Don’t Look at Me Like That
by Diana Athill (1967)
NYRB Classics (2023)
192 pp
Diana Athill, by my count, wrote ten autobiographical books and a couple of collections of short stories. However, she wrote only one novel — Don’t Look at Me Like That — which was published in 1967 and reissued by NYRB Classics last year. This was relatively early in her writing career; indeed, she’d written only one autobiographical book by that time, 1963’s Instead of a Letter (which got a lovely NYRB Classics edition last year).
The novel is about a young woman named Meg Bailey, whom we meet in her early years living uncomfortably at home. Her father is a rector; Meg doesn’t believe in God, but she tries to keep it to herself. She feels like she has to keep a lot of who she is to herself. Though she is beautiful and talented — and she knows it — she is not well liked. She yearns for some kind of escape. Her one friend, Roxanne Weaver, is kind enough to invite her to spend the weekend in Oxford. This turns into an opportunity for Meg to truly get out and pursue her life.
It will be messy, to most eyes. Athill is great at presenting a young woman in the 1950s who wants to make her own mistakes. It doesn’t necessarily lead to a lot of happiness, and her willingness to own up to her mistakes (sometimes) doesn’t necessarily mean she escapes shame or loneliness. Athill is so good at helping us see all of this throughout.
So it was, and went on being, as though nothing had happened. I had loved — still loved — a man, which was supposed to be the climactic event in my life, and it had made no difference to my getting up in the morning, waiting for buses, working, meeting people, coming home to bed, being lonely. I had learnt that the man was not worth loving and it hadn’t stopped me loving him. I knew that other men could love me and I didn’t care.
The title makes me think of Anita Brookner’s 1983 novel, Look at Me, which I’ve always read as a plea rather than a demand. And that made me think of the various ways of reading Don’t Look at Me Like That. How is that demand — or is it a plea? — stated? The novel beautifully explores such complexities.
This was on my docket thanks to #NYRBWomen24, and once again I’m so glad I had that extra excuse to finally pick up and read this remarkable book.
Leave a Reply