the gist. Overall, I was not really impressed with this one.
September 13, 2021
[3.3] The short, diary-like vignettes that comprise this novel are nicely formed and effortless to read. The narrator broods about her life, observes and judges those around her and remembers bits of her past. She is prickly and adrift. I think it is admirable that Lahiri wrote in Italian and translated her work into English. An interesting experiment, but I found the novel more pointless than poignant.
February 13, 2024
Apparently this is the first fiction book that Jhumpa Lahiri wrote in Italian, after moving to Italy in 2012. Had I known, I would have read it in Italian. I struggled a bit with this book: it is a collection of (autobiographical?) vignettes of a woman describing various scenes from her life, one after another, in a very restrained, almost emotionless style. And it was the latter that I had difficulty with. Especially in the beginning, it is mainly about describing external aspects (the view of a street or a bar, for example), and both the protagonist and the people she meets seem more like automatons, reinforced by the fact that Lahiri never uses (place/person) names, and there is no story or plot at all. At one point this book reminded me of the 'Nouveau Roman', the French literary movement from the 1960s, with works by Alain Robbe-Grillet or Nathalie Sarraute. And yet after a while it started to speak: Lahiri portrays a woman who lives very privately, and mainly writes down reflections on her loneliness. In that sense (and I'm not original, I know) Rachel Cusk also flashed through my mind. In this way, I began to see the emotionless more and more as a form of layered restraint: an middle-aged woman, struggling with her solitude, but also seeing the positive sides of it and learning to live with it. And then the impersonal took on something of a universal character. This is by no means a spectacular book, and it did not really move me, but it is nevertheless well done.
October 23, 2024
"Every blow in my life took place in spring. Each lasting sting. That's why I'm afflicted by the green of the trees, the first peaches in the market, the light flowing skirts that the women in my neighborhood start to wear."
I was in Buffalo, New York, on a drive to Canada, when I bought this book from a lovely independent bookstore called Talking Leaves (truly recommend this gem of a bookstore for their stupendous literary collection). I guess in some ways, I had my own whereabouts. Lahiri is one of my favorite writers, so I saw the paperback and jumped at the chance to purchase my fifth Lahiri book. I've been a bit slow to delve into Lahiri's recent works, but the last book I did read, , included her foray into Italian culture. Whereabouts is her first novel written in Italian and also the first book she has translated.
It's a transformation for a reader when a familiar author is also in a transformative phase in their oeuvre, but I was not prepared for the effect this book would have on me. I've spent years reading Lahiri, so I found that my reading was not only informed by the change shaping me as a reader but it was also responsive to the change happening to the character on the page and sensitive to the change the writer may have experienced to get to such a transformative place within her art. It's such a distilling and discomfiting feeling.
Is there any place we're not moving through? Disoriented, lost, at sea, at odds, astray, adrift, bewildered, confused, uprooted, turned around. I'm related to these related terms. These words are my abode, my only foothold.
In some ways I would not have fully appreciated this narrator's journey if I was not a forty-something reader. Then again, I would not have fully appreciated her journey if some elements of her life and story were not deeply rooted in mine. I could relate to some choices, maybe even some perspectives. The narrator is unmarried, yes, and I have been married for seventeen years to my best friend, so that was not something we have in common, but some choices she's made in life, like her career path, her travels to wander and observe, her love for collecting books, her choice of solitude and nonconformed way of living, and even some things of her past, like her fraught relationship with family and the pain of her childhood, are all relatable. The narrator is quirky, eccentric, unintentionally funny at times, observant, sometimes judgmental, cranky even, and it's clear she's processing something difficult. This is the true story revealed slowly and subtly.
I'm both ablaze with energy and sapped of it, and I remember the words of a great writer underlined in one of my books: I flee, after a moment, terrified, from the great flame to the shadows: I fear the flame will consume me, that it will seize me and reduce me to an element even less significant on this earth, a worm or a plant...I can't think straight, everything seems futile, life itself seems extremely simple, I don't care if nobody thinks of me anymore, if hardly anyone writes to me.
The story moves like the seasons, paced and continuous. The prose is lucid, cleverly simple. Nothing dramatic happens, in case you're wondering. This structure and texture though, how transfixing. You know you're in the hands of a skilled writer when a novel is this brief and yet so layered and precise for you to see the character so closely and grasp things about the human condition you hadn't considered before. When a book can bounce between present and past tense, between front and back story so effortlessly and with so few words, you know you are being expertly guided. And I don't know about you, but when I'm in my car, sometimes I turn on my GPS, even in a familiar terrain, and helplessly go along with that voice telling me where to turn, no questions asked, no eyebrows raised, and I don't mind being maneuvered. Sometimes.
