Reviewed by Addison Ciuchta

An honest & raw look at one man’s experience with schizophrenia and mental health stigma

Karl Lorenz Willett writes with honesty and hope. More like a glimpse into his mind rather than the filtered experiences you’d expect out of a memoir, this book covers a range of topics that include his financial struggles, his relationship with his wife, and his experience tapering off his schizophrenia medication.

Willett’s writing is vulnerable, sharing his deepest thoughts and real actions even if they show him in a less-than-perfect light. Which, it seems, is the whole point of the book. In his introductory chapter, Willett says he hopes to teach readers more about the condition of schizophrenia, including the lows like the stigma from society and the side-effects of anti-psychotic medications and the highs like his family, his healing, and his successes, like publishing this very book.

Chapters come with great variety. They document his experience off medication but also reach to his views on religion and the minutiae of daily life. His strength and his positivity radiate from the page. Dealing with the administrative burden that comes with mental health issues and coming to terms with some of the other low points of his life since 2016, like a one-sided romantic infatuation, only heightens his sense of purpose—which is, he says, “to spread peace, love and happiness, to encourage people to live life to the full and help others to do the same.”

At times, the writing can get repetitive with Willett explaining why he wants to taper his medication numerous times. Chapters circle back to the idea and his progress, but this repetition also helps illustrate the way his brain works without a filter. The way he keeps reassuring himself of his dedication to taper off, to the benefits he sees in doing it and the risks involved too. He is not advocating for everyone to do what he did but instead simply documenting the hows and whys of his own decision to do so.

Many chapters or parts of chapters document Willett’s deep fear of our current moment in the world: shootings, climate change, natural disasters, the COVID-19 pandemic. But still, he has hope. He writes. “I have plenty of concerns about the planet, but there are reasons to be hopeful about the world’s fate for the first time in a long time.” Despite the struggles, the stigma, and the side effects, Willett’s deep hope in himself and in the world shines through.

This book is an interesting plunge inside an interesting brain, an opportunity to experience feelings, anxiety, and mental illness out in the open. It is a touching and hopeful memoir that will give readers a deeper understanding of how mental health affects those around us.

Thank you for reading Addison Ciuchta’s book review of A Good Life by Karl Lorenz Willett! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

Thank you for reading Addison Ciuchta’s book review of A Good Life by Karl Lorenz Willett! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Samantha Hui | Content warnings: cancer

A vital memoir about the dangers of inheriting silence

S. L. Collins’ Stopping to Feel is an intimate memoir that explores the long-casted shadow of generational trauma, the complex ways we inherit emotional habits, and the courage it takes to unlearn them. At its heart, the book is an examination of grief and deep emotional suppression.

Through lyrical prose and poignant metaphors, Collins delves into the internal fractures that result when love and pain coexist unspoken. She invites readers to reflect on how much of our identity is shaped by what we avoid, and what we can become for others when we finally allow ourselves to feel.

“I was so grateful to have a dad who could fix up the physical wounds, but I wouldn’t realize for two more decades how bad he was at acknowledging and healing emotional ones.”

The memoir centers on Sasha’s relationship with her father, Boris Romanowsky, a devoted police officer admired by his community but emotionally distant at home. As a child, Sasha sees him as a strong and dependable hero, always willing to help others. But his strength doubles as a mask, hiding deep grief and a refusal to confront his own pain and past.

When he is diagnosed with a cancer that has taken the lives of many of his own family members, he faces the disease with a mix of stoicism and denial. As his illness advances, Sasha begins to recognize how his coping mechanisms of avoidance, emotional withdrawal, and constant busyness have shaped her own ways of dealing with life. In her effort to better understand her elusive father, she also uncovers troubling truths about his childhood that shed light on his behavior. The memoir follows Sasha’s path through burnout, therapy, and ultimately, forgiveness, as she strives to break generational patterns and build a healthier emotional legacy for her own children.

“I held on for dear life and kept pedaling–Dad was right, if I just kept moving, I wouldn’t crash.”

The structure of Stopping to Feel enhances its emotional resonance. Divided into four parts—Collins’ childhood and early brushes with family loss followed by her father’s colon cancer diagnosis, his recovery, and the cancer’s return—the book traces not just events but emotional evolution. Told mostly chronologically, the narrative allows readers to witness the slow unfolding of patterns that repeat over generations.

