Warmth and tenderness about mental illness, family dysfunction, relationship breakdown. And American football.
If you have no interest in the latter, you may still appreciate this book, despite perhaps learning much more about the Eagles than you never wanted to know anyway! As this becomes a delightful, frustrating, sometimes (to a female) incomprehensible, irritating but wildly funny example of some of the frankly WEIRD ways in which chaps bond!. And if you adore American football, and even more if you are an E-A-G-L-E-S! EAGLES! Fan, delighting in making the shapes of the letters with your legs and arms when with your buddies watching at home, or being present at, a game, you will love this.
Pat is a man in his mid-thirties, though he believes he is some years younger, having spent more time than he realises in a ‘neural health facility’ in Baltimore (a psychiatric hospital). Pat committed some sort of violent act, and has an obsession with his ex-wife. He is an incurable optimist, dedicated to happy endings in films and determined that the silver linings on clouds, and the happily ever after, must happen. Following his release from the hospital, engineered by his loving mother, he must agree to regular therapy, and a regimen of psychiatric drugs. He has returned to living in the parental home. He has agreed to all of this, and is working hard on shedding the weight he put on in hospital, his goal being to become again the sports and history teacher with a great body which he had when he met and married his ex-wife. He is convinced they can get together again. He is also an absolutely dedicated Philadelphia Eagles Fan. As are all the males in his friend and family network. The women feel rather differently. As a non-American, and as a woman who is supremely uninterested in teamsports games, whether from this side of the pond or any other, the making-of-the-E-A-G-L-E-S with the legs and arms jokes made me laugh a lot and pull superior womanly faces
In his life he has : a loving mother, a great and supportive and successful brother, a best friend, whose wife has a sister with mental health issues of her own, the kindest and in some ways most unprofessional of therapists, another great friendship with a fellow inmate in that ‘neural health facility’. He also probably has Asperger’s – at least, this is what accounts for his voice, which sounds not cold, but without emotional nuance and subtlety. Pat, despite being prone to a violence he barely understands when he hears smooth jazz music, particularly a specific piece of music played by Kenny G, is a ‘good person’ with a warm and open heart. He is actively working on ‘being kind’. He also has an extremely dysfunctional father, who is deeply depressed and emotionally cold.
Part of Pat’s journey to try and get re-united with his ex-wife, an artistic, intellectual literature major and teacher, is to begin to read through some of her favourite books, particularly those she taught to her students. So he reads, and responds to such books as The Great Gatsby, A Farewell to Arms, Catcher In The Rye, The Bell Jar, responding to them with approval or dismay according to his ‘Silver Lining’ philosophy, and need for the happy wrap. There is a lot of warm humour in the author’s use of this.
I held back from the final star because the overall tone of this warm, charming and 
sweet book, despite the bleakness which appears along the way at times, is perhaps a little too anodyne and Hollywood. This did not quite equal my first acquaintance with Matthew Quick: Forgive me Leonard Peacock, which I preferred. Nonetheless, recommended.
This was made into a film, which I haven’t seen, and didn’t know about, so my review is from someone coming new to the book, purely from my appreciation of Quick’s writing in Leonard Peacock’
The Silver Linings Playbook Amazon UK
The Silver Linings Playbook Amazon USA
It would surprise you to discover how much I know about American Football. Not much…but I bet way more than you! For instance, I know what a ‘nose tackle’ is. I support the Patriots though…what about you?
However after struggling through Grisham’s baseball-set book, I think I’ll pass on this one…my football fandom only goes so far…
Good heavens! You are a woman of surprising talents and tastes. Rom-com, albeit period rom-com AND baseball? I don’t spell out any teams with my legs and arms making letters. Team sports bring me out in a)hives and b)an impolite yawning and frowning manouevre. Or however the m word is spelt. Though i did (briefly) join a women’s netball team in Oldham, when working there for a little while some years ago. Quite some years ago. Hated the sport at school.
Ooh, I was in the netball team at school (primary school). By the time I hit secondary school my enthusiasm for expending unnecessary energy had abated somewhat…plus the school sport was hockey and I was frankly terrified of those hearty girls who thought nothing of breaking a shin or two per game.
Oh, hockey. (runs away quivering in terror) Absolutely. We had both hockey and netball, also rounders and tennis. And I loved the last, and disliked the rest, except for hockey, which I HATED and was TERRIFIED of. It offended my sense of aesthetics, and more to the point my sense of not wanting to be bruised, covered with mud, accidentally injured, fall over. Or have purple knees and shiver.
I stayed always firmly (or not so firmly) in defence, so I wasn’t racing around as much as the ferocious hearties, who were therefore getting healthily hot in the cold. I, stuck at the back on a wing would be shivering through lack of movement. If the ball got through to where I was, and it, or a hearty, came hurtling towards me I would tend to run AWAY from both, or nervously, as if the ball were a spider, tap at it with a look of horror.
