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marginalgloss · 5 years

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r&R

My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh has had fine reviews everywhere I’ve looked. I found it hard to fault. It’s funny, bleak, and strangely elusive. It is in some ways an uncomplicated realist novel, but in its dedication to cold, calculated bouts of absurdity, it slips away from straightforward analysis. It has the feeling of an extended joke — like a very long episode of a sitcom based around a very dark idea, which only briefly permits the reader to glimpse into the depth in between bouts of audience laughter.

At the start of the story it is 2000, and our narrator is about to settle down for a year of heavy rest. She is quite clear about her intentions. She wants to spend the best part of her days asleep (often for about fifteen or sixteen hours) because that is where she is most comfortable. This is not a suicide attempt: initially it seems more like a gentle parody of current rhetoric around the rituals of ‘self-care’.

She will still eat, sleep, and perform the usual human ablutions; the rest of her waking hours will be dedicated to watching movies on her VCR. In this, she will be aided by her eccentric therapist, who is only too happy to provide her with a vast array of antidepressants in between bouts of quackery. Money is not a problem either — the book is keen to explain that the narrator lives in a central New York apartment without a concern for rent, and her parents have left her a substantial inheritance to pay the bills. (Her parents are, incidentally, both dead.)

It was, I suppose, the right time for me to be reading this kind of thing. I don’t find this time of year especially easy for a variety of reasons; a few weeks ago I came down with a minor eye complaint, and the treatment for that has my vision partly blurred by dilating steroid drops. Not being often ill, this has left me feeling out of sorts, like a perpetual convalescent stuck between getting better and getting worse. There is a strange tension between wanting to be an idle person and knowing I am not really capable of it. When my alarm goes off in the mornings for work I propel myself out of bed whether I want to go or not. The motivator is less dedication than it is anxiety; fear of lateness, failure, and various kinds of redundancy. And when I’m not at work, my chosen pastimes are ideal for the kind of person who wants to pretend they are switching off when in fact they are simply shifting their brain into a different gearing for a different kind of work. All this is to say that the idea of a year of R&R, aided by a serious arsenal of chemical downers, starts to seem pretty appealing at this time of year.

For many pages, it’s unclear why the narrator is actually doing this. A reader might associate staying in bed all day and stunning oneself with a vast array of drugs with words like: depression, failure, anxiety, grief — at one end illness, at the other end melancholy. But the narrator is very careful and deliberate in the way she expresses herself. ‘Depression’ doesn’t really come into it: there is nothing so banal, so obvious, as a declaration of feeling bad. Perhaps the feeling of badness has ceased to be overwhelming and it is now only whelming. It is the thing in which she is submerged, and it is so very much all around her that she has ceased to think of it as worth talking about. Instead she would rather go to sleep.

Things, however, don’t go entirely to plan. Despite her best efforts she is rarely alone: her best friend Reva has a habit of appearing at unexpected moments, with a considerable amount of emotional baggage in tow. And the cocktail of drugs she is taking leaves her with gaps in her memory. Sometimes she finds evidence of having gone out and come home while believing herself to be ‘asleep’; she stumbles on IM chat logs on her computer that she doesn’t recall having; she finds bags of expensive clothing piled up in her apartment, all bought while she was unconscious. A different book might have used this as the prompt for a mystery story about what the narrator’s other self gets up to when her real self is asleep, but here, much of this is allowed to be inconsequential.

Again, this feels like a very deliberate contradiction to similar stories about a ‘shut-in’ personality. While reading this I thought often of Money by Martin Amis, which was another novel chiefly concerned with scenes of shocking excess; that book used the same conceit of missing memories, which became the trigger for a descent into Hitchcock-esque paranoia. There’s also The Enormous Space, a short story by J. G. Ballard where the main character chooses to lock himself inside his suburban home as a sort of life experiment; boredom and desperation drive his thoughts relentlessly inward until the dimensions of his surroundings appear to change out of all rational proportion, and a kind of madness takes hold.

