By Girish Shukla

Copyright timesnownews

There are moments when the world feels unbearably loud, yet our place within it strangely fragile. Surrounded by voices, screens, conversations and obligations, many of us know the quiet ache of loneliness that exists even when we are not physically alone. Few contemporary authors articulate this paradox with as much wit, tenderness and acuity as Elif Batuman. Her novels, filled with sharp observations and awkward silences, are not about grand gestures or perfectly resolved endings. They are about the fumbling reality of life when you are present but disconnected, seen yet somehow invisible. Also Read: When You Want to Believe in Love but Don’t Know How, Let Taylor Jenkins Reid Write You Back Into It The Idiot and the Search for Meaning Batuman’s breakthrough novel, ‘The Idiot’ (2017), is a semi-autobiographical exploration of Selin, a first-year Harvard student in the mid-1990s. Through Selin’s voice, Batuman captures the tentative steps of early adulthood: friendships that feel overwhelming, emails that become loaded with meaning, and the dizzying effort to make sense of desire. The novel is less about plot and more about mood. It shows how being surrounded by clever peers and potential romances does not erase loneliness. In fact, intellectual brilliance can sharpen the sense of alienation. Selin’s struggles remind readers that youth is as much about feeling out of place as it is about possibility. Either/Or and the Awkward Continuation In ‘Either/Or’ (2022), Batuman continues Selin’s story into her sophomore year. Here, the questions become more urgent. What does it mean to live a meaningful life? Should one seek experience through pain, as Kierkegaard suggests, or pursue a more ordinary existence? Batuman’s genius lies not in offering answers but in articulating the uncertainties. The novel dwells in moments where Selin is physically surrounded by friends, classmates and professors, yet caught in internal spirals of self-doubt and philosophical questioning. For readers, this honesty becomes liberating. Loneliness is not framed as personal failure but as part of the human condition. The Comedy of Alienation What separates Batuman from other chroniclers of solitude is her humour. She does not write loneliness as melodrama but as comedy. Selin’s social blunders, her inability to interpret the intentions of others, and her habit of over-analysing everything from Russian novels to email exchanges make her both relatable and endearing. Batuman understands that alienation can be absurd, and laughter can sometimes be the only way to survive it. Her prose is laced with irony, reminding readers that awkwardness itself can be a form of connection. When we laugh at Selin, we laugh at our own misplaced seriousness. Loneliness as Intellectual and Emotional Terrain For Batuman, loneliness is not simply emotional but intellectual. Her characters grapple with literature, philosophy and politics as much as they do with friendship and intimacy. This mirrors the reality of many readers who turn to books not just for escape but for companionship of thought. Batuman places her characters in libraries, lecture halls and literary debates, yet still shows them feeling isolated. In doing so, she validates the truth that knowledge alone does not guarantee belonging. The mind, brilliant as it may be, cannot shield the heart from solitude. Why Her Work Resonates Today We live in an age where connection is instantaneous but intimacy is rare. Social media offers endless conversations, but often deepens the sense of being unseen. Batuman’s novels resonate precisely because they depict this timeless struggle in a pre-digital context. Emails in ‘The Idiot’ serve the same role as texts and DMs do today: they amplify misunderstanding and heighten longing. By situating her stories in the near past, Batuman shows us that the problem is not technology itself but the perennial human difficulty of communicating honestly. A Mirror for the Reader Reading Batuman feels like looking into a mirror that reflects back the parts of ourselves we rarely acknowledge. Her characters remind us of the late-night questions that linger in our minds: Am I enough? Do others truly understand me? Am I performing connection rather than living it? By placing these questions at the heart of her novels, Batuman makes solitude less frightening. She affirms that the discomfort of disconnection is not unique to any one of us but shared across generations, cultures and circumstances. Also Read: When You’re Losing Faith in People, Let Fredrik Backman Remind You Why You Still Care Elif Batuman’s work offers companionship in the very moments when we feel most isolated. Her novels do not promise resolutions but provide recognition, and recognition itself is a balm. When you find yourself at a party, in a classroom, or scrolling endlessly through your phone while still feeling alone, her words can remind you that you are part of a larger story. The ache of alienation, Batuman suggests, is not proof of failure but evidence of being alive. For readers searching for connection, her novels become not just literature but lifelines, intimate companions that speak when no one else can.