[book post] Real Life by Brandon Taylor
Dec. 9th, 2021 03:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
queenluaWow.
I do not think this was the best novel I read in 2021, necessarily, but I think it was the best novel in terms of "how much it affected me, personally" that I read in 2021. As I go back and reread it now, thumbing through the passages, pondering how to write this post, thinking about it analytically, well. It's a debut novel. There are elements that are just flaws, and elements that involve complicated tradeoffs with some serious drawbacks. But it captured such a potent feeling of stuck-ness, of being suffocated by the very air you breathe, of feeling voiceless and inchoately overwhelmed, that I couldn't put the damn thing down until I finished—not in a thriller-page-turner way, just in a miserable I-won't-be-able-to-breathe-again-until-I-come-out-the-other-side sort of way.
So.
The plot, at a surface level, is very simple: it takes place over the course of a single weekend. Wallace is a PhD student in biochemistry, so his weekend is what you'd expect: working in the lab some, going to a dinner with some labmates, maybe an ill-advised tryst, maybe an unanticipated too-real conversation with a friend who's Going Through It, maybe a really fucking uncomfortable encounter with his advisor. Typical grad student shit.
But here's the thing: Wallace's dad died a few weeks ago, and he didn't go to the funeral, and he didn't tell anyone. Why, right? why doesn't he tell anyone? And the whole novel is this sort of slow-rising slow-building tsunami wave of an answer. And it's not any one thing, so much as an accumulation of a billion small things into one big Something. His advisor's not a monster but she's not exactly great. He's the only black student in the program and he's made to feel that, in ways mostly small, and sometimes large, all accumulating into that Something. He didn't love his dad but he knows if he says anything about his dad's passing, people will say things as though he did, and he can't bear that. His friend has a problem and he tries to help but, damnit, that takes time away from his own problems, that big Something.
That Something is most of the book. I found it absolutely, horribly transporting, and in some ways distressingly relatable, and if that intrigues you, you'll like it too. But that's the bulk of it.
Some things Taylor does that I particularly admire in a I-wish-I-could-write-like-that kinda way:
* Once I tried to write a novella based on "the awful moment when you realize all your friends are assholes." Taylor's story isn't exactly that, but it's close enough that I envy quite a bit of his character writing.
* Once, I asked Tumblr if they had any suggestions for stories that capture the feeling of rage really well—of the slow-building, simmering, always-there variety. I asked because I've tried to capture it in my own fiction many times, never to my own satisfaction. Well, I have an answer to my question: this book, oh my god. Taylor knows all the strange textures and flavors anger can take on, even the ones that don't taste or look or feel like anger but definitely are. Masterful.
* If you have ever loved a sad grad student or been a sad grad student this will all ring painfully too-real, haha.
Gripes and quibbles:
* The novel overstays its welcome somewhat; a lot of the stuff after The Dinner Party Scene (which fucking ruled) felt extraneous—belaboring stuff that didn't need to be belabored. It wasn't enough to detract from the overall experience, but I could feel myself slowly ticking it down a star rating as it dragged along, yaknow.
* There's some... weirdly kludgy prose in parts? in a Fancy MFA Program Alumni kinda way? I can't be assed to pull out specific examples, but think in terms of like—metaphors that are so odd or mixed that they cease to be striking and instead feel awkward/confusing/distracting; I was nervous as hell for the first twenty pages or so that I was just going to bounce off the writing. But, once you get to scenes with multiple people involved, the prose evens out hugely, for huge chunks of time—I sort of suspect Taylor's strength is set-piece multi-character scenes, or at least, I think it's clear he enjoys writing them—they're so controlled, so precise, so good. So, jarring at times, but overall good enough for me.
also oh my god do not read the Goodreads reviews so many of them are missing the point so bad
I do not think this was the best novel I read in 2021, necessarily, but I think it was the best novel in terms of "how much it affected me, personally" that I read in 2021. As I go back and reread it now, thumbing through the passages, pondering how to write this post, thinking about it analytically, well. It's a debut novel. There are elements that are just flaws, and elements that involve complicated tradeoffs with some serious drawbacks. But it captured such a potent feeling of stuck-ness, of being suffocated by the very air you breathe, of feeling voiceless and inchoately overwhelmed, that I couldn't put the damn thing down until I finished—not in a thriller-page-turner way, just in a miserable I-won't-be-able-to-breathe-again-until-I-come-out-the-other-side sort of way.
So.
The plot, at a surface level, is very simple: it takes place over the course of a single weekend. Wallace is a PhD student in biochemistry, so his weekend is what you'd expect: working in the lab some, going to a dinner with some labmates, maybe an ill-advised tryst, maybe an unanticipated too-real conversation with a friend who's Going Through It, maybe a really fucking uncomfortable encounter with his advisor. Typical grad student shit.
But here's the thing: Wallace's dad died a few weeks ago, and he didn't go to the funeral, and he didn't tell anyone. Why, right? why doesn't he tell anyone? And the whole novel is this sort of slow-rising slow-building tsunami wave of an answer. And it's not any one thing, so much as an accumulation of a billion small things into one big Something. His advisor's not a monster but she's not exactly great. He's the only black student in the program and he's made to feel that, in ways mostly small, and sometimes large, all accumulating into that Something. He didn't love his dad but he knows if he says anything about his dad's passing, people will say things as though he did, and he can't bear that. His friend has a problem and he tries to help but, damnit, that takes time away from his own problems, that big Something.
That Something is most of the book. I found it absolutely, horribly transporting, and in some ways distressingly relatable, and if that intrigues you, you'll like it too. But that's the bulk of it.
Some things Taylor does that I particularly admire in a I-wish-I-could-write-like-that kinda way:
* Once I tried to write a novella based on "the awful moment when you realize all your friends are assholes." Taylor's story isn't exactly that, but it's close enough that I envy quite a bit of his character writing.
* Once, I asked Tumblr if they had any suggestions for stories that capture the feeling of rage really well—of the slow-building, simmering, always-there variety. I asked because I've tried to capture it in my own fiction many times, never to my own satisfaction. Well, I have an answer to my question: this book, oh my god. Taylor knows all the strange textures and flavors anger can take on, even the ones that don't taste or look or feel like anger but definitely are. Masterful.
* If you have ever loved a sad grad student or been a sad grad student this will all ring painfully too-real, haha.
Gripes and quibbles:
* The novel overstays its welcome somewhat; a lot of the stuff after The Dinner Party Scene (which fucking ruled) felt extraneous—belaboring stuff that didn't need to be belabored. It wasn't enough to detract from the overall experience, but I could feel myself slowly ticking it down a star rating as it dragged along, yaknow.
* There's some... weirdly kludgy prose in parts? in a Fancy MFA Program Alumni kinda way? I can't be assed to pull out specific examples, but think in terms of like—metaphors that are so odd or mixed that they cease to be striking and instead feel awkward/confusing/distracting; I was nervous as hell for the first twenty pages or so that I was just going to bounce off the writing. But, once you get to scenes with multiple people involved, the prose evens out hugely, for huge chunks of time—I sort of suspect Taylor's strength is set-piece multi-character scenes, or at least, I think it's clear he enjoys writing them—they're so controlled, so precise, so good. So, jarring at times, but overall good enough for me.
no subject
Date: 2021-12-09 12:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From: