Separate Rooms is hauntingly beautiful. The quiet moments, flitting from one memory to the next, from different periods in Leo and Thomas's relationship–you meander through it all as Leo comes to terms with everything that has happened.
The language Tondelli uses is incredibly poetic, adding depth to something already so beautiful and touching. I loved every moment of reading this book. Thank you so much to Zando and NetGalley for the ARC.

A nice read for holiday, but slightly disappointed? I'm not sure if it was the style of writing that meant i just couldn't get into the book, but this just felt like a little bit of a chore to read? I adored the story and the characters, i just wished it was written differently!!

Head over heels for this novel - it’s so lyrical and poetic, this is going to become an instant classic for me.

A story on loss & grief, on meandering & reminiscent moments. some beautifully written passages dispersed throughout, however I found the structure at times a bit cumbersome and disjointed.

The novel follows Leo, a writer and journalist, as he reflects on his relationships—particularly his turbulent love affair with Thomas, a German musician—against the backdrop of 1980s Europe. Structured in a nonlinear fashion, the narrative shifts between memories, dreams, and present-day reflections, blurring the lines between fiction and autobiography.

Themes:
Love and Loneliness: The novel dissects the push-and-pull of romantic relationships, where intimacy is both desired and feared. The title Separate Rooms symbolizes emotional and physical distance even in love.

Illness and Mortality: Written during the peak of the AIDS epidemic, the novel carries an undercurrent of dread, though it never explicitly names the disease. Thomas’s declining health looms over the narrative.

Art and Writing: Leo’s struggle to articulate his experiences mirrors Tondelli’s own metafictional meditation on creativity and the limits of language.

Queer Identity: Unlike earlier Italian gay literature, which often coded homosexuality, Tondelli’s work is openly queer, examining both liberation and societal alienation.

Style & Structure:
Fragmentary Narrative: The novel eschews traditional plot structure, instead unfolding in vignettes, letters, and diary-like entries.

Autofictional Elements: Tondelli blurs his own life with Leo’s, adding a raw, confessional tone.

Lyrical Prose: The writing is poetic yet stark, balancing beauty with brutal honesty.

Legacy & Reception:
Separate Rooms is considered a masterpiece of Italian queer literature and a precursor to later autofictional trends.

Tondelli, who died of AIDS-related complications in 1991, is now celebrated as a trailblazer for LGBTQ+ writing in Italy.

Critics praise the novel’s emotional depth, though some find its fragmented style challenging.

There are some beautifully written lines dispersed throughout this move, however I found the structure at times a bit cumbersome and disjointed.

Just alright. Im not sure if it was just because I listened on audiobook but the narrator for this made the book feel so bland. From an accessibility angle, there wasn’t enough distinction or indication that time was passing or a new scene was happening, leading to a very jumble confusing non-linear story and plots.

I barely made it fully through this one

There’s a hush that falls over the pages of Separate Rooms, like the stillness after rain — soft, disarming, and filled with the weight of unsaid things. In Pier Vittorio Tondelli’s hands, grief is not a storm but a mist that lingers, that clings to skin and thought alike. We follow Leo, not through time, but through ache — a man unraveling in the quiet hum of trains, hotel rooms, and languages he half-remembers, searching for the shape of Thomas in the shadows of memory.

This is not a story told, but a sorrow breathed — an elegy dressed in prose that moves like a nocturne: slow, solitary, and unbearably alive. The novel unfolds like a whisper in a cathedral, where love is both presence and echo, and absence becomes its own kind of architecture. Through Leo’s solitude, we are made to witness the spaces lovers leave behind — not just in death, but in life too. The doors not opened. The truths not spoken. The rooms we lock to keep ourselves whole.

It is not a book that asks to be read. It asks to be felt — quietly, devastatingly — by anyone who has ever touched love and known it could vanish without warning.

3.5 stars

Separate Rooms is a meditative and deeply internal novel about grief, desire, and the complicated ways we love—sometimes in close proximity, sometimes at a distance. Originally published in the 1980s and now available in an English translation, the book follows Leo, reeling from the death of his lover, Thomas. The narrative is fractured and nonlinear and drifts between memories and musings, never quite grounding itself in a single moment but rather swimming through them, like someone lost in a tide of their own mind.

There is no conventional plot here, no dramatic arc. Instead, the novel is structured more like a long monologue—elegiac, poetic, and occasionally frustrating. The book’s lyricism can also veer into the indulgent, especially when Leo’s introspection starts to feel more like self-mythologizing than mourning.

Leo’s grief is often portrayed in an abstract, intellectualized way, and while that might ring true to some readers, it also creates a certain emotional distance. Thomas, whose death catalyzes the novel, remains curiously out of focus—more symbol than character. This may be intentional, but it left me wanting a fuller sense of who he was beyond Leo’s gaze. There are moments of sharp insight into intimacy and isolation, but just as often, I found myself feeling unmoored by the novel’s philosophical tangents and temporal jumps.

