Some thoughts on recent memorable books on love and romance.
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Who doesn't remember their first crush or infatuation? Is that heady, confusing feeling really love? Could such a feeling sustain itself as people grow, mature, and turn into different versions of themselves in their adulthood? I'm ever optimistic that some bonds last in one way or the other because of the impact they had on our lives, if only for a few moments in the swiftly changing sands of time.
One the one hand is Rowell's beautiful illustration of an innocent wholesome version of first love tempered by friendship and understanding. Each person finds acceptance in the other, and despite the uncertainties of growing up and facing the future, there is recognition of something deep and lasting, even if it's only a kernel. The pangs of this first "love" will echo throughout one's life as a fond memory of what-ifs. With succinct writing, Rowell brings so much to this simple story.
And on the other hand is Murakami's take on the turbulence of grief, loneliness, lust, and friendship on a young person's coming of age journey. Love seems too elusive when there is a gaping void seeking comfort and numbness. The attachments and relationships are clouded by insecurities and vulnerabilities, and everything is slippery to hold onto, because too many things have happened too fast to someone too young. This is the sort of first "love" that is confusing and angsty - the kind that sets people on the impossible hunt for the "perfect" feeling that both encompasses and surpasses the tangle from their past. The memories turn into haunting ghosts that are difficult to let go, and burying them seems inadequate.
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And then, as we enter adulthood and wade through the complexities and realities of life and relationships, we start to know ourselves better. Unlikely bonds blossom unbeknownst to us, maturing from grief, disappointments, and self-awareness. Jojo Moyes is excellent at writing such stories of messy lives and "flawed" people. Nothing is straightforward, there always seems too much baggage (who doesn't have them?), but people still come together out of a shared journey, and a recongition of how they complement and complete each other despite (or because of) their imperfections. There are no happily-ever-afters but always a possibility for making the best of your circumstances, if you are willing to give it a chance.
After You is the sequel to Me Before You, a tragic love story. In the sequel, the protagonist deals with her crippling grief and guilt. She gradually learns how to move on, and recognizes that love comes and lives in so many different forms. There even could be multiple soul mates, if we choose to believe. And then is her other book, One Plus One, where the unlikeliest of people are thrown together by circumstances. We often don't even realize how much we need something, even if it is a crazy teenager, until we are open to the experience of receiving. Moyes's characters are unique and complex, her writing funny and insightful. I enjoyed both books, but particularly After You.
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Ah, then there is the idealized love - of lightning and passion; the purity of feeling and simplicity of the intense feeling; the happily-ever-after. This kind transcends social barriers, the pettiness of practicality and probability, and triumphs. It's the kind meant for a book or a movie. And so is Flowers from the Storm. It's one of the best written books I have ever read. Laura Kinsale is a brilliant writer, and a treasured find. One thing that I am always fascinated is the process, the trajectory of falling in love with someone. Kinsale excels at chasing and capturing this elusive shift in feeling. In this case, it is all the more fascinating to me as I see the protagonist shift from codependence to something more deeper, more abiding because of the nature of acceptance, the essence of the woman who gives without wanting. I am also biased by the affliction faced by the protagonist - a stroke leaves a brilliant man void of speech and conventional ways to communicate. He gets cruelly labeled as mentally ill and insane, and is understood by only one woman. Kinsale's portrayal of this is brilliant and nuanced. It tore my heart. I will come back to this book many times. 
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