Debut novel looks at divorce through younger lens

There used to be a hotel in my hometown with a karaoke backroom that doubled as a strip bar on Friday nights. Every time my group of friends would go there to sing, this woman would get up on the tiny corner stage, close her eyes and belt out the Tammy Wynette anthem “D-I-V-O-R-C-E,” leaning precariously against the dancer’s pole.

None of my friends were married or divorced (yet). To us, this woman was a maudlin character cut from a David Lynch production. It wouldn’t be until much later that I’d realize how traumatic divorce is and that if singing the same sad country tune over and over in front of strangers brings comfort, grab that mic.

Canadian-born, U.K.–based comedian and television writer Monica Heisey (“Schitt’s Creek,” “Baroness von Sketch Show”) also understands first-hand the stages of divorce grief and recovery, and how lonely and isolating the experience can be. Not wanting to hash out the details of her own breakup on the page —marriage is a story with two narratives — she decided to fictionalize the experience so that she could allow herself comedic range in her funny, charming debut novel, “Really Good, Actually.”

What sets Heisey’s book apart beyond the humour, is that her 29-year-old narrator, Maggie, is younger than most protagonists in the flourishing divorce genre. Maggie was the first of her close-knit friends to get married and to then split — only 608 days after the “I do’s.” Although we get glimpses of life with her ex, the book begins with their breakup and his presence is purposely minimal. It’s a relief to anyone who spent 2019 triggered by Adam Driver’s screaming face and pointy finger, thanks to all the “Marriage Story” fight memes.

“I think a lot of divorce books, TV shows and films are actually about relationships,” Heisey said over Zoom from her home in London. “I really wanted this to be about being alone, and what it’s like to not be in the relationship. It’s not a book about sorting out your love life. It’s about sorting out your relationship to yourself and the ways that people can use their love lives to avoid doing that.”

“Really Good, Actually” is like having a front-row seat inside Maggie’s hyperenergetic brain as she searches for the magic combination of distractions to heal the pain. She jumps from crappy hamburger deliveries (and many other snacks — Heisey loves writing about food), online shopping and self-help books to having loads of sex with strangers. But nothing heals. In fact, each new hobby, obsession or position provides Maggie with another way to further emotionally detach from the world, causing rifts with those in her life who just want to offer support.

“A really important part of the book is that it’s a love letter to supportive friendship groups. I’ve read a ton of novels about women having breakdowns, but so many of these women seem to not have any friends at all,” Heisey said. “I feel luckier than I’ve ever felt to have the friends that I had during that period. I want to think that most people who are having a hard time — or who are the messiest characters — have a group of friends working overtime to frantically support them. And if you’re lucky, you swap out who in the friend group needs help during any given month.”

With a background in theatre and sketch comedy, Heisey knows how to bring laughs grounded in frank observations of the behaviours we try our best to hide from others. Her first book, “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Better,” is a lighthearted collection of essays and illustrations touching on heavier themes like anxiety and body shaming, offering irreverent advice to other millennial women tired of the self-care circus.

Interspersed throughout “Really Good, Actually” are several lists penned by Maggie that offer a hop and a skip through her mental state. The book opens with a stream of consciousness about why her marriage failed: “My marriage ended because I was cruel. Or because I ate in bed. Or because he liked electronic music and difficult films about men in nature. Or because I did not.”

One of Maggie’s long Google search lists includes Jacquard pant suits, Bill Hader’s romantic life and Kate Bush’s “This Woman’s Work” karaoke. (Karaoke does heal.) Heisey said that these quippy interludes were a way for her to better understand Maggie.

“I’m much more comfortable writing in short form,” Heisey says. “The lists were early character exercises. I was fictionalizing something that had happened to me, but didn’t want to write it exactly as it had happened. I thought it was important to get to know this character and figure out the ways we converge and, more importantly, the places where we differ.”

While it’s hard for some to find humour in the middle of a breakup, Heisey has been thinking a lot about the duality of comedy: how it can help a person cope but also its power to form a protective shield, blocking others from getting too close.

“I think the book is doing something a little bit tricky in that the narrator uses comedy as a distancing mechanism. But as an author, I’m trying to use it to draw people in,” she said. “I hope that I got the balance right.”

Heisey praises her two HarperCollins imprint editors, Kishani Widyaratna from 4th Estate (London) and Jessica Williams from William Morrow (New York), for engaging in meaningful conversations about whether the presence of a joke undercuts difficult emotions.

“If someone’s revealed something painful, and then says a joke afterwards, is that a sign that they’re moving past it or that they’re in deeper pain?” Heisey pondered. “I personally don’t think that a punchline precludes the possibility of a deep truth.”

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