Issue link: https://maltatoday.uberflip.com/i/1530615
15 maltatoday | SUNDAY • 15 DECEMBER 2024 BOOK REVIEW Immanuel's gentle touch of melancholy and redemption Immanuel Mifsud's latest novel, Filli ma tkun Xejn, Filli tidħol f l-Eżistenza, delves into the fragility of romantic relationships, the weight of generational secrets, and the delicate interplay between melancholy and hope. With profound insight, it ref lects on love, family, and the complexities of self- narrative. Review by James Debono. SOME books are fascinating and magical, others interest- ing and thought-provoking, but only a few manage to touch something deep within our frail material existence. Immanuel Mifsud's unpretentious novels belong to the latter category. His books are imbued with a gentle melancholy that creates a deep ache you can almost feel in your stomach, a sensation of lightness and weight reminis- cent of the floating boulder in René Magritte's The Castle of the Pyrenees. In fact, I was reluctant to em- bark on this journey, fearing it might trigger my anxieties. I was fully aware of the impact Mifsud's melancholy could have on me, fearing it would take me to places I was uncer- tain about visiting. After all, what could one ex- pect from a book entitled Fil- li ma tkun Xejn, Filli tidħol fl-Eżistenza – a title derived from a papal sermon that found its way into a popular prayer book – if not existential angst? Yet, it also came with a more reassuring alternative title: Marzu, April, Mejju – months that, for me, signify optimism. In some ways, I wasn't wrong. The melancholy evoked by rows of trees, early morning trains, and the foggy memo- ries of a distant and vanishing Malta accentuates this feeling. Furthermore, this sensation is amplified by the self-narra- tion of the book's protagonist, Edgar, through which one gets the impression that existence is nothing more than a constantly edited clip of selective memo- ries, through which we con- struct what we think we are. Edgar grapples with the pre- cariousness and fluidity of romantic and sexual relation- ships – a phenomenon sociol- ogist Zygmunt Bauman terms "liquid love". This instability is intensified by the WhatsApp messages Edgar exchanges with the two women he is see- ing. Rooted in his routines, Edgar struggles to fathom how someone can share their life with the same person and body for twenty years – a question I often ponder. But this is not the most in- triguing part of the novel. Ed- gar also uncovers intimate secrets – not only his own but, cru- cially, those of his parents. His mother, close to death, willing- ly confesses her one-time infi- delity. Here lies the novel's rele- vance. It explores a generation- al dialogue within a triangle be- tween Edgar, his mother, and Astrid, his new love. In this sense, Mifsud breaks new ground, addressing issues highly relevant in an ageing society where one generation's old age coincides with the midlife crisis of anoth- er. While, until a few decades ago, older peo- ple mostly interacted with their younger children, we now live in a society where parents pass away as their chil- dren approach old age. The novel also raises ques- tions about how far parents should burden their children with their intimate secrets and life narratives. As a father my- self, I find this a tricky subject. Is too much information a bur- den, or do we owe our children explanations for choices that directly shaped their upbring- ing? The novel compels the reader t o r e f l e c t o n the secrets lost between gen- erations and the true nature of our understanding of those closest to us. Yet, this selec- tive editing of our life stories is something we all engage in as we construct the narrative we call our "self." In this sense, the novel touch- es a raw nerve. It moves away from a sanitised idea of fam- ily life as a refuge and shelter from a dangerous world to one where secrets lurk in every cor- ner. Yet, these secrets are not necessarily abhorrent or dis- turbing – they are simply part of the human experience, mak- ing us all too human. The novel thus becomes a sort of confessional, offering not a definitive but a hope- ful sense of redemption, with Astrid, a divorced foreigner with no roots here, playing a key role. Her question to Ed- gar – whether trees make "nam nam" (their euphemism for intercourse) – reinforces this liberating aspect, a break from Catholic and patriarchal guilt. She asks this question with the same innocence as asking whether trees sleep. The novel also offers a re- freshing depiction of older people adapting to modern times with a compassionate humanity that envelops the beautiful relationship between Astrid and Edgar's mother. It portrays a nuanced and plu- ralistic view of womanhood, far from cultural stereotypes that pit the sexualised whore against the de-sexualised mother. The women in the book have sexual desires, yearn for romantic connections and security, and sometimes even as- pire, anachronistically, to be housewives in a modern world, as Astrid wishes – to Ed- gar's consternation. The novel, for me, also serves as a reflec- tion on monogamy and an invitation to honesty. Infidelity, in this context, is not portrayed as the ul- timate betrayal but as a chal- lenging aspect of the human condition that does not neces- sarily negate lifelong compan- ionship. In short, the book did not make me happy, and, at times, it made me profoundly sad. Yet, strangely, it left me pre- cariously optimistic. Would I recommend it as a Christmas gift? Definitely – but it might be better suited for reading in March, April, or May. Immanuel Mifsud (right) addresses issues highly relevant in an ageing society