Month: March 2026

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you can leave the neighbourhood, but not each other

I did not expect My Brilliant Friend to stress me out this much, but the relationship between Lenù and Lila is honestly one of the most obsessive, intense friendships I have ever read about. They both seem to be measuring themselves against each other the whole time. I felt like Lenù, especially, was living her life out for Lila. She shaped herself into the person she became because of Lila and sometimes it felt like she was living for her friend more than for herself.

What really stood out to me was just how much Lenù defines herself through Lila. At one point she says, “I put myself in her place. Or rather, I had made a place for her in me.” (p. 97). That line kinda explains their whole relationship. Lenù admires Lila but also internalizes her. Lila becomes this voice in her head that pushes her to study more, be better, leave the neighbourhood, and prove herself. But at the same time, everything Lenù does still feels like it’s for Lila’s approval, even when Lila isn’t there.

Lenù describes Lila soooo intensely, saying, “I get excited with her, here, at the very moment when she’s speaking to me. What beautiful strong hands she had, what graceful gestures came to her, what looks.” (p. 130). The way she describes Lila is almost romantic, or at least obsessive. She notices every little detail about Lila – her hands, gestures, looks – and it is clear that Lila is the center of Lenù’s world.

When Lenù went to Ischia, I was even more convinced that their friendship and relationship is insane. Lenù finally gets away from the neighbourhood and is free of the stress and problems. This is her chance to experience a different life and learn about herself. While she does do this, Lila’s letter to her makes Lenù completely focused on her again. Even while she was in this different city, she says, “I missed only Lila, Lila who didn’t answer my letters… the fear that, in losing pieces of her life, mine lost intensity and importance.” (p. 211). She is literally talking about how her life only feels important when Lila is a part of it. Even when she finally leaves the neighbourhood, she doesn’t fully leave Lila.

Another thing I liked about this book is how Elena Ferrante writes characters. She honestly does not care about how many characters are there, whether they are important, or whether you can keep track of all the families. She just keeps introducing new people and expects you to deal with it. I think this does make the neighbourhood feel real but I was still constantly flipping back and forth between my current spot and the character list at the front.

Overall, I liked this book wayyy more than I expected to. I got so invested in Lenù and Lila and finished the book in like a day. I’m definitely going to read the rest of the series because I need to know exactly what happens to them in the future too. 10/10 book.

Discussion question: Do you think Lenù and Lila’s friendship is supportive, toxic, or something in between?

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Identity for Sale!!!

One thing that stood out to me most when reading The Book of Chameleons was the idea of identity and how it is seen as something malleable. In the book, identities can be changed, created, or invented from nothing. Félix Ventura’s job is literally creating new identities for his clients. In this way, the book treats identities as a product. Félix’s rich clients come to him, give him a large sum of money, and he creates completely new lives for them. This includes backstories, histories, and memories which turns his clients into completely different and new people. I thought Félix could also be seen as a storyteller. He is described as getting, “pulled along by the force of his own story”. Félix gets fully invested in creating new identities, and in turn, new stories for his clients.

“I create plots, I invent characters, but rather than keeping them trapped in a book I give them life, launching them out into reality.” (p. 68)

When I first started this book, the idea of the narrator being a chameleon (or gecko) was really strange. The gecko sits on a wall, seeing and hearing everything around him without actively being a part of it. He then relays this information back to us and tells us the entire story. Because of this, we see things from an outside perspective. The gecko also becomes a symbol of memory and storytelling as he recounts his own past as a human while telling Félix’s story. In a way, the gecko is like the historian of the novel as he records the lives and identities that Félix creates.

The character of José Buchmann was also very interesting. He buys a new identity from Félix and then becomes obsessed with discovering his past. At one point, Buchmann goes to visit the grave of the father Félix invented for him, and Félix is uncomfortable and worried about this. Félix’s job is to create believable stories, but he doesn’t want clients digging too deeply into the pasts he fabricates because the whole thing could fall apart. Buchmann, however, starts trying to live inside the invented identity rather than just use it socially or politically. This shows that identity is not just about fake documents or stories, but something people actually want authenticity and truth from. It made me think about whether I could completely erase my past and start living as an entirely new person with a whole new identity.

Overall, this novel, for me, is about memory, storytelling, and identity. The characters are constantly making up stories about themselves and others, and these stories become their reality. It made me think about how the history we learn is not always 100% accurate, and can be changed and warped based on who is telling us the story. I think this book is making us think about just how close the line between truth and fiction really is and how identity and history are both things that can be created.

Discussion question: Do you think identity is something fixed, or is it something people can create and change over time like the characters in the novel?

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wait… this counts as romance?

Honestly, this book feels pretty out of place in a romance studies class. The book is based on a real bank robbery and mostly revolves around crime, violence, and a police standoff, so at first glance it doesn’t really feel like a “romance” story at all. But the more I read, the more it started to make sense why this book might appear in a class like this.

The novel follows a group of criminals who rob a truck carrying a huge amount of money and then, they escape to Montevideo. At first, everything seems to be going well. However, eventually the police begin closing in and the group ends up trapped in an apartment while officers surround the building. From this point, the story begins focusing on the tension and paranoia between the characters as they slowly realize their chances of escaping are getting smaller.

One interesting thing about this novel is that it is based on a real crime from 1965. Piglia tries to stay as close to the truth as possible (although he does make up almost all of the backstory for his characters). He spends a lot of time exploring the personalities and psychology of the criminals themselves. The two main characters, often called “the twins,” are especially fascinating. They aren’t actually related, but their relationship is intense and they are almost inseparable. The novel spends a lot of time showing how emotionally dependent they are on each other. I think their relationship almost becomes the closest thing this novel has to a love story. This also adds another layer to the story beyond just the crime.

