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ovenbird_reads's review against another edition
4.0
For those of us, and that is most of us, who shy away from death and aging and all the gritty beautiful mortal things, we need this book. I have loved much of Hay's other writing and this book was no exception. Hay brings the reader close to all the things that come at the end of a life and all the things that come for those who live on. I definitely shed some tears and wandered about with a lump in my throat while I read this.
booksconnectus's review against another edition
4.0
Heart-breaking, personal, authentic, raw-not an "Alzheimer's book" or how to guide-a story of one family- yet a story of every family. Will make you think differently about parenting our parents and how you might handle being parented by your children in the future-or making choices not to be......very real and timely conversation-starter for our generation. People are living so much longer than in our grandparent's generation-changes the playing field. In my mother's fairly small home there are 7 residents over 100....
And the writing is beautiful-the kind that flows and paints gorgeous pictures.
And the writing is beautiful-the kind that flows and paints gorgeous pictures.
traceyo's review against another edition
5.0
Cathartic & thought-provoking.
How do we reconcile a constellation of emotions & memories with the responsibility to care for elderly parents?
How will we witness their cognitive and/or physical decline without discomfort and fear for them, or for ourselves?
How do we reconcile a constellation of emotions & memories with the responsibility to care for elderly parents?
How will we witness their cognitive and/or physical decline without discomfort and fear for them, or for ourselves?
poutineriot's review against another edition
4.0
I love Elizabeth Hay's novels. Late Nights On Air and His Whole Life especially are absolutely beautiful and brilliant. When I heard she had written a memoir about her parents' final years, I couldn't wait to read it. Now, having just this morning finished it with tears in my eyes and a tightness in my chest, I'm hopeful that she sees fit to follow it up with a fuller narrative of her own life. Not every writer is capable of writing both fiction and non; certainly I am not. (I have some skill with the personal essay, but cannot write fiction to save my life.) Elizabeth Hay shows that she is equally fluent in both, though. The richness of her word use, depth of her thought and feeling, and honesty about both the small and the large things come blazing through.
As much as I loved the book, it was not an easy read. It brought to mind helping my mother care for her own mother in her declining years, and my fears about playing that same role for my parents at some point in the future. Like Hay's relationship with her parents, these are complex relationships of love, hurt, and old resentments too. It also brought up that old fear of who, if anyone, will do the same for me; how my autumn years will play out in the absence of partner or children.
I loved the details from her mother's memoir (p32) of sitting in her high chair holding her father's hand while eating as a young girl, a beautiful scene which her daughter Elizabeth borrowed in one of my favourite passages from Alone In The Classroom.
I loved the honesty and humility in passages like these (p140 and p259):
I love her perfectly formed sentences (and unabashed use of the second person), like this (p153):
And I hardly know what to say about this absolute monster of beauty and resonance (p118-119):
I know that land too. I also spent time growing up there, albeit towards the tail end of the 20th century rather than its opening decades. And I share that relationship to the stories of Eastern Ontario. I've been reminded of that several times in the past few months, both through this passage (and its echo towards the end of A Student Of Weather) and the unexpected pleasure of discovery of the song November In Ontario by the Skydiggers. I remember sitting around bonfires with family, neighbours, and friends, hearing stories about the land and the lakes I was coming to know and love, the places I inhabited and which continue to inhabit me. Those stories have stuck in my mind. So have Elizabeth Hay's. I am grateful to her for that.
As much as I loved the book, it was not an easy read. It brought to mind helping my mother care for her own mother in her declining years, and my fears about playing that same role for my parents at some point in the future. Like Hay's relationship with her parents, these are complex relationships of love, hurt, and old resentments too. It also brought up that old fear of who, if anyone, will do the same for me; how my autumn years will play out in the absence of partner or children.
I loved the details from her mother's memoir (p32) of sitting in her high chair holding her father's hand while eating as a young girl, a beautiful scene which her daughter Elizabeth borrowed in one of my favourite passages from Alone In The Classroom.
I loved the honesty and humility in passages like these (p140 and p259):
It's something only girls, and maybe only certain girls, fully understand, the loss that comes with puberty. We lose our slim, smooth, unselfconscious bodies. We find oursleves overtaken by flesh and body hair, by sexual excitement and acute embarrassment. What a drama. What a before-and-after, this business of being physically happy and at home in the world, and then not.
It occurred to me that I was always wrong. Even when I was fundamentally right, I was wrong. Knowing this filled me with pleasure and relief.
I love her perfectly formed sentences (and unabashed use of the second person), like this (p153):
You come to the end of a journey and drink tea, with nothing for company except your state of mind.
And I hardly know what to say about this absolute monster of beauty and resonance (p118-119):
The rising and falling countryside drew us forward to my mother's birthplace in the Ottawa Valley, the land of wild raspberries and chokecherries and stories that stick in the mind.
Once again I felt the tingling of an unbroken connection. ... At home, I researched a few things to remind myself for the umpteenth time of episodes and characters I would forget again, so elusive is the tracery of official Canadian history. Set against that tracery are the colour and weight of the stories that never leave us, when we till the fields of memory and turn up the bones of Judas.
I know that land too. I also spent time growing up there, albeit towards the tail end of the 20th century rather than its opening decades. And I share that relationship to the stories of Eastern Ontario. I've been reminded of that several times in the past few months, both through this passage (and its echo towards the end of A Student Of Weather) and the unexpected pleasure of discovery of the song November In Ontario by the Skydiggers. I remember sitting around bonfires with family, neighbours, and friends, hearing stories about the land and the lakes I was coming to know and love, the places I inhabited and which continue to inhabit me. Those stories have stuck in my mind. So have Elizabeth Hay's. I am grateful to her for that.
canadianbookworm's review against another edition
emotional
funny
reflective
sad
slow-paced
4.5
https://cdnbookworm.blogspot.com/2023/10/all-things-consoled.html
sweddy65's review against another edition
3.0
I kept saying to my sweetie: "I'm sure this book speaks to some people, but it doesn't speak to me."
I did not love this memoir, but respected the story and the storytelling.
I did not love this memoir, but respected the story and the storytelling.
alihewitt's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
funny
reflective
sad
slow-paced
4.5
crabbygirl's review against another edition
5.0
an at times brutally honest memoir of her parent's lives and their final months in her (somewhat) care, being placed in a nursing home a short walk away from the author's home. The prose was often beautiful, the honesty was overwhelming; it was like she was finally released from her parents' judgement/feelings and just faced her memories of them head on
it made me think of how my mother has both the privilege and burden to be seen as a single entity. when I age and my kids think of me, it will likely be as a half of a whole - mom & dad - never as a person in my own right.
it made me think of how my mother has both the privilege and burden to be seen as a single entity. when I age and my kids think of me, it will likely be as a half of a whole - mom & dad - never as a person in my own right.
kather21's review against another edition
3.0
Really liked the authors self-examination during a very difficult time.