Olivia Laing's second novel, "The Silver Book", is a work obsessed with beauty, set against the vibrant backdrop of Italian cinema in 1974. The book opens with its protagonist, Nicholas, fleeing London for Italy and meeting real-life set designer Danilo Donati, who whisks him off to Rome where Fellini is filming Casanova. However, as Laing masterfully weaves together scenes from Fellini's life and work, the narrative soon becomes strained under the pressure of its own ambition.
Laing's writing is at its best when she strips away descriptive language, opting for a tight, present-tense prose that hurtles forward with urgency. Her depiction of Fellini's Casanova as "floating on a greasy tide of his own compulsions through the guttering century" is a highlight, capturing the film's decadent, indulgent spirit. Pasolini, too, comes alive in Laing's vivid descriptions - his charisma and allure are palpable, even as his presence is both captivating and unsettling.
But as the novel progresses, Laing's technique begins to feel constrained by its own self-imposed limits. The novel's reliance on lists and bullet points instead of living description starts to feel meagre and insubstantial. Memories are itemized rather than explored, and even Pasolini's experiences during the war are reduced to a simplistic shorthand: "Denunciations, round-ups, missing people, deportations. The trucks, the trains". This cursory approach raises questions about Laing's own grasp of the subject matter.
The Silver Book is also notable for its reluctance to confront the darker aspects of Italian cinema and culture during this period. Pasolini's infamous film Salò is mentioned in passing, but its visceral postmortem of fascist violence is glossed over, reduced instead to a shallow array of props and costumes. This avoidance feels particularly egregious given Laing's use of Pasolini as an avatar of political courage - it's a move that rings hollow when the novel itself sidesteps any real confrontation with the darker forces at work.
Perhaps most striking, however, is how "The Silver Book" seems to be shaped by its own medium. The prose flows effortlessly through the pages, each line break and paragraph break carefully calibrated to create an Instagram-like feed of prose that's easy to consume, but lacking in depth or substance. This self-flattering pose feels both familiar and superficial, with Laing risking nothing - neither her own vision nor her readers' - in its efforts to present a polished, aesthetically pleasing portrait of beauty.
Ultimately, "The Silver Book" is a novel that promises much, but fails to deliver on its most pressing questions. By leaving out the ugly, unseeable truths of fascist Italy and the dark underbelly of Laing's protagonist's own journey, the book feels superficial, a safe distance from the very issues it hints at in the hopes of sparking depth.
Laing's writing is at its best when she strips away descriptive language, opting for a tight, present-tense prose that hurtles forward with urgency. Her depiction of Fellini's Casanova as "floating on a greasy tide of his own compulsions through the guttering century" is a highlight, capturing the film's decadent, indulgent spirit. Pasolini, too, comes alive in Laing's vivid descriptions - his charisma and allure are palpable, even as his presence is both captivating and unsettling.
But as the novel progresses, Laing's technique begins to feel constrained by its own self-imposed limits. The novel's reliance on lists and bullet points instead of living description starts to feel meagre and insubstantial. Memories are itemized rather than explored, and even Pasolini's experiences during the war are reduced to a simplistic shorthand: "Denunciations, round-ups, missing people, deportations. The trucks, the trains". This cursory approach raises questions about Laing's own grasp of the subject matter.
The Silver Book is also notable for its reluctance to confront the darker aspects of Italian cinema and culture during this period. Pasolini's infamous film Salò is mentioned in passing, but its visceral postmortem of fascist violence is glossed over, reduced instead to a shallow array of props and costumes. This avoidance feels particularly egregious given Laing's use of Pasolini as an avatar of political courage - it's a move that rings hollow when the novel itself sidesteps any real confrontation with the darker forces at work.
Perhaps most striking, however, is how "The Silver Book" seems to be shaped by its own medium. The prose flows effortlessly through the pages, each line break and paragraph break carefully calibrated to create an Instagram-like feed of prose that's easy to consume, but lacking in depth or substance. This self-flattering pose feels both familiar and superficial, with Laing risking nothing - neither her own vision nor her readers' - in its efforts to present a polished, aesthetically pleasing portrait of beauty.
Ultimately, "The Silver Book" is a novel that promises much, but fails to deliver on its most pressing questions. By leaving out the ugly, unseeable truths of fascist Italy and the dark underbelly of Laing's protagonist's own journey, the book feels superficial, a safe distance from the very issues it hints at in the hopes of sparking depth.
. I mean, using Pasolini as an avatar for political courage is a great idea, but then not exploring the complexities of fascist Italy or his own experiences during the war feels like a cop-out 
. And that prose? It's beautiful, don't get me wrong, but it also feels really curated, like Laing is trying to create this Instagram-perfect aesthetic rather than actually digging deep into her subject matter 
. I guess what I'm saying is, if you're gonna tackle a topic like fascist Italy or artistic politics, you gotta be willing to get your hands dirty and take some risks 
.
. The writing is beautiful, no doubt about it, but it's so tightly controlled and calculated that it starts to feel manufactured rather than organic. And I'm really disappointed in how she handles Pasolini's story - reducing his experiences during the war to a couple of bullet points feels like a cop-out 
. What if she had dug deeper into those themes? What would have been the payoff? It's not that her prose isn't engaging, it's just that it's more interested in being visually stunning than exploring the complexities of the subject matter 
but I gotta say, I was kinda disappointed when I finished reading it 
. That part with Fellini's Casanova? 
. I mean, Pasolini's Salò is literally mentioned in passing 
? That feels like a huge missed opportunity to really dig into the complexities of Italian cinema and culture during that time period 
.
? Like, each line break and paragraph break is carefully curated to create this perfect little aesthetic book 
.
️. It's not bad by any means, but I was expecting more depth and substance from Laing 
But at the same time, I feel like the book is missing a layer of depth. The way it glosses over the darker aspects of Italian culture during that period feels really shallow to me 
.
But when she gets too ambitious with the lists and bullet points, it feels like she's trying too hard to impress 
Overall, I'd say "The Silver Book" has a lot of promise, but doesn't quite live up to its potential 
. The way she's trying to blend her own life experiences with historical figures like Pasolini and Fellini feels forced 
️. And yeah, I get what they mean about the lists and bullet points - it's like she's more interested in aesthetics than actual storytelling 
. I'm all for exploring beauty and culture, but not when you're ignoring the ugly truth behind it 
. There are some beautiful passages that really make you feel the weight of history 
. And hey, maybe it's just me, but I want a book that'll challenge me to think harder, not just look pretty 
. Like, yeah, we get it, you're a fan of Italian cinema in the 70s 
, but can we have some real substance here? 
The way she glosses over Pasolini's film Salò is super weird 
and it feels like Laing is just coasting on her own reputation rather than putting in the work to really explore these complex themes 
.
. Overall, I'm really disappointed in "The Silver Book" - it's like Laing had some amazing ideas, but didn't know how to flesh them out 
. And I also dont get why shes not more willing to tackle the harder stuff... I mean we're talking about fascism, war, and some pretty heavy themes here 
. Instead shes all glossed over like its nothing. It feels like shes trying too hard to be pretty and Instagrammable 
. I get what Laing's going for with her Instagram-like prose, but it comes across as more style than substance 
. The writing is nice and all but what about when it gets deep? The author keeps avoiding some heavy stuff, you know? 
... you see glimpses of brilliance, but everything gets blurred and distorted by the filter of Laing's own ambitions 
meanwhile, pasolini's story gets treated like a footnote 
rather than the epicenter of the novel 