Red Mars by Kim Stanley Robinson

Ann pursed her lips, stared out the window, shook her head. Her face could be so bleak; it couldn't be explained entirely by Mars, there had to be more to it, something that explained that intense internal spin, that anger. Bessie Smith land. It was hard to watch. When Maya was unhappy it was like Ella Fitzgerald singing a blues, you knew it was a put-on, the exuberance just poured through it. But when Ann was unhappy it hurt to watch it.

p. 139

What a fun metaphor - emotions like great divas. And it fits so well.