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A review by verosnotebook
Under Rose-Tainted Skies by Louise Gornall
4.0
They - the geeks that deal in brain stuff - call what I have an invisible illness, but I often wonder if they’re really looking. Beyond the science stuff. It doesn’t bleed or swell, itch or crack, but I see it, right there on my face. It’s like decay, this icky green colour, as if my life were being filmed through a grey filter. I lack light, am an entire surface area that the sun can’t touch.
What a revelatory and charming read. Like most people, I have heard of agoraphobia but never really understood what this really means in concrete terms. Gornall presents us a version of this mental illness in all its reality, its debilitating aspects, and resulting consequences. Through Norah, we see the horror of being held hostage by your own brain, dealing with anxiety attacks, OCD, self-harming, and depression in a frank and sincere manner. I loved that Norah fights her illness and tries not to let it define her. She is a great character and her narration pulled me into her life, her experience. This is enhanced through the language. Gornall writes in what seems a very easy and approachable style, but it is also one that gives form to the 'unsubstantial' in a beautiful and meaningful fashion.
The thought is like a fungus, a black mould rotting my brain. I ache. My teeth itch.
I curl inwards and my heart tries to thump out the same beat twice.
I’m breathing like a claustrophobic trapped in a closet. my breath warm, splashing against the door and bouncing back in my face. My tongue twitches. Words suddenly have substance. They’re rising up my windpipe, thick, like a rolling rock in my throat.
It’s weird the release I get from dragging the tiny metal arm across my skin. It’s like slamming on brakes for an emergency stop; my head will go dead the second I feel the blade bite into me. All the buzzing receptors in my brain will forget the panic and concentrate on registering the hurt, the blood. It’s drastic, a last resort. […] This is not about dying. This is about trying to get back some control.
The author also gives us a charming story, full of love, understanding, and most important of all, hope. Norah's relationship with her mother is beautiful to witness. I must admit I was a little worried about Luke and what he represents. There is an expectation that people suffering mental illnesses could just snap out of it, but this is very far from reality. I was therefore fearing that Gornall might have used Luke as a magic bullet. Thankfully this does not happen, and the author presents the nascent romance in a positive but realistic fashion. Some people might think that some aspects are too positive but personally I prefer to believe that there are still good people out there.
Mental illness is still an uncomfortable subject in this day and age, tied with misunderstanding and shame. Somehow things that are not visible always seem scarier. Maybe this is due not just to their ‘invisibility’ and 'intangibility' but also to the fact that they often cannot be healed with pills and require other kind of treatments. I don’t know. What I do know is that speaking about it can only but help.
What a revelatory and charming read. Like most people, I have heard of agoraphobia but never really understood what this really means in concrete terms. Gornall presents us a version of this mental illness in all its reality, its debilitating aspects, and resulting consequences. Through Norah, we see the horror of being held hostage by your own brain, dealing with anxiety attacks, OCD, self-harming, and depression in a frank and sincere manner. I loved that Norah fights her illness and tries not to let it define her. She is a great character and her narration pulled me into her life, her experience. This is enhanced through the language. Gornall writes in what seems a very easy and approachable style, but it is also one that gives form to the 'unsubstantial' in a beautiful and meaningful fashion.
The thought is like a fungus, a black mould rotting my brain. I ache. My teeth itch.
I curl inwards and my heart tries to thump out the same beat twice.
I’m breathing like a claustrophobic trapped in a closet. my breath warm, splashing against the door and bouncing back in my face. My tongue twitches. Words suddenly have substance. They’re rising up my windpipe, thick, like a rolling rock in my throat.
It’s weird the release I get from dragging the tiny metal arm across my skin. It’s like slamming on brakes for an emergency stop; my head will go dead the second I feel the blade bite into me. All the buzzing receptors in my brain will forget the panic and concentrate on registering the hurt, the blood. It’s drastic, a last resort. […] This is not about dying. This is about trying to get back some control.
The author also gives us a charming story, full of love, understanding, and most important of all, hope. Norah's relationship with her mother is beautiful to witness. I must admit I was a little worried about Luke and what he represents. There is an expectation that people suffering mental illnesses could just snap out of it, but this is very far from reality. I was therefore fearing that Gornall might have used Luke as a magic bullet. Thankfully this does not happen, and the author presents the nascent romance in a positive but realistic fashion. Some people might think that some aspects are too positive but personally I prefer to believe that there are still good people out there.
Mental illness is still an uncomfortable subject in this day and age, tied with misunderstanding and shame. Somehow things that are not visible always seem scarier. Maybe this is due not just to their ‘invisibility’ and 'intangibility' but also to the fact that they often cannot be healed with pills and require other kind of treatments. I don’t know. What I do know is that speaking about it can only but help.