“Generational and Personal Traumas”: A Review of Sharon Heath’s invisible threads

 

(Deltona, FL: Thomas-Jacob Publishing, LLC, 2025), ISBN-13: 978-1-950750-58-0

For the past eight years, I have been inspired, challenged, and moved by the novels of Jungian analyst Sharon Heath. In February 2017, I was introduced to her most fascinating, provocative character, the neurodivergent, brilliant physicist Fleur Robins, who reminds me so much of my daughter, who was 18 at the time and who turned 26 today. Fleur has now appeared in four books, all of which I have read and reviewed, and I am looking forward to her further (cosmic) adventures.

I have also read and reviewed a stand-alone novel from 2019 called Chasing Eve.

In many ways, the clusters of characters (a mix of blood and chosen family) in Heath’s beautifully rendered, emotionally and socially complex novels, are akin to those in the films of Wes Anderson—Royal Tennenbaums most prevalently, especially in terms of invisible threads.

As I have mentioned in previous reviews, there is such a broad spectrum of “types” in Heath’s stories—delivering a plethora of worldviews and opinions—that it is impossible to agree with everyone, and I often find myself scribbling in the margins to discharge my emotional responses and frustrations with what they say and do. This is the work of the gifted storyteller—placing their characters on a continuum (liberal to conservative, rich to poor, moral to immoral…) and connecting each to the overarching theme(s). This essential element of good storytelling prevents the author from being didactic or using their writing as a vehicle for a narrow agenda. It also contributes to a proper scope of characters and plot.

The themes in Heath’s books, and they are notably prevalent in invisible threads, are facets of the jewel of the Human Condition, expressed in socioeconomic, medical, political, historical, and international terms—all through the primary lens of three generations of a wealthy Jewish family living and working in California.

The Kerrs comprise patriarch Michael (a screenwriter traumatized by the treatment of Jews in Europe in his youth), sisters Evvie (coping with cancer) and Miriam (a free-spirited, immature costume designer), Miriam’s high-school senior son Ben (contentious describes their relationship; Evvie raised him while Miriam was in fashion school), and Moira (Michael’s second and ex-wife, who lives in Berkeley).  

Unresolved personal and familial “stuff” is a broad way to term the fuel that keeps the pistons of invisible threads moving up and down. Constellating around them is Ben’s drug-addict girlfriend (red flag territory from start to finish, echoing familial trauma for the Kerrs), Evvie’s Black best friend (a director of commercials searching for meaning), and social justice documentarians who broaden the scope of the themes to international horrors. They also serve as a counterbalance/point to the privileged, often hard-to-listen to/sympathize with Kerrs. Fittingly, these characters are the catalysts that offer the Kerrs an opportunity for change. Storytelling takes place in the gaps between where a character is and where they want to be and, most clearly in Evvie’s case (the central character in a piece that is very ensemble), these supporting characters live and breathe in the gaps.

It has been awhile since the murder of a UnitedHealthcare executive that sparked an all-too-brief and ultimately re-active rather than active dialog about the abhorrent state of the US healthcare system. One of the subplots in invisible threads brings this necessary discussion back to life through the experiences of a young girl (with whom Evvie bonds) and her overwhelmed single mother. Of all the stories in invisible threads, this one tugged at my heartstrings and provoked my anger to the greatest degree, although what we witness through the eyes and lens of those documenting international atrocities is almost equally as provoking.

Having now read half a dozen of Heath’s books, I offer this humble suggestion vis à vis your engagement with the Kerrs—be a fly on the wall: at their dinners, on their travels, during their edge-of-the-bed discussions and arguments, in their hospital rooms, and during their often awkward and contentious phone calls. Watch and listen. Absorb. This to me is the primary value of these stories. With the recent therapeutic focus on generational trauma, this is an opportunity to witness how it works. It is also an opportunity to recognize when you are guilty of the same talking at, talking over, talking beneath, and talking around that keeps relationships shallow and weak. We are in particularly capable educative hands with Jungian analyst Heath.  

In the end, the arcs, with few exceptions, are subtle or nonexistent. This is as it should be and wise on the author’s part. The vast majority of the masses, ala Henry David Thoreau, are “living lives of quiet desperation” and are ultimately immovable. Don’t get me wrong—there are adjustments, resolutions, losses, and compromises in almost every sector of the characters’ lives, but they are suitably, realistically open to interpretation and, in many cases, a healthy dose of skepticism. Moments happen; will they endure? This is also to be expected. After all, the unjust Machinery of the world keeps churning, and people like the Kerrs and their friends and acquaintances (and every one of us) are the raw materials it needs to continue grinding its gears, pumping its pistons, and sending its polluted cloud of noxious gas of toxic capitalism into the atmosphere. Change is hard—and lasting change a true commitment.

In essence, and by way of summation:

The varied and abundant flowers (and weeds—an odd descriptor; who decides?) that Heath continues to cultivate for our entertainment, education, illumination, and edification in the fields and gardens of her stories grow organically from the seeds of her ability to see the world as a complex, confusing, confrontational, colorful, and often uncomfortable place. A place where family, friends, acquaintances, and even passing strangers, may not be perfect, but they are often all that we have and even more often, exactly what we need.

Come to that, what we need as well is more writers with the vision, voice, compassion, and passion of Sharon Heath.