Longlisted for the Center for Fiction First Novel Prize
A compulsively readable and electrifying debut about an ambitious young female artist who accidentally photographs a boy falling to his death—an image that could jumpstart her career, but would also devastate her most intimate friendship.
Lu Rile is a relentlessly focused young photographer struggling to make ends meet. Working three jobs, responsible for her aging father, and worrying that the crumbling warehouse she lives in is being sold to developers, she is at a point of desperation. One day, in the background of a self-portrait, Lu accidentally captures on film a boy falling past her window to his death. The photograph turns out to be startlingly gorgeous, the best work of art she’s ever made. It’s an image that could change her life...if she lets it.
But the decision to show the photograph is not easy. The boy is her neighbors’ son, and the tragedy brings all the building’s residents together. It especially unites Lu with his beautiful grieving mother, Kate. As the two forge an intense bond based on sympathy, loneliness, and budding attraction, Lu feels increasingly unsettled and guilty, torn between equally fierce desires: to use the photograph to advance her career, and to protect a woman she has come to love.
Set in early 90s Brooklyn on the brink of gentrification, Self-Portrait with Boy is a provocative commentary about the emotional dues that must be paid on the road to success, a powerful exploration of the complex terrain of female friendship, and a brilliant debut from novelist Rachel Lyon.
|Product dimensions:||5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 1.30(d)|
About the Author
Rachel Lyon's short stories have appeared in Joyland, Iowa Review, and Electric Literature's Recommended Reading, among other publications. She attended Princeton and Indiana University, where she was fiction editor for Indiana Review. Rachel teaches creative writing at Sackett Street Writers Workshop, Catapult, and other institutions, and is cofounder of the reading series Ditmas Lit. Self-Portrait With Boy is her first novel. Visit RachelLyon.work.
Read an Excerpt
Self-Portrait with Boy
I’ll tell you how it started. With a simple, tragic accident. The click of a shutter and a grown man’s beast-like howl. The silent rush of neighbors down our dark dirty stairs. The lights of a police car illuminating the brick wall behind our building. And a photograph.
I never meant for any of it to happen.
Or no. Part of me meant for part of it to happen. I was nothing but a kid then. Twenty-six, naive, and ambitious as hell. A skinny friendless woman in thick glasses with a mop of coarse black hair. There were so many people I had not yet become.
An article that came out later, I have it somewhere, described me as ruthless. I didn’t know until years later what the writer meant. To me it was always about the work. Franke laughs at me because although my studio is in the garage, my art and its equipment insist on spilling out into our living spaces. Our kitchen table is cluttered with photographs. Prints hang to dry in the bathroom. By ruthless he meant single-minded. And sure, I’m single-minded. After all, I have only one mind. Still, I understand now that some artists look out into the world and some look in. I am interested in the limits of, the prison of, the self. I am more hedgehog than fox. I am more turtle than hedgehog.
In art school years ago I had a professor, a former opera singer. An enormous man, completely bald, with a rubber face and body. He could make himself into any shape at all. He taught performance. Part of performance was improvisation. I was not what you’d call a natural. I was stiff. I overthought. I did not have a lot of charm. When he told us, every action is a reaction, I puzzled over it for months. But when he said, an accident is just a change of course, I got it. He meant the grace in making art is being alive to chance. When you make a mistake, make it again, he’d say. There are only happy accidents. Isn’t that funny. Not funny ha-ha; funny strange. My so-called happy accident happened to be a tragic one.
I am not being flippant. Understand: the whole thing changed me deeply. Academics these days have developed an affection for the word trauma. The trauma of everyday life—the trauma of painting. It sounds good maybe but it is like vexed or problematic: overuse has leeched the word of meaning. I will say that now, more than two decades later, there is only one person in this world who is more traumatized by what happened than I am, and I barely know him anymore.
I did see him once a couple years ago. It was at an opening for my old friend Casper. I’d driven down to the city in my little green E30. I love that car. I’ve told Franke more than once I intend to be buried in it. She doesn’t think that’s funny. I think she wants it for herself. It was a rainy night, warm for December. The slick streets glowed. Almost immediately when I walked in I felt that old familiar chill, or something like it. Some memory of it maybe. I looked to my right and sure enough there he was. The same, but older. Same stocky build, same snarled ponytail—though it was more white now than blond. What was missing in him really was elasticity. Some tautness of the jaw, a certain power in his stance. He caught my eye and the expression that came over him was unbearable to me. In the crowded gallery the past came rushing back. The vile way he treated me. The pain I felt for years. Not because of him exactly, but around him. He was in that pain. And then, somewhere among all those larger, major memories, there was this minor but foul little one: the feeling of being in my twenties at a party and looking out at some horribly attractive crowd. The feeling of them glancing at me with barely registered pity: Oh, that thing in the corner. Isn’t that funny. It thinks it’s people.
