applesodaperson's review against another edition

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informative reflective medium-paced

4.0

Honestly this book did not end up being what I expected it to be. I thought it was going to be more of a memoir format, with the author discussing times that they felt alone/lonely while living in a city. But it ended up being more like a collection of nonfiction essays, with loneliness being a connecting through line among all of them. Usually I would dislike this, because it is something that I have criticized other books for in the past, but this time the topics ended up being interesting enough to justify it and hold my attention. 
I liked hearing the info about the artists that Laing highlighted, such as Andy Warhol. Particularly because this is probably not info that I would have ever sought after for myself. But I feel like I learned a lot. 
I also really enjoyed the sections talking about the isolating nature of being a part of the LGBTQ+ community, especially in the late 1900s, during the height of the HIV/AIDS crisis in America. I can't imagine how bad the discrimination was back then, when being queer was so heavily associated with HIV in the eyes of the public. 
Overall, this was a really enjoyable read. 
Listened to on Libby.

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lewisosluaghadain's review against another edition

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challenging emotional informative reflective slow-paced

4.5


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scottishgremlin's review against another edition

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emotional informative reflective slow-paced

4.25

I enjoyed this more than I expected to, as someone who’s not particularly interested in art history. Lots of introspective explorations of isolation and loneliness.

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sadie_g's review against another edition

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informative slow-paced

3.75


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alyssapusateri's review against another edition

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informative reflective medium-paced

3.5


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owenwilsonbaby's review against another edition

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emotional hopeful reflective sad fast-paced

5.0

“God I was sick of carrying around a woman’s body, or rather everything that attaches to it.”

Wow! My copy is dog-eared from the countless quotes I wanted to remember and include here. What a beautiful and articulate piece of writing about analysing and challenging loneliness and what a delicate and finely-wrought talent for storytelling. 

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allthatjazz's review against another edition

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3.5


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savvylit's review against another edition

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emotional informative reflective medium-paced

3.5

"...The lonelier a person gets, the less adept they become at navigating social currents. Loneliness grows around them, like mould or fur, a prophylactic that inhibits contact, no matter how badly contact is desired. Loneliness is accretive, extending and perpetuating itself."

Where The Lonely City excels is in its biographical portraits of lonely artists. Beginning with Edward Hopper and Andy Warhol, Laing also compassionately portrays the lives of two lesser-known artists: Henry Darger and David Wojnarowicz. Laing's continued discussion of loneliness' relationship to these artists' creativity and community is extremely fascinating. The Lonely City constantly pushes readers to consider all the ways that someone can feel lonely or ostracized - even in a densely populated urban setting. Using the four aforementioned artists, she creates a very moving meditation on cultural normativity and it's inexorable connection to loneliness.

All that being said, I do think this book was a tad bloated. Like Laing's own walks around New York City described in this book, The Lonely City is quite meandering. I think this book would have benefited from focusing purely on biography and drawing conclusions from the artists' lives. However, Laing injects several random-seeming mentions of her own life which throw off the overall flow. For instance, she mentions a devastating breakup that she experienced - and then never discusses it again. I know it's definitely more than possible to weave personal anecdotes into biography. But in the case of The Lonely City, it is just not well-executed

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clarabooksit's review against another edition

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I’ve been ruminating on language, its fluidity and possibilities. How magnificent and frustrating is it that words can mean so many different things? 
 
Which brings me to this book: THE LONELY CITY: ADVENTURES IN THE ART OF BEING ALONE by Olivia Laing. I picked it up because of its title. It’s a fantastic title. 
 
I thought it was going to be a collection of essays about loneliness, primarily the author’s own, and the myriad ways that it transpires and affects our lives. I thought the focal point was going to be New York City as one of the most populous cities in the world and also one of the loneliest. I thought there was going to be adventure, nuance, well-crafted sentences and poignancy. 
 
What I did not expect was that the operative word in the title was “art.” 
 
This book is about lonely (white, male) artists who lived in NYC. (I didn’t finish the book, so it’s possible there’s diversity somewhere in it but I wouldn’t bet on it.)
 
While some of my expectations were sort of met—nuance, poignancy, a great deal of loneliness—I find myself disappointed. Is this my own fault? Entirely. But that title set up so much and my interpretation was all wrong. 
 
Does that make this a bad book? No, of course not. Does it make it not for me? Mostly yes. This might be callous but misunderstood male artists are not my thing. (And they’re nearly all male—the few women are defined by their relationships to said male artists.)
 
This is well-crafted—Laing weaves history, art, biography and social critique beautifully—and if you’re interested in the art world, particularly the latter half of the 20th century in the U.S., this might be for you.

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bonnie's review against another edition

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challenging informative reflective slow-paced

4.0


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