Tag: English

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“Grandpa’s Great Escape” by David Walliams

I don’t make a habit of criticising other author’s work. I know how difficult it is to write a novel. I know that the beauty of a book is often in the eye of the beholder and everyone has different tastes. What gives me the right to make a value judgment about a novel? However, every so often, a book comes along which leaves me so riled up I’m afraid I can’t keep from being critical. 

I’ve never read any of David Walliam’s kids’ books before. I knew they were incredibly popular – NUMBER ONE bestsellers, according to the cover- and I also knew many of my friends and colleagues in the kids’ book world had reservations about both Walliam’s work and also the increasing popularity of children’s books written by celebrity authors. I’m not going to wade into that argument, but I do think they are voicing legitimate concerns and, if Grandpa’s Great Escape is similar to the rest of Walliams’ work I’d have to say I have huge issues with his lazy and borderline misogynistic portrayal of women, his lazy, cliched, offensive depictions of BAME characters and the slightly snide and sneery way he writes about working class people. Putting these reservations aside for the moment, however, I will attempt to focus on Walliams’ exploration of dementia in this novel.

Dementia is not mentioned by name in Grandpa’s Great Escape but as the novel begins with the line “one day Grandpa began to forget things,” and Walliams goes on to outline how he’s taken to wandering off at night, confusing the past with the present and does not recognise close family members, it’s fair to say Grandpa has developed dementia. The novel’s plot outlines his adventures with his grandson Jack. Swept up in an extended delusion that he’s still living in the days of WW2 when he served his country as a fighter pilot, Grandpa runs away from home, hides out in a spitfire in the Imperial War Museum, is incarcerated in an old people’s home which he mistakes for a Prisoner of War camp, leads a mass break out from the home and eventually steals a spitfire from the Imperial War Museum which he flies away in. The plot is quite frankly absurd, but it is a children’s book and I’m all for wild flights of fancy in literature aimed at both children and adults. The problem here is the tone. Most of the outlandish events are written with such flippancy that the suspension of disbelief disintegrates instantly. Walliams has often been accused of being diet-Dahl but he lacks Dahl’s ability to believe his own magic. The made up stuff feels made up and I doubt it would make it past the discerning imagination of most eight year olds. It is badly written nonsense.

I’d be annoyed if this was all Walliams was offering his readers, but I think Grandpa’s Great Escape is so much worse than a poorly written piece of children’s literature. It’s attempting to address an important issue; presenting a character with dementia to countless young readers who might well have a grandparent or loved one living with the illness. As such, it’s unforgivable. Grandpa’s dementia is like no dementia I’ve ever encountered in almost fifteen years of working in this area. He can’t remember his family, confuses times and dates, forgets things and yet manages to mastermind elaborate escape plans, fly a spitfire plane, enter into complicated conversations and at all times remain fastidiously and neatly dressed in full army regalia. It’s quite clear from this portrayal that Walliams has done no research at all into how dementia would actually impact an elderly man or what effect the condition might have on his young grandson. Furthermore, the depiction of the residential care facility Grandpa’s moved into is terrifying. He’s drugged, physically abused by carers and isolated from his family. If I were reading this novel, as a young person whose grandpa had dementia, I’d be both terrified by the possibility he might be incarcerated in a Colditz-style care home and also full of the false hope that he might make a miraculous recovery from his illness. 

At best this book is badly written. At worst it’s downright harmful and instils a false narrative about dementia. I wish all those children, (or perhaps parents), who’ve made it a NUMBER ONE bestseller had instead picked up one of the amazing books for kids I’ve previously highlighted on the blog. 

Grandpa’s Great Escape was published by Harper Collins in 2015 

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Book Reviews

“Ghosts” by Dolly Alderton

Ghosts is award-winning author and journalist, Dolly Alderton’s debut novel. It’s not the sort of book I’d normally turn to -a kind of Bridget Jones-style take on contemporary dating with lots of pop culture references, romance and a little bit of pathos on the side- and yet, I have to say I really enjoyed it. It’s a quick read, and for the most part, quite light but it includes several really tender moments which made me stop in my tracks. The novel follows food writer Nina, as she turns thirty two and attempt to navigate the world of online dating whilst the majority of her friends are having babies and settling into married life. The thing which make Ghosts a little different from other books of this type I’ve read, is Nina’s relationship with her parents. Her mother, aged 65, appears to be having a rather late version of a midlife crisis. She’s changed her name and suddenly developed an interest in feminism and philosophy. Her father, aged 77, is showing signs of dementia. Though the 

novel shies away from using the kind of specific terminology usually found in dementia narratives, Bill’s prognosis is very apparent in his behaviour: he wanders back to his childhood home, he doesn’t recognise friends and family members, he becomes increasingly irritable.