I did not leave. I went to the restroom, looked at myself in the mirror, and breathed. The same but older, of course. What did I expect? We are both just a couple of overgrown, badly damaged kids. I had as much of a right to be there as any of Casper’s friends—more, in fact, because years ago I recommended him to Fiona, which put him on the map. I looked good too, in my way. Like myself: Lu Rile, five feet even in thick glasses, wild graying hair. A black silk jacket over a black shirt. Jeans and steel-toed boots. My uniform, my armor. I went back out and circulated, avoiding him.
* * *
The very act of recall is like trying to photograph the sky. The infinite and ever-shifting colors of memory, its rippling light, cannot really be captured. Show someone who has never seen the sky a picture of the sky and you show them a picture of nothing.
Still I have to try.
The thing you have to understand, the thing you have to keep in mind, is that Kate was my friend. At the time she was my only friend. She was so dear to me.
Reading Group Guide
This reading group guide for Self-Portrait with Boy includes an introduction, discussion questions, and ideas for enhancing your book club. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.
Lu Rile is a relentlessly focused young photographer struggling to make ends meet. Working three jobs, responsible for her aging father, and worrying that the crumbling warehouse she lives in is being sold to developers, she is at a point of desperation. One day, in the background of a self-portrait, Lu accidentally captures on film a boy falling past her window to his death. The photograph turns out to be startlingly gorgeous, the best work of art she’s ever made. It’s an image that could change her life . . . if she lets it.
But the decision to show the photograph is not easy. The boy is her neighbors’ son, and the tragedy brings all the building’s residents together. It especially unites Lu with the boy’s beautiful, grieving mother, Kate. As the two forge an intense bond based on sympathy, loneliness, and budding attraction, Lu feels increasingly unsettled and guilty, torn between equally fierce desires: to use the photograph to advance her career and to protect a woman she has come to love.
Set in early 1990s Brooklyn on the brink of gentrification, Self-Portrait with Boy is a provocative commentary on the emotional dues that must be paid on the road to success, a powerful exploration of the complex terrain of female friendship, and a brilliant debut from novelist Rachel Lyon.
Topics & Questions for Discussion
1. In the opening paragraphs of the novel, Lu references an article that describes her as “ruthless.” A few pages later, she explains she was “hungry” (page 12). How did you react to Lu’s ambition? Did you find your own moral compass shifting over the course of the novel? Discuss the author’s decision to begin the novel with Lu looking back on the moment and why Lyon might have picked this structure.
2. The physical format of film is crucial to the plot of Self-Portrait with Boy. From the beginning, Lu explains, “If I’d had a digital camera back then . . . I might have just deleted it” (page 18). Waiting for the image, the monetary costs of printing, and how the image reveals itself to Lu greatly influence her decision. Discuss with your group the impact of the medium in the novel. How might this novel be different if it took place in today’s digitized culture?
3. Lu describes first encountering Max’s ghost as “more like an afterimage than an image. More like a handprint than a hand . . . simply there, static and lifeless but reaching, all of its curvature quite clear,” and recognizes that Max’s ghost is reaching toward her (page 105). This reach is followed by a “violent slap.” What, if anything, is suggested by Max’s haunting Lu rather than his parents?
4. Lu takes photos of mourners gathered, customers at Summerland, and her father when he is blind and recovering from eye surgery. She is never without her camera. Discuss the ethical implications of photography. How is it different from other artistic mediums, painting for example?
5. Brueghel’s Landscape with the Fall of Icarus is mentioned in the novel and shares themes of death and falling; however, the painting’s primary focus isn’t Icarus but the landscape itself. Look up Brueghel’s painting and discuss the connection between it and the book.
6. One evening as she is having dinner with Kate and Philip, Lu is suddenly overcome with social anxiety: “And it was a friendship totally inaccessible to me, one I could not have with either of them and that maybe I could not have at all. I began to feel very much as if I did not belong, as if I were worse than a third wheel” (page 172). Discuss these thoughts in the context of Lu’s love for Kate, the photo of Max, Lu’s loneliness, and her need to be behind the camera. What does it mean to play the role of observer over participant?
7. Kate describes Steve’s new work as unlike the nudes he used to paint. Steve has instead been working on portraits of Max “obsessively” she says, “but the work was so much better than anything she’d ever seen him do before. What made it better was its utter lack of stylishness, of stylization” (page 173). Discuss with your group the role of grief and expression in art.
