The Collegiate Laws of Life Essay Contest asked Penn State Students to explore ethical values and intercultural issues, and their talent for expressing their views in writing. Below, you will find the third place essay from Economics major Joseph Nakpil, ’15, Paterno Fellow and Schreyer Scholar, Comparative Literature and Russian, responding to the prompt:

“Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counselors, and the most patient of teachers.”  ~ Charles William Eliot

What is your favorite book, and how has it changed your world view or impacted the way you live your life?

“Elio, Elio, Elio”

Quite often contemporary literature handles boyhood sexuality without sensitivity to prose or subject matter. Raw descriptions and ‘devil-may-care’ buffoonery have dominated the scene for some time. Had I not come across André Aciman’s Call Me by Your Name (2007), I myself would have not considered a bildungsroman focused on a homoerotic relationship as serious literature.
With its breathtaking tact, Aciman’s novel had many qualities for an engaging read: well-crafted settings, an array of characters, charming intellectual conversations with a breadth of topics from Bach to Proust, even steamy passages bordering on the graphic. All these intellectual and sexual elements did not make the story particularly noteworthy, but I never dismissed the book as cheap sugar-and-water ‘tween’ smut or another LGBT romance.

Was it because the novel achieved something deeper?
Yes, by being honest not vulgar, compassionate not sentimental, and realistic not morbid.
The story is told by Elio, a bright and tender young boy who encounters his father’s young research scholar, Oliver, one hot summer on the Italian coast. In short, after some initial mixed impressions and uncertainty their feelings are made known to each other, and acted upon in full.
Aciman’s deft treatment of Elio’s adolescent ambivalence was spot on, that is, exact in describing him trying to find solace both in and from his desires. The boy’s emotional journey soon became my own, because it resonated so well. His restless longing? My own. His fantasies? Word for word. His unease and elation of being in his own skin? That too. The flow of thoughts and events gave me an impression of his experiences as they appeared. There I was, smelling the seaside where Monet did his painting, sitting among the peach trees at the family villa, walking the back alleys of Rome where tramps and poets gather.

Elio and Oliver’s story ended with a moving sobriety in contrast to the passion once felt between them. Elio, now fifteen years older, crosses paths with Oliver again, and sees the divide between them. As they prepare to part again as cordially as possible, Elio recalls the ritual from whence comes the title of the book: how they use to exchange names during their nights together, showing them to be two men who felt, even for a brief moment, no secrets or separation. How he used to call to Oliver, “Elio, Elio, Elio.”

By this truly indelible moment, Aciman hinted on how such power and passion could have carried on past the physical, but didn’t. There was an opportunity to turn a passionate affair into a powerful friendship, but these two men failed to pursue it. There was no initial indication that they would embark on their affair, but not once was I moved to demoralize Elio or Oliver as perverted youths, nor did I praise their impetuous decisions and leave them as mere sleeping partners. Aciman showed the two men in their nakedness, in their heartsick pain, their slaphappy elation, but never stripped them of their human dignity nor of their masculinity. This realization truly shook my heart and endeared me to the book.