Book Review | Tin Man
- Michael John Halse
- Nov 22, 2018
- 4 min read
And sometimes, when the day loomed gray, I’d sit at my desk and remember the heat of that summer. I’d remember the smells of tuberose that were carried by the wind, and the smell of octopus cooking on stinking griddles. I’d remember the sound of our laughter and the sound of a doughnut seller, and I’d remember the red canvas shoes I lost in the sea, and the taste of pastIs and the taste of his skin, and a sky so blue it would defy anything else to be blue again. And I’d remember my love for a man that almost made everything possible.
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Deep breaths… Tin Man. I bought this book at the beginning of the summer, reaching for it based on the shiny cover alone adorned with a metallic, cropped version of van Gogh’s Sunflowers (1888). I was beyond excited to see that it was story about gay romance, because, as I’ve been reading more and more, I’ve realized there isn’t a lot of out there in the realm of LGBTQ2S+ literature… and a lot of what I have read, hasn’t been too great. I thought this would be a light summer read, that I would breeze through and thoroughly enjoy. I did enjoy it, I absolutely loved it… but in no way was this a light read, in fact it took me three months to get through this 200 page novel. It tore me apart emotionally. It ripped at my scabs and made me bleed over and over. What a book.
Author Sarah Winman weaves a story of two men. The novel begins with Ellis, a middle-aged man suffering from severe depression having lost his entire world. We learn pretty early on that his wife Annie has died, and Ellis mourns her, and others that are gone in his life, through intense isolation. And Winman’s writing prowess absolutely shines through in this first half of the book. Ellis’ mood and depression seeps from the pages in waves that suck you in and almost bring you down to his level with simple empathy. Ever present are the ghosts of Ellis’ father and mother. A father who disapproved of unmanly things, who was abusive and rough, and a mother whose only solace in life came from a small recreation of van Gogh’s Sunflowers and the quiet torture she endured until her premature death. This half of the novel went well for me, I felt Ellis’ sadness and melancholy, but everyday I would come back and continue where I’d left off… but then the novel switches.
The second half features Michael in the main role. Ellis’ best friend, and former boyfriend/lover. It jumps a couple decades into the past, and reveals Michael’s heartache at the loss of Ellis’ affection and romance. This was the section that ruined me. I, myself, was going through a tough break up this summer. I felt a lot of confusion, frustration, hurt, among a desire to grow, change, and develop the areas of my own emotional and mental state that had been neglected and hurt from years of isolation and suffering. I so closely related to Michael’s own feelings and memories of his explorative relationship with Ellis that I was brought to tears on more than one occasion. As Michael fumbled through bittersweet memories, so perfectly crafted by Winman, fought with confusing unrequited love from this person he loved more than anyone, I found my own wounds reopening with each page. There were many times during the summer where I’d come back to this novel, read a page, and have to set it down for another week because of how heart-wrenching it was. I have so many pages marked off, paragraphs unlined, and I’d like to share a few of them here:
I knelt by the bed and thought, he’ll wake up soon and he’ll wonder what happened last night. And he’ll wonder what it means he’s become. And he’ll feel shame and the creeping shadow of his father. I know this because I know him. But I won’t let him.
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He stirred. He opened his eyes. He sat up disoriented and scratched at the salt in his hair. And there it was - all of a sudden - the reddening, the bewilderment, the withdrawing.
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I had crushes, I have lovers, I had orgasms. My trilogy of desire, I liked to call it, but I’d no great love after him, not really. Love and sex became separated by a wide river and one the ferryman refused to cross.
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And sometimes, when the day loomed gray, I’d sit at my desk and remember the heat of that summer. I’d remember the smells of tuberose that were carried by the wind, and the smell of octopus cooking on stinking griddles. I’d remember the sound of our laughter and the sound of a doughnut seller, and I’d remember the red canvas shoes I lost in the sea, and the taste of pastIs and the taste of his skin, and a sky so blue it would defy anything else to be blue again. And I’d remember my love for a man that almost made everything possible.
The emotional and mental blocks that LGBTQ2S+ people deal with are real, and are something I’m discovering effect more people than I realized. While this book doesn’t outright address these traumatic blocks, they’re felt so keenly in Ellis’ rejection of himself and difficulty at accepting his sexuality. The novel goes on to paint a beautiful relationship between Ellis and his wife Annie, but throughout the first half, and Ellis’ depression, his thoughts always seem to linger on Michael before they shift to his late wife.
On the cover of the book, there’s a review by author Matt Haig that reads, “Breaks your heart and warms it all at once.” And nothing could be further from the truth. This isn’t a light summer read, as I discovered. Whether my emotions were too raw having gone through something similar to what Michael went through, or I’m just too much of an empathic, emotional mess, this novel was devastatingly beautiful. One of the best novel's I’ve ever read, and one of the most traumatic novel’s I’ve ever read.
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