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A review by peripetia
Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason
5.0
I have not made up my mind about writing a review immediately after finishing a book. On one hand, all my thoughts, opinions, and feelings are still fresh in my mind. On the other hand, I have not had time to really reflect on the book. On the third hand (?? alarming??), I'm still kind of crying. Make of that what you will.
For the most part during this book, I was settled at a solid 4 stars. This wasn't unlike anything I've read before. In fact, it's like all of the books about the topic. At least if they're good.
I have mixed feelings about the prose. I don't think it was anything spectacular, and I have - again - mixed feelings about the way the dialogue was written.
My biggest problem was that the book is described, even on the cover, as "jaw-droppingly funny" and whatnot, so I was expecting funny. I did not think it was funny, and that's not a criticism. I suspect that some of the people who describe this as funny read some of the parts that I read as being completely true as being funny. The only time I laughed was when I was crying at the same time, so. Make of that what you will.
Overall... I don't know. Maybe this is why I should take some time before writing a review. Not my new favorite book, and not necessarily even a great book, but it did punch me in my proverbial soul and my metaphorical face.
What I related to most, I think, were the depictions of the tragedy and joy of the banality of life. The things that affect the protagonist - and me - so much, things that shouldn't. Or so she feels. So I feel. How a cashier smiling absent-mindedly at a dog will make me so happy and somehow wistful at the same time. How someone left behind to tie their shoelaces while their partner walks on, completely aware of the situation, makes me so sad. How being in a room, writing a book review still half-crying, with a beer warming up fast because the radiator's turned on too high, with my husband on the sofa playing Fortnite with his nephews, the lights being too dim as he always complains, and loving all of it for one precious moment, because it's all so irrelevant and perfect and pointless and over and gone forever soon, and I'm not exactly happy but I am existing, finally. That's what the book feels like.
Make of that what you will.
For the most part during this book, I was settled at a solid 4 stars. This wasn't unlike anything I've read before. In fact, it's like all of the books about the topic. At least if they're good.
I have mixed feelings about the prose. I don't think it was anything spectacular, and I have - again - mixed feelings about the way the dialogue was written.
My biggest problem was that the book is described, even on the cover, as "jaw-droppingly funny" and whatnot, so I was expecting funny. I did not think it was funny, and that's not a criticism. I suspect that some of the people who describe this as funny read some of the parts that I read as being completely true as being funny. The only time I laughed was when I was crying at the same time, so. Make of that what you will.
Overall... I don't know. Maybe this is why I should take some time before writing a review. Not my new favorite book, and not necessarily even a great book, but it did punch me in my proverbial soul and my metaphorical face.
What I related to most, I think, were the depictions of the tragedy and joy of the banality of life. The things that affect the protagonist - and me - so much, things that shouldn't. Or so she feels. So I feel. How a cashier smiling absent-mindedly at a dog will make me so happy and somehow wistful at the same time. How someone left behind to tie their shoelaces while their partner walks on, completely aware of the situation, makes me so sad. How being in a room, writing a book review still half-crying, with a beer warming up fast because the radiator's turned on too high, with my husband on the sofa playing Fortnite with his nephews, the lights being too dim as he always complains, and loving all of it for one precious moment, because it's all so irrelevant and perfect and pointless and over and gone forever soon, and I'm not exactly happy but I am existing, finally. That's what the book feels like.
Make of that what you will.