This week, I have read the entirety of the Neapolitan Novel series by Elena Ferrante. Yes folks, that’s four books, roughly 1720 pages in seven days. No, I do not have a life. I started reading these books in ten minute snatches at bus stops, in tea breaks, and pushing the time I left for work later and later just to get to the end of a chapter. I could not put them down, but I have to admit that they are completely different to what I was expecting.
I heard about these books long before I picked them up, and was told that they were an amazing portrait of female friendship, almost a love story between women whose friendship lasts their lifetime. I will agree that the relationship between Lenu and Lila, or Elena and and Lina, or Lenuccia and Raffaella (honestly, these women have so many names and nicknames it can be hard to keep up) is the central pillar of the books. The friendship is expertly captured, in the way that whilst they love each other, these women can also often hate each other.
However, what made me want to read these novels nonstop was that sometimes their actions are so infuriating that it’s hard to put the book down before each episode comes to a conclusion. I have irritated my housemates no doubt, by shouting at these novels so often during the course of this week. ‘What are you doing?!’ and ‘Why are you doing that?!’ have been my common shouts, and whilst I have remained enthralled by these women I have also often been infuriated by them, and not necessarily always liked them. But that’s probably why these books are so successful, because it feels like you are entering into a real friendship with them in spite of yourself. Lenu cannot stop seeing Lila, no matter how much sometimes they disagree or fall out. I couldn’t put these books down, no matter how much I occasionally wanted to.
What must be said, is that I constantly felt like reading them was a truly immersive experience, the kind of novel that gives you an emotional hangover. I could walk around for a whole day feeling happy, or melancholy, or a little angry, not sure why, until finally I finally remembered that nothing has happened to me, it’s just that book I’m reading. I can say this for certain – Ferrante Fever is real. I’m not sure I’m over it yet.
