Intimacy

I can still so clearly remember the afternoon I first read the Hanif Kureishi story that became INTIMACY---in the New Yorker in 1997 or 1998---and how I was so elated by it that I phoned an editor friend in another city who, like me, was a single mother whose children were officially grown up (but still trying to grow up) just as we were two women who were officially grown up (but still trying to grow up) and although we both belonged to a category of readers who should despise this book (women who've sometimes had a rough time in their relationships with sexually charismatic men) we just couldn't stop talking about it and singing its praises. But we didn't have to want a man like this in our lives (not any more, we didn't) to value that kind of man's incarnation as a character in an extraordinary novel. It's true that when INTIMACY was first published in Britain, it ignited a firestorm in both Kureishi's family and in the press, with one of its many critics denouncing it as "this short, odious book." And it's also true that INTIMACY'S narrator, Jay (a scriptwriter) is wilful, childish, narcissistic and wild. And, yes, odious too; he even does the occasional parent-teacher interview in his "latest favourite suit, on acid" and even though he's the father of very young children he keeps Ecstasy, LSD, and an old bottle of amyl nitrate in the fridge. But he's also a man who is tender, introspective, witty, and exuberantly honest. Herein lies the book's reckless charm and elating momentum. INTIMACY also joins a long line of 20th-century novels that tell the story of men leaving home, beginning with the husband in John Updike's Too Far to Go, a man who, before leaving his wife and children, repairs hinges and latches: "a Houdini making things snug before his escape..." In novels by Richard Stern and Bernard Malamud and any number of other male writers on the theme of men who are also ambivalently on the run, the women being left behind are dark-haired, enduring, and sexually withholding, while the mistresses are fair-haired, adoring, and quick to offer sexual comfort. These blondes travel with a vast array of cosmetic and herbal supplies; in the case of Jay's mistress Nina--a shrewdly wistful phantom forever kept off-stage in her pale, hippie clothes--it's a bag stocked with nipple cream, tapes of the sound of the sea, postcards of cats, packets of camomile tea, and other bits of the equipment so vital to "mobile girls." "Soon we will be like strangers," Jay tells us, speaking of Susan, the mother of his children. But no, they can never be that. "Hurting someone is an act of reluctant intimacy. We will be dangerous acquaintances with a history." Jay also fears dying--he's invited to more funerals than dinner parties--and so has little use for women who are also too quickly growing older, as he makes clear when he ironically asks what's wrong with maturity. "Think of the conversations I could have--about literature and bitterness--with a forty-ye

This is a superbly written book, which portrays the thoughts and feelings of a middle-aged man who has exhausted his 10 year relationship with his wife. Anyone who reads this book for the explicit purpose of searching for answers in their own troubled relationships is not going to hit upon any big revelation or come to a closure of some sort.While this book may open some people's eyes as to "what men really want" (in my opinion, many women may feel the same way as the protagonist in the story), it is more importantly a tale on the condition of human nature. What everyone should realize is that human nature forever desires what it cannot have, and no person who lets his/her mind run amok like this will ever truly find "ideal" happiness. A person's life is not made up entirely of long stretches of happiness; in times of boredom and listlessness, one should realize and value what he/she possesses and be content with it. A good marriage is not defined by love alone; there is trust, responsibility and all those other un-exciting descriptions that must be there for two people to co-exist peacefully. We all desire to be loved and understood, but in the end, every man dies alone. Happiness is internal and understanding yourself is the hardest thing of all!

Kureishi writes with greater openness and depth about the real nature of intimacy than anything I read in 38 years of marriage. His novel describes the midlife crisis of a successful but restless intellectual who lives with the bright and efficient working mother of their two young sons. The enigmatically ending story is dramatically framed as the narrator's reflections, ruminations, and events during the last night before his hypothetical escape from this relationship. With keen sensibility and deeply penetrating awareness, Kureishi illuminates the seemingly meager joys and strangling frustrations of family life. He writes unabashedly about: the erratic sex life of friends and lovers; joint therapist visits; his prostate worries; hope for affection; ageing masturbation response; the sullen domestic atmosphere; love as a precondition of human flourishing; his parents' mutual loyalty; modern free-market Thatcherism of the soul; love and women's bodies as the male center of everything; et cetera. Other than an elaboration of his exact financial condition, nothing is missing. Since this brief 30,000-word account is so fascinatingly true at its core and only slightly exaggerated in its particulars, I highlighted, underlined, annotated, and reread it several times. With often hilarious detail, Kureishi's genius provides in passing more profound insights into the endless struggle for love than any of the PhD-written manuals of theoretical marriage advice.

At first impression this story may appear banal and self-centered, however it is really a rich network of ideas interwoven with self-betrayal, passion, exile and abject realism. Kureishi manages to swirl you around with images from your own life so much that you may find it difficult to stop reading this passionate tale of dark inner truths. You will feel for the main protagonist, be able to relate to his insecurities, be shocked by his behaviour and resent him, sometimes all in one go. This is one of my favourite Kureishi books. I would encourage you to read it if you've ever been in love, ever been fed up with your life circumstances, ever not wanted to go to work or ever dreamt of living on a beach and escaping it all.

Not exactly the happiest book I've ever read but certainly one of the best examples of dealing with separation. The chronicle of the slow demise of Jay's love for his lover cuts deeply into the heart strings because anyone who has been in a long term relationship can recognise and understand exactly what he is thinking. Torn between the nedd to find personal fulfillment or duty he opts for the personal fulfillment whilst many of us though wanting that, spend our lives on the duty side because we cannot bear the emotional strength it would take to leave He loves his sons dearly and is a good father but cannot stay because he can no longer bear to be shackled to a relationship with his partner in which he feels there is no longer even tolerance let alone love. It is a situation which he feels is robbing him of his very self and he opts to leave without a warning. The slow realisation that he maybe never loved her and never felt passion for her has left him exhausted and with an unbearable guilt and sadness that so much time has been wasted. Despite this he still manages to throw a selfish streak into it by admitting his passion for other women etc which does at least make you see him as not completely without fault. All in all it is an overwhelming book which pulls on your very emotional core just because it is so bitingly real. A must read for anyone who has gone through a break up without really understanding the reason why their partner left.