Depression brought to book

It’s just over two days after the trauma of this season’s greatest disappointment, and in the aftermath, I found myself considering which novelists would best suit my mood.

While I’m probably not at the point of considering the point of living, existentialist giant Albert Camus I know and have read before. Of course, Camus knows what he’s talking about – he was a goalkeeper, so must have been involved in one or two penalty shoot-outs in his time.

I’ve not yet delved into any poetry, so I wasn’t keen on starting with Sylvia Plath, who tragically committed suicide, so I sought the assistance of a work colleague, who is far more literary than me.

Try Philip Larkin, was the suggestion, ‘he’s a miserable sod’, or what about the ‘downbeat’ novels of Jean Paul Sartre or Philip Roth? Failing that, Robert Burton’s The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621) was the final offering. I wonder if they’ve got that at the library…

Of course, I’m not seriously depressed, just a bit down, and depression should be no laughing matter. Indeed, friend and author Charlie Connelly makes that very point in fine fashion on his website (incidentally, fans of Charlie’s work may be interested to know I am actually in his fantastic Stamping Grounds: Liechtenstein’s Quest for the World Cup).

Can I find any consolation in the crushing disappointment? Maybe it’s that I’ll have a bit more time to complete this challenge.