Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason

That tension runs through Sorrow and Bliss. At forty, Martha Friel has separated from her husband, Patrick, and returned to her parents’ house in London. She has lived with mental illness since she was seventeen. Looking back over her childhood and marriage, she tries to understand how her life reached this point.

Set in London and Oxford, Sorrow and Bliss follows that attempt. There is a love story here, alongside a sisterhood full of rude jokes and a family whose artistic talents don’t make them particularly good at looking after one another.

Martha can be exhausting company. She notices other people’s absurdities quickly and speaks with a sharpness that can become cruel. Because she tells the story, we have access to the pain behind her behaviour. That closeness can make you feel protective of her, then uncomfortable with what she says to someone who is trying to help.

Patrick has his own history of loss, although Martha’s account can make it easy to overlook. His steadiness is part of what draws her to him; later, she experiences his attempts at reassurance as a failure to understand. Their marriage becomes painful to watch because affection survives alongside resentment.

Ingrid, Martha’s younger sister, brings a different kind of intimacy. Their messages and private jokes have the ridiculous shorthand of people who have known each other forever. Ingrid can be blunt with Martha without every exchange becoming a solemn conversation about her illness. Their closeness makes the strain between them matter.

Behind both sisters are Celia, their sculptor mother, and Fergus, their poet father. Their childhood gives the novel much of its eccentric humour, as well as some of its unhappiness.

Mason’s writing is direct and dryly funny. At a wedding near the beginning, Martha compares Patrick to the sofa she grew up with: his presence has always been a fact of life. It is an affectionate joke, but it also suggests how easily she takes him for granted. A small remark tells us something about the marriage before Martha explains it herself.

The story moves through short scenes and memories, gradually filling in the years behind the separation. Its momentum comes from revising our understanding of people. If you enjoy noticing how an earlier conversation changes meaning once you know more, this structure gives you plenty to follow.

One detail matters before you read: Martha’s illness is deliberately unnamed. Mason has explained that she invented aspects of the condition and did not want to present it as an accurate portrayal of a specific diagnosis. She also wanted readers to see Martha as a whole person. Although its voice can feel confessional, the novel is not autobiographical.