Book review: Lost Connections, Johann Hari

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This review contains discussion of antidepressants and their efficacy. Please do not make any changes to your medication without discussion and advice from a trained medical professional.

In his controversial book Hari delves into the world of depression and anxiety and questions whether we’re looking at the problem the right way. The world’s obsession with medication could be obscuring the root cause of a lot of people’s unhappiness. He walks you through nine possible causes of depression and anxiety (disconnections from meaningful work, other people, meaningful values, childhood trauma, status and respect, the natural world, a secure future, and the role of genes and brain changes). His focus is heavily on the role disconnection plays in the way we experience the world. He shares parts of his own journey with depression and comments on the enthusiasm to prescribe him medication without ever asking about what the rest of his life looked like. The latter part of the book considers ways we can create a more connected life, with the likely outcome being more positive mental health. Unfortunately, a lot of these solutions require societal change rather than individual change, and as a result this isn’t really a self help book so much as popular psychology. It is a fascinating, gripping read, but could be challenging for those currently receiving treatment for depression and anxiety. 

The most shocking revelation for me reading this book was the claim that serotonin levels being the cause of depression has never been scientifically proven, or indeed credible enough to warrant disproving. Hari gives a fair amount of space to discussing studies that have been done around the efficacy of anti-depressants, and the split between experts on whether they are useful. It seems that although they might not do what we thought they did, they do still prove useful for some. There are others however who believe the effects to largely be placebo, whereas the negative side effects are very real, and we should therefore move away from our reliance on them. He carefully references all studies he refers to and encourages the reader to go to the source material and come to their own conclusions. 

Hari looks further in to how depression is diagnosed, considering the fact the DSM checklist used to include a ‘grief exception’ which acknowledged that grief presents in similar ways to depression and would give someone a year after their loss before diagnosing them. This has now been removed. He wonders at why one specific circumstance was considered as reasonable to experience emotional challenges but other life events were not. 

Hari believes that the modern world is set up in such a way as to damage our mental wellbeing. Community used to be central to the human experience but increasingly we are living isolated lives. The old adage of ‘it takes a village to raise a child’ is still bandied around but in practice parents are often on their own, or with support from their parents if they are lucky. There is not a broad support network for many, leading to further disconnection from the local environment and your neighbours. He also considers the impact of work that is found to be meaningless by those employed to do it, and the precarity of the job market meaning that people do not feel they have security. This naturally causes distress and feelings of hopelessness. Delving deeper still he considers why people don’t make the changes they need to improve their lives when they have the opportunity to.

Advertising culture has also had an impact on the way we feel about ourselves and our lives. We are constantly bombarded with messaging that tells us we should be thinner, more youthful, wealthier, that if we could just obtain x or y we would be happier and garner more respect. This is internalised and causes many people to constantly seek the short-lived dopamine hit of buying the latest gadget or most current fashion. Ultimately these things don’t bring us lasting happiness, but that truth doesn’t make people money, and so we are constantly encouraged to look for extrinsic validation through the possession of stuff.

It is a well acknowledged fact that spending time in nature, or indeed, just seeing it, can have a positive impact on our mood. Indeed, some doctors have begun prescribing activities that involve the outdoors, or the joining of groups that have a practical aim (gardening, painting, etc) which fulfil the need for community, purpose, and nature. These things are encouraging, both that the establishment is considering the wider circumstances that lead to good mental health, and also that we can make some changes to our lives to include these things on a personal level. However, there are many suggestions which are up to business and governments to change. Can working in a co-operative business boost wellbeing? Would Universal Basic Income have the incredible benefits that Hari claims? 

Hari does not dismiss the fact that depression can have biological causes, or at the very least, biological pre-dispositions, but he questions why biology has been the main focus for so long. His examination of the things we need to be happy in life is thoughtful and important. He acknowledges his own privilege that has allowed him to implement some of these changes, with positive results. The book can be a little repetitive and, as already mentioned, most of the solutions are much bigger than one person can do, but it is an absolutely fascinating read. I couldn’t stop talking about it while I was reading it.

