Das Buch Dahlia

by Elisa Albert

Dahlia Finger, 29, aus Los Angeles, hat keinen Schlachtplan für ihr Leben: Sie lässt sich von ihrem Vater finanzieren und versackt mit Fast Food und Joints auf ihrer Sofa-Zuflucht vor dem Fernseher. Aus heiterem Himmel trifft sie die Diagnose »Gehirntumor«. Ein wilder Wirbel aus Chemotherapie, Selbsthilfegruppe und Bionahrung setzt ein. Zu ihrem Lotsen durch die Krankheit wird der gnadenlos optimistische Ratgeber »Es liegt bei dir: die Krebs-To-Do-Liste«. Doch Dahlia setzt sich mit den aufmunternden Ratschlägen wie »Heile dich selbst« und »Lebe jetzt« auf ganz eigene Weise auseinander ...
Unsentimental, ungeschminkt und mit einer großen Portion schwarzen Humors. Eine rabenschwarze Hymne an das Leben!

Genres: Fiction, Book Club, Contemporary, Chick Lit, Novels, Family, Humor

300 pages, Paperback

First published March 11, 2008

About the author

ELISA ALBERT, author of The Book of Dahlia and a collection of short stories, has written for NPR, Tin House, Commentary, Salon, and the Rumpus. She grew up in Los Angeles and now lives in upstate New York with her family.

Reviews

[Jessica · Rating 5 out of 5]

Dahlia is a 29 year old, profane, pot smoking, leach who lives off her father; perennially consoling him with promises of graduate school. Truthfully, Dahlia doesn't have much interest in anything outside her Venice, California home. When a grand mal seizure brings a large and malignant brain tumor to the forefront of her consciousness, Dahlia must undergo a series of painful treatments and fight to survive. But the truth is, she isn't sure that she wants to fight or survive. Characteristically, Dahlia lets her parents do all the work- her father taking notes, fighting, being optimistic; her mother grieving loud enough for the both of them. Is this girl lazy or what?

Throughout the book we learn more about Dahlia's life and history. Her troubled childhood- abandonment by her mother and brother, her father's inability to cope- they all created the malignant anger inside her as sure as her body generated that ravenous brain tumor. We learn her laziness is born out of witnessing the uselessness of action (exhibit a. Rabbi Dan, the jerky brother).

Albert was so successful in presenting Dahlia's character flaws as a function of past abuse, that by the end of the book I was rooting for her. I wanted Dahlia to live, reconcile with her brother, go to graduate school, find a nice boy, get married, have kids.

So, if you can get through wanting to kill off Dahlia yourself in the first few chapters, it's quite a rewarding read. There is character development, of sorts. A revelation or two, though perhaps it comes to us, the readers, rather than Dahlia herself.

With "The Book of Dahlia", Albert asks if some pretty big questions: If we say that people who survive cancer do so through sheer force of will, does that mean people who waste, succumb and ultimately die didn't really want to live bad enough? Does it mean that they just didn't have the drive, a positive enough attitude? And what if the latest victim hasn't led a full life, was wasted the years allotted to them. Should we care? Should we mourn? Does it matter?

Dahlia often thinks about Julia G., a classmate who died in high school. Is it a crime, she wonders, that she lived longer and wasted it? Well, is it? Read the book and decide for yourself.

Albert's method of narration is a bit unusual. She needs to use Dahlia's voice to tell the story. Dahlia's speech patterns (think profanity) and love of pop culture are an integral part of her characterization, so the narrator must be Dahlia. But, using 1st person would greatly limit the story here as all parts the where Dahlia was unconscious would have to be told second hand. This would reduce the immediacy of the story. No author wants that. So, Elisa Albert has Dahlia tell the story in third person. Reading this book, I was left with the impression that I was talking to someone at a bar. The conversation was urgent, unorganized and sprinkled (well awash, really) in profanity. I could almost imagine Dahlia French inhaling across from me, pausing occasionally for another drink.

However, because Dahlia is the narrator (at least, this is what I felt when reading the book) we're left to question the authenticity of the narrative. Was Dahlia's mother _really_ that indifferent? Was her brother _really_ that callous? We could take the novel at face value, but we don't have to. "The Book of Dahlia" can be read on as many levels as whorls in its namesake flower; ever opening to new levels of complexity. Good stuff.

