Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson | Book Review

Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson
Published by Flatiron Books, 2015
My rating: ⭐ ⭐

Jenny Lawson writes about mental health in a candid, warm, and conversational way. This works wonders to draw readers in, helping to spark dialogue, and chip away at lingering stigma. The way she normalises the validity of medication and therapy as treatment is particularly praiseworthy. As such, I’m not at all surprised or disappointed to see how popular her work has become. To help people feel seen, and to encourage others to laugh at the absurdities of life, and find joy throughout their struggles is a wonderful thing.

However, the book sets out to be funny first and foremost, and for me, it fell largely flat on that front. The humour (the recounting of dialogue, in particular) was so obviously exaggerated that I found it all a bit forced and cringey. There were certainly some mildly amusing moments, but whilst my sense of humour favours a faster pace (think cutting sarcasm, zingy word play, and punchy one-liners), Lawson’s favours bizarre analogies and nonsensical tangents that are latched onto and stretched beyond their limits. In short, I like humour that feels effortless, but I could always see how hard Lawson was working to prove her quirkiness. This is obviously personal preference and entirely subjective, but if you have to tell us when you’ve made a joke (which Lawson does a lot), repeat the same joke (which she does a lot), or admit that a joke you’ve made isn’t even funny (which she also does a lot), I would suggest that said jokes aren’t really working.

I feel icky about this next part, but it would be remiss of me not to flag it up given how much it bothered me. I wholeheartedly acknowledge that someone’s personal relationship is no one else’s business. Also, let’s keep in mind that we’re only hearing one side of things, and that certain anecdotes have clearly been exaggerated for comedic effect. That said, the way Lawson’s partner treated her often made me uncomfortable. Though her behaviour is intentionally juvenile and undoubtedly infuriating at times, even when she’s in the grips of a genuine, full-blown anxiety attack, he’s either dismissive and embarrassed of her, or else he shouts at her in a blunt and condescending manner; repeatedly calling her ‘crazy’ and telling her to shut up. Obviously, her life is hers to do with what she wants, and if a ‘tough love’ dynamic works for them, that’s totally fine. I just don’t want people with mental health problems to read this book and think that’s how they should always expect to be treated; as though it’s what they deserve. Just know that what works for everyone is different, and if what you need is a gentler approach of patience, understanding, and compassion, you are more than entitled to precisely that.

There’s also a chapter which sees Lawson visit Australia, in which she comes across as culturally ignorant and insensitive (confusing the country with New Zealand; asking if there were rhinos near the place they were staying; comparing koalas to people with dwarfism; and referring to Uluru as ‘a big rock’). We all live and learn, but… really?

I found the structure somewhat erratic, too. It’s not linear or comprehensive enough to be a memoir, nor is it thematically focussed enough to be an effective essay collection on mental health. There are many, many chapters about entirely extraneous things (like how she finds people in airports annoying; draft tweets she jotted down late at night; foods she doesn’t like; weird taxidermy; or the time she had her gallbladder removed; to name just a few). These add nothing to the mental health discussion, nor are they insightful or funny enough for their place to really feel justified. Granted, this informality may have been deliberate, to emphasise the conversational tone, and if you enjoy Lawson’s voice, you’ll likely get along fine with these sections. But, for me, the book would have been stronger had it been constructed with a clearer sense of direction.

I’m aware that, the more I got into this review, the more negative it became. So, let me finish by making it clear that I still think this book is worthwhile. When Lawson ditches the meandering tangents in favour of an incisive look at the realities of life with anxiety, depression, and sleep disorders, it’s honest, relatable, and valuable. Indeed, the book has a lot of heart, and is incredibly well intentioned. That Lawson’s style doesn’t gel with me is a shame, but it’s no reflection of the book’s overall impact. Clearly it has provided comfort and relief to many, and for that I’m glad.

***

If you fancy giving Furiously Happy a go, you can find a copy by clicking here.

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Sylvia Plath and Alice Thompson | Two Mini Reviews

Here are some thoughts on a couple of recent reads. Coincidentally, though very different, both are mysterious, fascinating looks at facets of the human psyche.

***

Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom by Sylvia Plath
Published by Faber & Faber, 2019
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I tried some of Plath’s poetry years back and failed to properly connect with it, but if I’ve taken anything from this slim story, it’s that I must give her work another shot.

One of the recently released Faber Stories, Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom is a previously unpublished short story that follows a young woman, forced to board a mysterious train, destination unknown. There’s barely a superfluous word, with Plath creating a number of beautiful images, and a tone of quiet menace that lurks in the background.

