Open Water
Reviews
Vulnerability is man’s greatest asset, sometimes we are our own worst limitation .
Beautiful
beautiful
wow wow…… i feel like….. i need to fall in love in the summer….. i need to float somewhere with music & language & watch both of them fail…. im sooooooo…… going through it rn….. absolutely remarkable mashallah mashallah!
this was soo so beautiful. genuinely one of the best (if not the best) writing i have ever read. every page was riddled with metaphors, some speaking to me and impacting me in ways i really did not expect. the writing is lyrical, and rlly makes u fly thru this book.
onto the plot. i’d say the one criticism i have (had to take .5 off for it 😿) is it did feel stretched at parts during the middle (and it’s quite crazy for a 150 page book to feel stretched). some pages dragged on, however this story is essentially told thru a collection of long poems, and it’s easy to chalk a bit of lag up to “this poem isn’t working for me.”
i know this book has some criticism about the events (or more specifically, the lack thereof) but i personally found it beautiful. nothing rlly happens in this book, yet everything happens. the way racism is portrayed is subtle, yet it could not be more in ur face. i especially loved the working of the ‘open water’ metaphor throughout the whole book, it was applied to multiple different contexts and worked in every single one. i also felt the lack of plot, really shone a light on the writing, and the writing did not disappoint!
Incredibly vivid and heartfelt writing just felt so intimate, I enjoyed reading this thoroughly.
I admit, I was lost in the first few pages but then I started enjoying it. Every page has this poetic lines that I can't get out of my mind. A well-written book and amazing characters. I'm glad that the author gave us flawed characters. Additionally, it was such an easy read for me.
3.5* The whole book was beautiful. Some metaphors and lyrical line spoke to me in ways I couldn’t imagine. Some didn’t. I don’t think I’m in the right space or have the right amount of patience to digest all the feelings in this book. I believe it might be a future reread
This compelling novel has helped me out of a reading slump, so I cannot be more grateful. Open Water is a beautiful narrative, almost convincingly sounding like a memoir, about the lives of two people who change each other for the better with their love. It is honestly hard to put into words how this novel was able to beautifully describe the relationship between two people with problems of their own and how they dealt with these problems together. It is written in the second person which took a little to get adjusted to so if you are worried about that, trust me you need to push through it. This novel also discusses black men’s mental health and issues that the black community faces i.e police brutality. My favorite quotes: She has decided to submit to her tears rather than understand them. It’s been a year at this point, but she knows she will always cry for you. Every time you remember something, the memory weakens , as you’re remembering the last right collection, rather than the memory itself. Nothing can remain intact. Still it does not stop you from wanting, does not stop you from longing. You tell her she deserves to be loved in the way that you love her, and she starts to cry, quiet as rain.
I absolutely loved how lyrical the writing of this book was and how the usage of the second person made the story feel more personal. It is a beautiful tribute to the the black - British experience and a compelling love story. Unfortunately despite the book being relatively short I found it really difficult to get through as the pacing was really slow.
Okay this book was beautiful????!!!!!! The perspective that Nelson use in this book is kinda unique, it's like second-person perspective. This is a romance book that is executed very nicely. Aside from it being a romance book, it also delves into racial issues and how one deals with trauma. It's memorable, the dialogues and narrative are so beautiful I couldn't put the book down when I started to read it. The quote I put on the picture is one that I remember very vividly. I don't know how to describe this book other than it's immensely beautiful.
my favorite part of the book is the fact that this book was so beautifully written and so poetic. I think i might have a thing for books like this. I also loved the music references 🥺.
the most lyrical book ever
"that's what you're being framed as, a container, a vessel, a body, you have been made a body, all those years ago, before your lifetime, before anyone else who is currently in your lifetime, and now you are here, a body, you have been made a body, and sometimes this is hard, because you know you are so much more"
A story about love, intimacy, fear and trauma. I cannot quantify how much I love this book. It was written beautifully like a classic. I resonate with the main character so much and the author had a way of putting his complex emotions into words. This story is about the complexity of life and emotions due to trauma that one has experience. This story made me fall in love; teaching me about myself and about the black male experience. Absolute 10/10
2nd person POV rarely ever worked well for me, this book was no exception despite the supposedly beautiful writing.
