“She wanted to have a purpose, something to give her a reason to exist. It’s a story of a woman who’s had her final straw - a whole bunch of final straws, really - and when gripped by the oppressive darkness of depression decides to commit suicide. The premise was interesting, and the beginning actually had me captivated. And so I was not too happy with the turn the story took. It’s just me - I guess I don’t have the right personality to appreciate them. I find most of them cheesy and corny and really awkward and often so painfully earnest that I just can’t take them seriously. When really success isn’t something you measure, and life isn’t a race you can win.”Īnd I’m just not big on self-help or motivational books. And we have all these metrics that we try and reach. Because too often our view of success is about some external bullshit idea of achievement – an Olympic medal, the ideal husband, a good salary. “And … and the thing is … the thing is … what we consider to be the most successful route for us to take, actually isn’t.
Some of these platitudes would also feel right at home in the Hallmark holiday special movie: “As she switched to freestyle she realised it wasn’t her fault that her parents had never been able to love her the way parents were meant to: without condition.” Forget the readers figuring it out for themselves - no, the moral and the take-home points will be (didactically) in your face, loud and clear, even if it’s awkward and clunky and stops narration in its tracks. “She realised that she hadn’t tried to end her life because she was miserable, but because she had managed to convince herself that there was no way out of her misery.”Īnd these messages have the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Or embroidered on a pillow - pick your poison.
I liked this book until it suddenly decided to moonlight as a self-help manual, replete with messages that would look great and profound on an Instagram post next to a well-posed cup of coffee with those foam pictures on top.
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