Marriage Plot, by Jeffrey Eugenide

Jeffrey Eugenides earned the 2003 Pulitzer Prize for Middlesex, which sensitively explored the realities of intersexuality in a way that simultaneously de-stigmatized the frequently misunderstood, misportrayed condition (in this case, the result of 5-alpha-reductase). His second time around, in 2011, performed the exact same service for college students and graduates with bipolar disorder. Considering the author's devotion to showing compassion and empathy for frequently marginalized – if not outright demonized – demographics, the fact that his oeuvre receives as much acclaim as it does is incredibly refreshing and important. Especially considering how rarely any media manages to get mental health right. 
However, Eugenides' painstakingly rendered portrayal of bipolar disorder and the internal and external struggles that come with it managed to be the only element with any real emotional resonance. The Marriage Plot concerns a standard college love triangle consisting of Brown students Leonard, Madeline, and Mitchell. The former grapples against his own mind and troubled family life, the middle means well and tries to help her beloved, and the latter wants to wed the middle. Messy stuff, obviously, but Leonard remains more or less the only remotely sympathetic character in the whole tableau.

His narrative is one of true suffering, as he experiences his mind and body revolting against one another. Add in his future in-laws and friends frequently making light of or outright shaming (the story does take place in 1982-1983, after all; long before the likes of No Kidding, Me Too and Bring Change 2 Mind), and readers wind up with a very tragic look at the realities of life with mental health issues. With more and more college students hitting campus and finding themselves challenged by more than just academics, Eugenides' book stands as at once timely and timeless. Even those whose diagnoses completely differ from Leonard's might still easily relate to how his interactions with others wind up marred by misunderstandings and souring good intentions.

With such a fully-realize, nuanced, and sympathetic central figure, the other two fail to generate much interest. Madeline certainly deserves accolades for her selfless attempts to help her boyfriend, later husband. But her incessant self-pity over voluntary(!) self-sacrifice, occasional lapses into princess-hood, and desire to cure the uncurable left me facepalming every few pages. Yes, even though it's undeniably realistic. And Mitchell's globetrotting spiritual quest lacked any real sense of heart or urgency. Of course, it all makes perfect sense and roots itself in the often illogical, wandering human experience. But since their stories orbit one of such not-at-all-arbitrary force and urgency, their own little whines seem inconsequential.