REVIEW: ‘The Lying Life of Adults’ is an unflinching, ‘honest’ look at young adulthood

Acclaimed Italian novelist Elena Ferrante’s latest release is “The Lying Life of Adults,” which, like Ferrante’s earlier works, explores Neapolitan life. With a Netflix TV adaptation already in the works, the novel was named by the New York Times Book Review as one of the “Most Anticipated Books of 2020” after its initial English-language release was delayed due to the coronavirus pandemic. 

In “The Lying Life of Adults,” Ferrante chronicles the coming-of-age story of a young girl named Giovanna. The novel begins when a 12-year-old Giovanna overhears her father tell her mother that their daughter may turn out to be “ugly” like her aunt, Vittoria. This critical moment instigates her personal quest to meet with Vittoria to figure out whether she is as similar to Vittoria as she is told. In her journey to discover herself, Giovanna’s fixation on beauty reflects her own psychological state of adolescence. 

Ferrante renders teenage insecurities with skill and unflinching honesty, as Giovanna’s obsessive fear of “ugliness” and gradual distrust of her parents influences much of her actions throughout the novel. Emotion is a crucial aspect of Ferrante’s writing; “The Lying Life of Adults” is not so much structured around the adults’ lies, but Giovanna’s passionate responses to them that often manifest in her own lies. 

In her initial visits with Aunt Vittoria, Giovanna is exposed to a kind of mirror image of herself. Within these conversations surrounding the complexity of pleasure, Vittoria embodies the possibilities of sexuality and liberation. Throughout Giovanna’s childhood, Vittoria acts as more than a plot device in the novel. 

At one point, Giovanna describes Vittoria’s projection of her identity: “[Vittoria] had unloaded on me all of herself, her hatreds, her need for revenge, her language.” 

Vittoria serves as an implicit model in Giovanna’s girlhood and inevitably shapes her conception of adulthood. The emotional weight of this depiction is a testament to the richness of Ferrante’s characters. 

The lives of the adults in Giovanna’s life parallel the exploration of her own identity. When Giovanna witnesses her parents lying about their marital conflicts and when her father tells her that she is becoming more like her aunt Vittoria, Ferrante identifies Giovanna’s resentful rebellion and simultaneous conformity. These lives, and the lies that shape them, are punctuated by moments of sensitivity in Giovanna’s life where she navigates her own desires and identity in the context of her relationships. 

While vibrant in detail, “The Lying Life of Adults” often relies too much on overt self-reflection that feels repetitive. Dwelling on Giovanna’s internal thoughts does emphasize the subjective nature of truth within the novel, but, arguably, Ferrante takes this a step too far with this form of narration. At times, the reader may find it difficult to situate where exactly Giovanna is and how much time has passed since the last moment described. In these ways, the story becomes more difficult to follow, with the voice becoming the dominant point. 

In terms of her storytelling technique, Ferrante is stunningly self-reflexive. Giovanna condemns the lies of the adults around her while fabricating lies within her own life. Her perspective implies an ambiguity that never clearly delineates the boundary between falsehood and truth, which alludes to the very “fiction” of the novel. In doing so, “The Lying Life of Adults” also sets forth a claim that truth is inherently subjective. As a form of fiction, the lies we choose to tell can express more about an individual than the truths we carry.

“The Lying Life of Adults” tells us that, as teenagers, we unconsciously mold ourselves in the image of the lives we encounter. Throughout our childhood, we reject the adults that live those lives. Yet ultimately, it is in their images that we grow.