My Year of Rest and Relaxation

I have a soft spot for abrasive unsympathetic women protagonists, so I should have loved this. But I also have boundless disdain for ennui-filled literary fiction, so I did not.

My Year of Rest and Relaxation has a gorgeous cover and great title. Julia Whelan did an excellent job with the audiobook. The writing is descriptive. The characters feel human and real and flawed. Dr. Tuttle was my favorite. So irresponsible, so scatterbrained, so disinterested. I like that the narrator is so determined and decisive in doing nothing. She knows exactly what she wants and how to go about it.

Yes, the writing is descriptive, but the descriptions are gross. This book is gross. Yes, the characters are flawed, but ultimately, not in a compelling way. I don't need or want a redemption arc. I don't mind a slow build. But I want...something to happen. I want the listlessness to build to something, or at least to have some impact. When I read a book, I want something to be going on.

The protagonist sucks. She's awful to herself. She's awful to Reva, the only person in the world who cares about her. Trevor sucks. I hate him. The narrator's hibernation venture is couched in privilege available to very few. All of the above is intended and obvious. 9/11 looms over the book like a dark heavy shadow as soon as the setting is established. It's finally addressed at the very end, in a tragic but offhand way. You don't really get any closure, any indication of what the motivation was behind any of this, whether it was worth it, what's next.

This book kind of put me in a funk while I was reading it, but I haven't thought about it much since wrapping it up. Reading is a very subjective experience, and I know this struck a chord with many. Maybe there's something there that I'm not sophisticated enough to appreciate. But in the end, I found this annoying more than anything.