My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh Review

So imagine a thin, white, blonde girl who is obsessed with herself. Then make her mentally ill, deranged, and have the resources to take drugs and do nothing inside of her New York apartment for an entire year. That was the entirety of this book.

The narrator of this novel decides she’s had enough of life. She is dealing with a lot of trauma and grief over her parents who passed, who were not very good to her to begin with, something that she touches on multiple times. Many tout this novel as relatable and while not realistic, who hasn’t had the urge to sleep away all your troubles and emerge refreshed and new? But the record scratches, because since when did mental illness excuse casual, random, unnecessary, rude commentary about others, constantly thinking about how much “better” (skinnier, richer) she is than her “best friend” (the only person insane enough to put up with her), and looking down at those not as privileged as her? I kid you not, as she’s in the throes of looking crusty, dusty, and musty during her hibernation, she still comments on how beautiful she finds herself in her reflection. She flaunts her Columbia education, being an awful person at her job, how skinny she is, and most of all, how little regard she is able to have about finances. The entire book feels like a slap to the face of anyone who is even remotely grounded in reality. 

In addition, she engages in self destructive behavior and treats everyone in her life horribly and takes up “therapy” for the sole purpose of getting prescription drugs, with no actual urge to get better or real help. It’s so hard to feel anything but disgust for her. If the ending is supposed to feel climatic or shocking, it feels more like a relief to close the covers on a truly abhorrent character with no redeeming qualities. Perhaps Moshfegh attempts to comment on such kinds of people through a satiric rendering of them though her narrator in this novel, but I suspect differently. 

I enjoyed the discussion about mental health and the exaggerated, unserious, writing and plot because obviously (hopefully) no one would ever be able to do such a thing that was depicted in the novel. But was making the narrator so uncomfortably awful and dreadful an artistic choice? I have a feeling that the narrator must be a reflection of Moshfegh because there’s no way someone can just make all that up. I've also heard that all her narrators aren’t that different from this darling one.

All I’m saying is that if you relate to this narrator in any way besides her depression, you are a menace to society.