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A Midwinter's Tail, Lili Hayward

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It’s the night of the Christmas party at Mina’s London office when she opens a letter from her estranged godfather Davy. Mina - please look after her. is all it says alongside a key to his cottage on the remote Cornish island of Morgelyn. On the brink of a meeting that will potentially save her job, she chooses to leave London on the first train to Cornwall where a rickety plane waits to take her back to an island that holds so much repressed emotion for her.

Having spent time there with her mother and Davy as a child, she’d been excited at the prospect of moving there. A cruel trick of fate tore her mother away and sent Mina to live alone with her father. He was distant and did not provide the emotional support she needed to process what had happened, sending her away to a boarding school. In adulthood their relationship remains fractured, although they both go through the motions of staying in touch. She didn’t hear from Davy after her mother’s death, and what has always felt like a betrayal still stings. How will she feel being back on the island, even if only briefly?

When she finally arrives on Morgelyn, still in her party outfit, she’s met with a cold reception by the locals, as if she had abandoned Davy and not the other way round. She goes to the cottage to check on Murr, the cat who she remembers but can’t believe is still around. She learns that Murr is tied to ancient myths surrounding the island with people suspecting that a centuries old spirit lives within her. She is the guardian of the cottage and her presence there means ownership can’t be passed on.

Mina soon meets Davy’s family, who she is told he doesn’t get on with. They seem much friendlier to her than the rest of the island and she soon agrees for them to look after Murr, seemingly missing the negative way they refer to her. It soon becomes clear that she can’t take anything at face value and she must choose between going back to London to save her job or staying and trying to save the island.

It is Mina and her relationship with other characters, albeit most of them absent, which is the heart of the novel. We see her mother only in brief flashbacks but it’s clear that she was integral to the feeling of safety and warmth she remembers. It’s also apparent that Mina resembles her in more than just appearance. The relationship with Davy is intriguing. She seems to have been very attached to him and yet we only hear of such a short period spent together. Short, but significant. It is not until quite late in the book that we see his history with her mother and how he came to be Mina’s godfather.

The island is also absolutely central to the story. We see how remote and forbidding it can be. Mina is not welcomed with open arms and it is uncomfortable reading her struggle to ignore the whispers behind her back, the thinly veiled judgment. You can feel how claustrophobic it would be living there if you made a misstep and the locals turned against you. On the other hand, we also see how warm it can be, how like a big family as the islanders band together to save Davy’s cottage. Their traditions bring them together and there’s an affection for each other’s eccentricities. 

This is a lovely book to read in winter. Its story might be predictable but it is well written and evocative. Folklore is interwoven with the story, adding a sense of magic, and there is a subtle undercurrent of romance which doesn’t overtake the main focus. This is wonderful escapist reading with a real heart, I definitely had tears in my eyes as I read the closing passages. The cover design also deserves a special mention, beautifully fitting, it makes you want to pick it up.

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2023 Wrap-Up

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Here we are again, at the close of another year. How has 2023 treated you? Well, I hope.

It’s been a good reading year for me. My numbers may be nothing exceptional (23 as I write, likely to tick over to 25 by the time the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Eve), but the content has been strong. I’ve managed an almost exactly even split between fiction and non-fiction, and both categories have included gems. Early in the year I finally picked up Invisible Women, an important read which opened my eyes to the manifold ways the world is designed for men. The Science of Storytelling was also an excellent read as someone interested both in psychology and writing, and I’d urge any budding writers to pick up a copy. I borrowed it from the library but might need to add it to my own collection. Finally, one that hasn’t made it on to this blog yet, but was one of the most gripping non-fiction books I’ve read in a long time - Lost Connections by Johann Hari was an enlightening look at depression and anxiety. It made me reconsider what I’ve been told about causes and treatment, and think more deeply on the way shifts in society impact our mental health. I couldn’t stop talking about it while I was reading it.

