YOU (You)

Love.

Hello.

It's a reason for being.

A reason to do better, do the right thing.

-Be brave. -I wolf you.

But Love burned me out completely.

Yes, that's Love with a capital L. Wife.

Why don't you love me anymore?

-Mother of my child. -I killed Natalie for you!

I did my best, but she was-- I hate to call a woman "crazy," but, well--

I did everything to be a good man, a good husband, a good father.

I always do everything I can.

Can't say I've got the most impressive track record in the history of romantics.

But my heart is in the right place.

Love couldn't understand me, but, Marienne, you understood.

We were the same,

meant for each other on every level.

-He lied to you. -I'm sorry, what?

What if I told you Joe's the one who killed your ex?

No, Ryan was mugged.

You need to run. Disappear.

Ryan is just the beginning of what he's willing to do.

Until Love poisoned the well and you ran.

I can't blame you, Marienne.

We both know who's to blame here.

Because of Love, my world went up in flames and I--

Well, as people everywhere read in New York magazine, People,

Thankfully, I knew good people to watch over Henry.

I had to leave him behind. For now.

The hardest thing I've ever done.

Love tests us.

I've been tested more than most.

Turned into a ghost.

No home, no name, all for you.

So I'll admit,

when I went to find you,

I told myself, this is the last time.

It's you...

or nothing.

As a problematic man appropriating a queer poet once said:

"The heart wants what it wants."

["Oxford Comma" by Vampire Weekend playing]

Love chooses us.

The only thing we can control is what we do,

how far we go.

In Ted Chiang's story "Hell is the Absence of God,"

Neil Fisk loses the love of his life.

She was good. She's in heaven.

So the only way he'll feel her love again

is if he goes to heaven too.

But he's not exactly a guy who'd get into heaven.

So he's gotta find a path to redemption.

I'm sorry, but no.

I just think the entire premise of the story is just pants.

I disagree.

It made a few nearly profound points for a work of fantasy.

-Meaning what? -Come on, that stuff's barely literature.

Not that it shouldn't be on the syllabus. Americans do write heaps of it.

Can't argue with you there.

The course is American Iconoclasts of the Short Story.

Dean was probably picturing more Hemingway but, hey, I was a last-minute hire.

Nadia, you said "pants."

Mm-hm, yeah, I did, to great controversy.

Explain "pants" to the American, please.

It's crap, rubbish, not good.

There are tricks to being a professor, like this:

-Say more. -It's not redemption

-if it's for selfish reasons. -Does it matter if he's doing good?

Chiang isn't actually saying the highest redemption is doing good.

He's saying it's just love.

Most of my professor tricks are one trick

I picked up spending time with a girl named Ellie.

Wind them up, let them go. Teenagers will argue for you.

Yes, the word "love" is used to mean something deeper.

Like full civilizations, religions, all of literature.

-Hyperbole. -These two will kill each other

or get married by the end of term.

Spoken like somebody that's never felt love. How would you know?

Okay, all right, let's pause, table this one.

Everybody read "The Tell-Tale Heart"

and be ready to discuss where Poe lands on what love is.

All right? That's all for today.

-Um, Professor Moore. -Still getting used to that.

-Question? -No. But yes.

Why do you keep assigning stuff like Ted Chiang

instead of all the, you know, usual canonical, vaguely racist men that drink?

The people who decided what's important were wrong.

The ones who assign those writers are lazy and this is my class.

Okay, I underestimated you.

It's the accent, isn't it? Sorry.

-I'm good at professor-ing. -What you got?

Oh, um... Rhys Montrose.

What? Is he not a thing in America?

Well, everyone here wants him to run for mayor of London

and ultimately save England from itself.

But I guess the bar's so low,

calling out hypocrisy at the most elementary level

makes you Jesus Christ in a peacoat.

Read it. You'll probably like it.

Brits are the most literary people on Earth.

They really read here.

I don't just mean "buy." Read. Cover to cover.

And look at the respect.

May not own a hairbrush, but does she dog-ear a page?

If L.A. was purgatory and suburbia was hell,

London may be when I finally got to the good place.

I still miss you, Marienne. So much.

But this feels like the European holiday I desperately needed.

Laying low is imperative.

I needed cash, but teaching's fun and London's not so bad.

A city of art, theater, books.

Jonathan!

And the occasional douchebag.

-The American! -This guy.

-Professor Harding, hello. -Malcolm, please!

So when are you letting me

-show you the real city? -Never.

-Soon. -How's the flat?

It's lovely, thank you.

Ran into him after my job interview. It was 2:00 and he may have been drunk.

-Chuffed you're looking after the place. -Yeah, very grateful again, so thank you.

Shit. You know what, I've got office hours, I think.

Yeah, no, no, no. Go, go, go. Rouse young minds and etcetera.

Perks of the job, rumor has it. I wouldn't possibly know.

I bet.

-We'll get those drinks. -I'd rather drink paint.

Campus is across town from where I stay, but in a city like London,

I don't mind the walk.

I guess you could say it keeps me young.

I'm not sure when Gen Z became actual adults, but honestly, I like it.

This is what cities are for. They make you work to keep up.

In certain fundamental ways,

all big cities seem the same.

Insufferable hipsters are apparently universal,

as are the bridge-and-tunnel crowd.

And they start drinking early. Pub time and weekends are sacred.

My first thought when I saw my neighborhood was:

I'm in a Hugh Grant movie.

Don't get me wrong, no Notting Hill romance for me,

or to be precise, South Kensington, but I can't deny the energy here is nice.

Quiet. Okay, sleepy.

Which is good.

Perfect, even.

I've had a lot of time to think, Marienne, walking around London.

Like a poet once said,

"Heartbreak is our greatest teacher, and if so,

thank you for making me wise."

All I can say is never again.

No love.

No people.

Just books.

I love this place.

Charm, built-in bookcases,

a fireplace in every corner.

All due respect, Williamsburg could never.

But it's what's happening out my back window across the alley

that is of my particular interest.

I don't think Malcolm knew about the view when he recommended this flat.

Technical term for him is "party monster."

And who is that?

Is she his girlfriend?

What kind of woman--? No. No.

I am not interested.

No people, not interested.

As a man named Mooney used to say, "Not my circus, not my monkeys."

I don't want to know.

The best way to stay out of people's business

is to know what that business is.

She mostly works.

He mostly plays.

Malcolm went to all the right schools, like his father and grandfather.

He'll never have to work a day in his life,

but he likes being an academic,

giving him an air of respectability that counteracts the assumption

that generations of wealth and inbreeding mean he's just not very smart.

Sadly, other professors mostly consider him a charming bag of hair.

Though rumor also holds remarkable in bed with above average--

You know what? My classroom is in the library.

I hear everything, whether I want to or not.

Now, how about her?

Kate Galvin.

Kate gives very little.

Her online presence is curated only for work.

Gallerist, art lover, never married, appears to be daughter of Greta Galvin,

a free-spirited '90s model who's now a spiritual stylist in Ibiza.

If I had to guess, she grew up her hippie mom's opposite.

Focused, ambitious, positively American work ethic.

Everything I've learned about Malcolm and Kate tells me I'm right.

I do not need to get to know them.

And while Malcolm is off getting smashed, she's, you guessed it, still working.

What's got her so focused?

Okay, I don't think that's Art News Daily on her screen anymore.

Hello.

So does Malcolm leave her unsatisfied or did--? No, not watching.

Why does the universe keep doing this to me?