Review: Two by Nathan Nicolau

A pair of young strangers embark on an unconventional odyssey through Charlotte, North Carolina in Two, a quietly wise novel by Nathan Nicolau.

When Howl observes Ella reciting a passionate soliloquy to a statue in the park, he breaks out of his comfort zone to get some answers. As their day intertwines, small talk turns into big conversation, and an unlikely wander blossoms into something far more precious – an adventurous reinvention for them both. From art, philosophy, and aesthetics to books, people-watching, mental health, and overbearing mothers, the narrative weaves through myriad themes in the pair’s joint quest to solve an operatic puzzle in Ella’s mind.

Unraveling an unusual mystery lies at the surface of the plot, but the core is a relatable desire for connection between two people who exist more comfortably within their own heads. They are both skeptical souls and magical thinkers, with amusing internal monologues, sensitivity, self-awareness, and a healthy dose of secrets. Reminiscent of Richard Linklater’s “Before Sunrise” trilogy, the writing feels organic and unplanned, like a genuine peek into a web of insecurities and social stumbles to which most people can relate.

The characters are slow to trust, but rich in their emotional depth, as Nicolau patiently unfurls his slightly surreal plot, letting the natural awkwardness and self-doubt of the characters carry the action and determine the pace of their day. The alternating narrative structure is uniquely executed, featuring short interjections and real-time reactions between Ella and Howl, adding a layer of intimacy and immediacy to their story of urban connection. It is also refreshing for characters of the opposite sex to be written as nascent friends and intellectual equals, rather than falling into traditional tropes of chance meetings and inevitable romance. As their day winds down, deeper truths are revealed, leaving both characters wondering what a future friendship might hold – brief as the future may be.

The prose at times feels as raw and uncouth as the characters, surprising readers with unique metaphors, clever applications of literary devices, and starkly powerful lines that are laden with meaning and emotion: “Howl was more than fresh air. It was like having your sense of smell back years after losing it.” Aside from narrative turns of phrase, there are incisive conversations surrounding purpose, academia, family, emptiness, friendship, music, and cultural history, which pulses with authenticity without feeling as if large-scale ideas are being shoehorned into dialogue.

Though most of the dialogue is crisply edited, there are a few stilted exchanges of unnatural speech, and in a novel carried largely by conversation, these moments are hard to miss. Specifically, the author seems averse to contractions, which are ubiquitous in the colloquial speech of younger generations, along with noticeable repetitions in linguistic patterns and phrases, even within the same scenes.

Overall, however, Nicolau delivers a charming, honest, and hard-hitting tale written with sensitive prose, providing an off-kilter spin on a classic framework, and delving eloquently into music, mystery, and the demons we all struggle to escape.