From Kirkus Reviews:
In this novel, a young woman has a life that most would deem enviable—so why does she keep trying to end it?
Morton Guthrie is a trust fund baby, an only child. Readers learn early on that she attempted back-to-back suicides, one with pills, the other by exsanguination. She survives and winds up in a psychiatric facility (in her words, “a nuthouse”). She has no recognized mental disorder, but well-balanced people don’t try to kill themselves. Now, her parents have invited her to a weekend in Manhattan. These are seriously rich and extremely screwed-up people, and against the advice of her psychiatrist, she accepts. Her father is autocratic and a bully and her mother is neurotic and prone to nervous breakdowns—and they are both deeply narcissistic. The scene where readers meet them and Morton tries, timidly, to get their attention borders on parody. Her Aunt Elyse and Uncle Charlie are drunks, and her twin cousins, Clive and Libby, are creepy and cold. The question is, against this noxious background, will the poor woman try to prevail? As she says, “I am searching for the purpose of my presence on this earth.” Unfortunately, she is spending the weekend with relatives with no discernible purpose but to enjoy a sybaritic lifestyle, people who are trying desperately and sadly to be happy. So at least she knows what not to do or be. Morton is the narrator, so it’s her fragile point of view that deftly drives the story, as when she says, “I felt very small, like…a hummingbird without wings.” The scenes toggle between the Manhattan weekend and her stay in the facility, so there is time shifting, too, but it’s not distracting. Thomas offers some witty and revealing lines, as when Aunt Elyse waves “a frantic white napkin as if she’s calling an early truce.” The engrossing book is studded with Morton’s reflective contemplations of her struggles. Readers will feel for her and root for her.
A sensitive and absorbing portrait of a woman who is braver than she knows.
In this novel, a young woman has a life that most would deem enviable—so why does she keep trying to end it?
Morton Guthrie is a trust fund baby, an only child. Readers learn early on that she attempted back-to-back suicides, one with pills, the other by exsanguination. She survives and winds up in a psychiatric facility (in her words, “a nuthouse”). She has no recognized mental disorder, but well-balanced people don’t try to kill themselves. Now, her parents have invited her to a weekend in Manhattan. These are seriously rich and extremely screwed-up people, and against the advice of her psychiatrist, she accepts. Her father is autocratic and a bully and her mother is neurotic and prone to nervous breakdowns—and they are both deeply narcissistic. The scene where readers meet them and Morton tries, timidly, to get their attention borders on parody. Her Aunt Elyse and Uncle Charlie are drunks, and her twin cousins, Clive and Libby, are creepy and cold. The question is, against this noxious background, will the poor woman try to prevail? As she says, “I am searching for the purpose of my presence on this earth.” Unfortunately, she is spending the weekend with relatives with no discernible purpose but to enjoy a sybaritic lifestyle, people who are trying desperately and sadly to be happy. So at least she knows what not to do or be. Morton is the narrator, so it’s her fragile point of view that deftly drives the story, as when she says, “I felt very small, like…a hummingbird without wings.” The scenes toggle between the Manhattan weekend and her stay in the facility, so there is time shifting, too, but it’s not distracting. Thomas offers some witty and revealing lines, as when Aunt Elyse waves “a frantic white napkin as if she’s calling an early truce.” The engrossing book is studded with Morton’s reflective contemplations of her struggles. Readers will feel for her and root for her.
A sensitive and absorbing portrait of a woman who is braver than she knows.
The More Beyond by Jill Thomas follows the story of a young girl trying to navigate life while growing up in a dysfunctional family. Fed up with the whims of her neglectful parents, Morton Guthrie ends up trying to commit suicide twice in four days, leading her to a prolonged stay at the psychiatric hospital, where she slowly begins her recovery by talking to her psychiatrist, Dr. Aaron Gottlieb. Her parents invite her to a family get-together at a Manhattan hotel for a three-day weekend. In between, Morton's mother suffers traumatic episodes of her own while her father indulges in a colorful sex life. Meanwhile, when not trying to kill herself, Morton enjoys art, writing, and some awkward times with her troublesome twin cousins. Will she be able to move on from the baggage of her past?
