Review of The Möbius Book by Catherine Lacey
Meeting Avery at MoMA for the Matisse exhibit couldn’t have come at a better time. As we wandered through the vibrant colors and complex forms, we found ourselves lamenting the nebulousness of our own writing journeys. Both of us were trapped in the interminable middle of our narratives, longing for satisfying conclusions but finding only elusive threads. This shared struggle reframed my understanding of Catherine Lacey’s The Möbius Book, a hybrid work that reflects that very tension between beginnings, middles, and the search for closure.
The Möbius Book presents an innovative structure, binding together two distinct narratives back-to-back, allowing readers the freedom to choose their starting point. I opted to dive into the memoir first, a decision I felt resonated deeply with the stories of love and loss that seemed to echo in the gallery halls that day. Lacey’s memoir opens with an immediate and poignant invitation to explore grief through her own lens, marked by the phrase, “a guest in my own home.” This evocative opening captures the feeling of dislocation that accompanies both breakups and personal transformations, setting the tone for an exploration of identity and emotional labyrinths.
At the heart of this memoir is Lacey’s very real reflection on her five-year relationship with author Jesse Ball, who she fascinatingly refers to as “The Reason.” The vulnerability of her account is striking; she presents herself in a candid light, grappling not only with the end of her relationship but also with the layers of her own beliefs—both personal and theological—that have unraveled over time. There’s an arresting moment when she recounts how Ball often dictated her own understanding of herself, leading to a painful realization that he had, in many ways, shaped her identity. It’s a poignant observation of how relationships can sometimes blur the lines between self-awareness and subjugation.
Lacey’s writing is both raw and poetic, with a quality that invites readers into her internal struggles while also making them reflect on their own experiences. I was particularly struck by her thoughts on fiction—that “it is a record of what has never happened and yet absolutely happened.” This challenge to categorize her work as purely nonfiction or fiction mirrors the struggle we discussed at MoMA: the formlessness of life that resists traditional narrative structure.
However, as I turned the book over to begin the fictional narrative, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of disconnect—each piece stands on its own, yet they don’t interweave as beautifully as one might hope for a true Möbius strip effect. The fictional story centers around Marie, who is navigating her own breakup and the complexities of familial bonds, juxtaposed against Edie’s own tumultuous journey. The themes of faith—both in relationships and in personal beliefs—recur through both narratives but fail to sync up in ways that resonate. They feel thematically related, yet distinct enough to leave me longing for more interconnection.
While I appreciate the experiment Lacey embarks on, I have to admit that I walked away feeling somewhat unsatisfied. The joy of two narratives enriching and illuminating each other, so beautifully executed in works like Ali Smith’s How to Both, feels absent here.
In the end, I would recommend The Möbius Book to readers who revel in explorations of personal turmoil, nuanced relationships, and the blurred lines between truth and fiction. It’s an engaging, if imperfect, reflection on identity and connection that invites readers to confront their own unfinished stories. It left me thinking—like the Möbius strip, perhaps some narratives are meant to loop endlessly, sparking ongoing reflection rather than resolution. Whether you find yourself in the memoir’s raw introspection or the fictional landscape’s complexities, Lacey gives us much to ponder, even if the paths traveled don’t always converge.
2.5 stars—ultimately rounded down to 2, given my perseverance for the richer engagement I had anticipated. Still, it’s a conversation starter, and I’m keen to hear what others make of its duality.