For fiction, some highlights were the second in Ferrante’s Neapolitan Quartet (I’ll get to book three soon..) which absolutely left me desperate for more, I’m just not one to binge series. Recently I enjoyed The Winter Garden for a bit of magic and wonder, and The Confessions of Frannie Langton which was intense and dark and absolutely gripping. My favourite fiction read of the year has to be Demon Copperhead (many thanks to the fabulous readalong leader who got me to read it). It is by no means an easy read, it deals with difficult topics, but you feel so much empathy for the characters, and learn a lot about real life in Appalachia as a result. Any Kingsolver fans reading this, please offer tips on what to read of hers next.

I’m not one for planning my upcoming reads much, but I’m likely to be reading Unwell Women and The Moonstone soon, both of which have been sitting patiently on my shelves for too long. I also have excellent recommendations from my bookish friends to see me through the next twelve months. Have you read any of them?

My theatre consumption this year has been varied - from the brilliant Hamilton to the sweet Winnie the Pooh Musical and the bonkers The Great British Bake Off Musical. Many an enjoyable night out has been had. My exhibition game has been lacking somewhat, but the highlight was likely The Rossettis at the Tate Britain, one I would gladly have spent more time in. The Maria Bartusová at Tate Modern was also fascinating and thought-provoking. In the new year I’m looking forward to heading to the Royal Academy for Impressionists on Paper.

I’ve not travelled as much this year, but was lucky to have an incredible trip to Germany in December. Highlights include visiting Neuschwanstein Castle. Yes, it’s an unoriginal day trip, but there’s a reason it’s popular. Perched on a crag in the mountains, the views from it are utterly breathtaking. The interiors are incredible, inspired by the Middle Ages, they are lavish and beautifully crafted. You can only visit by guided tour, and it moves you through at quite a pace, but it is absolutely worth it. (If you’re thinking of going, I’d recommend taking a Flixbus from Munich for around €14 rather than the organised tours that cost four times that and don’t offer much more than transport). Going up Zugspitze was also a highlight. Having had heavy snow a few weeks before we visited, it was a frozen winter wonderland. The Alps stretch for as far as the eye can see, and the views take in five countries. It’s expensive but absolutely worth it, and is a full day activity. A day trip to Innsbruck from Garmisch-Partenkirchen was a lovely unexpected addition to our time there. The bus ride was so beautiful as it winds through the mountains, it was worth the €6.99 for the views alone. Innsbruck itself is a beautiful city, surrounded by mountains, and dressed in its finest for Christmas. 

The view from Neuschwanstein

I was also able to spend a few days camping in Scotland earlier in the year. It rained a lot and I came back with nigh-on 70 midge bites, but it was a refreshing trip. We based ourselves in Luss, on the western shores of Loch Lomond, which proved an excellent base for exploring the area. A ferry across from Tarbet to Inversnaid led to excellent walking routes, and on return, the walk from Tarbet to Arrochar via the Three Lochs Way was a treat. My highlight, though, was kayaking to one of the small islands. It was a day with storm clouds threatening, but the beauty and peace of the island, draped in purple rhododendrons, was something my heart longs to return to. We’re hoping to spend more time in Scotland in 2024, walking the West Highland Way. I hope that you’re able to take a break in the coming year and enjoy the rejuvenating benefits of whatever type of holiday you prefer.

The Haunting Scent of Poppies, Victoria Williamson

This review is part of the blog tour for the novella. Thank you to The WriteReads and Little Thorn Books for providing me with a copy of the book in exchange for an honest review.

