FROM THE BACK COVER

Daniel Grunman remembers his grandmother telling him, "We're Jews. We don't believe in tragedy. We believe in horror, atrocity and injustice. And we recognize all of them as inherently hilarious."

The Grunmans consider themselves a supremely functional family, in that they manage a wry self-awareness about the drinking, the pot smoking, the long-seething resentments, the brooding jealousies and the perpetual, judgmental subtext. In twenty hilariously poignant flashbulb vignettes a family comes to light, revealed in lean exchanges of unconscious cruelty and recognizable evasion.

With deft, delicate brush strokes, award-winning playwright and humorist Dylan Brody delivers a family so specific that we fear we trespass on their intimacy. We observe behavior in such startling detail because our tour guide effortlessly guides us to those small bits that matter most: the fingertip manipulations of a cocktail napkin, the generational echo of an inflective grunt. We watch them behave, we hear them speak, we learn their tells.

Deaths, losses, betrayals and slights resonate along umbilical bonds of familial connection.

Secrets will be revealed. Son, father, mother and daughter will lash out at one another and reach out toward one another. Words will be spoken and silences will descend. Jokes will be written. It will never be too soon.

REVIEWS FROM READERS

Dylan Brody has written a book of rare glimpses into the life of a family struggling to be good to each other. They know how families are supposed to behave in restaurants, airports, and foyers, but the wounds they carry—that have never quite healed—sometimes speak louder than the niceties. Each is in a tug-of-war with his or her own armor, and that irony makes for some very funny exchanges between these witty and erudite folks. These are familiar moments of tension and humor that resonated while making me laugh. Comedy itself plays a large role in their lives, but the author knows his subjects well, and the banter can suddenly turn from casual to caustic with a simple turn of phrase. And in an instant we can see how deep the wounds really are.

Though these pieces are wryly comic, they are also a plucking-through of moments to search for love-mes or love-me-nots, deep in the weeds of social conventions. What Brody finds is plain to see and quite stirring.

                         Todd Waring

Must read 🏆 (five stars)

Relatively Painless captures the humour, tragedy and sheer human complexity of a family masquerading as functional.

For centuries, the best and most honest writers of tragedy have been writers well-versed in comedy and Dylan Brody is no exception. Relatively Painless, an episodic novel, captures the humour, tragedy and sheer human complexity of a dysfunctional family masquerading as functional in his portrayal of the Grunmans.

Beginning with Daniel and Lindsay's relationship, Brody captures siblings stereotypically. This is the beauty of Brody's craft; he thrives through using family stereotypes we are all familiar with and begins to carve out the reality. In Daniel and Lindsay's case, this is demonstrated later in the novel as the jealousy and admiration continue as expected but both siblings come together in the face of their parents in order to stay buoyant. Brody's ability to uncover these tender moments without the cliché is admirable. Thus, the development of this relationship is honest - they both still exhibit behaviours witnessed in the opening chapter but find a love and safety in the other which I think many of us find in our siblings once we age. After all, it is often said siblings are all we have left when friends turn away.

It is through these characters that we are introduced first to Brody's talent as a humorist and then his mastery when it comes to unravelling tragedy in a way which feels undeniably human. Nothing is protracted or gratuitous. Lindsay's experience with grief is moving and messy. Brody is brave enough and good enough to write moments in all their awkwardness and ugliness. Not once did I need to suspend belief; Brody capitalises on the ordinary and our complex, and often useless, coping mechanisms in these situations. And so, the exploration of Daniel and Lindsay's parents, Ellen and Paul, was superb too.

At times, as Ellen spoke I found myself fuming in response. I truly believe there is no higher compliment to made to a writer than that I vehemently disliked one of the characters. That said, by the end, Brody's writing of Ellen was raw and touching because he writes people not characters or caricatures. The writing and development of both Ellen and Paul was stunning. As the novel progresses, despite often being from Daniel's perspective, you soon realise the crux of the plot relies utterly on Ellen and Paul as parents and as individuals. Therefore, as mentioned above, although Brody begins with the stereotypes, he ends with a genuine portrayal of human beings struck by tragedy and grief.

Kristiana Reed