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brittbat 's review for:
My Year of Rest and Relaxation
by Ottessa Moshfegh
When My Year of Rest and Relaxation was published last year, I was skeptical. How interesting could a book about sleeping possibly be? So I put it off. But I came across it browsing at the library recently, and decided for whatever reason to read it.
My expectations were low, but I read nearly half of the book in one sitting, and after finishing the novel and listening to an interview with Moshfegh, I'm coming to view her as an astute and courageous voice. She writes about irredeemable women, who are my favorite characters about which to read, for reasons I haven't articulated to my own satisfaction yet. Perhaps it's because in society, women are expected to function with grace, approachability, and selflessness, and it's refreshing to experience characters who can't and won't be bothered. (And I certainly don't mean that in a radical self-care, woman-empowerment sort of way. I don't want these women to be role models or capitalist-feminism poster children. I just want them to be fucked-up and fun for me to read about.)
The narrator of My Year of Rest and Relaxation is a privileged WASP who retreats into a prescription-induced hibernation following the death of her parents. The plot emerges in memories of her life before her sleep, and, as the book progresses, in the increasingly frequent interruptions to her slumber in the form of visits from her friend, Reva (whom she relentlessly emotionally abuses, but who is also somewhat insufferable) and in the sleepwalking episodes that are a side effect of the fictional drug Infermiterol, which she takes as part of a mind-boggling cocktail of substances she finagles from her quack psychiatrist Dr. Tuttle.
What can I say about this divisive book? I just really like it. It is bleak, and funny, with moments of high absurdity and cruelty, and a conceit that works surprisingly well. It is not bland and it does not seek to comfort the reader. It provides no moment of ultimate meaning or clarity. I find it refreshing, and I'm eager to read Moshfegh's first novel, Eileen, which I went back to the library specifically to check out.
My expectations were low, but I read nearly half of the book in one sitting, and after finishing the novel and listening to an interview with Moshfegh, I'm coming to view her as an astute and courageous voice. She writes about irredeemable women, who are my favorite characters about which to read, for reasons I haven't articulated to my own satisfaction yet. Perhaps it's because in society, women are expected to function with grace, approachability, and selflessness, and it's refreshing to experience characters who can't and won't be bothered. (And I certainly don't mean that in a radical self-care, woman-empowerment sort of way. I don't want these women to be role models or capitalist-feminism poster children. I just want them to be fucked-up and fun for me to read about.)
The narrator of My Year of Rest and Relaxation is a privileged WASP who retreats into a prescription-induced hibernation following the death of her parents. The plot emerges in memories of her life before her sleep, and, as the book progresses, in the increasingly frequent interruptions to her slumber in the form of visits from her friend, Reva (whom she relentlessly emotionally abuses, but who is also somewhat insufferable) and in the sleepwalking episodes that are a side effect of the fictional drug Infermiterol, which she takes as part of a mind-boggling cocktail of substances she finagles from her quack psychiatrist Dr. Tuttle.
What can I say about this divisive book? I just really like it. It is bleak, and funny, with moments of high absurdity and cruelty, and a conceit that works surprisingly well. It is not bland and it does not seek to comfort the reader. It provides no moment of ultimate meaning or clarity. I find it refreshing, and I'm eager to read Moshfegh's first novel, Eileen, which I went back to the library specifically to check out.