Moshfegh’s novel does none of this: the narrator’s drug-induced nocturnal excursions are simply permitted to occur. They are not permitted to be mysterious. This is a book which is not at all surprised by the idea that many of us (perhaps all of us) have lives which exist in the dark side of our waking lives; it would not be right to call them unconscious thoughts, since they become all too real in the execution; they happen, and ought to be seen as another side to ourselves, and not like the sinister shadow to our ego.

A few words about the setting. It is the early 00s; the internet is there, but is of peripheral importance. DVDs are starting to become a thing, but the fact that the narrator actively spurns them in favour of VHS tapes seems important. There’s something about the act of going and getting the tapes that is a thing for her: it is one of the few active motivations she has for leaving her apartment. But those tapes also dealt with time in a different way to DVDs. Each one was like a complete wedge of duration unto itself; you could fast-forward and rewind, but it was clumsy and difficult; they were designed to be consumed from start to finish, in one sitting. DVDs contained multitudes of scenes, angles, options; tapes were somehow so much more one thing.

There’s something worth saying about the kinds of movies the narrator spends her hours watching. These are very much ‘movies’, not ‘films’. Their names must be familiar even if you’ve never seen them. They come from a certain stable of middlebrow, middle-of-the-road, late 80s and early 90s repertoire; today you might see them today in the early afternoon or late at night, on a TV channel in a foreign hotel. They’re chosen not because they are great, but because they are fine. They have a passable quality. Broadly, they’re anaesthetic, and antiseptic: they only allow as much feeling is as required, and for their duration they suppress unhappiness as long as the attention is held. Whoopi Goldberg is the particular object of the narrator’s affections, for complicated reasons which seem to have something to do with her inimitable charisma. Whoopi is so utterly unmistakeable, never less than absolutely herself; always involved in the world around her, always a pleasure to be around. She is the complete opposite to the narrator.

The book’s treatment of movies made me think of the film Brigsby Bear, which the main character is imprisoned by his family in a bunker entirely isolated from the rest of society, with his only experience of popular culture being a TV show filmed, directed and voiced by his father. In the same way, this novel paints a picture of a person who is the prisoner in part of a certain kind of entertainment. But that film ended with the protagonist making the entertainment his own, and in doing so finding his place in a larger community. My Year of Rest and Relaxation offers nothing so consoling. The narrator of Moshfegh’s novel actually does something similar — she offers herself up to an artist, and allows him to enter her apartment while she sleeps to make herself into a kind of art project. It’s a bizarrely specific kind of gesture: a conscious surrendering of one’s own unconscious. It’s uncomfortable: consensual, but with limited understanding of the outcome. Does anything come of it? It’s unclear. It feels more like an inversion of the idea that creativity can be a route out of depression: what if, instead, I had someone do the creating for me, while I slept? What would that feel like?

The expectation with a book like this is for the whole thing to move towards a conclusion where the narrator comes to understand the error of her ways. She will dump the drugs, lose the crackpot shrink, and perhaps come to achieve a degree of what some people call ‘closure’. None of this is what happens here. The most we can say is that over time she realises some things about her relationship with her parents, and she comes to regard the people around her with a little less active contempt (especially Reva). Is she a better, more capable human being? Possibly not. But it would be hard to argue that there wasn’t some benefit in all that time spent out of mind.

#books #ottessa moshfegh #my year of rest and relaxation

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friendlyneighborhoodwhateve-blog · 7 years

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The Alphabet of Love // Rafael Casal

Here I am, this was not the first thing in writing queue but it just begged to be written.

I blame Ren ( @alexanderhamllton ) for turning me into Rafa trash and thank Charley ( @always-blame-jefferson ) for listening to my ideas.

My other stuff is here!

Requests are always open!

Word Count:3743, I’m not even sorry.

The Alphabet of Love

A is for Airport.

That’s where you first met.

You being a writer and he being a singer, there weren’t many ways you could meet but on that fateful afternoon your paths met quite forcefully when someone bumped on you on the busy airport, spilling your hot coffee all over your shirt.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry.” You looked up to see a blonde-ish man profusely apologizing.

“It’s no problem.”

“Here, take this at least.” He said, taking a shirt from his carry-on bag.

“You don’t want to spend your flight with a wet, transparent shirt.”

