2015 was the year of Vendela Vida for me; I discovered this author's books and can't get enough of them.
Having read several of her more recent works before getting around to reading this, her debut, I was already aware that Vida writes variations on a theme. That theme goes a little something like this: woman is confronted with shocking news or experience that jolts the foundation of her identity and is somewhat isolating, then seeks to develop coping, self-soothe, restore equilibrium and sense of self. Strenuous exotic travel usually plays some role in some part of this, but Vida is also a master of detailing the day-to-day and uncovering the epic nature of the taken-for-granted quotidian grind.
The formula I just detailed is reductive, but make no mistake about it: Vida is not formulaic, and this novel is magnificent. Ellis, or El, a young art history grad student at Columbia, has a brief, violent encounter with a man in Riverside Park. (I won't say more about the encounter so as to avoid spoilers, but I want to clarify that it does NOT involve sexual violence. Gendered violence: now perhaps.) El creatively (literally) survives the encounter, yet it alters her relationship with herself and with virtually everything in her life, especially with those in her limited social circle of students, school personnel, and building superintendents - and, of these, especially with men, including current, past, would be and erstwhile "boyfriends." The book provides a wonderfully realistic depiction of post-traumatic stress and especially the isolation and anger a survivor might experience when confronted with others' discomfort with the violence, which manifests in a spectrum of ways from victim-blaming to offers of violent vengeance.
We learn that Ellis's immigrant mom named her for Ellis Island, and the name is significant: we quickly see that, just like the needy man in the park, other men in her life seem to try to colonize her or to project upon her their often violent wants and desires, whether spiritual, physical, or existential. Ellis is initially rather passive, but learns through her violent encounter and throughout her recovery process to better discern the intentions of the men around her and to absolve herself of the responsibility for being their "promised land." Once Ellis begins to see herself as less of a vehicle and more of an agent, she is able to switch focus from her perceived personal weaknesses to her personal strengths - from "what about her made her a victim" to "what positive qualities and powers of hers allowed her to survive." And from there, she is able to attain healing and to think in sophisticated and perhaps controversial ways about forgiveness.
This all sounds very heavy, but I should mention that Vendela Vida books are also fucking funny, and fun. They are suspenseful page-turners like the best of genre fiction, and I suppose they are indeed literary psychological thrillers. In fact, I might say they transcend page-turning; I've read three of her books and noticed the same phenomenon each time: the book reads so easily and effortlessly that it seems to be reading itself. They are really immersive and remind me of a great cinéma vérité film in which the whole thing is one long smooth single camera shot. Reading Vida's books reminds me of the feeling you get in those dreams where you can fly.