Lisa Halliday‘s Asymmetry arrived to much acclaim in 2018. It’s a novel in three parts, really two parts and a coda. The first part details a relationship between a young woman who works at a publishing house and an older writer of great significance; the second focuses on an Iraqi-American who is detained upon entry to England; and the third is a short interview with the author from the first part.
Much of the response to the novel has focused on the degree to which the first section is a thinly veiled retelling of Halliday’s own affair with Philip Roth, and then on the revelations–both explicit and more hinted at–in the final short coda.
That’s interesting to me, as it immediately forces consideration of the novel to expand beyond the words on the page: to what degree is the enjoyment of the opening, novella length chapter–and it is mightily enjoyable–due to the salacious sense of peering in on a (not so?) hidden side of a great American writing icon? To what degree are our reactions to the novel modified (enhanced or degraded) by our belief in its reality? And what does that mean for the other parts of the book?
At its core, Asymmetry is about, well, asymmetry: imbalances of power and attention in many contexts. The spring/winter love affair has some obvious dimensions (the economic differences, the differences in social and political power between them), but the young woman’s perspective holds the center as well: her agency is never, at least from her view, compromised in the relationship. As importantly, the writing–throughout, but especially in this first section–is delightful, lyrical, and surprising.
In the second section, the massive control of the immigration system overwhelms the individual being detained. But this part is as much about the detainee’s history–the moments in his life where he did and did not have agency, the choices that led him to leave one career for another, the seemingly random chance that determined life and death in Baghdad during wartime–as it is about his resignation to his lack of control over his fate at the airport.
If you follow the popular interpretation of the final section–which I’m trying hard not to spoil here–then the novel expands to also encompass questions of asymmetry between author and reader, and the work and its readers and critics.
An intriguing, engaging, and deeply nuanced novel. Strongly recommended.
#WhatIWishICouldDo
The thematic echoes are never, ever “on the nose” in Asymmetry, yet they are present, and survive deeper exploration and thought. To the degree that is intentional, it is brilliant; to the degree it is innate, it reveals a wellspring of talent. Either is enviable.