A memoir about anxiety, our minds, and optimism in spite of it all
Where do mental illness stories begin?
'Anna’s always had too many feelings. Or not enough feelings – she’s never been quite sure. Debilitating panic. Extraordinary melancholy. Paranoia. Ambivalence. Fear. Despair.
'From anxious child to terrified parent, mental illness has been a constant. A harsh critic in the big moments – teenage pregnancy, divorce, a dream career, falling in love – and a companion in the small ones – getting to the supermarket, feeding all her cats, remembering which child is which.
'But between therapists’ rooms and emergency departments, there’s been a feeling even harder to explain … optimism.
'In this sharp-eyed and illuminating memoir, award-winning writer Anna Spargo-Ryan pieces together the relationships between time, mental illness, and our brain as the keeper of our stories. Against the backdrop of her own experience, she interrogates reality, how it can be fractured, and why it’s so hard to put it back together.
'Powerfully honest, tender and often funny, A Kind of Magic blends meticulous research with vivid snapshots of the stuff that breaks us, and the magic of finding ourselves again.' (Publication summary)
'From its outset, A Kind of Magic establishes two distinct kinds of language. There’s Spargo-Ryan’s narration, as she recounts meeting with her new therapist: this voice is warm and confiding. The language she employs is vibrant and all her own: she likens her anxiety, for example, to ‘being trapped in jelly and also being allergic to jelly’(6). It’s laden with humour and irony, too: the narrator worries that the thongs she’s worn to the appointment are going to make a bad impression, and what’s more, their slapping sound might disturb the ‘sick people’ in the medical centre; the ‘patients with actual problems’(4). Within this same opening chapter, we’re introduced to a medical lexicon, which Spargo-Ryan informs us she’s become well-versed in: ‘I feel dissociated, I have intrusive thoughts’(6). These two sorts of language indicate two spheres of knowledge: the first, clinical and official; the second, intimate and embodied. The therapist’s PhD in clinical psychology is displayed on the wall; she is a ‘specialist in anxiety and psychosis’(4). But Spargo-Ryan tells us she is ‘also a specialist’ in these conditions, ‘but in the other way, where sometimes they try to kill me’(4).' (Introduction)
'A deeply engaging memoir about identity, mental illness, and the importance of constructing a narrative.'
'Anna Spargo-Ryan has been managing multiple mental health conditions since childhood, a lifetime of surviving an unwell brain. A recent diagnosis of ADHD, however, comes with fresh (though not unexpected) anguish.' (Introduction)
'An astounding fact: some who witnessed firsthand the infamous killing fields of Pol Pot’s regime in Cambodia went blind afterwards. Their eyes could still “see” in a physical sense – their optic nerve remained undamaged. They just couldn’t admit the horrors they had seen.' (Introduction)
'An astounding fact: some who witnessed firsthand the infamous killing fields of Pol Pot’s regime in Cambodia went blind afterwards. Their eyes could still “see” in a physical sense – their optic nerve remained undamaged. They just couldn’t admit the horrors they had seen.' (Introduction)
'Anna Spargo-Ryan has been managing multiple mental health conditions since childhood, a lifetime of surviving an unwell brain. A recent diagnosis of ADHD, however, comes with fresh (though not unexpected) anguish.' (Introduction)
'From its outset, A Kind of Magic establishes two distinct kinds of language. There’s Spargo-Ryan’s narration, as she recounts meeting with her new therapist: this voice is warm and confiding. The language she employs is vibrant and all her own: she likens her anxiety, for example, to ‘being trapped in jelly and also being allergic to jelly’(6). It’s laden with humour and irony, too: the narrator worries that the thongs she’s worn to the appointment are going to make a bad impression, and what’s more, their slapping sound might disturb the ‘sick people’ in the medical centre; the ‘patients with actual problems’(4). Within this same opening chapter, we’re introduced to a medical lexicon, which Spargo-Ryan informs us she’s become well-versed in: ‘I feel dissociated, I have intrusive thoughts’(6). These two sorts of language indicate two spheres of knowledge: the first, clinical and official; the second, intimate and embodied. The therapist’s PhD in clinical psychology is displayed on the wall; she is a ‘specialist in anxiety and psychosis’(4). But Spargo-Ryan tells us she is ‘also a specialist’ in these conditions, ‘but in the other way, where sometimes they try to kill me’(4).' (Introduction)
'A deeply engaging memoir about identity, mental illness, and the importance of constructing a narrative.'
