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A Still Life: A Memoir
Josie George lives in a tiny terraced house in the urban West Midlands with her son. Since her early childhood, she has lived with the fluctuating and confusing challenge of disabling chronic illness. Her days are watchful and solitary, lived out in the same hundred or so metres around her home.
But Josie's world is surprising, intricate, dynamic. She has learned what to look for: the complex patterns of ice on a frozen puddle; the routines of her friends at the community centre; the neighbourhood birds in flight; the slow changes in the morning light, in her small garden, in her growing son, in herself.
In January 2018, Josie sets out to tell the story of her still life, over the course of a year. As the seasons shift, and the tides of her body draw in and out, Josie begins to unfurl her history: her childhood bright with promise but shadowed by confinement; her painful adolescence and her hopeful coming of age; the struggle of her marriage, and the triumph of motherhood. And then a most unexpected thing happens in Josie's quiet present: she falls in love.
A Still Life is a story of illness and pain that rarely sees the light: illness and pain with no end or resolution; illness and pain that we must meet with courage, joy, ingenuity and hope. Against a world which values 'feel good' progress and productivity above all else, Josie sets out a quietly radical alternative: to value and treasure life for life itself, with all its defeats and victories, with all its great and small miracles.
But Josie's world is surprising, intricate, dynamic. She has learned what to look for: the complex patterns of ice on a frozen puddle; the routines of her friends at the community centre; the neighbourhood birds in flight; the slow changes in the morning light, in her small garden, in her growing son, in herself.
In January 2018, Josie sets out to tell the story of her still life, over the course of a year. As the seasons shift, and the tides of her body draw in and out, Josie begins to unfurl her history: her childhood bright with promise but shadowed by confinement; her painful adolescence and her hopeful coming of age; the struggle of her marriage, and the triumph of motherhood. And then a most unexpected thing happens in Josie's quiet present: she falls in love.
A Still Life is a story of illness and pain that rarely sees the light: illness and pain with no end or resolution; illness and pain that we must meet with courage, joy, ingenuity and hope. Against a world which values 'feel good' progress and productivity above all else, Josie sets out a quietly radical alternative: to value and treasure life for life itself, with all its defeats and victories, with all its great and small miracles.
382 pages, Hardcover
First published February 18, 2021
44 people are currently reading
1438 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 114 reviews
February 23, 2021
Over a year of lockdowns, many of us have become accustomed to spending most of the time at home. But for Josie George, social isolation is nothing new. Chronic illness long ago reduced her territory to her home and garden. The magic of A Still Life is in how she finds joy and purpose despite extreme limitations. Opening on New Year’s Day and travelling from one winter to the next, the book is a window onto George’s quiet existence as well as the turning of the seasons.
(My full review will appear in a forthcoming issue of the Times Literary Supplement.)
This is top of my wish list for next year’s Barbellion Prize shortlist.
(My full review will appear in a forthcoming issue of the Times Literary Supplement.)
This is top of my wish list for next year’s Barbellion Prize shortlist.
February 19, 2021
I suspect Josie George is one of those people who breathes words. Some writers seem to write because they like the idea of it, others you feel they wrestled the words to bend them to what they want and then there are writers like Josie who seem to write because they have to, because it is intrinsically part of who they are.
I loved this book. I loved its authenticity, it’s honesty, it’s realness. I loved the observations of how many wonders there are every day, I loved that the hardships were not shied away from and that this was so real, yet so beautiful and I think maybe when we are real enough that in itself creates beauty.
This book is a memoir of one woman who lives with her son in the middle of England somewhere (my English geography is minimal!). She has chronic illnesses that keep her world geographically small but yet allow her to notice a depth that so many miss. She records her life over one year in real time, while looking back over her past and what has led her to the moments now; health, growing up, jobs, adjusting to a life that not many experience and certainly not many talk about.
The writing is exquisite and is exactly the sort of thing I thing you would read if there was a way to morph the fictional and real writing personalities of Anne Shirley, Virginia Woolf and Mary Oliver together. I’ve not quite read anything exactly like it yet it also felt familiar in a comforting sort of way too.
A few days ago I reviewed another book and said that one of the main joys of reading is it allows you to experience a life that you could never experience otherwise, for many I think this book will do this. For me though it allowed me my other reading joy, it let me know I’m not alone. It was so wonderful and refreshing to read about someone with similar illnesses to me and it not automatically fall into the tropes of self-pity, inspirational or anything like it. It just states life as a fact, acknowledges the difficulties and then offers up all the wonders it can contain. I think we need a lot more like this. It helped me enormously reading it and I think this will be a guiding light for many and a book friend to help show that it’s okay. A life within a small space due to disability need not be one to be pitied, it may not offer much diversity of scene but it can offer a stillness and observation and depth that constantly being on the move cannot provide. I cried a bit at some of the parts talking about the search for a diagnosis, the loneliness and everyday of illness because I think it’s one of the first times I’ve read something that resembles my own last few years in print. Representation really does matter and you don’t always know it until it’s not there. Ultimately though this, I think, is a book of hope. Not in the twee sense of it will all come out in the wash and be fine tomorrow but in a more earthy root sense, that whatever happens there is good, there is joy, there is things to be amazed at and notice and be part of.
