thebigemmt505's reviews
36 reviews

“My life was a series of disasters, and the aftermaths only attracted scavengers who’d pick the rubble for parts they could use for their own means.”

This Thing Between Us is a story about grief above all, particularly the grief felt after a sudden, and politicized death.

There are various factors that make me struggle to review this book. First of all, it was my first audiobook, because that was all that was available at my library. It’s certainly a different experience than sitting down to read something, and while not unpleasant, I found myself distracted a little more easily, which makes me hesitate to be critical given I might’ve missed a few important details. Second of all, this novel is… strange to say the least. The premise is very interesting, a mix of the despair of grief, a bizarre mystery, and a sort of gory, cosmic horror. Generally, I enjoyed the writing and narration, and many passages left a mark on me:

“No journey. No thing to endure. It feels like a corruption of genes, a double helix scrambled in a petri dish, a puppet forced to work on crossed strings, this trees that manage to grow around power lines and stay mangled forever.”

I think my favorite scene was the one with the cook, though I really don’t understand where this went, or what this character ultimately meant. In general, that’s how I feel about this story: so many interesting, well executed elements that fell flat for me in the end, and also felt quite jumbled and confusing. Sometimes the tone of the writing shifted dramatically too, and it was jarring. Usually my reviews or more structured, but really, I don’t have too much left to say. I think that grief-horror is just not my genre, either. I went in blind and came out happy I read it, but a bit let down overall.

Also, if you read this, don’t rely on the blurb about this plot: to be honest, it feels very out of touch with what the book actually is. Go in blind or expecting anything. 

Honestly, my real review is this: “too many cooks! too many cooks… too many cooks! TO MANY COOOOOKKKKS” 

Read this story was I was 13/14, and I re-listened to it now at age 23. It’s such a strange experience to be hit by all the same visualizations I had back then, all the same despair, but with a new perspective. Given I’m older, I’ve had to look back on events in my life the same way, things I didn’t understand that turned out to be tragic. Super well written, genuinely creepy, and captivating. My 5-stars is likely influenced by a bit of nostalgia but… eh, you know. 

God, fuck this story though. Brutal.

The map thing will never leave me dude.

 

“To create a life worth living is a major undertaking, so please take the time to appreciate it.”

The Happiness Trap is a book about Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), a third wave psychotherapy that focuses on interrupting thought and behavior patterns with mindfulness strategies.

This book is annoying, though I don’t say this in a bad way. I think the practices proposed in this book, if actually employed, will give many people that embarrassed feeling of “damn, it does kind of work,” that you get from other “common sense” though often difficult to do self care practices, such as healthy(ier) eating, exercise, or fresh air and sunshine. Many of us get lost in our worst moments, our rock-bottoms, and forget that when it comes to daily struggles, those mindfulness tools we often find frustrating at our lowest can be extremely helpful. In that sense, I applaud this book for quite relentlessly encouraging the reader to practice certain exercises while reading, and making it difficult to continue without doing so. In addition, most of the practices are very grounded and helpful; I can’t imagine someone reading this book in good faith and coming away with absolutely nothing. Russ Harris explains his therapeutic methods concisely and compassionately, giving the reader a lot of information that’s easy to digest. Overall, I found the book easy to understand, the exercises easy to remember, and the basis of ACT overall helpful. He encourages the reader to try everything many times, see what works, leave what doesn’t, and to accept and make room for those times nothing is working. He promises nothing though suggests everything in terms of benefits, which is nice in comparison to other self-help gurus or therapists who sell the “gold standard” “full-proof” path to a “perfect” life. I think, in summary, the book is digestible, helpful, and a nice read.

I have a few criticisms, though, as always. Here’s the semi-pedantic part: parts of this therapy are mal-equipped to help neurodivergent people especially. I don’t envision certain exercises being sensory friendly, and given neurodivergent stimming behaviors, there might be a need to greatly adapt these exercises in order for them to be helpful. Though it is explored a tiny bit in the beginning, there needs to be more room for people genuinely suffering from severely traumatic, extreme or even dangerous life circumstances. I unfortunately do not envision this type of therapy reaching people, like me, in severe self harm or suicidal crises. Unfortunately, many therapies do not take into account the sheer exhaustion and disillusionment some of us feel towards life. I think there could have been more to empathize with those people, more to offer outside of the bounds of ACT, given this is a therapy self-help book meant for a wide audience. I just would’ve liked to see some adaptations or suggestions for the marginalized. I also didn’t like the implication that those with the highest will to live will survive, not a fan of that.

