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Acts of Desperation
In the first scene of this provocative gut-punch of a novel, our unnamed narrator meets a magnetic writer named Ciaran and falls, against her better judgment, completely in his power. After a brief, all-consuming romance he abruptly rejects her, sending her into a tailspin of jealous obsession and longing. If he ever comes back to her, she resolves to hang onto him and his love at all costs, even if it destroys her…
Part breathless confession, part lucid critique, Acts of Desperation renders a consciousness split between rebellion and submission, between escaping degradation and eroticizing it, between loving and being lovable. With unsettling, electric precision, Nolan dissects one of life’s most elusive mysteries: Why do we want what we want, and how do we want it?
Heralding the arrival of a stunning new literary talent, Acts of Desperation interrogates the nature of fantasy, desire, and power, challenging us to reckon honestly with our own insatiability.
Part breathless confession, part lucid critique, Acts of Desperation renders a consciousness split between rebellion and submission, between escaping degradation and eroticizing it, between loving and being lovable. With unsettling, electric precision, Nolan dissects one of life’s most elusive mysteries: Why do we want what we want, and how do we want it?
Heralding the arrival of a stunning new literary talent, Acts of Desperation interrogates the nature of fantasy, desire, and power, challenging us to reckon honestly with our own insatiability.
288 pages
First published March 9, 2021
About the author
Megan Nolan
3 books652 followersMegan Nolan was born in 1990 in Waterford, Ireland and is currently based in London. Her essays and reviews have been published by the New York Times, White Review, Guardian and Frieze amongst others. Her debut novel, Acts of Desperation, was published by Jonathan Cape in 2021 and was the recipient of a Betty Trask Award, shortlisted for the Sunday Times Young Writer of the Year Award and longlisted for the Dylan Thomas Prize.
Her second novel, Ordinary Human Failings, will be published by Jonathan Cape in July 2023.
Her second novel, Ordinary Human Failings, will be published by Jonathan Cape in July 2023.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 4,684 reviews
July 24, 2022
Megan Nolan said take a Sally Rooney character but make her worse.
November 14, 2023
Love is complicated.
That could be a comment on this book, both because it's relevant (it's about a toxic relationship) and because it would make sense (I am here, ostensibly, to review it, and therefore any comments I'm making should reasonably be expected to be on the subject of it).
But it's about something more important.
ME.
But I'll bring it back to this book, kind of, eventually. I promise.
When I love something, I usually do so intensely from 8 hours to 2.5 years and then move on. Justin Bieber. Being in college. The idea of adulthood as an abstract concept. The only exceptions to this rule have been books, cookies, and spending immense amounts of time on my laptop.
In this case, the intense love period lasted approximately 70 pages.
At the beginning I couldn't believe this book. The writing was brilliant and exact, almost painful, both in its loveliness and its accuracy to myself in some of the awful things it was depicting. At first I found this to perfectly sum up what it is to be in your early 20s and hate yourself, starve yourself, hurt yourself, and at the end think love will solve all of it.
But I soon lost the thread of the story and the protagonist, and the writing felt further from me in appreciation and in realism too. Everyone knows that I will essentially delete the entirety of a book from my brain if I love the ending, smashing the proverbial 5-star button, but even the end of this couldn't win me back.
I think consent is real, though it's of course complicated, and my path parted from our protagonist's in this way: As she has realized the opposite, my mental-health journey has relied on believing in my ability to say no.
Bottom line: Not every book about a younger woman and an older, handsome, captivating man embarking on an all-encompassing and toxic romance that talks about what it is to be an adult, in a young woman's body, and mentally ill along the way can be Sally Rooney quality!
----------------
pre-review
one of those books that starts out at 5 stars and stays there for a while and just...decreases as time passes.
review to come / 3.5 stars
----------------
currently-reading updates
as always, trying to fill the sally rooney void
----------------
tbr review
when my taste twin tells me a book is "a darker and less hopeful mix of ottessa moshfegh and sally rooney," i sprint to add it to my tbr
That could be a comment on this book, both because it's relevant (it's about a toxic relationship) and because it would make sense (I am here, ostensibly, to review it, and therefore any comments I'm making should reasonably be expected to be on the subject of it).
But it's about something more important.
ME.
But I'll bring it back to this book, kind of, eventually. I promise.
When I love something, I usually do so intensely from 8 hours to 2.5 years and then move on. Justin Bieber. Being in college. The idea of adulthood as an abstract concept. The only exceptions to this rule have been books, cookies, and spending immense amounts of time on my laptop.
In this case, the intense love period lasted approximately 70 pages.
At the beginning I couldn't believe this book. The writing was brilliant and exact, almost painful, both in its loveliness and its accuracy to myself in some of the awful things it was depicting. At first I found this to perfectly sum up what it is to be in your early 20s and hate yourself, starve yourself, hurt yourself, and at the end think love will solve all of it.
But I soon lost the thread of the story and the protagonist, and the writing felt further from me in appreciation and in realism too. Everyone knows that I will essentially delete the entirety of a book from my brain if I love the ending, smashing the proverbial 5-star button, but even the end of this couldn't win me back.
I think consent is real, though it's of course complicated, and my path parted from our protagonist's in this way: As she has realized the opposite, my mental-health journey has relied on believing in my ability to say no.
Bottom line: Not every book about a younger woman and an older, handsome, captivating man embarking on an all-encompassing and toxic romance that talks about what it is to be an adult, in a young woman's body, and mentally ill along the way can be Sally Rooney quality!
----------------
pre-review
one of those books that starts out at 5 stars and stays there for a while and just...decreases as time passes.
review to come / 3.5 stars
----------------
currently-reading updates
as always, trying to fill the sally rooney void
----------------
tbr review
when my taste twin tells me a book is "a darker and less hopeful mix of ottessa moshfegh and sally rooney," i sprint to add it to my tbr
June 10, 2022
just a girly and her short chapters… my perfect book
November 7, 2022
IL PRESENTE È UNA TERRA STRANIERA
Fotografie di Jean Claude Bélégou, autore dello scatto sulla copertina.
Lui ha meno di trent’anni e si chiama Ciaran, nome che si pronuncia in modo ben diverso da come è scritto essendo di origine gaelica: ma è nato in Danimarca, ha vissuto in Norvegia, forse anche in Svezia, è irlandese solo da parte di padre.
Lei ha poco più di vent’anni e rimane senza nome, ma io la chiamerei Megan, come la Nolan, perché è chiaro che la finzione letteraria è intervenuta su materiale molto autobiografico.
Lui è con facilità poco garbato, per usare un eufemismo: le dice che la ama, poi scompare per una settimana, riappare per mollarla brutalmente, poi tre mesi dopo le manda un messaggio per dirle che sente la sua mancanza, e a quel punto vanno a vivere insieme, ognuno cede la sua tana e ne prendono una da condividere…
Lei è gelosa ossessiva, perfino della ragazza con la quale Ciaran ha perso la verginità quindici anni prima. Si capisce presto che è emotivamente instabile, usa il cibo per punirsi o premiarsi, e quindi di conseguenza ingrassa o dimagrisce, sempre parte della punizione o del premio. Nello stesso modo usa l’alcol e il fumo e il sesso, il suo corpo (atti di autolesionismo).
Sono incapace di mentire sui miei sentimenti, è solo che i sentimenti non hanno alcuna coerenza, non rimangono costanti da un’ora all’altra.
Sono giovani: misurano il tempo in giorni e settimane, i mesi per loro sono anni: essere stati insieme una stagione, magari un paio, a quell’età gli appare un’eternità.
E tutto sommato sono come tanti altri: fragili, instabili, insicuri, inquieti. E poi c’è l’amore, che come sempre e da sempre sa rendere chiunque fragile, instabile, insicuro, inquieto.
Nolan mi ha regalato alcune magnifiche pagine dove descrive gli atti di disperazione seguenti alla separazione, vissuta come un abbandono più ancora che come un rifiuto. E chi perdendo un amore non si è sentito disperato?
Atti di disperazione è proprio il titolo originale: quello italiano mi viene da pensare sia stato scelto per cavalcare l’onda, la sottomissione affettiva è tema bollente, ma Megan parla e racconta soprattutto di disperazione, perché anche la sua sottomissione, che lei definisce “voluta arrendevolezza”, è frutto della disperazione (e dell’insicurezza e della…)
Ciaran non avrebbe mai dovuto soffrire scoprendo chi ero veramente: così bisognosa di essere riempita, di essere usata, di compiacere. Sarei stata piccola, sicura, astemia e silenziosa. Avrei imparato l’umiltà e la vera sottomissione, e non solo a fingerle.