Collins’ talent lies in her ability to reveal, over time, how she and her father mirror each other, how his need to “just keep moving” becomes her own, and how both of them crash under the weight of avoidance. As the book spans decades, we also witness the cumulative effect of anxiety, showing how small emotional habits calcify into lifelong struggles. The structure allows the reader to not only see the cycle but feel how difficult it is to break.

“I remember the stories she told me, but otherwise, my memories come to me as feelings, rather than visions. Confusion. Disgust. Disbelief. Relief. Sadness. Fear. But most of all, shame.”

One of the book’s most powerful strengths is in Collins’ poetic storytelling. A particularly unforgettable image involves her father as a child landing on a stick that breaks off inside his foot, and never telling his parents out of fear of being a burden. Decades later, she wonders whether that fragment still lived inside him as he was cremated: “Did the piece of wood ignite, finally free after all those decades of being ignored?” It’s a haunting metaphor for the buried pain that defines this memoir; wounds left unspoken don’t disappear, they fester, they shape us, and sometimes they become our legacy.

“How could I parent small children and nurture their big feelings and emotions when I could barely understand my own? How could I be a loving parent and a distressed child at the same time?”

Ultimately, Stopping to Feel is about confronting grief, facing uncomfortable truths, and daring to feel in a world and a family where avoidance means survival. It’s a memoir for anyone grappling with emotional inheritance, caregiving, or the silent toll of trauma. Readers who appreciate honest explorations of mental health, family complexity, and emotional resilience will find themselves deeply moved by this story. More than anything, the book is an invitation to pause, reflect, and feel…before it’s too late.

Thank you for reading Samantha Hui’s book review of Stopping to Feel by S.L. Collins! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Peggy Kurkowski

A soldier’s search for meaning leads him down a path toward redemption in this touching poetic memoir.

A self-described warrior poet muses on his troubled childhood, war experiences, and the struggle to keep his family and finances together in the wake of the 2008 financial crash in Downriver by Ryan McDermott.

The product of fifteen years of rumination and catharsis, McDermott’s memoir is a quest for love, family, and reconciliation with a past that still haunts him. “I learned dreams couldn’t shield me from the inequities of life,” McDermott says about his childhood in 1980s Orlando, Florida.

Growing up with a single mother, McDermott cites the absence of his biological father as the “void” he has always wrestled with, ameliorated at times by a stepfather and uncles who try to provide structure, despite their flaws. It is McDermott’s ambition to rise above the troubling legacies in his family—alcoholism, failure, and co-dependency—that push him to West Point and officer training.

Accepted into West Point in 1996, McDermott found his calling and his creative voice. “Poetry became my voice to express what I had to suppress, the part that longed for connection and struggled with loneliness,” he explains. These poems are reprinted within McDermott’s memoir alongside the moments that inspired them, illuminating the artist underneath the military uniform and camouflage. Simple, yet sophisticated in imagery, the poems serve as a bookend for both the traumatic and triumphant moments in his life.

McDermott sheds light on the difficult, yet evolving relationship with his mother, Patty, and examines the impact of not having a father in his life; one can see in his choice of the military a surrogate for what he lacked at home. “I was a momma’s boy and illegitimate son. I embarked on the West Point experience as a rite of passage into manhood.” His engaging descriptions of a “day in the life” of a cadet, as well as what infantry basic officer training and Army Ranger School taught him are great fodder for those studying leadership principles, as well as for the military enthusiast.

While McDermott marches through his life story in a staccato chronology of military training, exercises, leadership lessons, and the friends he met along the way, the beating heart of the memoir is his intense desire to find love and build his own family. As he writes, “the river of life is rarely straight,” and through a series of twists and turns, McDermott finally finds the woman of his dreams, Lucy, before 9/11 occurs and turns his carefully laid plans upside down.

The narrative turns to more technical (yet fascinating) aspects of Army training and tactical deployment in the Kuwaiti Desert in 2003. In economic prose, McDermott relates his role as platoon leader directing a “hunter-killer team” of tanks and infantry in Iraq. It is during “Objective Peach,” an assault to capture the Al-Kaed Bridge, that McDermott sees his first dead man—an Iraqi man thrown into the bridge railing, eyeless and contorted:

“My proximity to him left a permanent mark upon me, one of many ghosts I still carry from the war. To this day, I can’t cross a bridge without being reminded of those moments. The chaos of the war lingers still.”

