The Comforting Pleasure of Verisimilitude

Hi everyone, I'm Sze, the founder of 72 Smalldive. Summertime reading is here, and I have come up with a stack that is all about the exquisite pleasure of verisimilitude – that feeling when a writer perfectly captures an experience you've already lived. I have chosen these books because they are like time capsules, transporting me back to my sojourns in London, Paris, and Spain during the '90s and '00s. 

Anyone who has spent time living, working, or traveling in Spain or London might particularly enjoy the deep verisimilitude these books evoke. But even if you haven't visited the specific countries, cities, or museums that hold the artworks described in one of these books, I am sure you will still be touched by these stories, rich with shared human experiences. Enjoy!

Modern Nature, Journals: 1989-1990, Derek Jarman 

I am a horti-phile, and Jarman's Modern Nature offers an intimate, almost tactile verisimilitude. His journals from his time spent at Dungeness beautifully capture that universal, deeply personal relationship we have with the gardens we tend: the act of squatting low among the plants, the occasional, fleeting whiffs of unexpected fragrance, observing minute growth only we ourselves would notice, and the serene ritual of listening to hovering, buzzing bees. It’s a shared language among gardeners, evoking a profound sense of recognition.

Yet, this serenity is powerfully cleaved by Jarman’s keen observations of the changing attitudes of London life of his time. These tender, almost meditative garden prose are set against the poignant backdrop of his personal fight for greater HIV/AIDS awareness. This juxtaposition makes the quiet moments of growth in his garden even more resonant, as they become a stark and beautiful counterpoint to the turbulent realities of his world, creating a dual layer of deeply felt, recognizable experience for all of us – Modern Nature is a testament to our ongoing human endeavor to balance lived realities with the aspirations of the modern world.

Funny Weather, Olivia Laing

Olivia Laing's Funny Weather offers a profound verisimilitude, skillfully layering the intimate 'what happened to them' onto the 'why' behind countless artworks. If you frequent art galleries, museums, and fairs, you've likely encountered the powerful, sometimes perplexing, pieces described in this collection. Yet, Laing does more than just describe the art; she immerses readers in the lives and contexts of the artists themselves.

Her essays evoke a deep sense of recognition and connection. Not only did my memories of standing before specific artworks, often from a museum or gallery, become breathtakingly vivid, but I also gained a new, empathetic understanding of the human stories that shaped them. Laing's absorbing and sensitive narratives—exploring artists' joys, personal struggles, and the political landscapes of their time—made these connections palpable.

Funny Weather is a gentle, humbling reminder of our shared human journey, and a beautiful celebration of the emotional generosity of artists who transform that experience into something profound and beautiful. 

The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway 

Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises holds a unique place on my bookshelf. For me, it was the very book that sparked my initial interest in visiting Spain and learning Spanish. Having since worked and revisited Spain, observing the profound changes of recent decades, and witnessing the contemporary anti-tourist sentiment in places like Barcelona, re-reading this novel now evokes a strange, potent nostalgia.

Hemingway masterfully captures a liberating yet tumultuous time, portraying a land where people, as observed from the recent backlash against tourists in several Spanish cities, still live with a fiery, unbridled passion. The novel’s keen observations of character, dialogue, and atmosphere resonate deeply with my own experience, making its descriptions of bullfights, cafes, and sun-drenched landscapes feel not just like fiction, but like a shared memory of a place alive with both past glories and present complexities. This is particularly relevant for anyone who has visited Spain and has to contemplate on the present complexities of overtourism.

The Line of Beauty, Alan Hollinghurst

Alan Hollinghurst's The Line of Beauty holds an especially profound place in evoking verisimilitude for me. This connection is amplified by a personal thread: I first learned of him through a friend who was also a friend of his during my inaugural trip to London, and it's thanks to that friend that I even have a personally signed copy of The Folding Star. While my interaction was brief, meeting him at a book signing event at the British Council in Singapore was a memorable moment for me.

Yet, beyond this brief "author fandom," The Line of Beauty holds a powerful, direct effect on me. Hollinghurst's exquisite prose paints precise, vivid pictures that instantly transport me back to my own London days – specifically, those early morning walks from Kensington towards the Thames, passing by the Tate. He captures not just the physical landscape with uncanny accuracy, but also the very atmosphere and subtle social nuances of that specific time and place. It's this profound immersion that makes his work resonate so deeply, feeling like a mirror to my own lived experiences.