Looking down, you could see that you light blue shirt had become slightly see through due to the spilled drink.

“Thank you.”

The meeting was short lived as your flight was announced over the intercom system, making you smile at the man one more time before leaving.

His shirt smelled of cologne and books.

B is for Brooklyn.

That’s where you worked.

For now at least.

As a writer, you moved around a lot due to your job and since your new novel was set in Brooklyn, you had moved there to research. One, surprisingly sunny, autumn day you were walking through the streets, trying to find inspiration to write again when you caught sight of a familiar blonde head getting into a cab.

No way.

Brooklyn was also a place Rafael liked to visit once in a while; it had this feeling of home he couldn’t explain. Bored, he decided to visit Daveed at the Richard Rogers. As he got into the cab, he turned to look out of the window and saw a familiar face.

Coffee girl.

I'm

As much as he wanted to talk to you again, the cab sped down the road before either of you could say a word.

C is for Chance.

That’s what brought (Y/N) and Rafael together once again; It seemed fate was hell bent on bringing them together.

Daveed, Rafa and some other people who had arrived early for the day’s show were lounging in Daveed’s dressing room when a frantic Lin walked past the open door.

“He must’ve forgotten that someone was visiting today.” Remarked Pippa.

A few minutes later they all gathered backstage on Lin’s request, apparently someone important was visiting, Rafa stuck to the back of the small crowd.Who could it be?

No fucking way, (Y/N) thought when she looked towards the back of the room and saw him again.

“Everyone this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), the bestselling writer and my college friend.” Lin said giddiness evident in his voice. ”She is researching for a new book and watching the show too, so just go on about your stuff as usual.”

While she remained talking to Lin, a rapid conversation that was a mixture of English and Spanish, Rafa pulled Daveed aside.

“Coffee girl is (Y/N).”

“Dude, you spilled coffee on her? Really?”

“Yes, he did. And he also owes me a new cup of coffee.” You said, cutting into their conversation. “By the way Daveed, I’m a huge fan.”

The three talked and walked around the theater until it was time for Daveed get ready; then it was just the two of you. Looking closely Rafa could recognize the shirt you were wearing; it was the same one he gave to you a week ago.

“About that cup of coffee, I know this really good place on Brooklyn if you still want it.” You smiled when he said that, it was weird the way the connection you felt to him after knowing the man for less than a day.

“Friday afternoon?”

“It’s a date.”

D is for Date.

That’s what they went on that Friday.

(Y/N) were beyond nervous, you hadn't had a date in a while, after your career had picked up three years ago, the dating scene was the last thing in your mind. It had been too long since you had felt the thrill that came when you got ready for a date, the flutter in your heart that accompanied looking at someone you liked.

Rafael was jittery waiting for you outside of the coffee shop. After the disastrous end his last relationship had, dating wasn't something he wanted to get back to so soon but then you showed up and stood beside Lin, all wide eyed and smiling, talking to everyone and he swore it was sign from above.

Down the street he could see you coming, wearing a bright orange dress and his heart skipped a beat.

"Hey there." Your smile was so bright it could stop a war, at least on Rafael's mind.

"Hello." He replied.

The afternoon flew by, the couple sat in the table, talking until the coffee closed and they were forced to go their separate ways.

E is for Eager.

Rafael couldn’t wait to see her again; you had left him with your phone number and the promise to see him again.

Currently he was sat on Daveed's couch, staring at his phone like a love sick teenager.

"Just call her already man." Said Anthony, the man had decided to join them for the afternoon and had been nagging him about (Y/N).

From Rafa

To (Y/N)

Hey, what are you doing?

From (Y/N)

To Rafa

Nothing.

From Rafa

To (Y/N)

Coffee?

From (Y/N)

To Rafa

I'll meet you there.

F is for Finnish.

"You speak Finnish?"

"And seven more languages, but yes, Finnish is one of them."

The couple laid on the couch, bodies entwined, talking. Somehow the conversation had drifted to (Y/N)'s books and how she translated them to all the languages she knew when they were done, just so she could see them with other eyes.