Lui non è un mostro, è più che altro una persona “negativa e anaffettiva” come lo definisce lei stessa. È bello, e attraente, e questo aspetto ha la sua notevole pesante importanza: averlo, possederlo, dominarlo attraverso la sottomissione, è qualcosa a cui Megan non riesce a sottrarsi.
Però i campanelli d’allarme ci sono, e quasi da subito: lui è troppo silenzioso nei momenti sbagliati, sa facilmente essere brutale, è negativo e anaffettivo come già detto, è ancora visceralmente legato a un’altra, quella di prima, viene da una famiglia disunita e con inesistente scambio d’affetto e interesse e cura. Dopo qualche mese il sesso comincia a diventare saltuario e meno appassionato: eppure lei nel e col sesso investe parecchio di sé, e quindi, perché rimane così avvinta?
Nolan esibisce una stupefacente lucidità nel suo magma emotivo. Lucidità che vuol dire chiarezza che vuol dire onestà. Parla d’amore, parla di sé: di come cresce, di come evolve. L’amore è una parte del gioco: Megan ha ben più sfaccettature, e in estrema sintesi racconta la sua vita che per lei è ancora una terra straniera.
La pattuglia di giovani irlandesi che raccontano la loro età e il loro tempo si allarga: Sally Rooney, Naoise Dolan e ora Megan Nolan. E questa piccola nazione mi pare sia quasi diventata avanguardia, liberandosi finalmente di quella consistenza di povertà, cattolicesimo bigotto, chiusura. Ora lascia respirare aria frizzante. E libera. E bella.
PS
Unica nota stonata per il mio gusto, oltre il titolo italiano, sono i momenti in cui Nolan si rivolge al pubblico dei suoi lettori usando la seconda persona plurale. È una cosa che trovo insopportabile.
Fotografie di Jean Claude Bélégou, autore dello scatto sulla copertina.
Lui ha meno di trent’anni e si chiama Ciaran, nome che si pronuncia in modo ben diverso da come è scritto essendo di origine gaelica: ma è nato in Danimarca, ha vissuto in Norvegia, forse anche in Svezia, è irlandese solo da parte di padre.
Lei ha poco più di vent’anni e rimane senza nome, ma io la chiamerei Megan, come la Nolan, perché è chiaro che la finzione letteraria è intervenuta su materiale molto autobiografico.
Lui è con facilità poco garbato, per usare un eufemismo: le dice che la ama, poi scompare per una settimana, riappare per mollarla brutalmente, poi tre mesi dopo le manda un messaggio per dirle che sente la sua mancanza, e a quel punto vanno a vivere insieme, ognuno cede la sua tana e ne prendono una da condividere…
Lei è gelosa ossessiva, perfino della ragazza con la quale Ciaran ha perso la verginità quindici anni prima. Si capisce presto che è emotivamente instabile, usa il cibo per punirsi o premiarsi, e quindi di conseguenza ingrassa o dimagrisce, sempre parte della punizione o del premio. Nello stesso modo usa l’alcol e il fumo e il sesso, il suo corpo (atti di autolesionismo).
Sono incapace di mentire sui miei sentimenti, è solo che i sentimenti non hanno alcuna coerenza, non rimangono costanti da un’ora all’altra.
Sono giovani: misurano il tempo in giorni e settimane, i mesi per loro sono anni: essere stati insieme una stagione, magari un paio, a quell’età gli appare un’eternità.
E tutto sommato sono come tanti altri: fragili, instabili, insicuri, inquieti. E poi c’è l’amore, che come sempre e da sempre sa rendere chiunque fragile, instabile, insicuro, inquieto.
Nolan mi ha regalato alcune magnifiche pagine dove descrive gli atti di disperazione seguenti alla separazione, vissuta come un abbandono più ancora che come un rifiuto. E chi perdendo un amore non si è sentito disperato?
Atti di disperazione è proprio il titolo originale: quello italiano mi viene da pensare sia stato scelto per cavalcare l’onda, la sottomissione affettiva è tema bollente, ma Megan parla e racconta soprattutto di disperazione, perché anche la sua sottomissione, che lei definisce “voluta arrendevolezza”, è frutto della disperazione (e dell’insicurezza e della…)
Ciaran non avrebbe mai dovuto soffrire scoprendo chi ero veramente: così bisognosa di essere riempita, di essere usata, di compiacere. Sarei stata piccola, sicura, astemia e silenziosa. Avrei imparato l’umiltà e la vera sottomissione, e non solo a fingerle.
Lui non è un mostro, è più che altro una persona “negativa e anaffettiva” come lo definisce lei stessa. È bello, e attraente, e questo aspetto ha la sua notevole pesante importanza: averlo, possederlo, dominarlo attraverso la sottomissione, è qualcosa a cui Megan non riesce a sottrarsi.
Però i campanelli d’allarme ci sono, e quasi da subito: lui è troppo silenzioso nei momenti sbagliati, sa facilmente essere brutale, è negativo e anaffettivo come già detto, è ancora visceralmente legato a un’altra, quella di prima, viene da una famiglia disunita e con inesistente scambio d’affetto e interesse e cura. Dopo qualche mese il sesso comincia a diventare saltuario e meno appassionato: eppure lei nel e col sesso investe parecchio di sé, e quindi, perché rimane così avvinta?
Nolan esibisce una stupefacente lucidità nel suo magma emotivo. Lucidità che vuol dire chiarezza che vuol dire onestà. Parla d’amore, parla di sé: di come cresce, di come evolve. L’amore è una parte del gioco: Megan ha ben più sfaccettature, e in estrema sintesi racconta la sua vita che per lei è ancora una terra straniera.
La pattuglia di giovani irlandesi che raccontano la loro età e il loro tempo si allarga: Sally Rooney, Naoise Dolan e ora Megan Nolan. E questa piccola nazione mi pare sia quasi diventata avanguardia, liberandosi finalmente di quella consistenza di povertà, cattolicesimo bigotto, chiusura. Ora lascia respirare aria frizzante. E libera. E bella.
PS
Unica nota stonata per il mio gusto, oltre il titolo italiano, sono i momenti in cui Nolan si rivolge al pubblico dei suoi lettori usando la seconda persona plurale. È una cosa che trovo insopportabile.
January 6, 2022
in its simplest sense acts of desperation is about the toxic, all-consuming relationship between an unnamed twenty-something narrator and ciaran, an aloof but beautiful writer whom she meets during an art gallery opening. their relationship moves fast, burns bright, and becomes increasingly intense, which consequently sends the narrator into a further tailspin of self-destruction. aside from the compelling story itself, what i found the most striking about this book was its unflinching, raw, and oftentimes uncomfortable depiction of what it’s like to be a woman.
the book’s narrator (who is probably left unnamed for this very reason) largely functions as a mirror to reflect the complexities of the female experience, and more specifically, female desire and female suffering. both our narrator and nolan, it seems, reject the idea that female suffering is pretty or virtuous, that female pain is something we must all just accept, and even embrace, as part of life. instead, female suffering is highlighted for its inherent ugliness, but yet nolan still considers our tendency to seek out and even romanticise our own suffering.
one form of the narrator’s suffering stems from the toxic relationship she’s found herself in, however throughout the novel she remains compulsively dedicated to pleasing the man she’s with, and also just men in general, examining the desperate (hence the title) depths that a young, struggling woman will plummet to in order to find a sense of self-worth. after all, where else have women historically been taught to find a sense of self if not in their romantic relationships, in their role as girlfriend or wife? the narrator is clearly desperate for love and to be loved, but her desperation seems to speak to something deeper - perhaps the female urge to simply feel seen, to be perceived as a person, a whole being, instead of just the sum of parts that women are often reduced to.
along with being one of the most painfully relatable books i’ve read in a while, it’s also one of the most compelling and impressive debuts that i’ve read. if you’re a fan of writers like sally rooney, naoise dolan, or ottessa moshfegh, then i definitely recommend this one.
the book’s narrator (who is probably left unnamed for this very reason) largely functions as a mirror to reflect the complexities of the female experience, and more specifically, female desire and female suffering. both our narrator and nolan, it seems, reject the idea that female suffering is pretty or virtuous, that female pain is something we must all just accept, and even embrace, as part of life. instead, female suffering is highlighted for its inherent ugliness, but yet nolan still considers our tendency to seek out and even romanticise our own suffering.
one form of the narrator’s suffering stems from the toxic relationship she’s found herself in, however throughout the novel she remains compulsively dedicated to pleasing the man she’s with, and also just men in general, examining the desperate (hence the title) depths that a young, struggling woman will plummet to in order to find a sense of self-worth. after all, where else have women historically been taught to find a sense of self if not in their romantic relationships, in their role as girlfriend or wife? the narrator is clearly desperate for love and to be loved, but her desperation seems to speak to something deeper - perhaps the female urge to simply feel seen, to be perceived as a person, a whole being, instead of just the sum of parts that women are often reduced to.
along with being one of the most painfully relatable books i’ve read in a while, it’s also one of the most compelling and impressive debuts that i’ve read. if you’re a fan of writers like sally rooney, naoise dolan, or ottessa moshfegh, then i definitely recommend this one.
