Loneliness is bad for us: the US surgeon general has suggested it can cause a person as much damage as smoking 15 cigarettes a day. It has increased alarmingly in many societies, especially following the pandemic and its regimes of isolation. Yet there is no shortage online of inspirational quotes about the creative and restorative powers of solitude, ranging from Edward Gibbon’s wry “I was never less alone than when by myself” to the catchy, unattributed “Sometimes you’ve got to disconnect to introspect”. For a more hard-boiled existential take, we have Orson Welles: “We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone.”
The words “lonely”, “alone” and “solitary” all convey different shades of meaning, and we experience them differently according to temperament and situation. These varieties of experience are the subject of Daniel Schreiber’s book, a bestseller in Germany when published in 2021 and now translated into English by Ben Fergusson.
Schreiber has previously written a biography of Susan Sontag and several volumes of essays, and this is a work suffused with the essayistic sensibility. It blends passages of memoir with scholarly and literary references to explore the author’s existence as a single gay man who often feels he is living outside standard social models. In place of a primary romantic or domestic partnership, he has a wide network of friends. Whether or not they are in couples themselves, they provide him with all the human connection, fellowship, support and sense of meaning that he needs.
All this is thrown into question when Covid comes. Schreiber is not badly off: he stays well and keeps busy. He is that rare person who made sourdough bread even before the lockdowns, so he has a cupboard full of baking ingredients. He writes, and paints, and becomes ever more expert at knitting, enjoying the craft’s complexity: “When you hold a set of five thin sock-knitting needles for the first time, you doubt all principles of logic and geometry.” And, of course, he keeps up with his friends remotely.
But he notices that, amid the crisis, these friends instinctively prioritise their family “nesting” zones, leaving him feeling bereft. He begins to wonder: is a life like his sustainable, especially after a certain age? Has he been fooling himself? What does it really mean to live alone? Seeking perspectives on these questions, he roves from the TV series Friends to Anita Brookner’s Hotel du Lac, from Frieda Fromm-Reichmann’s pioneering 1959 psychological study Loneliness to Hannah Arendt’s philosophical thoughts on friendship.
Friendship is, in fact, as much the topic of this book as aloneness. Schreiber writes interestingly about it, drawing a contrast between its polymorphic freedoms and the “grand narratives” of love and family – a phrase borrowed from the philosopher Jean-François Lyotard. The big stories are more focused and unitary, whereas friendships tend to be shifting and diverse in nature. Some friends may be very close; others are fleeting acquaintances, and the rich variety of these “countless small narratives” can make them as significant as the grander ones.
Alone follows a “small” spirit itself; it takes only brief dips into its sources, and does not drive towards any climactic answer. Perhaps deliberately, it feels less than fully fleshed out. It also treads cautiously over another “grand narrative”: that of happiness. Schreiber mentions experiencing depression and other problems, but does not share these with us in depth. He tells us about joyful friendships based on food, gardening and laughter, but does not recreate them at length. The effect can be a little flat.
Beautiful images and insights bounce up along the way, however. I liked his description of the “moments of stillness” that unexpectedly come to him as he oscillates between yearning for, and strenuously avoiding, the bigger narratives. And, on closing the book, I found one image remained with me above all: those five dancing sock needles, with their defiance of the one-plain-one-purl geometry of life. They represent a delicate rebellion against the straightforward, very much like that enacted by this book.
• Alone by Daniel Schreiber is published by Reaktion (£14.95). To support the Guardian and Observer, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