8. On page 110 Lu expresses fondness for the community she’s found through Kate: “Now because of my friendship with Kate I was no longer the weird little photographer downstairs. I was a part of things.” Lu places such importance on her friendship with Kate and her desire to belong, yet she betrays her so deeply. Discuss the coexistence of Lu’s love for Kate and Lu’s artistic aspirations.
9. The novel draws to a close with Kate’s suicide and Lu’s development of a meaningful, reciprocal romantic relationship. Discuss the choices that led each character to these ends.
Enhance Your Book Club
1. If you live in the area, pay a visit to DUMBO and observe how much the neighborhood has changed from the days of the novel.
2. Lu and her father watch Dead Reckoning, a Humphrey Bogart movie from the late 1940s, so Lu can get an idea of what her mother looked like. Get together with your group and screen the film yourselves.
3. Like Lu, artist Diane Arbus used a Rolleiflex camera—and like Lu she took many, often unsettling, self-portraits. Reread the epigraph that opens Self-Portrait with Boy and research Arbus’s own self-portraits. Discuss these within the context of the novel.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Review Rachel Lyon brings us an excellent novel set in NYC - actually in DUMBO, Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass, from 1991 (pre-gentrification) into more modern times. Lu Rile has graduated art school and done some graduate work, but spends most of her time taking and developing arty photos, and working at a small health food store in nearby Brooklyn Heights for minimum wage. In 1991 NYC, that was $3.80 an hour. She would not be able to stay in NYC if she didn't live in the abandoned neighborhood at 222 River Street under the bridge overpass. If she returned home to live with her Dad on the Massachusetts coast, she would never be recognized or respected as a serious artist. Part of her daily routine included taking a self-portrait, usually an action shot or one defining herself or her community. On the 400th day's self-portrait fate or kismet interferes, resulting in a perfectly balanced, absolutely compelling photo. It is the best photo she has ever taken. It may be the best photo she will ever take. Unfortunately what makes the photo balanced and perfect is the upstairs neighbor's nine year old child free-falling to his death outside Lu's window. Of course she doesn't see the photo until several days after the accident, days spent consoling Kate, getting to know her better, becoming friends. And once Lu sees the developed proof, she realizes she must make a choice between being true to her friendship with Kate and destroying the negative, or beginning her career as a professional photographer by showing the print in a serious gallery. Or maybe there are other choices? I received a free electronic copy of this novel from Netgalley, Rachel Lyon, and Scribner in exchange for an honest review. Thank you all for sharing your hard work with me.
I was immediately drawn to the provocative premise of this book. It's the late 1980s. Young, struggling female NYC photographer Lu Rile lives in a former warehouse; a crumbling, illegal building of lofts. Lu's latest project has been taking a self-portrait each day. So far the results have not been extraordinary...until one fateful day. Lu sets up her camera and strips bare. At the appropriate moment, she leaps forward aside her wall of windows as the shutter releases, capturing her image in flight. Whilst Lu was airborne, she heard the sound of something tap against her window. Now there were more sounds. Lu would never, ever forget the animalistic howl of agony from Steve Schubert, the artist upstairs. Within seconds, Steve and his wife Kate were pounding down the hallway stairs. An unspeakable tragedy had just taken place. Steve and Kate's only child Max had fallen off the roof, fatally landing into an air vent. Days later when Lu develops the film, she makes a heart-stopping discovery: "Self-Portrait #400" captured beautiful blond-haired Max Schubert-Fine tumbling downward in her left window pane in perfect symmetry with Lu leaping across the right pane. As startling and horrific this is to discover, Lu can't deny the reality that this is her long-awaited masterpiece. Lu works three jobs simultaneously while pursuing the dream to have her photographs shown in a prestigious art gallery. She even steals food from the health food store she works at to survive financially. So, "Self-Portrait #400" is like a ticking time bomb as Lu deals with its implications. Although she never interacted with the Schubert-Fines prior to the tragedy occurring, Lu has now become quite close with Kate. How can Lu bring herself to tell Kate about the picture and ask for permission to have it shown as an art piece? This is the major conflict in the book. The author chose an unorthodox method of conveying the conversations between people. She used absolutely no quotations around the dialogue, nor identified by name the person who spoke each line (example: said Kate). You are just supposed to discern the narrators once the stage is set with the characters. At first it looked clean, simple and straightforward, but sometimes I had difficulty assigning the dialogue. I love reading about the art scene in New York City decades past, so this was right up my alley. It was a slow burn resolving that pivotal issue of publicizing the photo, but the author managed to keep the story interesting while it bore itself out. This was definitely a well-executed out-of-the-box (my favorite kind) story. Thank you to the publisher and NetGalley for providing this advance reader copy in return for my fair and honest review.