This novel tells a story of an orphan, recently graduated, in possession of big inheritance, who decides to go in a self-induced coma for a year, which she calls: her year of rest and relaxation. She does this by taking a lot of sleep medications from a psychiatrist who keeps forgetting that her mother is dead and only cares about her fee. Reva, her Jewish friend, who is also envious of her, is the only person she sees, courtesy of her showing up now and then at her apartment. There’s also her ex-boyfriend Trevor, who mainly wants blowjobs from her and keeps other girlfriends ‘his age’. There isn’t much that happens here, since this book is mainly about self-imposed sleep and the effects of sleeping drugs when exploited to beyond its limits. There is her job as art gallery receptionist, after she graduates in art degree; Reva’s mother’s funeral, dying of cancer; and the last page where the 9/11 incident happens. That’s it.
Sleeping is dear to us all. I remember a quote which said, ‘the average amount of sleep a person need is five minutes more’. But as we grow older, it becomes a very troubling activity. ‘Sleeping like a child’ than becomes an envious compliment, something so unattainable in the worlds of the grown-ups. Stress holds most of us, and anxiety gets the better of us. We become insomniac. We sacrifice sleep for other pursuits, meaningless or habitual: working on a project, talking to our partners, doomscrolling on social media.
There are nights, very often as it happens, where I become passively reluctant towards falling asleep. My mind just stops me going sleep, hesitating about the time it would get me to warm my eyes and drift into the dream world. I had read about this behavior of the brain, it is something like a revenge that the brain takes on you for avoiding it all day, busy in endless activities rather than introspecting every now and then. And I do feel, unwilling to fall asleep, a sort of unresolved tension, a gnawing push toward searching the day for something that might’ve been left undone, which extends to a whole postmortem of my life, both the present and the living past.
Yet the night falls, eventually. I repeat to myself this fact: you will fall asleep, so better not fret about it. Daydreaming helps in getting you into nightdreaming. Imaging certain scenarios or turn of events always help you descend into the state of unconsciousness. The states of sleep have changed for me however. I once slept indifferent, and woke into chaos, but nowadays, it is quite the opposite. I sleep in riot; I wake quite resolved.
But when you don’t have something to wake up to, the freedom to sleep into the middle hours of the day and be rid of the perils of alarms, which when occupied with school or work seems the most desirable thing in the world, then becomes more effectless and mundane. ‘What part of your morning routine takes the longest?’ was written in a recent post; the reply was ‘Finding the will to live’. With such unbearable lightness the days welcome you then, and making it to the sunset is a repetitively torturous business. When life takes on such muted colors, and you are unable to produce a rainbow, it becomes easy to resonate with the protagonist of this novel: ghosting everyone and calling it a year.
The unyielding fact remains however, that life will be waiting for you on the other end, be it the next morning’s sun or a day a year from now, and you will have to face it again. What would such a ghosting prelude then achieve? A wintering with the resolve of getting ready to face the summer again, or just an escape from the pressing realities of life, only to find yourself amidst them at a later point? Moshfegh’s novel, while appearing comic, has an underlying vulnerability and poignancy to it.
The twenty-four-year-old in
this story might have a detached, if not much of a stoic, response to a life
that has become so empty so soon, but piercing through the dark humor we would
see how lifeless, uninteresting, and essence-less her life might be – at times
reflective of our own situations. If there was anything charming other than the
odd story itself, it was Moshfegh’s prose: light, reader-friendly, and unintrusive.
A novel you can choose to read, as you can choose not to.
Rating: 3/5 *** September 20,
2022_