A few days before Christmas 1918 and Charlie Briggs arrives in the sleepy town of Petersfield, away from the hustle and bustle of London, and more importantly, safely hidden from those who want to find him. The Great War has not long ended and there are reminders of the fallen everywhere. Charlie, however, has no feelings of sorrow or respect, believing that everybody would rather forget but feels obliged to act out remorse. He avoided the action by having a friend write him a medical note excusing him from battle, but he frequently pretends he was at the Front. Always on the lookout for opportunities to make a quick buck, he is delighted when he discovers an incredibly rare book in the local bookshop. It’s not for sale, meaning a great deal to the owner, but it soon ends up in Charlie’s pocket. He should be long gone by the time they re-open in the New Year, living it up on the proceeds, which would set him up, if only it weren’t for his gambling habit that so often means his money goes just as soon as he gets it. Before long, it becomes apparent that this isn’t your average book. He has a physical reaction when he touches it, and in the days that follow he experiences vivid hallucinations of gas attacks which somehow seep into reality and leave his body covered in painful blisters. He believes himself to be followed by something dark lurking around every corner, and his dreams are haunted by the sad end of the book’s previous owner. 

Charlie is not a likeable character. When he ends up staying with a woman connected to the tragic story that accompanies the book, he cares nothing for her suffering but only in finding out more about the provenance of the book, hoping that it will help raise its price. He is constantly looking for victims to pickpocket, and has no real remorse for what he’s done, his only concern is with stopping the nightmares and making his money as quickly as possible. There is a sense that his experiences are giving him a taste of what so many suffered through, events that he piggybacks on to ingratiate himself with his victims. You can’t help but wonder how he’ll ever escape the horror that’s following him. It is a hard-hitting reminder of the horrors of war, this is after all, a haunting based in reality not fantasy.

A well written book that sets the scene neatly. The characters are well drawn and the side characters, who are more sympathetic, will elicit more compassion in the reader. In a short space of time you understand Charlie’s motivations and outlook, and can picture Petersfield clearly. The premise for the story is interesting, and the images truly horrifying. An interesting, evocative read that you can easily get through in one sitting. 

The Winter Garden, Alexandra Bell

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When Beatrice's mother dies when she’s still a child a mysterious winter garden reveals itself to her. The magic of the place provides some comfort to her in her darkest days, masking the regret she will live with for not having said goodbye. Her only evidence of her time there are some black apple trees whose seeds she managed to take with her. As the years pass she wonders if she will ever see the garden again. On the day of her wedding to a man she does not love she makes a decision to reject the expectations of nineteenth century high society and go in search of the place that makes her heart sing. Her best friend Rosa respects her for her strength and rejection of expectations, while herself being completely obsessed with gaining a title and living the life of titled British aristocracy. Her decisions lead her down a more traditional route which sadly proves to fall far short of everything she ever dreamed of. Life is hard and cold, and consumed with grief and an increasing hatred of her husband. She wonders why the winter garden doesn’t come to her, why her suffering is not enough. Both women are invited to take part in a competition to create the most magical pleasure garden, the winner to be in receipt of one wish. This brings out a rivalry that threatens to pull their friendship apart for good, both so intent on winning that wish and reversing the moment they believe put their lives on the wrong path. But who will be victorious, and will the sacrifice be worth it?

There’s so much to unpack in this novel. It deals with difficult subjects such as grief, domestic abuse, and mental health struggles. We see from early on the limitations on women in society. Their intelligence and creativity is seen as something to hide as it makes them less desirable to potential husbands. They are not to express opinions in polite company and must pretend that running a home is the greatest ambition they hold. Later in the novel we see how much darker this becomes with the threat of being sent to an asylum hanging over Rosa when she doesn’t behave in a way her husband and mother-in-law deem appropriate. It is clear that women have few options in life, being considered possessions of their husbands. It is perhaps unsurprising then that Beatrice rejects this, travelling alone in search of the winter garden, causing scandal in so doing. When you reject the ways of society, their opinions no longer matter however. When she struggles with her mental health she is advised by her doctor that it is caused by being a spinster, an unnatural condition. The book may be set almost two hundred years in the past but the unequal treatment of women in the medical world is recognisable still. 

