I had lofty ambitions, like two months ago, of writing a proper essay on these two novels, which are not exactly the same book but they sure are close. Both are novels about a couple in their 20s living in a city in another country — in The Anthropologists, the city and their countries of origin are both unnamed; in Perfection the city is Berlin, and the country of origin is narrowed down, I think, to somewhere in Europe? In The Anthropologists, the couple is trying to buy an apartment, ie, seemingly in the process of settling down, whereas in Perfection, they are cosmopolitans flitting off to rent airbnbs in other trendy cities because they work from home. Both novels have little in the way of plot, and that’s sort of the point — that the lives of young people these days aren’t empty, exactly, but they seem to lack some core sense of purpose or direction. The young people are vaguely dissatisfied, unsure of what to do with themselves, how to achieve happiness. What do they want? What could give their lives meaning?
If you’re thinking, huh, doesn’t seem that fun to read, you’re not totally wrong. Here the differences between the novels are somewhat interesting, in that I think Perfection is the more absorbing of the two, mostly because of its slightly weird, impersonal voice. The couple is presented as a unit — they do this, like that, feel this way — and almost never separated into individual desires or ideas. This cool detachment feels subtly cruel — it’s never overtly mocking, but it’s definitely not kind. But there’s also no sense of an alternative or solution — any other option seems equally bland and empty. You can only tolerate this kind of thing for so long, but thankfully, it’s a short book, and so you can see that the end is near and push through.
The Anthropologists felt like more of a slog in some way, ironically because it does seem to have a bit more empathy for its protagonists. Not so much that you would be persuaded that their woes really are weighty (at least, I wasn’t), but there’s not that same whiff of disdainful condescension — they are allowed to be people rather than caricatures. Which makes the book feel a little more meaningful as cultural commentary, but also makes their aimlessness all the more frustrating. Could they not be a little more interesting?
Ultimately I don’t think either novel is all that compelling, really. I mean, they’re both fine, they’re reasonably amusing, but I don’t think either is all that incisive or profound. Mostly they’re interesting as a symptom of this particular moment in culture and capitalism, all the more so in their similarity, but for me at least, that only gets you so far.
Kasia Reads 