Reviewed by Jessica Landry
There is a moment that happens from time to time when you read fiction – it’s that moment when you realize the words in front of you are not entirely a fantasy created by the author, and the sheltered world you believed yourself to be submerged in is not too far off from an undeniable, cold reality.
You’re then faced with a moral dilemma. Do you accept that it’s based on a terrible truth? Or do you attempt to enjoy what’s been put in front of you and take it as a work of fiction? But with that in mind, can you genuinely find joy in reading about someone’s lifelong battle with addiction?
Colleen Kerrigan wakes up late on a Monday morning, hung over from the party of one she had the previous night. She makes her way into her kitchen only to discover that the bottle of vodka she believed to be half full only a day ago now sits with not even an inch left. “She didn’t drink that much yesterday, surely. She must be losing her mind.” No, she’s not going to drink today.
Colleen’s battle with addiction and loneliness takes us back and forth throughout her life, concentrating mainly on an apparition of a father; a mother that could have cared less but is now in dire need; an off-again, on-again relationship as stable as a bear in roller skates one size too small; and the loss of her job. But these moments in her life, as disheartening as they come, are all excuses she uses to justify her problem, an attempt to shade how lonely and sad she truly is, with no one to call her friend except for the bottle. Everything leading up to this moment in time comes crashing down around Colleen, creating the perfect storm. She’s forced to reflect on the unfortunate events of her life while hitting her own personal rock bottom. Only then can she take an honest look at her existence and undergo the steps necessary to becoming whole again.
It’s easy to lose sympathy for Colleen (if there ever was any), especially when her actions go from desperate to pathetic. After losing her job that morning due to her addiction, Colleen manages to arrange an appointment with a staffing agency later in the afternoon. She opts to take some alcohol with her “just in case she got nervous.” Naturally, not being a real alcoholic, she decides that pouring the vodka into a salad dressing bottle (and adding a pinch of cranberry juice for colour) is a logical choice for an interview: “Not that it mattered, she couldn’t imagine drinking out of it, but it was comforting to have it within reach.”
This is only one example (of which there are many) depicting the span of a few hours in the life of Colleen Kerrigan. It’s frustrating for the reader to bear witness to actions that are so blatantly signs of a dependency and yet the main character walks around as though everyone else is out to get her. She’s over-dramatic, yet admittedly so – which leads to her contempt for other women, in particular those who try to help her or those whom she believes are more attractive than she – which then leads to her appetite for the opposite sex and how her priorities lie in gaining even the slightest bit of attention from her ex boyfriend Jake, rather than in, say, returning the call of the nursing home where her mother currently lives after they’ve left her a message stating her mother has been taken to hospital.
Although an easy read in terms of Davis’s writing style, the story itself is difficult to swallow, especially if one is all too familiar with the subject matter. On a personal note, having dealt with family members suffering from addiction and depression, this novel could provide a sort of insight into the internal struggles that the downtrodden may face. Of course, everyone is different in how they deal with their demons, but there may be a moment when it’s too late to get to the root of someone’s troubles, and once they’re gone, those still standing are left with a lifetime of questions to which there will never be any answers.
Lauren B. Davis has written a few other noteworthy titles – Our Daily Bread, which was named one of the “Best Books of the Year” by both the Boston Globe and the Globe & Mail, and was long-listed for the Scotiabank Giller Prize; The Stubborn Season, the tale of a young girl growing up in Toronto during the Great Depression; and The Radiant City, which was short-listed for the Roger’s Writers’ Trust Fiction Prize.
And now, the cloud of the moral dilemma still hangs over my head, work of fiction or terrible truth? I very much wanted to enjoy this book, and I do understand the courage it must have taken Davis to write down these words, so honest and forlorn. Yet as one on the outside looking in, there is a feeling of emptiness that can only come from experiencing the other side of the story, the side that wishes the terrible truth was just a work of fiction and nothing more. If one novel can do this to someone, then I’d say the skies have cleared.
