Friendship exists despite adversity, or perhaps because of it.
Fredrick Backman’s My Friends’ friendship is a friendship of adversity. A form of innocence that survives the worst the world has to throw and still manages to flower into rainbows and daisies, or I should say, geraniums and lavender.
This is the 4th Backman book I read, and to be honest, I picked it up just to figure out what the sudden hype was about. After all, he has been writing novels since the 2010s, and yet this was the one that is talked about the most. The title was a reason too, drawing me in with its simplicity. A claim one makes knowing with surety that it is true. “My Friends”.
Backman’s earlier writings, particularly in the mid-to-late 2010s were quite easy to understand. Simple sentence framings and easy language. But always with one unique element. He managed to deal with heavy concepts with extreme relatability, without making me feel like I was being weighed down by the negativity. Somehow, Backman’s books manage to show the worst situations and personalities, while maintaining the flame of the torch of hope and positivity. One of the most accurate representations of life I have come across.
Backman manages to humanise situations by representing their multi-dimensional-ness. His characters are not wholly “good” or “bad”, “right” or “wrong”. They make mistakes, but what distinguishes them is how and when they learn from them. Just like life, there is no big redemption for anyone. Rather, small choices show the growth within characters. No one is perfect, but no one is a villain either.
The characters (C. Jat) in this book hold true to this. They not only provide a unique outlook on life but amazingly develop this outlook despite varied feelings of inadequacy, familial disturbances, and personal issues. And yet, they do not become bitter individuals afraid of living life to the fullest. They do not regret their life choices and paths, they do not label the world as mean and God as unfair.
They just survive.
Happily.
These are children who are wise beyond their age yet still manage to retain the innocence of childhood. They are able to recognise “not fitting in” as a glue to stick together rather than a reason to fall apart. However much they struggle, they manage to, in their own ways, embrace their individuality while maintaining a dynamic of friendship.
Because friendship is not with the version of the person who exists today. It is with their truest self.
Friendship is understanding but also acceptance. Of the good and the bad, but also of circumstances and motivations and choices. It is seeing beyond labels the world puts on people into their soul. Its saying “I believe in you” and understanding its equivalence to “I love you”. It is understanding that what happens to you directly affects them and recognising that that love is oft expressed through “hooliganism”, i.e. defending a friend with fists when required, or being cruel to them on purpose to drive them away from the rot of the place, even if it means giving up your own joy. Friendship is taking on the responsibility of others and giving your responsibility in turn. A silent exchange.
Another thing I love about Backman’s writing is how similar it is to someone’s thoughts while still focusing on getting the important ones across. The ramblings of the mind, unfiltered yet relevant. And, of course, the dry humour and sarcasm deserve a special mention!
Another important detail is the poetic nature of his sentences. This is something that I have noticed slowly be incorporated into his writing over the years, with dialogue never being centre stage. Generally, such writing styles come across either as monotonous or chaotic, where I keep struggling to follow the different timelines, and frustratingly attempt to figure out what the purpose is of jumping from one person’s thoughts or one particular situation to another that feels as far possibly removed from each other as possible. Surprisingly, Backman makes this work. His transitions between the past and present are seamless, which has helped solidify the message that reactions to experiences are often similar across generations.
I would also say that his suspense building has, for lack of a better term, improved. There were numerous instances where it seemed that the story was progressing to a predictable turn, just to come upon it and find a completely different path. The buildup to these turns was also pretty well executed, with a slow start eventually making me feel as though I was speeding up to it despite feeling that I already knew what would happen. So, when the rug was pulled out from underneath, it felt strangely satisfactory because it upped the ante of intrigue for the rest of the book.
Art makes the friends feel like they are too big for their body, but My Friends made me feel like my body was too small for all the feelings evoked by the book.
It’s rare to find a book that makes you speechless, makes your brain stop rushing with thoughts. It’s rarer still to find a book which is human. A rambling, often dramatic, dryly sarcastic human. And rarest of all is the book which makes you realise that maybe, just maybe, you need to go back and read all the author’s books you previously read because its instilled you with the conviction that you didn’t understand them then, just like you didn’t understand this now. And that you will probably never understand any of these fully ever again.
Backman’s friendship feels unattainable and within reach at the same time. It instils the hope that we too will find lifelong friendships, but we need to keep our minds and hearts open. Because friendship is a love we stumble into. (Or, like C. Jat crash into).
A love born in the midst of grief. Fields that survive the storm.
