THE SAD BOOK

In Pearlstein and Munro’s latest metafictive outing, misery does in fact want company.

Everyone wants a happy ending. But our narrator—a picture book—is literally and metaphorically blue, too upset even to tell us a story. A double-page spread of woeful images follow: a dog in the rain, a dropped ice cream cone, parents arguing as a child looks on. The book suggests that readers leave—and when that doesn’t work, that we stop breathing so loudly. With surprise, our narrator acknowledges that the breaths are somehow a bit soothing. What’s wrong? This book admits it wants to be the popular happily-ever-after type, but “we can’t always get what we want.” Realizing that talking has helped, the book shifts its ambitions to being a good listener. So, reader, “is there anything that makes you feel SAD?” The book offers practical suggestions about what to do with those feelings. On the penultimate page the very same initial situations (the dog, ice cream cone, and feuding parents) reappear, all addressed in some way. And the sad book has an amended title that reflects human struggles with feelings: “The Sometimes Sad Book.” Once more, Pearlstein and Munro distill complex emotions into picture-book format; the protagonist narrates with a mix of hilariously dramatic whininess and real vulnerability, while the scribbly, droll line drawings are a distraction from the depths of depression.

Doles out guidance for navigating distress with wit and empathy.