Review by aksmith92 - Sorrow and Bliss

aksmith92 's review for:

Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason

4.5

emotional funny reflective sad medium-paced

Plot or Character Driven: Character

Strong character development: Yes

Loveable characters: Complicated

Diverse cast of characters: No

Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

The Setup: Meg Mason's Sorrow and Bliss is an emotionally potent novel that navigates the inner landscape of Martha Friel, a woman grappling with a lifelong, unnamed mental illness. Wry, acerbic, and startlingly sincere, the novel blends sharp humor with aching introspection. We watch as Martha navigates her life, including her relationships, career, and her own complicated thoughts about motherhood.

What I Loved: Martha's voice was deeply sardonic; her wit often served as a shield for unbearable vulnerability. At first, I was worried this tone and prose would feel forced entirely, leaving me rolling my eyes or skipping sections that seemed too imposed. But, even though Martha was most certainly not likeable, as likely intended by Mason, she was entirely authentic and genuine. At times, I felt almost sad that I could relate to Martha, which I think showcased the absolute taboo and bias we have towards mental illness. This story was less about the mental illness that Martha has, but more about what it felt like to live with it - the alienation, the guilt, and the unpredictability. Martha was not a clinical case study and was instead a human. Honestly, I felt delighted with this notion and premise of the novel, although others might feel slightly frustrated by the fact that you never fully know what Martha's diagnosis was. However, I thought it was a needed touch for a book discussing mental health, and its absolute impact on not only those around you, but your mindset.

The relationships in this book were also incredibly complex and exquisitely drawn, especially Martha and Ingrid, her sister, who provided brutal honesty, unconditional love, and extra wit. Their bond was beautiful to read, even as their family dysfunction began to unravel them a bit.

This was a unique book to me - while literary in nature and sharp, I felt as though it added even more emotional honesty to the genre. The novel wasn't afraid to help you sit with your discomfort. I believe it did a good job with its depiction of despair, self-sabotage, and regret.

Lastly, while the structure and pacing were conveyed through fragmented, episodic elements that mirrored Martha's inner disarray, I think this was one of the best examples of almost a stream of consciousness done well. Somehow, through some disjointed storytelling, the narrative still flowed organically and was relatively easy to follow.

Why Not Five Stars? Listen, at the end of the day, Martha's cool demeanor and tone were slightly alienating. However, I only felt this disconnection when it came to her and her relationship with her husband, Patrick. Their relationship almost felt clinical to me. I was confused as to why Patrick was always in love with her. With that said, it eventually became clear that this whole thing was intentional. Martha was an unreliable narrator, and we likely didn't get to see what Patrick saw in her because she was constantly dissatisfied with herself. It started making sense as more and more of her character developed. However, even with this acknowledgment, Patrick felt flattened, and it bothered me.

Lastly, there were some additional side characters that I felt could have been fleshed out more, considering that Martha's unreliability also influenced the other characters.

Overall, though, I thought this was incredibly well done. The novel refuses easy resolution and redemption, instead exploring the aftermath of a troubling diagnosis, the anger surrounding it, and how to cope in realistic and practical ways. As the title goes, it was not just about sorrow, and it was not just about bliss, but mostly about the space in between where most of the whole "life" thing happens. It's not the most uplifting story in the world, and it's most certainly not the most melodramatic and depressing story in the world. It's about contentment, and I think that theme truly shone in this novel, and I somehow laughed throughout. I highly recommend this book, but I think you should check for any triggers just in case.

**

Later, when we were both in the grip of puberty, our mother said that since Ingrid was evidently getting all the bust, we could only hope I'd end up with the brains. We asked her which was better. She said it was better to have both or neither; one without the other was invariably lethal.

An observer to my marriage would think I have made no effort to be a good or better wife. Or, seeing me that night, that I must have set out to be this way and achieved it after years of concentrated effort. They could not tell that for most of my adult life and all of my marriage I have been trying to become the opposite of myself.

"Everything is redeemable, Martha. Even decisions that end up with you unconscious and bleeding in a pedestrian underpass, like me. Although, ideally, you want to figure out the reason why you keep burning your own house down."

"Are you alright though?" I said yes, sharply. "I'm fine, Patrick. It's just been a full day of men who loved me once then stopped or thought they were in love with me, then realized they were just hungry or something." I stepped back into the house, telling Patrick that I would see him later.

"Because when suffering is unavoidable, the only thing one gets to choose is the backdrop. Crying one's eyes out beside the Seine is vastly better than crying one's eyes out while traipsing around Hammersmith."

"First novels are autobiography and wish fulfillment. Evidently, one's got to push all one's disappointments and unmet desires through the pipes before one can write anything useful."

She doesn't want to be let go. People letting her go has become a theme. For once, she would like to be detained.

"Because I've had a decade or so to overthink it." I told him I hated that term, because people were constantly accusing me of it. "I think they are underthinking everything. But I don't say so because it would be rude."

I started seeing a psychologist because London wasn't the problem. Being sad is, like writing a funny food column, something I can do anywhere.

"Everything is broken and messed up and completely fine. That is what life is. It's only the ratios that change. Usually on their own. As soon as you think that's it, it's going to be like this forever, they change again." That is what life was, and how it continued for three years after that. The ratios changing on their own, broken, completely fine, a holiday, a leaking pipe, new sheets, happy birthday, a technician between nine and three, a bird flew into the window, I want to die, please, I can't breathe, I think it's a lunch thing, I love you, I can't do this anymore, both of us thinking it would be like that forever.

She said, "It certainly seems like we've lost the ability to not be on our phones, doesn't it?" And sounded wistful. "But I'm sure at the end of our lives, we will all be thinking, if only I'd consumed more content."

"That I'm not good at being a person. I seem to find it more difficult to be alive than other people."

"I know it hasn't been that long but this is what I have been able to see since then: things do happen. Terrible things. The only thing any of us get to do is decide whether they happen to us or if, at least in part, they happen for us."

You Should Just Go For It. Seriously, Nobody Cares.

But it plays all the time in my head, repeating itself like a phrase of music, the recurring line of a poem. "You are done being hopeless."

Content Warnings