cackle and cry

heartbreaking AND hilarious

May 20, 2025

A few years ago I attended a church service with my in-laws in Scottsdale, Arizona that depressed the hell out of me.1 I’d been out of evangelical environments for a while by then and, though it was a very typical service,2 it made me feel sick, troubled and somber. For many reasons. My husband felt the same and we both sort of glumly stared out the car window afterwards, mired in our confused feelings. But as soon as we all arrived to our post-church brunch spot our sullen moods were violently exorcised. The DJ themed restaurant was festooned with neon signs, selfie corners and a DIY Bloody Mary bar with music so LOUD that we honestly could not hear each other speak. We all dissolved into giggles multiple times just trying to order over the din and because we couldn’t talk, we just laughed the whole meal as we mimed to each other over the music. #Hash Kitchen was a reminder to take myself a little less seriously, to find the silliness inside the sadness. That this brunch was the antithesis to a dark, sobering church service didn’t change its existence but it did alter my response to it. I didn’t have to dwell on the church’s dismal excuse for theology, instead I could laugh at it and temper its effect just a smidge.

Laughter and tears are so often partners. Not all the time of course, but there are often times where we can find a kernel of humor in the heaviness. It is a way to survive the tragic, to understand it and perhaps bring some perspective to it. “At least it’ll make a good story” we think when going through a series of unfortunate events that may bring tears in the present but may bring chuckles when we deliver it just so in the future.3 I don’t mean this in a Pollyanna/‘always find the silver lining’ way, just that the ridiculous and the real often arrive hand in hand. And sometimes highlighting the ridiculous can de-claw the real just enough.

I find my own anxiety manifests in mild hypochondria. It usually strikes while I’m on vacation or if I’m particularly at ease. These are the times when my mind, I don’t know, wants to bring balance to the Force? Wants to knock me down a notch? Wants to inject some good old christian guilt? So it invents wild theories of physical ailments and I can end up going down some real rabbit holes of nonsense as I attempt to self-diagnose. I find naming these imagined infirmities out loud to my husband makes me laugh at myself and feel silly instead of scared. They sound so absurd and out there that they lose some power. My husband has learned to listen patiently and take me ‘seriously’ so he always says “We’ll keep an eye on it”. He’s not allowed to laugh at me though. Only I can laugh at myself. Today’s books pair crying with comedy, whimsy with tragedy, the light with the dark as their protagonists deal with depression, trauma and physical and mental conditions with heft and humor.

Have tissues at the ready as you may laugh till you cry or cry till you laugh while reading one of these.

LET’S PRETEND THIS NEVER HAPPENED by Jenny Lawson

In her memoir, Jenny Lawson aka The Bloggess takes us on a rambling and exceptionally conversational journey from from her rural childhood all the way to her rural adulthood. Her labyrinths of tangents “celebrate the strange, and give thanks for the bizarre” as she maniacally shares the “joy in embracing -rather than run screaming from - the utter absurdity of life.” To let you know what you’re getting into with this one, here’s a small sampling of chapter titles:

Stanley, The Magical Talking Squirrel
Jenkins, You Motherfucker
A Series of Helpful Post-it Notes I Left Around the House for My Husband This Week
Stabbed by Chicken
If You See My Liver, You’ve Gone Too Far
I Was a Three Year Old Arsonist
Hairless Rats: Free for Kids Only

Lawson grew up poor in rural Texas with a very eccentric father,4 a toxic well, a constant stream of wild creatures5 and debilitating anxiety attacks. The humor lies in her singular delivery. She attempts to make sense of herself and her circumstances through waves of digressions, half formed musings and increasingly unhinged imagined scenarios. This particular style of writing is not for everyone, but I found her nonsensical abstractions that snowball into a mass of comedic madness hilarious and was often charmed by the growing insanity.

Though consistently comedic, Lawson explores some traumatic topics. Throughout the book she gets diagnosed with OCD, an autoimmune disorder, depression and polyarthritis as she endures multiple miscarriages and severe anxiety attacks. These painful episodes are surrounded by the unique absurdity of her family life. There are racing armadillos, pet jumbo quail6, adventures in acupuncture, horror stories of working in HR and memories of impregnating a cow in high school animal husbandry class, meeting her long suffering husband at the tender age of 21, fighting off vultures, fox(en), scorpions and escaped spider monkeys and more stories so preposterous that they often veer into the unbelievable. But she includes photographic proof!

I especially enjoyed the very specifically bizarre stuffed creatures she collects and her portrayal of Victor, her lovingly disgruntled husband who serves as our stand in— a voice of reason in a Wonderland-esque world. The places that Lawson’s life and mind go to are often cukoo bananas crazy yet there’s still something very real and relatable here. She is a fascinating character who loves deeply, suffers greatly and shares her experiences with a buoyant, creative and energetic voice that is infectious and inspiring. This book is a reminder of how gloriously unique people can be and how empowering it is to flaunt and celebrate our history, our perspectives and ourselves without shame. This is Lawson’s first book7 and since then she’s written many more including Furiously Happy and Broken (in the best possible way).