[Natalie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I was expecting certain things from this novel: a smart-ass protagonist, contemporary cultural references, dark humor, and maybe some cheesy Life Lessons since it's about terminal illness. Thankfully, I found only the first three.

Female anti-heroes are pretty rare -- and Dahlia is prizeworthy as a creation who will stick in your memory. Prickly-sympathetic, her rough edges are not dulled by platitudes or chicklit conventions. The novel's structure is in fact the anti-chick novel, which is pretty awesome right there.

But what really surprised me was the writing. Sharp writing that self-consciously smacks the reader in the face at times and at other moments sneaks up on you with a jujitsu throw of such beauty, you have to catch your breath.

And isn't that what it's all about, really?

[sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

It’s funny to me that most of the reviews I’ve read of this novel, the central point of the story, arguably the reason we meet Dahlia – her cancer diagnosis, for the love of god – is glossed over. Dahlia is annoying. Dahlia is a slacker. Dahlia is a miserable fuck who can’t pry her privileged ass off the couch, and I’m glad I don’t know her in real life. Sure, all of these things might be true. However, it is these qualities which allow the real brilliance of the story to shine through. The way the author allows the main character to manage this experience which slams her out of what little control she felt as if she might have had like a car speeding over an unforeseen patch of ice. The reader is almost dared to grant Dahlia the modicum of concern that her humanity might deserve by rubbing the reader’s face in her unlovable qualities.

Dahlia’s reaction to her situation is real. It is raw, bitter, and thusly completely in character. The myriad of issues that a person in the same situation would be dealing with from the simple alteration in day-to-day routine (even if that involves only sitting in front of the television and eating Cheerios) to facing death at a young age are vast and at the very least, difficult to handle. Using the vehicle of this character, the author creates a space where the reader doesn’t question the brazenness of Dahlia’s thoughts, her questions and actions. For instance, her rejection of the cult of positive thinking that so many cancer patients are encouraged to participate in. Because of the way Dahlia’s character is constructed the reader almost expects it which grants the reader a chance to consider what kind of feelings might prompt her thought process as opposed to the reader simply reacting to “unacceptable” thoughts and behavior from Dahlia.

This ultimately leads to the truth of the human condition – that with all of her apparent malice, her seemingly half-assed life, she is still not ready to give it up. This book is an artful treatment of an unlovable character in an impossible and unforgiving situation.

[Kari · Rating 2 out of 5]

eh. When I first started this book I was really into it. I thought there was some interesting stuff between the mother and the daughter, and very honest commentary when Dahlia was reflecting back on her childhood. (I am the mother of 2 daughters.) But then, it just got annoying, and I had to force myself to skim to the end. (I rarely stop reading a book I have made it to the half way mark of.) I picked this up from the recommendation by EW, and I understand, kindof, why they liked it--it's got lots of pop culture references, etc. But the character and the story just feel apart.

[Jay Ensley · Rating 5 out of 5]

How did Elisa Albert do it? How did she make the story of the end of a wasted life break my heart?

Let me count the ways:

First, she establishes an authentic voice. Dahlia becomes the fear most of us have that our lives will not amount to enough.

Second, she gives Dahlia a brilliant voice; intelligent and clever, witty, bitterly wise and frustratingly frightened, Dahlia becomes the friend we want to keep away from our other friends, but whom we would not want to lose.

Third, and then we lose her. That's not a spoiler; that Dahlia is dying is the essential premise of the book. It's in her passing that we fall in friendship with her and anguish over her efforts. Dahlia does not come close to success, but she almost, ALMOST doesn't fail. "I fear before I end...I'll fade away."--Jackson Browne.

And then Albert ends Dahlia's book with the most sorrowful "last words" in literary history. We all should pray that her's do not become our own.

[Krista · Rating 3 out of 5]

A very readable rant from the perspective of a messed-up JAP in her late twenties with terminal cancer.

Summed up beautifully in an aside aimed at the reader;

"Why so profane, ask the bookclubbers? Because we are talking here about death, and f*ck you if you don't like it: You're going to die, too. This is serious. F*ck, f*ck, f*ck."

Dying young is like those days when you just can't bring yourself to go to bed ...

