i wanted to create a shelf for this one. i would have called "how-the-young'uns-write." but then i faltered. it seemed dismissive. maybe there is somei wanted to create a shelf for this one. i would have called "how-the-young'uns-write." but then i faltered. it seemed dismissive. maybe there is something slightly MFA-ish and a bit "trendy" about the way this book is written, but, really, this is beautiful, brave, and virtuoso writing, and it should be judged as its own writerly thing.
elyria, the protagonist, is a very young 28 year old. she speaks (writes) in lulling run-ons that are often startling and beautiful, and sometimes so poetic and original they make your heart sing. sometimes they are hilarious and then you laugh. she writes of all the things young'uns with broken hearts, a truncated view of their future, and a disembodied desperation write: time, relationships, parents, siblings, love, not love, the big wide world with its big wide being-lost-in-ness, and death.
(MINOR SPOILER THAT GETS REVEALED SOON ENOUGH) elyria's particular relationship to time, death, and disembodiment is connected to the death of her sister ruby. (END OF SPOILER) since elyria talks mostly from a place of disconnection and inner sense-making rather than story-telling, we don't learn much about her life prior to the present of the narration, but we learn enough to understand that it wasn't pretty. she doesn't tell us a lot about what she was like as a child, but you get a sense she was one of those kids who thought all the time about dying. you know those kids. they are the heroes of the literature you love best. my favorite are mick kelley, frankie addams, holden caulfield, and nomi nickel.* if you can imagine mick, frankie, and holden at 28, you get elyria.
it takes a really good writer to pull off a mick, a frankie, a holden, a nomi. the despair of children is not for the faint of heart.
fact is, some of us carry those children inside us all of our lives. we manage to survive by learning to love them. cuz those children are too formidable, too unbelievably cool to go away. what loss that would be! so we make peace with them and their deathlust the best we can. we become the mommies and daddies who weren't there or weren't enough, and, as snotchcheez says (i'll paraphrase), we take 'em home and give them a warm blanket and a bowl of chowder. for life.
well i finished it. this is who i think should read this book: peter and emilie. i'll recommend it to them with the GR recommendation tool. also juliewell i finished it. this is who i think should read this book: peter and emilie. i'll recommend it to them with the GR recommendation tool. also julie, because reading miriam toews helps you write.
yesterday i wrote this book had tremendous levity and it does! it really does! but fuck man fuck fuck fuck it's all the sads and all the heartbreaks packed into one little book made out of levity.
i can relate exactly none at all to the main themes of the book, i.e. 1. sisterhood and 2. worrying about someone's killing themselves on you and not knowing whether to let them go or keep them alive when their life is unadulterated misery, for all sorts of personal reasons that are too personal even for me to disclose here. but i can relate to the heartlessness and preachiness and horribleness of psychiatric wards and THANK YOU ms. toews for telling the world that psychiatrists and psychiatric nurses are for the most part asshats.
and i can relate to losing someone and missing the fuck out of them, especially today, for some strange alignment of stars and planets, because the family of a dear friend who recently died is visiting the states and it's so sad to think of them, father and two teenage kids, driving their little hearts out from state to state and beautiful place to beautiful place and having to keep themselves from bawling their eyes out because mom is not here and she won't be home when they go back either. i miss their mom too, in fact i'm pretty incredulous that she's gone, and i want her back kind of badly, so, yeah, all the sads.
but i didn't shed a single tear in the reading of this book and i laughed out loud so, so much. so this is what this book may do for you, let you grieve and laugh, both at the same time. and then when you put it down you might not be able to do much of anything at all, which is exactly like the narrator, yoli, who can do so little she can only read books and drink booze and fuck strangers, only one of which i recommend.
----- i am still reading so this is not a review, but:
because of my history and psychological makeup, and because i have a cold cold heart, i cannot connect to the plight of someone trying to keep someone they love alive, but:
this book is carrying me on the sole strength of its amazing writing, which:
you won't probably appreciate unless (as jakaem said somewhere in her review) you have read a couple of books by this author. the voice of the narrator is brain scattered, fucked up, pained, and hilarious, and you will miss a lot of it if you don't know that toews can do other, much different voices. it is the perfect tone for this book, in order for it not to be devastating, for it to be what it is, that is:
a masterpiece of levity.
