It took me over a year to read this book and a little bit longer to write about it. Perhaps because it hits home. Perhaps because the silences are too loud. Perhaps because we all need medicine but in small doses.
The book talks about the lives of lonely artists who can't help but fly right into the sun. They leave paper trails on the way, images of terror and beauty - "content that is both so disturbing and so resistant to interpretation" - that you fear looking at it directly. Or at least I do. The descriptions of loneliness are visceral, not even remotely romantic, and perhaps the biggest challenge you will face as a reader. Olivia Laing uses words soft words to voice an emptiness that's so personal, yet is something that lives in all of us, part of universal darkness. The impact is both gentle and debilitating.
Still, Lonely City is an attempt to understand the world and hold its pain in a way that does not destroy you. Pick it up when you don't want to feel alone.