Before I delve into the substance of this book, I want to compliment its prose; how each sentence flowed in a rhythm, how each pattern filled me with awe, cracked me open. The author took a risk, delved in foreign waters and emerged masterfully. All of the book flowed like a song, like poetry, because it is poetry; it's music, it's art, it's cracking open one's soul and spilling all it's contents; it's being vulnerable, diving into open water, taking the reader for a swim.
Open Water tells several stories; one of being Black, constantly being afraid, searching for freedom, searching for a home; one of falling in love, with your best friend, with your soulmate, a love that makes you feel seen, known, and makes you feel the terror of it; and one of being vulnerable, broken open, finding yourself in lines of a song, in the flow of a rhythm, in distant shores, longing for the ocean, longing for a revelation, longing for freedom; it's the story of vulnerability, of being bigger than words in a world that condemns you to a life of smallness.
It's a book that will remain etched in my mind and my soul for a long time, and a recommendation for anyone who loves music, loves poetry, and anyone who is seeking for a swim.
i thought this book would pair nicely with congratulations by mac miller or just to keep you satisfied by marvin gaye
every bit of dialogue and every bit prose so meticulously pieced together.. 🤲
I struggled to enter into this book. I felt that there were maybe 25 pages in which something was actually happening. Otherwise, most of the book is centred around long descriptions of feelings, thoughts or things. I sometimes felt that the book was trying too much to be deep instead of making the story develop. Also not a fan of the style of narration that I found confusing. It is a beautiful and sensible book, maybe too sensible for me though.
i dont understand but i.. loved it?
confusing narrative style and the overly descriptive prose makes it hard to follow the story, but otherwise an interesting read
This is art. It is a home for literature, music, film, photography, dance. It is the eyes for which the importance of seeing can be emphasized. It is tender; Nelson allows love to brew, be poured, and cool. Repetition and literary callbacks make for a deep and impactful read. Nelson writes of real people, he celebrates life when life is difficult to endure. He eternalizes butterflies, awkward glances, true love, true heartbreak, vulnerability, and forgiveness.
"What you’re trying to say is that it’s easier for you to hide in your own darkness, than emerge cloaked in your own vulnerability. Not better, but easier. However, the longer you hold it in, the more likely you are to suffocate. At some point, you must breathe." i was too stunned after know this maasterpiece it's a debut novel. i am so mesmerised how the author pouring all of his soul into this book.....at first i was uncomfortable reading this book, because of 2nd pov. I rarely like the book that use 2nd person but this book blow my mind. how the author stringing the story is so poetically. this book is art, how did all the arts (photography, music specializing rap, dance, painting) told in this book make me believe that this book really is a museum of art.
3.75
Highlights
"The two of you, like headphone wires tangling, caught up in this something. A happy accident. A messy miracle."
“How wonderful are moments like these, where you don't have to hide? How wonderful to realize, amidst thrum of a bass drum, that sometimes it is a joy to be alive?”
“…Everything comes of something else. Which is to say from your solid ache comes a gentle joy.”
You have known him by many names, but today he was Daniel.
You had another conversation with your grandma, long after she passed. She came to you in a night vision and told you the body has memories. Told you to wear the scars on new skin. Let the woman you love kiss you and allow yourself to be called pretty. Unfurl, stretch out a spine made crooked by keeping small. There's only freedom there.
From Chapter 23, my favorite one.
(But can multiple truths not exist? Is anything definitive? Do you believe in permanence?)
(...)
Here you sit on someone else's front steps, and you decide you believe in permanence. This definitive arrives when your best friend breaks the hot silence, cool and measured. She tells you she loves you and now you know that you don't have to be the sum of your traumas, that multiple truths exist, that you love her too.
There is no solace in the shade. Let yourself be heard and hear her words. Have faith. Suck at the snake's bite, spit out the venom at your feet. Gaze at the fading scar but do not dwell. Do not hide but do not dwell. There's no solace in the shade. Let yourself be heard and hear her words. Have faith.