Having now rambled on about this amazing book for quite long enough I shall simply end with saying it’s a book you need in your life!
I loved this book. I loved its authenticity, it’s honesty, it’s realness. I loved the observations of how many wonders there are every day, I loved that the hardships were not shied away from and that this was so real, yet so beautiful and I think maybe when we are real enough that in itself creates beauty.
This book is a memoir of one woman who lives with her son in the middle of England somewhere (my English geography is minimal!). She has chronic illnesses that keep her world geographically small but yet allow her to notice a depth that so many miss. She records her life over one year in real time, while looking back over her past and what has led her to the moments now; health, growing up, jobs, adjusting to a life that not many experience and certainly not many talk about.
The writing is exquisite and is exactly the sort of thing I thing you would read if there was a way to morph the fictional and real writing personalities of Anne Shirley, Virginia Woolf and Mary Oliver together. I’ve not quite read anything exactly like it yet it also felt familiar in a comforting sort of way too.
A few days ago I reviewed another book and said that one of the main joys of reading is it allows you to experience a life that you could never experience otherwise, for many I think this book will do this. For me though it allowed me my other reading joy, it let me know I’m not alone. It was so wonderful and refreshing to read about someone with similar illnesses to me and it not automatically fall into the tropes of self-pity, inspirational or anything like it. It just states life as a fact, acknowledges the difficulties and then offers up all the wonders it can contain. I think we need a lot more like this. It helped me enormously reading it and I think this will be a guiding light for many and a book friend to help show that it’s okay. A life within a small space due to disability need not be one to be pitied, it may not offer much diversity of scene but it can offer a stillness and observation and depth that constantly being on the move cannot provide. I cried a bit at some of the parts talking about the search for a diagnosis, the loneliness and everyday of illness because I think it’s one of the first times I’ve read something that resembles my own last few years in print. Representation really does matter and you don’t always know it until it’s not there. Ultimately though this, I think, is a book of hope. Not in the twee sense of it will all come out in the wash and be fine tomorrow but in a more earthy root sense, that whatever happens there is good, there is joy, there is things to be amazed at and notice and be part of.
Having now rambled on about this amazing book for quite long enough I shall simply end with saying it’s a book you need in your life!
March 9, 2021
We need to hear more voices like this. As Josie herself identifies there are many people writing books about getting well, and recovering. We also need to hear from people with invisible illnesses, people who are chronically unwell.
Each sentence really shone and the whole thing was a joy to read. It made me reframe my own health, and how I fight to 'be well'. Maybe I need to appreciate what I've got a little more!
Each sentence really shone and the whole thing was a joy to read. It made me reframe my own health, and how I fight to 'be well'. Maybe I need to appreciate what I've got a little more!
April 6, 2021
4.5 stars rounded up. Honest and beautiful writing. After a year spent learning how to live through lockdown and with a newly diagnosed chronic health condition, this really resonated with me. A book about mindfulness, gratitude, acceptance, being in the moment, finding joy in the overlooked and the everyday, and a freeing and total acceptance of yourself and your life as it is now.
February 10, 2022
I so WANTED this to be for me but it was not for me.
September 4, 2022
I follow this author on Twitter, and prior to being chronically ill, I thought she had a really cool take on life. Since becoming chronically ill, her words have made me feel like I am enough even though I can't do what I used to do. A bought this memoir hoping there would be tips on how to live with a chronic illness, and I am so happy that it was not that at all. Josie finds the beauty in all the small things and joy in the slow things, and I need some more of that.
February 19, 2024
I discovered Josie George's 'A Still Life' through a friend's recommendation. Got immersed in it the past few days and just finished reading it.
Josie George has chronic illness since the time she was a kid. It limits where she can go, what she can do. She decides to chronicle one year of her life, looking at her life through different seasons, and also looks back in time, to see how it all started and how it all unravelled. As Josie George says in her prologue –
"Usually, when you are unwell, people expect one of two stories : either you get better – you beat it – or you get worse and die. Stories of everyday living and undramatic, sustained existence, stories that don't end with cures or tragic climaxes but that are made up of slow, persistent continuation as you learn and change – stories about what happens then – they may be harder to tell, but I believe they're important too. I believe we need to tell more of them."
It is not all frustrating and painful and heartbreaking, though that is all there. It is also beautiful and joyful and serene and contemplative. Josie George's writing is meditative and contemplative and flows smoothly like a river. It is an absolute pleasure to read. I couldn't stop highlighting passages – there were so many favourites. This is early days yet, but I think this book will be one of my favourites of the year.
