Praise from the critics about this novel and Nunez in general seem almost universal. The Vulnerables, however, didn't do it for me. I do not doubt Nunez's erudition or her knowledge of literature, but somehow the elements of this novel did not cohere. It read as a series of musings about how an author might want to consider or contextualize their purpose as a writer, combined with anecdotes about the surreal period that was lockdown, when all norms were suspended. I'm not sure whether lockdown still feels too recent, or too anomalous—did it really happen as described?—but Nunez has nothing original to say about this period. We were all thrown into unprecedented experiences, craved companionship, and even normality. Evidently, we were uniquely "vulnerable". Writing may prove a source of escapism or catharsis in a period such as this. Similarly, reading, as Nunez correctly asserts, is what you "feel" at the time, not what you remember retrospectively. How I would have interacted with this novel would have almost certainly been different had I read it on publication and just as we were emerging from lockdown. 6 out of 10.
By Sigrid Nunez