Three years ago, the coronavirus outbreak was declared a pandemic, a global catastrophe that tested the limits of humanity. Countries in lockdown, school closures, millions of people admitted to hospital, jobs lost, industries decimated and the death of loved ones affecting the lives of billions of people. Its profound ramifications will be felt for years to come.
“How does anybody,” asks Michael Cunningham, “write a contemporary novel that’s about human beings that’s not about the pandemic?” On the 25th anniversary of his Pulitzer Prize winner The Hours comes his latest novel Day, a narrative that explores the evolution of familial relationships against the inexorable passage of time and the global shock waves resulting from the pandemic.
In the same way The Hours follows three women through one day in their lives in three different eras, Day delves into the lives of a Brooklyn family over the course of one day, April 5, in three successive years: 2019, 2020 and 2021. Cunningham has expressed his affinity for the number three in various interviews and essays, citing its historical and mathematical significance, its symbolic meaning and its personal resonance.
Though set during the pandemic, Day transcends the standard pandemic narrative, offering a nuanced exploration of love and the human capacity to adapt in a world forever altered.
The novel opens on the morning of April 5 2019: “The first tentative signs of spring have arrived. The tree in front of Isabel’s building (a silver maple, which, according to Google, is ‘messy and shallow-rooted’) has produced hard little buds that will soon burst into five-pronged leaves, unremarkable until a strong enough wind flutters up their silver undersides. On a windowsill across the street, a bouquet of daffodils stands in a water glass. The winter light which has, for months, been so still and pale, seems to have quickened, as if the molecules of the air itself are newly activated.”
In this first act, the family is struggling with the everyday challenges of modern life. Photo editor Isabel is juggling her career and her family. Her husband, Dan, a washed-up rock musician turned stay-at-home dad, is feeling restless and unfulfilled. Their two children, precocious elementary-schooler Violet and angsty preteen Nathan are grappling with their own growing pains. Isabel’s brother, Robbie, a kind and sensitive young man, lives with the family and is secretly in love with Dan.
On April 5 2020, the family is in the midst of the pandemic. By April 14, New York City passes 10,000 deaths and its inhabitants are paralysed by fear. Forced to quarantine in their brownstone, Isabel and Dan’s already fraying marriage starts to unravel further. They struggle to navigate the new challenges of lockdown, home schooling, and working from home, and the lockdown takes a toll on everyone.
Isabel sits alone on the stairs, scrolling through her phone, her face illuminated by the blue light of the screen. Dan is in the basement, recording videos of his songs for his YouTube channel. He has been posting more and more frequently lately, and is starting to develop a radical online fan base.
Upstairs, six-year-old Violet is tucked into bed, but she can’t sleep. She is terrified of the virus and imagines it floating in through the windows. She calls out to her mother, but Isabel is too engrossed in her phone to hear her.
Robbie, Isabel’s brother, sits in a cabin in Iceland, staring out at the snow-covered landscape. He has been living here for the past few months, since he quit his teaching job. He has been trying to make a new life for himself, but he is starting to feel isolated. To make matters worse, he has been maintaining a fake Instagram persona of a man named Wolfe and using this persona to connect with people online. Knowing that these connections are not real, he has starting to feel trapped in his own lie.
The final act unfolds on the evening of April 5 2021, in a dilapidated country home outside the city, where Isabel has taken refuge after the devastating events of the previous years. The family, once a vibrant unit, now bears the profound marks of grief and loss, wounds that are both personal and universal. Melancholy permeates the air, as the virus once did, with everyone trying to process how the pandemic affected their and others’ lives over these three years.
Cunningham’s work is often characterised by its complex characters, its exploration of themes of identity, love and loss, and its lyrical prose. Beautifully written, and with great insight and subtlety, Day is a testimony to his ability to create characters that are both relatable and unforgettable.
“I’ve definitely had moments over the last 10 years when I thought, ‘Well, if the world is in this kind of shape, who needs a novel?’,” says Cunningham. “But maybe it’s during hard times that the world needs novels more than ever.”
He describes Day as “a story about people dealing with something terrible, and it’s about survival, but more centrally it’s a story about love. I’m deeply interested in love — a sense of happiness, of living the life that one has hoped to live. And love is most interesting when it has survived terrible tests”.
Would you like to comment on this article?
Sign up (it's quick and free) or sign in now.
Please read our Comment Policy before commenting.