HarperCollins | 200 pages | $24.99 | cloth | ISBN # 978-1443418294
‘The Empty Room’ by Lauren B. Davis
Book Reviews
There is a moment that happens from time to time when you read fiction – it’s that moment when you realize the words in front of you are not entirely a fantasy created by the author, and the sheltered world you believed yourself to be submerged in is not too far off from an undeniable, cold reality.
You’re then faced with a moral dilemma. Do you accept that it’s based on a terrible truth? Or do you attempt to enjoy what’s been put in front of you and take it as a work of fiction? But with that in mind, can you genuinely find joy in reading about someone’s lifelong battle with addiction?
Colleen Kerrigan wakes up late on a Monday morning, hung over from the party of one she had the previous night. She makes her way into her kitchen only to discover that the bottle of vodka she believed to be half full only a day ago now sits with not even an inch left. “She didn’t drink that much yesterday, surely. She must be losing her mind.” No, she’s not going to drink today.
Colleen’s battle with addiction and loneliness takes us back and forth throughout her life, concentrating mainly on an apparition of a father; a mother that could have cared less but is now in dire need; an off-again, on-again relationship as stable as a bear in roller skates one size too small; and the loss of her job. But these moments in her life, as disheartening as they come, are all excuses she uses to justify her problem, an attempt to shade how lonely and sad she truly is, with no one to call her friend except for the bottle. Everything leading up to this moment in time comes crashing down around Colleen, creating the perfect storm. She’s forced to reflect on the unfortunate events of her life while hitting her own personal rock bottom. Only then can she take an honest look at her existence and undergo the steps necessary to becoming whole again.
It’s easy to lose sympathy for Colleen (if there ever was any), especially when her actions go from desperate to pathetic. After losing her job that morning due to her addiction, Colleen manages to arrange an appointment with a staffing agency later in the afternoon. She opts to take some alcohol with her “just in case she got nervous.” Naturally, not being a real alcoholic, she decides that pouring the vodka into a salad dressing bottle (and adding a pinch of cranberry juice for colour) is a logical choice for an interview: “Not that it mattered, she couldn’t imagine drinking out of it, but it was comforting to have it within reach.”
This is only one example (of which there are many) depicting the span of a few hours in the life of Colleen Kerrigan. It’s frustrating for the reader to bear witness to actions that are so blatantly signs of a dependency and yet the main character walks around as though everyone else is out to get her. She’s over-dramatic, yet admittedly so – which leads to her contempt for other women, in particular those who try to help her or those whom she believes are more attractive than she – which then leads to her appetite for the opposite sex and how her priorities lie in gaining even the slightest bit of attention from her ex boyfriend Jake, rather than in, say, returning the call of the nursing home where her mother currently lives after they’ve left her a message stating her mother has been taken to hospital.
Although an easy read in terms of Davis’s writing style, the story itself is difficult to swallow, especially if one is all too familiar with the subject matter. On a personal note, having dealt with family members suffering from addiction and depression, this novel could provide a sort of insight into the internal struggles that the downtrodden may face. Of course, everyone is different in how they deal with their demons, but there may be a moment when it’s too late to get to the root of someone’s troubles, and once they’re gone, those still standing are left with a lifetime of questions to which there will never be any answers.
Lauren B. Davis has written a few other noteworthy titles – Our Daily Bread, which was named one of the “Best Books of the Year” by both the Boston Globe and the Globe & Mail, and was long-listed for the Scotiabank Giller Prize; The Stubborn Season, the tale of a young girl growing up in Toronto during the Great Depression; and The Radiant City, which was short-listed for the Roger’s Writers’ Trust Fiction Prize.
And now, the cloud of the moral dilemma still hangs over my head, work of fiction or terrible truth? I very much wanted to enjoy this book, and I do understand the courage it must have taken Davis to write down these words, so honest and forlorn. Yet as one on the outside looking in, there is a feeling of emptiness that can only come from experiencing the other side of the story, the side that wishes the terrible truth was just a work of fiction and nothing more. If one novel can do this to someone, then I’d say the skies have cleared.
HarperCollins | 200 pages | $24.99 | cloth | ISBN # 978-1443418294