In the closing section appropriately entitled “Collapse,” McDermott explains the decisions leading to his employment with Lehman Brothers—a curious career choice at odds with the soldierly life of self-sacrifice. McDermott’s unflinching honesty is admirable as he admits to his “selfish ambition” to become an investment banker: “the childhood fantasy of becoming Luke Skywalker was erased from my mind. I readily gave in to the temptation of the dark side.” The “golden handcuffs” of a high-paying career in finance strain his marriage and his connection to his son, Brandon, as work becomes everything. Until it all came crashing down in the financial crisis of 2008, followed by the breakup of his home and a terrifying home invasion in 2011 that left him beaten and bruised, physically and emotionally.

McDermott uses poetry throughout to color the emotions and internal contradictions during his military training for war—and during the real thing itself—and he includes dramatized scenes with a therapist he sought for help with his PTSD in 2011. These devices work well within the narrative, adding nuance and an objective third party view of his issues. There is much to reconcile in McDermott’s life—with his mother, absent father, siblings, and his wife and son. The journey continues after the last page, but readers will appreciate the raw search for healing and wholeness that McDermott fearlessly conveys through his poetry and now prose.

Downriver is a heartfelt and perceptive examination of redemption and the river-like way of its wandering to life’s next unknown bend.

Thank you for reading Peggy Kurkowski’s book review of Downriver by Ryan McDermott! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Eric Mayrhofer

Rowdy, frenetic, and a little bit filthy, Job Junky hurtles along with shocks and fun.

If there was a machine for taking a pair of books, mashing them together, and making a new, insane third thing, this is what would play out: Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas would go in first, Tom Perotta’s Bad Haircut would follow it, and Rudy Ridolfo’s Job Junky would blast out the other side—most likely riddled with bullet holes and tangled in some anonymous person’s discarded underwear. 

And to be clear: that’s a pretty good thing.

In a blisteringly fast 90 pages, Ridolfo relates “a rundown of my life while striving for a dream.” As he works his way toward making it as an actor, those reading his memoir witness the odd jobs he takes to assert his independence as a young man in the 70s, 80s, and beyond. 

Unlike a greatest hits radio station, however, his resume has no standard gigs. Many have worked as an overnight donut shop employee, but I’d wager few worked at a donut shop where their boss invited them upstairs, seduced them in an occult-themed apartment, and almost sacrificed them. I also feel pretty confident guessing that not many busboys find themselves working with a celebrity chef who whips out a 0.44, runs from the LAPD, and turns out to be a vigilante (possibly…maybe…probably).  

Job Junky has story after story like these, larger-than-life exploits that usually involve sex and often find Ridolfo harrowingly close to violence. Readers diving into his anecdotes might be worried for the author as they race through each short episode, but his danger is their blessing. Reading this book is wild.

That is thanks in large part to Ridolfo’s guiding principle. “Basically,”he says, “I’m a workforce nomad type o’ guy.” His journeyman nature, combined with his well-documented willingness to stick around just because a job is interesting, results in stories so sensational they could make a stuntman’s life feel boring. 

And it’s also because of the author’s style. His voice is raw and unfiltered. His writing feels authentic, his imagery vivid. A particularly great passage is when he describes having dinner with his beanpole of a friend, as well as his friend’s wife as she consumes an entire rump roast by herself “like an alpha wolf on a carcass always eyeing the others over her snarling nose.” 

The reading experience is so evocative that when we turn the page and read about the job where he walked in on multiple, separate sexual encounters between colleagues—and liked it (for a minute anyway)—we’re too entertained to mind the sometimes-jarring tonal shifts. They’re moving too quickly between spectacles to notice a lack of specificity that holds the narrator and some of his deeper truths at arm’s length. This distance may keep readers from achieving the true emotional connection that would make Job Junky an undisputed homerun. 

As is, Ridolfo’s book is a rush. It’s textured with all the grit and grime of the 70s’ and 80s’ most outrageous films. It’s fun and shocking. And it’s a book any reader should find a chance to make quick work of.

Thank you for reading Eric Mayrhofer’s book review of Job Junky by Rudy Ridolfo! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Andrea Marks-Joseph

A vulnerable, valuable call to question the stigma of mental illness and live a bold life of love

 Finding Order in Disorder is an intimate memoir of the life and travels of Ishaa Vinod Chopra, living with bipolar disorder and with or without her Indian family. In it, she pursues love, encounters devastating rejections, deals with her life’s difficult moments, and perseveres to follow her bold ambitions. 

