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A review by solitary
What I'd Rather Not Think About by Jente Posthuma
4.0
i started this book on a whim (and to evade reading a little life), hellbent on finding a cure for my seasonal reading slump. not only did it do its job, but it made me remember why i fall in love with reading time and time again. my heart physically ached going through this, particularly because we uncover the unnamed siblings’ lives and relationship knowing full well of their tragic ending from the start. encapsulating multiple layers of complicated families, depression, and grief, posthuma did an incredible job neatly tying everything together in only a few pages.
“I know everything about how a mother could murder her children, she said, but nothing about what happens afterwards, in other words, how life continues, how people manage to get through it together. When this is the thing we're more likely to experience.”
the book centers around the brother’s suicide: the moments leading up to it and its aftermath. their twins’ lives were unraveled in shifting vignettes as the sister tries to understand her brother’s motivation in doing so. i normally don’t enjoy flashbacks and chapters not told in a chronological order, which may be why this is not a solid 5 star for me. on the brighter side, posthume did a great job painting depression and anxiety. too good that i see myself in both the brother who was suffering and the sister who is trying to understand.
while her brother did not exactly treat her well (and his condition may be a reason, but not an excuse), her love for him endured even after death. i could feel it in every scene she morphed and readjusted herself to tailor her brother’s needs. despite broken promises, she continued to stand by his side throughout his sickness. the peak of her devotion to him was during the times she’d read wikipedia articles of topics she knows her brother loves, just so they could have something to talk about.
i might write a longer, more personal essay on my substack. but suffice to say, this book read too close to home.
some more lines that striked hard:
“—it wasn’t fair to pretend I was something other than who I really was, to keep shapeshifting like some sort of Barbapapa. I’m either too much or too little. I’m terrible at dispensing the right dose of myself.” (oh, if i could hug you)
“I’m going to start exercising again, he told me.” (gagged at this. if you know, you know)
“And if there is no shelter to be found, roll yourself into a tiny ball, protect your head, and seek refuge in yourself.” (bawling)
“I know everything about how a mother could murder her children, she said, but nothing about what happens afterwards, in other words, how life continues, how people manage to get through it together. When this is the thing we're more likely to experience.”
the book centers around the brother’s suicide: the moments leading up to it and its aftermath. their twins’ lives were unraveled in shifting vignettes as the sister tries to understand her brother’s motivation in doing so. i normally don’t enjoy flashbacks and chapters not told in a chronological order, which may be why this is not a solid 5 star for me. on the brighter side, posthume did a great job painting depression and anxiety. too good that i see myself in both the brother who was suffering and the sister who is trying to understand.
while her brother did not exactly treat her well (and his condition may be a reason, but not an excuse), her love for him endured even after death. i could feel it in every scene she morphed and readjusted herself to tailor her brother’s needs. despite broken promises, she continued to stand by his side throughout his sickness. the peak of her devotion to him was during the times she’d read wikipedia articles of topics she knows her brother loves, just so they could have something to talk about.
i might write a longer, more personal essay on my substack. but suffice to say, this book read too close to home.
some more lines that striked hard:
“—it wasn’t fair to pretend I was something other than who I really was, to keep shapeshifting like some sort of Barbapapa. I’m either too much or too little. I’m terrible at dispensing the right dose of myself.” (oh, if i could hug you)
“I’m going to start exercising again, he told me.” (gagged at this. if you know, you know)
“And if there is no shelter to be found, roll yourself into a tiny ball, protect your head, and seek refuge in yourself.” (bawling)