Tag: American

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Films

The Roads Not Taken

In English director Sally Potter’s most recent feature, The Roads Not Taken, the first discernible words uttered by the main character, are “everything is open.” In a sense this statement, mumbled by Leo, a writer living with Dementia, (perfectly portrayed by Hollywood A-Lister, Javier Bardem), gives the viewer a quick synopsis of the entire film. The screenplay, (also written by Potter), jumps backwards and forwards between three different points in Leo’s life. We see him as a younger man, married to Salma Hayek and mourning the death of their son, in exile from his second marriage, writing alone in Greece and finally as an older man, confused and depleted by the illness, being guided through a single day’s errands around the city in the company of his daughter Molly, (sensitively played by Elle Fanning). Everything is open at the same time in this movie. Time is fluid as Leo’s memory leaps and flits from one period to the next. Potter does a masterful job of capturing the eternal present of living with Dementia where the past can seem just as real and believable as the moment the person is actually living in. I particularly enjoyed the way the movie skipped seamlessly between the various stages of Leo’s life, leaving much unsaid, mumbled or deliberately confusing, so the viewer empathises with the confusion experienced by Leo and his family.

The strongest section of The Roads Not Taken is undoubtedly the strand set in Leo’s present. The relationship between Leo and his daughter Molly -who has taken on much of the carers role- is believable, warm and occasionally heart-breaking. We see Molly’s distress when her father wanders off in the middle of the night. We see her struggle to understand his speech and promise to, “try harder to see it from your point of view. To see what you see.” We see her frustrated when she loses out on a big job because of her responsibilities with her father. We see her irate at the way others treat Leo, speaking over him and patronising him. But what comes across most strongly in Potter’s depiction of their relationship is the way father and daughter continue to find small moments of connection even as the illness forces them apart. There’s a particularly poignant scene in the bathroom at the dentist’s when, having soiled his own trousers, Molly gives her father hers. Even in the midst of humiliation and confusion there are moments when this movie manages to laugh and yet there’s no schmaltzy ending here, no neat conclusion or moment of epiphany. Leo and Molly’s situation is just as complex and difficult at the end of their day together as it was in the opening credits. Neither does Potter attempt to deify Leo or paint Molly as a saint. Both are flawed, occasionally failing characters. This is what makes them believable. 

Bardem is wonderful in this movie. He has a huge presence onscreen and the sheer bulk of his body, though slowed and atrophied by Dementia, refuses to be relegated to the ranks of a shadowy invalid. He is enormously present throughout. The camera often lingers painfully close to his face, exposing every wrinkle and pore. We are forced to look straight and deliberately at Leo as a person, present with his illness. Here, it is impossible to ignore the person living with Dementia. The Roads Not Taken takes an unflinching look at Dementia and our treatment of people living with the illness. To some extent, this unflinching personal gaze makes the viewer feel culpable in the way society has othered, dismissed and ignored the Dementia experience. I don’t think this is any bad thing.

The Roads Not Taken was directed by Sally Potter and released in the UK in September 2020 

Categories
Films

Falling

Falling is actor, Viggo Mortensen’s debut effort as both a writer and director and it is a stunning accomplishment. Mortensen casts himself as John, a successful pilot, living in California with his husband and their adopted daughter. The movie begins, (in quite shocking fashion), with a scene on a plane. John is flying home from the Midwest with his father, Willis, (Lance Henriksen), when the older man’s dementia causes him to forget where he is and create a scene. Willis is in California to look for a smaller property as he transitions away from the large farm he’s no longer capable of looking after. However, nothing goes to plan during his visit: he manages to offend his daughter, played by Laura Dern, forgets he’s agreed to move house and is so belligerent and offensive he insults almost everyone he comes into contact with.

The film moves backwards and forwards between contemporary time -where Henriksen does an incredible job of portraying an older man who is stubborn, angry and ultimately afraid of losing his own autonomy- and the past -where Sverrir Gudnasson plays a much younger version of Willis who is not yet living with dementia but is equally stubborn, angry and intent upon wielding his authority over his family. Mortensen’s portrayal of John is notable for his forbearance and his measured approach to his father. He maintains the same patient demeanour throughout as his father rages, delivers homophobic and racist insults and humiliates him at every turn. Mortensen’s compassion is so marked it makes the moment when he finally loses his temper -railing against his father for years of abuse- one of the most powerful scenes in the film.

