Synopsis
Ottessa Moshfegh’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation follows a young, isolated, and unmoored Manhattanite in the early 2000s. Reeling after the untimely loss of her parents, a fruitless art career, and the end of a romance with a lowlife fetishist, her disillusionment is palpable. Even toward her only friend, Reva, she is emotionally closed off. In an attempt at renewal, she embarks on a year-long hibernation. Fueled by an ever-expanding supply of prescription drugs, she only ventures from sleep intermittently, either for coffee from the corner bodega or to appointments with her overzealous psychiatrist. Between bouts of sedation, details about her past resurface, revealing the basis for her disjointed attachments to others and the chaotic state of her interior life.
Review
I was craving something literary fiction and this delivered. Moshfegh explores very pertinent women’s issues, for example beauty as a commodity, the desire for male validation, and the enduring stigma of their emotions as “hysteria.” What stood out to me the most was the construction of the unnamed narrator. You can’t help but dislike her—she’s a pathological liar, impossible to depend on and bitter to everyone she encounters. Yet Moshfegh balances this effect through comic relief and absurdist realism. Essentially, the speaker’s alienating tone is offset by her sharpness and wit. Despite her pessimism, the narration is so visceral, relatable, and honest. This story surprised me in the way it deviates from classic narrative structures. It’s certainly dark, but it’s also beautifully written and such a raw evocation of the human experience that Moshfegh had me hanging on to her every word.