Her narrative focuses largely on bipolar’s effect on her life and mindset, and it’s a comforting, connecting piece to follow her journey in finding pride in her diagnosis. But it’s also about Chopra’s struggles with detecting and surviving domestic abuse, as well as the pressures and isolation as a result of her conservative and constraints of her Indian upbringing. 

She opens the book with a hopeful message: “Whoever I may be, I fit perfectly into this chaotic universe, with its unbalanced beauty… I am forever finding order in disorder.” She shares how her many creative passions and pursuits are a balm and an outlet for emotional expression, especially when her emotions feel overwhelming. She’s also so generous with the conversations she’s shared in this book, having recorded herself discussing her opinions, desires and concerns in conversation with doctors and loved ones while in a manic state. 

Ishaa Vinod Chopra successfully and powerfully conveys her ideas that people living with mental illness need all the support they can get, from those in their daily lives and their extended families, as well as the support of genuinely kind and helpful medical staff when additional support is sought. 

Throughout her life, she wrestles with the idea of identity and home and where they intertwine. “I don’t think I can ever answer the question if someone asked me,   ‘Where are you from?’ because I have lived in so many places, and I feel like I have been running away from each place.”

A significant part of this story recounts the author’s experiences of being in romantic relationships, whether that be her desire to find a husband and her efforts to do so via online dating, or the times in her life where she looked away from the red flags of abuse because of her strong desire to be a married woman.

As someone with bipolar II, my life looks different than hers, but the distinctions between bipolar I and bipolar II aren’t mentioned. I wished they were since part of Chopra’s aim is to dispel stigma and stereotypes that affect people who have bipolar. With a lack of context and some unclear timelines, the reader could be left with a limited understanding of what bipolar really is than they could have.

Some confessions are sometimes difficult to place in terms of the author’s age, country she’s living in, or the period of her life she’s going through. We read that she was in rehab many times but don’t know her age or what happened (or what she felt) in the lead-up to hospitalization. We learn what she learned about herself during her various stays and we read about her experiences with the medical and support staff, but it’s difficult to keep track of where and when we are in these moments.

I was so moved by how Ishaa Vinod Chopra’s wonderful, concise, and clear writing conveys the echoes and effects of a mania and depression cycle. I hadn’t read my experience so clearly before, the calm at the heart of her inner chaos when she had “now become an ‘aware’ bipolar…which is to say that I am so conscious of my symptoms and illness that when they manifest, I can tell the exact size of the waves of the predicted tsunami that will swallow me.” 

I can relate to so much of where the author approaches this book from: I was diagnosed as bipolar around the same age as she was, and I’ve also made a point of not being ashamed of it, speaking openly about it with family and interested strangers. I, too, in the right context, have felt comfortable enough to casually mention my diagnosis almost immediately after meeting someone, and I have for many years of my life found routine, catharsis, and confidence through dance over many years of my life, then stopped dancing during times more difficult than I could comprehend, feeling like I lost part of myself. 

I felt the ache of the author’s struggles with her lapses in memory and the shame of people witnessing her actions when she’s less than aware of and unable to truly compose herself. (“When my mind starts to heal, I start to remember all the things that have happened.”) I also feel for her struggles with not wanting to worry her family, who understood the impact her “volatile state of mind” had on her worried family, who understood the importance of routine and sleep schedules in maintaining her mental health: “Latin dance also meant late evenings going into the   night. Late nights meant aggravation of my bipolar disorder…For this reason, whenever I wanted to pursue anything remotely related to Latin dance, my family would get very concerned.”

The author writes of a lifetime spent raised up by the heights of mania and sent crashing down by the inevitable depression and the life she was able to build despite—and because of— everything her mental illness has put her through. I felt seen and known when reading that she, too, feels that “there are many more moments now where I am grateful to have been diagnosed with such a disorder. It has brought me experiences and enriched my life in ways I could have never imagined.” 

Ishaa Vinod Chopra’s perspective is so clear and complex, so breathtakingly vulnerable and tormenting that whether you can relate to her life as an immigrant or with her heavily influential family or not, you will find connection with her words. 

Content warnings for this book include domestic violence, rehab, suicidal thoughts, and forced medication at a rehabilitation center.

The final third of this memoir is dedicated to sharing advice for those living with bipolar—when to share your diagnosis, how to approach dating with bipolar, the tremendous positive impact of a good sleep routine—which also serves as a reminder of the many facets of life that having a mental illness (and particularly one so volatile as bipolar) can impact. 