January 16, 2021
this book made me feel very sad and lonely. four stars
April 29, 2022
"I made mistakes like this all the time, seeking affirmation from the very worst people, so that what I must have been after deep down was confirmation of the fears instead of their dismissals"
i am absolutely convinced that you do not need to love or to root for the main character(s) to enjoy a book. the only condition is that the author does it intentionally and does it well and i must say that Megan Nolan understood the assignement to say the least 😌
would i enjoy being in company of such awful people ? absolutely not, not in a million years but it isn't the point !! or well it kind of is but you get what i mean :)
truthfully the the only place i would want to meet them would be the waiting room of a therapist because God knows they need it 😃 ( and i probably need it too tbh )
nothing about this story is romantic, both characters have extremely distorted visions of what love and affection are supposed to look like : we have on one part an unnamed narrator who engages in obsessive conducts to be loved and on the other part an incredibly cold man, Ciaran, who seems unable to provide her with even the most elementary bit of affection.
it was visceral, raw and dark, very much so even, but it still felt real nonetheless which makes this story so compelling. i struggled to put this book down because of how engrossed i was in it and the shortness of the chapters sure helped a lot achieve this ! i can have the attention span of a goldfish sometimes so this was very welcomed.
the part about eating disorders resonated with me in a way i wish it didn’t *cough cough* but hey i liked it and it felt really honest.
if you need one more thing to convince you (or to discourage you, but then i probably don't like you very much 🤨), this felt like a Sally Rooney book but on a little more than two bottles of wine and maybe some lines of coke
i am absolutely convinced that you do not need to love or to root for the main character(s) to enjoy a book. the only condition is that the author does it intentionally and does it well and i must say that Megan Nolan understood the assignement to say the least 😌
would i enjoy being in company of such awful people ? absolutely not, not in a million years but it isn't the point !! or well it kind of is but you get what i mean :)
truthfully the the only place i would want to meet them would be the waiting room of a therapist because God knows they need it 😃 ( and i probably need it too tbh )
nothing about this story is romantic, both characters have extremely distorted visions of what love and affection are supposed to look like : we have on one part an unnamed narrator who engages in obsessive conducts to be loved and on the other part an incredibly cold man, Ciaran, who seems unable to provide her with even the most elementary bit of affection.
it was visceral, raw and dark, very much so even, but it still felt real nonetheless which makes this story so compelling. i struggled to put this book down because of how engrossed i was in it and the shortness of the chapters sure helped a lot achieve this ! i can have the attention span of a goldfish sometimes so this was very welcomed.
the part about eating disorders resonated with me in a way i wish it didn’t *cough cough* but hey i liked it and it felt really honest.
if you need one more thing to convince you (or to discourage you, but then i probably don't like you very much 🤨), this felt like a Sally Rooney book but on a little more than two bottles of wine and maybe some lines of coke
October 12, 2021
Horrible girl meets horrible boy. They do horrible things to each other. It’s his fault.
February 3, 2022
Longlisted for the 2022 Dylan Thomas Prize
Now included in the influential annual Observer first novelist article.
As well as reading literary fiction I am also a weekly reader of the UK political weekly “New Statesman”. Until recently I also read “The Spectator” for balance – but a paper which employs as columnists Toby Young and James Delingpole and published Mary Wakefield’s infamous article on her husband’s apparently London based illness is currently unreadable.
One of the columnists in the New Statesman is Megan Nolan – who writes very engaging but also forthrightly honest fortnightly articles on her life, sex, relationships and (more recently) the impact of lockdown on a single person.
I was therefore intrigued to read this her first novel – one that is perhaps painfully unflinching rather than just forthrightly honest, in its portrayal of a toxic relationship and what drives a young woman to stay in it.
The author has written in the Guardian that she was inspired by reading the works of Karl Ove Knausgård – which she first came across in 2015 in an article by him that “Writing is a way of getting rid of shame” – which addressed her own struggles (pun intended)
She goes on to say how she read almost exclusively his “My Struggle” sextet when writing this novel, writing she started when living for a period in Greece “alone and in heartbreak, reflecting on the affairs of the last few years that had left me so totally ravaged.” and how
The author I was most reminded of when reading this novel was actually Gwendoline Riley – although the narrator here (unlike I think in Riley’s books) is someone who genuinely loves the emotional affirmative properties and clear rules of love, and the physical affirmation of sex.
The book is narrated in an intense first person voice by a young woman living in Ireland. At the time single and outwardly hedonistic, she is inwardly and privately tortured – excessive drinking is the one thing that ties her life together. The book starts in 2012 when she meets, and is immediately struck by, and quickly forms a volatile relationship with Ciaran (half Irish and half Danish). Ciaran is an art critic in Denmark, but during a spell in Ireland visiting his sick father, he writes reviews for a magazine while trying to compose his own essays.
Ciaran is a distant person – he has lost his sense of taste and smell (in a childhood car accident – not COVID) and his resulting concentration om food as fuel seems to match his unengaged and detached attitude to much of his life, his emotional disengagement with the narrator (their relationship is very one-sided in this respect) and his disinterest in her friends – something which together with their clear distrust of his treatment of her, drives her apart from them.
From there we are part of the narrator’s intense examination of the relationship – the ways in which she often abases herself (sometimes emotionally and sometimes literally and physically) to Ciaran when he either disapproves of her (her neediness, her past relationships, her drinking and general lack of looking after herself physically) or perhaps equally impactfully distances himself from her (again sometimes emotionally and sometimes physically during relationship breaks). We also get the story of her pre-Ciaran history – her vulnerability, other seemingly exploitative relationships, her drinking and self-harming.
The book is at times a very painful and draining read – like her friends the reader despairs of her not walking away from the repeating toxicity of the relationship – especially as Ciaran, for all his jealousy of the narrator, makes no pretence of the intensity of his relationship with a previous long term girlfriend Freja with whom he remains in almost constant contact.
Some of the sections are written a number of years later, by the narrator in Greece, reflecting on the relationship with some distance – and these both provide real deep insight but also I found respite for the reader from the intensity of the main narrative.
Overall I found it a difficult and painful read – perhaps even more so as the father of three near-teenage or teenage daughters. Perhaps it was no surprise that the character that I identified with was the narrator’s Father (‘Everything’s OK,’ he said. ‘And if it’s not, we’ll take care of it and then it will be.’) with perhaps the hope that my daughters will always be able to say
My thanks to Random House UK, Jonathan Cape for an ARC via NetGalley.
I do not understand what I do; for I don’t do what I would like to do, but instead do what I hate. What an unhappy man I am. Who will rescue me from this body that is taking me to death?
–Romans 7:15–25
That night after meeting Ciaran I drank until I vomited and blood vessels beneath and above my eyes burst, and I traced them gently in the mirror, knowing they would be markers of a beginning.
Events that were objectively worse than what was to follow with Ciaran had taken place in my earlier adulthood, sordid checkpoints of the wounded woman. I cannot speak about these things too soon because their names alone summon like a charm the disinterest of an enlightened reader.
Now included in the influential annual Observer first novelist article.
As well as reading literary fiction I am also a weekly reader of the UK political weekly “New Statesman”. Until recently I also read “The Spectator” for balance – but a paper which employs as columnists Toby Young and James Delingpole and published Mary Wakefield’s infamous article on her husband’s apparently London based illness is currently unreadable.
One of the columnists in the New Statesman is Megan Nolan – who writes very engaging but also forthrightly honest fortnightly articles on her life, sex, relationships and (more recently) the impact of lockdown on a single person.
I was therefore intrigued to read this her first novel – one that is perhaps painfully unflinching rather than just forthrightly honest, in its portrayal of a toxic relationship and what drives a young woman to stay in it.
The author has written in the Guardian that she was inspired by reading the works of Karl Ove Knausgård – which she first came across in 2015 in an article by him that “Writing is a way of getting rid of shame” – which addressed her own struggles (pun intended)
I had at that time begun to write essays, which I hoped were literary in style but which felt cripplingly, humiliatingly feminine in their subject matter – unlovely accounts of abortion and sexual jealousy, and the abjection of being a woman who desires men. I was struggling towards something, an avoidance of villains and heroes, victors and losers, and a rejection of the idea that female pain was pretty or somehow inherently virtuous. I had the feeling that there was something there worth striving toward, but the embarrassment and, yes, the shame, was holding me back.
