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Here, Now: Essays
A deeply felt and humorous collection examining a year in the wake of extraordinary loss
In November 2010, on the morning after election day, Mirsky lost her three-year-old son, Lev. In the year that followed, she produced a profound and provocatively humorous body of work—tackling extreme loss as well as divorce, friendship, dating, sex, comedy, and art making, all while continuing her day job as a family liaison at the same children’s hospital where Lev died. Every November, the anniversary of Lev’s loss aligns with the churn of the election cycle.
A decade later, we find Mirsky in the heart of a different crisis: supervising COVID vaccine distribution in the polarized political climate of Austin, Texas. In “An Addendum,” she turns again to themes of grief and healing, this time on a societal scale, as she reckons with the tenth anniversary of Lev’s passing. Through her un-extraordinary story of extraordinary loss, Mirsky offers proof that there is an afterward to grief.
In November 2010, on the morning after election day, Mirsky lost her three-year-old son, Lev. In the year that followed, she produced a profound and provocatively humorous body of work—tackling extreme loss as well as divorce, friendship, dating, sex, comedy, and art making, all while continuing her day job as a family liaison at the same children’s hospital where Lev died. Every November, the anniversary of Lev’s loss aligns with the churn of the election cycle.
A decade later, we find Mirsky in the heart of a different crisis: supervising COVID vaccine distribution in the polarized political climate of Austin, Texas. In “An Addendum,” she turns again to themes of grief and healing, this time on a societal scale, as she reckons with the tenth anniversary of Lev’s passing. Through her un-extraordinary story of extraordinary loss, Mirsky offers proof that there is an afterward to grief.
192 pages, Paperback
Published October 15, 2024
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
October 27, 2024
There are times as if it feels like loss has defined my life. From being born with a medical condition, spina bifida, that was expected to end my life at an early age (HINT: It hasn't) to the myriad of losses over the years borne out of experiencing trauma in a variety of forms, I've often felt as if stability is a distant acquaintance and loss and grief a constant companion.
I approached "Here, Now: Essays" with some hesitation yet hopefulness given endorsements by the likes of Jenny Slate, Maggie Smith and others. Even from the introduction, it was apparent that author Michelle Suzanne Mirsky shared a quiet, somewhat dark sense of humor and an ability to radiate light amidst tremendous darkness.
It is tragedy that serves as the roots of this deeply moving yet also witty and outright funny collection of essays. In November 2010, on the morning after election day, Mirsky's three-year-old son Lev passed away after a prolonged illness. Mirsky quickly makes it clear that her life was not perfect before Lev's passing nor would she find anything resembling perfection in the days, months, and years following Lev's death. In "Here, Now," however, Mirsky offers up a literary testimony of how life's imperfections still create something beautiful even with such a profound loss that never goes away and always maintains its influence on our lives.
It would be only days after Lev's passing that Mirsky would begin dealing with divorce followed by friendship, dating, sex, changing homes, an eventual job change, and even tiptoeing into stand-up comedy.
The tenth anniversary of Lev's passing would find Mirsky supervising COVID vaccine distribution in Austin, Texas, her own personal grief pulsating alongside a societal grief both politicized and profound.
It feels weird to say but "Here, Now" is a joy to read precisely because Mirsky allows us to glimpse inside her journey, holding back in moments when necessary yet also often offering an almost jarring transparency that is uncomfortably generous yet immersed in Mirsky's own resilience, determination, and humor-tinged humanity.
Grief is never one thing. In fact, it's a weird kaleidoscopic tapestry of emotions, experiences, and inexplicables through which we figure out how to live while never being completely free of it. I have experienced it myself in a variety of ways - from multiple limb losses (I'm seriously lopsided) to the death of my newborn and suicide of my partner to my recently surviving two types of cancer, bladder and prostate, though left with a body that is incredibly different than the one I had before cancer.
I saw myself. I saw my own life experiences in "Here, Now," though mine are certainly different. While grief has common ground, our losses are different and the way we grieve is different. Yet, perhaps, the greatest joy of "Here, Now" is that it's a reminder of both the intimacy of loss and the universality of the life journey. As Mirsky grieves and honors, we are reminded that we too can take comfort in our dark humor, our mistakes along the way, and our inability, at times, to simply move on.
It's all okay.
There's something extraordinary that unfolds amidst the ordinariness of Mirsky's loss and grief, resilience and renewal. We are reminded of our own humanity and the value of our own life experiences whether tragic or joyful, borne out of loss or rising out of renewal. I can't really explain why, but I felt less alone in my unmentionables by the end of "Here, Now" and along this journey I laughed, I cried, I blushed, and I realized that amidst it all I'm doing alright.
I approached "Here, Now: Essays" with some hesitation yet hopefulness given endorsements by the likes of Jenny Slate, Maggie Smith and others. Even from the introduction, it was apparent that author Michelle Suzanne Mirsky shared a quiet, somewhat dark sense of humor and an ability to radiate light amidst tremendous darkness.