In an enthralling character-driven drama, Jill Thomas highlights the impact of parental neglect and chronic narcissism on children who are left to fend for themselves. Readers who enjoy books like The Catcher in the Rye will love The More Beyond. Morton Guthrie reminded me a lot of Holden Caulfield. Despite her privileged upbringing, Morton seems lost and alone, with no one close to share her feelings with. She feels unloved, leading her to take drastic measures while her parents deal with issues of their own. As a reader, you sympathize with Morton's plight and want her to resolve her situation. I found the ending somewhat bittersweet and all the more satisfying for that. This is a brilliant book for literary fiction readers.
--Pikasho Deka for Readers’ Favorite
In an enthralling character-driven drama, Jill Thomas highlights the impact of parental neglect and chronic narcissism on children who are left to fend for themselves. Readers who enjoy books like The Catcher in the Rye will love The More Beyond. Morton Guthrie reminded me a lot of Holden Caulfield. Despite her privileged upbringing, Morton seems lost and alone, with no one close to share her feelings with. She feels unloved, leading her to take drastic measures while her parents deal with issues of their own. As a reader, you sympathize with Morton's plight and want her to resolve her situation. I found the ending somewhat bittersweet and all the more satisfying for that. This is a brilliant book for literary fiction readers.
--Pikasho Deka for Readers’ Favorite
A poignant yet glaring study of a girl learning to become
Morton Guthrie is a child of a wealthy family who is disenchanted with society. After attempting suicide on two separate occasions, she checks herself into a psychiatric facility. With no close friends to speak to, her parents always too busy for her with their more- important matters, and her extended family callous and artificial, Morton feels she is very quickly drowning in her own existence and the niceties around
her with no support system. Against her therapist’s better advice, she decides to leave treatment to visit her family at their request on their vacation in New York City, but now Morton must find it within herself to become her own support system.
“Too much thinking can drive you insane.”
Jill Charlotte Thomas’s The More Beyond presents readers with a driven story and a fractured-yet-coherent structure, similar to that of Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. The narrative is directed by Morton, being told from her point of view through both flashbacks and current events; yet, in the presence of her family, her actions are mostly reactions, being pulled into whatever direction (or department store) her family desires.
Morton is very aware of the lavish, consumer nature of her family’s lifestyle, but she is also aware that she succumbs to it—at one point going so far as to have her driver turn around after they’ve already reached their destination so she can purchase a $4,000 designer handbag she’d seen, solely to impress and outshine her cousin. Her mother occasionally quips that they are not “made of money,” but Morton wants for nothing and at times is conceited and materialistic, not really having been shown another way to behave. Even at her lowest, Morton is still passing unfair judgement
on those around her, still picturing herself as slightly above them somehow, particularly her peers in the psychiatric facility.
"The difference between a limo driver and a taxi driver is that a taxi driver can tell you to get out of his cab, whereas a limo driver must put up with you till the journey ends, you run out of money, or one of you dies."
Mental illness is a difficult subject to approach, mainly because it manifests differently in every individual. Morton is introspective and often finds herself dwelling on her circumstances, but she has a difficult time expressing herself to others. Her therapist routinely asks thought-provoking questions, triggering a complex inner monologue that answers the question fully but freezes her physically. When Morton eventually does speak, she offers little more than terse, guarded replies.
Because the story is character-driven, the reader is not given much of a plot to hold on to, outside of the hope that Morton will be able to see herself through her own struggles. I would have liked to know more about some of the characters in Morton’s life as well, such as her best friend who was only mentioned once, or her mother, but again this novel is told by Morton, about Morton, so the reader isn’t afforded the narrative curiosity for what she isn’t interested in remembering.
"I felt like a goldfish in a bowl with people staring at me, and there wasn’t even a toy castle or some seaweed to hide behind, or another goldfish to talk to."
As the novel does a nice job of showing her thought process of trying to help herself, it also bares her cynicism, her occasional dark humor, and her desire to occasionally fade into the background. Some of the characters’ behaviors and reactions seem exaggerated or perhaps unnecessarily cruel at times, prompting readers to wonder whether this is how they truly treat her or how Morton views them, creating another source of contention for herself.
Readers will appreciate the dramatic imagery of New York City and southern California while following Morton and her endeavor to re-discover herself, her family, and the world as she sees it.
"My style is classic and small and thin, not big and round and hard, but I’m so happy to be with them in their world, their company, I don’t need any gifts. I’m just glad I came."