and maybe you won't find levity in it, because a) you haven't read other books by toews b) you care about keeping alive people you love and c) you have a warm warm heart. and maybe, on occasion, you will find the language a bit throwaway-ish. so, at least, believe me when i say that:
toews writes with the language of the angels. if the words are on the book, they belong there. fully. they are the only words that should be there. but no:
because the language of the angels is so perfect that it transcends uniqueness. it is generous. so yeah, substitute any word and it won't matter. it's a book written by angels. it stands alone, cloudy, towering, eventually raining soft winnipeg rain. ...more
i read this book as an audiobook, the version read by kate lock. she does voices and various other sounds (she coughs, she laughs, she cries, she speai read this book as an audiobook, the version read by kate lock. she does voices and various other sounds (she coughs, she laughs, she cries, she speak as if she had her mouth full, she hesitates, she pleads, she whispers), and the voices are often weird. she also does accents, english regional accents. at first it all seemed strange to me but soon i grew to love the sound of her voice telling me this fantastic story. i loved how she did anna and levin and kitty.
there is a scene in the book in which levin, who could very well be the book’s protagonist if only the book had been named after him, goes with the peasants at his employ to mow the grass fields with a scythe. the laborers are organized in rows and at first levin is a bit awkward; soon though he gets the hang of it and the handling of the scythe becomes a ballet. i am juxtaposing this visual interpretation of a written text to the image i have in my head of an old dude i saw mow the lawn with a scythe some ten years ago in austria, on the mountains. he was mowing a really steep part of his lawn that went from a small holding wall to the end of his property. the operation was miraculously silent except for the swish of the scythe on the grass, and the man and the scythe moved as one, guided by the swinging of the man's hips. i think we should ditch lawn mowers immediately and go back to scythes. i'm not kidding. they are beautiful things and the procedure is probably faster and more effective than that executed with a lawn mower. above all, though, it's a beautiful dance the person does with the grass and the land. the scene in which levin mows the grass with the peasants is the palpable, fragrant, engrossing description of a beautiful group dance, but i concede that it might help to have seen it done in real life, on a sunny but brisk summer day in the austrian alps by an old-timer who'd done it all his life.
when (view spoiler)[levin and kitty marry (hide spoiler)] tolstoy pulls the comic stop full out. i had the lights off, it was late, and i was half asleep, but i woke myself up laughing. there are other scenes like this, but this is the first entirely comic scene you encounter in the course of the novel. tolstoy can do comic, man.
tolstoy can do tenderness and love like you have no idea. the scene in which kitty and levin write to each other entire sentences by using only the first letter of each word and understand each other perfectly is so intense it makes every nerve in your body tingle.
he also can do pain. i think many 19th century authors have done female pain magisterially, but male pain is a bit harder to do. there are so many codices and constraints when it comes to masculinity. vronsky is in pain, karenin is in pain, but these characters' representation follows the prescribed modalities for expression of masculine pain -- restlessness, bitterness, rebelliousness, stubbornness, excess, fickleness, etc. levin's depression, on the other hand, is a lovely masterpiece of representation of fully-felt male inner suffering (levin is an all around wonderful character and the moral, spiritual, and intellectual center of this enormous novel; levin is a man you want to meet and be friends with).
the pain of women is, as i said, a little easier to write about, because women are expected to express pain full throatedly and they are expected to get physically sick from it. anna is different, though, because her pain leads her straight to madness. she doesn't get that typical 19th century female sickness that leads women to languish in sadness to the point of risking their lives (she wishes!). she marches steadily on, doing what she needs to do, bearing up as strongly and composedly as she can, and going crazy. (if you don't know what happens to anna at the end don't click on the spoiler link.) (view spoiler)[this craziness is represented by jealousy but i think jealousy is just a manifestation of an obsession so profound with the evil of the world, it eventually kills her. anna doesn't take to her bed and dies of the mysterious malaise of which 19th century women die. she boldly, madly, desperately takes her own life because the pain is too big and she cannot bear it any longer. (hide spoiler)] anna's madness can be a bit offputting to readers living in the age of therapy, psych meds, positive thinking, and not imposing your pain on others thankyouverymuch. blessed be those who fall into vortexes of pain they understand even less than those who surround them and find their minds simply unhinged by the force of that despair. blessed be they in life and in death.
for the character that gives her name to the novel, i think anna is given too little space. i am not even sure she gets as much space as levin. and while levin's pain is described and detailed in loving depth, i feel we never quite get to the bottom of anna's pain. yes, she loves vronsky and she loves her son. but both those loves felt unconvincing to me. she seemed to me broken from the get go. and what about her preternatural beauty? why is her beauty so central to the novel? is her beauty her curse? i don't know, i don't know.
