As soon as I finished this, I went to Nelson's instagram to look at his photos, the pictures he's taken of strangers & loved ones -- it's hard not to want to, when this novel has such a specific, photographic sensibility, suspending impressions & details & movements in time & space, playing with light & shadow & shifting shapes. Even harder not to want to because it ends so beautifully & so poignantly, with an image of what photography can do in moving beyond looking at someone to seeing them, in translating people to each other & to themselves.

The photos I found were beautiful, as moving and tender and attentive and serious and joyful as Open Water -- there's a vulnerability to both, an honouring of the fragile thing that connects the subject to the artist to the audience, image to reality, memory to life.

(I also felt reminded of Zadie Smith's essay on Joy throughout, the difference between pleasure, a comfortable good thing, and joy, which is bigger & more dizzying & shadowed by terror. This novel, thinking as it does about moments of connection and community between black people, of dancing & sweaty nights out & shared passion, of freedom and falling in love, but also about racist violence, the ways that white supremacy manifest self-surveillance & self-suppression as self-protection, the brutality of everyday, conversational dehumanisation -- it's Zadie Smith's joy that I mean when i call it joyful, the terrifying vulnerability of loving & living despite.)

I struggled to get in to the text version of this so I requested the audio book and listened to it as I read, which worked really well for me. Hearing the author narrate his own work gave me a whole new understanding of it, and the poetic aspects of the text were brought out beautifully. I wasn't keen on the second person narration. I understand why it's been used, to try and bring you closer into the story, but it confused me. Perhaps this is a reflection of my difficulty as a white woman to take on the struggles of a black man. And maybe this difficulty shows just how great the difference is, that I am unable to even imagine the struggles he's going through.

Stylistic choices aside, the message in this book is very powerful. It investigates what exactly it means to be a black man, a "black body" and how this affects your life and relationships. Highly recommended, but this book will require your full attention.

I read this book whilst listening to the audiobook at the same time for an immersive reading experience and it was excellent. The following review applies to the audiobook and the ebook copy I read.

This is a beautifully lyrical exploration of young love interwoven with the mental health impacts of racism and only being seen as a Black body.

The trauma of young Black people’s daily experiences is shown with contemporary feeling but there is also hope and compassion.

The writing is intense yet sensitive but it’s so poetic and will leave you wanting more from this author.

"The wearying practice of being looked at, not seen."

There is clearly much more to Open Water than I took from the novel, and my twin’s excellent Goodreads review brings out many aspects, such as the theme of the difference between looked at and being really seen (one that seems only second to the ubiquity of Uber in the novel): see https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3756836122

Unfortunately I got off to a bad start with the book, having listened first to the soporifically narrated audiobook for the first few chapters, and I wasn’t at all grabbed by the opening of the story in any case, which is an unneccessarily protracted YA-style ‘boy meets girl who happens to be boy’s best friend’s girl, and they can't admit they are in love’ story. By the time this opened to the wider and more powerful themes of the novel, such as the experience, even today in the UK, of being looked at ‘a Black body, and not much else', my interest and focus had already evaporated:

"You hide your whole self away because sometimes you forget you haven’t done anything wrong. Sometimes you forget there’s nothing in your pockets. Sometimes you forget that to be you is to be unseen and unheard, or it is to be seen and heard in ways you did not ask for. Sometimes you forget to be you is to be a Black body, and not much else."

And when I read one of the many references to art:

"In a conversation with a friend:

‘I’m about to nerd out so forgive me – so my biggest influence is this British-Ghanaian painter Lynette YiadomBoakye, her work is dope. She paints Black figures, but all of them are made up – which when you see the detail of them is hard to believe. By doing this, she’s externalizing her interiority, which isn’t something Black people are afforded very often."

I realised that the book rather reminded me of Conversations with Friends.

So 2.5 stars for me for personal reading experience but one I’d encourage others to try for themselves.

