André Aciman is a romantic—if a reluctant one—who writes about the joy of finding love and the fleeting nature of amorous entanglements. “I’m a very cruel person, don’t be fooled, but by and large I am romantic,” Aciman says over Zoom from his Manhattan dining room, where he occasionally works. “There is something magical that can happen between two individuals. It seldom lasts, but it happens.” In fact, Aciman writes so well about love that readers often turn to his work for insights about matters of the heart. “I have young readers who are basically looking at my books as an itinerary for what love can be,” he says. “Some readers fall in love with my prose, and some fall in love with themselves through my books.”
It’s easy to find things to connect with in Aciman’s work—his meditative, elegant books encourage self-reflection as they examine desire, yearning, and heartache; belonging and alienation; and memory and the passage of time. He has published five works of fiction—including Call Me by Your Name (2007), his debut novel, which became an Oscar-winning film starring Timothée Chalamet, and Enigma Variations (2017), now in development as a Netflix series; multiple essay collections; and two memoirs: Out of Egypt (1994), about his exile from his birthplace, and Roman Year (2024), about his time living in Italy in the 1960s. His books have sold more than one million copies in the U.S., according to his publisher, FSG, and have been translated into more than 30 languages.
Aciman’s latest, Room on the Sea—out in June from FSG—is a collection of three novellas that explore love and loss. “The Gentleman from Peru,” infused with magical realism, centers on Raúl, a mysterious (perhaps otherworldly) older man staying at a hotel on the Amalfi Coast, who meets a young woman named Margot, whom he may have known in another life. This sets up a mystical star-crossed-lovers scenario between the two characters as they explore the coast and discuss their pasts. “Room on the Sea” follows Paul, a lawyer, and Catherine, a therapist—both married and in their 60s—who meet in a New York City courthouse for jury duty and spend the next five days flirting and trying to decide if they should act on their feelings. The final novella, “Mariana,” was inspired by The Portuguese Letters, a 17th-century volume of correspondence purportedly written by a Portuguese nun to a French officer. The story concerns a Midwestern woman in her 20s, working on a manuscript at an academy in Italy, who enters into a sexual relationship with an artist. But when he suddenly dumps her, she spirals into obsession as she looks for opportunities to see him again.
Aciman was born in Egypt in 1951. Growing up in Alexandria, the author spoke French at home and attended English schools. His mother—who contracted meningitis in infancy—was deaf and nonspeaking and relied on him to communicate. “I was her mouthpiece,” recalls Aciman, who made phone calls for her and helped with job interviews. “It was stressful.” Aciman’s father, who introduced him to Marcel Proust, was unfaithful and often absent. “He told me that he realized a week after getting married that it was a big mistake,” Aciman says. “It was wonderful to hear that he could be honest; at the same time, I resented his honesty.”
In 1965, Aciman and his family were expelled from Egypt in the face of antisemitism and political unrest, events that would shape his writing on identity and loneliness. After leaving Alexandria for Rome, the family struggled financially—a source of shame for Aciman, who spent a lot of his time shuttered in his room reading paperbacks. In 1968 he moved to New York City, and in 1973 he earned a BA in English and comparative literature from Lehman College, followed by an AM and a PhD in comparative literature from Harvard University. He’s currently a distinguished professor at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York, where he’s been since 2001, and where he founded and directs the Writers’ Institute at the Graduate Center. Aciman met his wife—they have three sons—at a party in 1986. “She’s beautiful,” he says with a smile. She also encouraged him to write Out of Egypt—the book that launched his career.
Lynn Nesbit, Aciman’s agent, read Out of Egypt upon its publication and knew she wanted to work with the author. “I remember exactly where I was when I read it, sitting in a small cottage in the country,” Nesbit recalls. “I was completely enraptured. The book made me laugh, it was sad, and it was entirely original.”
Aciman describes himself as a sad person—“I tend to be more negative than positive”—who feels rootless. His charming accent is an airy mix of French and Italian, yet somehow seems to be from neither place and all his own. “I was already an outsider in Egypt,” he says. “No place feels like home, and no place felt like home to begin with.” He says he isn’t tethered to the present moment; the past and future are more enticing. “I never read the newspaper,” he admits. “I’m never interested in the here-and-now. I’m interested in that which is timeless.”
The novellas that comprise Room on the Sea were originally commissioned by Audible and first appeared in audio format, but Aciman says he always intended for them to appear in print. “I don’t write for Audible,” he says. “That’s not the fate of my work.” When asked what motivates him as a storyteller, he says: “Inhibition and desire. I’ve always been torn by that, and that’s what I write about.”
Aciman is fond of psychological fiction and classic literature: Wuthering Heights is a favorite (“I’ve read it millions of times,” he says), and anything by Marcel Proust. Jonathan Galassi, Aciman’s editor, points to the influence of Proust on the author. “Proust is André’s big hero,” Galassi says. “The sense of missed connection, of imperfect love, these are very Aciman traits. André’s fiction feels like it’s out of another era. There’s nobody writing in America who’s like this. That’s part of his magic.”
In Room on the Sea, Aciman explores evergreen themes around love: characters let time slip away or take advantage of second chances, seize on love or fail to act on it, crumble under the torment of jealousy and heartache or sit with regret. “Who does not fantasize 90% of the time?” Aciman says. “Basically, we’re not in the real world. We fantasize about what we should have said, what we could do.”
When not writing, Aciman can sometimes be found riding his bicycle around Central Park, listening to a novel in French, Italian, or English. “I don’t know if I’m riding the bicycle to listen to a novel,” he says, “or whether I’m listening to a novel and might as well ride a bicycle.” He’s always reflecting on human motivations and the possibilities of love—and how he can use his insights to connect with readers. “I look for romance everywhere,” he says.
Elaine Szewczyk’s writing has appeared in McSweeney’s and other publications. She’s the author of the novel I’m with Stupid.
