The Line of Beauty

Since finishing The Line of Beauty (2004) a few weeks back, I've purposefully limited my reading diet to books of non-fiction. Alan Hollinghurst's Man Booker Prize-winning novel is literature of the highest order. It hit me with such force that I haven't wanted to risk being in the hands of a less capable novelist ever since. The closest recent analogue I can recall to this reading experience was how I felt upon finishing The Overstory (2018) in early 2020 and then subsequently gushing about Richard Powers's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel in seven blog posts over the remaining months of that year.

"Even disagreements ... had a glow of social harmony to them, of relished licence, and counted almost as agreements transposed to a different key."    

Hollinghurst had me right there, on page twenty-one. Smart sentences like that, all in the service of a pitch-perfect story about class in Thatcher-era England, adorn every chapter. The conversations in this masterful book - especially those featuring the protagonist (Nick Guest) and each of the four members of the wealthy Fedden family with whom Nick lives - are unimprovable. Details? "Dragon flies paid darting visits." Bringing a character to life? "...his tone combined candour and insincerity to oddly charming effect". Telling observations? "...he could make a mere gesture towards an action which would at once be performed by someone else."

Above all, The Line of Beauty transformed me as a reader, much like The Overstory did five years ago. This time, Hollinghurst helped me close a gap I reflexively create between myself and characters with money and power who collect beautiful things. Because all of Hollinghurst's characters were expertly rendered, instead of seeing them as "types" and feeling distanced from them, I saw them instead as flawed human beings, like me.

Reflections From The Bell Curve: To Be Continued