Room on the Sea: Three Novellas
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.
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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.
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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.
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