i must say that i thought this novel would be a downer, but it absolutely isn't. it's joyous and rich and so merciful. tolstoy loves all of his characters and he forgives them, too, so that, for a long while, you can't see a thing wrong with any of them -- till eventually you do, you see their faults and the ways they fail. but you are introduced to their shortcomings gently, slowly, so that you are allowed to see them (the shortcomings) in the full complexity of the characters' negative and positive traits, and you love them a little too, and forgive them. there isn't one badly written character in the whole book. they are all rich and deep and human. listening to this novel for more than a month made me happy and for this i'm so, so grateful. ["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>...more
i am, doubtless, doing a grave injustice to this book, which will be probably rectified the moment i read reviews and secondary material on it. but ii am, doubtless, doing a grave injustice to this book, which will be probably rectified the moment i read reviews and secondary material on it. but i have a prejudice against alice walker. she seems to me, for an accumulation of reasons none of which sits discreetly in my mind, identifiable, a sloppy writer. say this book. the story is powerful and powerfully told. but then there's a whole lot of anthropology thrown in, and some etymology, and some sort of grand historical theory of patriarchy and the submission of women, and when you scratch the surface a tiny little bit you realize that it's made up. i didn't scratch the whole surface, so it's entirely possible that some of it -- the core of it? -- may not be made up. but when i scratched i found sloppiness or unabashed invention (some invention is openly acknowledged in the postscript) and, well, i am not sure i liked it.
i could be persuaded, but, right now, i don't see why alice walker needs to come up with an invented nomenclature (say) for stuff that truly exists. she doesn't offer any reason and i don't see a reason myself.
so this is what took the book south for me. the first part is beautiful, but then, well, i stopped being engaged, because i felt i was being taken for a ride, and i become unconvinced with everything. what is the relationship between adam and lisette all about? what is its narrative purpose? how do people (reviewers, etc.) know that tashi is treated by carl jung? are the clay figurines for real? do women really leave refugee camps because otherwise they'd be asked to work? what?
nice treatment of post-traumatic mental pain, and powerful, powerful indictment of genital mutilation. i thought i knew about it but i didn't know a thing. genital mutilation must stop. ...more
this is so good. so so so good. i'm going to say, first of all, that the quality of the artwork is amazing. great drawing, sometimes really simple, sothis is so good. so so so good. i'm going to say, first of all, that the quality of the artwork is amazing. great drawing, sometimes really simple, sometimes really complex, with great utilization of über cool graphic devices (notably, a spiral notebook that seems like the real thing, ellen's real notebook, photographed, and may or may not be).
when i first got the book i quickly scanned it and saw that it dealt with bipolar disorder solely in medical terms, i.e. as something the only effective treatment of which would be the right medication cocktail. now, i don't like that. at all. i really believe that mood disorders are a very complex mixture of genes and environment -- i believe that in everything human you can never take the environment out of the equation -- so i was sorry to see that the book kind of sold medication as the only approach to ellen's terrible pain.
the book sat on my shelf for a while and then it sat in a friend's house for another while and now i read it, and it's really not like that. i mean, it is like that, but, also, it isn't. yes, ellen only sees a psychiatrist and the psychiatrist's only overt contribution to her well-being is finding the right meds (which she eventually does). but the book is also very complex about the relation between ellen and karen, the psychiatrist, in that they have regular sessions for 13 years (and counting, i suppose), and in these sessions ellen really finds an anchor, a warmth, a haven of acceptance, love, and help.
also, the whole role of medication is problematized, analyzed, discussed, investigated, studied. this is cool.
ellen definitely comes out in this extraordinary memoir as well-rounded, interesting, and intriguing. this is the perfect companion to Alison Bechdel's Are You My Mother?: bechdel approaches her pain through psychoanalysis, fornay through medication, but there is the same level of complexity, engagement with one's life, and intelligence. seriously, this is brilliant and captivating and it was hard to put it down.
it seems to me increasingly important, as i think about these issues, to understand that there are things that work for someone and things that work for someone else. there's a strong strain in the "survivor" community that is virulently anti-drugs. i think it hinges on some people's disastrous experience with drugs. drugs can have terrible consequences on some bodies, and positive consequences on some other bodies. when you are someone whose life has been ruined by psych drugs, you tend to totalize your experience and proclaim them the devil. but they are not the devil for everyone. there are people whose life has been saved by psych drugs.
the other thing is that ellen's experience of psychiatry is incredibly gentle. her psychiatrist seems absolutely fabulous. this is not a common experience. many psychiatrists (all too many) are dismissive, arrogant, and belittling of their patients. this happens all the time. so if you work on getting better with a psychiatrist who actually listens to what you say, takes in what you want, and honors your experience with respect to what does and does not work for you, medication might be a much better experience than if you deal with a psychiatrist who simple decides what you should take/do/feel/etc.
i had a student once whose psychiatrist regularly mocked her. whenever she had something to say for herself, he'd say that she was being manic and to calm down. this was a kid. a college kid. i told her, why don't you change psychiatrist? but when someone gets into your head and makes you feel that he is god and you are an ant, you keep going back.
anyway, great book. thank you ellen for writing it. i don't know how you guys (you, alison, etc.) do it. this stuff must be harder than hell to put down on paper. so, again, thank you. ...more