Fahey’s talent is eclectic, highlighted by his own pencil sketches scattered throughout, as he reflects on lifelong feelings of connection to the spiritual world—"I know I’ll be heading off to even happier realms once I’m dead, so I won’t be hanging around my old body”—and fills his memoir with the mystical, both dark and light energies, and otherworldly presences. Wistful, almost melancholic passages on depression and death occasionally jar as much as they prompt deep thought ("Depression can be a dense, unmoving cloud of futility. It suffocates, deafens, and blinds you. It gets in, but it won't let you out” he writes), but he instills a feathered touch of light-heartedness and humor as well, particularly in his words about his British partner, Beatrix, who he handles with infinite love and tenderness even as he muses she’s from a “land where they tortured their vowels.”

Though Fahey's style tends to scamper between subjects with minimal transition, his ability to construct poetic word play makes for riveting and suspenseful anecdotes that will entice readers. More than anything, this is a passionate reflection on the interplay between death and the living, the hardships and triumphs of being alive, and the need to lavishly accept oneself, body and soul.

Takeaway: Humorous and whimsical memoir plumbing life, death, and creative passion.

Comparable Titles: Haruki Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, Maia Toll’s Letting Magic In.

Production grades
Cover: B
Design and typography: A
Illustrations: A
Editing: A
Marketing copy: A