THE LIFE OF THE MIND

The protagonist of Smallwood’s debut novel endures the humiliations of life as a contingent faculty member.

As the novel opens, Dorothy is on the toilet. She's in the midst of a miscarriage, and she has chosen to undergo this outside a hospital setting. As weeks go by, she tracks her continued bleeding, harboring this personal secret as she contends with her precarious position as a nontenured humanities Ph.D. She muses about cultural representations of the apocalypse—her current research interest—as she endures her own small apocalypse, and though she thinks and reads and writes ad nauseum about the global version, she suffers her own in silence, examining her bodily processes with mild interest. She even keeps her miscarriage from her two therapists—one of whom she has enlisted to help her work on her relationship with the other. At an academic conference in Las Vegas, she navigates the awkwardness of relationships within academia, whether it be with the adviser she will gladly abase herself to impress, a cohort member she once slept with, or a friendship with a strong undercurrent of competitiveness and jealousy. The novel’s satirical edge—unflinching but never mean—lies in the stark contrast between the lofty ideas that constitute Dorothy’s day-to-day professional existence and the private humiliations of the body, of being human, that she keeps to herself. She approaches every experience and emotion with all the hyperactive wit and self-reflexivity of a professional overthinker. Dorothy’s interiority can be an exhausting place to reside, making the reading experience a bit claustrophobic at times—but that’s precisely the point. Smallwood’s talent for psychological acuity shines through here as she paints an achingly familiar portrait of someone who spends too much time in her own mind. All of this is buoyed by Smallwood’s luminous prose, which heralds the arrival of a real talent.

A Lucky Jim for the millennial woman; blistering, darkly comic, and splendidly written.