Rafa knew he was falling when his heart stopped upon seeing your eyes light up while you talked about all the other languages you wanted to learn, he loved the way your passion for languages and learning seeped into your voice and made your speech speed up, the tiny dimple in you left cheek and the dash of freckles across the bridge of your nose.

He loved you.

G is for Glad.

No one had seen either of them so happy before.

Wherever you went, people watched. It was rather uncommon to see two people so happy, so obviously in love with each other.

Every once in a while you visited the Richard Rodgers theater again, for research obviously, that meant that so did Rafa visit. Truth was you had taken an unexpected liking to not only the people but the place as well, the atmosphere had trapped you and refused to let go. What was supposed to be one stand-alone book had quickly turned into a trilogy, you sat in Daveed's dressing room once again, Rafa by your side, discussing how the first book was going to end, your boyfriend had insisted in co-writing the books with you.

"Look at them." Said Chris from the doorway. "They're so happy, it's beautiful."

Lin was standing beside Chris looking at his friends; he had never seen you so happy before. Since you didn't have any close family, he decided to pull a "big brother" move and held Rafa's arm as he went to follow you out of the room.

"If you hurt her, I'll end you." The seriousness in his voice surprised Rafael.

"I won't."

H is for Hospital.

That wasn’t the call (Y/N) had been expecting.

Since your boyfriend was away on business, he was calling you more often than the usual (he usually called you at least three times a day), so when your phone rang your mind automatically went to Rafa but an unknown number was showing up on the caller ID.

“Is this (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” A male voice spoke from the other end.

“Yes. Who am I talking to?”

“This is Justin Vega, I am a nurse from the New York community Hospital and you’re listed as one of Rafael Casal’s emergency contacts, he has been in an accident…”

The rest of his words fell on deaf ears as your phone clattered to the ground. This must be some sick sort of joke from the universe; it wouldn’t dare taking away the man you loved. You were vaguely aware of Lin and Daveed entering your apartment and taking you to meet Rafa.

I is for I love you.

Rafa could hear commotion outside of the curtains they had placed around his bed, he wished to get up and see what was happening but his pounding head and broken leg made everything more difficult. In a flurry, curtains opened to reveal a frazzled looking (Y/N), the haze in his mind cleared just a little bit upon seeing her face.

“I love you.” Were the first words to leave her mouth.

“I love you too.”

J is for Jell-O

The other day he still had to stay in the hospital for observation due to the risk of a concussion and of course you had stayed by his side. Now you regretted the decision a little as you were faced with hospital food, one of the things you hated the most; the bright red gelatin practically stared at you from the tray and you began playing with it.

“What are you doing with the food?” Rafa was glad for anything that was an excuse to distract him from the awful food.

“The gelatin is bouncy. Look!” to illustrate the point, you hit the red thing your spoon. This turned out to be a bad idea because the cup bounced too much, hit you tray, throwing it to the ground. In a valiant effort to save your food, Rafa ended up dropping his tray too.

“I’ll go get us some food.” You said, happy for the fact you didn’t have to eat the hospital food anymore.

“I love you (Y/N).”

“I know.”

K is for Kiss.

You wished he didn’t have to leave again.

After the accident, Rafa had managed to get a few weeks off of work to recuperate but now life was calling again and he had to go back to his house in LA. He spent so much time with you in Brooklyn that you nearly forgot his place of residence was all the way across the country.

“I will call you every day.”

Your eyes were watery, and so were his.

“I love you (Y/N)”

“I love you Rafa.”

You kissed him one last time before he disappeared into the departure gates.

L is for Long-distance.

Skype calls were not being enough, despite spending at least one hour every night talking to him, his absence was taking its toll on you. Your visits to the theater weren’t as animated as before and your smile was less bright.

On the night of your one year anniversary, your Skype call had a little more tears than the usual. The conversation went just like every day but you longed to see his face again.

“I miss you Rafa.”

“I know love, I miss you too.”

The sound of his voice was enough for a fresh wave of tears begin.

M is for Music.

“Hear me out, a music festival in Georgia.”

That week you were supposed to meet Rafa somewhere but his schedule was tight and so was yours. Your new book was finished, your editor had loved the collaboration you did with Rafa and it was on the first stages of development, which meant a lot of meetings so Rafael had proposed that you meet halfway this weekend to do something you both loved.

