Sigrid Nunez's writing was amazing as always, but the lack of plot was just too much for the book to be an enjoyable read for me.

Thank you to Netgalley and Little, Brown Book Group for sending me an advanced copy.

I don’t really know where to start with this, it was enjoyable to read at times, but there wasn’t much of a storyline, just things that happened and thoughts and musings, overall it was ok but didn’t ever really seem to go anywhere.

Thanks to Netgalley and the publishers for an advanced digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

In the span of one year, I have now read three Sigrid Nunez novels, the most I have read by a single author in that time frame. It is the first time in a long time an author has excited me this much. Throughout my reading of this novel, I kept thinking to myself: what a woman, what a voice, what an immaculate authorial eye.

The Vulnerables, published in 2023, is Nunez's most recent release and maybe the first true pandemic novel I've read. It is an insight— through one woman's eye—into the most notable time in recent history that was collectively felt by every single living person. Our narrator is an unnamed woman whose life is reminiscent of all of our lives then—how we all felt, the things we did, the news of the virus a catalyst for worldwide depression. 


"It was an uncertain spring. Early each morning I went for a walk."


The novel opens at a point when the world has gone past the critical stages of the pandemic. Our narrator is describing to us what the time felt like for her, telling us about the simple tasks she indulged in to fill her days—the walks to the park, the books she read. In its near entirety, The Vulnerables is a woman reflecting. Combing back through her memories and, in turn, showing us our lives in those days. Through Nunez's ever sharp, observative writing, we are indeed able to see ourselves in the narrator. While many of our experiences might have been different, a collective feeling of the times and its impact is what she manages to capture perfectly: all of humanity uncertain about the state of everything, clinging to anything to keep ourselves sane. And she captures the fear most of all—the general fear, the sense of dread heightened. The thought of death and dying at any time, ever-increasing, day by day. At one point, a friend of the narrator addresses her habit of going out, regarding her as a vulnerable. "You’re a vulnerable, she said. And you need to act like one."


One would generally expect that if such a time was to be put into writing, it'd span hundreds of pages in order to graze the surface of what life felt like then, as we've seen from other pandemic novels. However, Nunez achieves this in a little over two hundred and fifty pages, and it highlights what I consider her greatest ability: depicting the human experience. Using her signature vignette style, she hits every beat in trying to show us ourselves. The narrator, a writer, is unable to read or write at many points during the pandemic, and by it, we recognize how the period sucked interest out of various passions for many people—the times heavily characterized by the loss of lives and loss of interest in life.


"All those shared stories of some creature or other seeing a human through, instilling this one with hope, saving that one’s sanity."

A primary theme we see throughout the novel is the idea of latching on to things to keep one's sanity. Early into the pandemic, the narrator gets asked by a friend's friend to aid in taking care of her pet parrot which she has unfortunately been separated from due to the pandemic. The narrator agrees to the task, and eventually decides to move into the apartment with the parrot indefinitely. What blooms is an attachment to the parrot, Eureka, which becomes more like a friend and companion to the narrator. This sort of story—a friendship between a human and an animal— is not unusual to Nunez, being the foundation for her 2020 novel, The Friend. But while it does not feel entirely fresh here, it does not feel repetitive either. Here, it's more of a little sub-plot in the overall general plot. Nunez depicts the importance of such bonds as vital for mental stability, and furthers this sentiment by referencing documentary filmmaker and naturalist, Craig Foster, and quotes him talking about his friendship with an Octopus, saying, "You start to care about all the animals, even the tiniest ones, you understand how highly vulnerable these animals’ lives are, how vulnerable all lives are. You start to think about your own vulnerability and about death, your own death." 

While we get the singular view of the effects of the pandemic on an individual, Nunez further gives us insight into what it felt like for people who quarantined someone else or a group of people. Sometime before the pandemic heightens, the narrator receives an unexpected visit from the former caretaker of the parrot, Vetch—the son of a wealthy family who is friends with the owners of the parrot. The cohabitation initially does not sit well with the narrator; there is constant tension in the air between them, there is a fear of intrusion into her newly formed friendship with the Euereka. There is a necessary delusion, which Nunez wonderfully captures, the mental state of many people at the time—our flippant, often irrational behaviors. Once after an argument with Vetch, the narrator wonders, "Why did he become so angry over such a small thing? Why did I feel so hurt over such a small thing? Maybe being one of those people who had to go to work every day while others stayed safe at home was getting to him." In a bid to give herself an answer, she concludes, "There’s no understanding people’s behavior these days. Don’t even try."


"Only when I was young did I believe that it was important to remember what happened in every novel I read."