Open Water is a depiction of a visceral love drowning beneath the weight of trauma. It is a tug of war between the desire to simply be and the ache to be seen as more than a Black body. It is a vessel carrying the story of two nameless Black British artists as they ride tumultuous waves of fear, vulnerability and intimacy that spills them in and out of each other.

I know we are only in January but Open Water is already on my 2021 favourites list. Nelson’s writing is sombre yet superb. Every line purposeful, oft-repeated but never wasted. It is deliberately lyrical, blurring lines between prose and poetry as they fold into each other seamlessly, allowing the story to flow like cascading water. The 2nd person narrative affords readers a confidant like connection to the protagonist. We are granted unrestricted access to his uninhibited thoughts and feelings, evoking a sense of empathy, solicitude and compassion.

This is not your conventional love story. It is one that seeks to live in calm waters but every so often is consumed by a vortex of memories of violence and police brutality. Amidst their blossoming love, Nelson uncovers the damaging effects behind the imposition of strength and resilience on Black men. It is the same vulnerability that binds these two individuals, that ultimately unravels them; It is through this that Nelson’s message of allowing Black men to just be and completely feel becomes abundantly clear.

"𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛, 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚙 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚎."

Open Water encompasses social, political and cultural references. It is beautifully adorned with music, art and literary references that centre and uplift Black creatives. Names like; Zadie Smith, Hanif Abdurraqib, Frank Ocean, Dizzee Rascal, and Isaiah Rashad (amongst others) embellish an already culturally rich story. I wish I could go back and read this for the first time, just to fall in love with it all over again.

This is a stunning debut novel in which the characters fall in and out of love, coping with the stresses of a long-distance relationship. It is beautifully written and the prose is so lyrical, I just wanted to let it wash over me as I read.

It is certainly not the traditional 'coming of age, falling in love' novel mastered by so many, the writing has a certain maturity behind it. There is a palpable tension right from the beginning, and being written in the second person only increases it. I am hesitant to call it a love story, as I feel that would detract from the ever-present racial tensions. This feeling of being constantly watched and observed is a stark reflection of the reality in this current BLM era.

Our protagonists bond over their shared heritage and experiences, and there is a mutual, unsaid understanding. The prose is stunning, and I would not hesitate to read it over and over again. It is an important novel, and its importance is only increased by the lyricism of the prose.

Caleb Azumah Nelson is a London-based writer and photographer. I am a photographer (strictly speaking I am a retired HR person with a very small photography business), so when I searched the internet for the author and came across an article called “How my love for photography helps me be a better writer”, then I had to put everything else down and read it. It might also be worth noting here that I have recently read Barthes “Camera Lucida”, Sontag’s “On Photography” and Berger’s “Understanding a Photograph”, so I am clearly in the mood to read about my lifelong hobby.

In the article, the author talks about his motivation for photography and writing:

”And what is the pull? What is the urge? To see and be seen.

When I write, I’m responding to the same urge. I often feel like I am transcribing photographs. These snapshots of a young man trying to dance the night away; of an artist, looking elsewhere, imagining other worlds; of a friend, clasping his own hands, his gaze direct and defiant and true. Moments which encompass all that has been and all that could be. All our beautiful history and painful inheritances; our hopes and dreams and vulnerabilities. Our wholeness. I pick up a camera, I pick up a pen, and I’m asking others, I’m asking myself, how do you want to be seen? There’s rarely a choice but here, on the page, in front of a camera, there is a choice, there is a freedom, there is a joy, even if it is brief.”

This sets the scene for Open Water in which a key repeating word is “honesty”. There is a repeated phrase in the book about an “honest meeting” which it quickly becomes clear means, in this context, a meeting that requires no words for an exchange with emotional depth. It becomes clear that an honest meeting is one where the participants are seen and not just looked at. This idea of being either looked at or seen is key to the book and is another repeating phrase.

