I am instantly sceptical of any novel described as “warm-hearted.” I cringe away from a blurb’s claim that “a memorable portrait of two women, My Brilliant Friend is also the story of a nation.” Even the title blares dismal sentimentality. Yet if you can get past the occasionally nauseating summary of the main character’s relationship as a “not always perfect shelter from hardship” you will find that the delight of Elena Ferrante’s novel lies not in its universality, but its specifi city, its gorgeously precise detailing of the lives of Elena and Lila.
It is at times far from ‘heartwarming’ as you witness family lives disintegrate, fathers who beat their children, young men who beat each other. “You could die of things that seemed normal,” Elena remarks early on in the novel, setting up a world indiff erent to the fate of the two girls, as they attempt to escape the impoverished lives they are born to.
As we trail through the young girls’ lives, both the readers’ and the characters’ hopes are constantly frustrated. We witness Elena and Lila, as young, occasionally diffi cult yet endearing children, brimming with hope and ambition. Lila borrows books from the library under the names of every single one of her family members, and dreams of writing away her poverty through best-selling novels. But literature is inadequate at changing her life, provoking questions about its role. Neither this novel nor the books Lila read can change the sad economic reality she faces, yet they can bear witness to the richness of individual lives, even those of poor young girls. It is always emphasised that Lila is exceptional, yet perhaps undeserving of Elena’s feeling of quasi-hero worship. We watch as Lila’s potential is squandered and dreams are shown as a luxury for those who can afford them.
Both the myriad of characters and the Italian streets are detailed in clear and vivid prose. The novel is not hampered by translation; the fresh clarity of the prose gives Elena a voice which is sometimes wistful, sometimes frightened, and sometimes nasty. Throughout the novel, the girls hurt each other, each incisively plucking at the other’s weaker points. But they remain bound and care for each other deeply even if they appear to feed of the other’s vulnerabilities.
Ferrante casts Naples as a ruthlessly competitive city. Both girls cling on to what they think will change their lives, whether this be Elena’s constant desperation for perfection in her exam results, or Lila’s disappointed dreams which she reimagines into a more commercially-viable form, a new design for a shoe.
My Brilliant Friend’s most enjoyable aspect is not its didactic impulse to show how impoverished conditions can crumble dreams away, but Ferrante’s story-telling ability. Her vivid characters constantly entangle their lives together in the remarkably riveting plot. It is escapism, yet it is endearing and thoughtful escapism. There is heart-breaking alteration in the girls at the start and end of the book. Life inevitably disappoints, but this novel does not.
