On the train the other night I noticed a lady reading a little Readers Digest–style self-help book. The jacket was printed in a reassuring, creamy white colour, offset with bold, empowering red type. And printed in this bold, empowering red type, set against the reasurring creamy white of the cover, was the title Joy in Suffering.

I’ll admit, there is something quite satis­fying, when you’re suffering a bout of melan­choly, to wrap yourself up in your misery and hurl yourself into the emotional gale, collar up, eyes downcast, teeth grit. And maybe there’s a place for a book that helps you do it. But I don’t think Joy in Suffering is it.

It certainly didn’t seem to do the trick for the women I saw; she eventually put the book back in her purse and started flicking through the MX, which is surely the ultimate in joy in suffering, minus the joy.