“Zwischen Immer und Nie. Between always and never.”
The above is a quote from André Aciman’s breakout novel, Call Me By Your Name (2007), that has stuck with me since I read it for the first time as a teenager. Thus, the concept of existing within “always and never” returned to me as I devoured Aciman’s latest work of fiction, Room on the Sea. Memories of the adolescent adoration which framed my first taste of Aciman collided with my more recent, seemingly refined, experiences with love. And there I was, once again, in that endless “always and never” of human existence, with Aciman’s intricate, poignant ideas in my hands.
Aciman’s writing transports us to this subliminal space that is our everyday encounters with others, our constant pursuit of love and connection; this stretch of unknown where things are truly “between always and never.” A reminder of how extraordinary human existence is, if you care enough to notice.
But, what does this mean, actually?
It means missed connections, big decisions, and lingering memories of what was or what could have been.
Aciman’s writing is eerie in its ability to make tangible these excruciatingly complex emotions. You read his work and somehow recognize precisely what he is talking about, even with their specifically sticky circumstances. And he writes between “always and never” with a delicate, determined balance.
Room on the Sea is the first piece of fiction that Aciman has written since Find Me (2019). It presents a continuation of his immersive oeuvre but with a notable structural departure from his usual novel. Aciman demonstrates the malleability of his craft and a mastery of his thematic preferences (love, language, and longing) by writing three novellas. The succinct form does not limit Aciman in any way, and indeed, it embodies the thread of “always and never” that I have found within his writing.
Novellas are defined as “a short novel or a long story,” a phrase that evokes a similar sentiment to “Zwischen Immer und Nie.” They are an entity that exists between two bounds, defined yet unrestrained. Aligning the form with this theme in his writing is effective and makes for a consistent, cohesive reading experience.
In fact, the concise form of the novella is ideal for his subject matter. As a reader, it would almost feel intrusive to have anything more than a glimpse into these characters’ lives. These extended vignettes lend themselves to the pendulum that is “between always and never,” or the driving force of everyday existence. With the close of each novella, which comes too soon but also right on time, we are reminded that the pendulum swings back.
Aciman’s choice to explore this form, the novella, is compelling in and of itself. His writing is centered on the strange coincidences of life, random encounters, and the possibility of connection. The fragments of lives that he describes are immediately immersive and transport you to choices you’ve made, opportunities yet to arise.
When reading Aciman, you simultaneously feel the expansive possibility of life and the looming prospect of choice that will dictate that life. Room on the Sea is no exception. Indeed, his choice to curate three novellas centered on boundless love is what many readers of Aciman may predict and even hope for. We can always expect this focus from Aciman, but we can never expect the twists and turns that his writing will take us on. I think he leans on this familiarity, draws his readers in, only to shatter all of our preconceptions—about him, his writing, and this elusive thing we call love. He keeps us suspended “between always and never,” inviting us to investigate the intricate stitching of characters’ lives, as well as our own.
Between always and never, because it is timeless, just like Room on the Sea’s first novella, The Gentleman from Peru, which details the encounters between an older man and a group of young Americans. Aciman dabbles in magical realism in this piece to emphasize the wonderful possibility of chance encounters as well as the existence of soulmates whose paths may not cross for many lifetimes.
Between always and never, because it is unexpected. The titular novella, Room on the Sea, explores this extensively as two strangers meet during jury duty and form a serendipitous connection. Their chance encounter reinvigorates their lives and puts them on a precipice of a new future, if they so dare.
Between always and never, because it is haunting, like Aciman’s third novella, Mariana, a rewriting of a seventeenth-century piece of fiction. Originally telling the story of a nun seduced and then abandoned by a soldier, this retelling occurs at an artist’s residency and illustrates the aching aftermath of a passionate relationship. It is haunting in its ability to remain relatable centuries later, haunting in the deliciously destructive allure of regret.
This book, residing eternally “between always and never,” is a place of opportunity, of hope. Room on the Sea takes you to the space between the mind and the soul, devotion and delusion; it leaves you floating in momentary limitlessness.
FICTION
Room On the Sea
By André Aciman
Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Published June 24,2025
