
The Imagined Life by Andrew Porter: an achingly beautiful story of human love
Author
:
Andrew Porter
ISBN-13
:
9781787705906
Publisher
:
Europa Editions
Guideline Price
:
£ 16.99
'Vertiginous, alcohol-soaked evenings in the backyard of our house, the black-and-white flicker of my father's makeshift theater, the verdant splendor of my mother's garden, the flowing laughter of their guests.'
This is the hazy Californian backdrop of Andrew Porter's The Imagined Life, which tells the story of a man stuck between the frames of his own life, past and present, determined to carry out an investigation into finding the father who disappeared from his life when he was 12.
Porter's writing is infused with nostalgia – a yearning for childhood, and for lost innocence. This nostalgia is artfully crafted by setting; The Imagined Life takes place across a surreal landscape, resplendent with cloudless skies and palm trees, soundtracked by Fleetwood Mac and Frank Sinatra.
Our narrator, Steven, has a dreamlike childhood; he gazes out of his bedroom window to watch his young, beautiful parents throw pool parties for their closest friends, before settling down to watch black and white movies. But one party sticks in Steven's mind – the gathering where he witnesses the moment that changes his father forever.
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Steven and his father's relationship is complicated; it's mired in idolatry, derailed by an act of betrayal that's almost unforgivable. Through Steven's narration, we learn of his anger towards his father – yet also his grief for him, for his failures, and for the possibility that he might be hurtling towards a similar fate.
The question of whether we're doomed to repeat our parents' mistakes is raised several times; as a child, Steven has a blurred, desirous relationship with his best friend Chau, and it's only long after the two have parted ways that Steven is able to admit his true feelings. His desperation to hide his desires has the potential to lead to a downfall like his father's, and his eventual escape from this is entirely down to an acceptance of them both, flaws and all.
The Imagined Life is many things: a deft exploration of male relationships, a mediation on how much we inherit from those who raise us, a study of shame set across the Aids epidemic, but above all, it's a poignant, achingly beautiful story of human love, and the lengths we'll go to for those we care for.
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Irish Times
10 hours ago
- Irish Times
In the case of Emma Raducanu and the crying child, it's clear who's to blame
As a childless man who hates sunshine, parties and the countryside, I am among the last people who should be consulted about banning young children from public places. What do you expect me to say? To quote an unfairly misused businessman in Charles Dickens's most adapted story, 'Are there no … union workhouses?' Okay, I don't exactly think that. But this week's contretemps at the Cincinnati Open tennis tournament did bring out the Scrooge in me. Emma Raducanu became visibly irritated at the continuous crying of a small child. As the British ace prepared to serve, she turned to the umpire and remarked, 'It's been, like, 10 minutes.' Here's where it got interesting. 'It's a child. Do you want me to send the child out of the stadium?' the umpire replied in an apparently puzzled tone. Not unreasonably, Raducanu, who seems a polite young woman, gestured in exasperation to those fans who were answering the (presumably rhetorical) question with a firm 'Yes!' As ever with such viral moments, if you dig a little deeper you discover the lines of combat were not so starkly drawn as online commentary suggested. 'I can call in, but we need to continue for the moment,' the umpire said during a later break. READ MORE Raducanu, ranked 39th in the world, did go on to lose the match against Aryna Sabalenka but, taking the world number one to a tiebreak in the deciding third set of an excellent match, the Brit recovered impressively from that irritating distraction. Never mind reality. The online mob had soon gathered a library of related issues to chew over. Polls came out in favour of expelling wailing children. The cadre of digital grumps who like to 'blame the parents' were there to blame the parents. One entertaining strain of pointless whinge wondered why tennis and golf – unlike, say, boxing or soccer – demand that audiences remain silent during play. Was this a class thing? Well, not really. For all the waistcoats and bow ties, snooker, during which sepulchral calm reigns, remains a working-class sport. The notion that any referee might allow a baby to cry himself out while Mark Selby was accumulating 147 is beyond absurd. Individual sports that require focused attention on a discrete task – putting a golf ball, serving at Wimbledon , cueing