One of the many treats of Nunez's works is that she always manages to look at everything and capture the multiple facets to life and living, to being a person in the world, whether it's her narrators telling us about an interaction or recalling a time in their lives. And one of the most present things we see in this novel is that there is a lot of recollection and memory, from the central idea of the novel to the little things. The state of the world before such a tumultuous time, our narrator's life before such a time, our narrator's life before the present. In one of the most poignant writing moments in the novel, our narrator recalls high school, the little moments, then the bitter moments. "I remember the end of childhood. It was June," she tells us. Perhaps, one of the most affecting sentences I have ever read.


The best thing I've come to expect from every Nunez novel is the literary references. Having read two of her works before this, I knew it was sure to be here as well, and it was, and as always, no one does it like her. Through the films, the books, the authors, everything the narrator references, we get a look into her life and how she sees the world. I've never seen anyone do this style the way Nunez does it. Her insert of these references, rather than being for show, broadens the eye of the reader. It is impossible to deny that her eye is in her art, and seeing the world as she does, we learn empathy for ourselves in many ways. 


While this can be classified primarily as a pandemic novel, it is also a novel about literature and how it explains the world, as with every other Nunez work I've read. All three novels have been about writers, but this might be the one with the most discussion about the craft as art and profession. There are points where it begins to feel like a departure from the core story and a segue into the aspects on writing, but it's impossible to be mad at it. Nunez offers our narrator to us as a woman so in love with her passion and the arts, and how it's woven into every fiber of her being. And again, it can be said that all three Nunez narrators I have encountered are too alike, but what she excels at is making each of them distinct and one as interesting as the other. It never feels repetitive, even when they quote the same authors, from Woolf to Coetzee to Weil, and so on. There is a commitment to this aspect of her writing that we see in every work, which she in turn tries to sell us, and I love her more with each novel for it. It's her favorite device, but she has not worn it out yet. We are able to tell the vitality and importance of the craft to the writer in this novel more than ever, because while the commitment is present in the other works, it is heightened here as there is a major interlude in the novel dedicated to the thoughts of authors on writing. But still, an argument can be made for such deviations being too much, hence causing a lack of focus in the grand scheme of the central telling, and it'll be a valid one. 


In The Vulnerables, Nunez compounds a gruesome time in our recent history and helps us see and remember the fragility of our humanity. It is one of the best works about the pandemic released so far, and Nunez cements herself as one of the greatest living writers working today, and a personal favorite of mine.

This was really well written, but I’m not sure I really liked the storyline.

Thank you NetGalley for my complimentary copy in return for my honest review.

I fund Nunez’ calm, clear-eyed view of humanity deeply moving and life-affirming. She reminds me of a philosopher and each of her books tells me more about myself and the world I live in. Few people can do that.

We reviewed The Vulnerables on a recent episode of the Novel Thoughts podcast: https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/novel-thoughts/id1721722638?i=1000642746524

I couldn’t follow the thread of this story for the life of me, and I didn’t care for the tangents about authors.

I really loved Sigred's writing in this book. I wish the first part had been longer as that was my favourite section of the book - meeting Ingrid's friends and listening to their conversations.

Although I found the writing fantastic and will definitely be reading more Nunez - I felt it was too soon for another pandemic book and was gutted when I realised that this is the focus of the book.

I have really enjoyed the novels I've read by Nunez; The Friend and The Last of Her Kind. I didn't enjoy this one as much, though I think that's less to do with it's quality and more to do with what I wanted from it.

This auto-fiction novel is a reflection on the human condition with the pandemic as its focal point. Nunez writes about her (or her character, if they're not one and the same) experience of finding herself in a pandemic lockdown bubble with a manic-depressive 20-something stoner and a parrot. Through the relationships that organically and inevitably grow between these characters, Nunez explores that time-tested but still widely ignored revelation that we really are all much more alike than we might think.

If you like plot driven novels, this is not for you. But if you're ready (I'm not sure I was) to do some existential ruminating on the universal experiences of the COVID lockdown (I say universal but this woman is locked down in a very posh Manhattan apartment with an exotic talking bird and no shortage of supplies) maybe you should give it a go. Nunez's sharp wit and self awareness make the narrator an easy voice to get along with and, if approached with the full understanding that this is almost more essay than story, it could be easily devoured within a couple sittings.

Thanks to Netgalley and Little Brown Virago for the digital ARC for review. 3.5 stars.

This is a kind of memoir of a unnamed narrator who has given her apartment up to a health worker in the pandemic. She goes to stay in her friends apartment to look after her parrot Eureka. The style of writing is so easy to read and so true to life. There are lots of references to different authors work which I loved . She manages to capture the loneliness through lockdown , the frustration and rules some people had to follow. It’s set in America so some rules are different from other countries, but still the helplessness and worry is still there wherever you were. It is witty in parts especially the relationship between her and the parrot. He’s such an individual character and brings some purpose to her life. She meets a young man who ends up staying at the apartment, he is a troubled soul and they have some meaningful conversations. I can’t help feeling that some of this is autobiographical because the narrator is a writer of similar age. This is the first novel I have read by this author and would definitely like to read more.