The songs are full of nostalgia, which is to say they are full of mourning; one remembers that which came before, often with a fond sadness, a want to return, despite knowing to return to a memory is to morph it, to warp it. Every time you remember something, the memory weakens, as you're remembering the last recollection, rather than the memory itself. Nothing can remain intact. Still, it does not stop you from wanting, does not stop you longing.
And how strange a life it is to have to carve out small freedoms, to have to tell yourself that you can breathe. (...) How wonderful are moments like these, where you don't have to hide? How wonderful to realize, amidst thrum of a bass drum, that sometimes it is a joy to be alive?
You're looking forward to forgetting, albeit briefly, the existential dread which plagues you, which tightens your chest, which pains your left side. You're looking forward to forgetting that, leaving the house, you might not return intact. You're looking forward to freedom, even if it is short, even if it might not last.
You're looking forward.
In your kitchen, you wonder what your tears are for: the loss of him or the loss of yourself?
To be you is to apologize and often that apology comes in the form of suppression. That suppression is indiscriminate. That suppression knows not when it will spill.
What you're trying to say is that it's easier for you to hide in your own darkness, than emerge cloaked in your own vulnerability. Not better, but easier. However, the longer you hold it in, the more likely you are to suffocate.
At some point, you must breathe.
You thought about the intention of being, and how that could be a protest. How you were all here, protesting; gathered together, living easy.
(...)
You are safe here, you said. You are seen here. You can live here. We are all hurting, you said. We are all trying to live, to breathe, and find ourselves stopped by that which is out of our control. We find ourselves unseen. We find ourselves unheard. We find ourselves mislabelled. We who are loud and angry, we who are bold and brash. We who are Black.
(...)
You worked twice as hard today, but that isn't important, not here, not now. All that matters is that you are here, that you are present, can't you hear? What does it sound like? Freedom?
From pages 33 to 35
Pulled herself over all sorts of lines to get here. Drew this line from herself to him, her father, all by herself, just to be close. No, the line was there, is always there, will always be there, but she is trying to reinforce, to strengthen. Blood and bone across the water, across continents and borders. What is a joint? What is a fracture? What is a break? It's all very difficult. Language fails us, especially when he doesn't open his mouth.
You have always thought if you opened your mouth in open water you would drown, but if you didn't open your mouth you would suffocate. So here you are, drowning.
There's an anger you have. It is cool and blue, unshifting. You wish it was red so it would explode from your very being, explode and be done with but you are too used to cooling this anger, so it remains.
There's no solace in the shade. Let yourself be heard and hear her words. Have faith. Suck at the snake's bite, spit out the venom at your feet. Gaze at the fading scar but do not dwell. Do not hide but do not dwell. There's no solace in the shade.
You're looking forward to the safety in pleasure. You're looking forward to forgetting, albeit briefly, the existential dread which plagues you, which tightens your chest, which pains your left side. You're looking forward to forgetting that, leaving the house, you might not return intact. You're looking forward to freedom, even if it is short, even if it might not last.
You're looking forward.
Things unsaid don't often remain so. They take shape and form in ways one doesn't expect, manifesting in touches, glances, gazes, sighs. All you have wanted to do was hold each other in the darkness. Now, you have opened the box and left it unguarded in the night. You have both places faith in the other that you will wake up intact. You have acted on a feeling. You are in a memory of the present. You are tumbling through a fever dream, surfacing only to plunge once more.
You're not thinking of what it looks like. You're not thinking. You're feeling. You are in a memory of something yet to happen. You want to sigh with hunger sated.
Which is to say everything comes of something else. Which is to say from your solid ache comes a gentle joy.
Your mother calls. You decline the call. She would need you intact and you are not so. You need to face this alone, you think.
A song's worth. You make it worth it, swaying with the twists and turns of the carriage, catching the swing of the rhythm, sitting in the pocket of the beat. A small joy, but a joy nonetheless.
Much of your joy is lost in the need to hold it, intact.
How does one shake off desire? To give if a voice is to sow a seed, knowing that somehow, someway, it will grow. It is to admit and submit to something which is on the outer limits of your understanding.
This book appears on the shelf Literary fiction
This book appears on the shelf Adult fiction
This book appears on the shelf 2022 reads
