Stunningly honest and bursting with wit, Someday Maybe is the story of grief and resilience that you won't be able to stop talking about Why? It will make you more thoughtful and empathetic. It will give you scaffolding for profound grief and loss and it will make you more understanding of the unfathomable, complicated emotions that humans experience when their loved ones leave this world by their own hand. This is a story about Eve, who discovers that her husband Quentin has just committed suicide. On New Year's Eve, of all days.

SOMEDAY, MAYBE is the story of Eve, a woman who has just found out that her husband unalived himself. In fact, she was the one who discovered the body. She handles her loss very poorly, falling into a depression that alienates her from her large and loving family, self-medicating with alcohol and substances, and dialing it in at a job that she never really loved. The plunge into this deep and profound grief is like a bleak and all-consuming ocean, and it shows how everything can end up being a trigger for someone who has spent many years of their life with someone who is suddenly and cruelly torn away. The star of this book for me, however, was Eve's family. I want to be born into that family in my next life. They were magnificent. Supportive and loving and everything a person could dream of without it feeling false and trite. Eve recalls a love too big to waste time, a decade of wedded bliss, gleeful skipping across sandy beaches, stratospheric orgasms. He became a celebrated photographer; she pioneered online lifestyle curation at the London magazine Circle (essentially a fictionalized VICE). When Eve landed this job, Q sent a hundred white roses to the office. “He was about big splashy gestures,” Eve tells the reader. His most profound gesture, however, was one of inaction. When Q died by suicide, he didn’t leave Eve – or anyone – a note. Quentin’s self-portraitIn her grieving, she is beginning to realise that all people want from her is to get better. It is to be happier, to stop crying but the type of pain she feels is not just the one of loss but one burdened by self-hate, self-blame and fear. The reminders was constant, no matter the amount of delicious Nigerian food her worried mother made, no matter the amount of cuddles she got from her amazing nieces and nephews, no matter the amount of time she spent with her stable brother (who by the way I have a crush on), "There is no reminder of pain as poignant as the physical manifestation of it over the place your heart resides".

She loses her job, doses up on drugs, escapes from London, finds out that she might be pregnant, she wonders if Quentin knew about it, if he would have stayed. But as always, "Part of the cruelty of suicide, the reason it is still such a taboo, is the unanswered questions it leaves behind: What would it have taken to keep him here? What possibly could I have done better? What is so wrong with me that I wasn't worth living for?". In the film Run Lola Run — one of Q’s favorites and eventually one of mine — Lola, the red-haired heroine, sprints through the streets of Berlin in a bid to procure an obscene amount of money to save her hapless boyfriend, Manni. She runs because she has only twenty minutes to secure the cash. During her mad dash to save a man whom, frankly, she might have been better off leaving to perish, she bumps into strangers along the way. The best thing about this film and one of the reasons Q fell in love with it is that we, the viewer, are shown flash-forward sequences depicting the futures of those Lola meets. We are privy to the consequences of Lola’s fleeting interactions with these people and they are often lovely or sad. It’s a wonderful thing to watch and watch it we did, repeatedly, never tiring of Franka Potente’s questionable late-90s fashion or the way we felt when the credits began to roll: spent, like we had done the running ourselves, but also sort of grateful.

With no suicide note left, guilt begins to creep in and Quentin's mother is not helping. She is constantly calling, sending messages and antagonising Eve. I honestly could understand, she had just lost her child and she never really liked Eve in the first place. But her constant interference, just continued to drive Eve further into her grief. She can't help but ask how she missed it, how could he have loved her so much but be capable of taking himself away from her in the cruellest way possible. She wonders "How far could his love truly have stretched if it did not extend to opening the door to his pain and letting me wade into it with him" . When someone you love dies, there’s this period of disbelief — a time of dug-in heels, the refusal to process your new reality. A preamble to real Denial, which brings its falsehoods and proclamations of It’s not true and Not you, girl. Someone else. I could rave about this novel forever - but I’ll wrap this up by saying …. You need to read this book.

The fact that we never found out why Quentin committed suicide, was a letdown. Especially since his death was the surrounding factor of the story and the reason for Eve’s pain. If you are someone who gravitates toward emotional gut punch reads, allow me to introduce you to this spectacular debut…”— BuzzFeedIt’s so much more than a book about loss. It’s an exploration of the pure love of family, the bonds of friendship, the power of letting others into your circle, and the pain and stress of fractured relationships within extended family.