This was my first Nunez and I'll admit when I started I wasn't sure the style was for me but a few chapters in and I got it , it worked and it worked well (although I can see how this book will not be for everyone). It's a book with little plot but BIG vibes, it's unconventional in its structure and reads more like an essay or collection of random thoughts . Our narrator wanders New York reflecting on many topics, a lot of which we all experienced during lockdown (this is a pandemic novel ) . It brought back memories, both good and bad !
I loved the writing and inclusion of Eureka the parrot as a character , animals are therapy in the darkest of times which a lot of us can relate to . I'll definitely be reading her backlist work now .

REALLY good. Tender, sensitive, funny, quietly innovative. I read a review somewhere that compared Nunez's latest three books to Cusk's Outline trilogy - I think this is a really astute comparison. Nunez has a lot of warmth, heart, and humour in contrast to Cusk though. She is very much a writer's writing, writing about writers and writing. I am here for it though!

My favourite chapter of this was of the female friends gossiping/chatting after the funeral. Also all the scenes that involved the parrot. Oh, this is just such a warm, funny, big-hearted book. A soothing balm for these troubled times. The way the book invites you to read it as autofiction - to conflate the author with the character- is really interesting. I also thought it was interesting the way it used all these quotes by other writers. Overall a stellar read and a badly-needed voice: calm, serene, curious, perceptive.

<i>"You know things are bad when a funeral feels like an escape."

"2045, I thought. What would the world be like then?"

"According to Flannery O'Connor, people without hope don't write novels. People without hope don't write novels. I am writing a novel. Therefore I must have hope. Does that work?"

"Everyone past a certain age is in a state of mourning for their youth... how much of life is shaped by sadness for what's left behind."

"Rilke's words above my desk: 'I have taken action against fear. I have sat up all night writing.'"</i>

Thank you Netgalley and the publishers for the ARC.

The Vulnerables by Sigrid Nunez
Publication date: 25 January 2024
⭐️⭐️⭐️ 3.75 stars
Thank you to NetGalley and Little Brown Books for providing me with an e-copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Three strangers are thrown together in one Manhattan apartment: a solitary writer; a Gen Z college drop-out; and a spirited parrot named Eureka. 

A warning to start with, as I know this can be a trigger to many: this novel takes place during the early period of the Covid pandemic.
I greatly enjoyed the writing but this really felt like a book of two halves: the story of these two strangers forced into cohabitation by the lockdown, and the meandering thoughts of the narrator about books, writers and writing.
I wish Nunez had given us more of both aspects of The Vulnerables in two separate books. I wanted to see more of the relationship between those two people, to see it develop, become more fleshed-out and experience more of their interactions.
I absolutely loved the discourse around writers and the impact of their words and ideas, but these felt so strongly like Nunez's own thoughts that I would much prefer to explore those themes and topics in more depth in a collection of essays by the author. I would read this in a heartbeat.

A really enjoyable slice-of-pandemic-life autofiction (relevant: Nunez describes Proust's In Search of Lost Time as "not autobiography thinly disguised as fiction, but fiction thinly disguised as autobiography", which seems like exactly the way to describe The Vulnerables). The main character is a novelist with the initials S.N. and her thought processes are constantly circling and quoting other works of fiction (Virginia Woolf, Joe Brainard, Proust, J.M. Coetzee, many many more). The plot, insofar as it exists, sees her locking down in a deserted Manhattan, apartment-sitting for a wealthy friend stranded upstate and looking after the friend's macaw, with whom she forges an unexpected but much-needed connection that is strained and strengthened with the arrival of the previous housesitter, a bright but aimless and depressed young man who shares his edibles with her and brings her out of herself a little. Really, though, the book is about various forms of emotional, physical, medical and social vulnerability, and how we attempt to bridge those gaps with the limitedly-effective influence of art, companionship, and the natural world. This was my first Nunez, and I gather the relationships between humans and animals are often of interest to her; I found the narrator's observations of the macaw, Eureka, quite touching, and would really like now to read The Friend, her National Book Award-winner about a woman taking custody of her dead friend's Great Dane.

The Vulnerables by Sigrid Nunez offers a poignant exploration of human fragility and resilience. Nunez’s writing is exquisite, delving into the complexities of relationships and the delicate balance between strength and vulnerability. The characters are finely drawn, their vulnerabilities laid bare in a way that feels both intimate and universal. This novel is a compelling meditation on the human experience, beautifully written and thought-provoking from start to finish.

In The Vulnerables our narrator is a writer who finds herself alone and aimless in New York during lockdown. A friend of a friend asks her to look after her parrot. This ‘plot’ is barely important to the recollections and musings inside our narrator’s head during those fraught times in 2020. Nunez captures the madness of lockdowns for those who were not essential workers.

