Edinburgh – Alexander Chee
100-Word (or Less) Synopsis: At 12-years-old, Aphias Zhe — or Fee — experiences and witnesses the ongoing abuse of his peers by their choir director. He spends decades struggling with guilt and shame, both for remaining quiet and for how it changed the trajectory of his life and decisions.
Expectation: High-brow gay fiction with tear-inducing scenarios and redemption.
Reality: Well-written and engaging, but the last act will make or break this story for readers. I’m still on the fence about it.
Recommended For: People who count “A Little Life” or “On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous” among their top reads. If you don’t like those novels, you won’t like this one.
Why I Read It: It was highly rated on Goodreads.
My Take:
In the early days of the pandemic, when I was stacking my to be read (TBR) list with any title that seemed capable of creating a distraction from reality, I came across Alexander Chee’s debut novel, “Edinburgh,” first released in 2001. The description told me it was high-brow gay fiction, and that’s all I needed to know.
Two years later, I’ve finished the novel and have spent several days trying to process everything that happened. I did not go into it prepared for the complexity of the situation presented, or how it would make me feel in the end.
All I can say is that it’s an incredibly well-written novel, but it’s also a really f*cked up story. So, while I’m awarding it a five-star rating — and if you’ve read my reviews, you know I don’t hand them out willy-nilly — that distinction is also coming with an asterisk.*
Before diving into the details of that asterisk, I first want to provide a little context for those who may go into a reading blind (like me) or are curious if it’s the right book for them.
First, I’m not a prude when it comes to reading about difficult topics. Hanya Yanagihara’s “A Little Life” dedicates hundreds of pages to child abuse and sexual assault that is much more graphic than what Chee presents here. Ocean Vuong’s “On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous,” frankly addresses teenage sexuality and drug use with a sheen of glorification.
Yet, I adore both of those novels. Not because of the subject matter, but because the writers were able to tap into emotion at its most primal and immerse you in unlikable situations that begin to feel like something you experienced — not a character. It’s somewhat transcendent and very few books have impacted me in that way.
I thought about “Life” and “Earth” frequently while reading “Edinburgh,” and clearly Chee influenced both Yanagihara and Vuong, but I don’t have the same feeling about the latter novel as I do with the formers, and the reasons why are where the asterisk comes in.
[spoilers ahead]
Why “Edinburgh” deserves five stars:
The story surprised me. I’m purposely being cagey on some plot details because I was honestly, truly gobsmacked by a few of them, specifically the POV shift a little over halfway through and how it completely upended the story — in a fascinating way.
It frankly addresses guilt and shame. Queer shame is something all LBTQIA+ individuals have dealt with, but how Chee presents Fee’s shame, rooted heavily in guilt from witnessing and experiencing abuse and not reporting it, adds another layer of complexity that, while a not a personal experience of mine, I know will resonate with others.
The writing. While not as immersive as the writing in “Life” or “Earth,” Chee masterfully presented a situation, and then took it down about three layers for you to really understand the impact. The most striking example of this was the beginning of the “January” chapter where we learn how a young child was impacted by witnessing Peter’s suicide. In only three paragraphs, Chee plainly explored how many lives a single abuser can destroy.
The themes. At its core, this is a novel about discovery. Who you are. Where you belong. What you desire. It was interesting to see how Chee addressed each of these at the different seasons of Fee’s life and to see how he called back to previous scenarios.
Why “Edinburgh” was imperfect:
It felt repetitive. Before the POV shift later in the novel, I wondered where Chee was going with the story, as about 30 percent of it was a slightly different view of the same situation — the aftermath of the abuse. While solely centered Fee, bringing in the POVs of Peter and Zach could have made this a little less recursive.
The Peter proxy. First love is a powerful thing, and Fee spends most of the novel trying to find the reincarnation of his first love, Peter, who (as noted above) commits suicide as a teenager. Chee doesn’t give us a solid answer as to why Fee can’t let go. Is it remorse? Lack of closure? Emotional stunting from the abuse? Even after he finds that person in Bridey, he continues searching, which leads me to…
The ending.* I was stunned. Honestly, speechless. It is equal parts genius and distasteful. How Chee slowly had Fee become what he feared. The parallels between Fee and Bridey and Big Eric and Leanne. The positioning of Edward as both victim and aggressor. You could write a thesis on the pros and cons of Chee’s approach. It challenges everything you’ve been led to believe about Fee, and it made me feel dirty. I can’t stop thinking about it.
I tackled this as a hybrid read/listen, but I read about two-thirds of it. Given the complexity of the writing, it’s probably the best way to experience “Edinburgh,” although Daniel K. Isaac and Josh Hurley were both engaging in their portrayals of Fee and Edward, respectively.
Finally, if you decide to read this — and I would recommend it — know that child sexual abuse, grooming, suicide and drug use all factor heavily into the plot. And, as noted above, your reaction to the ending will make or break the whole experience for you.
Rating (story): 5/5 stars
Rating (narration): 4/5 stars
Formats: Hybrid read/listen (library loans)
Dates read: April 30 – May 11, 2022
Multi-tasking: Not recommended. I absorbed more of the story while reading it, so if you listen to the audiobook, only perform tasks that allow you to concentrate on Chee’s words.
