The Rest of Our Lives
Poignant ... Tender ... The final line of The Rest of Our Lives is, by my daytime running lights, this wackadoo year’s best.
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Wry, poignant ... For middle-aged, passive-aggressive men playing out the clock in dismal marriages, reading The Rest of Our Lives may feel like performing open-heart surgery on themselves. But anyone willing to consider the thicket of fears, affections and recriminations that grows through the cracks of a long relationship will find in these pages an almost unbearable tenderness ... Not a heavily plotted novel, but it accrues an irresistible momentum of sympathy ... Devastating.
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Shrewd ... Markovits’s writing is restrained and plainspoken, and it draws us in with the fidelity by which it inhabits Tom’s dejection ... The strict realism runs the risk of drabness; the novel’s title, for instance, is so forgettable that I have had to look it up three times in the writing of this review. But the lack of adornments helps us see Tom laid bare. Stripped of his certainties, he achieves a raw kind of clarity.