She goes on to say how she read almost exclusively his “My Struggle” sextet when writing this novel, writing she started when living for a period in Greece “alone and in heartbreak, reflecting on the affairs of the last few years that had left me so totally ravaged.” and how
The grandiosity of his project, its completism, provided me with much-needed permission to go into the emotional minutiae I find most interesting and yet have feared all my writing life is trivial, unintellectual and altogether too feminine. It turned out I needed this great chronicler of masculinity to set me free.
The author I was most reminded of when reading this novel was actually Gwendoline Riley – although the narrator here (unlike I think in Riley’s books) is someone who genuinely loves the emotional affirmative properties and clear rules of love, and the physical affirmation of sex.
The book is narrated in an intense first person voice by a young woman living in Ireland. At the time single and outwardly hedonistic, she is inwardly and privately tortured – excessive drinking is the one thing that ties her life together. The book starts in 2012 when she meets, and is immediately struck by, and quickly forms a volatile relationship with Ciaran (half Irish and half Danish). Ciaran is an art critic in Denmark, but during a spell in Ireland visiting his sick father, he writes reviews for a magazine while trying to compose his own essays.
Ciaran is a distant person – he has lost his sense of taste and smell (in a childhood car accident – not COVID) and his resulting concentration om food as fuel seems to match his unengaged and detached attitude to much of his life, his emotional disengagement with the narrator (their relationship is very one-sided in this respect) and his disinterest in her friends – something which together with their clear distrust of his treatment of her, drives her apart from them.
From there we are part of the narrator’s intense examination of the relationship – the ways in which she often abases herself (sometimes emotionally and sometimes literally and physically) to Ciaran when he either disapproves of her (her neediness, her past relationships, her drinking and general lack of looking after herself physically) or perhaps equally impactfully distances himself from her (again sometimes emotionally and sometimes physically during relationship breaks). We also get the story of her pre-Ciaran history – her vulnerability, other seemingly exploitative relationships, her drinking and self-harming.
The book is at times a very painful and draining read – like her friends the reader despairs of her not walking away from the repeating toxicity of the relationship – especially as Ciaran, for all his jealousy of the narrator, makes no pretence of the intensity of his relationship with a previous long term girlfriend Freja with whom he remains in almost constant contact.
Some of the sections are written a number of years later, by the narrator in Greece, reflecting on the relationship with some distance – and these both provide real deep insight but also I found respite for the reader from the intensity of the main narrative.
Overall I found it a difficult and painful read – perhaps even more so as the father of three near-teenage or teenage daughters. Perhaps it was no surprise that the character that I identified with was the narrator’s Father (‘Everything’s OK,’ he said. ‘And if it’s not, we’ll take care of it and then it will be.’) with perhaps the hope that my daughters will always be able to say
I had so missed listening to him say this thing, this thing he had always said to me throughout my life, in a million different ways. He had always said it, and I had always listened, always believed it, no matter how terrible the thing I was enduring.
My thanks to Random House UK, Jonathan Cape for an ARC via NetGalley.
April 16, 2022
i’m going to say something controversial… i’m starting to lose interest in ‘plight of being a woman in your 20-30s’ literary fiction.
these self-destructive narrators, popularizes by the likes of ‘fleabag’ and sally rooney, have gone from witty and relatable to generic and reductive. the same concepts get recycled through the romanticization-of-melancholia literary zeitgeist, adding absolutely nothing interesting or dynamic to the conversation.
the lack of productivity within the novel is definitely a side effect of its epistolary narration. the short vignettes felt like an emotional mirage — each time you thought you were coming up on it, boom, the chapter is over.
i enjoy the novels in this genre that have some form of perseverance and self-reliance (eg. such a fun age, luster, writers and lovers), but lately most iterations feel morally and thematically stagnant. ‘acts of desperation’ is no exception. while i do empathize with the narrator’s disposition, the scenario is quite contrived.
my favorite parts of the novel were, of course, the non-central themes of familial problems and disordered eating. those were the only elements that felt unfeigned.
also… ending the story in 2015 when the 2019 “present day” is an active voice in the book… why?? it feels very abrupt.
these self-destructive narrators, popularizes by the likes of ‘fleabag’ and sally rooney, have gone from witty and relatable to generic and reductive. the same concepts get recycled through the romanticization-of-melancholia literary zeitgeist, adding absolutely nothing interesting or dynamic to the conversation.
the lack of productivity within the novel is definitely a side effect of its epistolary narration. the short vignettes felt like an emotional mirage — each time you thought you were coming up on it, boom, the chapter is over.
i enjoy the novels in this genre that have some form of perseverance and self-reliance (eg. such a fun age, luster, writers and lovers), but lately most iterations feel morally and thematically stagnant. ‘acts of desperation’ is no exception. while i do empathize with the narrator’s disposition, the scenario is quite contrived.
my favorite parts of the novel were, of course, the non-central themes of familial problems and disordered eating. those were the only elements that felt unfeigned.
also… ending the story in 2015 when the 2019 “present day” is an active voice in the book… why?? it feels very abrupt.
December 16, 2022
actual rating: 3.5 stars
December 2, 2021
What an intimate and dark story of obsession, toxic relationships, and, well, desperation. Before I forget, you need to know this book delves into many dark topics, so there are possible triggers.
Megan’s Nolan’s Acts of Desperation digs deep into an unnamed narrator’s internal monologue and struggle within herself and with a deeply toxic relationship she has with a man who is absolutely cruel and unkind among many other things.
It wasn’t easy to read due to the content, and I definitely wasn’t expecting it to be because I knew it was going to be dark. The writing is powerful and smooth. In the end, this introspective novel brought out all my emotions with its realness and insight, and I’m grateful I read it.
I received a gifted copy from the publisher.
Many of my reviews can also be found on my blog: www.jennifertarheelreader.com and instagram: www.instagram.com/tarheelreader
Megan’s Nolan’s Acts of Desperation digs deep into an unnamed narrator’s internal monologue and struggle within herself and with a deeply toxic relationship she has with a man who is absolutely cruel and unkind among many other things.
It wasn’t easy to read due to the content, and I definitely wasn’t expecting it to be because I knew it was going to be dark. The writing is powerful and smooth. In the end, this introspective novel brought out all my emotions with its realness and insight, and I’m grateful I read it.
I received a gifted copy from the publisher.
Many of my reviews can also be found on my blog: www.jennifertarheelreader.com and instagram: www.instagram.com/tarheelreader
January 19, 2021
She alone could see all the reservoirs of need that existed in me and would never stop spilling out, ruining all they touched, and she didn't hate me for them, but felt sorry for me
My, this is intense. Nolan has written a book about lives which are messed up and complex, and has done it with empathy, smartness and no judgement. Reading this makes me realise how one-dimensional if, nonetheless, important so many single-issue books are whether dealing with abusive relationships, self-harm, alcoholism, body image or addiction. Nolan's narrator suffers from them all, rolling them up into a single needy character who is, yet, seemingly functioning not unsuccessfully in her social world.
This is a beautifully nuanced book which avoids the obvious in lots of ways: abusive relationships might be about neither straightforward physical nor emotional abuse, and the lines between abused and abuser more wavery and involving more complicity than we might realise. Both Ciaran and the narrator are troubled in their own ways and their relationship is as much one of co-dependency as it is of asymmetrical power hierarchies.
Along the way, there are moments of acute analysis on, for example, the extent to which the cover of 'art' may enable and legitimate misogynistic cruelty; or how concepts of 'female desire' might still be contaminated by, and be responses to, centuries of patriarchal authorship on 'what women want'; or how victimhood may be mobilised in varying ways.
But this kind of acute intellectual underpinning never swamps the story which is compulsively gripping throughout. Not a book for anyone unprepared to be dealt disturbing and emotionally vexed material - but I found it bold, courageous and fluent.
Many thanks to Random House/Vintage for an ARC via NetGalley
September 22, 2021
Shirley MacLaine gave a notable interview in which she said that during the Hays code era – when sex couldn’t be shown onscreen – women were allowed to play all sorts of roles. Then the Hays code was rescinded, women were shown in the bedroom, and ‘we’ve been in the bedroom ever since’.
