I need to take a deep breath before I even begin—The Better Part of Worse wrecked me in the most tender, soul-deep kind of way. I went into this book expecting a quiet historical drama, and what I got was a sweeping, decades-long portrait of a family held together by faith, heartbreak, and the kind of love that doesn’t come with guarantees—but shows up anyway, again and again.
Jamie Murphy is the kind of character who quietly crawls under your skin. A man who once imagined a life in the priesthood, he ends up on a very different path as husband and father. And when his wife Katie begins her slow descent into mental illness, Jamie’s faith and resolve are tested in ways that feel devastatingly real. There’s no glamour in this love story—it’s raw, it’s painful, and it’s saturated with all the helplessness, fear, and tiny flickers of hope that come with loving someone who is slowly slipping away from you.
I connected so deeply with the theme of clinging to hope—not blind hope, but the kind that feels foolish and necessary all at once. Jamie and his daughters don’t just endure Katie’s illness—they fight for her. Even when the world tells them it’s hopeless. Even when the decades pile up. That kind of loyalty? That stubborn, aching hope? It gutted me.
Katie’s story is just as powerful. It’s not told with pity, but with a fierce, compassionate honesty that doesn’t shy away from the realities of what women—especially wives and mothers—faced when they couldn’t fit the mold society demanded. The depiction of mental health treatment in the early 20th century is painful, but so important. When Thorazine enters the picture, I felt this rush of cautious hope right alongside the characters. It wasn’t just a drug—it was a lifeline.
This novel made me cry. But more than that, it made me feel seen in the quiet, messy places we don’t always talk about—grief that doesn’t go away, love that stretches beyond reason, and faith that’s held together by frayed threads. Denise-Marie Martin doesn’t offer easy answers, but she gives us something better: grace. And the reminder that even when things are at their absolute worst, healing can still bloom.
If you’ve ever loved someone through their darkest season, or wondered what it means to keep going when life turns out nothing like you imagined, The Better Part of Worse will meet you where you are—and it just might leave a light on.