Possibly one of the weirdest books I've ever read. The novel's unnamed narrator tries to cure her depression by mostly sleeping for a year with the aid of psychotropic drugs prescribed by an absurdly bad psychiatrist. How her doctor manages to get a license is beyond me. The doctor's parts are rather funny in a bizarre kind of way.

The main character has a love/hate relationship with her only friend Reva, whom she enjoys looking down on, and an on/off relationship with her older boyfriend Trevor, whom she basically allows to walk all over her. Despite the myriad of drugs she recklessly puts into her body and the lack of nourishment and physical activity, she keeps going on about how beautiful she still is, while simultaneously treating Reva with condescension for being preoccupied with wanting to be pretty and thin.

The saving grace of this book, that which stopped me from giving it a 1-star rating, is the parts about the narrator's unloving parents. Here lies the crux of the story, the raw core and source of her misery. It managed to make me feel a bit sorry for her, but her off-putting personality and behavior throughout the novel work against her favor. The anticlimactic ending and the unnecessarily tacked-on final chapter don't help either.

No doubt this book is a tough sell. Well what's it about? It's about a young woman, living in NYC in 2000, and she's depressed, so she takes a lot of drugs and sleeps a lot. Then what happens? She takes more drugs and sleeps even more. Then? Well, she takes more drugs, but has trouble sleeping. Okay, let's jump past all the drugs and sleeping, what happens after all that? She wakes up, I guess. That's it? Well, there's also this whole obsession with Whoopi Goldberg. That's pretty interesting.

So my love of Whoopi began with Star Trek: The Next Generation. For those who do not know, she played Guinan, the ship's bartender.

Despite her secondary role, Guinan was my favorite character from that series. So already I was impressed with My Year of Rest and Relaxation for the unnamed narrator's fascination with Goldberg. But when I found out her obsession began with Guinan—oh, Ottessa, you have captured my heart. I digress...

And I still haven't sold you on this book, have I?

Okay, Moshfegh has a way of making a simple story semi-interesting. No, My Year... is certainly not riveting, but the beauty of the language and the inner workings of the narrator's mind are engaging. Perhaps this novel reached a point about two-thirds of the way through when it began to feel like the idea had run its course, but that final third wasn't a drag by any means. Part of why this book succeeds is, I think, because Moshfegh is in no way heavy-handed with the connections she makes to an apathetic people, a dying art scene, and a wake-up call. The few characters who revolve around our narrator's world are unlikable and played for humor, which worked, but didn't allow me to grow close to any of them. This leaves only the narrator who is over-privileged and despicable in her own ways, but at least she understands a love of Guinan. (Sometimes all you need is Whoopi.)

It's not easy to convince anyone to read a book about a woman who sleeps. And that's okay, because many readers probably won't love My Year of Rest and Relaxation. At times, it's slow, dry, and depressing. I think with all things Moshfegh writes, it either subtly grows on you, or it doesn't.

There are those who think a catnap in the afternoon is an extravagant indulgence, and then there is Otessa Moshfegh’s narrator in her newest novel, My Year of Rest and Relaxation.  In this book, the first-person account is voiced by an unnamed woman who decides that she will spend a whole year sleeping as much as possible.  Young, orphaned, wealthy and spoiled, she states that her plan to hibernate is meant to “drown out any thoughts and judgements, since the constant barrage makes it hard not to hate everyone and everything.” Mosfegh’s character believes that her endeavor will result in a metamorphosis, an epiphany that will ultimately illuminate her higher purpose. She enlists the help of a psychiatrist (whose medical ethics are on the far side of malpractice) to prescribe her as many medications as possible to induce a state of nearly constant unconsciousness.  As she experiments with an implausible quantity of drugs, she often wakes to discover that she has spent the time wandering in a fugue state. Her bouts of sleep are only interrupted by her trips for food, prescription refills, looping VCR tapes and unwelcome intrusions by her only friend, Reva.  Reva is a friend from her college days-insecure, but loyal and loving-and therefore pitiful and worthy of the narrator’s disdain.  The book focuses more on character development and themes of millennial ennui, entitlement and mindless consumerism than on driving action.  Moshfegh has proven again that she is a remarkable writer with a talent for delicately portraying characters with few redeemable qualities.  As the novel progresses, however, the reader might find compassion for this damaged woman despite her self-centeredness and arrogance.  Truly unique and finely crafted, My Year of Rest and Relaxation is as difficult to categorize as it is to put down.

Books I "have" to read by December 31st, even though literally nothing will happen to me if I don't. It is completely arbitrary and motivated solely by my OCD.

(Part I Here)

(Part II Here)

Books I "have" to read by December 31st, OR ELSE.