In addition, I really wish more of the mentioned research was cited; without citation, I found myself doubting some of the claims. This is especially due to the fact that in general, the field of psychology has a huge reproducibility problem. It’s also already hard to trust research for those of us deeply failed by the mental health system.

Okay, enough of that. I tend to have those issues with these books, and I do understand my inclusivity critiques can be a bit nit-picky. In its entirety, The Happiness Trap is a good book. I was helped by it and I’ll be curious how it might continue to help me in the future. The parts of the book about values I found especially helpful, given I am very driven by values, though can be easily taken from them during mood swings and life struggles.

I do recommend, though go into it with a bit of a skeptical eye. Nice book!

“Life gives most to those who make the most of what life gives.”

“Looking back, it seems like I had instinctively known that the most effective place to prune myself was at the roots.”

Natural Beauty is a unique novel following a young pianist with immigrant parents, now chronically ill after a car crash, who gets caught up in the world of holistic health and wellness.

I liked this one a lot, though something prevented me from loving it. I do love the foreshadowing and themes in this book. It feels as though every detail is purposeful, and wraps the whole story up in a bow

(a great example is the recurrence of the characters fingers being relevant to the plot.)

There are moments that I felt there was too much exposition, but the most important plot points

(the parents car crash as well as their death due to the supplements, for example)

weren’t fed to the reader. The body horror is super disturbing so, well done on that front! The build up to the climax was well done, though I do feel it meandered in the middle. The sub-plot semi-“love” story, though certainly not poorly done, felt a bit out of place and incomplete. There were a lot of moments that felt that they lingered too long or went to fast.

I really like the themes. Beauty standards, race, lineage, taking advantage of women, and all of the things people will do to fit in. It all felt a tiny bit obvious at points, though I don’t think it needed to be more subtle either. It’s a book I definitely enjoyed in its subject, and it was fun for me as someone who has always been fascinated by health and wellness (from the genuine ways to take care of one’s body to the super crazy scams) to laugh at how ludicrous some products and treatments were. There was realism in that. Perhaps Gwyneth Paltrow is the irl Victor (only 3/4 kidding.) 

So, mixed feelings here. I need to let it sit for a while. If Ling Ling Huang releases more books, I’ll certainly given them a read!

It’s a self-centered comparison, but this book reminds me slightly of the first “novel” (obviously unpublished) that I wrote. I dunno how to feel about that. Weird feeling to get reading something.

“I enjoy the immense freedom that comes with being safe from desire. And it is a kind of power to embrace ugliness and its possibility of expression, so much more imaginative than beauty.”

“What’s death like?
You’re briefly unlimited.”

Wow, wow, wow. I’ve had this collection on my list for a while, and I’ll with some embarrassment admit… I was pushed by the NYT list coming out. I had no idea I would like it this much.

I’ve never been pulled to read short story collections, because I’m more drawn to books with overarching themes and well-developed characters, but George Saunders is able to create such vivid characters with their own unique perspectives in such a short amount of time, and the themes of each of these stories are beautifully intertwined. What I appreciate the most is that the reader is not treated as if they are stupid- Saunders throws you into a plot, lets you be a bit confused at first, then slowly each bit of context winds together into such a deep, coherent story. It’s a book that actually feels rewarding to read, which is something I feel is rarer and rarer these days. It’s definitely my cup of tea, because the stories and themes are dark, but are always sprinkled in a little optimism and dark humor. It’s a collection about societal issues, social norms, trauma, the interconnectedness of all humans, and most of all, love in all its forms.

“We left home, married, had children of our own, found the seeds of meanness blooming also within us.”

My favorite stories are probably Escape From Spiderhead and The Semplica Girl Diaries. I could write so much about these two in particular, and perhaps one day I will, but just… man. So tragic but so full of love and empathy.

I don’t have many critiques as it currently stands. Perhaps the narratives are a bit too difficult at points, and the abrupt perspective changes interrupt the reading “flow” sometimes, but overall… a fantastic read. I’ll remember this one for a while.

READ. IT. NOW.

