Vendela Vida's The Lovers

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of Vendela Vida's new novel is the title. Strangely, the only "lovers" exist either in the protagonist's distant memory of Florence or in the suggestion of her landlord's kinky affair with a French mistress. The first of these - a middle-aged, recent widow's story - is reflected in happily coupled strangers, family legends and the woman's children. The second comes to light through a few fetish objects and an ex-wife's gossip.

Vida's strength lies in her ability to create both intimacy and immediacy. The novel is very much a feminine tale: a loving meditation which follows Yvonne (as she is called) through shifting feelings as simple as hunger and fatigue and as complicated as grief and guilt. We experience her terror as the young boy she befriends jumps into a cavernous ruin - and a heated flash of anger when he reappears a moment later, grinning at his own joke. We follow her as she tries to find something to eat in a remote Turkish city and we share her girlish embarrassment as she dons a mail-ordered canary yellow bathing suit.

Our intimacy with Yvonne is especially important when the inevitable tragedy strikes. In the end however, the central conflict is muddled and lost in a sandstorm (quite literally). The heroine is both courageous and ridiculous (perhaps her creator is overly indulgent?) and the resolution in the form of a veritable deus ex machina - however mortal and feminine - is somewhat unsatisfactory.

Still, overall, Vida's descriptions of the landscape and her devotion to Yvonne make for a pleasurable and engaging read. And, although the ending falls short of the glory suggested, it remains a thought-provoking challenge, providing a great deal of insight into the craft of writing itself.

New York Times Review
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