15. Past Lives is Entirely Responsible for This One.

One of my favourite things to do on a quiet day- preferably during the week- is take myself to the cinema. I’ve said it before and I will continue to say that going to the cinema on your own is the most delightful activity. Delightful, I tell you.

Earlier this week, on one of those quiet days, I went to see Past Lives and it delivered everything I want to see in a film and so much more.

Past Lives moved me in such a way that I was reluctant to leave the cinema for fear that somewhere between the cinema and home, I’d forget what I felt and why I felt it: what all those thoughts about art and creativity, romance and opportunity, vulnerability and intimacy might mean.

Now, some days later, I’m still thinking about it - in particular, the film’s depiction of vulnerability, intimacy and tenderness. I won’t say too much so as not to ruin the experience if you haven’t seen it, but the central characters- each in their own ways- possess a satisfying frankness, which is particularly apparent in the way that they are open enough to take a conversation past the point where pride and fear might prevent any one of us from explicitly communicating how we feel.

This depth of feeling is also conveyed non-verbally just as effectively, with gaze and eye contact between characters utilised so intentionally and intensely: with every look you feel as though you are right there with them, suspended somewhere between reality and possibility, watching with baited breath to see who will blink first.

On the rare occasion that I read a romance novel, a trope I cannot cope with is miscommunication, which typically occurs when the prospective couple decide to exhaust themselves jumping through a thousand hoops of avoidance instead of simply having an open and honest conversation about their feelings. Past Lives, as a romance, was the antithesis of this. This was a love triangle where I unexpectedly felt an affinity towards all parties and found myself wondering what a satisfying conclusion might look like- how they might all come out of this with their hearts intact. But I needn’t have worried; by the end of the film, I could feel the tension and emotion all caught up in my throat and I’m still thinking of those final scenes days later. It is also stunningly captured- a series of delicate, serene images seamlessly connected and the result is a film that feels perfectly romantic in every sense.

As I eventually made my way home, my thoughts turned to books that have had a similar impact and authors who have successfully communicated a tenderness so profound that it left a lasting impression. I wasn’t too concerned with whether this tenderness stemmed from a romantic relationship or any other kind of connection, but I was particularly interested in books where tenderness (and intimacy and vulnerability) are what actually carry and characterise the story rather than serve as a welcome reprieve from a plot that is otherwise violent, tragic or just hard to watch unfold.

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The Books

Discretion by Faïza Guène translated from the French by Sarah Ardizzone (2022)

“O Lord, when death comes for me, may it find my heart in the same state of peace as today…”

Faïza Guène strikes a perfect balance between comedy and every day tragedy in her novels, which often centre the experiences of the Algerian diaspora in France, with a sharp focus on the impact of France’s colonial history, the immigrant experience and the struggle to balance societal expectations with those of your own family.

The novel’s seventy year old protagonist, Yamine, possesses a sweetness of character and a heart that is wide open, and she also feels a deep sense of gratitude towards France and everything she believes the country has given her. This is in stark contrast to her three children’s feelings of anger, unease and general insecurity stemming from the constant questioning of their identity and their right to exist as themselves in the country of their birth. While the differences between the two generations are stark throughout the novel, what Guène ultimately rewards readers with is a beautiful depiction of a mother’s love finally fulfilled.

Foster by Claire Keegan (2022)

“God help you, child, she whispered. ‘If you were mine, I’d never leave you in a house with strangers.’”

A young girl- one of many children- is sent away to live with distant relatives in rural Ireland for the summer as her parents ready themselves for the arrival of another child. There’s a sense that this is a child somewhat deprived of warmth, physical affection and, indeed, tenderness, and her experience over the summer proves so beautifully transformative. A slim volume but one that touched me in ways I didn’t expect and the image the final moment conjured lives in my mind even (close to) a year later.

Still Born by Guadalupe Nettel translated from the Spanish by Rosalind Harvey (2022)

This is a novel with tenderness, vulnerability and intimacy at its very core and coming at you from every direction. As with Discretion, some of it is apparent in the depth of love between a mother and her child but, in a way that is more akin to Keegan’s Foster, it is also evident in the overwhelming tenderness and affection between a woman who, for whatever reason, doesn’t have any children of her own and a child who has appeared in their life unexpectedly.

The friendship between the two central characters- Laura and Alina- and the intimacy they’ve allowed to exist between them is also central to the novel and where much of its emotional impact stems from.

“…‘I’ve got good news’, she told me, ‘and I wanted you to be the first to know.’

She didn’t need to explain any further. I had known her for years and it was enough to hear her tone of voice to know what she was going to tell me. When eventually she pronounced the word ‘pregnant’, my heart leapt in a feeling so close to joy that it threw me.”

Their relationship is the perfect example of what it is to be known and loved well enough by someone that they instinctively understand what you want and need, and also care enough to desire it for you, even if they themselves cannot comprehend it. Just very lovely.

So Long a Letter by Mariam Bâ translated from the French by Modupé Bodé-Thomas (1979)

This semi-autobiographical epistolary novel is written as a letter from recently widowed, Ramtoulaye, to her dearest friend, Aissatou. It is a novel about two women who have found themselves at a similar crossroads and gone in different directions but who find safety and love in each other’s company, even from a distance.

“You have often proved to me the superiority of friendship over love. Time, distance, as well as mutual memories have consolidated our ties and made our children brothers and sisters. Reunited, will we draw up a detailed account of our faded bloom, or will we sow new seeds for new harvests.”

It’s been a while since I last read this one so the thematic similarities between this and Nettel’s Still Born only recently occurred to me but it also makes complete sense that they both moved me in the ways that they did. If you’ve read and enjoyed one of these books but not yet read the other, maybe that wouldn’t be the worst idea…

A Little Luck by Claudia Piñeiro translated from the Spanish by Frances Riddle (2023)

This novel considers the repercussions of a single, life-altering accident and raises a number of questions around the fine line between sacrifice and selfishness, bravery and cowardice, and why some people are seemingly plagued by misfortune while others have all the luck. I know I said I was keen to avoid tragedy, however, I’ll make an exception for this one because, if you’ve read it, I think you’ll understand why I wanted to include it and if you decide to read it on my recommendation, I think you’ll thank me… The tenderness within this story is connected to both romantic and filial love but also to forgiveness and acceptance and, more specifically, how it might feel to be shown enough grace that you can finally emerge from the shadows and allow yourself to believe that a single terrible decision doesn’t make you a terrible person, nor does it render you totally undeserving of happiness.

All this to say that these books are great and so is Past Lives so go and see it if you haven’t already! You’ll be so glad you did.

Until next time, keep well.

Tasnim

P.S. If you enjoyed this letter and you’d like to buy me a coffee, you can do so here x