It is tragedy that serves as the roots of this deeply moving yet also witty and outright funny collection of essays. In November 2010, on the morning after election day, Mirsky's three-year-old son Lev passed away after a prolonged illness. Mirsky quickly makes it clear that her life was not perfect before Lev's passing nor would she find anything resembling perfection in the days, months, and years following Lev's death. In "Here, Now," however, Mirsky offers up a literary testimony of how life's imperfections still create something beautiful even with such a profound loss that never goes away and always maintains its influence on our lives.
It would be only days after Lev's passing that Mirsky would begin dealing with divorce followed by friendship, dating, sex, changing homes, an eventual job change, and even tiptoeing into stand-up comedy.
The tenth anniversary of Lev's passing would find Mirsky supervising COVID vaccine distribution in Austin, Texas, her own personal grief pulsating alongside a societal grief both politicized and profound.
It feels weird to say but "Here, Now" is a joy to read precisely because Mirsky allows us to glimpse inside her journey, holding back in moments when necessary yet also often offering an almost jarring transparency that is uncomfortably generous yet immersed in Mirsky's own resilience, determination, and humor-tinged humanity.
Grief is never one thing. In fact, it's a weird kaleidoscopic tapestry of emotions, experiences, and inexplicables through which we figure out how to live while never being completely free of it. I have experienced it myself in a variety of ways - from multiple limb losses (I'm seriously lopsided) to the death of my newborn and suicide of my partner to my recently surviving two types of cancer, bladder and prostate, though left with a body that is incredibly different than the one I had before cancer.
I saw myself. I saw my own life experiences in "Here, Now," though mine are certainly different. While grief has common ground, our losses are different and the way we grieve is different. Yet, perhaps, the greatest joy of "Here, Now" is that it's a reminder of both the intimacy of loss and the universality of the life journey. As Mirsky grieves and honors, we are reminded that we too can take comfort in our dark humor, our mistakes along the way, and our inability, at times, to simply move on.
It's all okay.
There's something extraordinary that unfolds amidst the ordinariness of Mirsky's loss and grief, resilience and renewal. We are reminded of our own humanity and the value of our own life experiences whether tragic or joyful, borne out of loss or rising out of renewal. I can't really explain why, but I felt less alone in my unmentionables by the end of "Here, Now" and along this journey I laughed, I cried, I blushed, and I realized that amidst it all I'm doing alright.
May 15, 2025
I bought this book because I met the author at a Writer’s League of Texas one page salon and cried listening to her read bits of the first essay. Afterwards I hugged her and told her when I write a book I think it’ll be something like this.
January 28, 2025
4.5 rounded up to a 5. It was not easy reading, but it felt like having a deep chat with a friend over tea, where you suddenly look up and the sky has gone dark and you wonder how the time could've swept away so swiftly.
One of my favorite (relatable) quotes (p. 128), "As it was, no one introduced me to the holy, to reverence, to the infinite. I never did believe in God. Instead I found comfort in superstition, in gut feelings, in coincidence and connection, in magnetism."
One of my favorite (relatable) quotes (p. 128), "As it was, no one introduced me to the holy, to reverence, to the infinite. I never did believe in God. Instead I found comfort in superstition, in gut feelings, in coincidence and connection, in magnetism."
October 25, 2025
How many works are simultaneously heart-achingly lyrical and brutally sharp? It's not easy to pull off. But if you've suffered great pain and loss but you're also an incredibly gifted writer -- and you've got the discipline to sit down and wrestle those worst-of experiences onto the page -- you can, maybe, do it. Mirsky does it. This collection of essays is not an easy read. No book about a parent's grief of losing their child can be. That's never the point, of course. But there's more to this story than loss, and there's more than a lesson in metabolizing grief. I know the author, have known her almost all my life, knew her when her little boy was living his little life and she moved mountains to make it full for him, which she did. To say it was humbling and heartbreaking to behold is the understatement of understatements. Given MSM's talent, that this book came out of that pain is no surprise. But what remains a surprise to me in general is that anyone could ever endure this kind of tragedy and then be able to share the story with such soft grace and a nail-hard edge.
October 25, 2024
Beautiful, heartbreaking, sassy, honest and hilarious. Mirsky writes right to the heart, and to the point.
I loved this book so very much.
I loved this book so very much.
November 10, 2024
Well-written, poignant yet humorous essays on life and grief. Highly recommend Mirsky as a new voice. Looking forward to her next collection!
December 4, 2024
beautifiul and honest. i'm not usually a fan of a set of essays, but i find this one absolutely incredible. read it. 5 stars. tysm for the arc.
April 2, 2025
The best collection of essays that I’ve read in a looooong, long time. This book changed me.
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews