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emilyburdick's Reviews (389)
Bluets Made Me Blue
I am disappointed to say that I generally did not enjoy Bluets by Maggie Nelson. Much of this book was filled with philosophical insight that went right over my head and not much of it had any particular effect on me. Nelson’s prose was written to portray her depression following the loss of her love and she utilizes the color blue as a means to symbolize it. Blue is a medium that allows Nelson to reflect on love, loss, pain and depression. She equips her book with copious quotes from other writers, musicians, artists, etc. about the color blue, as well as personal anecdotes.
The overall theme of this book is loss, with perhaps a side of acceptance and recovery. Starting with Nelson’s lost love, it is obvious that is what prompted the writing of Bluets. She describes the book as her “way of making my life feel “in progress” rather than a sleeve of ash falling off a lit cigarette.” (Nelson, 5). She describes the prince of blue, although she does not tell much about him aside from how amazing their sex was (constantly); even going so far to describe it as one of “the two sweetest sensations on this earth” (Nelson, 87) (along with, you guessed it, her love for the color blue). Nelson is struggling with coming to terms with and healing from her loss. Nelson also delves into her friend’s loss of her mobility, her being paraplegic. Nelson helped take care of her friend and feels the upmost guilt when it causes her physical pain. Eventually, her friend becomes able to write letters via voice recognition and updates her friends on her constantly changing conditions. In the end of each letter she essentially writes a paragraph that informs her loved ones that although she is “getting better” she still can’t escape the physical pain and grief that comes with the reality of having a spinal cord injury. I found this enlightening in a way that Nelson’s friend has come to terms with her situation and perhaps has reached an acceptance about it, however, she remains realistic that, to be as blunt as possible, it really really sucks.
My least favorite part of this book was the constant philosophical theorizing of the color blue. As stated previously, most of it went right over my head and I failed to understand the connection between most of it with Nelson’s personal anecdotes. These constant quotations and excerpts from other artists or philosophers who mention or explore the color blue seem to merely be a tool to show how well-read and knowledgeable Nelson is. Reading most of these long paragraphs about other artists fascination or experiences that revolve around the color blue, made me just that, blue (and a little tired). That is not to say I did not enjoy some of them; some were quite informative. Most notably how Horace Benedict de Saussure invented the “cyanometer”, a tool that would be used to try measuring the blue of the sky. This was generally fascinating as I had no prior knowledge of it and I can at least say I learned one thing from this book.
A commendable aspect of Bluets is the imagery that floods it. Nelson does have a way with her words; they are poetic. On page 33 she describes a night she spent in a Brooklyn emergency room, with many specifics, down to the crying woman who looked strung out on the other side of the room. The reader gets a clear picture of Nelson in this moment of her life when she was told by a doctor that she was underestimating her own pain. Prior to this moment, Nelson describes a time where she essentially tried to break-up with the color blue. She paints the picture of how she literally painted her whole apartment an awful “death warmed over” yellow; she even bought a yellow notebook. In the end she realizes a pure hatred for yellow and moves out of her apartment.
Irony is also present throughout Nelson’s story. On page 50, she describes the prince of blue showing her the jacaranda trees and how he described them as blue. She accounts her despair when she goes back to see them alone and admits that she “saw them as purple.” (Nelson, 51). Nelson’s lack of ability to see the flowers on the trees as blue, creates an irony that she fails to see something she loves (blue, her old love) as being negative. Lastly, I will return to page 33, where Nelson describes her delight at discovering a book titled The Deepest Blue and then her discontent with the subtitle How Women Face and Overcome Depression. “Eight months later, I order the book online.” This is ironic because she was clearly expecting something different from this book and later it turned out to be something she felt she needed.
Overall, this book wasn’t awful, I just think it wasn’t for me. This is not the type of book I would seek out on my own accord; however, I did enjoy the beauty and lyricism of some of Nelson’s shorter entries, a few of which I will list below to end my review.