Though intentionally vague to a degree, and thus able to be interpreted in a couple of different ways, the allegory at work becomes increasingly clear as the tension builds. The theme of finding the will to live, and the strength to defy a seemingly unavoidable fate shines through; a meaning that takes on an added layer of poignancy when considered within the wider context of Plath’s life.

You can pick up a copy of Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom by clicking here.

***

Justine by Alice Thompson
Published by Salt, 2015 (first published by Canongate Books, 1996)
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Sometimes, when you love a book, you want to push it into the hands of as many people as possible. Other times, you are well aware that it won’t work for a lot of people. Justine is very much an example of the latter for me. This strange and allegorical novel is a hypnotic look at the destructive power of obsession; the pursuit of physical beauty; and women as dehumanised objects of desire.

The plot follows an unnamed male narrator. He is a collector of art, and a beauty obsessive who becomes enthralled by Justine, a figure within a painting whom he believes he has met in real life. As he pursues Justine, and her twin sister Juliette, things become increasingly dark and disorientating. This creates a haze in which Thompson explores the blurred line between art and artist, whilst casting a quasi-feminist eye on the struggle for control between the sexes.

The evocative, exaggerated imagery of the novel reflects the importance of art and beauty to the narrative, whilst the hallucinogenic tone reflects the opium-fuelled daze and all-consuming obsession of the narrator’s existence. There are also many literary references throughout, notably those that draw parallels with Marquis de Sade’s Justine, Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper, and Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. These various layers enrich the book’s thematic depth, creating the kind of story that is sure to invite deeper thought, and divide readers. I, for one, was enraptured by its singular surrealism.

You can pick up a copy of Justine by clicking here.

The Best Awful by Carrie Fisher | Book Review

The Best Awful by Carrie Fisher
Published by Simon & Schuster, 2004
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Though it can be read as a standalone, The Best Awful is a semi-sequel to Fisher’s debut novel, Postcards from the Edge, continuing to explore the trials and tribulations of Suzanne Vale, washed up actress and recovering addict. This time around, we find Suzanne heartbroken and humiliated, the father of her young daughter having left her for a man. Paranoid that she’s the ‘lesser’ parent, numbed by her bipolar medication, daunted by the prospect of modern dating, and horrified that her friends are starting to think her boring, Suzanne heads down a slippery slope that threatens to jolt her off the wagon, and land her in ‘the bin’.

This is possibly the most convincingly raw account of a mental breakdown I’ve ever read. It simmers with the kind of urgency and honesty that only someone with first-hand experience could have penned. The dizzying highs and the desolate lows of Suzanne’s bipolar ‘mood weather’ are captured with equal fervour; the disorientating claustrophobia of being inside her head as she loses her grip on reality like a drawn-out car crash – one you can’t tear your eyes from, no matter how brutal it gets. Indeed, the almost erratic feel of the narrative voice at times may alienate some, but it serves as a painfully realistic reflection of the heroine’s scattered perspective; her million-miles-an-hour mindset that offers no respite.

When Fisher really delves into the mental health struggles of her characters, there’s an added level of poignancy, with most readers aware of how autobiographical many of the events explored are. But she never loses her ability to infuse the darkness with some much-needed light. Zingy one-liners and clever word play bring a darkly comic edge of self-deprecation to the story that makes Suzanne very endearing, no matter how flawed she is. For she is, indeed, a very complex character. For all the terrible decisions she makes, the cutting sarcasm, and the dips into vanity, it becomes clear that much of this is the product of a woman full of guilt and self-loathing; the victim of a vapid culture that has left her unsure how to properly function in or out of the spotlight.

It’s a story of rock-bottom and recovery; the pitfalls of a life lived under the pressure of Hollywood; unconventional family; and one woman’s quest to make peace with herself – a backwards coming of age story delayed by a few decades.

The end in particular becomes playfully meta, when a character writes the following to Suzanne:

‘When we have experience and strength to share with someone who’s gone through a similar difficulty, then the right thing to do is share that experience, and give comfort and hope when we can. I know you’ll do the right thing.’

The obvious implication is that these are the very words Fisher herself tried to live her latter years by. Suffice to say, she did the right thing.

***

You can pick up a copy of The Best Awful from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

House of Glass by Susan Fletcher | Book Review

House of Glass by Susan Fletcher
Published by Virago, 2018
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

House of Glass is at once an enthralling gothic mystery, and a poignant piece of historical fiction that examines the devastating ways in which women’s lives were ruled by scandal, rumour, and reputation. In this respect, and many others, it is a book of opposites; of truth versus lies, logic versus faith, and reality versus the supernatural.

