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tarajoy90's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
4.0
Content Warnings
Graphic: Suicide
blackoxford's review against another edition
5.0
What’s Left After Words?
A biography of one’s little known father would seem a risky commercial venture. Make it first person and the rest of the family is likely to resent the presumption. Write it from the perspective of a man with advanced dementia, and total disaster can’t be far distant.
And yet Miriam Toews carries it off magnificently. The book, it turns out is only nominally about her father, Mel. Mainly it’s about her coping with what he left behind , namely an apparently inexplicable decision on his part to end his life. The book is therapy, in which she invents what was in his head based upon the facts of his life, those known to the intimate world of his Mennonite society, and those shared only within the family.
Despite the manner of his death, Mel is a hero to Miriam. In fact his suicide confirms his integrity. His life was a battle with his bipolar condition, his high functioning autism, and his complete inability to express himself in personal relationships. Yet he had overcome these handicaps to develop a loving marriage, raise a family, pursue a successful career as a teacher, and generate universal respect within his community.
Like any other history, Mel’s is a fiction. Miriam doesn’t actually know what thoughts Mel had. She only knows his behaviour, which seems confused, erratic and at times irascible. She sees him scribbling page after page nonsense, and intuits what he trying to do, that is, to tell his story. So she does the work of which he was incapable. That she can imagine herself as her father is a tribute to both of them. Especially because, as Miriam articulates for Mel, “There are no windows within the dark house of depression through which to see others, only mirrors.”
A biography of one’s little known father would seem a risky commercial venture. Make it first person and the rest of the family is likely to resent the presumption. Write it from the perspective of a man with advanced dementia, and total disaster can’t be far distant.
And yet Miriam Toews carries it off magnificently. The book, it turns out is only nominally about her father, Mel. Mainly it’s about her coping with what he left behind , namely an apparently inexplicable decision on his part to end his life. The book is therapy, in which she invents what was in his head based upon the facts of his life, those known to the intimate world of his Mennonite society, and those shared only within the family.
Despite the manner of his death, Mel is a hero to Miriam. In fact his suicide confirms his integrity. His life was a battle with his bipolar condition, his high functioning autism, and his complete inability to express himself in personal relationships. Yet he had overcome these handicaps to develop a loving marriage, raise a family, pursue a successful career as a teacher, and generate universal respect within his community.
Like any other history, Mel’s is a fiction. Miriam doesn’t actually know what thoughts Mel had. She only knows his behaviour, which seems confused, erratic and at times irascible. She sees him scribbling page after page nonsense, and intuits what he trying to do, that is, to tell his story. So she does the work of which he was incapable. That she can imagine herself as her father is a tribute to both of them. Especially because, as Miriam articulates for Mel, “There are no windows within the dark house of depression through which to see others, only mirrors.”
ula_j's review against another edition
4.0
Deeply beautiful & emotional memoir of the author’s father who suffered from manic depression his whole life and ultimately died by suicide. It’s empathetic to him while also showing the impacts on his family. Painful to read but some of the best writing about depression I’ve ever read.
lisalikesdogs's review against another edition
4.0
This was worded so beautifully and was just very thoughtful. I could relate to a lot of the feelings behind it from every character. Heartbreaking, but well worth it. You can tell that it brings some closure to the author, which was really the book's ultimate purpose.
makennadykstra's review against another edition
4.0
a beautiful and absolutely devastating ode to a father from his daughter. toews builds a portrait more so of deep familial & community love than of bipolar disorder, but inevitably of how the latter delimits the breadth and depth of the former
caroparr's review against another edition
3.0
Prompted to read this because of a profile of Toews in the New Yorker and buzz about her latest novel. This is a lightly fictionalized memoir of her father, who was outwardly an upstanding citizen and dynamic teacher but inwardly deeply depressed and in the end committed suicide. Not a depressing book, but deeply, deeply sad.
robyndansereau's review against another edition
5.0
This incredibly moving memoir tugged at my heartstrings. I'm so glad Toews shared her father's story with us, for it's inspiring and full of hope, despite its sadness. Full review here: https://robyntocker.weebly.com/swing-low.html
bartvanovermeire's review against another edition
5.0
Beautiful portrait of her father, who struggled with manic depression his whole life and committed suicide at 62.
"Is depression in part a result of not feeling at home in this world, and blaming yourself for it? Is depression nothing but anger turned inwards, as some say? Does it stem from a childhood loss? From a genetic propensity? From self-hatred? From an inability to be oneself? From having no purpose? From an inability to be free? From a fear of freedom? From the desire to be free and confined at the same time? From choking on a peanut as a two-year-old?
Perhaps depression is caused by asking oneself too many unanswerable questions."
"Is depression in part a result of not feeling at home in this world, and blaming yourself for it? Is depression nothing but anger turned inwards, as some say? Does it stem from a childhood loss? From a genetic propensity? From self-hatred? From an inability to be oneself? From having no purpose? From an inability to be free? From a fear of freedom? From the desire to be free and confined at the same time? From choking on a peanut as a two-year-old?
Perhaps depression is caused by asking oneself too many unanswerable questions."