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A review by orgnzekrnge
The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression by Andrew Solomon
1.0
I have depression, and I think this book is terrible for people like me.
Part memoir, part compilation of scientific research on mental health (with several blurred lines in-between), The Noonday Demon holds itself out to be a comprehensive meditation on depression. But since the writer, Andrew Solomon, is so content to pare down any real analysis of depression to drawn-out laundry lists, here's mine: this book is pompous, irresponsible, triggering, and more than anything else, fucking boring.
Perhaps Solomon's biggest problem as a writer is that he repeatedly makes foolish and irresponsible attempts to balance the science of depression with his personal journey. The problem with this is that he is not able to disentangle what's presented as fact from his own musings. I can only assume that much of the insight proffered is steeped in his depressive mind state, but the truth of the matter is that he has a bad habit of presenting potentially dangerous opinions as fact.
Part of the appeal of fictional depictions of depression is that the reader comes into its pages knowing that they are reading the author's own experiences with staring into the infinite dark. But Solomon is devastatingly self-important. He repeatedly fails to delineate where the facts end and where experience begins; to him, his personal opinions are every bit as legitimate as those of the researchers, scientists, and psychologists he interviews.
With the way in which the book begins with beautiful descriptions of how depression is a fruitless task without the use of metaphor and poetry, it is disappointing that Solomon contradicts this spirit by diving headfirst into the medicinal. This is my biggest problem with the book, and it is, admittedly, a deeply personal one. Solomon operates under the assumption that medication is largely the only way to control depressive symptoms; though other ways and means are described, it always comes back to taking your drugs. And maybe he's right, but as someone who's still working his way through therapy and healing from within, I'm not prepared to accept medication as my savior.
As much as Solomon offers platitudes about how each person's situation is different, the book turns in a rigid assessment of depression because of this medicinal perspective. I find it unfortunate that the book is so well-celebrated because I can't help but wonder about the chilling effect it could have on its readers. Depending on where one is on their journey, one could be left feeling trapped. I know that's how it made me feel.
Part memoir, part compilation of scientific research on mental health (with several blurred lines in-between), The Noonday Demon holds itself out to be a comprehensive meditation on depression. But since the writer, Andrew Solomon, is so content to pare down any real analysis of depression to drawn-out laundry lists, here's mine: this book is pompous, irresponsible, triggering, and more than anything else, fucking boring.
Perhaps Solomon's biggest problem as a writer is that he repeatedly makes foolish and irresponsible attempts to balance the science of depression with his personal journey. The problem with this is that he is not able to disentangle what's presented as fact from his own musings. I can only assume that much of the insight proffered is steeped in his depressive mind state, but the truth of the matter is that he has a bad habit of presenting potentially dangerous opinions as fact.
Part of the appeal of fictional depictions of depression is that the reader comes into its pages knowing that they are reading the author's own experiences with staring into the infinite dark. But Solomon is devastatingly self-important. He repeatedly fails to delineate where the facts end and where experience begins; to him, his personal opinions are every bit as legitimate as those of the researchers, scientists, and psychologists he interviews.
With the way in which the book begins with beautiful descriptions of how depression is a fruitless task without the use of metaphor and poetry, it is disappointing that Solomon contradicts this spirit by diving headfirst into the medicinal. This is my biggest problem with the book, and it is, admittedly, a deeply personal one. Solomon operates under the assumption that medication is largely the only way to control depressive symptoms; though other ways and means are described, it always comes back to taking your drugs. And maybe he's right, but as someone who's still working his way through therapy and healing from within, I'm not prepared to accept medication as my savior.
As much as Solomon offers platitudes about how each person's situation is different, the book turns in a rigid assessment of depression because of this medicinal perspective. I find it unfortunate that the book is so well-celebrated because I can't help but wonder about the chilling effect it could have on its readers. Depending on where one is on their journey, one could be left feeling trapped. I know that's how it made me feel.