Excerpt from Madame Sosostris and the Festival for the Brokenhearted by Ben Okri, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

1

The road to unhappiness is predictable, but the paths to happiness are surprising.

Viv had the idea for the festival on the twentieth anniversary of the day her first husband abandoned her. She didn't know it was the anniversary at the time.

She had been at a friend's party in Hampstead and found herself talking to a nice woman, a stranger, about the impossibility of recovering from real heartbreak.

"There are organizations for people who grieve, for alcoholics and other kinds of addicts," Viv said. "But if you've been devastated by the love of your life walking out on you, where the hell do you go?"

"The million-dollar question," said the stranger.

That was when Viv had her epiphany. She immediately saw shadowy people wandering about in a well-lit forest and had a fleeting impression of piano music.

"Wouldn't it be great," Viv said, "to hold a festival for people who've been smashed up by love?"

The stranger seemed fascinated by the idea.

"You mean, people who've been dumped?"

"Yes. Properly dumped."

"I'd go to that. Where would you have it?"

"I don't know. Somewhere unique."

"Did this idea just occur to you?"

"Yes. I certainly didn't have it when my first husband left me."

"How did you cope with that? What did you do?"

Then it poured out of Viv.

"I didn't know what to do," she said. "I drank a lot and had lots of boyfriends in quick succession and hurled myself into my work. The years passed, I met my current husband and forgot about my heartbreak, till today."

"Odd that you should remember it now."

"I know," said Viv. "But now that I think about it, this is the anniversary of the day he left."

"Is it? How strange. It must have really hurt for you to have forgotten it all this time and suddenly to remember it today."

"It is strange, when you think about it. But it did hurt. It still does."

"I love the idea of the festival."

"Do you?" said Viv. "As soon as I told you about it, I felt a little shiver."

"Did you really?"

"The festival would have to be somewhere fabulous. The Amalfi coast or the Côte d'Azur. A bit bucolic. Like a Watteau painting. Everyone in costume. Nobody appearing as themselves. Wouldn't it be fun if no one recognized anybody else, even the people they came with, their partners or boyfriends? What mischief!"

She talked about the idea everywhere. It bewildered most people. They could make no sense of it.

2

She brought the idea up with her great friend, Beatrice, who had come to visit one afternoon when Viv's husband Alan was away on business. Beatrice had retired from a career juggling portfolios and now sat on the boards of many charities. They were in Viv's house in Notting Hill Gate, drinking Amarone round the new kitchen island.

"Have I told you about this new passion of mine?"

"How very sly of you. Anyone I know?"

"Not a man, an idea."

"A passion for an idea, not a man? Isn't that the wrong way round?"

"You won't think so once you've heard my idea. Sometimes an idea is the best thing to fall in love with when men are so disappointing."

"Disappointed with Alan already?"

"I never said that. I was speaking theoretically."

"I find," said Beatrice, "that when people speak theoretically they're speaking personally."

"We're not all like you," said Viv tartly. "For you everything is autobiographical. Even the weather."

"But, Viv, what we say about the weather reveals a lot. Nothing could be more revealing."

"To get back to the point, there's absolutely nothing the matter with me and Alan. We are, as they say, safe as houses."

"An odd metaphor for a relationship. Makes it sound speculatory, like a bond."

"A relationship is a bond."

"Not a government bond, I hope. Those tend to fluctuate wildly."

Excerpted from Madame Sosostris and the Festival for the Brokenhearted by Ben Okri. Copyright © 2025 by Ben Okri. Excerpted by permission of Other Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.