"Night Disease: the imperative that they just keep going. Now Dahlia understood it perfectly. It was because the day needed something more. Whatever the day had contained somehow wasn't enough. They weren't ready to let go of it. Something more had to happen. Something else needed to occur. The day could not be over. They Would Not Submit. Not until they were ready."

But sometimes, most times, the day is over before you are ready.

[eRin · Rating 1 out of 5]

This book blows. Seriously. Dahlia is an over-privileged 29-year-old who hates her life. Convenient because she's got a brain tumor and she's dying. So she sits around and reflects on her shitty life--pretty much what she's been doing for years already. She follows a guide to cancer, arguing in her head with the author along the way. I don't like the character. There's nothing to like about the character. She's self-absorbed, full of pity for herself and blocks everyone else out (which, is kind of fair because they're all assholes too; except for her dad). I am regretting the time I spent reading this book--I want it back and the only thing I learned from this book is that I should have quit 10 pages in to it. Life's too short for crappy books.

[Hannah Garden · Rating 5 out of 5]

Oh my god this author is INCREDIBLE. I am so distraught she is not fifty years older with thirty more titles for me to plough through, what a frikn genius.

[rachel · Rating 4 out of 5]

If you are currently miserable or struck with the sense that you are wasting your life, this book will hit uncomfortably close to home. Beautifully written, especially the metaphysical life-and-death passages. Having just come off of Portnoy's Complaint, I can see the Philip Roth influence in Elisa Albert. But Albert's full of heart, in a not tacky or trite way.

Yeah, this one got to me.

[Andrew · Rating 5 out of 5]

That clichéd adolescent love affair with razor blades, the thinly veiled suicide threats. A handful of broken or non-existent condoms, semen of unworthy men who cared not at all for her absorbed into her body, microscopic invaders. (Cervical cancer would’ve at least made some sense! But brain? What the fuck?)

And what about people who wouldn’t let you hold their babies, who gave excuses about germs or attachment or whatever?

Locking eyes with homeless people and then giving them no change, none at all.

Reading in the paper about a schoolteacher in China who’d raped dozens of fourth- and fifth-grade girls. The sexual violence in the Sudan, blamed on its victims. A teenaged mother in Queens who had purposefully murdered her infant daughter by putting her in the microwave. To live in a world where such things were possible. All of it storm clouds gathering, gaining force, threatening claps of thunder amassing energy for the devastating downpour of this.

***

Dahlia Finger is dying. More to the point, she will be dead by the end of this novel. It’s not much of a spoiler to say so, given that the crux of the book, the reason for her journey, is the discovery, following a grand mal seizure at the end of the first chapter, of an inoperable brain tumour in her head.

So yeah, Dahlia Finger is dying, and Elisa Albert’s The Book of Dahlia is her swan song to the world.

While one might think that this is a recipe for a rather glum, solemn read, Albert’s titular heroine, like the book itself, is far from expected. As a matter of fact, at the novel’s start Dahlia is downright obnoxious. At first blush she appears to be little more than an entitled underachiever, spending her days getting high, eating Cheerios, and watching A League of Their Own for the umpteenth time in her Venice, California home, paid for by her dear, doting father, Bruce. Her ambitions seem, at best, minimal; the distaste she has for the world around her is evident from the very beginning. What isn’t immediately clear, however, are her reasons for the disaffection and vitriol she so effortlessly spews.

The Book of Dahlia is split between two lives: there’s the Dahlia of the past and the slow reveal of how she got to be the hardened self of her mid-to-late twenties (by way of her distant, globe-trotting mother Margalit and her utter piece of shit brother Danny, both responsible for casting Dahlia out of their lives through sheer selfishness and a lack of empathy or interest in her wellbeing); and there’s the Dahlia of the present, dying from cancer, taking stock of the life she’s led and what little future she has left. The novel marries these two narratives by loosely structuring itself as a self-help/cancer-for-dummies-style book, with each chapter titled for another step in the chain toward “beating” the beast (or, at the very least, accepting that the beast has beaten you).

Albert’s book is a bit of a wonder: Dahlia is, at first, a distasteful, fairly unlikable human being. She’s abrasive and seemingly uninterested in the lives of others. But by the novel’s end—hell, by its midpoint—we are given enough familial evidence to see that her present persona is not natural but crafted, unintentionally, by the spite and self-centred behaviour of her mother and brother (seriously, fuck Danny… arrogant, abusive piece of shit deserves to suffer with the knowledge that nothing in his life warrants his sister’s forgiveness). Though Dahlia has gone through life with the ever-present comfort of her father’s unwavering love and financial support, it does not preclude her from having suffered deep emotional scarring at the hands of the rest of her family.