It’s so refreshing to come across a narrative which explores the difficult subject of how to care for someone who is not nice and never has been. This topic is rarely covered in books and movies though, in my experience, it’s reasonably common to find someone caring for a family member who has dementia despite a fractured or even abusive relationship. Mortensen handles the material with sensitivity, but he’s also unflinching when it comes to including the harrowing details. I also appreciated the way he resists stereotyping Willard. Yes, this man is a horrible, racist, homophobic, misogynist but he’s also fond of his granddaughter and displays genuine affection for her. This is a difficult watch but a necessary one. I’d thoroughly recommend checking it out. 

Falling was written and directed by Viggo Mortensen and released in the UK in February 2021

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Book Reviews

“Surviving Grace” by Trish Vradenburg

The Washington Star review printed on the back of my copy of Surviving Grace calls this play, “a two-hour Seinfeld,” and this assessment seems particularly apt. The play is sharp, funny, fast-paced and in places a little absurd. It centres around Kate Griswald, a thirty something TV producer and her sixty five year old mother Grace. Kate’s life is hectic. She’s too busy for relationships. Her main focus in life is her career. She’s so busy juggling responsibilities at work she actually missed the birthday party where her mother’s confusion begins to become apparent to the rest of the family.

Grace’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis interrupts Kate’s hectic career. Suddenly, she not only has to worry about placating the actors in her sitcom, she also has to look out for her mother and her father who’s struggling to deal with his wife’s decline. The initial sections of the play address several key issues couples have to face when one develops Dementia. Jack, (Kate’s father), expresses his sadness about his wife’s condition.

“She can’t hold on to a thought anymore. Her mind is a sieve. It kills me to see her like this.”

He complains about the way their old friends now avoid them because they’re either afraid of Grace’s Alzheimer’s or don’t know what to say.

“Alzheimer’s is hurting out social life. You know what Mom said. Only family hangs in there.”

He even acknowledges the way the American healthcare system can wreck havoc on a couple’s finances and savings if one of them develops an illness like Dementia.

“The house is the only thing the government won’t take from you to pay for this. No Medicaid until I’m broke. I checked. Fifty-five thousand a year this costs.”

Eventually Jack can’t take the responsibility of looking after his wife. Grace is moved to a nursing home and Jack finds himself a younger girlfriend. He chooses fun and excitement over responsibility and leaves Kate to pick up the pieces. The play moves away from the traditional Dementia narrative about half way through. Grace is placed on a programme of experimental, (and completely fictional), new drugs which reverse the symptoms of her Alzheimer’s. She begins to recover her language skills and her memories. She shocks her family by informing them that she’s been cognisant and listening to everything they’ve said over the last few months. She wants to use the time she’s be given to travel and enjoy herself. Having gained a taste for the world beyond her nursing home, Grace refuses to return from her travels and without the Alzheimer’s-blocking drug regime, begins to decline for a second time.

Surviving Grace is a funny, intriguing, irreverent look at a family dealing with a Dementia-diagnosis in a truly unique way. Not every theme is developed fully and I’m still not entirely certain what Vradenburg hoped to achieve with the inclusion of a miracle cure. Yet, it raises lots of questions about consent and responsibility. It made me laugh in several places and offers an interesting alternative to the usual nursing home experience. It even includes a bit of romance.

Surviving Grace was published by Broadway Play Publishing Inc. in 2003. 

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Book Reviews

“The Madonnas of Leningrad” by Debra Dean

Debra Dean’s beautiful novel, The Madonnas of Leningrad is one of a handful of key texts we’ll be exploring as part of our research project. We’ll be sharing and discussing extracts from the novel during our forthcoming reading groups. The story shuttles between a wedding on an island in contemporary America and the autumn of 1941 where we first meet a much younger Marina, resident in Leningrad’s Hermitage Museum. As the city is under siege Marina struggles to survive in appalling conditions and yet while moving the museum’s masterpieces away for safekeeping, she finds solace in committing each image to memory. Many years later, during her granddaughter’s wedding, an older Marina experiences flashbacks of her old life in Russia and, as a result of the Alzheimer’s she’s living with, becomes increasingly confused about where, and indeed, when she is.

The Madonnas of Leningrad is an exquisitely written novel. It is worth reading alone for the beautifully drawn descriptions of the artwork Marina is so fond of. It also provides a gentle but accurate portrait of a family doing their best to nurture and accommodate their elderly parents as they deal with the implications of dementia. I found the scenes towards the novel’s close when Marina wanders from her hotel room particularly affective emotionally. Dean does a wonderful job of recording the fears and frustrations of the family as they try to track Marina down before it’s too late. Both her portraits of Marina’s husband and daughter are incredibly honest and accurate.