on the baize – are in a different category from those in which a player strives continuously as one collective against another. Even the famously raucous crowd at darts matches will quieten down a little when Luke Littler approaches the oche. Most of the debate was, however, around the age-old question of where we should allow young people to be and how we should then expect them to behave. People who aren't me (honest) favour the approach taken by stern imperialist fathers in 19th-century England. They would be shown a son at birth and not meet him again until, standing nervously before their mahogany desk, he said goodbye in uniform before going off to be garotted in Bechuanaland. Get this right and it was almost like not having children at all. Don't mind my facetious ragging. It is now a happier time to be a parent and to be a child. Over the past 50 years or so we have allowed the walls between generations to fall away. We go to restaurants together. We attend sporting events together. A few thousand teenagers will, no doubt, be accompanying parental Oasis fans to see that Status Quo tribute act at Croke Park this weekend. Good luck to them. They were always better at this in mainland Europe. The French snort at the notion of not allowing their eerily well-behaved children to share every social event. That's probably how they got to be so eerily well-behaved. For all that, the discussion around Raducanu's inconvenience reflected a belief that too many parents have now got a little too indulgent of their littler ones. You really should not bring babies to operas, cinemas or snooker tournaments. If you do then you should be prepared to remove them once they make any noise louder than a gentle sniffle. There is a separate debate to be had (look, I'm pretending to be tolerant here) about whether venues should make more allowances for parents of young children: glassed-off areas, creche arrangements, whatever the heck else these people want. But, while such facilities remain unavailable, those attending should expect the conventions to be observed. You turn off your mobile phone. You muffle sneezes. 'It's a child!' is a perfectly reasonable riposte to some jerk complaining about your offspring crying in the supermarket. It does nothing to excuse your bringing the unfortunate wee fellow to Fidelio or the French Open. Which, now I think of it, is me admitting that, yes, I blame the parents.


Irish Times
a day ago
- Irish Times
The Imagined Life by Andrew Porter: an achingly beautiful story of human love
The Imagined Life Author : Andrew Porter ISBN-13 : 9781787705906 Publisher : Europa Editions Guideline Price : £ 16.99 'Vertiginous, alcohol-soaked evenings in the backyard of our house, the black-and-white flicker of my father's makeshift theater, the verdant splendor of my mother's garden, the flowing laughter of their guests.' This is the hazy Californian backdrop of Andrew Porter's The Imagined Life, which tells the story of a man stuck between the frames of his own life, past and present, determined to carry out an investigation into finding the father who disappeared from his life when he was 12. Porter's writing is infused with nostalgia – a yearning for childhood, and for lost innocence. This nostalgia is artfully crafted by setting; The Imagined Life takes place across a surreal landscape, resplendent with cloudless skies and palm trees, soundtracked by Fleetwood Mac and Frank Sinatra. Our narrator, Steven, has a dreamlike childhood; he gazes out of his bedroom window to watch his young, beautiful parents throw pool parties for their closest friends, before settling down to watch black and white movies. But one party sticks in Steven's mind – the gathering where he witnesses the moment that changes his father forever. READ MORE Steven and his father's relationship is complicated; it's mired in idolatry, derailed by an act of betrayal that's almost unforgivable. Through Steven's narration, we learn of his anger towards his father – yet also his grief for him, for his failures, and for the possibility that he might be hurtling towards a similar fate. The question of whether we're doomed to repeat our parents' mistakes is raised several times; as a child, Steven has a blurred, desirous relationship with his best friend Chau, and it's only long after the two have parted ways that Steven is able to admit his true feelings. His desperation to hide his desires has the potential to lead to a downfall like his father's, and his eventual escape from this is entirely down to an acceptance of them both, flaws and all. The Imagined Life is many things: a deft exploration of male relationships, a mediation on how much we inherit from those who raise us, a study of shame set across the Aids epidemic, but above all, it's a poignant, achingly beautiful story of human love, and the lengths we'll go to for those we care for.