Compelling, nuanced, insightful. Incredibly grateful to have finally read Nunez’s work. Off to read her back catalogue (lucky me!)

Thank you to NetGalley and the publishers for an advance copy in exchange for my honest opinion.

Felt like listening to a woman locked down in covid with a parrot and a younger man. Felt like her mind was everwhere, reflecting on her life experiences, jumping from one issue to another other.

There is no plot...maybe that's the point, as most people's life didn't have a plot during covid.

Not a book for me, dnf at 79%, wanted to like it. Maybe we feel like this about books about covid lockdowns, as we are trying to move foward?

Sigrid Nunez’s novel “The Friend” won the 2018 National Book Award - my review described it as a “partly autofictional novel/literary meditation/memoir … an examination of grief, of the dog/human relationship and of suicide … [also] an examination of writing, of literature and the teaching of writing … [which] consistently uses literature to examine its themes.”

I came to that book in 2020 after its shortlisting for the Dublin Literary Award – and that is relevant here as this, her latest novel (published in 2024 in the UK), is set very firmly in 2020 and the spring of that year – one which was experienced both collectively as COVID and lockdowns swept the globe, an uncertain spring (that opening line from Virginia Woolf’s “The Years” both starting this novel and the author’s writing process that lead to it, as she struggled with how to write during and about the Spring of 2022 – much more I feel around the lockdown aspects as the author of course has already written her pandemic novel (“Salvation City”).

And there are many similarities with “The Friend”: here we have a human/parrot relationship (although with plenty of references to dogs) as well as a cross generational human relationship (which is just as initially challenging as a cross-species one); we have not just autofictional/memoir type writing but plenty of discussion of the potentially greater (when compared to traditional narrative fiction) validity and appropriateness of that writing in the times in which the novel is set

The set up of the novel is that shortly after a funeral which gives rise to something of a reunion of female college friends – one them (the narrator) an older-enough-to-be-considered-“vulnerable”, single New York living woman is, due to circumstance, asked at the start of lockdown to live in a luxury flat and care for the owner’s parrot (called Eureka)

Later the much younger and originally planned flat-and-parrot sitter V_ (she calls him Vetch for the purpose of the story fitting with a running joke that while many girls are named after flowers, few people name their children after weeds/herbs) returns to the flat after a family falling out.

To be honest the parrot and Gen-X interactions are the weakest parts of the book – the narrator ends up mortified that “I spent all the time with this troubled young person who was clearly in dire need of guidance, and I could think to do was to get stoned with him” which I like to think Nunez is self-aware enough to be a deliberate criticism that she failed to do much more with the character set up.

What I found much stronger was the musing on literature which features among many others: Virginia Woolf (Nunez very cleverly via the narrator makes a point of the fact that Woolf did not just write the biography of a cocker spaniel but a story about a woman and a parrot – with the latter in particular being generally regarded as completely terrible); Annie Ernaux (and her own “The Years”); Joe Brainard’s whose “I remember” is something of a liefmotif for the book (and a way to explore generational difference with the narrator’s vivid reminiscences set against Vetch’s apparent amnesia about any details of his past); Joan Didion and her awkward interactions with hippies

And given the question I asked at the 2023 Booker shortlisting readings (the only audience question and one the chair explicitly used in her closing remarks) was “In [tumultuous] times like these why do you think that literary fiction still matters?” I felt rather seen in “.. it grew tiresome, hearing so many quote Brecht: “In the dark times / Will there also be singing? / There will also be singing. / Of the dark times.” - which passage is even more ironical given the 2023 Booker Prize winner has its epigraph and borrows half of its title from Brecht’s quote

But this is a novel in which I think everyone, or at least every lover of literature, will find resonances. Nunez is quickly growing into one of my favourite authors.

Recommended.

In this novel The Vulnerables I really liked the parts when the main character was in friend’s flat taking care of a parrot and interacting with another human guest. Other parts of the story with random people that didn’t have directly connection to the main story were unnecessary for me, they were more of a stream of consciousness thoughts, which could be left out and instead of them the author could develop the main story further.
This was my first time I got to know Sigrid Nunez as a writer and I like her writing style, very straightforward with humor elements that embellish the reading experience. I appreciated her literary knowledge and I didn’t mind reading quotes from other writers.
Sigrid Nunez intrigued me enough for reaching her other renowned novel The Friend.

I had somehow missed that this was a novel set in lockdown and it was pure coincidence that I ended up reading it in feverish spurts while in quarantine with a bad bout of Covid. As a novel, it is both more and less strange than the blurb implies - slight but profound and wholly original. It was a wonderful companion whilst I was ill but it certainly doesn't need the setting to be enjoyed. Highly recommended and thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC.