At the onset of the pandemic, when seemingly the world went into lockdown, life became a series of digital approximations. Everyone took to their screens. Math classes and banal office chats were reincarnated in pixels.
There were Zoom stand-up meetings, yoga workshops, and dinner dates. I was invited to more pub quizzes than ever before, and while it was nice that everyone wanted to chat, it was also enervating. To see the world primarily in two dimensions is to experience a loss: on screen, there are no smells or the accidental jostling of two shopping carts, nor spontaneous friendships struck up in the queue to the bathroom.
While all these technologies make it easy to keep in touch with family and friends, what I miss are the strangers. Certainly, I have not stayed in London for the weather. Strangers represent chance and the ephemeral.
They present endless and magical possibilities. What does it mean to be attentive to such momentary encounters? It may be envied. We recommend vigilance when using it in public. In Exteriors , Ernaux too practices vigilance: more than three decades ago, Ernaux moved to Cergy-Pontoise, a new town outside of Paris.
Elkin is tired; commuting is always tiring, especially after the weekend. She has little tolerance for her fellow riders, whose movements and conversations she has begun to chronicle in the Notes app. Little of what Elkin writes is unto itself that interesting: she sees women in red hats, a pair of awful glittery sandals, a mom with kids who kick and squirm.