The book is set up to suggest that it is Beatrice who will take centre stage, but actually it is Rosa who feels like the main character. She is not always likeable, feeling quite shallow to begin with, and self-centred at several times throughout. She is not a good friend to Beatrice, allowing their friendship to fall to the wayside while she plans her wedding and not taking the time to consider what challenges others are facing. However, when she faces a series of painful events you do feel for her, and when she is able to stand up to her husband you are delighted in her power. Whether she takes it a step too far is questionable, her actions causing her husband to be on the brink of a mental breakdown. Ultimately, you hope she is able to escape an unenviable position, and that her and Beatrice are able to come back together and offer the support and understanding that they both need.

Rosa’s life has a suffocating feel to it. Stuck in a huge, cold mansion with a husband she hates and a staff that find her odd for wanting to look after her children herself. Her mother-in-law is interfering and never fully approved of her son marrying an American. She is lonely and under constant judgment. Her husband’s disinterest in her at least allows her the freedom to work on her creations and to plot against him without his noticing. She takes pleasure in her acts of defiance, and any chance she has to be away from the house and its inhabitants. Beatrice, on the other hand, creates a world for herself that is solitary. She is not surrounded by those who feel hostile toward her, but neither is she involved with those who care about her. Both women enjoy the company of a childhood friend, James Sheppard, now an orchid hunter, he used to work the gardens, and they frequently slip into treating him as inferior. Despite the fact they defy convention in many ways, they are still embedded in a class system. 

The winter garden is tantalisingly elusive. We see only glimmers of it through Beatrice’s recollections and the magical remnants of it they possess. The pleasure gardens they create are beautifully described, you feel as if you have stepped into a magical world. The descriptions of exotic and unusual plants make you long to grow your own cornucopia of wonders. Despite the difficult themes that permeate this novel, it retains a light, magical feel. The winter garden itself, however, begins to feel sinister as the two women strive to win the competition. The promise of a wish that seems all too easy to plunge the winner into a worse life than the one they are living feels a dangerous prize. Will they succumb to temptation, or allow the challenge to show them the good that they already have?

This is an enchanting read. The characters are complex and human, not entirely good, nor entirely bad (although there’s certainly those you relish in seeing their comeuppance). It is not joy from start to finish, the characters suffer terribly, giving them the motivation they need to put everything in to the competition. The magic of the novel is woven around it all however, and you do feel yourself transported to a world where the extraordinary is possible. A perfect read for the darker months.

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The Confessions of Frannie Langton, Sara Collins

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Frannie Langton is born into slavery on a plantation ironically named Paradise. There she witnesses extreme cruelty. She learns to read, and as a result is forced to help Langton with his experiments, the horrors of which haunt her throughout. The plantation burns down and she is taken to London where legally she is free but Langton nonetheless gifts her to his rival Mr Benham. We know from the start that she is on trial for the murder of Mr and Mrs Benham and this colours the way we watch their relationship develop. She sees how unhappy Mrs Benham is in her marriage and as they grow closer a physical attraction develops. She is judged by the other servants in the household, and the two of them descend into opium addiction, yet it is a cruel turn of fate orchestrated by Mr Benham that seems likely to push them both over the edge. 

The circumstances of the murder are hazy. Frannie doesn’t remember what happened, and the witnesses pointing fingers are basing their assumptions on circumstantial evidence and prejudice. Frannie’s confessions are her opportunity to give voice to her life. She resents the people who take on the role of white saviours, revelling in hearing tales of suffering, making money from the misery of others. She wants her life to be understood fully, not to be mere entertainment, a way for people to feel better about themselves. Her writing is passionate and engrossing. Her life has undoubtedly been difficult, the people around her treating her terribly, but she is so much more than what has been done to her. 