“Empty rack out in yard, looking strange in moonlight.
Note to self: call Greenway, have them take ugly thing away.” 

“Despite all of my positive engagements with life, despite the love and joy and immense good fortune that have also been my portion, that self directed hopelessness was an ever-lurking shadow, ready to obliterate the light whenever I experienced a setback or a discouragement, and even in innocent, unguarded moments.” 

The Myth of Normal digs straight into the mound of our society, exposing hole after hole in the dirt structure, exits and entries and tunnels we have built ourselves with exhausted mandibles. The foundations are dry and crumbling at the expense of the health of the individual and the colony, but admittance to that fact reveals a seemingly insurmountable need for change ahead. 

There is so much I can say about this book. It’s thorough, well-written, balanced and nuanced, and rewarding to read. Maté uses cold hard facts, but enriches the science with charming anecdotes from himself and others that allow the book to flow without falling into dogma, conspiracy, and false promises. Not only that, but the research is actually fascinating. Personally, I was especially struck by the studies on telomeres and the survey about ALS patients. He lays out all of the facts and then provides hope through guidelines, principles, and practical steps towards healing. The picture is realistic and grim, but the information in this book empowers. 

The first part of the book surrounds all of the research and evidence and unfortunately confirms how traumatized and diseased we are at a societal level. Maté really proves his point that “normal” is a myth, and our idea of “normal” is not normal at all. From forcing women into uncomfortable birthing situations, to normalizing strict discipline for children, to our (social)media hijacking our self perception and dopamine systems (the part about “neuro-marketing” was horrifying), to allowing a world where parents need to work so much they hardly have family time, to systematic classism, racism, sexism, xenophobia, and ableism all perpetuated by generational prejudice and individualism and economic decay, and much more, Maté doesn’t hold back on deconstructing how from birth to death, we are predisposing ourselves to some level of pain and dysfunction. It’s refreshing to see a doctor in the mental health / “self-help” genre acknowledge the real barriers many of us face at a systemic level without falling into the trap of “welp, guess I’ll die!” He is really respectful and thoughtful approaching these topics. 

The second part of the book focuses on successes, treatment and prevention, and more philosophical approaches to healing. The questions Maté wants us to ask ourselves, and that he admits to ask himself to this day, are genuinely helpful. The four(six) As (Authenticity, Agency, Anger, Acceptance, + Activism and Advocacy) and the five compassions (ordinary human compassion, compassion of curiosity and understanding, compassion of recognition, compassion of truth, compassion of possibility) are helpful terms to apply to ourselves and others while self analyzing. I like his emphasis on mind-body connection, or more, “oneness” (if you really think about it, it’s kind of stupid we ever separated the two), and eventually the exploration of some essence within ourselves, what we “are,” that is not our appearance or personality or body. With this book we’re given plenty of answers to broad scale trauma questions, and even more to ask ourselves, all encouraged to be done with a gentle approach. (I’ll say all this then lash at myself endlessly but… all part of the process I guess.) 

I deeply appreciate that his approach to spirituality is not one of outright denial, but not one of dogma. I love the idea of “submitting to a god you don’t believe in” (amusing way to put it) when it comes to searching for higher purpose, putting faith in that which we will never know. Believe it or not, these ideas are one avenue to break out of extreme cynicism. 

He also talks about psychedelics which is cool! I would’ve liked more research in that chapter but… not a huge deal, it’s out there. I connected so deeply to something he said in regards to healing experiences like these: 

“(…) spirituality had existed for me mostly as rumor, theory, or concept- or as a vague longing, both wistful and wishful. Though I had consumed shelves of books, and could even speak articulately on the subject, I had never myself been subject to a direct encounter with such storied states as wonder, mystery, or ‘the peace that passeth all understanding.’ My faith in humanity’s potential for genuine, revelatory transformation, while sincere, had come to me largely secondhand; I could not trace this faith to any experience of my own.” 

Healing doesn’t need to be a big dramatic breakthrough. It is, for many of us, gradual, as long as we are an active participant. It’s a nice reminder that spirituality perceived is not spirituality experienced, and for some of us well meaning but very-hardened cynics, it’s… a different journey. 