I was not expecting to be so moved by Alderton’s portrayal of Bill and the way his wife and daughter react to his condition. It’s tenderly drawn and incredibly accurate. There is a real sense of Bill’s frustration. He’s an intellectual who is used to being respected and listened to. His constant refrain throughout the novel is “nobody’s listening. Nobody’s taking me seriously.” He’s aware enough to know he is being infantilised but too confused to realise that the things he’s saying are increasingly nonsensical. I thought Alderton perfectly captured the early stages of a dementia diagnosis when the person is aware that something isn’t quite right. I also loved her observation that Bill, with dementia, was not less like himself, but rather a kind of condensed version of himself with his personality, interests and affectations much more concentrated than before. I’ve noticed this happening with several people I’ve known personally but never been able to put words to the phenomena before.

I also thought Alderton was particularly strong in her descriptions of how Bill’s wife reacts to his condition. At first Nancy seems incredibly blazé and sometimes dismissive. She argues constantly with her husband and doesn’t seem to take his dementia seriously. As Bill’s illness develops and they’re forced to source a carer to help them manage, Nancy begins to articulate her anger and fear. There’s a wonderful, very believable scene, where she speaks honestly about her fear of losing both her husband and her own sense of self. She doesn’t know who she’ll be without him. She’s had hopes for their retirement that she knows will never come to pass now.

These same notions of hope deferred and identity re-imagined are best explored in the character of Nina. Alderton writes Nina as an incredibly believable thirty something juggling career, relationship, friends and family responsibility. As her father’s condition declines she’s forced to re-imagine her relationship with him. She can no longer turn to him for support and solace. She is now her father’s carer. It is hard for her to accept this role reversal and the realisation that her father might not be there to walk her down the aisle or to meet his grandchildren. The future will be different from how Nina has imagined in.

I wasn’t expecting to enjoy Ghosts quite as much as I did, or to discover such a fantastically well-drawn description of an intellectual man, living with dementia, a character I don’t often come across. 

Ghosts was published by Fig Tree in 2020 

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“The Granny Project” by Anne Fine

The Granny Project is a short YA novel written by Carnegie Medal winning writer Anne Fine and first published in 1983. It later found a place on the school curriculum and was adapted into a popular play. It opens with the mother and father of the family announcing the intention to put the children’s beloved grandmother into a nursing home.

“Are you two thinking of putting Granny into a home?”

“Thinking is finished,” Natasha told him. “It is decided.”

The four children -Ivan, Sophie, Tanya and Nicholas- subsequently hatch a cunning plan, (the Granny Project of the title). They will gather data which paints their parents attempts at caring for Granny, who is living with Dementia, in a very negative light. If Henry and Natasha don’t back down and allow Granny to stay in the house, they will hand this report in as a Social Sciences project, mortifying their parents. It’s an effective means of blackmail and eventually Henry and Natasha agree that Granny can stay. 

However, they do not fill their children in on the conditions associated with their acquiescence until the Granny Project has been destroyed. As soon as the written evidence is burnt, they inform the children that they are now solely responsible for their grandmother’s care. The children soon learn exactly how much work goes into caring for an elderly person living with Dementia, though I have to say, they -especially Ivan- make a valiant effort at giving the old lady the respect and attention she deserves. Just at the point when the situation is once again becoming intolerable, Granny sadly develops pneumonia and passes away. Towards the end of the novel, the older children reflect on the two forms of care their granny experienced at the end of her life. 

“Ivan, if Granny hadn’t died, and we could start again, would you still vote for keeping her at home?”

“Yes,” Ivan said.

“Just the same?”

“No, not just the same. Not with the system where they did all the work, and hated it. Or with the one where I did.”

