While Sarah Damoff’s debut novel, “The Bright Years,” has subject matter that might seem, one the surface, to be grim—death, loss, addiction—she creates an uplifting story about people who choose to love in spite of failings, in spite of problems, in spite of what might seem insurmountable issues. Ultimately, this is a novel that is filled with hope and a promise that the human soul is capable of unlimited love.
The narrative weaves back and forth between decades. The tale begins in 1958 as we meet Ryan, a child, the night his mother finally leaves his alcoholic, abusive father. He is coloring the underside of their kitchen table, feeling sheltered by the sturdy oak, and giving in to the urge to decorate the unpainted wood belly of the table.
The story then shifts to 1979, and Lillian’s first person narrative as we witness her meeting with a now-adult Ryan at the library. Their love story is charming and sweet. They are desperately in love, but Lillian is hiding a secret. However, Ryan is hiding a bigger secret, one that he doesn’t even know exists at that point. He is an alcoholic. He has refrained from drinking liquor because of his father, but once he starts, he’s unable to stop.
Lillian and Ryan get married and open an art gallery that showcases Ryan’s work and the work of other artists. They have a daughter. We learn that Lillian’s secret is a child she had when she was in college and gave up for adoption. But in spite of Lillian’s misgivings about having another child, when their daughter arrives, they both adore her.
The narrative then shifts to their daughter, Georgette, known as Jet. She’s grown up not really knowing her father because when he became abusive after drinking, he moved out. He loves Lillian and Jet, but he also wants to keep them safe from the actions he takes when he’s drunk. We learn about Lillian’s best friend Shauna and her son Kendi, who becomes Jet’s best friend.
Another important character is Elise, Ryan’s mother. Lillian lost both parents when she was young. Her mother died of cancer, and her father was killed by a drunk driver. Elise becomes a substitute for Lillian’s mother, and they adore each other. She’s Jet’s only grandparent, as they are estranged from Ryan’s father. But Elise makes up for it by being an important part of Jet’s life. And when a tragedy occurs, Elise becomes the whole world to Jet.
The last narration, in first person also, is that of Ryan. His is the shortest, and he makes no excuses for his failings. But we are able to see the love he felt for his family, and the manner in which he tried to make up for his failings and accepted his final destiny.
Damoff presents addiction and abuse realistically, yet in an almost tender manner. She demonstrates the heartrending choices that the victims of abuse face. Often, they still love their abusers, who only become violent under the shadow of their addictive substance, alcohol or drugs. When Lillian and Jet go to Elise after Ryan becomes violent, Elise asks Lillian if it was “bad like abuse?” Lillian doesn’t know how to answer. She thinks, “Abuse is much easier to identify when it’s not in your own kitchen.” And we see how true that can be in the eyes of the victim.
The writing is outstanding as Damoff presents the range of Lillian’s emotions. “I hate him. But hate is anemic when love hangs around like turpentine in the upholstery. Surely something so good won’t end like this. Ryan isn’t the monster he thinks he is; the truth is that monsters are myths and men are complicated.”
As we read about love and loss, betrayal, and addiction, we wonder how Jet will manage. She loses those she loves to death or to alcohol, she doesn’t trust in love, and she seems rudderless in an ocean of disappointment. But Damoff is determined to demonstrate that we are resilient. In spite of hurdle after hurdle, loss after loss, disappointment after disappointment, we can still learn to trust and love again.
We can accept people for who they are, even imperfect versions of who we’d like them to be. Through Damoff’s beautiful, at times almost poetic narrative, we see hope through the darkness and how love—and forgiveness—can make us whole.
This review was first posted on Bookreporter.com.