Okay, okay, time for a few negatives. I think the book was a little too long and dense. It’s important for a larger audience, and while Maté clearly has the skills of both physician and writer, it may blind him to the fact that his writing isn’t fully accessible to a general audience. It’s far from impossible to read, but there are no shortage of complex topics, and the vocabulary to accompany it may turn off some readers. I’ll admit, generally speaking, the book could sometimes be a bit rambly and repetitive. By the end I found the repeated insistence of the importance of trauma as a context to an afflicted society a bit too much. 

Speaking of, I also think the book is, admittedly, trauma-reductionist. Genetics has clearly been over-exaggerated when it comes to illness (as a nutrition nerd I can tell you that much), and the medical field is far too ignorant to the broader context of disease. That being said, genetics, nutrition, physical activity, the inherent uniqueness of our bodies, all play a part as well, those and an innumerable amount of factors we don’t understand yet. Maté doesn’t ignore full contexts, but what he writes implies that trauma is the near-lone origin to said context. I don’t think this is necessarily true. 

Some of the language is a bit misguided or insensitive. Calling certain dispositions or disorders, notably neurodivergencies, “mental diseases” or “mental disorders” is both insensitive and incorrect. Ironically, given the trauma those of us with any level of neurodivergence or neuro-atypical traits have suffered at the hands of flippant medical professionals, predatory “healers,” and an unaccommodating society, a greater level of care should’ve been employed with the verbiage. The same can be said for “curing” certain maladies or, well, differences in our make-up that aren’t inherently malignant or “wrong.” It seems as though most of the time, Maté’s focus was more on adverse symptom reduction; he even emphasizes the difference between “healing” (a long, ongoing process that does not necessitate the full absence of an affliction) and “curing.” Given the nuance in the rest of the text, I’m more forgiving for these word choices than I am with more insensitive or even dogmatic authors (looking at you Tollé.) Also, to be blunt, a bluntness fueled by some of these reviews, some of you just act more incompetent than you actually are. Such hostility towards the mere idea of reducing unpleasant symptoms of the diagnosis you endlessly bitch about on TikTok outside of life-long potentially adverse medication and too often ineffective or insufficient therapies reflects an internal problem worth addressing. Stop over pathologizing yourselves, coming from someone with severe OCD who would love nothing more than to do that. (Is that my own repressed anger over people weaponizing their problems to me coming out? Perhaps. Oops!) 

As I stated before: Maté is very, very grounded when it comes to the anecdotes he uses. Many of these stories are meant to give examples of the research he cites; it’s also a good way to keep the book flowing with so much information. I’ll admit though, I found the inclusion of Donna’s cancer story to be highly irresponsible. Maté himself clearly states this is not a path everyone should take, but I think a story to this extremity is dangerous to share to those who are vulnerable and may want to follow suit. He’s a proponent of the miracles of modern medicine and broader, trauma-inclusive, “out-of-the-norm” treatment modalities. As happy as I am for this woman, a story of her refusing effective treatment for an aggressive cancer all while she had children to take care of… it worked out for her, somehow, and there are lessons to be learned from it, but it absolutely will not work out for most. Her story is a good indicator that healing is much more than medication and surgery and radiation, but not nearly enough to encourage, even accidentally, the absence of it. Fake healers and coaches and influencers have their mouths wide open and would love to dangle bright stories like this in front of their jaws to swallow their vulnerable victims into false promises and money pits, dangerous and even deadly ones. 

Barring a few other flaws here and there that I won’t go into (a couple other questionable anecdotes, some issues with structure and flow, an unfortunate misunderstanding of a Lady GaGa song, etc.) this is a phenomenal book. It’s essential reading and essential knowledge that can empower us as individuals and as a society to inch towards necessary, radical change. 

Go in with an open mind and READ IT! You will undoubtedly get something out of it, even if small. 

“Thus, what is considered normal and natural are established not by what is GOOD for people, but by what is expected of them, which traits and attitudes serve the maintenance of the culture.” To change this is “our most daunting challenge and greatest possibility.” 

“‘We ordered some pizza, but it takes a dick-year to deliver out here, so settle in.’”

Summer Sons is the story of the sexually repressed and angsty Andrew as he moves to Nashville in order to find out what happened to his supposedly dead-by-suicide (boy)friend Eddie. There’s also lots of cars! 

