I was worried at work this afternoon. I was on my break, reading a chapter of Jenny Lawson’s Broken (in the best possible way) on my phone, and I can only imagine what it would have looked like had someone walked by. They’d probably have thought I was having a seizure, since I was quietly trying to control the loud snorts I wanted to make, grabbing tissues to catch the tears coming from eyes. And had Lawson herself been there, she’d been high-fiving me. (Or maybe, she’d try to but miss and accidentally slap me, but that would only make us laugh harder. She’s that kind of awkward, and I am completely all in for it!)
That is how funny this book is—it will make you look like you’re having a seizure because you’re laughing so hard. Lawson will tell you stories about attic vampires and vaginal lasers and that time leprechauns were in her house, and you will laugh so hard that you will stop caring how you look to others.
And you will need those moments, because not all the chapters are like that. Some of the chapters are about Lawson’s fighting to stay sane despite depression and anxiety, fighting to stay healthy despite a host of autoimmune disorders, fighting with her insurance company to get some relief from all of that and to have them cover the cost or even just part of the cost. When she’s not achingly hilarious, she’s frustrated and angry, having to deal with a health insurance system that fights against her almost as much as her own body does.
Anyone dealing with chronic physical or mental illness will understand her struggles—trying to get a diagnosis, trying to get the right treatment, sometimes just trying to be heard. There is a chapter called An Open Letter to My Health Insurance Company that I think should be a downloadable file with certain phrases left open, so that others can fill it in like a personal health-related Mad Lib and print it out and send it to for-profit health insurance companies, Congresspersons, pharmaceutical companies, and anyone else who might be in a position to help patients get access to the treatments that their doctors are recommending. (She actually did send it to her insurance company, and it convinced them finally to let her try a different treatment for her depression, and that worked wonders for her).
And that’s how it is in Broken. Lawson takes you into her confidence about her health issues, and then she shares stories of social awkwardness that spread throughout the internet so thoroughly that you can actually pull a muscle laughing because the time you accidentally said, “Thanks, love you,” to the cashier at the drugstore is just a starting point for the long list of awkward encounters that people are willing to share.
And that’s what hope feels like. It’s struggling and then embarrassing yourself and then laughing until you cry. It’s fighting with your significant other and thinking about breaking up with them and then realizing just how much time and energy it would take just to finish the paperwork, much less do the actual moving of things, and realizing that you’re too lazy to break up and so you stay together until you get back to that point where you love each other and can’t live without the other. It’s just life. It’s good and then it’s difficult and then you laugh or you cry or maybe both and then it all goes back to good again. Because that’s not just what hope feels like. It’s also what love feels like, and it’s what life feels like.
Do I really need to say how much I loved this book? Lawson’s honesty and genuinely unique perspective on life combine in crazy ways to create stories that make you snort laugh, cringe, shake your head, nod in agreement, and consider befriending an owl and naming it Owly McBeal, because isn’t that adorable? Even if maybe she does drop a squirrel onto your head.
I feel like I’ve gotten off-topic. I think this book is ideal for anyone who is struggling with mental illness, chronic illness, depression, frustration, loneliness, buttworms, cellulite, or vampires using emails to try to sell you immortality. It would also make a perfect gift for anyone on the list above or for your best friend, so you can laugh together at all the funny parts.
Broken (in the best possible way) is a celebration of what us makes us unique, funny, interesting, sad, angry, and human. It’s a judgment-free zone filled with friendship and fellowship for anyone who knows what it is to struggle. In short: it’s for humans. It’s for us all. I just hope that you are broken enough to enjoy this book as much as I did.
Egalleys for Broken (in the best possible way) were provided by Henry Holt & Company through NetGalley, with many thanks.