However, the thing I loved most about The Madonna’s of Leningrad was Dean’s ability to use the flashback device within her novel to effectively capture Marina’s confusion. As the story progresses and the reader is transported further and further into the backstory of Marina’s past, it becomes increasingly difficult to tell where the line between past and present lies. There were several moments when I had to stop and concentrate in order to locate Marina’s narrative. Was she describing a present scene, or something from many decades ago? I loved this natural sense of confusion. It helped me empathise with Marina’s experience. I felt like I was seeing and thinking through the lens of her muddled up memory. Past blurred with present. Fears and anxieties long left behind began to take on a fresh urgency. It was a very immersive reading experience. I thoroughly enjoyed this short novel and the way Dean expertly reveals the rich life Marina has lived by using fractured snippets of her memory.

The Madonnas of Leningrad was published by Fourth Estate in 2006 

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Book Reviews

“Hour of the Bees” by Lindsay Eagar

Hour of the Bees is Utah-based YA writer, Lindsay Eagar’s debut novel. It’s a captivating story about a family spending a summer together on the sprawling sheep ranch which has been in their family for generations. The story centres around twelve year old Carol. At first Carol isn’t at all keen to give up her entire summer holidays to spend time with her grandfather, Serge on a sheep ranch in the middle of nowhere. Carol, her half-sister Alta, and little brother Lu are used to their life back in the city, with their friends and all the comforts of home. There’s absolutely nothing to entertain them on the sheep ranch, worse still the whole area’s been subject to a drought for decades and the summer months are unbearably hot. Carol and her family don’t really have a choice in terms of where they spend their summer. Serge is extremely elderly and has grown frail. His advancing dementia means he’s increasingly confused, mixing the past with the present and sometimes even mistaking Carol for his late wife as a girl. Serge is moving to a residential care facility at the end of the summer and the family have only a few months to get the ranch fixed up before it’s put up for sale.

Eagar weaves a beautiful magical realist story through the more familiar story of a family struggling to cope with change in the present and resurfacing hurts from the past. Carol grows close to her grandfather as he tells her a long and enchanting fairy tale about her families origins. She comes to understand that her roots and identity are tightly bound to the ranch and ultimately begins to empathise with Serge’s insistence that the land should stay in the family and not be sold to strangers. It’s a beautifully written story and a really enjoyable read with strong emphasis on the importance of listening to older people and valuing family connections.

However, I really struggled with the dementia narrative in this novel. Serge’s dementia feels like a kind of device used to propel the plot. He’s portrayed as confused and frail when the story requires him to be an object of pity or a bone of contention, grating up against the family’s plans. At other points he’s almost miraculously coherent and portrayed as quite strong and virile for such an elderly man. For example, though he frequently finds communication difficult he’s able to narrate, long and extremely eloquent stories about his past. I understand that the magic realist narrative running through the novel allows for a certain amount of liberty to be taken with how the characters are portrayed but I’d be a little concerned that young people with no experience of dementia who read this novel might not get an accurate idea of what the illness is actually like. Eagar, also weaves in a semi-miraculous happy ending for Serge and Carol which is very different from most people’s end of life experience with a loved one who has dementia. It’s an ongoing struggle when reading and writing fictional dementia narratives. The characters need to be written accurately and ethically and yet are also there to serve the story. For me, the balance isn’t quite right in Hour of the Bees, but it’s still an enjoyable read. 

Hour of the Bees was published by Walker Books in 2016 

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Book Reviews

“The Vanishing Half” by Brit Bennett

I’ve been in two minds as to whether I should include Brit Bennett’s bestselling second novel, The Vanishing Half in my list of Dementia fiction narratives. The greater part of the novel does not touch upon the subject of Dementia. It’s an engaging, and incredibly timely, exploration of race issues in North America. Twins, Stella and Desiree Vignes, have grown up in Mallard, a tiny rural southern black community where lightness of skin is seen as desirable. The twins escape Mallard at the earliest opportunity and move to the big city where their lives diverge and take very different paths. Desiree marries a black man and after the relationship falls apart, moves back to her mother’s house in Mallard, with her daughter who is significantly darker than her. Stella, finding she can pass as white, marries a rich white man and moves to the West coast where her daughter grows up entirely unaware that she is mixed race. 

