Aciman’s writing transports us to this subliminal space that is our everyday encounters with others, our constant pursuit of love and connection; this stretch of unknown where things are truly 'between always and never.' A reminder of how extraordinary human existence is, if you care enough to notice ... Aciman’s writing is eerie in its ability to make tangible these excruciatingly complex emotions. You read his work and somehow recognize precisely what he is talking about, even with their specifically sticky circumstances. And he writes between always and never with a delicate, determined balance ...
In fact, the concise form of the novella is ideal for his subject matter. As a reader, it would almost feel intrusive to have anything more than a glimpse into these characters’ lives. These extended vignettes lend themselves to the pendulum that is between always and never, or the driving force of everyday existence. With the close of each novella, which comes too soon but also right on time, we are reminded that the pendulum swings back ... Aciman’s choice to explore this form, the novella, is compelling in and of itself. His writing is centered on the strange coincidences of life, random encounters, and the possibility of connection. The fragments of lives that he describes are immediately immersive and transport you to choices you’ve made, opportunities yet to arise ... It is haunting in its ability to remain relatable centuries later, haunting in the deliciously destructive allure of regret
... This book, residing eternally 'between always and never' is a place of opportunity, of hope. Room on the Sea takes you to the space between the mind and the soul, devotion and delusion; it leaves you floating in momentary limitlessness.
Paul and Catherine feel far less embodied than Elio and Oliver. Their sexual encounters are largely sublimated, left in the blank spaces between sections ... Many of the descriptions are perfunctory: the clothes they wear, the food they eat. We are frequently told how charmed they are by each other, an attraction Aciman asks us to take at face value ... Still, one suspects that Aciman knows what he is doing. Transfer Room on the Sea to the screen, cast Patricia Clarkson and Stanley Tucci in the lead roles, and the lack of layered interiority will become less important. And the central question of whether the lovers go to Naples together might have higher stakes.
It’s another of Aciman’s what-if narratives of literate maybe-maybe-not lovers and something of an advert for the charms of New York’s eateries ... A barista called Pirro sweet talks them and the sun continues to shine. This amiable romcom waltz of words—partly innocent, partly conspiratorial—is amusing in a gentle way ... But the tempo increases at an unrealistic pace ... Meanwhile, their partners remain offstage, little more than vague disappointments that justify the courtroom courtship ... Aciman strums his usual chords ... Italy, here seen from both a physical and biographical distance, is outrageously romanticised ... He also delivers more of his stock characters: well-heeled but emotionally and sexually unfulfilled liberal arts graduates, their ennui cushioned by holiday homes, academic tenure and tailored outfits. This can make them hard to like. Paul and Catherine, both in late middle age, have none of the usual indignities of that stage of life ... Room on the Sea is a fantasy within a fantasy—an unlikely last-chance liaison underpinned by daydreams of the Mediterranean—with multiple levels of wishful thinking that might have been insufferable if it weren’t for Aciman’s ability to produce witty and memorable moments ... One can enjoy this short tale rather like one enjoys cannoli: not nourishing perhaps, but certainly moreish.
Aciman explores this electric tension by interrupting his protagonists’ daily routines with, variously, a holiday, jury duty and an academic fellowship ...
I turn to Aciman for his immersive, fluid, lucid language and compelling characterization. Although this new collection left me wanting more of both, there is still much to mull over and admire in it. This trio of stories finds tenderness through intricate repetition while stacking literary references like layers in the napoleon that one of Aciman’s couples share. Aciman’s fans will welcome, as I did, how the triptych picks up his recurrent phrases and themes of attention, longing and chance. Part of the thrill in reading someone as prolific as Aciman lies in recognizing his obsessions. Others will find that Room on the Sea offers a set of languid beach reads, tales that feel like preludes to restorative dreams ... While a few of Paul and Catherine’s musings run long, I enjoyed the sweetness and subtext in their banter ... Aciman captures her sentiment stylistically by the seamless way his third-person point of view switches from Paul to Catherine, sometimes within the same paragraph ... One of this story’s pleasures is how the impromptu paramours draw out long-dormant selves, making up for lost experiences with wide-ranging conversation reminiscent of Richard Linklater’s Before films. Both are grandparents, and theirs is not a courtship that pulls them toward lifelong marriage or children. But if Paul and Catherine wonder about what might have been, Aciman also suggests that lacking traditional goals makes their bond no less meaningful ... Mariana, the most visceral of the novellas, further challenges the degree to which time can serve as a measure of love ...
For those chasing the enthralling elegance that distinguished much of Aciman’s earlier work, the matter-of-fact prose in The Gentleman From Peru might disappoint. Raúl’s stretches of dialogue pursue interesting notions, but they don’t engage enough with the characters around him. The omniscient third-person narrator dips into the minds of several people without sufficiently conveying the inner world of any one person, clipping potential moments of emotional resonance ... Still, the three novellas taken together put forward intriguing ideas about what constitutes connection. Aciman’s appreciation of imperfect, unconventional relationships feels refreshing, even in our unsettled era. Through subtle observations and gentle narrative arcs, he maintains that crushes and heartaches are as urgent as any of the crises that face us. He has a gift for choreographing intimacy. In all three stories, Aciman builds heat slowly, gesture by gesture. Manner, not looks, tends to captivate his characters.
In Room on the Sea, Aciman indulges in his vision of benevolent Italian service laborers with even greater gusto ... Coasting on the success of Call Me by Your Name, Aciman seems content to loaf inside picturesque reveries of this sort. In the hands of a more interesting prose stylist, the meandering could work, but the sentences are as pancake-flat as the plots ... Sifting through Aciman’s enervating procession of gorgeous, sun-dappled days in Italy, I was reminded of the dull feeling one gets toward the end of a holiday, the antsy determination to get back into the action of the everyday. The quotidian friction might seem worse, but it has much to teach us. To stay on vacation forever is to live in heaven, which is not to live at all.
Uneven meditations on aging, regret, and loss ... As Raúl unfurls the mystery of his connection to Margot, though, what might have been a haunting tale is flawed by a convoluted web of coincidence. Similarly, in Room on the Sea, a tender encounter between Paul, a retired lawyer, and Catherine, a soon-to-be-retired psychologist, is undermined by stilted interchanges.
Explores desire and fate among old friends, new acquaintances, and heartbroken lovers ... Aciman eloquently explores the life-changing impact of love ... Dazzling ... And the beauty of it is that they feel it just as much as we do.... Us in others, isn’t this the definition of love?