The story follows Clara, a young woman who spent her childhood confined to the safety of home. Suffering from a rare brittle bone condition, she is at constant threat of injury. Grieving the loss of her feminist mother, however, she jumps at the chance to finally fly the nest. Passionate about botany, she receives an invitation to establish a new glasshouse at Shadowbrook, a remote country manor. When she arrives, she is greeted by an owner conspicuous by absence, and residents terrified of a supposed haunting. Clara soon sets her practical mind to solving the mysteries of Shadowbrook.

Clara herself is a fabulous heroine. Her sheltered childhood spent in solitude, during which time she relied on the company of books, has instilled in her a voracious thirst for knowledge about people, and the world around her. This, coupled with her lack of social training, and her stubborn resilience against those who would dismiss her based on gender or disability, makes her forthright, headstrong, and proactive. If some gothic heroines flounder in the face of uncertainty, Clara moves straight for the truth, asking all the questions on the tip of the reader’s tongue.

The first half of the novel is pretty much everything I look for in an ideal read. It has a rich, vivid setting, complete with all the gothic hallmarks. The dark, brooding air of mystery swells, as do the number of delightfully ghostly and atmospheric moments. The cast of supporting characters are well established, and equally intriguing in their own ways. The looming threat of WWI in the background helps to reflect the mounting tension, and to firmly establish the story’s historical context. Fletcher’s writing itself is evocative and transporting, without ever feeling convoluted.

In the second half, the dynamic shifts somewhat, but I was no less compelled. As Clara makes discoveries about Shadowbrook’s past, and the past of those who once called it home, Fletcher begins to weave together a wonderfully intricate tapestry of secrets and lies, with everything gradually falling into place in a satisfying though devastating way. At large, this is a book about lives ruled and destroyed by the toxicity of hearsay, and the manipulative power that men held over women.

For the last 50 pages or so, there is a further shift in tone and focus that I can imagine will put it at odds with the rest of the story for some people. However, this section was still beautiful in its own way, helping to capture a very specific moment in time, when society was in a state of flux. If the coming of war interrupts the flow and significance of prior events in the novel, this is hugely reflective of the effect war has in real life, throwing a new perspective on everything. With WWI proving the catalyst for much change, particularly the role and reputation of women, it also brings an opportunity for Shadowbrook’s legacy to be rewritten, thus making complete narrative sense. Plus, by this point, I was so invested in the characters and the setting that I was just glad to be spending a little more time with them.

After all, there’s a lot to be said for picking up the right book at the right time, and the joy of a great reading experience. House of Glass was exactly what I needed right now. It completely swept me up, and I loved every moment I spent in the grips of its pages.

***

You can pick up a copy of House of Glass for yourself by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Two Non-Fiction Mini Reviews

I like to review everything I read, but sometimes my thoughts for a particular book don’t necessitate a full blog post. When that’s the case, I’ll combine a couple of mini reviews as they accumulate, and share them together retrospectively. Here are a couple such reviews, which both happen to be for non-fiction.

***

The Secret Life of the Owl by John Lewis-Stempel
Published by Doubleday, 2017
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Well researched fact and passionate prose come together to form a compact and enjoyable, if not revolutionary look at the owl species native to Britain, and man’s complicated relationship with them. John Lewis-Stempel can write beautifully, and he manages to convey genuine awe and respect for his subject matter, whilst remaining informative and unbiased.

That said, a section of the book looks at man’s historic vilification of owls, suggesting that their association with evil, darkness, death, and suffering is unjust. However, he then ends the book by describing a particular owl as ‘The Lord of the Night’; detailing the joy it gets from the paralysing screams of a dying rabbit ringing out in the cold dead of night. Whilst it’s one of the most evocative sequences in the book, it felt like an odd and somewhat contradictory tone to end on, given the previous attempts to redefine their reputation.

I can’t say I learned much from it, but it was an interesting overview nonetheless. I’d say it’s worth a read for those fascinated by owls, and for those who like their nature non-fiction presented in lovely prose, befitting of the sense of wonder that the creatures themselves evoke.

You can pick up a copy of The Secret Life of the Owl by clicking here.

***

Mary, Who Wrote Frankenstein by Linda Bailey, illustrated by Júlia Sardà
Published by Tundra Books, 2018
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

A very condensed, introductory biography of Mary Shelley, with a particular focus on how she came to write her magnum opus, Frankenstein. I’m certainly no expert, but as someone with a keen interest in Shelley, this didn’t teach me anything new. That said, I picked it up mostly for Sardà’s gorgeous illustrations, which are suitably atmospheric and enchanting.