It’s a brilliant novel and a really engaging read and, like many contemporary novels, does not touch on the theme of Dementia until the final chapters. Lately, I’ve been noticing this as a reoccurring trope in contemporary fiction, especially novels which follow a kind of family saga narrative arc. As the protagonists -in this case the twins’ mother- grows older, they develop Dementia. I’m not questioning the appropriateness of Bennett’s choice to explore Mrs Vignes’ Dementia experience so late in the novel. However, in some novels, Dementia can feel like a tagged on afterthought or a neat way to resolve unresolvable plot issues. I’ve been noticing an increasing tendency to use a character with Dementia as a plot device. Confusion, memory loss and failure to recognise familiar people can, in fictional terms, be a handy device for creating mystery or suspending a moment of revelation. This is particularly apparent in the current craze for Dementia narratives in crime fiction. (I hope to write more about this at a later date). 

In The Vanishing Half, Mrs Vignes’ Dementia allows Bennett to swiftly and seamlessly reintroduce the long lost twin Stella, who has returned to Mallard decades after her initial escape. Her mother’s confusion and her inability to tell past from present means she accepts her prodigal daughter’s unexpected return with absolutely no questions. For Mrs Vignes’ it’s as if Stella never left. The cynic in me, could argue that Bennett uses Dementia as a handy device to resolve a lot of her plot lines in a swift and overly simplistic way. It’s awfully neat, to watch a family who’ve been fragmented and at loggerheads for three hundred pages, become united by their mother and grandmother’s Dementia for a handful of pages at the novel’s end. However, for the most part Bennet’s portrayal of Mrs Vignes’ Alzheimer’s is reasonably convincing and it’s so rare to see an exploration of Dementia within a black community I felt it important to include The Vanishing Half. 

I also felt compelled to note that Bennett’s inclusion of the line, “Alzheimer’s Disease was hereditary, which meant that Desiree would always worry about developing in,” is neither helpful nor accurate. Less than 1% of Dementia diagnosis are hereditary and ill-informed statements like this can cause distress and even panic in readers. I enjoyed The Vanishing Half immensely and I will defend to the hilt, the writer’s right to explore and record other’s experiences. But when it comes to publishing factual statements like the one above, especially in widely read novels like The Vanishing Half, I think it’s absolutely essential that the information conveyed is well-researched and accurate.

The Vanishing Half was published by Dialogue Books in 2020

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Book Reviews

“Still Alice” by Lisa Genova

Many readers will have come to Still Alice via the 2015 big screen adaptation starring Julianne Moore in the title role. Moore, quite justifiably, won a Golden Globe for her portrayal of Alice, the university professor, wife and mother who finds herself diagnosed with Dementia at the relatively early age of fifty. Genova chooses to focus her novel on a reasonably rare type of Alzheimer’s which can be passed genetically from parents to children. A large part of the novel explores the relationship between Alice and her three children as they decide whether to have a genetic test and how they’ll deal with whatever the results turn up. The Dementia also places strain upon Alice’s close family ties as her children and her husband have to learn how to navigate her rapid decline, repositioning  themselves as carers when they’ve previously been so dependent upon her. The third person narration offers us small glimpses into their confusion, disappointment and anxiety though most of the novel is focused on Alice. She is the hero of this quest.

I’d argue strongly that Still Alice is a quest narrative with much of the novel exploring ways in which Alice can find a way triumph over her diagnosis. You might argue that the possibility of suicide is introduced earlyish and revisited later when Alice is too confused to follow her own emergency exit instructions and consequently continues living by default. However, even the idea of an end of life plan could be seen as a kind of quest, with Alice retaining autonomy over her own existence. Genova is determined to find meaning and potential in the midst of Alice’s difficult story. A gifted public speaker and academic by trade, Alice gives a paper at a conference on Dementia, reminding the reader that she is still herself and can still contribute to society in spite of her diagnosis. Alice is also portrayed advocating for people living with Dementia and beginning a kind of support group for those diagnosed with the condition. The meaning is clearly implied. Alice is still an active and useful member of society. She is, in her own way, making Alzheimer’s work for her.

At several point, most notably later in the novel, Genova explores the complex tensions inherent within how Alice is viewed by the people around her. Her family are desperate for her to remain active, engaged and essentially, still herself. And yet, they’ve already begun the process of infantilising her as their roles as carers begin to trump their previously dependent roles.

“They talked about her, in front of her, as if she were deaf. They talked about her, in front of her, without including her, as if she had Alzheimer’s disease.”