When I think of the current crop of female writers, both in the literary fiction genre and the memoir genre (which seem to be, snh, bleeding into one another these days), I think of MacLaine’s hot take. At one point Nolan describes the fact that rape is not considered to be ‘sex’ in the usual sense of the world as ‘fashionable’. What is fashionable is to talk about women’s bodies and how they are abused. Some of the most intentionally disquieting description in this book comes from the scenes where Nolan describes having coercive sex with a string of interchangeable male characters. However, such is the moral vacuum in which this type of book is written, I have no idea how Nolan wants me to feel about this. Obviously it’s terrible that she, and I, and every woman we know, has had this happen to them. But … what now?
I asked my friend who enjoyed this book (and who enjoys these types of books). She said it was comforting to see herself reflected in the pages, to feel herself not alone in these feelings. I just don’t think that’s enough. I’m on the side of Oscar Wilde and Louisa May Alcott; I think books should have morals in them. I don’t think, in fact, that it’s a choice – if you don’t put a moral in, one will be imposed. I want to hear about the world Nolan et al envision to replace this one. I want a blueprint for how to get there. When I read books like this, I just feel mired in the mud.
“He seemed somehow pre-historic, still-becoming, an animal not yet ready to exist, with whom there is no point in being disappointed.”
Or, you know, you could treat men as people, and expect them to do better.
That is certainly a my trash/not my trash issue – my friend had exactly the opposite feeling, and contended that books with my favourite things (morals, redemption, hope punk) could make her feel mired in the mud. What’s not a ‘my trash’ issue is the writing quality, which is middling at best. This is very clearly Nolan’s own diaries, tossed into book form with the lightest of edits. At times Nolan veers into a personal essay cul-de-sac. What differentiates a novel from an essay is that it’s specific, not general. You can make some general claims, but it has to be through the lens of a specific character’s opinions or experiences. Otherwise it just reads like frantic space-filling, for example with not terribly original analyses of topics like every-day sexism.
The pet cat anecdote was good, but the ‘stiff as new cardboard’ line, while a good metaphor, detracts from the overall scene. I also liked her ‘platonic ideal’ of Nolan's parents getting back together, revived when they meet annually on the narrator’s birthday. That’s the sum total of what I liked.
Ciaran himself is clearly an amalgam of one of the many not-very-nice men she’s encountered, plus a few weirdly- and overly-unique traits (like being Danish* and having no sense of smell). There’s absolutely nothing that differentiates him qualitatively from Rueben, Noel, or Mark. Much has been made in the reviews of his anger and control issues**, but to be quite honest, I feel these were equalled, if not exacerbated, by the narrator’s alcoholism, self-pity, and narcissicism. If I had to live with this awful person, I too would be inclined to extend her the silent treatment now and again.
*I also deeply resent her assertion that ‘no one that beautiful’ can possibly be Irish, hence Ciaran’s mixed ancestry. Like … Cillian Murphy? Jonathan Rhys Meyers? Michael Fassbender? Colin Farrell? Colin Morgan? ANDREW SCOTT? No? Okay.
**Nolan also frames Ciaran’s stinginess as a fatal flaw, when in fact it’s just him being Northern European. Hello? They’re all like that? Parsimonious Presbyterians holding the monetary union together with their inborn austerity, etc.
People yelp on a lot these days about ‘unlikeable’ characters, especially unlikeable female characters. What they really mean is they like reading about hot people being intermittently sarcastic and a little callous when the plot calls for it. This narrator is truly unlikeable. Hot people being sarcastic is a good time, this … is not.
“His body would become a site of prayer for me, a place where I could forget about my own living flesh and be only with his. It was a thing of total pleasure, total beauty.”
Total lacking? Go to therapy, woman.
“ ‘Ciaran,’ he said, and then, as though having read my mind, ‘though it’s only my father who’s Irish – I’m Danish.’”
This is a deeply weird thing to say to a stranger.
“ ‘It’s just that with art I never feel on a sure footing. With other things, I have some knowledge I can discuss them in terms of*. With this sort of thing, I could say anything at all about it. I have no frame of reference.”
This is so incredibly dumb. It’s called art history. Read a book. Frame of reference: done. Would you say the same thing about a history museum or a military installation? ‘I have no frame of reference’ WELL GET ONE.
*Good GOD this is awful phraseology.
“I was always calculating with scientific precision the relative beauty of the people I wanted to be with, and would steer clear of the ones who exceeded me too greatly.”
Big mood, but on the other hand, the entire premise of this book is that Ciaran is the most beautiful man in the entire country…? Unfortunately, sticking with a premise would require this book to have an actual, y'know, story.
When I think of the current crop of female writers, both in the literary fiction genre and the memoir genre (which seem to be, snh, bleeding into one another these days), I think of MacLaine’s hot take. At one point Nolan describes the fact that rape is not considered to be ‘sex’ in the usual sense of the world as ‘fashionable’. What is fashionable is to talk about women’s bodies and how they are abused. Some of the most intentionally disquieting description in this book comes from the scenes where Nolan describes having coercive sex with a string of interchangeable male characters. However, such is the moral vacuum in which this type of book is written, I have no idea how Nolan wants me to feel about this. Obviously it’s terrible that she, and I, and every woman we know, has had this happen to them. But … what now?
I asked my friend who enjoyed this book (and who enjoys these types of books). She said it was comforting to see herself reflected in the pages, to feel herself not alone in these feelings. I just don’t think that’s enough. I’m on the side of Oscar Wilde and Louisa May Alcott; I think books should have morals in them. I don’t think, in fact, that it’s a choice – if you don’t put a moral in, one will be imposed. I want to hear about the world Nolan et al envision to replace this one. I want a blueprint for how to get there. When I read books like this, I just feel mired in the mud.
“He seemed somehow pre-historic, still-becoming, an animal not yet ready to exist, with whom there is no point in being disappointed.”
Or, you know, you could treat men as people, and expect them to do better.
That is certainly a my trash/not my trash issue – my friend had exactly the opposite feeling, and contended that books with my favourite things (morals, redemption, hope punk) could make her feel mired in the mud. What’s not a ‘my trash’ issue is the writing quality, which is middling at best. This is very clearly Nolan’s own diaries, tossed into book form with the lightest of edits. At times Nolan veers into a personal essay cul-de-sac. What differentiates a novel from an essay is that it’s specific, not general. You can make some general claims, but it has to be through the lens of a specific character’s opinions or experiences. Otherwise it just reads like frantic space-filling, for example with not terribly original analyses of topics like every-day sexism.
The pet cat anecdote was good, but the ‘stiff as new cardboard’ line, while a good metaphor, detracts from the overall scene. I also liked her ‘platonic ideal’ of Nolan's parents getting back together, revived when they meet annually on the narrator’s birthday. That’s the sum total of what I liked.
Ciaran himself is clearly an amalgam of one of the many not-very-nice men she’s encountered, plus a few weirdly- and overly-unique traits (like being Danish* and having no sense of smell). There’s absolutely nothing that differentiates him qualitatively from Rueben, Noel, or Mark. Much has been made in the reviews of his anger and control issues**, but to be quite honest, I feel these were equalled, if not exacerbated, by the narrator’s alcoholism, self-pity, and narcissicism. If I had to live with this awful person, I too would be inclined to extend her the silent treatment now and again.
*I also deeply resent her assertion that ‘no one that beautiful’ can possibly be Irish, hence Ciaran’s mixed ancestry. Like … Cillian Murphy? Jonathan Rhys Meyers? Michael Fassbender? Colin Farrell? Colin Morgan? ANDREW SCOTT? No? Okay.
**Nolan also frames Ciaran’s stinginess as a fatal flaw, when in fact it’s just him being Northern European. Hello? They’re all like that? Parsimonious Presbyterians holding the monetary union together with their inborn austerity, etc.
People yelp on a lot these days about ‘unlikeable’ characters, especially unlikeable female characters. What they really mean is they like reading about hot people being intermittently sarcastic and a little callous when the plot calls for it. This narrator is truly unlikeable. Hot people being sarcastic is a good time, this … is not.
“His body would become a site of prayer for me, a place where I could forget about my own living flesh and be only with his. It was a thing of total pleasure, total beauty.”
Total lacking? Go to therapy, woman.
“ ‘Ciaran,’ he said, and then, as though having read my mind, ‘though it’s only my father who’s Irish – I’m Danish.’”
This is a deeply weird thing to say to a stranger.
“ ‘It’s just that with art I never feel on a sure footing. With other things, I have some knowledge I can discuss them in terms of*. With this sort of thing, I could say anything at all about it. I have no frame of reference.”
This is so incredibly dumb. It’s called art history. Read a book. Frame of reference: done. Would you say the same thing about a history museum or a military installation? ‘I have no frame of reference’ WELL GET ONE.
*Good GOD this is awful phraseology.
“I was always calculating with scientific precision the relative beauty of the people I wanted to be with, and would steer clear of the ones who exceeded me too greatly.”
