My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh

The ladies on the Books Unbound podcast love My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Mosfegh. I've gotten some really solid recs from them, including The Ghost in the House and Albatross, so even though the brief description I'd heard didn't really sell me, I went ahead and put a hold on in at the library and then proceeded to keep delaying the loan until I didn't have any other ebooks available. 

Our main character is depressed after the loss of her parents and a tough breakup. So she attempts to sleep as much as possible for a full year, through a combination of drugs and endless viewings of Whoopi Goldberg movies. Her best friend Reva stops by occasionally, but she doesn't really have a lot of contact with the outside world outside of her occasional visits.

Here's the deal. While I appreciated that this book did a great job of discussing how great sleep is, I personally don't need a deep dive into depression. As someone who lives with depression and anxiety this book just made me (wait for it) depressed and anxious. Why is she lying to her doctor? Why is she mixing alcohol with prescriptions? Why doesn't she have a job? Why is she so mean to her best friend? Why can't I sleep as much as she does? 

It might be the right book for you, but it wasn't right for me. 2.5/5 stars

Lines of note:

OH, SLEEP. Nothing else could ever bring me such pleasure, such freedom, the power to feel and move and think and imagine, safe from the miseries of my waking consciousness. I was not a narcoleptic—I never fell asleep when I didn’t want to. I was more of a somniac. A somnophile. I’d always loved sleeping. It was one thing my mother and I had enjoyed doing together when I was a child. (location 597)

This describes me and my life perfectly. My mom used to work nights when I was growing up and I remember a lot of naps with my mom in the afternoon. Because there's nothing better than sleep.

Sleep felt productive. Something was getting sorted out. I knew in my heart—this was, perhaps, the only thing my heart knew back then—that when I’d slept enough, I’d be okay. (location 655)

Sleep is my cure-all? Back hurts? Let's go to sleep and it'll feel better in the morning. Headache? Sleep it off. If I could just get enough sleep, I'd be just fine. 

A mauve-colored cat sat on the second-floor railing like an owl. 
“Fussing with animals in dreams can have primitive and violent consequences,” Dr. Tuttle had said to me once, petting her fat, snoring tabby. 
I felt like pushing the cat down the stairwell when I reached the landing. The look in its eye was so smug. (location 2677)

This line made me laugh so hard. Why do cats look so smug? It's like the call of the void when I see Zelda perched somewhere and it looks like she's judging me. I sort of want to knock her off in the same way I sort of want to drive my car over a bridge, which is to say not really, but you think about every time, don't you?

Hat mentions (why hats?):

Beer bellies and skinny legs, zip-up hoodies, navy blue peacoats or army green parkas, New Balance sneakers, knit hats, canvas tote bags, small hands, hairy knuckles, maybe a deer head tattooed across a flabby bicep. (location 453)

Those I did see looked like lumbering monsters, human shapes deformed by puffy coats and hoods, mittens and hats, snow boots. (location 1073)

... I put on a denim jacket, pulled a pilly knit hat on, stuck my feet into my slippers, my debit card into my pocket, and went down to the Egyptians to get my coffees, shivering violently along the salted path in the dirty snow. (location 1287)

... sat down to watch Whoopi—in a cornflower blue velour tunic and an upside-down cone-shaped hat like a futuristic bishop—have a heart-to-heart talk with Marina Sirtis. (location 2143)

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Has anyone ever read any Ottessa Moshfegh?