The book also feels very chaotic. The story moves through different moments and perspectives and makes the whole situation seem very tense and unstable. This style mirrors exactly what the characters are feeling as they are constantly under pressure and unsure of what will happen next. I really liked this style because the chaos made me feel involved in the story and I found myself wondering what I would do in their situation.

The ending was WILD to me. They started burning the stolen money which is diabolical because the whole point of the story was to get rich. At first, I was confused but it actually makes a lot of sense. They knew they would get caught so they went about it thinking, “if I can’t have this money, then no one can.”

At first, Money to Burn did feel kinda out of place in this class but the novel is actually deeply focused on relationships. The intense bond between the Kid and Dorda becomes the emotional centre of the story. The tragic ending also reinforces how inseparable they were. Money to Burn may have been a crime novel, but overall it shows how powerful human connections can be, especially in the middle of violence and chaos.

Discussion question: How does the relationship between the Kid and Dorda change the way we see them as criminals? Does their bond make them more sympathetic?

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When a small detail becomes a big mystery

The Trenchcoat by Norman Manea is probably my favourite reading of the course so far. One reason I liked it was that I was finally able to read a story in one sitting. Lately a lot of the readings have felt extra long so it was nice to sit down and finish a story from beginning to end without stopping. Reading it all at once also made it easier to follow how the tension slowly builds throughout the story.

The story begins with two couples driving to a third couple’s house for a dinner party. At first, everything seems like a normal social evening as the group eats, drinks, and talks, and a lot of the story is made up of their conversations with each other. The characters belong to the same intellectual circle, so the discussion turns into politics, culture, and everyday frustrations. While the dinner seems polite and friendly, there is also a slight uneasy feeling when everyone chats with each other. The conversations don’t completely flow naturally and there seems to be an awareness that certain things cannot be said openly.

The strange detail that drives the story is the discovery of a trenchcoat (or raincoat) that is left hanging in the hallway. No one claims it and no one can fully explain why it’s there. It is also an ordinary trenchcoat and could belong to anyone, which definitely drives up everyone’s uneasiness about it. No one in the novella can stop thinking about this coat.

The coat can be seen as something so insignificant, but it turns into something so much bigger. If you were looking at this story in today’s day and age, it wouldn’t seem like a big deal. But the story takes place in a society where surveillance and informants exist and there are rumours that the secret police – described as “creeps who keep an eye on us all” (239) – have been using residential homes to conduct interrogations. Although the trenchcoat is a simple, ordinary object, the political unrest at the time makes it feel suspicious. The uncertainty surrounding the coat grows into paranoia and the characters start overthinking the entire evening.

The ending passage especially stood out to me. Even long after the dinner party, the characters continue discussing the mystery of the trenchcoat. They come up with different explanations for why it was there and the narrator describes their conversation as animated and passionate which shows how much this ordinary coat has affected their lives. In the end, the mystery of the trenchcoat is never solved and the readers, alongside the characters, have to sit with the uncertainty.

Honestly, by the end, I kind of liked that there was never a clear answer. The trenchcoat might be important or just a random coat someone forgot. But the characters keep thinking about it which shows how easy it is to overthink small things, especially when there’s already a sense of uneasiness in the background. In the end, the mystery sticks with you.

Discussion question: Do unanswered questions reveal hidden truths, or do they just expose our need for explanations?

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When the book reads you back

Reading If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler felt disorienting right from the start. Instead of easing me into a story, Calvino throws you straight into the act of reading itself. He even addresses “you” as if he is watching you open the book and read the first few pages. At first I found it unsettling and kept waiting for the real plot to begin. It felt like I was stuck in the introduction. But the longer I sat with it, the more I realized that confusion was intentional. The book is telling you a story, while also making sure you are a part of the experience.

I usually read the books for this class on my LONG commute to work. What made the opening surreal for me was reading it on my commute, especially when Calvino says, “Now you are on the bus, standing in the crowd, hanging from a strap by your arm… you’re elbowing your neighbors; apologize, at least.” I was literally on the skytrain, holding onto the overhead strap with one hand and my phone in the other. I could feel myself bumping into the people around me as they entered and exited the train and I felt like Calvino was talking directly to me. It was lowkey kinda trippy and felt like the boundary between the story and my own life had disappeared for a moment.

As I kept reading, I realized there isn’t one single plot to follow. Instead, the novel keeps starting new stories that abruptly stop just as they begin to get interesting. One moment you’re in a foggy railway station with a mysterious suitcase, the next you’re in an entirely different narrative voice, setting, and genre. The “Reader” and the “Other Reader,” Ludmilla, try to track down the correct versions of these interrupted novels, turning the search for the rest of the story into the story itself. Rather than building toward one resolution, the book becomes a chain of beginnings, with each one pulling you close and then denying you closure (kinda like a toxic situationship LOL).

At first this felt frustrating, but I started to see why it matters. The interruptions highlight the desire that keeps readers hooked: the need to know what happens next. Calvino seems less interested in finishing stories than in exploring why we crave them in the first place. The novel also plays with questions of authorship, translation, publishing errors, and authenticity, reminding us just how many unseen forces shape what we read.

By the end, it feels like the real subject isn’t any of the unfinished plots, but the relationship between reader and text. The book suggests that reading isn’t passive consumption but an active process shaped by curiosity and imagination. In that sense, the novel isn’t incomplete but about the endless act of reading itself.

Discussion question: If the novel never gives us a complete story, what does Calvino suggest about why we read and our desire for narrative closure?

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