Is Arrangements in Blue a memoir? Is it poetry? Is it a free-flowing meditation? Perhaps all of those, and none. Using Joni Mitchell's album, Blue, as her starting point, Amy Key opens up her heart and mind about what life feels like when romantic love has eluded you. The gushing reviews on the cover suggest a seismic shift in modern-day thinking about romance; a book that will resonate, no question. I would argue that they hinder the beauty and art of this hard-to-classify book.
It's not what I expected, but perhaps I wasn't sure what I expected anyway. I am not single, yet this book called to me: maybe because I was instantly drawn to Amy's courage to open up in this way. Arrangements in Blue is no manifesto: what it is instead, thankfully, is a brutally honest exploration of one person's innermost life – a license to spend time inside someone's head. That this person is Amy Key is lucky for all involved, because her thoughts are elaborate, honest, personal and curious. I revel in the fact that the book has no obvious structure: it is loosely centred around a certain theme in each chapter (more precisely, a lyric from Blue) but they all read like streams of consciousness, freely following each line of thought, wherever it may lead. It's the type of book one genuinely needs to get lost in, give over the controls to the author. I did so with pleasure.
Amy recounts, in uniquely crafted language, the ups and downs of her life; romantic involvements (some harrowing, some just like any other teenage romance), friendships, loves and losses; and works through them forensically. It's a sort of evaluation, overthinking, unpacking, asking questions. But the thoughts and events that do resonate, the moments where I find the connection, are powerful. She made me remember the joy of moving into a flat by myself, making decisions and being completely in control of my happiness; but then I remember I was already buoyed by having had a couple of dates with my now-husband. To be perfectly candid, her book made me smug, and I apologise whole-heartedly. No, perhaps not smug, because it's not at the expense of anyone else that I feel this way – perhaps she just reminded me of my luck, and I'm grateful.
Is it self-indulgent? Sure. Sometimes overly so. Perhaps it could have been edited down slightly. But perhaps that's the point. Amy often takes us through her emotional cycles, feeling joy, then empathy, then suddenly anger, jealously, resentment – and it's something like that to be her reader. You cycle through emotions, most often empathising, sometimes thinking you would never do what she did, how terrible, how embarrassing. But ask yourself: wouldn't you? And if, like me, sometimes you sigh in annoyance while reading – 'get over yourself' – notice if you're talking to her, or yourself. If you wrote down your innermost thoughts for a week, a month, a year, wouldn't they look just like this?
I salute the publisher who put this book out, because it is needed in a world of polished things. It isn't a novel, it isn't a self-help book, it isn't a wildly revealing biography: it's quiet meditation on life, happiness and self-worth. And if you're anything like me, and spend at least 60% of your waking hours thinking about your worth, your future, your next steps, it'll be just as comforting to you as it was for me. This book is a companion, a friend you can sit with and have a glass of wine while ruminating.
I admire Amy's courage to put these notes out into the world. I feel it somehow creates a psychic connection with every reader so that, even though we've never all met, we feel connected somehow.
Perhaps we should organise a big Amy Key meet-up. Imagine the buckets of tears, the empathy, the comraderie. What a world it could be.