Sharing some of my favourite parts.
"Difference is an odd thing. I'm beginning to realise that it's a spectrum – no, a wedge. Yes, that's it. We all have a place in it, we're all different, but some of us are undeniably more different than others. The thin edge of the wedge is a strange place to exist. The further down into difference you go, the more of you that doesn't match, the tighter it all gets. Fewer and fewer people look like you or act like you or live like you. Fewer and fewer environments fit your body or meet your needs, spaces catered for the masses. Opportunities and choices shrink. It gets harder to see yourself in other people, harder to find common ground. You begin to realise what a privilege it is to have the ability to blend in, and what it really means when you don't, can't. More and more people begin either to look past you and through you, or to stare. I have never decided which is worse. I suspect getting older feels the same: I've just had to learn it sooner."
"I have a habit of leaving flowers in vases long past their best, until they are puckered and wrinkled, losing their petals and manners. This habit's not from idleness or fatigue though, this is more a kind of lived intention: I don't give up on things any more. I want to love beyond first bloom and easy convenience, all through the inevitable changing and fading. I want to see what happens when things stop being perfect. I have learnt, painfully, that love without curiosity is short-lived. I want a life now where love doesn't run out; to see things for everything they are, for as long as they live. And so, I let my flowers turn every colour they know, change their shape, cast new shadows, in defiance and in pride. Perhaps, I think, if I do, I will learn how to love my people better. Myself, even."
"I will admit it: some days, I feel broken. Like a wave is broken. Not damaged, just scattered. The kind of lonely that makes you feel stretched so thin, you stop being able to see yourself."
"I so rarely know how to be acceptable; how to be unwild. We love to talk of being wild in human terms as something exciting, alluring, the stuff of movies and pin-ups but when you watch wild things, you begin to understand that this is not what wildness means. It is nothing so conveniently pleasing. To be truly wild is to be skittish, capricious, trusting of few. It is to be pulled to home and warmth and the sensory comfort of familiar bodies, not to newness and excitement. To be wild is to be wary, heeding instinct louder than promise. It is the hope that those who see you will see you only for love, not as prey, and a wish for not too many eyes on you at once. It is to crave simplicity: an undisturbed spot, a full belly, a body that knows itself. To be wild is to be drawn to sing one perfect song over and over, like the great tit in the pine trees now, and for that to be enough for you to belong where you are. It is to live close to death and change but not let it panic you into worse. It is to steer yourself endlessly towards the things that nurture you, to be unable to stop or deny yourself. I am wild."
"The older you get, the harder it is to experience a singular grief. Instead, when loss comes again, it doesn't bring something solid all the way through or isolated, it brings you a Russian doll. Loss comes; a new layer of grief forms. And instead of staying still, it opens, and out all the others pour, popping into their composite forms until you are sitting surrounded by an eager, bleeding crowd of them. Grief is cumulative and to feel one kind is to feel at least a little of them all, renewed. When I wake from the shock, there it is, right here in my hands. All my past losses, nestled."
"I don't know what to do today so I will make a cup of tea. There is nothing else for it. I have forgotten everything. I have no idea what the hell anything means or who I am supposed to be or what I'm supposed to be doing. I am all blank, all gone, but for this one thread of me left. Look, it leads to the kitchen. I will follow it until I reach the kettle and then I will make a cup of tea and everything will be OK again, maybe. Maybe it will. How funny that drinking tea is the one act of hope that endures; the one thing that resists falling through that trapdoor of panic and despair. You could lose faith in everything else, but you would still take a cup of tea held out, I know you would. On the days when I can barely stand my face in the mirror, I will still, carefully, kindly, brew myself a cup of the stuff. It is an untouchable parlay. A gap in the wall. A truce in the most complicated feeling of everything."
"And yet this tangle of muscle and bone, this pumping heart, these busy thoughts: these are what have got me this far. This is the form that will see me through all the rest of my days, whatever shape it's in, whatever it looks like, however much it struggles. These are the only hands that will let me stroke and soothe the people I love, the only back that will root me when I need to hold firm. My breath is the only space that will allow me to pause and gather myself in and maybe finally, finally do what's right. My mind is the only one I get to work with. This is my one ride. So many of us search endlessly for some sense of a lasting home and forget that we already inhabit it. However imperfect, our body is the one thing that's ever really ours. It's the one thing we get to keep hold of all our life."
Have you read 'A Still Life'? What to you think about it?
Josie George has chronic illness since the time she was a kid. It limits where she can go, what she can do. She decides to chronicle one year of her life, looking at her life through different seasons, and also looks back in time, to see how it all started and how it all unravelled. As Josie George says in her prologue –
"Usually, when you are unwell, people expect one of two stories : either you get better – you beat it – or you get worse and die. Stories of everyday living and undramatic, sustained existence, stories that don't end with cures or tragic climaxes but that are made up of slow, persistent continuation as you learn and change – stories about what happens then – they may be harder to tell, but I believe they're important too. I believe we need to tell more of them."