“75. Mostly I have felt myself becoming a servant of sadness. I am still looking for the beauty in that.” (Nelson, 29)
“89. As if we could scrape the color off the iris and still see.” (Nelson, 34)
“130. We cannot read the darkness. We cannot read it. It is a form of madness, albeit a common one, that we try.” (Nelson, 51)
I am disappointed to say that I generally did not enjoy Bluets by Maggie Nelson. Much of this book was filled with philosophical insight that went right over my head and not much of it had any particular effect on me. Nelson’s prose was written to portray her depression following the loss of her love and she utilizes the color blue as a means to symbolize it. Blue is a medium that allows Nelson to reflect on love, loss, pain and depression. She equips her book with copious quotes from other writers, musicians, artists, etc. about the color blue, as well as personal anecdotes.
The overall theme of this book is loss, with perhaps a side of acceptance and recovery. Starting with Nelson’s lost love, it is obvious that is what prompted the writing of Bluets. She describes the book as her “way of making my life feel “in progress” rather than a sleeve of ash falling off a lit cigarette.” (Nelson, 5). She describes the prince of blue, although she does not tell much about him aside from how amazing their sex was (constantly); even going so far to describe it as one of “the two sweetest sensations on this earth” (Nelson, 87) (along with, you guessed it, her love for the color blue). Nelson is struggling with coming to terms with and healing from her loss. Nelson also delves into her friend’s loss of her mobility, her being paraplegic. Nelson helped take care of her friend and feels the upmost guilt when it causes her physical pain. Eventually, her friend becomes able to write letters via voice recognition and updates her friends on her constantly changing conditions. In the end of each letter she essentially writes a paragraph that informs her loved ones that although she is “getting better” she still can’t escape the physical pain and grief that comes with the reality of having a spinal cord injury. I found this enlightening in a way that Nelson’s friend has come to terms with her situation and perhaps has reached an acceptance about it, however, she remains realistic that, to be as blunt as possible, it really really sucks.
My least favorite part of this book was the constant philosophical theorizing of the color blue. As stated previously, most of it went right over my head and I failed to understand the connection between most of it with Nelson’s personal anecdotes. These constant quotations and excerpts from other artists or philosophers who mention or explore the color blue seem to merely be a tool to show how well-read and knowledgeable Nelson is. Reading most of these long paragraphs about other artists fascination or experiences that revolve around the color blue, made me just that, blue (and a little tired). That is not to say I did not enjoy some of them; some were quite informative. Most notably how Horace Benedict de Saussure invented the “cyanometer”, a tool that would be used to try measuring the blue of the sky. This was generally fascinating as I had no prior knowledge of it and I can at least say I learned one thing from this book.
A commendable aspect of Bluets is the imagery that floods it. Nelson does have a way with her words; they are poetic. On page 33 she describes a night she spent in a Brooklyn emergency room, with many specifics, down to the crying woman who looked strung out on the other side of the room. The reader gets a clear picture of Nelson in this moment of her life when she was told by a doctor that she was underestimating her own pain. Prior to this moment, Nelson describes a time where she essentially tried to break-up with the color blue. She paints the picture of how she literally painted her whole apartment an awful “death warmed over” yellow; she even bought a yellow notebook. In the end she realizes a pure hatred for yellow and moves out of her apartment.
Irony is also present throughout Nelson’s story. On page 50, she describes the prince of blue showing her the jacaranda trees and how he described them as blue. She accounts her despair when she goes back to see them alone and admits that she “saw them as purple.” (Nelson, 51). Nelson’s lack of ability to see the flowers on the trees as blue, creates an irony that she fails to see something she loves (blue, her old love) as being negative. Lastly, I will return to page 33, where Nelson describes her delight at discovering a book titled The Deepest Blue and then her discontent with the subtitle How Women Face and Overcome Depression. “Eight months later, I order the book online.” This is ironic because she was clearly expecting something different from this book and later it turned out to be something she felt she needed.
Overall, this book wasn’t awful, I just think it wasn’t for me. This is not the type of book I would seek out on my own accord; however, I did enjoy the beauty and lyricism of some of Nelson’s shorter entries, a few of which I will list below to end my review.
“75. Mostly I have felt myself becoming a servant of sadness. I am still looking for the beauty in that.” (Nelson, 29)
“89. As if we could scrape the color off the iris and still see.” (Nelson, 34)
“130. We cannot read the darkness. We cannot read it. It is a form of madness, albeit a common one, that we try.” (Nelson, 51)