I… think I get the most frustrated by books that have every element to be fantastic, intriguing, and meaningful, but aren’t… so needless to say, this one was a doozy for me. I don’t want to write a dissertation (maybe Troth can help me on that one, because I am white! Not a man though 😔) but I have many thoughts. 

The positives: Queer repression is real, and while I found it a bit jarring at first, I suppose it’s realistic. Two rich men from the American south weighted down by the generations behind them aren’t exactly gonna accept that they’re a bunch of massive queers immediately. There were beautiful sentences!

“Fire wouldn’t cleanse the history from that earth, but maybe it could put the bones to rest.” “The sepulchral vibe ached in his molars, wreckage all around resting silent and still.”

Among others. I liked the vibe, the aesthetic, and the setting of the book with all its imagery, hot sweat and blood dripping down the bodies of troubled young adults whose mere identities outcast them to the cursed grounds they reside on. I thought that eventually, some of the characters were quite interesting and likeable, and by that I mean West, Riley, Del (who was done horribly wrong in this tale) and sort-of Sam. 

Aside from that… dear fucking god. Let’s just make a list. 

1 ) PACING: as everyone is saying, the first 200 pages are a slog. There is far too much description and far too little plot progression, especially given the character we’re following is supposedly so determined to uncover the truth about Eddie. Every tiny little detail we uncover is followed by a paragraph of Andrew putting clothes in a washing machine, Andrew going into his or Eddies car, Andrew moping around and some variation of, “but did he REALLY know Eddie?” It takes at least two dick-years to get to anything of substance. Even in the latter half of the book, the pacing is still jarring, and the last 50 pages (you know, the interesting bit) felt so rushed in comparison to the rest.

Where was all the atmosphere in the Troth stand-off?

2 ) CHARACTERS: Andrew and Eddie were perfect for each other, because they both sound utterly insufferable. Stories can center around morally imperfect or awful characters, but that requires intrigue. I get the impression the Andrew was written as a privileged white boy whose redemption arc is unveiling the family curse he inherited and accepting his gayness, but he never grows likable. None of his dialogue, thoughts, or anything feels much more distinctive or interesting than, “well, that’s a dude!” Same with Eddie. As I stated, there are other characters who are fine, but through the lens of Andrew, whose relationships apparently involve little more than violence or eye-fucking

(haha, quite literally there at the end)

, there is only so much we can be interested in. These characters’ chemistries are implied and not earned, a trend I’m seeing far too often in queer media (fuck you Love, Lies, Bleeding.)

3 ) STORY: Andrew is dumb as fuck dude.

(Why don’t you fucking TALK to Eddie’s friends? Why don’t you read his notes? Why do you keep just fighting everyone who could help you? Why don’t you suspect Troth more? Why GO TO HER HOUSE and DRINK COFFEE she gave you when you were aware it was all a trap?)

The story had such jarring genre shifts and scenes it made the whole narrative a mess.

(Why does everyone keep racing with like, no verbal agreement? Why is there a romantic sub-plot sex scene smack dab in the middle of this book where 40 pages ago all the characters still hated each other? Why does the whole structure of this book amount to “nothing-burger convo, drive, hang out, drive, drive, DRIVE, haunt, wake up, drive, useless conversation with one tiny clue, DRIVE” I get we’re in America but MAAANNNN)

And honestly, when all is said and done, it’s just disappointing and honestly a little goofy.

(Wee-woo, Troth dies, Sam fucks up his eye, Andrew burns shit and bittersweet ending yay!)

The writer could’ve put all that lovely description into the lore of the land and the

Fulton curse 

but used it mostly on “for-the-vibes” passages, and the lack of real build up made everything feel flat. Also, it really likes to insist on how “southern gothic” it is when like… the characters… Vanderbilt… fuck it. 

4 ) WRITING: we all have flaws. Writing is hard.  It is for me! But just… the fucking dialogue, or lack thereof, was poorly done. There are too many bizarre and unnecessary adjectives

(why the fuck are we describing a chair as “utilitarian” and the climatic fire at the end of the book as “respectable”)

and other needlessly complex, bordering on haughty words that negatively impact the reading experience. The haunt scenes were very difficult to visualize. It’s all hard to read and not in the “good challenge” sort of way, minus the addition of a couple cool words to my vocabulary. Just… not as well thought out as it should’ve been and also very not my speed. Perhaps a lowly dyke like me isn’t intellectual enough for this book! (Okay, too snarky.) 