Alice’s decline is rapid and brutal, Genova dates her chapters so the reader can see just how quickly the disease progresses over a period of two years. As the novel concludes Alice’s observations and interpretations about the world around her become less sophisticated, and in some ways, less anxious. By the final chapter, she’s lost the ability to recognise her own daughter and yet seems to be more peaceful than in the opening chapters where her mental confusion was a constant distress. 

“Everyone walked, busy on their way to where they must go. She didn’t need to go anywhere. She felt lucky about this.”

It’s a comforting way to conclude a novel about a woman whose life has been gradually erased. It’s hard not to wonder whether Genova, compromises accuracy, to give her readers a satisfying conclusion. The novel’s ending raises some of the biggest questions implicit in all serious attempts to write about Dementia: how cognisant is the person living with Dementia, especially towards the end of their journey? And, if people living with Dementia are relatively cognisant, even late into their diagnosis, is it less troubling for the rest of us, as friends, family members and interested bystander, to simply pretend they’re not?

Still Alice was published by Simon and Schuster in 2007 

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Book Reviews

“Say Say Say” by Lila Savage

Whilst not strictly a novel exploring Dementia, Say Say Say has been an important addition to my reading list this year. It centres around a small cast of characters: Bryn, an older man whose wife, Jill has sustained a traumatic brain injury and Ella, the young woman he employs as a companion and carer for Jill. Jill exhibits many of the symptoms associated with Dementia. She struggles to process thought logically, no longer recognises herself or the people around her, requires a lot of physical assistance and, most notably, displays a form of aphasia which leaves her language and communication skills confused. Her lexicon is greatly diminished and she often resorts to expressing herself through a series of repetitive linguistic tics such as, “say, say, say,” as alluded to in the novel’s title.

Interestingly, Lila Savage doesn’t really attempt to explore or convey Jill’s experience or feelings as she becomes increasingly dependent on her carers. Say Say Say is a novel which focuses on the family and carer’s experience and as such, is an essential read. The reader is given a wonderful insight into what it’s like for a young woman like Ella to be responsible for someone so very dependent. We see her struggle to communicate effectively with Jill as her linguistic possibilities are incredibly limited. Eventually Ella lights upon some creative ways to connect with Jill. She begins to mirror the older woman’s linguistic tics.

“As the next best thing, Ella began to respond to Jill’s circular rants as though they were friends chatting, responding in a steady, sympathetic murmur, as though the natural back-and-forth of conversation were occurring.”

And in some of the most moving scenes in the book, Ella learns how to slow her normally hectic pace of life down in order to be present with Jill. Jill potters around the house and garden, often silent or mumbling to herself. While Ella reads, draws Jill and writes poems about her. In this way she manages to connect with some essential part of Jill and this connection makes it impossible to administer the physical side of the older woman’s care with anything but careful dignity. “Ella wants Jill’s every encounter to be respectful.”

Through Ella’s eyes we are also given a snapshot of how Bryn feels as he cares for his beloved wife who has become incapable of looking after herself and no longer knows who he is. “Bryn essentially lived in hell, Ella knew this even if she didn’t always acknowledge it. It was like he was confined to an empty white cell with nothing to do but observe the sights and sounds of the torture of the person he most loved.” Savage offers her readers a very honest portrait of a good man, who loves is wife and yet has become worn down and frustrated by the burden of caring for her.

It is this unswerving honesty about the carer’s experience which makes Say Say Say an exceptional read. The characters here aren’t remarkable. They’re honest, very recognisable, figures, doing their best under difficult circumstances, sometimes excelling and sometimes failing. They’re occasionally angry and despairing, occasionally able to seize small moments of unexpected joy. It reminded me of so many of my own experiences working with people living with Dementia and talking to their carers and family members. It’s a very moving book, beautifully written, shot through with small nuggets of humour and perfectly placed to give the reader an accurate understanding of how caring for someone with a life-changing illness will affect every part of a carer’s life.

Say Say Say was published by Serpent’s Tail in 2019

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Book Reviews

“The Waverley Gallery” by Kenneth Lonergan

In Kenneth Lonergan witty, poignant and surprisingly funny New York play, The Waverley Gallery, the action centres around feisty 80-something, Gladys. Gladys is an old-school lefty, a lifelong social activist and vibrant member of the Village scene and the owner of the Waverley Art Gallery mentioned in the play’s the title. Gladys is already exhibiting symptoms of Dementia when the first scene begins. The Gallery, though hardly lucrative anymore, gives her a routine and purpose to her days. When the landlord decides to turn the property into an extension of his hotel, Gladys’ condition rapidly deteriorates. A small cast of characters exist as Gladys’ carers and community: her grandson who lives in the same apartment block, her daughter and her daughter’s husband and the artist who will become the last person to have an exhibition in Gladys’ gallery.

