So when she periodically has to leave London to go to Dublin for her studies, it shatters this routine he’s so used to. I felt his frustration, constantly going from this genuine intimacy and security to physical separation every few months for him (and every few pages for me). 

What I haven’t yet mentioned is that it’s written in the second person. You. I’ll give an example: 

“She reaches for your hand, and you take it, fitting together like this is an everyday”

I would have thought that this “you” would lead to more distance between the narrator and his actions, and a closeness between me and the narrator. Instead, it was more like the opposite. It’s really strange because, you never get to know either of their names.  And you read and read about this person, with these emotions and thoughts, and then suddenly, one passage sneaks in, in which you finally hear him speak out loud, in the first person. You get to hear his real voice, and I was almost taken aback a little because I didn’t expect such an energetic expression when so far, I’d been reading the narrator’s description of his life in very beautifully written prose. So yeah, some weird dissonance because of this whole “you” thing. But overall, I enjoyed it, and it came across purposeful. The whole book’s writing came across very purposeful. 

I wish I had had the patience to savour each carefully chosen, and set-up metaphor, which I’m sure returned later to create some beautiful imagery, but I’ll admit I wasn’t always bothered to properly tackle some of those large chunks of text. 

I don’t know how other readers feel, but when someone asks me what I think about a book I’ve read (usually Ambre, usually because she wants to borrow it), my first instinct is to compare it to my other reads, and my favourite reads. For the last few months that has meant me infiltrating Sorrow and Bliss into every conversation about books.  The point that I’m tryinf to make is the following: I’ve been reading 1st person books written from a female perspective for several months now. And I Love Them. So it was a little strange reading a (seemingly straight) man in his early twenties talk in such an emotionally cognisant way about his relationship with a woman. They are rarely this introspective in real life. Before someone calls me a misandrist, I guess what I really mean is they’re rarely given the space to show this emotionality or introspection in public. Or taught to do so.

It is therefore both refreshing, and difficult to believe, to read a young adult man actually think about his relationship with a woman this deeply. And a fully fleshed out, complex woman to boot.