Ishaa Vinod Chopra uses brilliant examples of the moments that are out of her control, because of and also despite, the mood swings. For example, even when their moods have become regulated and stable, people with bipolar are subject to the stigma within each person they meet—be they a manager at work who has a personal history with a destructive person with bipolar or how it can be just as heartbreaking and isolating to date someone who never bothers to understand your illness than it is to not date anyone at all.

There’s a lot that author, dancer, and teacher Ishaa Vinod Chopra must both grapple with and celebrate in her life with bipolar: The way she sees her mental illness as her “ugly” side; the fierce way she longs to be loved and accepted; her invigorating passion for dance; and the negative experiences she’s had with dating (which hasn’t always been because of her bipolar diagnosis, but of course is both influenced by and has an influence on her mental health.) 

For these reasons, Finding Order In Disorder is a valuable tool and a vulnerable emotional gift to us all, offering up a story about the difficult, determined life Ishaa Vinod Chopra has lived. Anyone interested in widening their understanding of people living with mental illness, the influence of Indian culture on their women’s romantic hopes, and the emotional labor it takes to be an ambitious woman anywhere should read this memoir.

“If my illness was a person,” the author writes, “I would want to hug it and love it.” So do I, and so will you when you read Finding Order in Disorder, hopefully finding your own peace, love, and order in the disorder of modern life.

I was so struck by Ishaa’s vulnerability and her open-hearted honesty that I almost felt winded when I read this next quote, and I hope that by the time you reach it, you’ll feel the same way. This is why she wrote the book, a great example of how powerful her words are and what I love most about reading memoirs like Chopra’s. She asks us, after we have been through (what I assume to be) decades of her life, she asks the reader: “can you find it in yourself to accept someone like me in your life, in your school, in your neighbourhood? As a friend? As your daughter? As your wife?” 

After reading her life story, it would be difficult to say no, but more importantly, it would be difficult to see any of these people as defined by their illness or your first impressions of them. I believe that is exactly what the author wanted to achieve with this book, and she’s gone above and beyond doing so. 

Thank you for reading Andrea Marks-Joseph’s book review of Finding Order In Disorder by Ishaa Vinod Chopra! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Tomi Alo | Content warnings: suicidal ideation

A memoir that offers a fresh, thoughtful take on depression

 Eucatastrophe plunges readers into the depths of depression and displays the slow, uneven climb toward recovery. This memoir is a deeply introspective and surprisingly humorous meditation on the nature and impact of mental health issues, healing, and hope.

April 14, 2019, was the day Bottomly wanted to end it all, the lowest point of his life. The months leading up to that moment had been rough and exhausting. He didn’t realize the symptoms he was experiencing were signs of acute depression.

For Bottomly, the downward spiral wasn’t immediate. It crept in gradually after his career shift from English teacher to Associate Head of Academics and interim Middle Division (MD) director. Instead of fulfillment, the position brought isolation, self-doubt, and a deepening depression that pushed him to the brink of suicide.

With raw honesty and clarity, Bottomly retraces the suffocating weight of this mental illness and the slow process of healing and rediscovering happiness in life.

Depression, as Bottomly illustrates, is not a singular event but a relentless presence. He explains that it doesn’t look the same for everyone and can take many forms. At its best, “depression merely clouds happiness, making it fleeting and temporary.” At its worst, it “casts a long shadow that follows you everywhere. It feels like bats are living in your chest, and the mind becomes a black hole—a tormentor spinning endlessly through the void of intergalactic space.” There are moments when it creeps in quietly, dulling joy without notice, and other times when it crashes down like a force too heavy to bear.

Eucatastrophe tackles a serious and challenging topic with humor, honesty, and creative storytelling. Rather than leaning on clinical explanations or rigid solutions, Bottomly blends his personal experiences with insights from literature, philosophy, and psychology to create something that feels both relatable and enlightening. He highlights the alarming reality of mental illness today and just how many people are suffering from one form of mental issue. Through his experience, we get to see how easily one can get sucked into a depressive state, especially those in a high-pressure environment. 

Eucatastrophe also serves as a great self-help resource. Bottomly advises people who want to improve their lives and overcome depression to take it one step at a time. He testifies that small actions every day can lead to significant long-term change. Also shared in this book is a list of things readers should embrace, avoid, and do more of in order to improve their mental and overall health.