The Waverley Gallery is quite a simply structured play. The scenes move between the gallery, Gladys’ apartment and her daughter’s house where the family gather for a weekly dinner and catch up. The simplicity of the structure allows Lonergan to focus on the interactions between characters. The dialogue is absolutely superb. Lonergan’s managed to perfectly capture the repetitive retellings of a person in the first throes of memory loss- we get the same set phrases, anecdotes and questions from Gladys at every single family dinner. Lonergan also has an incredible ear for how families communicate, talking over each other and at cross purposes, blending wit and humour in with fond mockery. Having sat through so many dinners with various family members exhibiting the first signs of Dementia, I can honestly say I’ve never seen this kind of dialogue written with so much accuracy and warmth.

Lonergan also gives time to the family members who have, by default, become Gladys’ carers. He notes their fondness for the old lady alongside their frustration with the situation and occasionally with Gladys herself. Gladys is also a powerful and dominant voice in the play. Despite her confusion she stunningly articulates her own frustration at how the final years of her life are playing out. She speaks poignantly about the loss of her independence and the plans she’d had for later life. The Time Out review called The Waverley Gallery“attractively modest,” and I believe this to be a fitting accolade for the play. Lonergan isn’t attempting anything revolutionary with this script. It’s simple but it’s also incredibly well-executed. The interplay between characters is so beautifully developed and accurate it does not require any further embellishment.

The Waverley Gallery was published by Grove Press. in 2000.

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Book Reviews

“Goodbye, Vitamin” by Rachel Khong

There are a number of reasons why I really enjoyed the American writer, Rachel Khong’s debut novel. For one thing it’s very funny. It tackles a relatively serious subject with gravity where gravity’s required and also buckets of humour and wit. Sometimes the humour and pathos are mixed together, as in the following exchange between Ruth and her father, whose Alzheimer’s is beginning to make him confused.

“I’m your daughter,” I say.

“You sound different,” he says.

“How?” I say.

“More sonorous,” is what he says.

Khong isn’t afraid to laugh in the midst of the saddest moments. There’s something very familiar about this as the absurdity of living with Dementia often means experiencing the whole spectrum of emotions simultaneously. The other thing I particularly enjoyed about Goodbye, Vitamin is the portrayal of a person who is attempting to maintain a normal existence even as their Alzheimer’s takes hold. For many people there is a period after diagnosis when they continue to work and live as closely as possible to their normal routine. This is rarely depicted in films or books. Ruth’s father, a much-loved history professor, doesn’t want to stop teaching even though his boss and colleagues have noticed his behaviour’s becoming erratic and have asked him to step down from his teaching role. What follows is an elaborate plan whereby Ruth, conspiring with his students, set up sessions off campus so her father can continue to teach the classes he loves.

“The idea Theo and I plant into Dad’s head is that because we’re learning about the Los Angeles Aqueduct, we should take an educational field trip to go visit it.”

Ruth herself is the narrator of the novel. Her story is recounted in chronological diary excerpts where readers are presented with a snapshot of her personal life alongside her attempts to care for and connect with her dad. Ruth isn’t having an easy time of it. She’s thirty years old, recently single and back home living with her parents. She’s frustrated that there isn’t a miracle cure for either her dad’s condition or the mess she’s made of her life. In the absence of medical remedies she begins to learn that love and being gentle with each other is the best way to navigate this turbulent time. Ruth seems to find it easiest to make sense of the journey her father is taking if she takes each moment for what it is and savours their time together. There might not be much she can do for her father, but she can spend significant time with him.

“Today, I caught you in the garage, eating the peaches from the earthquake kit. I joined you. We drank the syrup and then we drank the packets of water.

Here I am, in lieu of you, collecting the moments.”

This is such a warm and generous wee novel. It’s not without its heartbreaking moments. At one point her father, realising what Ruth’s sacrificing, encourages her to move on with her life and I found this exchange particularly poignant

“You didn’t want me feeling obligated to stay. You said you didn’t want me feeling guilty. You said you didn’t want me seeing you act loony tunes.”

Khong has Ruth respond with sensitivity and quick humour, giving her father a dose of daughterly cheek. It’s in these small and incredibly familiar moments that Goodbye, Vitamin really soars. This is such a realistic picture of a tight knit family dealing with a difficult situation in the only way they know how: food, time, love and taking the piss.

Goodbye Vitamin was published by Schribner in 2017