Irish Times
a day ago
- Irish Times
Materialists director Celine Song: ‘How are we supposed to find love when dating is reduced to a numbers game?'
Ten years before Past Lives , her first feature, scored two Oscar nominations, Celine Song was a playwriting graduate struggling to make ends meet in New York. Between off-Broadway ambitions and other theatrical projects, she found a day job at an upmarket matchmaking agency, where her wealthy clients typically took a transactional view of love and marriage. The men demanded slim women under 30; the women, in turn, wanted men who were at least six feet tall. And everyone wanted a high-earning match. 'I became disillusioned with the job right away,' Song says. 'Because you sit down and then they're telling you all these numbers. I had just gotten married, and I was thinking, Well, all these numbers seem to matter very much. Fine, you want somebody who's 6ft tall, but the average American man is 5ft 8in. 'Let's say someone is 6ft tall. Hopefully, you fall in love with this person. Because if you are still together when you're 90, you are going to shrink. We all are. I'm 5ft 4in now. I'm going to be 5ft 2in. READ MORE 'And, also, the global economy is so broken; just because you have that big-salary job now doesn't mean you're going to have that job tomorrow. What happens once that person loses that job? Because it sounds like you just love the salary.' But, for all the grasping demands and fanciful expectations Song faced, she was loath to abandon the matchmaking business. It was a wild ride for a former psychology student. Materialists: Dakota Johnson and Pedro Pascal 'If someone asks me, 'What's your drug of choice?' I would say, 'People',' the film-maker, whose second feature, Materialists , has just been released, says. 'I'm obsessed with people, especially these people. Because I'm in art, everybody I know is an artist. Suddenly I'm meeting private-equity managers. 'These people were looking at me and telling me what their heart desired. Telling me intimate details that they wouldn't tell their therapists. I learned more about people in those six months than I did in any other part of my life. 'I was addicted to it. It was meant to be a day job. I'd pay rent with it and then I'd write. But then I realised I hadn't written in five months. I had to quit because it was too fun.' [ Materialists review: This non-romcom has the welcome oddness of a future classic Opens in new window ] That fun has found expression in Song's follow-up to Past Lives. Materialists plays as a contemporary spin on the pragmatic and economic dimensions of romantic relationships that Jane Austen famously addressed in the first line of Pride and Prejudice: 'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.' Song's on-screen surrogate is Lucy ( Dakota Johnson ), a successful but cynical matchmaker who, in common with her clients, treats relationships like business deals. She finds her carefully constructed worldview upended when she must choose between Harry ( Pedro Pascal ), a charming, wealthy (and tall) financier who seems to check all the boxes, and John ( Chris Evans ), a broke, jobbing-actor ex who knows that she likes to – yikes! – mix beer with Coca-Cola. An all-out war between the head and the heart ensues. Materialists: Dakota Johnson and Chris Evans 'The movie is about the commodification and objectification of human beings – in dating, yes, but also in work, in society at large,' Song says. 'We're pushed to present the 'most valuable' version of ourselves, like products. But merchandise can't love merchandise. People can love people. And commodification inevitably leads to dehumanisation. You see it happen in the film. 'The question becomes, How are we supposed to find love – this ancient mystery and miracle – when dating is reduced to numbers like height, weight, income? 'People sometimes ask if finding love means lowering your standards. I'd never tell someone to compromise on what they're truly entitled to: simply, that the person they love is in love with them. 'What worries me is how easily people accept a loveless relationship for material comfort while being rigid about things like height or income. You're not entitled to those. You are entitled to love.' For decades, from the screwball sparkle of It Happened One Night to the sleek charm of When Harry Met Sally, the romantic comedy was Hollywood's most dependable comfort food. By the early 2000s the genre was in freefall as studios turned to blockbusters and hit indie variants – (500) Days of Summer, Safety Not Guaranteed – dried up. Materialists attempts to resuscitate the romcom as a date-night conversation starter. It's a criminally undervalued genre, the director says. 