Best were the days when somehow, book concealed under jumper, I would slope away undetected and sit hidden – the hockey pitch had had air raid shelters, from the war, obviously sealed, and memory says grassed over, but properly huddled behind, you could escape being seen, at least, by the games mistress, for a while. I have a strong memory of reading ‘One Day In The Life of Ivan Denisovich!’ Jail in the gulags and hockey at a girl’s school forever entwined. Hockey always was in winter, I think netball too, though it might have gone through the year, rounders and tennis were summer. So the purple hockey knees and goosepimple shivering were marvellously twinned with Siberia.
I only actually played hockey a couple of times. I then forged a letter from my mother explaining about my ‘weak ankle’ and spent the next three years carrying a bandage around in my school bag. The teacher was well aware that it was a con, but I think was as happy for the wimps not to play as the wimps were to sit it out. So we played cards in the changing rooms instead…
In fourth year, we were allowed to give up hockey in favour of badminton and suddenly my ankle miraculously healed! I often wonder what happened to the jolly hockey-sticks lot once they left school and had no outlet for their violent tendencies…wouldn’t like to be a cat in their households!! 😉
Ah badminton, a much much more civilised sport.Though I was interested, years later , to discover that it also has something to do with horse riding, someone said they rode at badminton horse trials. Which confused me enormously. And still does
Yes, you’d think it’d be tricky for them to hold the racquets…
They do have very big teeth though. As do the horses
I remember enjoying this book (and the film, as did Mr Crimeworm, despite disliking Bradley Cooper.) I enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would – anything romance-based isn’t really for me. As for team sports, we worship Glasgow Celtic FC (Mr Crimeworm grew up literally yards from the stadium) so I enjoy football. I’ve never understood why Americans insist on playing team sports pretty much no other country does. I’ve come to the conclusion it’s to ensure they are best at them!
All I can really say, not having seen the film is E-A-G-L-E-S! EAGLES! and not spell the letters out with legs and arms. I don’t know why but each and every time that little image got repeated, it made me laugh more and more as it just seems utterly bizarre. I’m going to have to try it!
Yes it made me literally LOL, as did a few scenes in this book, particularly the ones involving the father, if I remember correctly, and the father/son scenes. I do hate reading LOL books in public, as you feel laughing aloud in public, even if you do have book in hand, hints you may be slightly unhinged. There’s a scene in The Corrections, where he tries to cut the hedge slightly drunk. All goes well until he’s almost finished, and he realises he can’t quite reach the last bit, so attempts to “walk” the stepladder along to reach the end. It ends, predictably, in disaster. I was in tears of laughter at this, and for days afterwards whenever I recalled it.
I’m fairly shameless about laughing in public, as its sort of obvious (or maybe not!) that you are laughing at a book. I always feel sorry for people (and myself) when either I, or someone else, is laughing whilst reading a Kindle. With a REAL book the bus tube and train companions could at least get a peek of the cover. I like to think merriment is infectious, and if I see someone laughing at a book it makes me want to start giggling too, even if i have no idea what is causing the merriment. And if I can see the cover of the book, and its one I’ve read too I might even be bold and say ‘great book!’ (my desire, I guess to be a little cliquey and share our hidden book connection)
It’s the books which unexpectedly (or even expectedly) cause me to start weeping in public that are the tough ones. I really wouldn’t mind someone kindly asking if I was allright, and I could then helplessly wave the book or Kindle, but its the fact that people weeping in public tend to make everyone really anxious as we don’t know what to do with grief. Or anger (which is more understandable, as the person on the tube on an angry public rant might be looking to take their anger physical, whereas the weeping person just makes us feel…..?inadequate? afraid we will get saddled with having to take the person home or offer more support than merely for 2 or 3 stops? embarrassment? fearful we will over-empathise and get ‘infected’ by their grief? aware of ‘existential grief’ that maybe lurks around for all of us? or none or the above.
I must try The Corrections. A dear friend raves and raved about it, and i couldn’t quite connect and gave up. She thought maybe she ‘connected’ because she comes from quite a large family and there were various recognitions for her. But lots of people whom I share a bookie affection with have similarly raved. So crimeworm, you are definitely pushing me to another try! I have this thing that everything is really about the author’s voice – does he or she connect with you, in the same way that you meet people and may be instantly drawn to them or maybe you have a neutral take it or leave it with them – or are positively repelled. It can take time for ‘the neutrals’ to begin to engage you, and maybe, say a work colleague, over time they develop into someone you connect with more. But with books, (well at least for me) the authorial voice does need to worm into me quite quickly. And then of course, there is timing. You might pick up the right book at the wrong time. It took me no less than 4 attempts over a few years to get hooked by Catch-22
Wow. What a long post. Logorrhoea.