On the surface, Open Water is the story of a relationship. Two Black British people meet in a pub in London. He (the protagonist of the book) is a photographer who writes, she is a dancer. They gradually fall in love, but, as the book blurb says “two people who seem destined to be together can still be torn apart by fear and violence” and a key question raised several times in the book is “under what conditions unconditional love breaks”. Clearly, you will need to read the book to see if those conditions are discovered or conquered.

Beneath the surface, there is an examination, as the blurb points out, of race and masculinity.

I have already mentioned a couple of phrases that repeat across the book and I will come back to that in a minute. One of the other notable things about this book is the number of references out to works of art, photography, literature and music. I’m not sure how much you need to follow up on these to appreciate the book. Most of them were unknown to me and I did find myself using Google a lot to look at pictures and listen to music. I think that helped me appreciate the book more, but I imagine you could read it without all those excursions. For me, it was the musical references that stood out most despite the fact that protagonist and I are both photographers. I highlighted at least 30 references to artists/songs/albums and that is quite a lot in a book of less than 150 pages. And I think the reason I noticed this so much is the musicality of the writing. There are multiple phrases/motifs that repeat across the book or, sometimes, several times across just a few pages before fading away. Reading the book feels like you are listening to a piece of music.

One thing that took me a while to adjust to is that the book is written in the second person. I have read several books written this way and I always find them almost dreamlike to read, hypnotic. There is always the risk for me that I will zone out or even fall asleep as I read a book written this way. But that’s my issue, not the author’s. The prologue sets it up as the narrator addressing an earlier version of himself but doing so from the outside. At about the 25% mark, I had a discussion with a friend about the book and he pointed out that this second person viewpoint is crucial to the book. And he is right because of this idea that recurs again and again of being looked at or seen. And although I needed to read a fair chunk of the book before I truly settled to the format, it is the perfect way to write this book given its subject matter.

This is an excellent debut novel.

'Open Water' is a beautifully written novel about two creatives that fall in love. I loved the way Caleb Azumah Nelson's descriptions of London were so fondly written. They felt so real, he managed to make the City feel like another character in the book. As tender as it is heartbreaking. A stunning debut.

Just wow. As an older adult white female I am embarrassed to say that I have not experienced the same things as the characters in this book. I found most of the issues raised horrifying and shameful. They have profound impacts in lots of different ways on the characters in this story and their relationships with each other and with others. This is an eye opening story in many ways, beautifully written and emotionally involving. Recommended.

Open Water is a beautifully told story of love and friendship written in second person which adds a level of intimacy to the narrative. The book begins as the two meet and then follows the growing friendship and relationship between them, Open Water is slow paced and this works perfectly for the storyline.

Nelson does not shy away from the brutal honesty and pain that love sometimes brings but also highlights the delights and joys that can be found. I enjoyed reading a book about love that is told from the male perspective, this is something I have not experienced before and found fascinating.

If you struggle reading second person narratives I would highly recommend the audiobook, it is narrated by the author and adds a level of truth to the characters.

Open Water is a beautifully written slow burner that repays the time it takes to get in to the poetically told second-person narrative. The love story / relationship at the book's centre was compelling, but most of all the main character's struggle with the trauma of growing up as a Black man in London was so heartbreaking and illuminating. I loved the recurring use of the title's 'open water' as a perfect metaphor for vulnerability: scary and dangerous but beautiful.

As an aside, while reading this I realised how rarely I've read books that recount a (straight) relationship from the man's perspective. It was a refreshing change!