Big mood, but on the other hand, the entire premise of this book is that Ciaran is the most beautiful man in the entire country…? Unfortunately, sticking with a premise would require this book to have an actual, y'know, story.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 8, 2024
Era da un po' di tempo che giravo intorno a questo libro, insicura sul fatto di riuscire a leggerlo senza avere la sensazione di essere protagonista della storia....ecco, non sono riuscita a scindere la sua storia dalla mia, anche se non sono mai arrivata ai livelli di autolesionismo di Megan!
Difficile raccontare tutto questo senza che la gente ti giudichi o compatisca, difficile far comprendere agli altri e a se stessi che un amore, pur sbagliato che sia, sia quell' amore che credi di volere, credi di averne bisogno.
Fa male leggere certe storie, fa male perché c'è qualcun altro che vive le tue stesse emozioni, le tue stesse ansie, paure e insicurezze, ma che allo stesso tempo sa quello che vuole e che quello che vuole é sbagliato.
«Non so perché sono fatta nel modo in cui sono fatta. Non so perché ho bisogno di essere picchiata, ferita e umiliata in questo modo. Non ho alcuna consapevolezza delle mie ragioni. Ma è semplicemente vero che voglio queste cose e che Ciaran non sembra interessato a darmele».
"Pensavo che l’amore di un uomo mi avrebbe riempito così tanto che non avrei più avuto bisogno di bere, mangiare, tagliarmi o fare di nuovo qualsiasi altra cosa al mio corpo. Pensavo che se ne sarebbe fatto carico al posto mio"
Una storia di alcol, abusi, violenze volute e non, autolesionismo, tristezza interiore e un sacco di altri "brutti" sentimenti
Leggere e riflettere, provare a percorrere la strada verso una "riabilitazione", consapevole del fatto che sia difficile.
Brutte o belle che siano le nostre esperienze, sono comunque nostre, ci definiscono, ci rendono chi siamo.
Difficile raccontare tutto questo senza che la gente ti giudichi o compatisca, difficile far comprendere agli altri e a se stessi che un amore, pur sbagliato che sia, sia quell' amore che credi di volere, credi di averne bisogno.
Fa male leggere certe storie, fa male perché c'è qualcun altro che vive le tue stesse emozioni, le tue stesse ansie, paure e insicurezze, ma che allo stesso tempo sa quello che vuole e che quello che vuole é sbagliato.
«Non so perché sono fatta nel modo in cui sono fatta. Non so perché ho bisogno di essere picchiata, ferita e umiliata in questo modo. Non ho alcuna consapevolezza delle mie ragioni. Ma è semplicemente vero che voglio queste cose e che Ciaran non sembra interessato a darmele».
"Pensavo che l’amore di un uomo mi avrebbe riempito così tanto che non avrei più avuto bisogno di bere, mangiare, tagliarmi o fare di nuovo qualsiasi altra cosa al mio corpo. Pensavo che se ne sarebbe fatto carico al posto mio"
Una storia di alcol, abusi, violenze volute e non, autolesionismo, tristezza interiore e un sacco di altri "brutti" sentimenti
Leggere e riflettere, provare a percorrere la strada verso una "riabilitazione", consapevole del fatto che sia difficile.
Brutte o belle che siano le nostre esperienze, sono comunque nostre, ci definiscono, ci rendono chi siamo.
Shelved as 'wishlist'
April 20, 2023Hi my name is Nenia and I only read literary fiction if it's about depressed and messy sadgirls
April 19, 2021
2.5 Stars
Megan Nolan is definitely an author with something to say - it’s just unfortunate she chose to say exact the same thing as another up-and-comer . . . .
Not long ago everything used to be touted as the “next Gone Girl.” Now it seems everyone is releasing the next Sally Rooney. Again, this isn’t a bad book and Nolan certainly has some writing chops, but it pales in comparison in a very apples vs. apples type of situation with its obvious inspiration. The emotion isn't quite there, the relationship isn't fleshed out and the characters are pretty one-dimensional. I’ll just have to wait for her sophomore novel to see if she has anything original to say. Toxic relationships and self harm - who’d a thunk that would have such mass appeal!
ARC provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review.
Megan Nolan is definitely an author with something to say - it’s just unfortunate she chose to say exact the same thing as another up-and-comer . . . .
Not long ago everything used to be touted as the “next Gone Girl.” Now it seems everyone is releasing the next Sally Rooney. Again, this isn’t a bad book and Nolan certainly has some writing chops, but it pales in comparison in a very apples vs. apples type of situation with its obvious inspiration. The emotion isn't quite there, the relationship isn't fleshed out and the characters are pretty one-dimensional. I’ll just have to wait for her sophomore novel to see if she has anything original to say. Toxic relationships and self harm - who’d a thunk that would have such mass appeal!
ARC provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review.
March 1, 2024
This book will make you hate beautiful people even more for how privileged they are, especially if you happen to date one. This makes it even more interesting that you will hate the protagonist, who is in a relationship with a beautiful man, even harder.
And that's okay. Without hate, sometimes there is no love.
"In these moments, I am happy with my ugliness and want them to see it. Whatever badness I am, I want to be it, to be as much like whatever my self is as possible; as far from the stranger's projection as possible."
And that's okay. Without hate, sometimes there is no love.
"In these moments, I am happy with my ugliness and want them to see it. Whatever badness I am, I want to be it, to be as much like whatever my self is as possible; as far from the stranger's projection as possible."
February 23, 2022
2 Stars
I, well... didn't like this. It's a very well-written book but the characters and story I didn't enjoy one bit. Our toxic narrator (who is never named), abuses alcohol and sex, meets a toxic man named Ciaran who is manipulative, cold, and hung up over his cheating ex. This book was sad and not in a "loving to broken" way but in a "you're a mess, need help, & therapy" way. This book ultimately follows their very unhealthy relationship.
Each character has all of the worst human traits & qualities that I at least, personally, try to avoid in people. Ciaran insights our narrator's desperate acts but I don't entirely think it's solely from him as they both need some serious work in the being a decent human being department. She struggles a lot mentally and physically, which made the downward spiral come fairly easy for her character. In the most simplest of ways to describe this book is what the feeling of emptiness leads to.
This book discusses addiction, grief, sexual assault, harassment, eating disorders, obsessive acts, manipulation, and makes the read entirely a discomfort.
As infuriating as this book was to read, not every book needs a turnaround moment within characters but these two sure needed one.
I, well... didn't like this. It's a very well-written book but the characters and story I didn't enjoy one bit. Our toxic narrator (who is never named), abuses alcohol and sex, meets a toxic man named Ciaran who is manipulative, cold, and hung up over his cheating ex. This book was sad and not in a "loving to broken" way but in a "you're a mess, need help, & therapy" way. This book ultimately follows their very unhealthy relationship.
Each character has all of the worst human traits & qualities that I at least, personally, try to avoid in people. Ciaran insights our narrator's desperate acts but I don't entirely think it's solely from him as they both need some serious work in the being a decent human being department. She struggles a lot mentally and physically, which made the downward spiral come fairly easy for her character. In the most simplest of ways to describe this book is what the feeling of emptiness leads to.
This book discusses addiction, grief, sexual assault, harassment, eating disorders, obsessive acts, manipulation, and makes the read entirely a discomfort.
As infuriating as this book was to read, not every book needs a turnaround moment within characters but these two sure needed one.
August 28, 2022
someone bring me some super glue because i am in pieces
unhinged women's internal monologue might be one of my favorite genres. This novel perfectly expresses what it feels like to want to be loved by a man. My best friend and I were on the phone discussing this for hours, and yet I still think about this to this day.
at this point, just bury me with this book
PSA: this book made it to my golden books shelf, Megan no pressure but I'm anxiously awaiting for the next one
unhinged women's internal monologue might be one of my favorite genres. This novel perfectly expresses what it feels like to want to be loved by a man. My best friend and I were on the phone discussing this for hours, and yet I still think about this to this day.
at this point, just bury me with this book
PSA: this book made it to my golden books shelf, Megan no pressure but I'm anxiously awaiting for the next one
January 8, 2021
Reading this was one of those wonderful, revelatory experiences where you know you’re experiencing something truly special. You just know this is going to be big.
It’s taut and self-reflexive and measured and chaotic. Reading this narration is the closest I have felt to seeing parts of myself in modern fiction and being truly known.
Perhaps most amazingly given the sheer volume of stories about women who love men, this was the best window I’ve ever had as a lesbian into that framework of desire. Nothing I’ve read has really caught all the messy grey areas I see in my friends’ experiences or the inherent contradictions that can rise from their desires and impulses.
