by
Alan Chadwick, a sophomore at a private Ivy League college in 1978 Massachusetts, is hypnotized at the start of the academic year while attending a philosophy department party. Under the exotic spell of Dr. Lisa Gibson, he travels back in time to Ancient Greece and soon finds his identity caught between past and present lives. His college’s production of Plato’s Symposium only complicates matters, plunging Alan and his closest friends, Todd and Ginnie, into the psychological abyss, along with his philosophy professor, Tabor Schubert, who becomes the focus of Alan’s obsession with Socrates.
Will grand karma be thwarted by the Socratic method?
“I’ve had perhaps too much to drink.” There was laughter in the room. Which room?
“That’s okay,” Lisa told me. But it was someone else I heard trying to console a part of me that could not be consoled. Not with words, at any rate.
“But you do not love me,” I answered. “As the loved one I have brought shame on myself, for seeking out the lover as if he were the loved one and I, the lover.”
Absolute silence.
“Socrates,” I shouted. I heard others murmuring all around me. Somebody whispered and the other responded, or so I thought I had heard.
“What name do you go by?” Lisa asked me, but I could only see Socrates sitting closer and closer to Agathon.
“Socrates, you mock me. Or has Agathon’s beauty turned you around so, that you have forgotten my name?”
READ MOREAlcibiades was only a wisp of a shadow on my lips before a voice, firm and plain-spoken, prompted me to reverse my steps in a direction I remembered more distinctly as I traveled
to its origins and came back to the present. People stood in a packed semicircle, staring at me. The others, all the men and their servants, those I seemed to recall, were all gone . . .
“How do you feel?” Lisa inquired. Her hands reached for mine.
I paused, my mouth extremely dry. “Very tired, I think.”
“That’s quite common.”
I asked to get up. Tabor approached from behind her.
“Do you know who Alcibiades is?”
“Who?” I asked, but then remembered. Almost remembered . . . almost . . . then lost it before I could place a name or a face to what I had no means of identifying.
I looked at Tabor’s eyes. At his beard. His nose and the shape of his skull. Only to see vague outlines. Why was everything so hazy suddenly? “I think I need to go home.”
“Can I drive you?” Lisa offered.
“I want to walk. By myself. I’d like the fresh air.”
“Sure you’re okay?” Ginnie asked. She moved closer.
“Yeah. Yeah.” I exaggerated so that she would leave me be. I
COLLAPSESamantha Hui, Independent Book Review wrote:"An experienced writer of historical fiction, Maxwell presents a searching, polyvocal narrative that shifts across eras and philosophies and perspectives, while intimately exploring character from the insufferable pretensions of a 19-year-old student to the agonized imagination of a jealous wife. In rural Massachusetts in Autumn, 1978, Alan is like any sophomore at Beaumont College: he spends his days auditioning different majors and his nights attending parties for the sake of being seen. The evening he’s poised to abandon philosophy for poli sci, a parlor game flings Alan back to a previous life: one where he was Alcibiades, a young Athenian with wine-flushed cheeks and unruly curls in love with the unobtainable Socrates. In the following months, Alan stumbles between visions and philosophy lectures, finally spiraling into a desperate pursuit of his professor, Tabor Schubert, the man Alan takes to be his own Socrates.
Alcibiades, Mon Amour shares with Maxwell’s other pointedly unpredictable novels (like Rafael Jerome) confident and nimble prose, themes of self discovery and intellectual longing, incisive exploration of sexual mores and American culture, an ethos of formal daring and surprise, and a smart blending of humanity and tension. What begins as the story of one obsession unravels into many, charting the complex boundaries between bodies and minds. At the novel’s heart is Plato’s Symposium, whose chorus of voices rings through the pages. Readers familiar with Greek philosophy—and how young people’s encounters with it can be transformative—will delight in this contemporary exploration, while readers fascinated by contemporary minds facing the past will find these explorations of love, sex, mentorship, and more electric.
Together, Alan and Alcibiades explore urgent questions: “Wouldn’t it be nice if wisdom could flow into fools simply by the act of touching?” For both, though, touch—and wisdom—may be all too dangerous. Culminating in personal reckonings with marriage, queerness, and the search for knowledge, Alcibiades, Mon Amour is a fast-paced drama that will both startle and satisfy.
Takeaway: Smart, time-crossed novel of a student, a professor, ancient Greece, and obsession.
Comparable Titles: Michelle Hart’s We Do What We Do in the Dark, Susan Choi’s My Education."
"Alcibiades, Mon Amour masterfully intertwines themes of identity, desire, and the moral complexities of philosophical inquiry. Through Alan’s transformation and his tumultuous journey as Alcibiades, Maxwell invites readers to reflect on the influence of the past on the present, as well as the dangers of unchecked obsession. The shifting genre enhances the narrative’s depth, revealing how philosophical ideals can morph into justifications for reckless behavior. The novel not only captivates with its rich character development and engaging plot but also challenges readers to navigate the
fine line between understanding and rationalization."