Like all self-help books, The Book of Dahlia preaches the qualities of forgiveness and finding strength in oneself; however, Dahlia’s forgiveness is reserved for herself, for accepting the ways she’s stalled or fucked up or lost focus throughout her journey, and understanding that forgiveness should not always be given if, in fact, it is only being gifted to satisfy the guilt of another party. Her strength comes from her anger—from accepting the treatment she received at the hands of Danny and Margalit as being their problem, and not hers. This runs contrary to the advice she receives from her doctor and other cancer patients/survivors, who encourage the forgiving of others as a way of relieving the soul and body of unnecessary strain. But then Dahlia is not just anyone, and for better or worse she’s used all her external stores of forgiveness already, trying to explain away her family’s faults for years before finally accepting them as the shitty people they really are (except, of course, for daddy Bruce). It’s strangely beautiful that, in the end, she uses what remaining forgiveness she has for herself—her strength is not in forgiving the failings of others, but forgiving herself for how she let them wear her down.

Like Dahlia herself, Albert’s writing is acerbic—witty, loaded with pop culture references, and at times overwhelmingly abrasive. She writes from a third-person limited perspective, regularly flitting into Dahlia’s head while maintaining a degree of distance through which all others are observed—we never really know why Danny was such a tool, though it’s not really important, as what matters is the legacy his actions left on Dahlia’s psyche. Albert frequently diverges with parenthetical asides often acting as comedic breaks or moments of blunt realization. However, it’s her employment of deliberate repetition of words and phrases that is most effective—by the final paragraph, indeed the final two lines of the book, Dahlia/Albert’s penchant for repetition steps beyond the aesthetics of rhythm and structure and becomes something else altogether, something unexpectedly and emotionally crushing.

This is the second time I’ve read The Book of Dahlia. I first read the book back in 2009, about a year after its initial release, and have been surprised in recent years by how much it stuck with me. This year I’ve been making a point of revisiting certain titles I remember having a stronger than average impact. Perhaps there’s no higher praise I can give The Book of Dahlia than to say that even though I remembered, almost perfectly, the final few sentences of the book and how they came to pass, I still shuddered as I started the final chapter, as I crept slowly down that final page to those few words repeated over and over again—words I knew would kick me in the stomach just as hard as they had five years earlier.

And you know what? I was right.

[megha ☁️ · Rating 3 out of 5]

not my favorite but interesting nonetheless

[Connie Hall · Rating 4 out of 5]

Darkly hilarious and hilariously dark.
Searing critique of the self help genre for the ill.

[Noah]

not it

[Rita · Rating 3 out of 5]

There are spoilers here, I guess.

I didn't read the whole book. I couldn't. I thought it was going to be like Night Swimming by Robin Schwarz, or the movie Last Holiday, but it became apparent a few chapters in that there was to be no chick lit fun to be had, no misdiagnosis, no lessons lessons learned where the spoiled girl has a new lease on life. So, I just couldn't keep reading, even though it seemed like a very good book--well written, darkly humorous, smart, sarcastic and touching. There were pieces I loved. Pieces I needed:

"There is no better. And this--you listening, Dr. Phil?--sure as hell isn't because she doesn't want to get better. It's not--hear this, Oprah!--because she lacks the sheer force of will to get better. It's not because--talking to you, Lance Armstrong--she isn't physically strong enough to get better. It's because --fuck you all!--she's Sick. Which is not a state one flits in and out of at will. It's a state of existence, concrete as race or shape."

But, I couldn't keep with it. Not now. I flipped forward and found good things there, too:

"Because come now: It doesn't matter how vile or messy or lazy or spoiled or fucked-up she was. Life is still Life. And either that's meaningful all the time or it's meaningful none of the time, shmuck; no qualifying. No picking, no choosing. It either matters or it doesn't. Life has value or life does not have value: one or the other. Your eye still dry at the undoing of Dahlia? You disapprove of the way she lived her life? You look askance at her methodology for dealing with terminal illness? You sneer at her attitude? Then you don't really care about human life after all, do you? This is one pitiful life, hereby relayed: simply a litmus test, dear boy."

