Book Review: Call Me By Your Name

“I suddenly realized that we were on borrowed time, that time is always borrowed, and that the lending agency exacts its premium precisely when we are least prepared to pay and need to borrow more...”

André  Aciman does his absolute best to piece together this gorgeous tale of first love and the reality of time in his novel, Call Me By Your Name.

I am not an avid reader. I work at a library yet I have continuously reread the same book for years. I hear praises for the worlds current great authors, yet none of them spark me. When I picked up this book it was only because I had heard great things about the film. I never expected to be found in a whirlwind of emotions and feelings I'd never felt. This book stirs such dreadful excitement towards love and a depressing empathy for inevitable change.

Does this book start out slow-moving or do I lack the experience of truly falling for another person so much so that it leads to worship; do I not understand the agonizing phenomenon that is slowly falling in love? While reading I found many descriptions and dialogue pertaining to my own thoughts and emotions. However, as I continued to read I found that the desire and despair I feel cannot compare to that of Elios for Oliver or vice versa. I have not experienced much of what this book incites and so it was difficult for me to finish without completely altering my view on romance and relationships. I was left feeling empty, hopeless, lifeless even. I felt as though I was missing a necessary maturity to rightly interpret the sentiments of this novel.

“Twenty years was yesterday, and yesterday was just earlier this morning, and morning seemed light-years away.” 

Elio is just 17 yet carries more exposure to life than me. He falls so deeply for his father's house guest, a 24-year-old Oliver. Oliver's nonchalant attitude came off unpleasant and his disregard for the outcome of his actions left me discouraged, though his bright side shines through his development.  He was sly but nonetheless apprehensive as the novel reads. Elio expresses his desire for the older man in illuminating means, painting a vibrant picture of how we view those we hold close. Elio longs to caress the pure skin of Oliver's arms; he longs for intimacy on a different level from what he has known. This forceful desire fuels his unexpected and bold actions to turn his fantasies into existence. Once Elio gets what he is craving, he is flooded in a wave of regret for destroying what beautiful and sustained longing he once had; everything had changed from here. He struggles to understand this transition in their relationship; deciding whether or not and how to step back from his hastily made decision to fulfill his ever growing appetite. Despite their newfound intimate relationship they make it a point to let their friendship continue growing. They conceive beautiful memories that each would hold onto long into their lives. Knowing their intimate relationship would remain ephemeral, the men soon realized the reality of fleeting time. Time continues to move forward, the present will soon be in the past. Nothing is truly permanent in our unforgiving world despite how deeply we deny it. Be that as it may, these moments from parallel lives can be relived through memories of past youth.

Amidst the homoerotic plot line underlies an unavoidable truth. Despite the glimmer of hope that memories forever hold a portal to the past, the overall conclusion that time is forever slipping beneath us is a scary one. To put it simply, this book made me depressed. I want to avoid engrossing myself in the idea that one day I will no longer live the life I do now. I fear the future when I fall so hard in love only to have it torn from me by the wrath of time itself.

“Over the years I'd lodged him in the permanent past, my pluperfect lover, put him on ice, stuffed him with memories and mothballs like a hunted ornament confabulating with the ghost of all my evenings. I'd dust him off from time to time and then put him back on the mantelpiece. He no longer belonged to earth or to life. All I was likely to discover at this point wasn't just how distant were the paths we'd taken, it was the measure of loss that was going to strike me--a loss I didn't mind thinking about in abstract terms but which would hurt when stared at in the face, the way nostalgia hurts long after we've stopped thinking of things we lost and may never have cared for.” 

The depression I felt from this book was not a bad emotion to experience. I gained a better understanding and outlook on life and love. Though most of the book was full of unrequited yearning or instant regret from unraveling a familiar emotion, it was a great look at understanding youth and momentary joy while scratching the surface on the importance of friendship within an intimate relationship, and diving into the uneasiness of the past and future.

"Time makes us sentimental. Perhaps, in the end, it is because of time that we suffer."

I'd love to hear any other opinions or reviews on this book!

Indiana Grace