Still, Separate Rooms has stayed with me. It’s not an easy or universally accessible read, but it is a valuable one—especially for those interested in queer literature that resists simplification or sentimentality. Tondelli’s vision is raw, melancholic, and entirely his own.

Many thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for providing me with the ARC of this book.

The prose is beautiful although the plot can be difficult to follow due to its pace and the time skips. I heard this is a classic LGBT novel and I love reading about different perspectives and lives but this book wasn't for me. I'd give it a 3.5 for how beautifully written it is and the challenging subject matter.

Separate Rooms is a devastatingly tender novel that lingers like a half-forgotten melody: aching, resonant, and impossibly human. With prose that pulses like a heartbeat, Pier Vittorio Tondelli delivers a raw meditation on grief, intimacy, and the unreachable nature of memory through the life of Leo, an Italian writer mourning the death of his young German lover, Thomas.

Told in three movements, much like a piece of music, the novel doesn’t follow a conventional plot so much as it immerses the reader in the emotional and psychological aftermath of love lost. Leo, consumed by mourning and regret, drifts through Europe with only his memories for company. Each city he passes through conjures echoes of the past; vivid recollections of joy, passion, and distance. And in these recollections lies the novel’s most powerful insight: the separate rooms we build, even in our closest relationships, to preserve autonomy, to avoid pain, or simply to survive. The writing is lyrical and introspective, rich with philosophical depth and quiet sorrow. The specter of AIDS is never far, but the novel resists becoming a political statement; instead, it is heartbreakingly personal.

A must-read for anyone who has ever loved deeply and lost.

This is a terribly tragic novel. Unfortunately, and maybe something was lost in translation, but I wasn't able to really feel any emotions from the writing.

really good mystery. Kept me on my toes and loved all of the characters and what they went through on this journey. Loved that they a happy ending happened.

Though a bit low on pace and incidents, I enjoyed this book. I guess the lack of interest from me was mainly because I read it in the middle of a hectic schedule. Next time I'll pick this book when I'm free and read it once again, maybe I'll like it better then

You need to enjoy introspection and possibly philosophy to appreciate this novel. Not a lot happens and that which does, is in the past. Luckily I love to see a character learn and grow, but this was not an easy nor a fast read for me. To be honest, it's a bit of a downer but I stuck with it and can say it is a beautiful piece of writing. It's heartbreakingly sad and requires the reader to jump around both in time and in location as Leo comes to terms with his grief. In the background constantly, there is the heavy atmosphere of the 1980s HIV/Aids crisis. I loved how the book was written in three "movements" reflecting the gay arts scene in Europe at the time. Leo wasn't particularly lovable but, as a human, I could relate to a lot of his emotions regarding relationships, found family, love and grief. It's raw and real and Leo definitely comes to know himself better by the end. Stunning! Another reason to read books in translation.

3.5 stars. Loved the prose, but found the plot and characters didn’t fully suck me in. This had lots of stunning, introspective writing and the language was superb. Would be worthy of a higher rating if my attention hadn’t wanned between the best-written parts. While I don’t speak Italian so can’t attest to the quality of the translation, the word choice was literary and flowed well. There was also some great imagery throughout. Thank you to Zando publishers and NetGalley for providing me with a free e-ARC in exchange for an honest review.

i really loved the writing and characters in this book, i can see why this is such a beloved book! but this one was just a bit too slow paced for me.

The writing was good, the characters were interesting. Overall I loved it, but felt it was slow in parts.

I liked Separate Rooms but often had trouble articulating just why I liked it: nothing much happens, Leo is not the most likeable protagonist, and all his relationships are various shades of toxic (though "flawed" might be a more generous word here). And yet I did like it. It's atmospheric and moody, really communicating the feeling of aloneness and grief within a glittering cosmopolitan European arts scene. It is an achingly intimate portrait of Leo's grief. And though unnamed, the spectre of the HIV/AIDS pandemic hangs quietly and cruelly over the entire novel, made crueller by the fact that we know Tondelli himself would die of AIDS in 1991. Pleasance's translation is quite beautiful and sad and (in my opinion) really captures the novel's spirit.

While it wasn't my favourite read, I did like Separate Rooms, and I intend to see the film when it is released (though unsure whether I will end up liking it). I'd recommend it to anyone looking to read more translated fiction, to read a contemporary account of the gay arts scene in Europe in the 1980s, and/or to engage with really deep literary explorations of grief. Or for any global film buffs who'd like an idea of what the film will be about.

Many thanks to @zandoprojects and @netgalley for the opportunity to review this.

#bookstagram #bookreview #arcreview #bookrecommendations #translatedfiction #SeparateRooms #NetGalley

so it's a classic Italian gay novel and some of the prose is just hauntingly beautiful. yes, there's sort of a plot though really its more about life (and living) than some sort of structured narrative. it certainly demands you pay constant attention to its time jumps and mood swings, since otherwise you'll be lost.

I'm better for having read it, I think - but It's not really something I see myself going back to anytime soon.