So Sad Today
personal essays
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4.7 • 6 Ratings
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- $16.99
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- $16.99
Publisher Description
So sad today? Many are. Melissa Broder is too. How and why did she get to be so sad? And should she stay sad?
She asks herself these questions over and over here, turning them into a darkly mesmerising and strangely uplifting reading experience through coruscating honesty and a total lack of self-deceit.
Sexually confused, a recovering addict, suffering from an eating disorder and marked by one very strange sex fetish: Broder's life is full of extremes. But from her days working for a Tantric nonprofit in San Francisco to caring for a severely ill husband, there's no subject that Broder is afraid to write about, and no shortage of readers who can relate. When she started an anonymous Twitter feed @sosadtoday to express her darkest feelings, her unflinching frankness and twisted humour soon gained a huge cult following.
In its treatment of anxiety, depression, illness, and instability; by its fearless exploration of the author's romantic relationships (romantic is an expanded term in her hands); and with its inventive imagery and deadpan humour, So Sad Today is radical. It is an unapologetic, unblinkingly intimate book that splays out a soul and a prose of unusual beauty.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
In this delightful collection of 18 essays, Broder embarks on an earnest, sophisticated inquiry into the roots and expressions of her own sadness. Already known as a poet (Last Sext) and author of the @SoSadToday Twitter account, here she joins a new generation of essayists whose voices have been shaped by the conventions of digital communication. Quoting generously from chat logs and sexts, Broder's deeply confessional writing brings disarming humor and self-scrutiny to secrets that include embarrassing sexual fantasies and her habit of eating a "whole pint of diet ice cream with six packets of Equal poured into it." The essays span an impressive range of topics: abortion and the decision not to have children, substance abuse and sobriety, experiments with antidepressants, and monogamy with a chronically ill partner. They can occasionally border on the self-indulgent, but even during these rare lapses, Broder's central insight is clear: it is okay to be sad, and our problems can't be reduced to a single diagnosis. All of the essays are linked together by the art of learning to love oneself, sadness and all.
