READING TIME
1 Week
RATING
We all have a made-up gauge that helps us determine if a book we just closed and slid back onto its bookshelf was a good read. For me, it’s simple—if I can’t get the novel out of my head, it’s a real winner. I’ll mentally replay my favourite scenes on my subway ride home, daydream about a character before I fall asleep, even begin scripting what I imagine happens long after the final page.
Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe written by American author Benjamin Alire Sáenz was one of those good reads. The coming-of-age novel set in the late 1980s tells the story of two 15-year-old boys, who, although seem to be polar opposites of each other, actually have plenty in common that unceasingly pulls them together. Whether it be fate, or the odd chance of running into each other at a public swimming pool, Aristotle (Ari) Mendoza and Dante Quintana meet. And afterwards, their lives are never the same.
Upon opening the book, the reader is greeted with a note from Sáenz. “To all the boys who’ve had to learn to play by different rules,” he writes, dedicating his story to all the queer boys who happen to stumble upon the novel. This makes complete sense considering the novel is largely about discovering one’s identity, and with that often comes the exploration of sexuality. But as the story progressed I would often think back to this simple greeting and realize that there was so much more meaning to Sáenz’s note than I initially assumed.
For me, Sáenz wasn’t just appealing to boys who are a part of the LGBTQ+ community, like himself. Rather, he was expressing those sentiments to anyone who’s ever felt different; anyone unsure of themselves or their place in the universe. This is represented in plenty of facets, like race, religion and, of course, sexuality—all of which are themes entwined into the plot.
You discover this rather quickly as you tag along with the protagonist and narrator, Ari. Almost immediately you learn that he was a boy who felt lost in the world. He was unable to make sense of his self-deprecating thoughts or the deep feelings he had for those around him. He was struggling with who he was, while growing up in El Paso, Texas and trying to connect with his Mexican roots. All these struggles were accentuated by his family that was falling apart in front of him, largely due to his incarcerated brother, his strictly Catholic mother and an emotionally distant father who was silently grappling with the aftermath of fighting in the Vietnam War.
But that was all before Ari met Dante, a boy who was sure of himself and whose life was seemingly perfect. Spoiler alert: it was far from it. As the novel progresses, the reader is taken down a path of discovery for both these boys as they attempt to uncover the secrets of the universe together—even when apart.
You grow with them, you laugh with them and most importantly, you cry with them. You feel the love between them blooming. You empathize with the fear it stirs in each of them, even the despair of Dante who has already come to terms with his queerness. It’s a love that travels overseas and stays connected worlds apart. A love that makes them risk everything for the other, even their own lives. A love that is hidden right under their noses only to be unmasked at the end of the book.
Sounds like the perfect story, right? I sure thought so, until the last few chapters. For me, this is where the plot has the biggest letdown, and it’s precisely the scene that should have been a big ‘aha!’ moment for Ari. But instead it fell extremely flat. At this point in the novel, it is revealed to the reader that Dante had come to terms with his sexuality and it was evident that he had long ago fallen in love with his best friend.
It was only a matter of time before Ari came to the same striking realization, that the feelings he had for his greatest friend weren’t platonic at all. He would finally see that he was in love with Dante Quintana and not be ashamed of it. But (plot twist!) he never does—at least not on his own accord. Confused? So was I.
Frustratingly, it was actually Ari’s parents that informed the 17-year-old that the love he felt for Dante surpassed that of a friend. Let me put this unexpected twist into perspective by sharing a gut-punching quote Ari’s father says to a defensive Ari, who refuses to accept their rationale:
“Ari, the problem isn’t just that Dante’s in love with you. The real problem—for you, anyway—is that you’re in love with him.”
Ari really needed someone to spell it out for him and that was a huge disappointment for me. I wanted Ari to come to this revelation himself. I needed to feel his inner battle of slowly accepting his new insight. Instead, the reader receives a flimsy coming-out moment that happens all at once in a few short pages.
I tried to give the book the benefit of the doubt. I let the quote sink in and began to toy with the fact that perhaps Ari had suppressed his feelings of loving a boy—which he quoted as “not the way things are supposed to be”—for so long that he simply couldn’t detect them for himself, nor be willing to accept it.
Admittedly, I wish that’s where the chapter would have ended, with this drop of a rather timely and inevitable, bomb. It would have given the reader a chance to connect all the dots themselves about this love that is so clearly written in the stars. But, that doesn’t happen. Ari’s father doesn’t leave it there, he instead goes on to explain all the reasons so clear to him that his son was in love with another boy. And that’s where the story really takes a turn for the worst as the whole interaction seems incredibly forced. After all, the novel is about self-discovery, so why is someone else telling the protagonist who he is? And more so, who he may or may not be in love with.
However, that’s not to say that this book wasn’t penned with the happy ending it deserves, because it certainly was. Despite this pretty massive hiccup, whatever’s left of the plot progresses and Ari is still able to reject the narrative others have written for him about his Mexican heritage and his divergence from Catholicism. Of course, his sexuality—although spoon-fed to him—also filters into this rejection of narratives, be it a heterosexual view that once trapped him deep in his tightly sealed closet.
The reader watches Ari develop from the boy who at the beginning of the book declares, “The problem with my life was that it was someone else’s idea,” to a young man who was finally able to write his own story. A man who was, as he describes himself in the end, “free.” Whether or not Dante and Aristotle are able to discover the many mysteries the universe has to offer is debatable. But what is perfectly clear is that they are the answer to each other’s universe.
Paper & Lore 