Selin, a sophomore at Harvard, was born in the U.S. but is
of Turkish descent, speaks some Hungarian, and is learning Russian. She has never had sex, never been kissed, and
never been asked out on a date. Her shoe
size is eleven and a half. This novel
reads like a year-long diary and may contain an excessive amount of
navel-gazing, but it had me at the first page. Selin has a wry sense of self-deprecating
humor, which contradicts her obsession with death, and she over-analyzes almost
everything. This novel is funny in an
erudite sort of way and would appeal to anyone who likes a heavy dose of
philosophy (Kierkegaard) with their fiction. It is all about a personal journey—destination
unknown—and culminates in a really wild
actual summer trip, sponsored by a company that recruits college students to
investigate and write about foreign travel “off the beaten path.” This whirlwind final section is absolutely my
favorite part of the book and sets us up for a sequel. Sign me up!
Selin’s freshman year is the subject of Batuman’s other novel,
The Idiot, which I have not read. If I had read it, I might be able to keep up
with her vast circle of friends, with names like Svetlana and Lakshmi. At one point she meets a guy whose name even
she has trouble pronouncing, so that she just refers to him throughout the book
as the Count, like a character in an Iris Murdoch novel. To say that Selin is well-read is an
understatement. I am afraid that she
puts me to shame in that department.
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