The ending was sad and beautiful and maybe someday I'll be able to read the middle, too. But, actually, I kind of think I don't have to.

[Amy Foster · Rating 4 out of 5]

Dahlia Finger is dying. We know this from the very get go. But even before her first grand mal you get a sense that what she's doing in her little house in Venice isnt really living either. So this book makes the point, if you sit around and waste your life and hold on to pain instead of moving forward, if you never really do Anything (yes the capital A) is your life forfiet? We flip from Dahlia's illness in the present, to her past. Truthfully, her past sucked. She bitches a lot about it in the book, but she never actually bitches about it to the people who deserve a verbal smackdown. So there's the other theme. If you hold onto those words, those wounds do you get cancer? She wonders, I wonder too. Does her almost life make her dying any easier? She basically contributed nothing to the world, she knows it. Or is it sadder, because she never did anything with the time she was given.

Albert is a great, fluid writer who throws down conversational tone like nobody's business. You become Dahlia's confident, the person she should have trusted with all her issues from the beginning. You pity Dahlia, but she pisses you off and frustrates you just like she does everyone else around her. I guess I wondered, did she just need the right person to get through to her? Or was she doomed, or rather programmed to never let anyone in, except of course, the cancer.

This a beautiful, heartbreaking book without a hint of tenderness, quite an accomplishment for the very talented Albert.

[Marie · Rating 3 out of 5]

Dahlia Finger, a selfish, shallow, foul-mouthed, and stoner Jewish American princess who was conceived on a kibbutz, has been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor at the young age of 29.

In search of answers, she finds a self-help guide in an effort to help her grapple with her cancer and impending demise. And she begins looking back on her shambles of a life.

Dahlia is not particularly likable, but as her childhood memories come forth, it's clear why she got to be the way she is. When her flaky Israeli mother and American father break up, her previously loving and adoring older brother Dan turns on her. He becomes her worst tormentor, treating her horribly and humiliating her constantly, while she only wants his approval and love. She feels abandoned and confused, and along with the absence of her mother during her formative years, this abandonment and cruelty shapes her life and personality.

There's no question where the story is headed, and if you're looking for an upbeat, happy story, this isn't it. I wouldn't even say it has much redemption in it. But it does make you think about your own life and where it's headed. Are you making the most of each hour you have?

[Merredith · Rating 1 out of 5]

My friend recomended this book to me and I really tried to read it. This is a novel about a woman in her late 20s named Dahlia. She is spoiled and lazy. Her dad pays for everything, she has no job, no hobbies, all she does is smoke pot and watch tv. She doesn't even really have friends. One day she has a seizure and discovers she has a brain tumor and is dying. It's sad. But even though i feel badly for Dahlia, she's annoying. She's grating and her family is grating and the story is boring. I only got to page 104, I kept trying to read this book, but i was pretty much forcing myself, waiting for it to get less annoying. It wasn't and i just gave up. Yup, I didn't finish it. I can't say that i'd have a good attitude if i found out i was dying of cancer and had a failed life like Dahlia, but i wouldn't write a book about it. This book is highly rated so it's obvious that many have the opposite opinion of me so maybe you'll like it, but I just really don't.

[Betsy · Rating 4 out of 5]

Can a novel about a twenty-something with a fatal brain tumor really be funny? This one was, largely because the potty-mouthed, pothead protagonist Dahlia Finger has such a bad attitude about life in general and cancer in particular. She's pissed off and honest and doesn't put up with any B.S. Got to admire that. The author starts each chapter with a sunny snippet from a cancer advice book, then reveals another interesting chunk of Dahlia's mess of a life which includes near abandonment early in her childhood by her high-strung, self-absorbed Israeli Sabra mom and her damaged-goods brother Danny (who later becomes a damaged-goods rabbi.) Definitely original!

[Jorayne · Rating 5 out of 5]

Very well written, I've been waiting a long time to find a book that actually makes me feel something. Yes, the character is selfish and all you want is for her to get up and do something. But the thing is in real life everyone has flaws. We all want to be the "perfect" person who reacts to situtations in the "correct" way, but sometimes (most often) that doesn't happen.It reminded me little of Six Feet Under, everyone wants life to be tied up--that by the end of it you left things in a good place, but sometimes things happen abruptly. Dahlia is real and by the end of the book you feel sorry for her wasted time....mostly because you know you've wasted some time yourself.

