Betta Nolan knew on their second date that John was the man for her, and they had no need of anyone else until his far too early death. Now bereft and widowed, Betta honours John, and their relationship, by keeping her promise - she sells the Boston home they created, scatters (most of) his ashes, and drives until she finds a small town that feels like somewhere she can settle, and perhaps even live again. This is quite possibly the best depiction of grief and grieving I've read - not just the way it feels physically and intellectually, ("I saw that everything I'd ever imagined about what it would feel like when was pale. Was wrong. Was the shadow and not the mountain"), but the imposition of other people's ideas about your grief and how long you should mourn, reflections on your prior insensitivity ("How cruel we'd been... deciding how someone else should repair the rents in her own heart"), and the slow return of life.
Betta is an intriguing character, and Berg surrounds her with a village full of three dimensional people, from the bitter old woman she buys a house from to the new friends she makes and the old friendships she renews. The writing is spare but lyric, painting satisfying pictured without an unnecessary word. I came away from The Year of Pleasures replete, hopeful and happy with the resilience of the human spirit. - Alex
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