--Audrey Davis, Independent Book Reviews
Morton Guthrie is a child of a wealthy family who is disenchanted with society. After attempting suicide on two separate occasions, she checks herself into a psychiatric facility. With no close friends to speak to, her parents always too busy for her with their more- important matters, and her extended family callous and artificial, Morton feels she is very quickly drowning in her own existence and the niceties around
her with no support system. Against her therapist’s better advice, she decides to leave treatment to visit her family at their request on their vacation in New York City, but now Morton must find it within herself to become her own support system.
“Too much thinking can drive you insane.”
Jill Charlotte Thomas’s The More Beyond presents readers with a driven story and a fractured-yet-coherent structure, similar to that of Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. The narrative is directed by Morton, being told from her point of view through both flashbacks and current events; yet, in the presence of her family, her actions are mostly reactions, being pulled into whatever direction (or department store) her family desires.
Morton is very aware of the lavish, consumer nature of her family’s lifestyle, but she is also aware that she succumbs to it—at one point going so far as to have her driver turn around after they’ve already reached their destination so she can purchase a $4,000 designer handbag she’d seen, solely to impress and outshine her cousin. Her mother occasionally quips that they are not “made of money,” but Morton wants for nothing and at times is conceited and materialistic, not really having been shown another way to behave. Even at her lowest, Morton is still passing unfair judgement
on those around her, still picturing herself as slightly above them somehow, particularly her peers in the psychiatric facility.
"The difference between a limo driver and a taxi driver is that a taxi driver can tell you to get out of his cab, whereas a limo driver must put up with you till the journey ends, you run out of money, or one of you dies."
Mental illness is a difficult subject to approach, mainly because it manifests differently in every individual. Morton is introspective and often finds herself dwelling on her circumstances, but she has a difficult time expressing herself to others. Her therapist routinely asks thought-provoking questions, triggering a complex inner monologue that answers the question fully but freezes her physically. When Morton eventually does speak, she offers little more than terse, guarded replies.
Because the story is character-driven, the reader is not given much of a plot to hold on to, outside of the hope that Morton will be able to see herself through her own struggles. I would have liked to know more about some of the characters in Morton’s life as well, such as her best friend who was only mentioned once, or her mother, but again this novel is told by Morton, about Morton, so the reader isn’t afforded the narrative curiosity for what she isn’t interested in remembering.
"I felt like a goldfish in a bowl with people staring at me, and there wasn’t even a toy castle or some seaweed to hide behind, or another goldfish to talk to."
As the novel does a nice job of showing her thought process of trying to help herself, it also bares her cynicism, her occasional dark humor, and her desire to occasionally fade into the background. Some of the characters’ behaviors and reactions seem exaggerated or perhaps unnecessarily cruel at times, prompting readers to wonder whether this is how they truly treat her or how Morton views them, creating another source of contention for herself.
Readers will appreciate the dramatic imagery of New York City and southern California while following Morton and her endeavor to re-discover herself, her family, and the world as she sees it.
"My style is classic and small and thin, not big and round and hard, but I’m so happy to be with them in their world, their company, I don’t need any gifts. I’m just glad I came."
--Audrey Davis, Independent Book Reviews
"Such gripping writing—funny and tragic and BEAUTIFUL!"
—Mim Eichler Rivas, author of Beautiful Jim Key
"Thomas literally paints pictures with her words. The analogies she draws are like giant surprises as you are seeing what she is thinking in real time and it is ever so clever...It is a delightful read even though it is about such a provocative subject matter."
—TV costume designer Rhona Meyers
"Elegantly written and fast-paced. I was able to read over the course of a few hours. Which was good because I was having a lot of trouble putting it down."
—Francine LaSala, author of A Comfortable Madness
—Mim Eichler Rivas, author of Beautiful Jim Key
"Thomas literally paints pictures with her words. The analogies she draws are like giant surprises as you are seeing what she is thinking in real time and it is ever so clever...It is a delightful read even though it is about such a provocative subject matter."
—TV costume designer Rhona Meyers
"Elegantly written and fast-paced. I was able to read over the course of a few hours. Which was good because I was having a lot of trouble putting it down."
—Francine LaSala, author of A Comfortable Madness