Completed January 2023
SORROW AND BLISS
This novel is very clever. I didn't realise it at first, but that's 100% on me, because my skepticism was revealed to be wholly unnecessary.
That's because its magic is hidden in the layering. Not a criticism at all, but at first it was hard to get behind our narrator, Martha, as she didn't really offer much up. Tepid anecdotes didn't give us much reason to care. But then when she began to open up – to trust us – it felt like a far bigger deal than if she'd thrown her cards on the table on page one. And suddenly all the background made sense.
Both the hardest parts to read and not entirely coincidentally my favourites were these moments when Martha totally opened up. The suffocating hopelessness she experienced stabbed straight into my chest and stayed there. It was so brutal, raw – a more honest portrayal I've never read. I challenge anyone to read this book and not be reminded of their darkest moments. Surely, we've all been there. I'm just grateful that for me this memory is a distant one (although not so distant that this book couldn't take me right back).
And yet, at the same time, the writing was so beautiful. That these two facts coexist felt like a contradiction. This was the heart of the book: the duality of pain and love, of beauty and suffering, of – you guessed it – sorrow and bliss. I loved that the strength of her agony was never diminished, or cast aside. The 'happy ending' came instead from her own persistence to understand herself, and finally to accept the support from those around her. Patrick's unconditional love was the driving force of this novel for me, and a testament to the futility of fighting your battles alone.
This back and forth emerged in other ways too – notably in Martha's relationship to her status as a woman, and her lack of status as a mother. That she is lying to herself throughout the story is immediately clear, but the source of her struggle is not... until we begin to understand her complex view of herself, past and future. It's a story we will all recognise – a woman looking at her life, seeing failure, and attributing it solely to herself. Her actions, her decisions, her inner value as a person. All her responsibility. And that weight on her shoulders drags on her constantly throughout her life, supporting her belief that she should continue to deny herself the thing she wants most.
It reminded me of the struggles of women throughout history: ignored if they were lucky, cast into insane asylums if they weren't. It's unsurprising we carry their legacy, as before Martha is finally listened to she is dismissed again and again. Just tired, just sad. Just bad at being a person. It's depressing, sure, but this glimpse into her mind was vindicating too.
If there's anything I'd criticise about Sorrow and Bliss it would have to be the ends left untied. Mason spends enough time investing in the peripheral cast of the novel, it would have been so satisfying to see their return. Watching her cautious rebuilding of her relationship with her mother was vindicating and felt essential to her growth and I wished some of the other characters had a chance to witness this too.
For a book that ventured so deep into the dark, it is remarkably optimistic. And maybe that's what made it so powerful – Martha's stubborn defiance, again and again. Until she finally believed what everyone else saw in her all along.
“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.”