It’s really, really fucking good.
It’s taut and self-reflexive and measured and chaotic. Reading this narration is the closest I have felt to seeing parts of myself in modern fiction and being truly known.
Perhaps most amazingly given the sheer volume of stories about women who love men, this was the best window I’ve ever had as a lesbian into that framework of desire. Nothing I’ve read has really caught all the messy grey areas I see in my friends’ experiences or the inherent contradictions that can rise from their desires and impulses.
It’s really, really fucking good.
July 6, 2023
desperately need litfic writers to get out of my head
this would have left me for dead three years ago and the fact that i'm not a mess right now proves that i'm doing better than i thought - so good for me honestly
this would have left me for dead three years ago and the fact that i'm not a mess right now proves that i'm doing better than i thought - so good for me honestly
September 27, 2022
Mam wrażenie, że wszystkie irlandzkie książki są o tym samym. To dobra proza - szczera, przejmująca, prowokująca. Ale ile można czytać o toksycznych relacjach i coming-of-age historiach dwudziestokilkulatków, którzy podejmują złe decyzje, przejawiają autodestrukcyjne zachowania i zmagają się z początkowymi etapami uzależnień? Sięgając po irlandzką literaturę nie mam już ochoty na kolejną Sally Rooney, brakuje mi w tym wszystkim powiewu świeżości. Chciałabym się zachwycić "Aktami desperacji", bo to naprawdę solidny debiut, ale nie mogę się oprzeć wrażeniu, że już to wcześniej czytałam - kilkukrotnie.
December 4, 2021
audiobook - 4 stars
Story - 2.5 stars
Story - 2.5 stars
Read
June 23, 2022Possible new fav of the year
September 30, 2021
Quanto tossico può essere un amore?
Qual è il confine tra amore e ossessione?
Megan Nolan si racconta e si mette a nudo e scrive del suo amore tossico con Ciaran.
"Si può amare qualcuno senza conoscerlo, o conoscendolo solo di vista? Come posso descrivere quanto mi è successo senza usare la parola “amore”?"
Quante probabilità ha una donna che ha vissuto in una famiglia impregnata da amori tossici a riuscire a vivere amori sani? Non riprodurrà instancabilmente amori nocivi, fino a quando non guarirà dalle ferite del passato?
Di questo racconto autobiografico ci sono delle pagine che trovo illuminanti e che hanno dato un'interpretazione nuova a tutte le altre pagine del libro: Megan aveva nove anni (era ancora una bambina) e nel cuore della notte per dodici volte (almeno così ricorda) ha visto, senza essere vista, gli amanti ora di un genitore ora di un'altra nudi.
Ora non voglio fare l'analista, perché non è nelle mie competenze, ma credo che il fulcro del disamore verso se stessa affondi le radici in quelle visioni notturne.
"Era anche bello accontentare la parte di me che pensava ardentemente che noi tre saremmo tornati uniti – non era uno scenario che desideravo in alcun modo pragmatico, ma uno a cui pensavo negli stessi termini astratti con cui pensavo a Dio e al paradiso, irreali ma sacri. Non volevo che mia madre lasciasse Stíofán, che supplicasse mio padre di riprenderla con sé e che tornassero a vivere nella stessa casa; volevo solo un blando ideale platonico di noi come famiglia. Mi veniva in mente quando pensavo alla morte: se fossi stata sul punto di morire, avrei voluto stare con loro due, mangiare come la famiglia che eravamo un tempo, per sentirmi in pace e integra un’ultima volta."
Il racconto dei suoi non-amori fornisce una serie di spie che mettono in guardia su cosa amore non è: tutte quelle sottili manipolazioni che obbligano uno a stare con l'altro, le suppliche e le scuse, la mancata fusione, il tradimento continuo.
"Quando qualcuno ha bisogno di te, anche solo un poco–ha bisogno di piacerti o essere amato da te–, vedere la sua debolezza è straniante e respingente. È brutto ma è vero. Non è giusto ma è così. Quando ami una persona queste cose non sono nulla, o sono anche amabili in sé e per sé. Ma quando non la ami, ti tormentano. L’umanità della persona è rivelata troppo presto, prima che tu riesca a perdonargliela con l’amore. Lì ho capito che Ciaran non mi aveva amato. Perlomeno non mi amava nel modo giusto, un modo che avesse a che fare con chi ero."
Mille mila volte, Megan è annegata nell'alcol, si è fatta a brandelli per punirsi nella speranza di trovare chi si gettasse ai suoi piedi per supplicarla di non farsi del male. Ha girovagato da un amante all'altro, da un amore all'altro, fino ad arrivare a capire che l'unica che doveva supplicare era se stessa. Doveva ritornare al mare per capirlo. Doveva nuotare a lungo fino a sfinirsi, fino a diventare un tutt'uno con l'acqua per capire che lei sa anche essere forte e che può essere felice, profondamente felice: "Ero felice, come sono sempre in mare, l’unico posto che abbia mai trovato in cui il mio corpo mi sembra naturale, mio e usato secondo il suo scopo. Non ho peso ma non perdo consistenza. Sono sempre certa di cosa il mio corpo debba fare lì. Mi sento come una foca, il grasso che di solito odio in acqua diventa lucente e normale, il mio corpo inelegante qui sa essere forte."
Megan rivelandosi e disvelandosi, finalmente, riesce ad aprire e liberare il suo cuore: "Dentro di me succedevano cose per cui non c’erano parole, o ce n’erano troppe–cose così semplici che sembrava infantile addirittura pensarci, ma a cui per molto tempo non ero riuscita a pensare. Cose come il cielo arancione pastello che mi stava spaccando, aprendo e liberando il cuore come quando ero adolescente."
Qual è il confine tra amore e ossessione?
Megan Nolan si racconta e si mette a nudo e scrive del suo amore tossico con Ciaran.
"Si può amare qualcuno senza conoscerlo, o conoscendolo solo di vista? Come posso descrivere quanto mi è successo senza usare la parola “amore”?"
Quante probabilità ha una donna che ha vissuto in una famiglia impregnata da amori tossici a riuscire a vivere amori sani? Non riprodurrà instancabilmente amori nocivi, fino a quando non guarirà dalle ferite del passato?
Di questo racconto autobiografico ci sono delle pagine che trovo illuminanti e che hanno dato un'interpretazione nuova a tutte le altre pagine del libro: Megan aveva nove anni (era ancora una bambina) e nel cuore della notte per dodici volte (almeno così ricorda) ha visto, senza essere vista, gli amanti ora di un genitore ora di un'altra nudi.
Ora non voglio fare l'analista, perché non è nelle mie competenze, ma credo che il fulcro del disamore verso se stessa affondi le radici in quelle visioni notturne.
"Era anche bello accontentare la parte di me che pensava ardentemente che noi tre saremmo tornati uniti – non era uno scenario che desideravo in alcun modo pragmatico, ma uno a cui pensavo negli stessi termini astratti con cui pensavo a Dio e al paradiso, irreali ma sacri. Non volevo che mia madre lasciasse Stíofán, che supplicasse mio padre di riprenderla con sé e che tornassero a vivere nella stessa casa; volevo solo un blando ideale platonico di noi come famiglia. Mi veniva in mente quando pensavo alla morte: se fossi stata sul punto di morire, avrei voluto stare con loro due, mangiare come la famiglia che eravamo un tempo, per sentirmi in pace e integra un’ultima volta."
Il racconto dei suoi non-amori fornisce una serie di spie che mettono in guardia su cosa amore non è: tutte quelle sottili manipolazioni che obbligano uno a stare con l'altro, le suppliche e le scuse, la mancata fusione, il tradimento continuo.
"Quando qualcuno ha bisogno di te, anche solo un poco–ha bisogno di piacerti o essere amato da te–, vedere la sua debolezza è straniante e respingente. È brutto ma è vero. Non è giusto ma è così. Quando ami una persona queste cose non sono nulla, o sono anche amabili in sé e per sé. Ma quando non la ami, ti tormentano. L’umanità della persona è rivelata troppo presto, prima che tu riesca a perdonargliela con l’amore. Lì ho capito che Ciaran non mi aveva amato. Perlomeno non mi amava nel modo giusto, un modo che avesse a che fare con chi ero."
