Notes from a Sickbed

I’m sorry that I feel negative about this book. I understand that it reflects a very difficult time in the author’s life, and strategies she came up with to deal with it, but it so effectively communicated to me the feelings of misery that I felt dragged down by reading it. I did not find the artwork appealing, in spite of all the interesting little details- the faces of the people always looked unpleasant and pinched to me, whereas the faces on little figurines (she collected knick-knacks) were cheerful in a way that felt fake or creepy. Even the cats look disgruntled. (Art style reminded me of that in Fetch).

It’s about the years that the author struggled through living with an undiagnosed chronic illness that kept her mostly bedridden. Any small activity- even getting up to make tea- would make her feel exhausted again in a devastating way. So she spent hours and hours lying in bed or on the couch listening to people her age in the apartment upstairs come and go, talking loudly about all the things they were going out to do (or had just come back from) which must have been maddening to listen to. She daydreamed about haunting them as a ghost. She drew pictures, added to her collection of little things, ruminated on designing the perfect house for a bedridden person. That part was whimsical and intriguing, but also kind of lost me, because I just could not relate well. It meandered so much, and left so much unanswered (her diagnosis doesn’t come until a period after what’s chronicled in the book) that I had trouble staying focused.

There seem to be a lot of adult graphic novel memoirs out there- at least shelved at my public library- that are about dealing with illness, or grief, or stories of war, and I’m starting to look for something more cheerful. I think I might just not be in the right mood to appreciate this one right now. It isn’t speaking to me. (Or it is, very much too clearly, which makes me feel glum and depressed so I want to look away).

Borrowed from the public library.