It is not all frustrating and painful and heartbreaking, though that is all there. It is also beautiful and joyful and serene and contemplative. Josie George's writing is meditative and contemplative and flows smoothly like a river. It is an absolute pleasure to read. I couldn't stop highlighting passages – there were so many favourites. This is early days yet, but I think this book will be one of my favourites of the year.
Sharing some of my favourite parts.
"Difference is an odd thing. I'm beginning to realise that it's a spectrum – no, a wedge. Yes, that's it. We all have a place in it, we're all different, but some of us are undeniably more different than others. The thin edge of the wedge is a strange place to exist. The further down into difference you go, the more of you that doesn't match, the tighter it all gets. Fewer and fewer people look like you or act like you or live like you. Fewer and fewer environments fit your body or meet your needs, spaces catered for the masses. Opportunities and choices shrink. It gets harder to see yourself in other people, harder to find common ground. You begin to realise what a privilege it is to have the ability to blend in, and what it really means when you don't, can't. More and more people begin either to look past you and through you, or to stare. I have never decided which is worse. I suspect getting older feels the same: I've just had to learn it sooner."
"I have a habit of leaving flowers in vases long past their best, until they are puckered and wrinkled, losing their petals and manners. This habit's not from idleness or fatigue though, this is more a kind of lived intention: I don't give up on things any more. I want to love beyond first bloom and easy convenience, all through the inevitable changing and fading. I want to see what happens when things stop being perfect. I have learnt, painfully, that love without curiosity is short-lived. I want a life now where love doesn't run out; to see things for everything they are, for as long as they live. And so, I let my flowers turn every colour they know, change their shape, cast new shadows, in defiance and in pride. Perhaps, I think, if I do, I will learn how to love my people better. Myself, even."
"I will admit it: some days, I feel broken. Like a wave is broken. Not damaged, just scattered. The kind of lonely that makes you feel stretched so thin, you stop being able to see yourself."
"I so rarely know how to be acceptable; how to be unwild. We love to talk of being wild in human terms as something exciting, alluring, the stuff of movies and pin-ups but when you watch wild things, you begin to understand that this is not what wildness means. It is nothing so conveniently pleasing. To be truly wild is to be skittish, capricious, trusting of few. It is to be pulled to home and warmth and the sensory comfort of familiar bodies, not to newness and excitement. To be wild is to be wary, heeding instinct louder than promise. It is the hope that those who see you will see you only for love, not as prey, and a wish for not too many eyes on you at once. It is to crave simplicity: an undisturbed spot, a full belly, a body that knows itself. To be wild is to be drawn to sing one perfect song over and over, like the great tit in the pine trees now, and for that to be enough for you to belong where you are. It is to live close to death and change but not let it panic you into worse. It is to steer yourself endlessly towards the things that nurture you, to be unable to stop or deny yourself. I am wild."
"The older you get, the harder it is to experience a singular grief. Instead, when loss comes again, it doesn't bring something solid all the way through or isolated, it brings you a Russian doll. Loss comes; a new layer of grief forms. And instead of staying still, it opens, and out all the others pour, popping into their composite forms until you are sitting surrounded by an eager, bleeding crowd of them. Grief is cumulative and to feel one kind is to feel at least a little of them all, renewed. When I wake from the shock, there it is, right here in my hands. All my past losses, nestled."
"I don't know what to do today so I will make a cup of tea. There is nothing else for it. I have forgotten everything. I have no idea what the hell anything means or who I am supposed to be or what I'm supposed to be doing. I am all blank, all gone, but for this one thread of me left. Look, it leads to the kitchen. I will follow it until I reach the kettle and then I will make a cup of tea and everything will be OK again, maybe. Maybe it will. How funny that drinking tea is the one act of hope that endures; the one thing that resists falling through that trapdoor of panic and despair. You could lose faith in everything else, but you would still take a cup of tea held out, I know you would. On the days when I can barely stand my face in the mirror, I will still, carefully, kindly, brew myself a cup of the stuff. It is an untouchable parlay. A gap in the wall. A truce in the most complicated feeling of everything."
"And yet this tangle of muscle and bone, this pumping heart, these busy thoughts: these are what have got me this far. This is the form that will see me through all the rest of my days, whatever shape it's in, whatever it looks like, however much it struggles. These are the only hands that will let me stroke and soothe the people I love, the only back that will root me when I need to hold firm. My breath is the only space that will allow me to pause and gather myself in and maybe finally, finally do what's right. My mind is the only one I get to work with. This is my one ride. So many of us search endlessly for some sense of a lasting home and forget that we already inhabit it. However imperfect, our body is the one thing that's ever really ours. It's the one thing we get to keep hold of all our life."
Have you read 'A Still Life'? What to you think about it?
February 20, 2021
I’ve never read a book before when I felt I already knew something or indeed anything about the author .I’ve been following Jodie on twitter for a couple of years and have loved the way that the twitter community has revelled in her love story .I’ve followed the tweets that chronicled Fraser’s journey across the North Sea for Christmas and shared her joy in his arrival .I love her beautiful poetic language and it’s concentration on the little things of beauty that might otherwise go unrecorded .When I learned she had written a book I preordered it and gobbled it up as soon as it arrived on my trusty kindle .
Until relatively recently my life has been very different to hers as I rushed through a busy working week and raised my own boys .And then it wasn’t so different and like she describes in her beautiful book I too had to slow to snails pace and live from my bed
I adored this book ,it had me in tears often as I recognised the struggles so well .As she herself says many books are written about a persons ability to thrive and overcome adversity rather than as in this case simply live with the unrelenting unpredictability of chronic illness .
The elements of the book I love the most however are Josie’s observations of mundane ordinary British life ,the descriptions of strangers viewed from a distance ,the grubby sweaty parents at school pick up ,the skin of the elderly ,the slurping of a milkshake ,the weeds pushing through the pavement.The language she uses is poetic and truly beautiful she has the skills of a great writer and I would love to read a novel she writes
I shall be recommending this book to people generally but also selectively to people I know who will understand her health problems and who might feel a little bit less invisible after reading it .
Until relatively recently my life has been very different to hers as I rushed through a busy working week and raised my own boys .And then it wasn’t so different and like she describes in her beautiful book I too had to slow to snails pace and live from my bed
I adored this book ,it had me in tears often as I recognised the struggles so well .As she herself says many books are written about a persons ability to thrive and overcome adversity rather than as in this case simply live with the unrelenting unpredictability of chronic illness .
The elements of the book I love the most however are Josie’s observations of mundane ordinary British life ,the descriptions of strangers viewed from a distance ,the grubby sweaty parents at school pick up ,the skin of the elderly ,the slurping of a milkshake ,the weeds pushing through the pavement.The language she uses is poetic and truly beautiful she has the skills of a great writer and I would love to read a novel she writes
I shall be recommending this book to people generally but also selectively to people I know who will understand her health problems and who might feel a little bit less invisible after reading it .
March 12, 2022
I am glad that the author found solace and purpose in writing this book, and it helped her understand and relate to her chronic illness. There is an interesting through-line with this book about her past, her present, and her feelings about the future, and I found her personal narrative interesting to read. Unfortunately the book suffers greatly from being overly long, reliant on dull and uninteresting observations wrapped in pointlessly wordy prose, and is extremely self absorbed to the point where it is very hard to follow along with the author's words as they are so deep in her own head that they are unintelligible.
This book is a short essay blown up to a painfully slow and long memoir. The author has no particularly interesting thoughts or insights to share, and the short flips back and forth between past and present make it hard to follow her story or care about anything she is talking about.
A still life really suffers from lack of editing, if it was a 5000 word essay or article I would have greatly enjoyed it, as I did enjoy the start of the book, but her editor really failed here by letting the book get this long and this tedious to read. I had to skip many long paragraphs of dull observations because there were no new or interesting ideas, only repitition of ideas stated much earlier. The pieces of 'wisdom' expressed through the book are helpful to the author I am sure, but I don't need to know every thought that helped her cope with her day to day life.
If interested in the author, read a short summary of the book somewhere, or skip around this book's 'then' chapters, which are generally more interesting. Reading through cover to cover as I did is a painful and unrewarding experience.
This book is a short essay blown up to a painfully slow and long memoir. The author has no particularly interesting thoughts or insights to share, and the short flips back and forth between past and present make it hard to follow her story or care about anything she is talking about.
A still life really suffers from lack of editing, if it was a 5000 word essay or article I would have greatly enjoyed it, as I did enjoy the start of the book, but her editor really failed here by letting the book get this long and this tedious to read. I had to skip many long paragraphs of dull observations because there were no new or interesting ideas, only repitition of ideas stated much earlier. The pieces of 'wisdom' expressed through the book are helpful to the author I am sure, but I don't need to know every thought that helped her cope with her day to day life.
If interested in the author, read a short summary of the book somewhere, or skip around this book's 'then' chapters, which are generally more interesting. Reading through cover to cover as I did is a painful and unrewarding experience.
June 4, 2021
...the audacity of it, of writing anything at all. Hidden deep in a society where I am supposed to be a machine that only works, consumes, pretends, and then begs for more, I rest...
Being someone who rests in a world that glorifies, fetishises work more than any other thing is to be an alien among your own kind. It is to be treated much like one, too.
Josie rests, not because she doesn't love work, but because her body doesn't allow her to do everything she'd wish to. Therefore she has learnt the value of stillness, how to see the beauty in your immediate surroundings, how to really live in the moment and that we never really know what our future is, among many other lessons.
