Hello once again, my lovely bi bookworms! You know, between you, me, and the lamppost, I cannot tell you how many times I’ve read a story and my favorite character ended up not being the lead character at all. Sometimes the second banana or a forgotten ancillary character can bring such a profound hue to the narrative that they become unforgettable, and I wish I got to see more of where their life goes.
Such was the case with the beloved, bi, Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman. When I read the book (and saw the movie), I was so moved by the depth and unloved life choice from Elio’s father, Samuel Perlman, that it broke my heart in a matter of a few minutes. And while I wanted to find out what happened to Elio and Oliver, when I closed the book, I always wanted to find out what happened to Samuel, too. So when I found out Aciman wrote a sequel that detailed what happened to Sami, I knew I had to immediately dive deeper and report back to you, readers. And so that’s exactly what I did.
But why care about Samuel? This monologue. This one above. The tenderness of a father who has lived makes space for his son to feel everything, and to remind him he’s there for him. And who alludes to the fact that he knows the nature of Elio and Oliver’s relationship, and that Samuel himself almost had one like that type, but never gave himself over to it, and regretted it.
The end of Call Me By Your Name touches on what vaguely happened over the next few years between Elio and Oliver, but Samuel fades to the background before dying, and Elio has spread his ashes all over the world. To me, that’s not a fully fitting ending for such a character, especially after we had gotten such a rich glimpse into his interior life. Find Me, instead, picks up (with intense detail) on what really happened with all three characters. (Also, fun fact: the audiobook is narrated by Michael Stuhlbarg, who played Samuel in the movie.)
Spoilers will follow. Also I should give warning not in my review but in the book — about discussions of child molestation and sexual assault.
In the first section we revisit Samuel, now divorced, who is on a train bound for Rome to visit Elio. Sitting next to him is a vivacious young woman, Miranda, and the two strike up a Before Sunrise-esque all-day entanglement of minds and bodies that awakens a chance at real intimacy of spirit, Samuel (who Miranda calls “Sami”) thought had long past. Though there is an age difference here like in the previous novel (as well as later with Elio and another lover), everything with everyone is above board and consensual. Everyone is over thirty and making informed decisions.
What’s more important here to me with this particular dynamic is that it would be easy for someone to cruelly sum up Sami’s journey to be a basic May/December romance, or an extended midlife crisis relationship. But what occurs between Sami and Miranda is Sami’s dream from the first book fulfilled — not with a man, no, but still one of profound connection and attraction, with a good amount of musing about fate that the two should meet. It ultimately ends up being a happy final chapter to Sami’s life, when “the ocean is still warm in November” enough for them both to swim in. Finally: a queer man gets a happy ending.
Aciman also takes time to check in with both Elio and Oliver years later and more in depth. Elio, now in his thirties, becomes involved with an older man, Michel, when the two of them come across each others’ paths in Paris when they go to attend a concert of the Florian Quartet. Many readers or moviegoers also likely would have dismissed the connection between Elio and Oliver as a gay, one-time thing. But through more insight into his interior monologue, we learn that Elio has had both male and female lovers before Michel, and still feels ties to Oliver after all of these years.
When we later catch up with Oliver, we come across him married with kids but also navigating an attraction to a man and woman just before the end of a sabbatical for his professorship in Manhattan. Though he doesn’t cheat on his wife, Micol, he does dream of having a threesome with the two potential lovers but never acts on them. In fact, after a night of rumination after a party where all of them attended, Oliver realizes he is still also spiritually tied to Elio after all of these years, imagining what he would say. All of the characters play with this romantic idea of fate, of finding each other, and making room for the true love one wants to feel. And ultimately (without spoiling too much), Oliver and Elio find great happiness, too.
As for bisexuality, all three characters, for all their Proust-ian musings, never use the term “bi,” it’s true. Though all their attractions are there and spelled out, the most Aciman gives any of them regarding describing their attractions is some vague bon mot, such as “the libido accepts all currencies” or “my inclinations ran in all ways.” Is it frustrating? Depends on the reader. For me, this time around it was clear that Aciman was underlining their queerness, even if the term was written in invisible ink. That was good enough for me.
Find Me ends up being a rapturous and profoundly queer novel. As circuitous in thought as the ancient streets of Rome, ultimately it serves up a buffet of philosophies, deep feelings, and musings enough to sweep any bi reader off their feet — if they’re brave enough to let it.