Going Solo: The extraordinary rise and surprising appeal of living alone by Eric Klinenberg had been on my reading list for a long time, having lived alone for a couple of years, loved it and struggled to give it up and to re-learn how to live with someone else again. I’m one of that generation who bought their first property alone and whose very social life in the city made living alone feel about as far from being alone as it’s possible to be. I’m also someone who has many friends who either live alone now, or who have lived alone for extended periods.

This book is based on the US experience, but, given our similarities, feels very similar to the experience of the UK. My one criticism is that at times it mixes up being single and living alone, which of course are not the same thing at all. It’s extremely well researched and well argued, and I really liked that near the beginning it reminds us that the fundamental rule of social research is to acknowledge preconceptions, but to strive to move beyond them. I tried to do this and you definitely need to as a reader, as this subject is a deeply personal one.

It challenges assumptions and debates in academia that have equated living alone with a loss of social capital or with the fragmentation of society, or the decline of the common good. The author argues that this argument is not only wrong but dangerous, as it detracts from the urgent task of calling attention to the truly isolated. I strongly agree.

We’re of course talking about very different experiences here. Young urban professionals who’ve bought their first flat couldn’t be much more different from the single men living in poverty in rooming houses in US cities, with few choices and little sense of fulfilment. This for me was one of the most fascinating and sad parts of the book, where excellent qualitative research techniques uncovered a world you would never come across otherwise – one that we should all know about, care about and want to change.

But for many, living alone is not a social problem and it’s in fact created new possibilities and significant social benefits. For instance, Klinenberg argues that those living alone are the ones keeping urban life going – they are more likely to go to bars and clubs, eat in restaurants, attend public events, take classes and go shopping.

What is made very clear is that what matters is not whether we live alone but whether we feel alone. People living on their own may struggle with loneliness and feel that they need something more to make their life complete, but then so may their married friends and family members, and indeed almost everyone at some periods in their lives.

Although we often associate living alone with social isolation, the book argues that for most adults the opposite is true. Those living alone are often socially over-extended and the hyperactivity of social media accentuates this.

For aspiring professionals, their twenties and early thirties are precisely not the time to get married and start a family – instead it’s the time when you make a mark with your career. Anchoring oneself in work and a tribe can make living alone a great experience, but most people who live alone into their thirties eventually feel that their community weakens as their friends get married and have children. This was certainly the case for me. I look back now on that period of my life and realise it was the perfect moment for me to live alone. I spent three or four nights a week out with friends, was working hard, out running to relax and my weekends consisted of meeting friends at football, having brunch and spending very enjoyable days chatting in pubs or over picnics in the summer.

As the book says though, there does come a point when you question why you haven’t coupled up yet and worry that you never will, and there’s no getting away from the fact that that can be hard. Social pressure can be intense and for women who want children, worrying that time is running out is accentuated when family and the media somewhat unhelpfully keep pointing it out.

Alongside this are the doctors warning about the reduced chances of conceiving as you get older and politicians decrying the decline of marriage as the breakdown of family life. So it’s hard not to internalise a lifetime of messages of the importance of finding a partner and to wonder if there’s something wrong with you. And on top of all that there’s the expense of paying all the bills alone, paying more to go on holiday alone and life generally being more expensive for one than for two.

But buying a place alone is also a great and powerful statement of valuing the life you’re living and not waiting for something better to come along. For me nothing beat the feeling of coming home late at night on my own after a few drinks to my cherished flat and knowing I was living my life exactly the way I chose.

One of the downsides I found to living alone is that it can make you difficult to live with if you do decide to move in with a new partner, particularly if you’re both used to living alone and value your independence.

Thank goodness, that thanks to this fantastic book, for once we’re hearing a balanced and sophisticated argument of the upsides and the downsides of living alone, and getting much needed exposure to this fascinating social trend.

What we need now is a more intelligent debate about the choices people are making to live alone or to live with others, to be single or in a relationship, to have children or to decide you’d really rather not. I loved this celebration rather than denigration of the different choices that people make.

I urge you to read this book – it’s great!