My Year of Rest and Relaxation

I had thought this would be better than it was. The storyline is very simple, almost boring yet the author keeps it interesting. Wasn't enthralled by the book as a whole though

This was a weird delight. Our heroine is rich and pretty, petty and anti-social. Sick and tired of the world, so she wants to reinvent herself by sleeping as much as possible, with the help of as many pills as her quirky unethical psychiatrist is willing to prescribe. She downs various combinations of sleeping and knockout pills that put her under for days at a time. She lives in a constant daze, between endless naps, watching VHS tapes on loop. Her only contact with the outside world are trips to the neighbourhood bodega, and that one persistently annoying friend who continues to stop by. Around 2/3 in, when her minimalist lazy lifestyle is established, and her dysfunctional upbringing was explored, the book felt a bit unsure about where to go next. But then it suddenly energised again, and I loved everything about her new stricter sleeping regime, the experimental and artsy nature of it, and especially the ultimate outcome. Moshfegh managed to hit a wonderfully sharp and cruel tone, in describing this seemingly vapid posh character, while also giving her a lot of sympathy and tenderness. This might be one of those books that keeps resonating within, after you've finished. I already like it more, the more I think about it. It's hitting this topical itch, of trying to find ways to be more mindful and positive towards this world. And there's just something very alluring about the concept of hibernation. Here it's part cry for help, but also a smart prescient self-preservation move. Which is empowering. Also, it was definitely interesting to read this in parallel with Michael Pollan's [b: How to Change Your Mind 36613747 How to Change Your Mind What the New Science of Psychedelics Teaches Us About Consciousness, Dying, Addiction, Depression, and Transcendence Michael Pollan https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1545030338l/36613747.SY75.jpg 58370652], considering the experience she had on her final sleep, and how it ultimately transformed her.

I really didn't think this was going to be for me. The unnamed narrator is an unlikeable, slightly repulsive character that you find yourself caring for anyway amidst a depressive episode (depressive existence?) in which she is in a kind of denial — she lies to herself about why she wants to sleep for a year, lies to her only friend, lies to her quack psychiatrist to get more and stronger drugs, is only mildly concerned that she can't always reconstruct what happened during frequent drug-induced blackouts (but doesn't stop taking the offending drug, obviously, just comes up with weirder and weirder ways of trying to prevent herself from doing stuff).

This book was oddly, comfortably numbing. The first half was almost hypnotic in its language; the narrator doesn't care, and for a little while, you don't either. It was oddly pleasant to read, and then it was jarring when she couldn't sleep, the sheer volume of pills consumed trying to achieve that bliss of unconsciousness. But it was also painful to see how she didn't — or maybe couldn't is the better word — care about the few people around her, especially the friend who needed her during a devastating time.

My husband asked me what I was reading and what it was about, and when I didn't want to tell him because he would start worrying about me, he asked if he should be worried. We lost our daughter in August; she was stillborn at 24 weeks. My counselor says that depression is one of the stages of grief, but it doesn't feel like the same kind of depression as what was depicted here. For the narrator it was such a short jump from “I want to sleep” to “let's see if it's worth waking up”; I still want to wake up, even if being awake is exhausting.

I don't know if this was the best headspace in which to read this book, but I know I wouldn't have picked it up had I been in my normal, happy, overly optimistic headspace. And I did enjoy reading it even if it wasn't an especially happy or optimistic experience. It was comfortable for right now.

A low key, bizarre story that I couldn't stop reading, even though it made me feel lethargic. The weird therapist–my favorite. Now back to The Pisces...