I was in Buffalo, New York, on a drive to Canada, when I bought this book from a lovely independent bookstore called Talking Leaves (truly recommend this gem of a bookstore for their stupendous literary collection). I guess in some ways, I had my own whereabouts. Lahiri is one of my favorite writers, so I saw the paperback and jumped at the chance to purchase my fifth Lahiri book. I've been a bit slow to delve into Lahiri's recent works, but the last book I did read, , included her foray into Italian culture. Whereabouts is her first novel written in Italian and also the first book she has translated.
It's a transformation for a reader when a familiar author is also in a transformative phase in their oeuvre, but I was not prepared for the effect this book would have on me. I've spent years reading Lahiri, so I found that my reading was not only informed by the change shaping me as a reader but it was also responsive to the change happening to the character on the page and sensitive to the change the writer may have experienced to get to such a transformative place within her art. It's such a distilling and discomfiting feeling.
Is there any place we're not moving through? Disoriented, lost, at sea, at odds, astray, adrift, bewildered, confused, uprooted, turned around. I'm related to these related terms. These words are my abode, my only foothold.
In some ways I would not have fully appreciated this narrator's journey if I was not a forty-something reader. Then again, I would not have fully appreciated her journey if some elements of her life and story were not deeply rooted in mine. I could relate to some choices, maybe even some perspectives. The narrator is unmarried, yes, and I have been married for seventeen years to my best friend, so that was not something we have in common, but some choices she's made in life, like her career path, her travels to wander and observe, her love for collecting books, her choice of solitude and nonconformed way of living, and even some things of her past, like her fraught relationship with family and the pain of her childhood, are all relatable. The narrator is quirky, eccentric, unintentionally funny at times, observant, sometimes judgmental, cranky even, and it's clear she's processing something difficult. This is the true story revealed slowly and subtly.
I'm both ablaze with energy and sapped of it, and I remember the words of a great writer underlined in one of my books: I flee, after a moment, terrified, from the great flame to the shadows: I fear the flame will consume me, that it will seize me and reduce me to an element even less significant on this earth, a worm or a plant...I can't think straight, everything seems futile, life itself seems extremely simple, I don't care if nobody thinks of me anymore, if hardly anyone writes to me.
The story moves like the seasons, paced and continuous. The prose is lucid, cleverly simple. Nothing dramatic happens, in case you're wondering. This structure and texture though, how transfixing. You know you're in the hands of a skilled writer when a novel is this brief and yet so layered and precise for you to see the character so closely and grasp things about the human condition you hadn't considered before. When a book can bounce between present and past tense, between front and back story so effortlessly and with so few words, you know you are being expertly guided. And I don't know about you, but when I'm in my car, sometimes I turn on my GPS, even in a familiar terrain, and helplessly go along with that voice telling me where to turn, no questions asked, no eyebrows raised, and I don't mind being maneuvered. Sometimes.
June 13, 2021
Jhumpa Lahiri moved to Italy in 2011 and it shifted her writing life as well. This book was published in Italy in 2018 as "Dove mi trovo," which translates as "Where I find myself." It was translated into English by the author and published in 2021.
I read it because it was selected for the summer Camp ToB for the Tournament of Books. The audio is only 3.5 hours so the print must be very short.
It feels like Cusk or Levy or anyone who writes short autofiction. It's composed of short slice of life pieces from the point of of view of a woman living in Italy. They form a picture of a whole but I'm not sure how memorable any one piece is. At the same time, as I read this I kept wishing I wrote about my own life this way, at least just for myself. And maybe autofiction isn't quite the right label, maybe observational fiction is more appropriate.
I read it because it was selected for the summer Camp ToB for the Tournament of Books. The audio is only 3.5 hours so the print must be very short.
It feels like Cusk or Levy or anyone who writes short autofiction. It's composed of short slice of life pieces from the point of of view of a woman living in Italy. They form a picture of a whole but I'm not sure how memorable any one piece is. At the same time, as I read this I kept wishing I wrote about my own life this way, at least just for myself. And maybe autofiction isn't quite the right label, maybe observational fiction is more appropriate.
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