Once your eyes met in the crowded airport, it was like in the movies. You dropped the bag you were holding, running to his arms.

How you had missed him, your life with him was like one song, the moments you were together being the most perfect chords.

N is for Napping.

More often than not, Daveed would find the couple asleep. time or place didn’t matter, if given more than five minutes and relative quietness, they both be asleep. It was endearing to see them laying on the couch, laptops forgotten, bodies tangled.

Every cast member, company members as well, had at least three different pictures of them, in varied occasions, asleep.

O is for Oxygen.

(Y/N) was the air he breathed.

How had he managed to live without you for so long was one of his most recurring thoughts.

Every time he looked at you, saw your smile, your eyes, the way you danced when you thought he wasn’t looking, every time you did basically anything he felt like a piece of his heart broke of and attached itself to you.

It became increasingly difficult to tell you goodbye, too know it would be days, maybe even weeks, before you saw each other again.

P is for Proposal.

A few days later, Rafael made a big decision.

“Move in with me.” He said over the video chat.

“What? Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. If you got your mail today, which I’m sure you did, there is a black box within your apartment right now.” You should have known that he had something to do with the strange package you had received that morning. “Now open it.”

Inside the box there were two things: a small silver key and plane tickets.

“Oh my, yes! Of course!”

One week later he drove her to their home.

Q is for Question.

You were an unusually early riser on weekends, they were your free days and you liked to enjoy them to their fullest, so you put on some quiet music and began making breakfast for the two of you, when Classic by Mkto began playing, you quietly began to sing and dance along with it.

The smell of pancakes woke Rafael up. You were dancing around in the kitchen, wearing one of his shirts, he had never been more in love with you. His feet carried him to the bedroom and back in a few seconds.

"Hey there." You could feel his arms wrap around your waist from behind so you turned off the stove and turned to face him.

"Marry me." The words were mumbled so quietly against your lips that you nearly didn't catch them.

"Okay."

"I'm being serious here (Y/N)."

"So am I."

R is for Real.

"There you go." Said Vanessa placing the final bobby pin on your hair.

A few months later you stood in a wedding dress, fidgeting nervously as Vanessa, your maid of honor, fixed your hair. You could hear Lin enter the room and stop in his tracks.

"Mi hermana, estás tan linda."

Lin was taking her down the aisle on what was the best day of her life, he and Vanessa had become her family when she didn't have one so to have them with her today only added to the amazing day, Daveed was Rafael's best man and he was elated for his friends, with time he began to see (Y/N) as his sister too.

As you swayed to the sweet sound of Ed Sheeran's Tenerife Sea, your eyes met Rafa's and the rest of the world disappeared. It was surreal the way you both were feeling.

If there was a way to freeze one moment of your life to live in it forever, this was the one you'd pick. This was real, this was you life.

S is for Someday.

"How many kids do you want?"

"Someday I'd love to have three at least."

You and Rafael were laying down on the grass in Central Park, watching the clouds and just talking about life. It was one of the rare moments your mind was completely relaxed, nothing about the whirlwind that your life had become due to the fact that your new book series was turning into a tv series could even bother you right now.

You made plans for your future because you knew that you had all the time in the world.

T is for Thor.

It was a day like any other, you were finishing your morning run through one of the many parks in LA when suddenly your legs flew out from under you, when you recovered from the fall you could see a beautiful dog sniffing away at your legs. As if a light bulb had gone off in your head, you scooped up the little guy in your arms and began walking with renewed energy.

"Love, I'm home!"

The unusual quietness in the apartment threw Rafa off, then you exited the laundry room with a nervous face and alarms began blaring in his mind.

"So you want the good news or the bad news first?"

"Bad news first." He braced himself for impact.

"Well, the bad news are, actually it's just one bad news, our son made the biggest mess in the bathroom."

"Our son?"

The question was answered in the form of a puppy excitedly running out of the laundry room and on to his legs.

"I've named him Thor."

U is for Universe.

"So? What's the result?" Came Vanessa's voice over the phone.

"It's positive. I'm going to be a mother."

