You know an animal trusts you when it shows you its belly — the softest, most vulnerable part of the body, kept hidden as an almost instinctive act of protection. Between people, too, being vulnerable and opening up to others with our hopes, insecurities, and fears is the greatest act of confidence. Nicola Dinan's gorgeous, masterful debut novel is built around the shape of the connections that make space for such exposure; the acts of friendship and intimacy that allow us to show people our bellies.
It starts out as a typical boy-meets-boy story: a university drag party where an awkward Tom, who has recently come out as gay, meets the magnetic playwright Ming. Sparks fly, and that chance encounter soon turns into a tender, effervescent romance capable of encompassing their many differences in race, backgrounds, and tastes. As the year moves along, the two are inseparable — through the transition from student naïveté to moving in the real world, through friendships and tough feelings, their lives intertwine like the trunks of trees that twist and curve to accommodate each other, with the future mapped out ahead of them. Only, things are always changing, and with the post-graduation dread of expectations and desires comes Ming's decision to transition, a decision that creates tectonic shifts in their relationship with each other and the people around them.
This was an incredibly moving, humane story; unflinchingly honest in its portrayal of the complexities of evolving into one's own person and navigating queer relationships in the modern age. Tom and Ming are, on one level, undergoing the same journey in different directions: one has spent years coming to terms with his sexuality as a gay man only to find himself in love with a woman; the other has navigated years of living as a gay man before accepting herself as a straight woman. Bellies does a brilliant job of exploring their growing pains and their perspectives in a work that is as gentle as it is incisive. Dinan's characters, whether the protagonists, their families, or their friend circles, are each fleshed out to be real and multidimensional, drawn with a degree of compassion and understanding that I have never before encountered in contemporary literature, and that endeared me to them in ways that even TV shows with a 10+ season run haven't quite been able to: they are all people as we are, flawed even in their goodness, and capable of selfish and devastatingly hurtful acts even as they deeply care for one another. The drama between them is too the drama of life, with all its attendant changes, its pushes and pulls, its delicious foods, sights, sounds, and smells, its moments of loneliness, longing, and confusion, and the variegated challenges it throws at us as individuals. All of it is simply told, through natural dialogue and various poetic asymmetries, but is gripping and immensely resonant.
While the central metaphor of vulnerability and intimacy is paramount, I could not help but notice how much of the title also derives from Dinan's exploration of hunger. Hunger for identity and a positive self-concept, yes, but also the literal hunger that influences it: Bellies is full of descriptions of food, and it also goes into detail into the relationships its various characters have with it, whether in terms of physical body image or a sense of cultural identity. All that food, particularly Malaysian food, is a necessary inclusion in the novel that very subtly illuminates Ming's experience as a trans woman of colour. While her perspective is presented to readers in fewer chapters compared to Tom, her character can be understood more fully through the ways in which her native cuisine is presented to us: it is a link, for her, between her past and a present in which she is more at home with herself but is also unable to go home to a place where her very existence is illegal.
The more I think about this book, the better it gets: there is so much nuance packed into its mere 368 pages, and the observations alone place Dinan as a writer wise beyond her years — or, as many have called her, the Sally Rooney of the queer canon (though I believe Dinan engages with her characters' trauma, art, and political beliefs in ways that Rooney only wishes she could). I am hopelessly in love with all the characters in Bellies, and I loved the way Tom and Ming's relationship panned out — I did feel that the (tragic) catalyst was rather tinny and uninspired for an otherwise refreshing take on the boy-meets-boy trope, but I was moved to tears nonetheless.
A solid 4.5 stars to this masterful work, and my special thanks to Bobby Mostyn-Owen at Doubleday for providing me with a review copy.