The 50s-60s were such a time to be alive. Moravia, in this book, presents an infectious study of boredom (sounds more like depression but it was 1960 after all) that develops into both a story of personal obsession and a critique of society. 

From the prologue, the first person narrator introduced us to boredom, the feeling that has dominated his life. His privilege allows him to follow each and every one of his whims, but they all inevitably disappoint him, and he quits them out of sheer disinterest. We also see him having difficulty reconciling with his place in his society, represented by his mother, going so far as to break etiquette right in front of her and refusing her lavish gifts. 

But then he meets Cecilia (age redacted for this review because otherwise this turns into a completely different story), a model/lover of his elderly neighbour painter who died while having sex with her. Cecilia is a mix of a manic pixie dream girl and a femme fatale (literally driving men to their death). We only know her through Dino eyes, and she remains an almost total mystery. The painter’s wife tries to tell Dino that she is simply an interested girl who seduces older men for money, which she then uses to entertain relationships with younger men, but Dino at this point is perhaps too blinded, or Cecilia is actually as ephemeral as he’ll have us think. She is mysterious in a rather dull way, always refusing to elaborate in her answers and acting as if she’s completely non-observant. She never questions any of his actions, she never lets go of what gives her pleasure, with zero regards for the feelings of her lovers. It’s interesting because the image we are provided is unsympathetic as can be, but Dino still loves her. It begs the question if there’s more that meets the eye.

Or maybe it’s just about his obsession. He is sure that if he can possess Cecilia, he will stop desiring her. He was even close to leaving her at one point, when she’d proven particularly steadfast, and thus, boring. But she suddenly gets bored first, and Dino is thrown into an insane spiral. It’s a clever critique of a broken man’s inability to perceive human relations beyond the terms of capitalism, possession, transaction. He can buy her love, but he hopes that doing that will turn him off her. It doesn’t because while she accepts the money, she seems uninterested in it. She will stay with him, but won’t give up her other man. It evades all logic for a man who can actually have everything. And that leads him to moral decay and self-destruction, as he’s the only one getting hurt at any given time. 

I found it very interesting and I appreciated that Cecilia’s sexual liberation is never looked down upon. The men in her life really seem to like her for it, she is uncompromising about what she wants, and Dino doesn’t freak out at her having another lover. If anything, it seems like she exploits him, she always seems like the more powerful party in the story. Maybe there is a feminist critique to be made, but that could never be me. She’s winning in my book, I want her to be happy and refuse to read horrible trauma into it. 

The only author I know to be more daring and honest about carnal relationships is Henry Miller, and Cecilia could easily be his Mona. There’s something about these books that just tickles me. They are so raw and decadent they are impossible to put down. I love the hedonism, Cecilia’s unashamed searched for pleasure. And then there’s the study of boredom and obsession, manic and depressive states that drive one mad. Yes, Dino was just bipolar, bless him. I hope it got help, but knowing the 60s, maybe he’d be better if he didn’t.