[Roberta · Rating 1 out of 5]

Normally I really try to finish a book once I've started it, but I decided I had too many on my "to read" list to spend any more time on this one. I got as far as the end of Chapter 3 (p 35) and quit. Time Out New York describes Dahlia Finger as an "unforgettable anti-hero" with "depressive humor". Depressive is right. Those 35 pages of rambling writing made me depressed. None of the characters are likeable. The writing is vulgar. I don't want to read about a pothead trying to come to terms with her cancer diagnosis and her dysfunctional family.

[Jennifer · Rating 2 out of 5]

I so wanted to like this book. It started off promising--funny and irreverent and quirky--but not that far into it, the novelty of it began to wear off for me. What started off as an original writing voice soon became grating and gimmicky and tiresome--which also pretty much sums up the pot-smoking, self-absorbed, slacker of a main character.

[Rita Mahan · Rating 3 out of 5]

Not your average book about death. This is s 29 year old, unemployed, stoned, woman who grew up in a dysfuntional family (putting it mildly)....finding out she has a terminal brain tumor leaves her stunned. No sugar coated, glossing over of these circumstances, be prepared to laugh but also to feel deep sadness.

[Renee · Rating 3 out of 5]

Dahlia is a 29 year old depressed, witty young woman who learns she has an aggressive, inoperable brain tumor. This book deals with Dahlia acknowledging the end of her life is near. However, after a life time of annoying interactions of her Jewish-mother, this may not seem like the worse thing....

[Annie Lee Phillips · Rating 5 out of 5]

This story made me weep. Dahlia isn't the most likeable person to start out with, but when you go through this 29 year old's diagnosis and decline with a brain tumor you can't put it down.

[Amy · Rating 4 out of 5]

Dahlia is a 29-year-old sardonic, brilliantly under-achieving Jewish girl who begins her book suddenly diagnosed with terminal brain cancer after a late night seizure. Forced to come to grips with a life defined by indecision and procrastination, Dahlia delves into an autobiographical self-analysis of what brought her, stoned and in front of blaring reality television, to the end of life as she knows it. With outrageous humour and impressive indifference, she and the members of her chaotic, fractured family attack and ignore the devastating diagnosis in a myriad of ways.

The Book of Dahlia reads like an episode of "This is Your Life", separated into chapters defined by the commandments of a self-help cancer booklet meant to assist the dying on their "incredible journey". Dahlia's sardonic and acerbic attitude flips between acceptance and disdain for the relentless positivity of the standard "can-do attitude" of the book and it's author, Gene. Through providing an obvious mirror into Dahlia's current state of mind regarding her disease, the method rang a little false, as though an editor suggested it long after the manuscript was completed. Dahlia is a compelling and relatable narrator, and the addition of the "Gene" sounding board is a clunky distraction. The beauty lies fascinating details of the story of her life, juicy and slowly unravelled, as that life itself is slowly deteriorating in the background.

The truth about Dahlia is that she is as flawed and as perfect as anyone, with the soul of a writer self-trapped on the couch-laden body of a pot head. Her exhaustive search for authenticity creates a protagonist that actively antagonizes and alienates, as much as you inevitably root for her (as though you were actually going to root for a brain tumour). She remains aloof, self-aware and wryly hilarious as she wades with an unblinking eye into her past, including stints as a snobby private school loner, stoic kibbutz adolescent, hipster NYC dream girl, and finally, Daddy's little failure, getting up the energy to use her potential to pursue graduate school.

This is the story of life, of real life, and truthful, messy death. Dahlia never learned how to smooth her edges to fit into this world, and her exit is as rough, unexpected and miraculous as she is. We take day trips back into times as an adoring toddler to a beloved older brother, an abandoned little girl, waiting poignantly for the airmail letters for her nomadic, selfish mother, a devoted daughter to a sad, shell-shocked man just trying to hold up the pieces of his splintered family. These characters are painted with deeply personal, vibrant clarity, and as they fade in and out of present and past, as does our protagonist as she nears the end.