That conversation had happened a week ago, your period had been mysteriously missing and you knew what it could mean, so you dialed Vanessa's phone to wait for the results with you. Now as you got ready for your date night, you thought of a way to tell him about your pregnancy. Tonight's date was rather simple, a picnic and stargazing. Your dress did little to hide the already showing small baby bump.

The basket filled to the brim with food was soon empty, Rafa stared at (Y/N).

"Why are you looking at me like that? I'm eating for two, you know?"

The cat was definitely out of the bag now.

"Two?"

V is for Valerie.

Your baby was growing healthily, a considerable bump now on display. Last week you had found out that you and Rafa would be proud parents to a baby girl.

You had made the trip down to New York to see Lin's final bow as Hamilton and catch up with the friends you had made. Currently you, Luz, Vanessa, Pippa, Jazzy and Reneé were sat in a table on the same coffee shop where your first date with Rafa had been, brainstorming names for your daughter.

"... I suggest Valerie."

Something clicked when you heard the name and you quickly sent your husband a text.

From (Y/N)

To Rafa

Valerie.

From Rafa

To (Y/N)

Perfect.

W is for Won’t.

A very bad thing has happened.

You scream into the night, waking Rafa up. Your abdomen feels like it is on fire, and you scream even more upon the sight of your bloody sheets, moments later your body decides to shut down instead of dealing with so much pain.

Lin didn't expect to wake up in the middle of the night with a call from a very frantic Rafa, the first few minutes of the call were spent trying to calm he down; then Lin called Daveed and Luz so they could go to the hospital as well. He sped to the hospital with Vanessa by his side.

You were as pale as the sheets around you, so many things attached to your body. It made Rafa's heart clench knowing that he'd have to tell you what happened to your daughter, he prepared himself once again when he felt you stir.

Your mind eases into consciousness again, the first thing your eyes saw were Rafa's hands, holding yours tightly.

"You're up." He said, the sheer happiness in his face was enough to calm you down just a bit.

"What happened?"

"The doctors said that you had a spontaneous abortion, they couldn't save Val."

No, no, how could this have happened? You had taken all of the necessary precautions for your pregnancy, only visiting the set once a week, resting enough, eating the right foods. How?

His eyes filled with tears and so did yours, your baby was dead. You cried for a long time, clinging on to him.

"Hey, look at me love. Remember when we got married, what did I tell you?"

"Us against the world."

Those words reassured you that no matter what happened, together you'd go through everything.

X is for multiplication.

Rafa made it his job to multiply the joys in your life.

The first few weeks after that were extremely difficult but he was by your side every step of the way.

When you didn't feel like doing anything the entire day, he'd call everyone to postpone your agenda (and his agenda as well), just so you could spend the day in bed, watching Friends again.

When you felt like crying, he'd hold you and cry with you.

He took you to your favorite places, bought your favorite foods, did everything he could to make you happy again.

Everyone around the both of you did what they could to help. Lin called everyday, he talked to you both for at least an hour, with his tight schedule you knew how much his time meant. Daveed gifted you with tickets to your favorite Broadway show, Pippa baked you the tastiest banana bread you had ever eaten.

And little by little, life moved on, like it always does.

Y is for Year.

It was winter again.

You were taking a walk in the park with Thor, he wasn't as active as he used to be. The past year had been an emotional roller coaster but you had made it out alive and well in the end.

You were living in London now, working in Mary Poppins with Lin while Rafael taught a course in Oxford. The city was what you needed to move on, soon enough you were happy again. On Fridays, Lin, Vanessa, Rafa and you went to nights out in the city.

Slowly, you allowed yourself to dream again.

Z is for Zeitgeist, the movie.

After many years, you had finally convinced Rafa to watch it.

Everything was set, the popcorn was ready, Netflix was loaded and Noah was blissfully asleep in his bedroom. After many years, you hadn't managed to leave London, it had grown in you and became your home. Your books were still best sellers and Rafa was successful in anything he tried to do.

Sure, there were fights, there were scream and tears but it was love.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

#rafael casal #rafael casal imagine #Rafael Casal reader #rpf #daveed diggs #lin manuel x reader #lin manuel miranda

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