Growing up

Because narrative is essentially temporal it draws attention to how people, and the events they are caught up in, change. Of course, they rarely change beyond recognition - except perhaps in myths and fables. Slow, unexpected or even inevitable change is more often the norm. Change happens in a network of relations and one of the things that I admire about writers like Joan Silber is a way of dealing with a tapestry of characters and events whose lives intersect and change in different ways, along multiple timelines. Everything is in flux, just as it is in life. Silber's artfulness lies in her ability to draw attention to cross-cutting themes in this flux, and that's what makes her writing distinctive. But I'm also drawn to her writing because it conjures up places, events - even lifestyles - that I'm familiar with. She's very much a writer of my generation. But this kind of specificity isn't strictly necessary to the success of narrative. I've never trained to be a boxer or worked on a building site, but that doesn't stop me from relating to stories in which such things are important. Narrative also transports one into different times and places - and that's part of the magic - but probably we all need some point of contact, some anchorage or reference point. I think that's the allure of coming-of-age stories, part of the attraction of romance, and so much more. Narrative has to be relatable. Coming-of-age stories are accessible in that sort of way. Stories of young men coming-of-age are particularly relevant in times in which there is widespread concern about the possibility of alienation, about different routes into masculinity and, at least in some quarters, a concern for masculinity itself. Two recent French films - both from 2025 - explore this territory from thought-provoking but slightly different points of view - Le Danse de Renards and Campillo's Enzo. Carnoy's film, set in a residential sports academy for young boxers, dwells on the relationship between these young men, they're rivalry, they're jealousy and - occasionally - their tender friendship. But there's also some painful loss of status and ostracisation, set against the brutal backcloth of a particularly violent, macho sport. If there's anger, frustration, confusion and alienation in Enzo it works differently, by depicting a young man's struggles with his own bourgeoise background, his loving parents, who are sometimes just a bit overbearing in a permissive, progressive sort of way and some uncertainty about his own sexuality. Le Danse de Renards packs a punch through its exploration of strong emotions, some of which erupt into violence, whereas the dissatisfaction at the heart of Enzo is more insidious, speaking to issues of identity, wealth and even global conflict as Enzo falls under the spell of a charismatic Ukrainian worker.