3.5 stars rounded up to 4.
'Open Water' is an ambitious debut with some extremely poignant points. It makes interesting and illuminating comments about the Black experience - particularly from a male point of view, which was good for me as a white woman. The central relationship is sensitively portrayed, and reflects the process of falling in love in great detail at times. It rang somewhat true for me, although I did find myself asking "would anyone actually do that in real life" a few times - but no more than any other fiction book (cough Sally Rooney cough - I agree with 'Stylist''s comparison to 'Normal People') - and this didn't negatively effect my reading experience. Occasionally I struggled with the writing style - it's quite abstract, and with the additional jumping around of the storyline, I failed to locate myself sometimes. There's also a lot of introspection and a few flashbacks, which interrupted the plot's flow for me. Overall, I enjoyed it and would recommend it to those who like a modern love story, experimental structuring, and/or Black British authors. I am intrigued to read any further work by Caleb Azumah Nelson, especially as this is quite an accomplishment for a twenty-five year-old.

You, a Black young man, meet her, a Black young woman. She is dating your friend, but it's love at first sight for you. You become friends. You become best friends. You fall in love.

In a nutshell, that's the story, and that's how it's told. The second person narration took a minute for me to adjust, as it's not a traditional way to tell a story. I read some comments from people saying that it added distance between reader and main character, but it was the opposite to me. You get a first-row seat to the main character, and I understand it might be difficult to walk in his shoes for some people, but I felt like I could fit in his shoes easily (despite me being a White young woman).

You suffer with him, but it's not frustrating as many other books, when the protagonist is doing something "stupid" and you just want to scream at them. Here, you want the protagonist to open up, but, maybe because you get that first-person perspective (he's you, or you're him), I felt like I understood him and I wasn't frustrated by his choices.

It's a short book, but I wouldn't say it's a quick read. You will want to drink the words from the page. The word that comes to mind is that it is a sensual book that you will want to enjoy. There are some elements of poetry and repetition to mark the tempo. There's exploration of race and racism, and of grief.

As I was reading (and this is a very minor note) I realised that there's quite a lot of drinking in this book. If you're triggered by that, maybe don't pick it up. Otherwise, it is a book I am comfortable recommending if you want to put yourself in a Black man's shoes for a while, and feel what he might feel.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Viking for this ARC. This is an honest opinion based on an advanced copy of the book.

This is <i> supposedly </i> a literary romance. Which means that it <i> supposedly </i> has to have more nuance than genre romance books. But honestly, <b> I found this to be one of the most shallow books I've ever read. </b>

The whole premise of the story is about a deeply moving love story. But I didn't find any depth or nuance here. I honestly don't get why these two people love each other. I don't see the connection. The whole thing comes down a strong case of instalove and a 'he was a boy, she was a girl' scenario.

From the first time they meet the main character has this feeling that he's met the love of his life. But there is absolutely no reason for that. Their interaction comes down to very few sentences. I honestly don't get it. After that, the narrative continues to tell us, rather than show us, that these two have form some bond. Again, I don't see it. There is too much focus on physical intimacy here and not enough on emotional connection. I was hoping to finish this in one day, but honestly it's hard to continue reading when I can't buy this love story.

“Your eyes meet in the silence. The gaze requires no words at all. It is an honest meeting.”


Open Water is an exceedingly lyrical debut. The story, narrated through a second-person perspective (ie 'you') is centred on the relationship between two Black British artists (he is a photographer, she is a dancer). Although their relationship is portrayed through a linear timeline, the narrative lingers only on some key scenes/periods between this will-they-won't-they couple. From their first meeting the photographer ('you') is struck by the dancer who at time is going out with a friend of his. The two become friends but their closeness is complicated by their more than platonic feeling for each other.
Caleb Azumah Nelson renders with poignancy their bond. I loved the way he articulates his main character's vulnerabilities and the role that language itself plays in his narrative. To articulate one's feelings, desires, and fears is no easy feat. Language, as the author reminds us time and again, fails us. There is an emphasis on this, that is on the difficulty of articulating your thoughts or truths. 'You' seems in a perpetual struggle with himself. He's in love with the dancer but there are things that keep him from expressing himself to her. The narrative also touches upon on the idea of being 'seen but not seen'. The photographer, a young Black man in London, has experienced time and again the scrutiny of the white gaze. It is because he is viewed as a danger and a threat that he remains in fact unseen. So, when the dancer sees him, as in truly sees him, he feels understood like never before. But it is this bond that complicates their love story.

