I only sort of liked this, so I honestly don't have too much to say about it. It wasn't remarkable, but it wasn't awful.

It basically follows a set of three friends - one women, two men - and examines their relationships, both with each other, and with people from the outside world (mothers, fathers, girlfriends, boyfriends).

It reads almost a little blandly. I suppose you could say it's more of a character study and less about the plot. But then I couldn't say that it was very successful, because I didn't feel connected to any of the characters. They had their moments, but the things they felt and experienced weren't enough to move me emotionally - and I'm a pretty big sap. Even this was a little too sappy and unnecessarily dramatic for me. There's not a lot of joy in this book, so after awhile it feels like the characters are just holding on to each other out of history and obligation. They seem almost afraid to meet new people. Or maybe just lazy.

If you're determined to read it, borrow it. Or buy it used. But if you want a better examination of the dynamic between two men and one woman, read The Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.

Also, has anyone read any of Cunningham's other works? I kind of want to read The Hours, but this makes me a little wary.

This is the "Less than Zero"ish novel of the popular NYC writer, and just like Bret Easton Ellis' depiction of the derelict children of sunny Cali in the 80's, Cunningham encapsulates the latter 80's in the East Village & early 60's, 70's in the stark midwest) with lost souls and unique individuals.

The plot is this: Two guys and a gal play house together because they are (equally?) in love.

Obviously there is more to it, as it differs somewhat from the pretty damn good movie with an additional character Erich (he, not Jonathan, gets AIDS!) & a fourth point of view: that of Alice, the pot smoking desperate housewife (later widow).

This episodic drama is written carefully, it seems, and it sometimes drifts into insane allusions (see: The Hours) while keeping the normalcy so entertaining to behold. The reader mirrors Bobby in that ethereal aspect... one is not alive nor dead following the triplets around. One just IS.

Like I said, this one is an early example of a genius master. My favorite Cunningham is "Specimen Days" which sounds, and is (spectacularly) weird. Here he tries to get something right, and thoroughly succeeds. I like that he is taking another direction currently however, even after all the fame and acclaim garnered by "The Hours". Cunningham is ambitious, and I am yet to be disappointed, though I probably never will*.

* False. See: The Snow Queen

In a time before I first read this novel I was still young enough to believe I was going to have to eventually place myself in one of the many categories that other people seemed to be placing themselves into. Then after I finished reading it and because its characters didn’t fall into any available categories I knew from my small little world, I felt a sudden and overwhelming sense of relief. I suddenly believed I was right and had always been right about the way I despise stereotypes, clichés and the way most people always seem to want to be part of big groups.

n  (...) if you walk around looking like someone other than who you are, you could end up getting the wrong job, the wrong friends, who knows what-all. You could end up with somebody else’s whole life.n

This time after I turned the last page and found myself in love with these characters again, I also realised that I actually despised stereotypes even more fiercely than I did nearly seventeen years ago! However, I was very surprised to find myself feeling exactly the way I did all those years ago; that I still have a life of possibilities ahead of me.

n  We become the stories we tell about ourselves.n

Because strangely, or maybe not, stories filled with melancholy and feelings leading to introspection are always the ones that take me closer to what I believe to be my true self. The real me! It’s not like sadness is what I look for in literature or even in real life. No. What moves me about stories, life itself or people’s lives in general is and always has been their honesty; their capacity to gently and subtly show themselves in a mirror-like kind of way that would reflect or even completely reveal myself and give me a completely new perspective of my life. Because, let’s be truthful, life never seems more beautiful than it does in that moment when we think about the pain we’re not feeling but we know it’s there under our skin ready to strike at any moment. Or when we look at a stunning sunset and let ourselves be carried away by that powerful feeling of certainty that that sense of beauty comes from the fact that moments like that have been happening every single day. Since ever and forever.

Beauty and pain are always going to walk hand in hand.

Art is our anchor.