Bottomly imparts methods and insights he learned from his therapist during his recovery. One such method is the Corkscrew effect, a process that “illustrates progress as a process of trial and error—practice and refinement.” It’s a gradual journey of ups and downs as we discover what works and what else is needed for growth and development on our path to recovery.

Bottomly doesn’t promise an easy way out in this memoir, nor does he paint recovery as a neatly wrapped success story. Instead, he offers what many need most: a voice that understands, a story that resonates, and a reminder that even in our darkest moments, a eucatastrophe is just around the corner.

Thank you for reading Tomi Alo’s book review of Eucatastrophe by Josh Bottomly! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Elizabeth Reiser

A touching and inspirational memoir of everyday perseverance

It’s easy to think that runners are born, not made—that it’s an inherent genetic ability that propels runners forward. But Jamik Ligon says differently in Every Runner, Every Day, a moving memoirabout what running has meant to him—someone not born to run—during the highest and lowest points of his life.

“Running is the soundtrack behind every essential scene in my life over the past twenty-five years.”

While Ligon’s relationship with running is the crux of this memoir, he complements it well with the stories of his influences and experiences outside of the running life. Born in Brownsville, Brooklyn to a teen mother and an incarcerated father, Ligon was raised largely by his grandmother, a woman he discusses reverentially and at length throughout the memoir. It was with her constant encouragement that he was able to propel himself forward—whether that meant his time in the Marines, earning his Bachelor’s at Columbia, or leading his life as a husband and father. 

What he experiences off the path deeply impacts the act of running and his relationship to the activity, whether he is running in Manhattan and its surrounding areas or struggling up the hills of San Francisco. There is an ebb and flow to his success as a runner, and the correlation between that and what occurs in his life at the time tie together nicely. 

Ligon’s writing style has a stream-of-consciousness quality, which can make it challenging to follow the timeline. He often shifts back and forth depending on his thoughts rather than following a linear sequence, but once readers become accustomed to this style, it is easier and more rewarding to stay engaged with the narrative.

“I treat my current run, my last run, and my next run, like it’s my first and last step at the same time.” 

Throughout the book, Ligon offers a self-deprecating perspective of himself as a runner. Despite having completed 36 marathons and over 150 road races, he never portrays himself as superior or suggests that achieving such accomplishments requires superhuman abilities. He candidly shares the highs and lows of his life, ultimately conveying a simple truth: the only requirement to be a runner is to run. 

Ligon connects with his audience not by telling them how to run marathons but by sharing his experiences and inspiring others to find their own path. His passion for running is infectious, but it’s Ligon’s charming zest for life that makes this memoir so enjoyable.

Thank you for reading Elizabeth Reiser’s book review of Every Runner, Every Day by Jamik Ligon! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Erin Britton

Childhood damage and adult misery are somehow eclipsed by hope in this powerful memoir.

…And Then I Would Fly, Damien Thompson’s evocative memoir of a childhood shaped by dysfunction but characterized by hope, sheds light on the immense damage that mental health issues, addiction, relationship breakdown, and domestic abuse can cause to individuals, families, and society at large. However, it simultaneously reflects how such damage can be overcome by the irrepressible loyalty, compassion, and determination of youth. Above all, it is a book that will inspire, motivate, and encourage those in similar situations.

Thompson’s recollections begin in the 1980s, “in a green multi-level house in the south of Omaha, Nebraska.” He is a young child at the time, and unusually, he chooses to write his memoir in an age-appropriate tone and style: “I am little.” The early stories he tells are often deceptively wholesome, focusing on family time and the activities he and his parents engage in, particularly listening to music, writing, and making art.

Still, there is always something darker lurking in the background, something suggestive of the happy family really being anything but content and united. For instance, Thompson wakes one morning and observes, “My dad is still out cold in bed. He probably stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, watching movies. My mother is at work.” There are clear indications that his fun dad is not always so fun and that his mother is responsible for keeping the family ticking over.

As a consequence, his dad’s presence looms large over the narrative from the outset and causes considerable confusion. On the one hand, his dad has “a strong sense of caregiving in him” and is always willing to help those in trouble, perhaps after a flat   tire or having been locked out. He also has a job working with adults with intellectual disabilities. He’s certainly not, at least not in the early years, an out and out bad guy, and Thompson practically worships him: “My father embodied all things that I could fathom in a hero.”

