Call Me by Your Name - the book

Andre Aciman

                                             

I just finished Call Me by Your Name - the book. The second time. It almost reduced me to tears. Do I feel uncomfortable about it? Maybe a little and a little confused about my reaction. The book has universal appeal and most of the readers will likely find something in the book that they can relate to. The book about love, the love one longs for and seldom if ever experiences. I could say after the father of Elio “I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way.” Thinking about my life it was just like that. I think I had an inkling that the love can be all-encompassing, uniting people to feeling one when “calling me by your name” is the description of the feeling. All too romantic, all too idealistic, all insensible? So why did I, together with so many people in the world got so moved by the book and the film? At least part of us longs for these ideal feelings. Or regret that they did not experience it.

I wonder what stopped me in the past from giving my all to another person. Was it a lack of the right object to desire and trust? Was is self-protection which equates to lack of courage? Maybe common sense? Too much self-control? Whatever it was I did not go the way Elio went. I know that Elio is just a figment of the imagination of some clever and sensitive men – Andre Aciman, the author, Luca Guadagnini the director of the film and Timothee Salamet – the actor playing Elio. But what they created touched so many nerves and emotions of so many people. There must be more to it than just sentimentality. If fact sentimentality is not what characterizes the book or the film. Just tender and deep feelings expressed masterfully and truthfully.

The people I thank for the beautiful story and feelings. The cast, Guadanino(far right) and Aciman in the middle. Enio is the one in the violet jacket 

                              

What Elio’s father says to his son who had to say goodbye to his lover is often commented on as an object of envy of parents who were not able to be that giving and understanding. One of the reasons why I read the book was to get the words of the father in this particular scene. They go like that:

“You had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their son lands up on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything – what a waste!

I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us cannot help but live as though we got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then there are all those versions in between. But there is only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes the point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now, there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain. “

OK, so I am under the spell of the book and the film. I already ordered a couple of books by Andree Aciman. He is a writer, an academic and a university lecturer on Proust and this is worthwhile exploring as well.  And I will. Some posts will follow, no doubt.

In spite of writing about a book again, I have some life outside my home as well. I have seen the exhibition of Dutch Old Masters in the Sydney Art Gallery. Not too extensive, but some really good examples of the paintings of the time. It was good to take a walk through some green parts of Sydney. Did not move me that much as the book did though. Different pleasure, I guess.