She is not used to receiving affection. Growing up not knowing who her mother is, after the loss of another slave in the house at Paradise, Langton becomes her closest acquaintance. His experiments aim to prove that people of colour are not human as a way of justifying slavery and ill-treatment. He sees that Frannie is intelligent and in private speaks to her with some degree of respect, but as soon as he is in the company of white men she is treated as invisible. The fact he gifts her to Benham shows that he never really saw her as anything more than a possession he could use to his own advantage. She is left with a feeling of confusion, of temporary sorrow at his exit from her life. The lingering emotion however is guilt, shame at what they did together, an inability to absolve herself of responsibility for the actions she was forced to perform. There is a sense that she is willing to take the blame for a murder she may not have committed as punishment for the evil deeds she’d witnessed and been forced to participate in.

The women in the houses where she lives are unhappy and bored, a very dangerous circumstance for those who serve them. They have no love for their husbands and take steps to try to avoid pregnancy, taking what little control they can. Mrs Benham is forced to perform her role as a good wife and hostess even when she is suffering, and Mr Benham’s attempts to save face descend into cruelty. Frannie sees this and feels for the woman she has come to care for deeply. Their relationship is a difficult one, and far from being equal. When Frannie finds herself alone she realises how little opportunity there is for women of colour to even buy themselves a drink, let alone find work that doesn’t involve satisfying the sexual whims of wealthy men.

Her life is hard and full of suffering, disappointment, and rejection, yet she is defiant. She knows that she is capable and intelligent and will do what she must to survive. Her confessions are powerful. Langton and Benham are fictional characters but their actions reflect experiments that were carried out around this period. A haunting, disturbing book. Well written and with characters that feel real, this is an impressive debut. 

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Hamnet, Maggie O’Farrell

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A boy runs to find his family, nowhere to be found. A young man falls in love with a local woman. These two stories run in parallel, years apart. Hamnet’s father meets Agnes while working as a Latin tutor. She is older and considered strange by the locals. A pregnancy forces her family’s hand and soon they find themselves married. Later, the father works in London as his daughter lies dying of the plague. Hamnet’s mother has the gift to see what others don’t, and had always believed there would be two children with her at her deathbed. Judith’s turn in health suggests her three living children might soon become two. This storyline moves forward at a slower pace until the young versions of his mother and father almost catch them up. 

Agnes, more commonly known as Anne today, struggles to fit in to town living. She has grown up with nature and feels that connection deeply, taking herself into the woods to give birth to her first daughter alone. She is strong-willed and intelligent, and we see the passion between her and her husband, something history has often forgotten. Her husband has a difficult relationship with his father but he is driven to succeed. They plot for him to move to London, a decision that Agnes comes to regret. After Hamnet’s death his letters home become increasingly infrequent and lack any real detail. What feels like abandonment could instead be a struggle to deal with grief. O’Farrell takes the scant facts we have about these lives and expands them, makes them relatable and rounded, creates a relationship with depth and pain, and real love.

The relationship between Judith and Hamnet is sweet. We see them growing up, playing tricks on the rest of the family, pretending to be the other. Focussing on the possibility of Judith’s demise is an interesting curveball, and the shift to Hamnet is all the more painful for its having snuck up on the family. There is a brief interlude explaining how the plague reaches them and it is quite remarkable. After Hamnet’s death we don’t see much of Judith’s experience, but what we do is heartbreaking. Her desire to be reunited with Hamnet, her feeling that she has lost part of herself, is all the more poignant for the way in which their positions switched.

When news of her husband’s latest play reaches Agnes she is distraught that he has taken their son’s name to use in such a way, that he wouldn’t even have mentioned it to her before advertising. This section considers the way in which we remember those who are no longer with us. This play which at first seems to have no part of her son in it proves to be a moving memorial, and a way for both parents to come back together, an unspoken understanding between them.

O’Farrell's prose is beautiful. She builds a story about one of the most famous writers ever to have lived but makes it feel like it could be any family. The fraught relationships with elders in the family, the desire to find their own way in life, and the judgment and care of the local community, all this normalises a remarkable family. Renown does not protect against misfortune and heartbreak. This is a very human story.

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