Conventional narrative dictates that fragmented relationships will resolve themselves, forgiveness and healing will be the secret prize to the unfortunate lot of cancer. Expecting things to wrap up, to neatly solve the conundrums of youth, to resolve old quarrels (especially with brother Danny) leaves the reader struggling to tie loose ends, that stay stubbornly and voraciously unravelled. As the pages run out without this resolve, the book becomes a study on how life doesn't always wrap up into neat little packages.

The Book of Dahlia refuses to be cloying, refuses to look away, refuses to attempt polite, "regular" ways that people deal with death. Dahlia is in the same moments uproarious and  utterly tragic. A book that surprises you by doing exactly what it says it's going to do. Much like all death, the inevitable ending is grim, real, raw, and slips out the door like a whisper, giving pause to the idea that life existed at all.

[Justina · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was my second reading of this novel. My first go at it was in an undergrad literature course entitled “Unlikeable Women.” The first time, I HATED Dahlia, but she never left my mind. At the time of my first read, I was 20, but now at 32, the book hit wildly harder. I adored the fearless critique of “self-help” that does more self-harm for some people…especially those who have no belief in a higher power and who may live with mental illness. As someone who is Borderline, I found this to be a very relatable portrayal of what life looks like to me—highs, lows, and all. I greatly appreciated the fact that, even as someone dying, Dahlia was not beatified, nor (as is the case with a lot of literature with Borderline characters) was she demonized. This book pushed me, challenged me, and was incredibly inviting in terms of stepping into someone else’s reality. I laughed; I felt called out; I related; I disagreed; I was enthralled; I seethed; and ultimately, I was left with heady (and heavy) thoughts to mull over. I have decided that much like my relationship to self and my place in this world, I loved, loathed, accepted, and came to an understanding with this literary masterpiece.

[Tori · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book has a very specific target audience and I feel that many of the negative reviews are simply from people who could not relate to the book. If you have a penchant for unapologetically sarcastic narrators, this book is for you. If you've ever, even for a moment, felt yourself bitter about the cards you've been dealt, this book is for you. If you enjoy books about screwed up family dynamics, dysfunction, and chaos this book is for you. Many reviewers claim that Dahlia is unlikable, privileged, and negative but to me she felt refreshingly honest. The book hints that she has some sort of mental illness (definitely depression, but also likely a personality disorder) I liked the way that Ms. Albert tackled this issue without being too on the nose about it. If you prefer novels where the main character is thoroughly likable and has a Pollyanna personality, this book is not for you, but I for one was definitely rooting for Dahlia by the end of the book.

[Karli Sherwinter · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book started off strong and then sort of lost its steam for me towards the second half. That might have been part of the point - the narrative got more annoying and depressing as Dahlia's cancer progresses. She isn't connected to anyone, and she complains about her loneliness, but there is no motivation for her to change. She cares, but not enough to make any effort towards anything. I guess I also found Dahlia hard to handle. Her parents are lacking and her brother, Rabbi Dan, sounds terrible, but she doesn't try to find her way, and that is frustrating. I liked all of the Hebrew thrown into the mix, even if Margalit is a completely unlikable mother. I do kind of wish Elisa Albert would write a new book about middle age and perimenopause. She is one of the few writers who isn't afraid to push the limit, and just say what is on her mind. Even if it isn't attractive or interesting all the time.

[Ann · Rating 3 out of 5]

I have been reading books that have been on my TBR for a long time and this book fits that category. While the topic is depressing (Dahlia has brain cancer and is dying), there are moments of levity as she meanders through her diagnosis and treatment. The book portrays her as kind of a hot mess but also gives insight into how she got this way. I felt so much love for Dahlia by the end of the book and a fair amount of hatred for her brother and mother who are selfish a-holes. Have your tissues handy because there will be tears. This isn’t a feel good book.

[Evva Starr · Rating 5 out of 5]

I’m worried my plot summary will turn you off this amazing book. A 29-year-old mess of a woman is diagnosed with a brain tumor and dies within a year. But. But. The stunning prose demands that we be honest with ourselves: either life matters or it doesn’t. And if it does, then ALL of it matters, whatever that “all” looks like. At the end of the “all,” death does not give out ribbons for being strong or forgiving or successful. Death just comes. The best any of us can do is let people face it as they wish. This book is a chance to practice.