It’s these insights into caring from the child’s perspective which make The Granny Project such an interesting read. In taking on the full burden of their grandmother’s care, the children come to understand how much pressure their parents have been under, yet also develop an even closer bond with the old lady and feel more inclined to ensure she stays at home. There’s not a huge amount of fresh insight into what it’s like to live with Dementia here; Granny’s condition isn’t even given an official name. The emphasis is more on the carers perspective and particularly how children will react to seeing someone they love begin to become confused. 

This is an often times hilarious, sharply written analysis of what it takes to holistically care for a loved one at home. It explores the complexities of family dynamics, what it feels like to be a child carer, (including the practical sacrifices and lifestyle changes Ivan is forced to make) and also how children process grief and loss. At times it feels a little dated, the cultural references are firmly rooted in the eighties and some of the attitudes feel a little out of whack with contemporary thinking but it’s still well worth reading today. 

The Granny Project was published by Methuen Children’s Books in 1983 

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“Take Care, Son – The Story of My Dad and His Dementia” by Tony Husband

Cartoonist Tony Husband turns his attention to a subject very close to home in this slight, but charming book which chronicles the final years of his father, Ron. We follow Ron’s journey from a Dementia diagnosis right through to his death. Told from both the perspective of Tony and his father, the story reveals the close relationship between the two and the way this relationship is significantly impacted as Ron’s Dementia takes over his life. At first Ron is able to continue living with a degree of independence. The opening sections of the book allow the reader to find out a little more about his lifestyle, family and history. He seems like a larger than life sort of man. As the story progresses Ron becomes more and more confused about his own present condition and eventually moves from the family home into a residential care facility. 

The small snippets of first person narrative and the illustrations which accompany each page give the reader a real insight into the practicalities of Ron’s decline. He laments the loss of his independence when his car is taken away and is heartbroken to discover his dog, Lossie won’t be able to stay with him in the nursing home. However, Husband is quick to point out that the move into residential care hasn’t been an entirely negative experience for his father. Ron enjoys the company of his fellow residents, the entertainment that’s laid on for them and even manages to start a new relationship with a fellow resident. He’s also delighted to discover that Lossie is welcome to come and visit. The dog proves incredibly popular with his new friends. 

Take Care, Son doesn’t go into an awful lot of depth when it comes to exploring the Dementia experience. But what Husband records is very familiar and resonates particularly strongly because each little thought and musing is accompanied by a gorgeous illustration which adds a lot to the telling of a familiar story. I also felt the sections offering the reader a glimpse into Ron’s personal thought life were really clear, insightful and loaded with meaning.

“My memories were confused, jumbled… nothing made sense, the world I knew was disappearing, it didn’t make sense and I presume I didn’t either.”

However, my favourite thing about this short book was the tone in which Husband tells his father’s story. It reads like a warm and deeply respectful conversation between a father and son who really love and care for each other. There’s so much respect and dignity implied within this story that even, in the final few pages when Ron talks honestly about facing death and Tony confronts the loss of his father, the narrative felt sad, but not unbearably so. This is a testament to a life both well lived and concluded with dignity. The whole book is shot through with little nuggets of hope and joy. 

Take Care, Son was published by Robinson in 2014 

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“Tamar” by Mal Peet

Guardian Prize- winning author, Mal Peet won the Carnegie Medal for Tamar and it’s pretty easy to see why. His YA novel is an epic read, spanning fifty years of history and three generations of a complicated family. It’s a big book but I read it in less than twenty four hours because I simply couldn’t put it down. If you like historical sagas with plenty of action, you’ll absolutely love this book. It focuses on Tamar, a young fifteen year old woman who, after her grandfather’s suicide, attempts to unravel his complex past. Peet then uses flashbacks to 1944 to reveal Tamar’s grandfather’s side of the story and introduce the people and events which shaped his life. 

It transpires that Tamar’s grandfather was an undercover agent for the allies, operating in the Dutch resistance during the latter part of World War 2. As Tamar discovers more and more about his past, she begins to suspect that he wasn’t the man he purported to be. In normal circumstances she might have asked questions of her grandmother, the women who’d escaped from the Netherlands with her grandfather in 1945. The two of them had spent the remainder of their lives in England, yet never quite managed to shake off the past. However, Tamar’s grandmother has developed Dementia and can’t offer her granddaughter any help in unravelling the fifty year old mystery of who her grandfather really was.