On the other hand, his dad has a nasty streak in him. For example, on one occasion when eight-year-old Thompson is struggling during a swimming lesson, rather than offering him encouragement, his dad starts to goad him. “I hated when my dad cussed. He was going to try and humiliate me in front of the rest of the class.” It’s impossible not to feel sorry for Thompson during such incidents, but it’s equally impossible not to be impressed by how clear-sighted his interpretations and understandings of things are.

These insightful memories ensure that Thompson’s dad is portrayed as a deeply flawed and complex, albeit still somewhat relatable, character. Of course, Thompson’s mother has her own opinions on the matter and eventually seeks a divorce, but even the family breakdown is presented in a self-serving and manipulative way by Thompson’s dad: “His lip began to quiver a little bit and he looked very soft and I suddenly felt scared and sad that he was sad. He looked at me and said, ‘Daddy’s not going to live at home anymore.’”

In keeping with his immediate self-pity and lack of self-reflection, Thompson’s dad blames his soon to be ex-wife for everything, uttering comments such as “She doesn’t want to get help” and “She’s not willing to listen, Damien.” In fact, he manipulates Thompson into haranguing his mother and attempting to change her mind (“I pushed my way through the front door, my dad dragging behind, a broken man anxious to see if there was a solution here.”), even after it emerges that the parents had previously agreed to tell Thompson about the divorce together.   

Fortunately, his mother sticks to her guns. “She wasn’t without a voice, but many times she went along to get along. In this particular instance, I saw her blood begin to boil.” She must have been a stronger character than she appears in Thompson’s early memories and it would have been good to know more about her and understand her character better. As it is, even post-divorce and with the benefit of decades of hindsight, she is subsumed under the bombastic character of her former husband.

All the upheaval results in Thompson taking on responsibilities and worries far beyond his young age. “She didn’t seem to want to talk details with me. My dad seemed driven to.” His dad continues to manipulate, but he also breaks into the old family home, reads his ex-wife’s diary, steals small items, and engages in other petty nonsense. And things somehow become even worse after his dad shacks up with the eighteen-year-old Dolores, a relationship almost immediately marked by anger and violence.

“Dolores got pregnant near the end of my twelfth year on the planet. I was devastated. The crazy bitch had done it. She had divided and conquered.” The emotional confusion of the young Thompson is immediate and visceral. From this point on, as he continues with his (inherited) spiral toward self-destruction during his teenage years and young adulthood, he does so while keeping an eye on his little sister Lily. For a while, she seems to be the one bright point in his troubled life, even if the sibling relationship is not an easy one.

…And Then I Would Fly spans Thompson’s life from the early 1980s to around 2020, from childhood to adulthood, from confusion and anger to understanding and some degree of acceptance. His life doesn’t exactly get easier, it certainly doesn’t become any smoother, and he doesn’t manage to avoid all the vices that have seemingly plagued his family for some generations; however, he manages to retain his hope and his belief that there might be better things around the corner.

Thompson’s memoir is an often difficult and sometimes heartbreaking read, but it also manages to be life-affirming. As his experience shows, even in the darkest times, the sun will still rise and there is always the possibility of reconciliation and forgiveness. Thompson’s life so far has been a difficult one, although it has also been a fulfilling one, and hopefully there are brighter days in store. On that basis, his honest reflections will inspire those with similarly difficult family lives.

“Our family was this way. They wanted sleeping dogs to lie. It was easier not to speak about uncomfortable subjects, so they wouldn’t.”

Thank you for reading Erin Britton’s book review of …And Then I Would Fly by Damien Thompson! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Addison Ciuchta

A funny, sensory-filled essay collection about one woman’s experiences growing up with sensory issues

Chomp, Press, Pull is a humorous romp of an essay collection centered on growing up in the 1980s and 90s with sensory dysregulation. Even if it was a time that didn’t necessarily recognize or accommodate sensory issues, Elaina Battista-Parsons still experienced them. 

This memoir in essays reveals a surplus of everyday sensory moments, from Elaina’s childhood to adulthood. It humorously chronicles the times when dysregulation played a part in both positive and negative ways, like discussions of her father’s car freshener, her first love, and her tendency to bite anything and everything as a child.

Battista-Parsons succeeds in what she sets out to do: make readers laugh. Chomp, Press, Pull is direct, honest, but also full of sensory details that make even the smallest thing come alive with touch and sound and smell. You can feel the rim of the Tupperware she gnawed on as a kid, hear the soft chalk on a clean chalkboard, feel the sweat of the single car garage as she choreographed dances to a boombox. It’s like Battista-Parsons’ hyperawareness of her senses bleeds over into the essay collection and comes out the other side.

