From one of our boldest, most celebrated new literary voices, a novel about a young woman’s efforts to duck the ills of the world by embarking on an extended hibernation with the help of one of the worst psychiatrists in the annals of literature and the battery of medicines she prescribes Our narrator should be happy, shouldn’t she? She’s young, thin, pretty, a recent Columbia graduate, works … graduate, works an easy job at a hip art gallery, lives in an apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan paid for, like the rest of her needs, by her inheritance. But there is a dark and vacuous hole in her heart, and it isn’t just the loss of her parents, or the way her Wall Street boyfriend treats her, or her sadomasochistic relationship with her best friend, Reva. It’s the year 2000 in a city aglitter with wealth and possibility; what could be so terribly wrong?
My Year of Rest and Relaxation is a powerful answer to that question. Through the story of a year spent under the influence of a truly mad combination of drugs designed to heal our heroine from her alienation from this world, Moshfegh shows us how reasonable, even necessary, alienation can be. Both tender and blackly funny, merciless and compassionate, it is a showcase for the gifts of one of our major writers working at the height of her powers.
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Sometimes it’s a great thing to step outside your normal reading (and writing) habits. This one isn’t my usual steady diet of thrillers and crime, but it was a wonderfully entertaining and a darkly funny read. A friend recommended it to me, one of those “it’s soooo you” recommendations, and she was soooo right. Take a swing, think you’ll dig it too.
This was an interesting book to read. Wasn’t sure what to expect but was delightfully surprised by the story. It’s an interesting look on a person that just needs time off from the world even if it’s in a depressed sort of way. It makes you grateful for what you have in your life.
I can’t stop thinking about it.
This is my favorite work of fiction from the past few years. Despite the relative quiet world, the author manages to weave a story that’s impossible to put down. The characters are delightfully despicable, and the narrator’s arc is so amusing and satisfying.
What a screwed up life. I enjoyed this book because it sucks you into the narrates brain. We get to experience every emotion, confusion, and sleepless moment. Is the character feeling this way? Or am I?
Scary