I’ll be very honest. There are only a few chapters of Tamar which deal explicitly with the grandmother’s Dementia. It’s mostly a kind of historical fiction thriller with a tiny bit of romance thrown in for good measure. It’s a brilliant story, exceptionally well-written and I’m grateful that the inclusion of a Dementia narrative made me pick it up and read it through. The sections which focus on Dementia might be slim but they’re very well-crafted and capture a couple of aspects of the illness I haven’t seen explored in many novels so far. Marijke (the grandmother), is a Dutch speaker who learns English late in life, “her English had never been perfect like Grandad’s. She’d often search for the word for something, clicking her fingers impatiently, then give up and use the Dutch.” As her Dementia develops Marijke loses her English and defaults back to her native Dutch. No one in the care home she lives in understands her. They do, “what English people do when they speak to foreigners: talk slowly and loudly in English, and mime.” 

I’ve not seen this concept of defaulting to a primary language included in any Dementia narrative I’ve read so far, though I’ve witnessed it a few times in community arts practice when working with people living with Dementia who’d spoken Irish or another language before they learnt English. I also noted with interest Marijke’s attempts to hide food from her carers; a throwback to her youth, when she’d hidden food from the Nazi’s who’s overran their neighbourhood. This is another practice I’ve witnessed amidst people living with Dementia.

Peet’s description of Marijke’s Dementia is uncannily accurate and well-observed. The loving and gentle descriptions of how Tamar’s grandfather enters into his wife’s confusion as a means of reassuring her, are worth the read alone. This is why I’m including Tamar in my collection of Dementia narratives. There are only a few chapters featuring the older version of Marijke but they’re substantial enough to make this novel an essential inclusion, not to mention, a fantastic read.

Tamar was published by Walker Books in 2005 

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“By the Pricking of My Thumbs” by Agatha Christie

First published in 1968, Agatha Christie’s 59th crime fiction novel, By the Pricking of My Thumbs might not be the most obvious inclusion in my Dementia bookcase. However, though it never mentions the word Dementia, (the term did not come into widespread use until the 1980s), the novel, much of which is set in a retirement home, is one of the first examples I’ve come across where Dementia -or senility as Christie calls it- is used as a plot device in crime fiction. Recently, we’ve seen a number of crime fiction novels include characters with Dementia as a means of adding confusion, delaying the investigation or increasing the intrigue elements of their plots. I hope to take a closer look at this practice at a later date. Arguably, there is a less well-developed, though even earlier, incidence of this trope in Christie’s work. In her 45th crime fiction novel, A Pocketful of Rye, the story begins with an elderly man experiencing a complete change of personality which, in the 1985 television adaptation, starring the great Joan Hickson as Miss Marple, is quite believably attributed to Lewy Body Dementia.

In, By the Pricking of My Thumbs, Christie’s husband and wife sleuthing duo, Tommy and Tuppence investigate what might or might not be a murder after a confused elderly lady in a nursing home tells them there’s a child’s body buried behind the chimney. The plot hangs upon this confusion. Are old ladies with Dementia to be believed when they make accusations and claim there’s a poisoner at large? Or, are they to be brushed aside and dismissed as Miss Packard, the nursing home’s director seems to think?

“They’re like children, really,” said Miss Packard indulgently. “Only children are far more logical which makes it difficult sometimes with them. But these people are illogical, they want to be reassured by you telling them what they want to believe.”

The implication is reasonably clear. Older ladies living with Dementia no longer have any agency. Miss Packard goes on to call their delusions fancies, although she insists they’re harmless enough. “We try not to take any notice, not to encourage them. Just play it down,” she says. In this sense, Christie could be seen to be echoing the predominant feeling of her time. People who developed, what was then known, as senile dementia were best ‘played down’ or even ignored. They were regularly institutionalised and rarely given access to the kinds of therapies, activities and outlets for self-expression which people living with Dementia routinely engage in these days. And so, it is actually quite counter cultural when Christie reveals, (I’ll be careful here to avoid plot spoilers), that the so-called “illogical” and “delusional” old ladies are actually speaking a version of the truth and attempting to draw attention to a real crime which has occurred. 