The beauty of the artwork, combined with Bailey’s simple prose, and the book’s overall brevity, make this an enjoyable glimpse of a fascinating literary figure that is accessible for practically any age. So, whether you’re a seasoned Shelley fan looking to expand your collection, or you’re keen to encourage a younger reader to dip their toe into the world of gothic horror, you could do far worse than this book.

You can pick up a copy of Mary, Who Wrote Frankenstein by clicking here.

***

Have you read either of these books? I’d love to hear your thoughts on them if you have.

How Much the Heart Can Hold | Book Review

How Much the Heart Can Hold by Various
Published by Sceptre, 2016
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Subtitled ‘seven stories on love’ (though there are actually eight in this paperback edition), this anthology sets out to quash the idea that love is a purely romantic notion. It does so by having each of its stories explore a different kind of love; such as unrequited love, obsessional love, familial love, and love for oneself.

I had been looking forward to picking this up for a while. After all, there are a couple of authors featured within that I already really like (Donal Ryan and Carys Bray), and some others I was keen to try. Perhaps those high expectations contributed to my prevailing lukewarm feelings, but I have to admit that I found the collection as a whole, and most of the individual stories themselves, stronger in concept than in execution.

That said, I’ll talk a little about the ones I enjoyed most. White Wine by Nikesh Shukla is a simple, readable, and timely story that shines a light on institutionalised racism. Its message is clear, without being heavy-handed: You cannot see how wrongly you are being treated by others until you love and accept yourself for who you are.

Codas by Carys Bray is about the evolving nature of familial love. Our main character, a woman in her 40s, is at the stage in life when her son is beginning to find his own feet, whilst her father is becoming more dependant with age and illness. Both still need her maternal brand of love and support, but the way it manifests towards both is changing as the cycle of life moves on.

It Was Summer by Phoebe Roy (the 8^th story exclusive to the paperback edition) uses the structure of the seasons as the backdrop to a new relationship between two men, as their love for each other ebbs and flows.

A couple of others had brilliant set-ups, but one employed a little too much magical realism for my personal taste, whilst another was too thin on plot, and far too overt with its political message (even if I agreed with it). The other three, I have to say, were entirely forgettable.

Altogether, that made for a very mixed reading experience. It’s certainly worth checking out if the overarching concept intrigues you, or if there are writers involved that you’re particularly keen to try. But I can’t say it’s a collection that is likely to stay with me.

***

If you’ve read How Much the Heart Can Hold, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

The Mars Room by Rachel Kushner | Book Review

The Mars Room by Rachel Kushner
Published by Jonathan Cape, 2018
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

The Mars Room is an entirely unsentimental look at the US prison system, and those trapped within it. It is told predominantly through the eyes of Romy Hall, a morally complex young woman serving two life sentences for the murder of her stalker.

Though Romy is the focus of the book (and I found her both believable and fascinating as an anti-heroine), Kushner weaves other characters’ perspectives into the story as well. By humanising individuals in this way, yet creating the sense of a collective narrative voice, Kushner did an excellent job of reflecting the way people are swallowed up by the system, making escape from it almost impossible. The narrative is also non-linear, shifting back and forth in time in an almost stream of consciousness manner. This suggested to me the idea that, having lost everything else, memories and stories are all these people have left to sustain them.

The other real strength of the novel for me was its look at the grey area between victim and criminal; asking the reader to consider when that line is crossed, and if it’s ever possible to be both simultaneously. She also brings into play the idea that the system itself is so poorly constructed that it engenders further illicit behaviour; pushing inmates towards theft, drugs, and violence. Perhaps most interestingly of all, Kushner also explores the kind of socioeconomic conditions that can lead to incarceration, flirting with the notion of fate vs. free will. Romy is often told that it’s her own decisions that led her to prison; Kushner wants us to question the extent to which that is true.

With all that appreciation for its technical and thematic prowess, my middling rating may seem odd. I did feel, however, that a touch of the nuance was lost towards the end, when Kushner arguably became a bit too literal or heavy-handed with her message. And whilst I praised its use of multiple perspectives, there were a couple that I felt were unnecessary; adding nothing to the narrative, and serving largely to interrupt the flow of both the pace and story.

I’d say, on balance, this is the kind of book that I admired more than I ‘enjoyed’. Whilst I sped through it, I was compelled far more from a technical and thematic point of view than I was from an emotional one. But it does offer a refreshingly bold and valuable look at a very topical issue, and I’m glad to have read it.

If you’d like to try The Mars Room for yourself, you can find a copy by clicking here, or on the image above. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!