At times the story resembled a series of snapshots or impressions: these had a moody often cinematic-feel to them that resulted in some great atmosphere (I can definitely see this being adapted to the screen). Nelson's prose brims with lyricism. With staccato-like sentences he captures those ephemeral feelings which are often so hard to express or pin down. His poetic writing style lends beautifully to the themes he goes on to explore (young love, masculinity and vulnerability, race, creativity).
What didn't quite work for me was the 2nd pov. I'm just not the biggest fan of this perspective. I also had a hard time familiarising myself with our main characters. Their personalities felt almost lost in the midst of the author's lyrical language.
Open Water nonetheless struck me as a confident and deeply felt debut.

ARC provided by NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Written in the second person, Open Water places the reader in the role of the protagonist. The further you are from the black, male, persona of the main character we are following, the more unsettling you are likely to find the reading experience. As a black woman who grew up in London, my own life experience was close enough to the protagonist's for his story to feel familiar. I could empathise with being expected to be one thing and the pressure to live up to that expectation while also trying to carve out an identity of your own. However, there was a lot I learned from Nelson's debut too. Toxic masculinity for example, something which is no doubt amplified for black men, prevents the protagonist from allowing his vulnerability to show even in front of the woman he is in love with. It was interesting to read of the barbershop as well as a safe space for black men; at one point during a violent confrontation, one of the perpetrators is unwilling to cross the threshold of the barbershop as though it were sacred land.

As well as the unsettling experience of reading from the second person perspective, the poetic language takes some getting used to. Nelson's descriptions were often beautiful but sometimes took two or three readings to fully understand. Overall, I enjoyed Open Water but if I have a criticism it would be that the police profiling aspect of the story felt shoe-horned in. We are largely focused on the love story for much of the book when seemingly out of nowhere, the protagonist is stopped and searched by the police; we are then told this is the second time he has been stopped in a week. It was strange that something we are led to believe is prevalent in the protagonist's life took so long to make an appearance in the story.

I would recommend Open Water to young black men in particular but also to anyone who wants to read a different depiction of the black male experience in the UK. It was wonderful to read from a black male perspective about two black people falling in love even if that love was complicated because surely complication is what life is all about isn't it?

Caleb Azumah Nelson's astonishingly exquisite debut novella is a beautifully crafted piece of poetic art that carries an impact well above its relatively short length. It explores identity, what it is to be a young black Londoner, the nature of masculinity, the excruciating exhaustion, fragmentation and trauma of racism, the police brutality, and of constantly not being seen, only perceived as being the black other. Two black artists from similar backgrounds, he's a photographer, and she, a dancer, find themselves moving beyond the parameters of their friendship into the the deeper, open waters of an emotionally intense and intimate relationship as they become lovers. Inevitably, he brings his personal history, its scars, fears and insecurity too, and when the relationship ends and his lover returns to Dublin, the reverberations continue. There is love, heartbreak and hope in the poignant and moving narrative, littered with black cultural references, and which resonates so deeply with our contemporary realities. An unforgettable read. Many thanks to Penguin UK for an ARC.

Tender, moving, full of soul and beautifully written… what a gorgeous debut novel! This was a powerful read that I encourage you to pick up. I don't know if it will be an all-time favourite, but it's definitely something that I will be thinking about for a long time!

Caleb Azumah Nelson is a 26 year old South-East London based writer and photographer – and this, his beautifully elegant and affecting debut novel has a second person narrator with much of the same background.

The author has said of his writing and photography in a way which I think captures the impulse behind this book.