Like many tropes within Christie’s writing I go backwards and forwards on the ethics of what she’s doing with her plot and themes. In one sense her inclusion of people living with Dementia as vital, active and -most importantly- helpful characters is well ahead of her time. In another sense, I have reservations about using Dementia as a plot device. Is it ethical to include a character with an illness like Dementia simply to develop an aspect of the narrative? Isn’t this quite a reductive way to view both the illness and the characters themselves? What does this say about how authors view people living with Dementia or other illnesses? There are far too many questions to answer here in a short review. By the Pricking of My Thumbs is late Agatha Christie and probably not one of her best. But it’s still a very enjoyable read and a great treat for me as a big Christie fan to see her engage with the topic of Dementia. It feels a little like my planets have aligned.

By the Pricking of My Thumbs was published by Collins in 1968

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Elizabeth is Missing– Emma Healey

Debut author Emma Healey won the Costa Book Awards in 2014 for Elizabeth is Missing, a clever and gripping novel about a woman who is trying to solve a decades old crime whilst living with Dementia. The novel is narrated by Maud, an elderly lady who is increasingly confused about both the world around her and important events from her past. Maud’s good friend Elizabeth hasn’t come to visit in quite some time and Maud is becoming extremely worried about her. She pesters the GP and repeatedly phones Elizabeth’s son in the middle of the night. She drives her own daughter Helen crazy with constant questions about Elizabeth. Maud’s distress is amplified by the fact that Dementia is blurring the line between past and present. Elizabeth’s disappearance has become muddled in her mind with the disappearance of her older sister Sukey, seventy years previously. Memories of the two women blend and intertwine inside Elizabeth’s head.

“Perhaps I should put a note through Elizabeth’s door. Just to say I’ve been. Just to say I was looking for her, in case she comes back. Dad did that for Sukey.”

Maud is the ultimate unreliable narrator. She can no longer hold her own train of thought and this makes it difficult for the reader to keep track of her investigations as she takes notes, searches for clues and tries to follow leads, hoping to find out what’s happened to Elizabeth and, by default, Sukey. It’s difficult to process which pieces of information offered by Maud are true and which red herrings, or misinterpretations. We’re not sure which case is real and which a figment of Maud’s imagination. Though possessed by the notion that she’s on some kind of urgent quest -a common occurrence in people living with Dementia- at times Maud doesn’t know what she’s trying to accomplish herself.

“Even if I knew what I wanted, how could I ever find it? ‘I’m looking for something,’ I say to the man, ‘I just can’t recall, you know.”

Whilst I have some reservations about the use of Dementia as a narrative device -here, as a vehicle for solving a mystery- and I think the novel’s conclusion is a little too neat, Elizabeth is Missing is still an interesting glimpse into the experience of a person living with Dementia. It’s rare to find a first person narrator with Dementia employed throughout the entirety of the book and the range and scope of Maud’s experience -thoughts, memories, interpretations and dialogue- offers a really comprehensive snapshot of both what it’s like to live with Dementia and the resulting confusion, and how other people react to the condition. For me, the standout moments in the novel are those sections where Maud gives the reader insight into how she’s treated and viewed by her family, healthcare professionals and the other people she comes across. These sections read as extremely realistic and quite illuminating. Elizabeth is Missing is also an infinitely readable novel with a clever, well-structured plot and Maud is a genuinely likable and complex protagonist who I enjoyed spending time with.

Elizabeth is Missing was published by Viking in 2014

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“Summerwater” by Sarah Moss

Summerwater is English writer, Sarah Moss’s seventh novel and occupies familiar territory. Moss writes particularly eloquently about the complicated and often fractured relationships which make up the nuclear family. In Summerwater her gaze falls upon a handful of different families who have chosen to spend -what appears to be the wettest summer ever- in a chalet park in the Scottish Highlands. There’s nothing much to do and little means of escape with the rain pouring down incessantly. Trapped inside their tiny chalets, the characters in Moss’s novel begin to interrogate their own family dynamics and closely observe how the other families are navigating this same bleak experience. 

Set across the course of a single day which ends tragically around midnight, each chapter in Summerwater explores a different character’s point of view through a close third person narration. As with all of Sarah Moss’s writing this is a tightly observed and incredibly effective and affecting piece of writing. Moss excels when she explores what it means to be human in community and the dreadful isolation which can still be felt within a family unit. Her writing is shot through with little vignettes of family life which are oh so familiar, and rendered with warmth, wit and dignity. (I especially loved her description of Justine attempt to wrestle her way into a sports bra and almost dislocating her shoulder in the process).