I could go on and on. Clearly, this author has talent and put a lot into this book. I don’t doubt the heart and it’s far from the worst trash ever written (I’m just harsh.) Clearly, the writing is especially not jibing with me personally. Admittedly, once I start disliking something I’ll tend to nitpick too, so that contributes. But… god man. I could’ve loved this book. I did not. 

Honestly, do what you want, but I don’t recommend this one. 

“No longer fed by a feeling of indispensability or purposefulness, we are hungry, not knowing what we are hungry for, we fill up the void with endless distractions, always at hand- unnecessary errands, compulsive duties, social niceties.” Might I add a myriad of other distractions of the modern age, with the advent of internet, smartphones, social media and all its endless content and connection.

In saying that, I risk sounding like a “kids these days!” boomer, though I’d argue there’s a universal truth in this. I found this quote almost haunting for a number of reasons: the trend cited here is clearly continuing, snowballing into societal catastrophe as our distractions are numerous and our lives, in large part due to unregulated capitalism and individualism, feel less worthy of living. By living, I mean actively experiencing, being surrounded by the present without another voice from a podcast or a short form video spat out by an algorithm. Personally, I’m one to defend all of this in the sense that our access to information, to engaging content and art, and to other people (especially those marginalized) when we may otherwise feel alone, is indispensable. I don’t wish to demonize technology, though it’s obvious that the way it’s been hijacked by businesses and their (neuro)marketers, and the incessant accessibility which therefore allows us, too, to be hijacked, is… damaging. 

What does any of that have to do with the damn essays? Well, minus the fact I simply like yapping, it’s to highlight that some of the sentiments are timeless. The writing is beautiful and many of Anne Morrow Lindberghs thoughts and observations are, though simple, still poignant reminders for us readers. I appreciated this book for its pretty, summery metaphors and delightful writing. The parts about valuing solitude and reflection, free from excessive distraction, “filling one’s own cup” sort of say, have hit me at the right time in my life and made me reflect even deeper on myself. I am grateful for that. 

What I appreciated less was the outdated aspects. It’s difficult to know how harshly to criticize a “work of its time,” but I found the writing almost undermined the labor of feminists and social movements (though admittedly, in my edition, she had written a reflection 20 years later about how some of her positions were naive and that these movements are invaluable.) Every passage about gender roles and phases of life all set in stone felt constricted to a singular idea of love that is not only outdated for straight people, but has almost never been true for queer people. As a queer person, I go through personal struggles that make it difficult to know how or why to love and if it’s safe, but what I know is that in my heart I always love. These essays seem to believe that to be impossible. Queer love is (more often than otherwise) not restrained to expectation; it is built from the rubble of “normal” that never suited us. In addition, there was a really jarring part where she

compared her experience of simplicity and solitude to that of a concentration camp survivor which felt almost comically insensitive. In her defense, this sentiment was supposedly told to her, though it’s odd nonetheless.

Also, yes, blah blah blah, she led a privileged life and it shows through the writing a little but… it’s nothing that ruins the text. Clearly, at least what I glean from this piece of writing is, this woman held no extreme prejudice or malice towards anyone, and most of this was a by-product of ignorance of the times. Still, though, all of this obviously impacts the reading experience. In general, I did find the latter half less interesting and more heady than the first, so less enjoyable but… it’s a short read, so it wasn’t at all grating. 

Okay, way too much text for this small little collection of essays. TL;DR: it’s a good and easy read, funnily enough, a nice beach read. You’ll have to look past some of the dated aspects, but there is still wisdom within. Worth a read if you’re at all intrigued. 

“Yells and howls, threaded together layer upon layer, are enmeshed to form that lump. Because of meat. I ate too much meat. The lives of the animals I ate have all lodged there. Blood and flesh, all those butchered bodies are scattered in every nook and cranny, and though the physical remnants were excreted, their lives still stubbornly stick to my insides.”