Mille mila volte, Megan è annegata nell'alcol, si è fatta a brandelli per punirsi nella speranza di trovare chi si gettasse ai suoi piedi per supplicarla di non farsi del male. Ha girovagato da un amante all'altro, da un amore all'altro, fino ad arrivare a capire che l'unica che doveva supplicare era se stessa. Doveva ritornare al mare per capirlo. Doveva nuotare a lungo fino a sfinirsi, fino a diventare un tutt'uno con l'acqua per capire che lei sa anche essere forte e che può essere felice, profondamente felice: "Ero felice, come sono sempre in mare, l’unico posto che abbia mai trovato in cui il mio corpo mi sembra naturale, mio e usato secondo il suo scopo. Non ho peso ma non perdo consistenza. Sono sempre certa di cosa il mio corpo debba fare lì. Mi sento come una foca, il grasso che di solito odio in acqua diventa lucente e normale, il mio corpo inelegante qui sa essere forte."
Megan rivelandosi e disvelandosi, finalmente, riesce ad aprire e liberare il suo cuore: "Dentro di me succedevano cose per cui non c’erano parole, o ce n’erano troppe–cose così semplici che sembrava infantile addirittura pensarci, ma a cui per molto tempo non ero riuscita a pensare. Cose come il cielo arancione pastello che mi stava spaccando, aprendo e liberando il cuore come quando ero adolescente."
February 23, 2022
It is a truth universally acknowledged that any novel by a young Irish woman will only and ever be compared to Sally Rooney … but that works in Nolan’s favour. I would certainly call this a readalike to Rooney’s first two books, but there’s an added psychological intensity here.
A young woman reflects on an obsessive affair that she began in Dublin in April 2012. Was it love at first sight for her with Ciaran? No, actually, it was more like pity: “The first time I saw him, I pitied him terribly,” the novel opens. “I stood in that gallery and felt not only sexual attraction (which I was aware of, dimly, as background noise) but what I can only describe as grave and troubling pity.” That doesn’t bode well now, does it?
Ciaran is an insecure, hot-tempered magazine writer. He’s also still half in love with his ex-girlfriend, Freja, whom he left behind in Copenhagen, and our narrator (an underemployed would-be writer) feels she has to fight for his attention and affections. She has body issues and drinks too much, but she’s addicted to love, and sex specifically, as much as to alcohol.
A central on-again, off-again relationship is hardly a new subject for fiction, but I admired Nolan’s work for its sharp insights into the psyche of an emotionally fragile young woman whose frantic search for someone to value her leads her into masochistic behaviours. Brief looks back at the events of 2012–14 from a present storyline set in Athens in 2019 create helpful hindsight yet reveal how much she still struggles to affirm her self-worth.
The short chapters are like freeze-frames, concentrated bursts of passion that will resonate even if the characters’ specific situations do not. And it’s not all despair and damage; there are beautiful moments here, too, like the sweet habit they had of buying an apple each and then just walking around town for a cheap outing – the source of the cover image. I marked passage after passage, but will share just a couple:
Even if you’re burnt out on what a blogging friend dubs “disaster woman” books, make an exception for this potent story of self-sabotage and -recovery. Especially if you’re a fan of Emma Jane Unsworth, The Inland Sea by Madeleine Watts, and, yes, Sally Rooney.
I read this after its shortlisting for the Charlotte Aitken Trust/Sunday Times Young Writer of the Year Award, as well as its longlisting for the Dylan Thomas Prize.
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
A young woman reflects on an obsessive affair that she began in Dublin in April 2012. Was it love at first sight for her with Ciaran? No, actually, it was more like pity: “The first time I saw him, I pitied him terribly,” the novel opens. “I stood in that gallery and felt not only sexual attraction (which I was aware of, dimly, as background noise) but what I can only describe as grave and troubling pity.” That doesn’t bode well now, does it?
Ciaran is an insecure, hot-tempered magazine writer. He’s also still half in love with his ex-girlfriend, Freja, whom he left behind in Copenhagen, and our narrator (an underemployed would-be writer) feels she has to fight for his attention and affections. She has body issues and drinks too much, but she’s addicted to love, and sex specifically, as much as to alcohol.
A central on-again, off-again relationship is hardly a new subject for fiction, but I admired Nolan’s work for its sharp insights into the psyche of an emotionally fragile young woman whose frantic search for someone to value her leads her into masochistic behaviours. Brief looks back at the events of 2012–14 from a present storyline set in Athens in 2019 create helpful hindsight yet reveal how much she still struggles to affirm her self-worth.
The short chapters are like freeze-frames, concentrated bursts of passion that will resonate even if the characters’ specific situations do not. And it’s not all despair and damage; there are beautiful moments here, too, like the sweet habit they had of buying an apple each and then just walking around town for a cheap outing – the source of the cover image. I marked passage after passage, but will share just a couple:
How impoverished my internal life had become, the scrabbling for a token of love from somebody who didn’t want to offer it.
I was taking away his ability to live without me easily. I subbed his rent, I cooked his food, I cleaned his clothes, so that one day soon there would come a time when he could no longer remember how he had ever done without me, and could not imagine doing so ever again.
Even if you’re burnt out on what a blogging friend dubs “disaster woman” books, make an exception for this potent story of self-sabotage and -recovery. Especially if you’re a fan of Emma Jane Unsworth, The Inland Sea by Madeleine Watts, and, yes, Sally Rooney.
I read this after its shortlisting for the Charlotte Aitken Trust/Sunday Times Young Writer of the Year Award, as well as its longlisting for the Dylan Thomas Prize.
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
February 13, 2023
did not understand her fascination with a man who barely showers, sweats like a pig, and smells sour.
July 12, 2022
ABSOLUTELY PERFECT
March 9, 2021
I read this in a day, I couldn’t put it down. What an intoxicating read.
I feel that it hits home hard with anyone who has been in an emotionally abusive relationship and is a borderline love obsessive. I found myself relating to a lot of what Nolan’s narrator confessed and experienced, my heart ached for her and I was routing for her to find herself (fortunately by the end she did). Some sentences that Nolan created will stick with me for a long time and it made me reflect on a lot of my experiences and my friends experiences, I think a lot of girls would benefit from reading this book.
Nolan is obviously a very talented author and I can’t wait to read more of her work. What a fantastic debut. I particularly enjoyed her structure of fragmented chapters and time dates. I found that I was reading through it in a much more fluid and organic way, rather than tackling a block of words. Likewise, I enjoyed the sentence structure and her descriptions of things that aren’t tangible such as love and the other countless emotions that are explored in this novel. I liked that the character was very real. Nolan did not shy away from showing her flaws and her errors, she took responsibility for her actions, yet this is what made me fall in love with her more.
What I didn’t like was the nonchalant mentions of cutting and eating disorders, I feel that a lot of 21st century authors just bang them in to make the main character more multifaceted or quirky. But to not have them come to a conclusion or an explanation as to why they begun- I think it becomes more of a fetish piece or a romanticisation rather than an author recognising mental illness in a correct way. I think Nolan definitely explored narcissism, emotional abuse, physical abuse and love addiction. So, I think to add cutting and eating disorders wasn’t actually necessary and would have hit home just as hard without them. That’s what knocked this down a star for me.
Overall, a very good debut and a very good story. I think it will impact those who have experienced something similar more than others, but I encourage people to give it a go to try and understand why victims don’t just ‘walk away’ or ‘see it coming’ or ‘just say no.’
I feel that it hits home hard with anyone who has been in an emotionally abusive relationship and is a borderline love obsessive. I found myself relating to a lot of what Nolan’s narrator confessed and experienced, my heart ached for her and I was routing for her to find herself (fortunately by the end she did). Some sentences that Nolan created will stick with me for a long time and it made me reflect on a lot of my experiences and my friends experiences, I think a lot of girls would benefit from reading this book.
Nolan is obviously a very talented author and I can’t wait to read more of her work. What a fantastic debut. I particularly enjoyed her structure of fragmented chapters and time dates. I found that I was reading through it in a much more fluid and organic way, rather than tackling a block of words. Likewise, I enjoyed the sentence structure and her descriptions of things that aren’t tangible such as love and the other countless emotions that are explored in this novel. I liked that the character was very real. Nolan did not shy away from showing her flaws and her errors, she took responsibility for her actions, yet this is what made me fall in love with her more.
What I didn’t like was the nonchalant mentions of cutting and eating disorders, I feel that a lot of 21st century authors just bang them in to make the main character more multifaceted or quirky. But to not have them come to a conclusion or an explanation as to why they begun- I think it becomes more of a fetish piece or a romanticisation rather than an author recognising mental illness in a correct way. I think Nolan definitely explored narcissism, emotional abuse, physical abuse and love addiction. So, I think to add cutting and eating disorders wasn’t actually necessary and would have hit home just as hard without them. That’s what knocked this down a star for me.
Overall, a very good debut and a very good story. I think it will impact those who have experienced something similar more than others, but I encourage people to give it a go to try and understand why victims don’t just ‘walk away’ or ‘see it coming’ or ‘just say no.’
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