Book Review: The Rules of the Tunnel – and a Giveaway Courtesy of LuxuryReading.com

The Rules of the Tunnel is author Ned Zeman’s story about his “brief period of madness” – otherwise known as his lifelong experience with depression and anxiety disorders seasoned with his stint with electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). A review copy of the book was provided free of charge by LuxuryReading.com. The original (shorter version) post of this book review was made available through LuxuryReading last week. LuxuryReading is also offering a giveaway of the book – for details and to enter, please visit here!

By all appearances, Ned had it all – he was a writer for Vanity Fair, “work” consisted of dividing his time between fairly glamorous book/magazine parties and celebrity interviews, lived in New York City and Los Angeles-adjacent Canyons, experienced more than his share of the endless party lifestyle with the proverbial triumvirate of wine, women and song. But inside, he was a veritable ocean of insecurity and anxiety. He spent many a day self-medicating, self-therapying, and self-indulging – on top of the many a year of professional medicating and therapying. But what did he have to show for it? Well, a host of articles, a slew of ex-girlfriends, and a rather impressive collection of missing memories. The missing memories are due to the ECT, Zeman’s last-ditch attempt at becoming “normal” – or whatever approximates normal in the modern world.

His story is engaging and often very disjointed – at least it felt that way to me. At first, I thought this was a failing of the author or writing style. As the story progressed, I began to think it was intentional though, an attempt to translate the workings of his head (or, perhaps more aptly, the non-workings) into black and white print as a means of demonstrating what it felt like to live inside that head. If this is true, then Zeman’s head must have been a disturbing and disconcerting place to live – and it’s kind of amazing he was able to live there either.

At times, Zeman is self-indulgent and his story reflects this. He does not make it very easy to like him. It’s hard to tell if this is the anxiety/depression/illness or if he’s just that guy. I guess I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but honestly, I’m not entirely sure that he warrants it. The end of the book, in which he describes NedWorld after more rounds of ECT than seem imaginable (twenty), brings some resolution and the reclamation of personal relationships. Relationships that were somehow, quite miraculously, not shredded beyond repair in the post-apocalyptic aftermath of the “therapy” he underwent. But even then, even when apologizing and “cleaning up”, I must confess that I found Zeman less than entirely sympathetic. He suffered. I get it (and feel badly for him). But so did everyone around him – and there were a lot of people around him – and I feel badly for them too. People who also underwent tragedy and drama and life-altering events – many of which were inalienably affected by Zeman’s spiral.

The book is no light-hearted romp through mental illness. This isn’t a self-deprecating tale of redemption. It is a slog, difficult to read not because of the writing but because of the subject matter. I don’t know that I learned anything new, other than that Zeman should thank his lucky stars that he was surrounded by the people he was and had the resources at his disposal that he did. Many others with similar affliction have been far less lucky and had to do far more with far less. Maybe, in the end, that is where Zeman occasionally lost me and some of my empathy. He had a tale to tell, and he did. And if it wasn’t pretty to read, well, it certainly sounds like it wasn’t pretty to live either.

Still, he is a professional writer and the book reads well – even when you don’t want to keep going or don’t want to see what he’s trying to say, you can’t help but do so. And in the end, maybe that is enough.