Being someone who rests in a world that glorifies, fetishises work more than any other thing is to be an alien among your own kind. It is to be treated much like one, too.
Josie rests, not because she doesn't love work, but because her body doesn't allow her to do everything she'd wish to. Therefore she has learnt the value of stillness, how to see the beauty in your immediate surroundings, how to really live in the moment and that we never really know what our future is, among many other lessons.
I underlined the heck out of this book, it is fantastic. And it's particularly significant, if for any reason, physical or otherwise, your life is more confined than other people's.
November 13, 2021
Josie George's memoir is by no means an easy read, and to be fair it's not meant to be.
Chronic illness is a difficult subject to broach. Josie handles it in a sensitive, almost zen-like manner, describing her years of being undiagnosed, mislabelled a fraud or attention seeker, trying to battle against symptoms and overcome her fatigue. It is so disheartening to read, you can only imagine what it is like to live that life, with your body constantly fighting against you.
She makes a good job of describing her path from frustration and annoyance, to acceptance, inevitability and coping.
The only small criticism I have, is the length of the book. At 400 pages, it just feels slightly too long for me, with my attention waning towards the latter chapters. Nevertheless a great read for anyone wanting to understand more about chronic illness.
Chronic illness is a difficult subject to broach. Josie handles it in a sensitive, almost zen-like manner, describing her years of being undiagnosed, mislabelled a fraud or attention seeker, trying to battle against symptoms and overcome her fatigue. It is so disheartening to read, you can only imagine what it is like to live that life, with your body constantly fighting against you.
She makes a good job of describing her path from frustration and annoyance, to acceptance, inevitability and coping.
The only small criticism I have, is the length of the book. At 400 pages, it just feels slightly too long for me, with my attention waning towards the latter chapters. Nevertheless a great read for anyone wanting to understand more about chronic illness.
April 16, 2021
I loved this book. Beautiful, engaging writing style and full of such hope and love. I've been chronically ill for over a decade now and reading this I had this image of Josie being a little ahead of me, guiding and encouraging me in finding a path, a way of living, that is meaningful and worthwhile: even if you don't get better, don't get to be where you thought you'd be. I smiled a lot and cried a little. I know this is a book I'll read again, and dip into often.
April 27, 2021
(8/10)
Gorgeously written. Honest and impactful.
Gorgeously written. Honest and impactful.
March 7, 2022
Jolie George's prose is so beautiful and full of wisdom, it feels like a comforting blanket I want to wrap myself in.
January 17, 2022
I borrowed this book from the library but after reading about twenty pages, I was compelled to order it online. This is a book I want to have on my shelf, return to, underline parts and think about again and again.
Josie writes along two timelines that she flits between throughout her memoir: her present life spanning a year of observations, broken up by the four seasons, and her past which gradually unravels the story of her life. The present tense narrative is written in such a beautiful, poetic way. She makes perceptive connections to nature and the wider world around her when many would only be able to see mundane day-to-day life, limitations due to ill health and isolation. ‘Inspiring’ is an overused word but I’m genuinely moved by this book and encouraged to look up, look out and focus my attention around me; I now see value in my slower paced life and am more at peace with my position in the world.
The second timeline tells the story of Josie’s past and delves into the challenges of her repeated bouts of chronic ill health and how she navigated relationships, grief, love and motherhood. This is at times emotive and difficult to read, yet also brave, uplifting and moving.
I would recommend this book to anyone, but it was especially validating reading it as someone also experiencing chronic illness. Our stories are often untold and our lives easily ignored; Josie George does an amazing job of bringing her story to life and showing the beauty and value of it.
Josie writes along two timelines that she flits between throughout her memoir: her present life spanning a year of observations, broken up by the four seasons, and her past which gradually unravels the story of her life. The present tense narrative is written in such a beautiful, poetic way. She makes perceptive connections to nature and the wider world around her when many would only be able to see mundane day-to-day life, limitations due to ill health and isolation. ‘Inspiring’ is an overused word but I’m genuinely moved by this book and encouraged to look up, look out and focus my attention around me; I now see value in my slower paced life and am more at peace with my position in the world.
The second timeline tells the story of Josie’s past and delves into the challenges of her repeated bouts of chronic ill health and how she navigated relationships, grief, love and motherhood. This is at times emotive and difficult to read, yet also brave, uplifting and moving.
I would recommend this book to anyone, but it was especially validating reading it as someone also experiencing chronic illness. Our stories are often untold and our lives easily ignored; Josie George does an amazing job of bringing her story to life and showing the beauty and value of it.
March 5, 2021
I once, feeling sad and a bit lost and not knowing exactly why I was doing it, typed my name into the Twitter search bar. Up popped various accounts, including Josie George’s (her handle, @porridgebrain made me smile). I followed her immediately and over the next few years her life and way of thinking nurtured me.