The Vegetarian is a book I’ve struggled to gather my thoughts on. It’s the story of a young woman named Yeong-hye, whose life is told from every perspective but her own. While she says her transition to vegetarianism (well, veganism really) followed a dream she had, the audience can deduce it is so much more than that. Yeong-hyes life is rife with abuse, abuse she clearly refuses to inflict herself. She’s weak, struggling under patriarchy and strict social norms, and her only defiance seems to be shrinking herself, shedding all that makes her human and returning to a pure, natural state. We learn through the men that use and abuse her, being her husband, her sisters husband, and briefly her father, that no matter what perception others have of her, the result of her vulnerability will be the same: abuse. Through her sister, In-hye, we see a more direct reckoning with the past they shared, and by the end both she and the audience may wonder what absurdity keeps them going. It’s bittersweet. 

My small interpretation is all I can glean from this book. There’s likely a lot that I missed, though I may argue the metaphors were a bit too vague to fully grasp. Granted, I get the impression a lot was lost in translation, because there were many parts that felt clunky and strangely written. Still, there were beautiful passages, especially in the last part, though I thought the sentiments were repetitive after a point. I found the end disappointing and abrupt. I appreciated the authors capacity to write despicable characters, though it felt hard to attach oneself to any character at all. I found some of the choices the characters made confusing. At the very least, the pacing was good, the writing was generally good too, and I don’t feel I wasted my time. I just didn’t connect to it much. 

In summary, it’s an odd little book. Worth a read, though it will likely be a let down to many. I still mostly enjoyed it though. 

“…so I traveled more peacefully through outer space, listening to the rhythm of my respiration, each breath an echo of the breath before, softer and softer, until I was far enough away that there was no sound, there was no movement. There was no need for reassurance or directionality because I was nowhere, doing nothing. I was nothing. I was gone.”

My Year of Rest and Relaxation explores what happens when privilege and vanity meet trauma and despair. It follows our main character as she embarks on a mission to fall asleep for a full year, and slowly descends into drug abuse and desperation.

I found this book strangely comforting. I feel I’ve rated it too highly, because the whole time I questioned “why am I enjoying this?” The characters are deeply vain and unlikable, especially the main character. The most likeable character is Reva, and it takes quite awhile for her to be so. Granted, the hateability of the main character is mitigated slightly as we learn more about her, but in the end it’s quite difficult to say if she’s actually grown. Perhaps my enjoyment comes mostly from the beautiful, highly descriptive writing. Admittedly, I found the constant, excessive reliance on pop culture references annoying, but at the very least the rest of the description was usually good enough to make up for what one might not catch in terms of references. The books pacing was alright, minus some parts that dragged a bit (such as the funeral part of the book.) I like the way this author tells a unique story with unique characters, sprinkling in dark humor to the many heavy themes.

I think this book caught me at the right time. My current reality is that I’m burnt out and jaded, a teeny bit too judgmental, eternally annoyed with most things, and more and more frustrated with the world around me and with myself every day. I’m perturbed by the development of this bitterness within me. As I read the book, much as I thought the main character was cruel and superficial, I related to her pain and her desires. I want to rot in my depression and sleep a year away. Obviously, I don’t have the endless money and ressources nor the true will to do that, but the appeal is there. And, if anything, I feel the ending shows us both how much and how little the character changed. She sees beauty in the world now,

but selfishly finds artistic courage in the tragic death of her friend. Also, not gonna lie, I saw the 9/11 shit coming!!!

There is no grief nor any accountability. She’s stripped of the superficial part of her superficiality, but inside there’s still vanity. Each part of her world revolves around her, even if now, she appreciates it a bit more. I want to grow, to rest and to process, to see beauty in the everyday and not get caught up in symbolic gestures or appearances or useless activities, but there are pitfalls along that journey. I relate to the endeavor but I’d like to swerve away from its end, this end. Perhaps this book hit me so hard because I was able to see bits of my current self in someone I did not like. The cycle of trauma likes to sneak up on us all in new forms, I suppose, et cetera.

Anyways, one thing I do find ironic is that this novel has become part of an aesthetic associated with modern “weird” readers, and the existence of such an aesthetic, in my opinion, really strips art of its uniqueness, all to fit into one’s personal style. In other words, it’s  superficial and meaningless, vain, even. I find that pretty funny. I’m being pretentious. Welp, there’s my cynical bitterness. I think it does have a point sometimes, though. Aesthetics can be fun but… oh, the irony.

I’ll stop my rambly introspection. Give My Year of Rest and Relaxation a read; be aware though, to many audiences it’ll be quite boring and unappealing (and understandably so.) I (think) that I loved it though.