‘Poison on top of poison’
A Drop in the Ocean
by Léa Taranto
Vancouver: Arsenal Pulp Press, 2025
$19.95 / 9781551519813
Reviewed by Jessica Poon
*
The paradox of too much, yet not enough, is one that tyrannizes wardrobes with a surplus of clothing but nothing to wear. It’s also many an insecure person’s fears about being unlovable—containing irrepressibly intense emotions and desires (too much), but deficient in chillness, conventional attractiveness, and sanitized quirkiness (not enough). Ultimately, it’s the fear of love being contingent on a certain performance, instead of being loved for your whole self, messiness and all.
Mira, the protagonist of A Drop in the Ocean, the vivid debut YA novel by west coast writer Léa Taranto, definitely suffers from this fear. Mira is sixteen and has spent four years residing in various psych wards. She has obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) and anorexia. Against stereotype, she has a genuinely loving family, which only increases her guilt and self-loathing. Her compulsions include banging her head systematically, leading to frequent bloodiness. The novel includes detailed charts of how many subjective units of distress (SUD) Mira experiences for her various compulsions and the corresponding number of head bangs required for her to feel at equilibrium again.
A nurse initially perceived as a villain becomes a helpful ally. Unfriendly fellow ward residents become friends. Nick, a handsome boy, sees her at her most compromised and vulnerable—and falls in love with her. Her psychologist, Dr. Grant, is annoyingly optimistic and cheerful about her potential. Life is bleak and auspicious at the same time. But “progress,” in mental health, is frustratingly nonlinear. Mira’s maternal grandfather, Gung Gung, is dying. Meanwhile, her funeral attendance is contingent on whether she is stable enough to endure such an agonizing, OCD-triggering event.
Taranto has nailed the adolescent voice—there’s plenty of profanity, a touch of irreverence, and no small amount of self-deprecation. Sometimes Mira is delightfully savage: “Everyone’s so horny all the time that it makes me sick. If I have to choose between being obsessed with screwing or being obsessive compulsive, then I’d rather bang my head forever.” I was reminded of Shoshanna, of HBO’s Girls, disgusted proclamation at a wedding: “Everyone’s a dumb whore.”
When it comes to Nick, though, Mira is smitten. She describes Nick in this manner: “A big blond guy I’ve never seen before…. his blue-grey eyes, the kind I’d always yearned for as a young girl infatuated with Barbie and Disney princesses. And his eyelashes—I want those even more.” She describes her own eyes as having “shit-brown irises.” I wouldn’t have minded the internalized racism and Eurocentric beauty standards here being explored more, but they are only passing details in the novel.
With echoes of Jenny Zhang’s debut novel, Sour Heart, Mira has no fear of scatology: “Nothing’s better than a good morning dump.” This musing, however, is followed up with body dysphoria and anorexia: “Maybe this one will knock my weight back to something less disgusting.”
Mira’s thoughts on breathing during therapy will likely resonate with anyone who has ever struggled with mindfulness or somatic exercises: “He’s making me breathe today in therapy. Right now. Fuck my life. I hate breathing.”
I once brought my dog with me for a therapy session (for me, not my dog). My dog spent most of the session in various sleep positions and occasionally soliciting treats. In an admirable attempt to convince me that all human lives have inherent worth—even without impressive accomplishments—my therapist said, “Look at her. She’s lying down, not doing anything, and she has worth.” “Yeah,” I replied, “but she’s a dog.” It was evident beyond all reason my dog has inherent worth as a living being. Myself, less so.
I was reminded of this conversation during a session between Dr. Grant and Mira where the following dialogue takes place:
“And is there any version of your life where you don’t hate yourself?”
“I guess if I did everything right?”
“But perfection is impossible.”
“Yeah, duh.” It’s so obvious that I don’t know why we have to rehash it. “That’s why I hate myself.”
… “Self-hatred is not a virtue. Hating yourself harder because of your mistakes doesn’t make up for them. Think of it this way. If worthiness is water and hatred is poison, then it doesn’t matter how much poison you pour into yourself in retaliation for not having water. Poison on top of poison isn’t going to alchemize into something you can actually drink.”
Mira frequently has trouble with her self-worth, which is not to be confused with self-esteem, the latter of which tends to be based on accomplishments and conditionality. But self-worth is inherent. It doesn’t need to be earned with trophies or beauty or moral perfection. Self-worth is a constant. Or at least, it should be. As Dr. Grant tells Mira, “By virtue of your very existence, you deserve compassion.” It’s hard to believe, to the point of creating massive cognitive dissonance, but it’s a message worth reiterating.
Mira puts her mother on a pedestal and often feels overwhelming guilt for not being a better daughter. Dr. Grant gently points out that having her mother on a pedestal is actually a disservice to her mother when he says: “It’s not just the people we hate and demonize whose humanity we deny. When we pretend to ourselves that someone is perfect, we deny them their humanity by refusing them the right to make mistakes.” To acknowledge and accept others’ flaws—especially our loved ones—is a gift. Putting someone a pedestal is a dehumanizing burden.
A Drop in the Ocean is brutally frank, but also hopeful. It’s a sensitive portrait of a girl gradually learning there is much more to her than mental illness and who, through immense challenges, comes to terms that she does, in fact, deserve love.
*
Jessica Poon is a writer in East Vancouver. [Editor’s note: Jessica interviewed Sheung-King, and recently reviewed books by Martin West, Terry Berryman, Ian and Will Ferguson, Christine Stringer, Faye Arcand, Liann Zhang, Sarah Leavitt, Jeff Dupuis and A.G. Pasquella, Angela Douglas, Zazie Todd, Holly Brickley, Alastair McAlpine, and Jack Wang for BCR.]
*
The British Columbia Review
Interim Editors: Trevor Marc Hughes (nonfiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction and poetry)
Publisher: Richard Mackie
Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an on-line book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.
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