I read her tweets, blog posts, Instagram posts, and letters (until I was pregnant with my daughter and felt I should tighten my purse strings). This book is like those and yet not, because it is even better. Her words are soothing, touching, understated and yet each one is very solid and true. It’s a rare combination and I loved it so much.
I read her tweets, blog posts, Instagram posts, and letters (until I was pregnant with my daughter and felt I should tighten my purse strings). This book is like those and yet not, because it is even better. Her words are soothing, touching, understated and yet each one is very solid and true. It’s a rare combination and I loved it so much.
December 17, 2022
Every single sentence in this book is about 5 times the length it should be, and somehow it still tells you nothing. I feel lied to. This book is cold, distant, and just wastes your time with being overly verbose.
I have heard only extremely good reviews of this, which should have made me suspicious. But I had high hopes. And then it turned out to be a massive disappointment, and a huge waste of time.
I have heard only extremely good reviews of this, which should have made me suspicious. But I had high hopes. And then it turned out to be a massive disappointment, and a huge waste of time.
March 25, 2021
A beautifully written memoir, carefully and truthfully considered. A lot to value. I wish Josie George well and look forward to more of her writing.
December 25, 2021
Disappointed
I was so looking forward to this book. Very interested in what a confined life is like, because I have this feeling that in a world of confinement, there is something mysterious, dark and profound that I'd love to explore.
But I have to say, the writing for me is a bit too personal. Hard to understand what is being talked about. Lots of descriptions of internal feelings that sound beautiful and sublime but dont make sense to my brain. I was reading and forgetting at the same time.
I was so looking forward to this book. Very interested in what a confined life is like, because I have this feeling that in a world of confinement, there is something mysterious, dark and profound that I'd love to explore.
But I have to say, the writing for me is a bit too personal. Hard to understand what is being talked about. Lots of descriptions of internal feelings that sound beautiful and sublime but dont make sense to my brain. I was reading and forgetting at the same time.
September 17, 2022
Beautifully written-I particularly liked the stories about her childhood and coming to terms with chronic illness as a young adult. Quite slow paced and gently repetitive as part of the structure. It may not be to everyone's taste but it is well worth reading.
October 29, 2023
A really great book. I found Josie George’s account very bravely honest, entirely affirming and totally reassuring. As someone that has long term chronic pain from an undiagnosed cause I recognised many aspects of this memoir. I was grateful for Josie George sharing her story and helping me feel less alone
November 23, 2021
This memoir from Josie George, who lives with chronic illness, is beautifully written and bravely told.
It’s about life, love, family, beauty, anger and I adored it from start to finish.
Told in seasons, it follows a year in the authors life and I would highly recommend it.
It’s about life, love, family, beauty, anger and I adored it from start to finish.
Told in seasons, it follows a year in the authors life and I would highly recommend it.
August 30, 2021
Book reviews 56/2021 - A still life, Josie George.
Single Parenthhod is challenging enough enough at times. Single Parenthood with an incredibly dehabilitating disability where you lack enough 'spoons' of energy to function on a bad day and just enough to slowly, slowly pace yourself to your mobility scooter to take your child to school on others?
This is Josie's life. Her disabilities fluctuate, confound doctors and confine her to a small world where she functions with joy in the small things and expands her world with imagination, perseverance and gratitude. I expect this will piss off some people as she is optimistic, full of joy and doesn't spend too much time or energy slagging off anyone who breathes at her wrong. Why waste the small energy you have on anger?
At times I wanted to sit with her and hope that her positivity could somehow rub off on me. At others I found the love and chirpiness a bit 'much' - on balance, I was delighted with her small wins, of a community centre opening a stones throw from her front door, somewhere where she could just be and could be with other people. I am grateful for her friendships, her BFF and her fledgling romantic relationship formed from twitter (of all places!) & glimpsed that joy as she met her online lover for the first time - the nerves! The sheer relief it went well!
There is a passage later in the book where she connects with everything, which I found especially beautiful,
I am not separate.With just a little reach, I become an extension of the sway of conifer in the wind and the pace of the man with hunched shoulders who walks a small grey dog past my window, hidden in his hood. I become his shuffling feet and his blank stare. I become the neighbour backing her car out of a tight space, who I know twists her wedding ring and bites her hair. My dark eyes are black beetles and the tightness in me is the middle of the mountain. I nod and the pigeons on the roof tops nod; I breathe in slow and deep and the clouds move. I let my pen move across the page like a heartbeat, keeping it all alive. I become its will, its desire and its fear and I know that, in that, I have a purpose & always will do now, however slow I go and however many times I fail.
Hugely enjoyable. Utterly #TeamJosie.
Single Parenthhod is challenging enough enough at times. Single Parenthood with an incredibly dehabilitating disability where you lack enough 'spoons' of energy to function on a bad day and just enough to slowly, slowly pace yourself to your mobility scooter to take your child to school on others?