Early in the novel we meet David, a retired doctor who is holidaying in his privately-owned chalet with his wife, Mary. From David’s narrative we begin to piece together that Mary is most likely displaying the early symptoms of dementia whilst David is doing his best to set his professional judgment aside and convince himself there is nothing wrong with her. Later in the novel, Mary gets a chapter to herself. The way she thinks about and articulates her growing confusion is a particularly interesting example of a character whose inner life is at odds with the outer image she’s attempting to portray. Mary has just become aware of her condition. She is beginning to misplace nouns and confuse old memories. Though willing to acknowledge that something’s wrong, she is just as reluctant as her husband to take steps towards dealing with the problem.

“You mind your own business, she wants to say, but she says, oh, just going through my bag, it’s getting a bit heavy. Looking for the thing. Looking for the word for the thing. He’d only worry, or take her off to the doctor, and they can’t do anything, can they, about -well, about this kind of thing. If that’s what it is.”

Like all the characters in Summerwater, David and Marys’ story highlights a fundamental failure in communication. None of these characters are being honest with each other. In David and Mary’s case, they’re not even being honest with themselves. And if language and conversation are already failing this couple so early in their experience of Dementia, it does not bode well for their future together. Whilst the section which engages with Dementia only occupies about a fifth of Summerwater it’s still an essential compelling read, which manages to capture in 200 short pages, the essence of human disconnection. Tellingly, Mary’s chapter in the novel, ends with these stark, but poignant lines.

“He is still looking at her.

She does not look back.”

Summerwater was published by Picador in August 2020

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“The Hard Word Box” by Sarah Hesketh

In 2013, the English poet Sarah Hesketh spent a period of almost five months visiting residents in a residential care home for people living with dementia. She wrote about her experiences, her encounters and the lives of the people she met in this series of moving and evocative poems. The poems are poignant, funny, compassionate and shot through with wonderful insights into how difficult it is to convey the fullness of a person when language and communication begins to fail. Each of the poems is an exercise in bridging the gap between sense and confusion, language and silence, loss and the richness of humanity. The poems included in The Hard Word Box aren’t just clever and inventive. They’re also beautiful pieces of writing which linger long after reading.

The collection begins with a short essay in which Hesketh explains her process, her findings and the ethics she employed in approaching such a complex project. Her warmth and respect for the residents comes across strongly. The poems which resulted from her visits vary in length and form. Some are observational. Some read like prose poem interviews between the poet and the residents. Others contain verbatim phrases lifted from conversations with the residents. Hesketh shapes her own words around these comments so it feels as if the poem is being co-authored and the person living with dementia is being allowed to voice their thoughts instead of just being talked about.

Doreen has a good sense of humour.

Doreen can be a bit rude sometimes (BE GOOD BECAUSE WE
HAVE NO MORE) but staff help her with this.

  • From “Doreen”

Playful wording and humour abounds in poems like “Phyllis’ Instructions for Sex.” Whilst other poems offer a stunning articulation of suffering, grief and loss, rendered in a way which allows the reader to empathise with the residents. “Please don’t ask us to speak/ the hard words all at once.” In other poems Hesketh uses fractured language, line breaks and jarring metaphors to explore the relationship between communication and silence, and the difficulty of voicing people who are losing their own ability to speak.

Everything is so

balled heart. Too much muscle

     in the sound of thinking.

All we want is to be allowed

to be gone.

                                           To fall from this dark like

                brushed white chalk.

  • From “Into the White”

The Hard Work Box is a powerful and incredibly moving testament to a long community arts engagement project. It is a ground-breaking piece of writing when it comes to exploring the relationship between the person living with dementia and the artist attempting to record their experience. There’s a collaborative element present here which is often neglected in poems and stories about dementia. It is clear from reading Hesketh’s work that listening was just as important as speaking when it came to capturing the residents in the entirety of who they are. This emphasis on a holistic present tense understanding of the person living with dementia is eloquently and compassionately expressed in her introduction. 

When I first started working on ‘Where the Heart Is’ I thought my job would be like that of an archaeologist. That I would help people to recover who they had been, and explore new ways to hang on to that. Instead, I realized what was most important, was not that Maureen used to like jazz, or that Bill had once been a butcher, but that Jack tells great jokes, Phyllis likes helping others to the table- that’s who these people are now.

The Hard Word Box was published by Penned in the Margins in 2014