“Those dreary not-quite-spring Saturdays or Sundays with my dad and the stinky green tree on the rearview were some of my favorite days.”

Battista-Parsons is quick to point out that, while she’s struggled with sensory dysregulation her whole life, she’s not an expert. This is not an essay collection for solving the issue. It’s an entertaining documentation of her experiences, one that I think many others can find solace and recognition in. While not everyone has persistent sensory issues, we’ve all experienced at least one time in our lives when the smell of someone’s perfume created a headache or we felt calm as someone combed our hair. Senses are all around us, and this collection is a reminder to pay more attention to them while educating others on the ways in which some people might experience senses more extremely than others. The author does an excellent job of pointing out that sensory issues are not always a bad thing, too. It has enhanced her life, too, feeding into her creativity and art. 

“The air hung thick with April’s vinegar tears, ushering me and someone I’ve apparently blocked from my ten-year-old moment in time, toward the playground.”

Chomp, Pull, Press is an easy-going, sensory-rich collection about the way the senses can be too much to cope with for all of us, let alone those with sensory dysregulation.

Thank you for reading Addison Ciuchta’s book review of Chomp Press Pull by Elaina Battista-Parsons! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Samantha Hui

An inspiring memoir about how change and personal progress are ours for the taking as long as we have the courage to reach out a hand

“I learned that real peace isn’t about avoiding turmoil but finding serenity within it, in the power of self-compassion and the beauty of embracing life’s imperfections.”

The perfectionist’s internal world is a whirlwind of anxious questions and lingering regrets: Why didn’t I think of this sooner? Why is this so hard? Why am I always so worried? Why am I like this?  These thoughts are a constant presence in the overthinker’s mind, yet they don’t truly belong to her. Molly Booker’s Magic in the Mess is a powerful coming of age memoir (no matter the age) about learning to let go of the version of ourselves we think others will love and about finding self-acceptance, flaws and all.

“Through it all, I became skilled at listening to pain, holding space, and offering hope, love, and a listening ear. While I considered it to be my calling and my gift, when it was one-sided, it became energetically draining.”

After two failed marriages and the emotional labor of being a pastor, Molly begins to question the image of perfection she’s clung to for so long. As senior pastor of the United Methodist Church of Eagle Valley, she has poured herself into her community, believing that her devotion would prove her worth and make her deserving of love. But in balancing the demands of her church duties (i.e. leading services, hosting gatherings, offering support) and her desire for connection, Molly struggles to maintain boundaries, especially when she grows closer to a member of her congregation: local celebrity chef Kelly Liken.

“The messiness of life, the complexities that might daunt others, became the canvas for our shared art.”

As her relationship with Kelly deepens into something possibly more than friendship, everything Molly thought she knew about her desires, her faith, and her identity is thrown into question. Magic In the Mess challenges Molly to confront her values, her past, and her future, in a moving story that reveals how true change happens when we stop holding on to who we think we should be and start embracing who we are. 

“I became a proficient tightrope walker, balancing on the thin line between the person I was expected to be and the person I was.”

What sets this memoir apart is Booker’s unflinching honesty and self-awareness. Her perfectionism, which has both fueled and frustrated her, is something many readers will connect with. She bravely reflects on the times she took herself too seriously or sabotaged her own happiness because she couldn’t let go of her idealized self. We can’t help but feel for her. If only she had trusted her instincts sooner!

“I constantly felt like a gender failure, and somehow, what I liked always felt wrong—like I was taking happiness away from others.”

The memoir offers a vivid view into Molly’s inner turmoil, even if it does occasionally become overwhelming due to the focus on her anxious thoughts. The emotionally charged text exchanges between Molly and Kelly are among the most impactful in revealing the depth of their relationship, while the author’s choice to emphasize her anxiety and perfectionism offers a genuine portrayal of someone deeply trapped in the cycle of self-doubt. On occasion, I did wish for a bit more showing than telling.

“Before, I had experienced love as getting. Now, it felt more like being.”

Magic In the Mess is a story about love, not as something to be earned or solved, but as something freely given, starting with the love we owe ourselves. This deeply introspective and inspiring memoir encourages readers to reflect on their own desires and question whether they’ve been chasing the right ones all along.

Thank you for reading Samantha Hui’s book review of Magic In the Mess by Molly Booker! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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