Humour and heartbreak

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This article was published 10/02/2024 (806 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

In any breakup story, whether it’s playing out in a rom-com or unfolding in someone’s Instagram stories, there are familiar beats: the announcement (especially if they are “consciously uncoupling”), the spiral, the longing, the glow-up, the soft launch of someone new — or of a new life entirely.

And, of course, in any breakup story there are two sides. And in Good Material, Dolly Alderton lets us in on both.

This funny, moving novel from the London-based author and journalist follows Andy, a charming but somewhat emotionally stunted lad who is trying to work out what went wrong between him and his ex, Jen. We follow Andy through his spiral — which he refers to as The Madness — his forays into the dating world, his secondary breakup with carbohydrates, the alienation of his friends.

Andy is also a comedian. His vocation is important for reasons other than supplying the book’s humour — though, crucially, he is actually very funny. Andy is stuck. He’s in a creative rut. He’s no longer a 30-under-30, a One to Watch. He’s quickly approaching middle age, documenting a growing bald spot in an album he keeps on his phone called BALD.

It is, to borrow the book’s title, good material: through the hopelessly nostalgic Andy, Alderton offers a poignant look at that time in life when all of your choices start to feel alarmingly permanent and the particular sting of feeling left behind while all your friends pair off, climb the ladders of their respective careers, have babies. Andy is grieving for more than just Jen; he’s grieving for an old version of his life.

While humour is clearly a coping mechanism for Andy and Alderton is a gifted comedic writer, she doesn’t allow him to completely avoid his pain by constantly distilling it into little jokes and asides. Instead, his feelings are allowed to be messy and raw, and are given space to be felt — really felt. That vulnerability is the point; while Andy creates many walls — including onstage, where he relies on the same tired stable of jokes — Andy is not performing for the reader. We get to experience The Madness along with him and the novel is richer for it.

Alderton has an incredible ear for natural dialogue; Good Material is begging to be adapted for the screen. Andy’s world is populated by a memorable cast of supporting characters, which is likely how he sees them: his mum, his quirky elderly roommate, his comedy pals, his best friends — all fully fleshed out people dealing with their own problems, even if Andy doesn’t always bother to notice. Andy works through his breakup, yes, but also matters of professional jealousy and what it means to be “emotionally intelligent” and how difficult it can be for men to be vulnerable — really vulnerable — with their friends. (To that point, Alderton also has an incredible ear for writing men; Andy’s narration is in the first person.)

And yes, we get to hear Jen’s side of the story, albeit quite late in the book. We learn she is a striver, a woman who did everything right, who went to the spin classes and got the career and the guy who made her laugh, but was always taking care of everybody else.

It would have been nice to hear more from her and sooner. But the novel works well as one story with two endings, versus an alternating POV that might have been jarring or repetitive.

Alderton makes it hard to be strictly Team Andy or strictly Team Jen or even Team Andy And Jen. They both loved each other and hurt each other and admired (and envied) things about each other and shared more of the same fears than they might have realized. You can’t help but root for them both.

Good Material will make you laugh. But don’t be surprised if it makes you misty, too.

Jen Zoratti is a Free Press columnist and arts writer who is confident she could be on this paper’s I-Team if this paper’s I-Team investigated breakups on Instagram.