THE VULNERABLES

In Nunez’s latest, set against the early days of New York City’s Covid lockdowns, a woman finds unlikely—and uneasy—companionship in a troubled college student and his parents’ friends’ parrot.

As in What Are You Going Through (2020) and her National Book Award–winning The Friend (2018) before that, Nunez’s subject is the core business of being alive: the tenuous beauty of human connection, the nature of memory, the purpose of writing, the passage of time. All of that sounds pretentious, or precious, or both. It isn’t. Instead, the result is almost arrestingly straightforward. Spare and understated and often quite funny, the experience is less like reading fiction than like eavesdropping on someone else’s brain. To the extent there is a plot, though: a woman, an academic and writer—not unlike Nunez herself—old enough to qualify as “a vulnerable,” agrees to spend the first days of the pandemic living in the apartment of a friend of a friend to look after their miniature macaw, Eureka, who has been abandoned by his previous collegiate bird-sitter. It doesn’t spoil much to say the former bird-sitter—a handsome Gen Z vegan—soon returns without warning, and the pair (or the trio, counting the parrot) become inadvertent housemates. The evolution of those relationships, interpersonal and interspecies, becomes the scaffolding on which everything else hangs. The woman wanders the shuttered city. She has minor interactions with passing strangers, and ruminates on them. (“For the writer, obsessive rumination is a must,” she thinks, in her defense.) She grapples with the meaning and purpose of the novel; she recalls a recent reunion with a tight-knit group of college friends. (It is one of those friends, in fact, who facilitates the bird-sitting gig.) “If it is true that an inability to deal with the future is a sign of mental disturbance,” the woman muses, “I don’t know anyone who is not now disturbed; who has not been disturbed for some time.” And yet—despite the grimness of the setting—the novel itself is strangely, sweetly hopeful; there is, it seems, a reason to go on.

Sharp—and surprisingly tender.