100 Days of Solitude by Fabio Geda: Solitude, But Make It Existential

By Paige Sutton January 20, 2025

If 100 Days of Solitude by Fabio Geda were a person, it would be the kind of person you’d spot at a café, sitting alone with a half-drunk cappuccino and a book, looking like they’ve seen the world, but also like they’d rather not talk about it. You’d want to talk to them, but maybe not. They’d be intimidating, but in the most fragile way possible. They’d exude that air of quietness that invites curiosity—just as Geda’s novel invites you to sit in your own silence, wade through your own thoughts, and wonder if you’re doing this whole “life” thing right.

Here’s the thing: you won’t find a lot of action in 100 Days of Solitude (even though there’s an entire century locked away in the title). But that’s the beauty of it. Instead, you’ll find moments—moments that feel like a reflection in the water of a lake at dawn, slightly distorted, but still incredibly real. Geda’s book, like the solitude it explores, isn’t interested in grandiose drama or soaring plot twists. It’s more about the slow, contemplative unraveling of what it means to be alone in a world that constantly pushes you to be “connected” in the most superficial sense possible.

The Premise: A Hundred Days, One Man, One Soul

The novel takes us into the life of a man named Mauro, a 30-something whose life has recently been punctuated by loss, longing, and the kind of numbing sadness that a person can’t quite put into words. Mauro’s journey into solitude isn’t some spiritual quest or some grand adventure—it’s not even voluntary at first. It’s a slow, almost mundane realization that solitude, in its truest sense, is a state of being you can’t just run from. He doesn’t go to a remote cabin in the woods or disappear into the mountains. No, he’s still part of the world, but he’s slowly fading from it, drifting from person to person, searching for meaning in all the wrong places.

But there’s a rawness to his journey, and it’s not the kind of self-pitying, wallowing solitude that feels like an Instagram aesthetic. Instead, it’s the kind of solitude that’s filled with pockets of regret, guilt, and silence that echo louder than any conversation. Mauro’s days are spent wandering around, trying to figure out who he is without the noise of the world, without the distractions of technology, and even without the people he’s used to. It’s an almost radical notion that Geda doesn’t apologize for—solitude doesn’t mean peace, it means dealing with everything you’ve been avoiding.

Why Geda Gets It Right: The Beauty in the Quiet

So, let’s talk about why this book works. It’s not because it’s a ‘page-turner,’ because let’s be real—this is a book you’re going to put down a lot. But you’ll pick it up again, and when you do, you’ll notice something that makes you pause: the subtlety. The quiet ache of Geda’s writing mirrors the silence it’s trying to explore. The prose isn’t flashy, it’s not screaming for attention, but it pulls you in anyway. There’s no need to keep you on the edge of your seat, because the real drama is in Mauro’s mind—and our own.

It’s in the way Geda lets silence speak. There are no great revelations or emotional climaxes; just moments where the stillness of life hits you like a heavy, damp coat. Mauro’s reflections on loss, love, and the passages of time don’t feel manufactured. They feel like real things you’ve pondered when you’ve been sitting alone, with nothing but the noise of your own thoughts. And let’s be honest—those are the most uncomfortable truths to face. But Geda doesn’t make them feel like a chore. Instead, he makes you feel like you’re not alone in your own solitude.

What Doesn’t Work: The Risk of Stagnation

But, of course, there’s a flip side. Sometimes, 100 Days of Solitude gets so deep in the murk of introspection that it risks drowning in its own quiet. For readers who crave action, resolution, or a clear-cut conclusion, Geda’s approach can feel like wading through molasses. There’s a sense that the narrative occasionally stagnates in its own introspective fog, and while that’s the point—to reflect, to sit in discomfort—it can make some readers feel like they’re trudging along on a treadmill that’s not going anywhere.

The plot doesn’t exactly “unfold” the way some might expect from a book of this type, and for readers who need a little more direction or progression, this could be a struggle. Solitude doesn’t need to be a straight line. But as with all great novels that deal with inner turmoil, the lack of clear-cut answers is what makes it hit harder. Sometimes, the most profound journeys are the ones that don’t go anywhere at all—except deep inside the psyche of the protagonist, and that’s what Geda captures perfectly.

The Big Idea: Embracing Solitude, and Your Own

In the end, 100 Days of Solitude is a meditation on isolation, the quiet kind that doesn’t just exist in a room but lingers in the spaces between people, between moments, between everything we think we need to fill our lives with. It’s not about the solitude you choose—it’s about the one that slowly settles around you like dust. The fact that we’re all, in a way, seeking some form of silence, a way to be alone with ourselves, even as the world demands we connect with everything and everyone constantly—this is the beauty of the book.

This isn’t the story of how to cope with loneliness; it’s the story of realizing that loneliness is not something you simply endure. It’s something you understand, like an uncomfortable truth you’d rather ignore. And in that understanding, there’s a freedom that Geda delivers through his simple, almost poetic, approach. Mauro’s story isn’t meant to inspire grand acts of rebellion or show how one man’s solitude changes the world—it’s about the kind of quiet we all experience in our own ways, the kind that demands to be understood before it can ever be overcome.

Final Thoughts:
For a book about solitude, 100 Days of Solitude is oddly comforting. It’s a companion for anyone who’s ever sat alone and wondered what it all means, or if it even matters. If you’re into big epics or thrillers, maybe this isn’t for you. But if you’re willing to sit in the silence with Mauro, reflect on your own moments of solitude, and accept that you’ll never have all the answers—this book will find a quiet place in your heart and linger there, long after you finish reading.

Keywords:
100 Days of Solitude, Fabio Geda, solitude in literature, reflective YA fiction, emotional depth in novels, existential YA books, introspective reads, solitude and loneliness, emotional literary fiction