Published by Soho Press on December 26, 2012
Too Bright to Hear Too Loud to See is an honest, searing examination of a man in pain, a man suffering from a mental illness that is beyond his understanding or control. The illness turns him into a raging a-hole, and because it is not a physical illness with easily identifiable symptoms, because he suffers from bipolar disorder rather than cancer, he is shunned, treated with derision rather than sympathy.
As the novel begins, Greyson Todd, a studio executive, is becoming increasingly reclusive. He can't handle the noise of life. His memory, once his strongest asset, is failing. He can no longer cope with responsibility. One day, after a bit of planning, he leaves his life and eight-year-old daughter behind. The story then begins to tumble in time until the reader realizes that in the present, Greyson is hospitalized, undergoing treatment for his condition.
Some of the novel is quite compelling, particularly the sections that directly address Greyson's mental illness. Juliann Garey describes Greyson's decaying mind in powerful, convincing prose. "Slowly, over time, like wallpaper, the face I have shown the world has peeled away. I am a building on the brink of being condemned." His description of depressive thinking and suicidal ideation is vivid. Greyson's attempts to anesthetize and to distract himself are frighteningly real. The descriptions of Greyson's treatment -- the ECT (a nice name for electroshock), the memory loss, the lethargy and other side effects of lithium -- are harrowing. They leave the reader wondering whether the cure is worse than the disease. There are also some touching moments as Greyson's mind begins to clear and he tries to reestablish relationships that may or may not be permanently damaged.
Other parts of the novel seem fragmented. I'm sure that's deliberate, a representation of a fragmented mind, and after an understanding of the novel's structure takes hold, the random jumps in time become easier to digest. The fragments, pieced together, tell the story of Greyson's life. Some work better than others. The early years (1957-60), showcasing Greyson's relationship with a father who had his own mental health problems, are insubstantial. The 1970s and early 1980s, when Greyson is advancing from agent to superstar agent to studio executive, tell a too familiar story of Hollywood excess. More interesting are the years after Greyson leaves his family: an erotic encounter with a Bedouin in the Negev; touring the sex menu in Bangkok; in apparent pursuit of a death wish, taking a dubious tour of the "real" Africa. Greyson's attempt to live independently in New York, characterized by isolation and paranoia and meltdowns, reflect some of the novel's strongest writing.
This is not a good choice for readers who want to bond with likable characters. It is easy to sympathize with Greyson, but an honest portrayal of a manic-depressive assures that the character will often be unlikable. Greyson's daughter is quite likable, as is an old man who befriends Greyson when he's living in New York, but they both play limited roles in the overall narrative. Readers looking for happy endings and closure might also be disappointed with the novel. Still, there is a sense of guarded hopefulness at the novel's end; the story isn't entirely bleak. The ending is realistic and, as Garey makes a point of saying, it isn't Hollywood cheesy.
The novel's message -- other than the need to understand rather than condemn the mentally ill -- is that bipolar disorder is an extreme manifestation of what most of us experience in our daily lives: highs and lows, mood swings, moments of irrational anger or unexplained exuberance. We manage to stay in control, "the ups and downs stay within a manageable range," but that reflects our good fortune, our good brain chemistry, not our good character. We can't take credit for it, any more than Greyson is to blame for the faulty wiring of his brain. I give Garey credit for conveying that message so effectively.
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