I absolutely loved the short story collection The Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri, and naturally was keen to try more by her. It’s taken a while, but today I read Whereabouts – first published in Italian in 2018, and translated by the author in 2021. I don’t think I’ve ever read a novel translated by its author before, and it all adds to Lahiri’s exceptional talent.
This novel – as so often in May, I am tempted to add ‘novella?’ as a qualifier – is about an unnamed woman in her mid-40s walking through a city. That is almost the whole plot. The story describes many different days, rather than one, but it is like an eternal moment – whether passing a shop that used to house her favourite stationery store, visiting her grieving mother, or struggling to leave the hosue, we are in a sort of everyday always. There is a sense that her life is unchanging, but she is not trapped, exactly. She is too caught up in observing everything and everyone. It’s one of several ways the book reminded me of On the Calculation of Volume by Solvej Balle. They share the same gentle rhythm, and the same peaceful interaction of a woman with surroundings that she is somehow both subsumed by and separate from. As Ali wrote in her perceptive review, she experiences belonging and isolation simultaneously.
Solitude: it’s become my trade. As it requires a certain discipline, it’s a condition I try to perfect. And yet it plagues me, it weighs on me in spite of my knowing it so well. It’s probably my mother’s influence. She’s always been afraid of being alone and now her life as an old woman torments her, so much that when I call to ask how she’s doing, she just says, I’m very alone. She says she misses having amusing and surprising experiences, this even though she has lots of friends who love her, and a social life far more complicated and lively than mine. The last time I went to visit her, for example, the phone kept ringing. And yet she’s always on edge. I’m not sure why. She’s burdened by the passage of time.
We don’t learn much about the woman’s mother, except for a handful of her stronger emotions and the way she impacts her daughter’s life. But, to be honest, we don’t learn that much about the central character. This didn’t feel like a character portrait, to me – rather, it is a portrait of an experience. Of a city, but really of experiencing a city. Along the way there are snapshots – a daughter refusing to stay the night with her single father; friends rummaging through luggage in the shop that used to sell stationery; an argument at a dinner party. They are brushstrokes coming together to create a single image.
I very much enjoyed reading Whereabouts because it is beautiful, poetic, dreamy. It felt quite different from Interpreter of Maladies, which had sharp details and a depth of insight into the relationship between pairs of people. This was much more impressionistic. Both are done very well – I probably prefer Interpreter of Maladies and the sharp style she has there, but it really depends what you’re in the mood for. Being able t