'Romcoms are an invitation to meet characters who feel like us, to spend two hours exploring love, relationships, dating, marriage – and maybe to talk about being human. That potential is what excites me: it can be escapist fun or it can be a way into profound conversations about how we connect.' Materialists: Celine Song on set with Dakota Johnson and Chris Evans. Photograph: Atsushi Nishijima In a brilliant piece on the romcom that Mindy Kaling wrote for the New Yorker magazine in 2011, the former Office star wrote: 'I regard romantic comedies as a subgenre of sci-fi, in which the world operates according to different rules than my regular human world. For me, there is no difference between Ripley from Alien and any Katherine Heigl character.' With Materialists, Song has cannily evolved the genre away from the unattainable lux interiors that once defined, well, Heigl movies. (No wonder Song has just been tapped to write a sequel to My Best Friend's Wedding, the hit 1990s romcom featuring Julia Roberts and Rupert Everett.) [ 'I'm a woman in my early 30s, and I'm exhausted by dating' Opens in new window ] Despite the presence of Pascal's financier, the characters inhabiting Song's film are transparent about their financial lives: salaries, rents and debts. Evans's John shares a cluttered Brooklyn flat with roommates who steal his phone charger and leave used condoms on the floor. Love will always shrug off capitalism's attempts to colonise it. That's why love is freedom, and why it's always worth it 'Love is the only thing that can't truly be bought,' Song says. 'But capitalism keeps trying to get people to believe that only the wealthy can be in love. Like Jeff Bezos 's insane Venice wedding. The media over-represents romance as something expressed through Cartier necklaces, Birkin bags, private restaurants rented out with a string quartet playing. All reserved for the wealthy. 'It creates the illusion that love is only for people with money. But love is ancient. Just because you're wealthy doesn't mean you can have more of it. You might have better luck in dating, but that doesn't guarantee love. Love will always shrug off capitalism's attempts to colonise it. That's why love is freedom, and why it's always worth it.' Song was born in Seoul, in South Korea, into a family engaged in the arts; her father was a film-maker, and she was named after Juliet Berto's character in Jacques Rivette's knotty nouvelle-vague classic Céline and Julie Go Boating. 'I was always around film,' she says. 'But I had to meet film-making. It was only when I started making my first film that I felt, 'This is where I belong, in cinema. I'm going to do this forever.'' [ Online dating fatigue: 'Irish people are terrible on the apps' Opens in new window ] When Song was 12 she relocated with her family to Ontario, in Canada. She later moved to New York, where she met her husband, Justin Kuritzkes – screenwriter of Challengers and Queer – and made a splash with the experimental-theatre production Endlings and a 2020 adaptation of Anton Chekhov's The Seagull, constructed live within the video game The Sims 4. 'What I love about theatre is that the writer is the most important person,' she says. 'The writer is the author. And I really got to enjoy being the author.' Song's transition from theatre to film with Past Lives, a story of childhood pals from Korea reuniting decades later in New York City, brought her to an international audience, including at Galway Film Fleadh , where it received its Irish premiere. [ Galway Film Fleadh 2025: The big winners at the hottest festival in memory, including Gerry Adams basking in adulatory sunshine Opens in new window ] 'I've always believed love is universal – everyone is obsessed with it,' she says. 'Past Lives isn't only about romance. It's also about friendship and connections that last decades. Those things matter. When a big, burly man in Galway cried and told me it reminded him of his sweetheart in Dublin, I felt it again. 'If you speak honestly about love, people open up. They want to share their own stories. That belief carried into Materialists. If I'm honest about relationships, dating and marriage, audiences will be honest back. We're all curious about love because it's at the core of what makes us human.' Materialists is on general release