This is Josie's life. Her disabilities fluctuate, confound doctors and confine her to a small world where she functions with joy in the small things and expands her world with imagination, perseverance and gratitude. I expect this will piss off some people as she is optimistic, full of joy and doesn't spend too much time or energy slagging off anyone who breathes at her wrong. Why waste the small energy you have on anger?
At times I wanted to sit with her and hope that her positivity could somehow rub off on me. At others I found the love and chirpiness a bit 'much' - on balance, I was delighted with her small wins, of a community centre opening a stones throw from her front door, somewhere where she could just be and could be with other people. I am grateful for her friendships, her BFF and her fledgling romantic relationship formed from twitter (of all places!) & glimpsed that joy as she met her online lover for the first time - the nerves! The sheer relief it went well!
There is a passage later in the book where she connects with everything, which I found especially beautiful,
I am not separate.With just a little reach, I become an extension of the sway of conifer in the wind and the pace of the man with hunched shoulders who walks a small grey dog past my window, hidden in his hood. I become his shuffling feet and his blank stare. I become the neighbour backing her car out of a tight space, who I know twists her wedding ring and bites her hair. My dark eyes are black beetles and the tightness in me is the middle of the mountain. I nod and the pigeons on the roof tops nod; I breathe in slow and deep and the clouds move. I let my pen move across the page like a heartbeat, keeping it all alive. I become its will, its desire and its fear and I know that, in that, I have a purpose & always will do now, however slow I go and however many times I fail.
Hugely enjoyable. Utterly #TeamJosie.
January 6, 2023
I have followed Josie George for several years now on Twitter and I like reading her posts, they are always cheerful, creative, observant. I wanted to like this book more than I did. The themes of loneliness, creativity, chronic illness, feeling both hopeful and inadequate were interesting but I thought the format was poor. I disliked the back and forth between the present day and the author's childhood, it sometimes work but here it is clumsy and confusing at times. The writing was lovely but too much of it felt like rambling and was repetitive. Josie George's big strength is her keen sense of detail and I feel what she has to say would have been better expressed in essays.
February 19, 2021
My words could never do this stunning memoir justice but..
sometimes a book comes along that leaves you spellbound, speechless, grateful, and this is definitely one. If I could, I’d press it into the hands of everyone I know. A memoir of a rich, troubled, painful, rewarding and hopeful life, by a writer that somehow seems to have glimpsed into my own life, and probably yours too. I truly can’t recommend this book enough.
sometimes a book comes along that leaves you spellbound, speechless, grateful, and this is definitely one. If I could, I’d press it into the hands of everyone I know. A memoir of a rich, troubled, painful, rewarding and hopeful life, by a writer that somehow seems to have glimpsed into my own life, and probably yours too. I truly can’t recommend this book enough.
February 23, 2021
I’ve loved Josie’s writing from the very first tweet of hers that I saw, through Letters from Wonderland to Bimblings and this book is no different.
It’s a beautiful memoir that I had to force myself to put down so I could sleep. I think there is something to be learnt by everyone in this book. I, for one, know I look for joy in the unexpected as a direct result of Josie’s writing and I’m far happier because of it.
It’s a beautiful memoir that I had to force myself to put down so I could sleep. I think there is something to be learnt by everyone in this book. I, for one, know I look for joy in the unexpected as a direct result of Josie’s writing and I’m far happier because of it.
February 7, 2023
I don’t understand how people found this enjoyable. It is painfully slow. The prose is embarrassing. It reads as if a high schooler wrote it and is trying to show off their knowledge of poetic techniques. The overly flowery prose spoils any sense of realism. This is so self-indulgent it borders on narcissistic. For me, the sad reality is that if your life is a bit boring, the book about it will be too.
October 6, 2023
A lesson on a life appreciated.
What a wonderful, literary appraisal of a very limited life well lived. Josie's prose on the minutiae of life is totally awe inspiring. I had to reread some passages as once was not enough.
This is not a story about a disabled person, it's about looking at the beauty of life and all it brings to those that can see.
This is a masterpiece and everyone should read it.
Well done Josie!
What a wonderful, literary appraisal of a very limited life well lived. Josie's prose on the minutiae of life is totally awe inspiring. I had to reread some passages as once was not enough.
This is not a story about a disabled person, it's about looking at the beauty of life and all it brings to those that can see.
This is a masterpiece and everyone should read it.
Well done Josie!
April 14, 2021
I commend the author for writing this book that helped her to understand and live with her physical problems. Unfortunately, it is not what I expected. I would describe it as a self-help book, but I feel glad for her if she achieved her objective.
Read
January 6, 2022I can’t rate non fiction especially memoirs it’s someone’s life
This was amazingly hard hitting yet beautifully written I felt a kinship with the author as the book went as a sufferer of fibromyalgia it most definitely hit close to home for me
This was amazingly hard hitting yet beautifully written I felt a kinship with the author as the book went as a sufferer of fibromyalgia it most definitely hit close to home for me
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