Dear Victor: No, actually, I don't know how to use an iron. Because we don't own one. How have you never noticed this before?! The dryer is our iron, Victor. Also, I would appreciate it if you would talk to me directly instead of yelling at me on a Post-it. These Post-its are for educational purposes. Not to draw lewd caricatures of hands pointing menacingly at me.

Dear Victor: I've poisoned something in the fridge. Good luck with that.

Dear Victor: I'm sorry. I think I might have PMS. I don't know what's wrong with me.

Dear Victor: That was an apology, you asshole! Now there are two things poisoned in the fridge. Because you don't know how to accept an apology.

Dear Victor: I am so sorry you are sick. I swear I was just kidding about poisoning shit in the fridge. I mean, I did leave the yogurt out for, like, a half a day, but that was really more by accident because I was so distracted by the wet towel on the floor. If anything, you brought this on yourself. Once again, I apologize.

Dear Victor: I love you but I'm getting kind of weak from hunger, and I know you said you didn't poison anything, but every time I take a bite of something you leer and laugh suspiciously and I have to spit it out. I can only assume this is probably how Gandhi felt when he wasn't allowed to eat.

Dear Victor: Great. Now we're out of Post-its.

SORROW AND BLISS by Meg Mason

Ever since she was a teenager, Martha has had times of incredible highs and devastating lows without any clear understanding why. No doctor can explain why there are days she weeps unceasingly, is in too much pain to leave bed or reacts in explosive anger at those she loves and other days when she’s adept, lively and charming. When her husband Patrick moves out after throwing her 40th birthday party, she moves back into her childhood home with her parents, who are of questionable sanity themselves. Back in the place that made her, Martha must confront her past, her family and her own actions to see if she can make a different sort of future.

Though a fairly simple story, I found this to be deeply stirring, rich with feeling and I laughed aloud by the third page. It’s got one of my favorite things— a complicated, voice-y protagonist who is ‘unpleasantly superior’ and ‘aggressively conceptual.’ It’s formatted in addictive vignettes that give it a staccato energy and though the voice is matter-of-fact, acerbic and glib, I was often incredibly moved by the writing and the well of emotion it contained. I teared up and guffawed on the same page multiple times. Long sentences with multiple internal asides, qualifiers and excessive context created a gossipy, dry, confessional air and the specificity and detail work really packed a punch. There’s also a puzzle like quality that felt engaging and full of tension, encouraging the reader to take apart information and put it back together again and again as more gets revealed which resulted in evolving layers of understanding. The last third is especially emotionally brutal and, while still funny, it got quite rough to read at times as the humor made way for intensity.

I loved the supporting characters, especially the sister, and Patrick and Martha’s connection and trials gripped me. I stayed up until 2:37 am reading this but decided to leave the final 10 pages for the morning because I wanted to savor them. I was worried but the ending was terrific- it was realistic but still subsumed with hope and I felt a roller coaster of emotion8 by the end. This book felt so human as it reveled in its contradictions. It was ugly and beautiful, sweet and horrifying, hysterical and devastating all tangled up together which means it was titled perfectly. Don’t miss the author’s note at the end which explains a very specific choice she made in the book which I think was quite shrewd.9 I also loved the Ralph Ellison quote that frames the whole thing: “The end is in the beginning and lies far ahead”.10 Much to think about.

I stopped and looked at them [gratitude journals] in search of the worst one to buy and send to my sister. Although there were so many individual injunctions on their mint and glittery lilac and butter yellow covers—to live and love and laugh and shine and thrive and breathe-considered together, it seemed like humanity's highest imperative is to follow its dreams.

I chose one that was inexplicably thick, with twice as many pages as its shelf mates, because it said, on the cover, You Should Just Go For It. It was meant to sound carefree and motivating but for want of an exclamation mark, it came across as weary and resigned. You Should Just Go For It. Everyone Is Sick Of Hearing You Talk About It. Follow Your Dreams. The Stakes Could Not Be Lower.

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I WANT TO DIE BUT I WANT TO EAT TTEOKBOKKI by Baek Se-hee

This is an odd little book. A bestseller in South Korea, this ‘intimate therapy memoir’ is primarily made up of transcripts of the author’s sessions with her therapist interspersed with short essays. Sehee writes simplistically but poignantly as she attempts to understand her deep malaise and whether she’s alone in her depression or others are just better at hiding it. Her earnest voice and funny asides are vulnerable, wise and relatable as she addresses the inner critic we all have and our tendency to berate ourselves for our human nature. While not a laugh-out-loud type book, it is full of endearingly amusing anecdotes and frank observations that often made me chuckle as she recounts the confusing and painful highs and lows of ‘everyday’ life. It’s even got a sequel titled I Want to Die but I Still Want to Eat Tteokbokki11.

Sometimes, when someone tells me to 'Cheer up' when I'm going through a tough time, I just want wring their neck.

Did you know I do more than read and tell you what to read? I also edit podcasts AND fiction. If you’ve got an audio project that needs a skilled ear or a fiction manuscript that needs a judgyeye, send me a message or leave me a comment.