About the book
The Paradox of Getting Better by Raven Lyn Clemens.
Genre: Comic, mental health-related autofiction.
Reviewed: May 15, 2025.
My rating
Five stars...!
Summary
A metaphorical short comic about a young artist and their struggles with mental illness at different points in their life, as told through three vignettes.
My review

Two panels from the book. In the first, a vaguely humanoid figure peeks out of dark water. Only its eyes are visible. In the second, A figure which appears to be a person wearing a giant triangle costume with limbs protruding stands on a beach at night and looks back at the figure warily.

I picked this one up because something about the cover intrigued me. I didn't think it would leave much of an impression on me, or even that I would really like it; I rarely truly like comics, even if I do like the style of art they're drawn in. Something about the way they're formatted gives me an impression of disjointedness I have difficult getting over, and I don't read them often, anyway, so I feel like I'm very disconnected from them. I want to read more to fix that, which is what tipped me over into reading this.

I did feel some of that aforementioned disjointedness while reading The Paradox of Getting Better, but I personally found it accompanied the content in a way that came across as intentional. The art is drawn in a very rough pencil sketch style that perfectly matches the tone of the story, too — it gives the whole thing a rough, unfinished feel that lends an almost voyeuristic quality to the story, like you're reading someone's diary. In that same vein, Clemens is skilled at conveying emptiness; the whole world feels like a dream. I particularly enjoyed the strange isolation of the beach from the first part, and how the sky, so ominously black and void, hangs in the background.

Four panels. In the first, we see the outline of four abstract human figures sitting on logs around a fire at night. A fifth figure (a person wearing a pyramid shape around their head with a hole for the face, sleeps behind a log as if trying to hide. Two: A shot of the four figures, staring, lit by the fire. Three: A close-up of the pyramid head figure using their arm as a pillow, eyes wide. Four: The pyramid person looks up over the log and angrily says, 'STOP STARING AT ME'.

Honestly, I did cry while reading this, which was a bit of a shock since I wasn't expecting to at all! The book really knows how to pack an emotional punch, just because of how meditative and sincere it is — I'm not sure if that's an experience everyone would go through reading this, and it could just be that I read this at exactly the right time, but I don't think that's it. This book is unique and wonderful and special and clearly so carefully-crafted, and I know it's going to sit with me for a long while. (Also, I really like how the ending complements the beginning so perfectly; I think that reflects on the cyclical message the final chapter gets at, too.) I hate to be that person, but you really should read this blind and go along with it on the grounds it establishes — I think you'll be surprised.

One panel. It shows the hairless traingular figure from the first screenshot followed by the pyramid-headed one from the second, followed by a new figure who looks like the pyramid-headed one, only this figure is more person-shaped, with eyebrows, freckles, longer hair, and no sharp teeth. They are wearing a shirt which reads 'MOON SCHOOL / Class of 20xx', and a worried expression. Text in the starry sky above the three figures reads, 'I've been so many people that it's hard to seperate them apart. people say you need to accept the parts of yourself you hate but that's easier said than done'.