"Black people generally are subject to sociological organisation; subject to continuous discrimination on institutional and structural levels; rendered subject and servile and dangerous, criminal, broken. I ask those in front of the lens, those on the page, to bring themselves. Bring themselves whole. Bring themselves true. To bring their quiet, the rich interior lives which are often overlooked. To bring their joy. There’s power in this. Photography, like writing, is a memorial device, selecting a moment to be preserved, one which emerges from the flow of time but is imbued with all that we know, all that we feel. In this way, photography allows us to build our own archives. To assemble our own legacies. Speak our own truths. Our joy."

The story is a transparent one – but with depth: just like the open water of the title.

Two young black people meet in London – she is a dancer (although studying literature at University in Dublin- which I think has encouraged some slightly lazy Rooney comparisons), he a photographer and sometime writer.

Both won scholarships to private schools in South London – both one of a handful of black pupils, he taking refuge and expressing himself (rather inevitably) in basketball, she in dance – and their shared history makes their bond immediate and their friendship deep. This deep bond and an fear of breaking it complicates the trajectory of their relationship towards its inevitable end point, as the two eventually swim out into the deeper waters of love.

Their friendship and relationship, like the book, takes place at different levels – shared trips into the London nightlife (fast food, tube lines, Uber rides, sweaty parties, the Carnival, cinemas) take place against an self-conscious discussion of Black photographers, painters, essayist and authors (as well as of the musicians and Directors whose works they love and experience).

After a Summer together a return of his now girlfriend to Dublin causes the narrator to reflect on his new vulnerability

"You hold off the tears until the train has pulled away, until you are stumbling down the platform. It is like the summer has been one long night and you have just woken up. It is like you both dived into the open water, but you have resurfaced with her elsewhere. It is like you formed a joint only to fracture, only to break. It is an ache you have not known and do not know how to name. It is terrifying. And yet, you knew what you were getting into. You know that to love is both to swim and to drown. You know to love is to be a whole, partial, a joint, a fracture, a heart, a bone. It is to bleed and heal. It is to be in the world, honest. It is to place someone next to your beating heart, in the absolute darkness of your inner, and trust they will hold you close. To love is to trust, to trust is to have faith. How else are you meant to love? You knew what you were getting into, but taking the Underground, returning home with no certainty of when you will see her next, it is terrifying."

Increasingly also – the micro aggressions and the more overt police prejudices that bookend the experience of the narrator as a young black man in London – also affect his ability to engage in the relationship.

In some ways the relationship itself – and the discovery of the narrator that he has someone in his life who really sees him as he is,

"You lost her gaze for a moment and your breath quickened, as when a dropped call across a distance gains unexpected gravity. You would soon learn that love made you worry, but it also made you beautiful. Love made you Black, as in, you were most coloured when in her presence. It was not a cause for concern; one must rejoice! You could be yourselves."

makes the prejudiced gaze and lazy stereotyping of a structurally racist City even harder for him to bear.

The line “It’s one thing to be looked at and another to be seen” recurs frequently – at first positively but then I feel negatively as a man tired of being looked at can no longer make himself vulnerable enough to be seen.

"You’ve been wondering about your own relationship to open water. You’ve been wondering about the trauma and how it always finds its way to the surface, floating in the ocean. You’ve been wondering about how to protect that trauma from consumption. You’ve been wondering about departing, about being elsewhere. You have always thought if you opened your mouth in open water you would drown, but if you didn’t open your mouth you would suffocate. So here you are, drowning. You came here to ask for forgiveness. You came here to tell her you are sorry that you wouldn’t let her hold you in this open water. You came here to tell her the truth"

The second person narration I feel fits the idea of observation – of being looked at and being seen – with the narrator viewing himself – although at times it also adds a certain distancing. And the frequent references to Black theory via the essayists, painters, photographers, authors and the exploration of what lies behind the character’s love of their favourite music and films – has I think both the same motivation and the same sometimes effect.

But overall this is a love story and an examination of what it means to be a British black male, as well as one which is one surely likely to feature on literary prize lists in 2021

Electric prose; poetry in motion which crackles across the page. One to come back to again and again, and to take something new from each time.