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A review by fantine
Love & Virtue by Diana Reid
4.0
‘Are you a good person, or do you just look like one?’
This debut stunned me in every way.
Set at an elite college situated in a Sydney university, scholarship student Michaela arrives from Canberra and is plunged headfirst into the culture of private institutions - these colleges, a tertiary continuation of the private high schools with roots in the church, are similarly segregated by gender and tax bracket. The novel begins as O week festivities commence; a hazy period where teenagers are plied with alcohol at university sanctioned events that are, from the outside, an obvious breeding ground for abuse of power.
It is during these festivities where an encounter not hard to imagine becomes a catalyst for a chain of events the memories of which unravel in an effectively non-linear way. In less capable hands the plot may have been predictable or relied on twists but the structure is honestly masterful, every page somehow altering the last as we, with Michaela, desperately seek clarity; on her relationship with a much older professor, the sudden and complicated death of a friend, and just what transpired that blurry night in O week. The writing was a physical experience, my heart often skipping a beat as each paragraph built tension so palpable I had to physically put the book down and walk around multiple times.
At the core of this novel is Michaela’s relationship with fellow student Eve.
Eve might be one of my favourite literary characters in recent memory, not because I love or even like her, but because I know her.
Native to Sydney Eve wears her politics as an identity and a challenge, intrigued and intimidated Michaela is drawn to this charismatic and unapologetically outspoken figure and the two begin a relationship that quickly turns toxic; equal parts rivalry, jealousy and attraction.
Eve’s insidiousness lies in her intellect, her ability to eloquently invoke theoretical critiques of class, race, gender and institution whilst artfully excluding her own position of privilege.
‘Eve was the first person I’d met who invoked political theories to justify her personal choices. She was also, more so than anyone I’d ever met, perfectly sure of those choices. I found it hard to imagine her as a product of a larger system, her actions originating from anywhere but herself’
Thin, white, and wealthy Eve’s scholarship is almost an accessory, her car a piece of shit (that she owns), her job as a tutor reliant on connections (and not taxed), and holidays to Europe to eastern europe (everyone knows east is grittier than west). Eve’s position is one of power but it is also an inevitably aspirational one, as Michaela despite her efforts does care what others think, how her actions will affect them and her yearning for acceptance makes her malleable to Eve whose moral outrage is a privilege not afforded to those she claims to champion. Her choice to live rent free in a dorm on her scholarship is as easy as leaving in a dramatic performance of revolt; for Michaela the scholarship means a place to live ‘but at what cost?’ Eve asks her in a perfect display of class privilege.
Whilst exploring the larger themes of class and patriarchy it is in the details, the shades of grey that this novel shines. Performative activism and appropriation of the personal to further the political are difficult and complex themes but this novel does not shy away from the messiness. The writing is raw and unflinchingly blunt but not without a self-deprecating wit, no sentence meaningless and if first appearing so would often become clear in a satisfying pay off.
This debut stunned me in every way.
Set at an elite college situated in a Sydney university, scholarship student Michaela arrives from Canberra and is plunged headfirst into the culture of private institutions - these colleges, a tertiary continuation of the private high schools with roots in the church, are similarly segregated by gender and tax bracket. The novel begins as O week festivities commence; a hazy period where teenagers are plied with alcohol at university sanctioned events that are, from the outside, an obvious breeding ground for abuse of power.
It is during these festivities where an encounter not hard to imagine becomes a catalyst for a chain of events the memories of which unravel in an effectively non-linear way. In less capable hands the plot may have been predictable or relied on twists but the structure is honestly masterful, every page somehow altering the last as we, with Michaela, desperately seek clarity; on her relationship with a much older professor, the sudden and complicated death of a friend, and just what transpired that blurry night in O week. The writing was a physical experience, my heart often skipping a beat as each paragraph built tension so palpable I had to physically put the book down and walk around multiple times.
At the core of this novel is Michaela’s relationship with fellow student Eve.
Eve might be one of my favourite literary characters in recent memory, not because I love or even like her, but because I know her.
Native to Sydney Eve wears her politics as an identity and a challenge, intrigued and intimidated Michaela is drawn to this charismatic and unapologetically outspoken figure and the two begin a relationship that quickly turns toxic; equal parts rivalry, jealousy and attraction.
Eve’s insidiousness lies in her intellect, her ability to eloquently invoke theoretical critiques of class, race, gender and institution whilst artfully excluding her own position of privilege.
‘Eve was the first person I’d met who invoked political theories to justify her personal choices. She was also, more so than anyone I’d ever met, perfectly sure of those choices. I found it hard to imagine her as a product of a larger system, her actions originating from anywhere but herself’
Thin, white, and wealthy Eve’s scholarship is almost an accessory, her car a piece of shit (that she owns), her job as a tutor reliant on connections (and not taxed), and holidays to Europe to eastern europe (everyone knows east is grittier than west). Eve’s position is one of power but it is also an inevitably aspirational one, as Michaela despite her efforts does care what others think, how her actions will affect them and her yearning for acceptance makes her malleable to Eve whose moral outrage is a privilege not afforded to those she claims to champion. Her choice to live rent free in a dorm on her scholarship is as easy as leaving in a dramatic performance of revolt; for Michaela the scholarship means a place to live ‘but at what cost?’ Eve asks her in a perfect display of class privilege.
Whilst exploring the larger themes of class and patriarchy it is in the details, the shades of grey that this novel shines. Performative activism and appropriation of the personal to further the political are difficult and complex themes but this novel does not shy away from the messiness. The writing is raw and unflinchingly blunt but not without a self-deprecating wit, no sentence meaningless and if first appearing so would often become clear in a satisfying pay off.