The Year of My Humiliation is a raw, unfiltered dive into the mind of a brilliant but morally adrift plastic surgeon during what he dubs his “year of humility.” Framed as a daily journal, the story documents his attempts at personal reform—not out of love or duty, but from a cold, self-imposed challenge to bring his life under control after a scandal that nearly ends his career. His goal? Make his estranged wife a cup of tea every morning. That’s it. But the deeper you go, the clearer it becomes that this isn’t just about tea. It’s about control, shame, ego, resentment, and—most surprisingly—grief.

The writing floored me. There’s this calm, clinical precision to the narrator’s voice—understandable since he’s a surgeon—but it’s constantly bumping up against his inner chaos. You can feel it. The scene on Day 1, where he’s fumbling through the kitchen trying to make his wife tea for the first time in twenty-four years, was so mundane it was funny—and also sad. That tension carries through the entire book. One minute, I’m smirking at a sarcastic jab; the next, I’m sucker-punched by something brutally honest. Because underneath the smugness and detachment, there’s someone flailing to connect but absolutely terrified of intimacy.

What really hit me were the glimpses of his daughter, Michaelina. Especially the part where he looks at a school photo and focuses not on her face—but on a stray lock of her hair. That small detail holds so much love. He can’t say he misses her or that he’s grieving, not directly. But the book is full of these sideways confessions.

There are moments, though, where the narrator gets under your skin. He’s sexist, elitist, often cruel, and just plain selfish. He compares having intercourse with nurses to fast food and bashes his son with unrelenting bitterness. But I couldn’t stop reading. Because as much as I wanted to condemn him, I also wanted to understand him. When he meets Dr. Thurman, the psychiatrist who’s tasked with evaluating him, the power struggle between them is electric. She sees through him, and he hates it. She tells him, “You may be Mr. Expert on human faces, but I’m the expert on human shame.” She nailed it. That’s what this book is really about I think—shame, and how we hide from it.

This isn’t a redemption story, at least not in the traditional sense. It’s more like watching someone flail toward the possibility of change, failing often but trying in fits and starts. And maybe that’s more honest. I wouldn’t say the narrator grows into a better man—he just grows more aware of how much damage he’s done. The final chapters aren’t triumphant. They’re sobering.

I’d recommend The Year of My Humiliation to readers who like their fiction sharp, introspective, and full of complicated characters. It’s not a feel-good story. But it feels real in that uncomfortable, vulnerable way that stays with you.

Pages: 352 | ISBN : 0967149266