Nonfiction

 

Reviewed by Will Sute

A novel titled Nonfiction is destined for a lot of things; presumptions, skepticism, and a hard time to find on Google. Despite these difficulties, the end result of Nonfiction by Julie Myerson is one all writers envy. Though not a happy book, there are brief shining moments of genuine joy and happiness. But Nonfiction was never meant to be a happy book. After all, addiction is never happy for anyone other than the user, a theme this novel delves into.

Immediately upon the novel’s opening I was uncomfortable. Before I even opened it, I was uncomfortable. But that’s the point. What filled me with angst in the first pages was deliberate. This entire novel was deliberate. That’s what makes it so eerie and quite frankly, disturbing. The way the writer, the protagonist of the story and an author who struggles with identity, describes the relief and freedom of her child being away threw me off as soon as I read it. But as I read on, I understood. Her child was a burden. But aren’t all children? That’s another question this novel tackles yet never fully answers.

Along with the struggles of her child’s addiction, there are several other threads throughout the novel that intertwine simultaneously, weaving into the past and the future, and intriguingly, never using proper nouns and never using quotations. Yet despite the lack of names and quotations, as you move further along into the book, you learn their personalities, their struggles, their mannerisms. You can tell who is talking purely by the way they speak despite only being called “he” and “her.” But one specific pronoun easily provides the most profound impact: “you.” This novel functions as a letter directly addressed to her daughter. This personal connection, directly addressing a character in the novel immediately elevates the stakes and the intentionality in an already high stakes and intentional novel. But back to the other threads within the novel. One, of course is the relationship with her daughter. But the other one that directly impact this is the relationship between the writer and her own mother. You learn early on that the writer’s relationship is very strenuous on her. Her mother, as the writer’s husband says, is “evil.” She torments the writer, mocking her and emotionally manipulating her in a way so effective, that only a mother would be capable of it. Toxic texts and vocal voicemails, all show this devilishness. We ourselves see the effects of this torment, directly in the way the writer interacts with her daughter and her situation throughout the entire novel.

Another thread within the novel is an old flame that the writer used to be intimate with. They randomly find each other after many years and cannot help but have a connection. This plot seemed different and off from the rest of the novel. It made me feel grimy and dirty, but perhaps that was the aim of this specific part of the book.

Before the last thread, there are several subtle pieces of contrast within the novel that make it so real, but real from another point of view than your own. For example, there is the contrast of a newborn baby and the smell of cigarettes. One is of innocence, and another is of restrained pain. Once they mingle, and the smell of cigarettes reaches the baby, she is tainted. Another contrast is that of substance addiction and relational addiction. The daughter shows the substance addiction, and the old flame shows the relational addiction, destroying his own life in relentless pursuit of the writer. “Which one is worse?” the novel silently asks. “Both,” is the only proper answer.

And the thread is the issue of the author and her own identity. Though she counsels others on how to write novels, she herself doesn’t understand fully how to write on her own. This irony is one that compels immensely, calling into question the entire novel. Yet there is something genuine, vulnerable, and real about the novel despite its questions. Something “raw” as the novel itself describes. It is undoubtedly admirable, and it compels the reader throughout the novel and even after, in a way that only a novel titled Nonfiction could. Nonfiction or not, this novel is real, a point that it thrives and abounds upon.