Tripp Friedler is brave for having such a private, personal memoir published about his son’s, Henry, bipolar disease. A must read for other families living with a family member with this disease.

The Tunnel is a powerful, thought-provoking book that will be relevant for anyone dealing with mental health issues in their family...which means pretty much everyone with a family.
The book is first and foremost a good read...well-paced and taut, making it more of a "page-turner" than you might expect given the subject matter. And while it is a very personal and intimate account, it is not overwrought or self-indulgent. It brings an brave, introspective viewpoint, while importantly acknowledging the difficulty and importance of seeing these challenges through the eyes of others.
The Tunnel highlights the seemingly overwhelming odyssey of navigating our mental health system and culture, reminding us how little we really know about the brain at this point, both in diagnosis and treatment. While this could come off as disheartening, it actually provides a sense that "we're not alone." And its retrospective view brings a message of acceptance and survival...that it is possible to make it through the tunnel.

Beautiful and devastating. This book tells this story so honestly, it is sometimes brutal, but also filled with so much love.

The Tunnel is Tripp Friedler’s story of loving his son, Henry, who died in December 2020 by suicide as a result of bipolar disorder. Friedler is still coming to terms with how he loved his son as a child, as an adolescent when symptoms began to emerge, as a young adult when mental illness took over, and what it means to love him in death. The highlights are when Friedler recalls moments of joy he shared with Henry, because the reader can almost feel those memories healing Friedler. Whether Henry is flashing a smile from high above a trampoline or hugging his father after months of barely speaking, the connection between father and son is palpable.

Having no doubt of the love between them and knowing what it is like to love someone with bipolar disorder made it difficult to read passages in which Friedler questions if he could have done more or if different actions on his part might have meant a different outcome for his son. Friedler tries to be objective and is particularly effective when describing Henry’s encounters with academic, healthcare, and judicial systems that are designed to prioritize profit over people, and how it was only the ability to pay that meant Henry even had a fighting chance in those systems. Friedler is brutally honest about his need for a sense of control, difficulty accepting Henry’s diagnosis, and how denial was counterproductive. However, Friedler judges himself much too harshly and takes on blame that belongs only on the disease. This is perfectly normal, yet I hope Friedler will grow more compassionate towards himself with time.

Having lost my sister to suicide made reading The Tunnel especially beautiful and painful because of its authenticity. In addition to my compassion for Friedler (and his wife, who I trust is a fully human version of the saint he paints her to be), I found myself wanting to reach out to Friedler’s two daughters, because there is very little support for those whose sibling is living with mental illness or for bereaved siblings (regardless of cause of death). I finished the book grateful for Friedler’s ability to find meaning in life while he continues to grieve his son’s death. I am hopeful this book will help others who must live through similar grief journeys.

Thank you to Trost Publishing, the Independent Book Publishers Association, and NetGalley for the privilege of reading a DRC of The Tunnel. All opinions are my own.