I have been a fan of André Aciman’s ever since I read Call My By Your Name, as I know is the case with people from all over the globe. But meeting him in the flesh, hearing him talk about his life and his own character, only heightened that feeling of fondness.
From the offset, Aciman was a quieter character – and yet, his voice and how he spoke was formidable. Aciman admitted that he was a solitary man, and led us through his life as he and his family moved from place to place. As a child, he would shut the shutters of the house so he didn’t know that outside, he was in Rome, and there, he would read the classics voraciously. While his brother had friends he could get up to mischief with, and his mother had friends she met at the market, Aciman spent all his time indoors.
Aciman then went on to talk about his identity. Growing up, he felt he had no mother language, but knew everything from English, to Arabic, to Greek, Italian, and French. Born in Alexandria, but having moved to Italy and now living in America, he said that, “I don’t even know who I am”.
It was heartwarming to hear Aciman talk so openly with us – which is when he began to touch on intimacy. He explained that he liked the silence that speaks, that he enjoyed seeing two characters who needed each other, but neither the reader nor the characters were sure when that feeling would surface, and how long it would exist – themes that are prevalent in his novels. Even outside of the realm of books, Aciman spoke wisely about shame’s role in intimacy – “Do you tell each other things you are shameful of?” He described how shame is fundamental and follows you all your life, and to not say you are ashamed of something is a flaw in intimacy.
We moved onto the subject of his writing. He explained that he likes confined literature, and the idea for Call Me By Your Name started with the concept of a house with two people within it. He wanted them to want each other, but didn’t want to make it too easy. Something had to stop them, make them think twice – and that is where Elio and Oliver came in. He hadn’t intended for it to be a homoerotic book, and definitely didn’t intend for it to have the effect on readers as it did.
Aciman told us the story of when he first submitted the book to his agent, and he was prepared to destroy it if it was terrible. But it went something like: “Can you actually sell this thing?”, “Absolutely.” Hearing this author talk about his characters makes you realise how close he holds them to himself, and watching him, you can see them all within him. He said specifically that he loves Elio because all his insecurities are his own.
When questions were being taken, I asked Aciman that, although almost all of his books are written in the first person, his writing voice is incredibly sure of itself, – where did that came from, and how was that cultivated? He told me that his voice is a mixture of style and attitude, with irony thrown in – when you conflate all three, you have the bones of his writing. It’s never the plot but the voice and the attitude that people have when they speak to each other or when they think of themselves. There has to be a sort of double take to the things that you relate.
Overall, it was a lovely event, and I feel that I have a fresh new perspective when I read his novels, now that I have met him personally.
