It's perhaps amazing I got on as well as I did with this novel given that I disliked one of its two main voices, from its tone to its very existence. The personification of cancer as a self-aware entity who knows popular song lyrics, reads books, and riffs on art and contemporary political history, just missed me completely as a concept.

The lovely and graceful writing about flawed people grappling with faith and religion did a lot to win me over. For instance this passage, in which Lia's mother Anne - who has come across as rather cold and haughty - emerges from a store after receiving a call while in the check-out line from Lia, informing her of her terminal diagnosis, and thereafter telling the clerk and other shoppers this information in a daze and receiving generous compassion:

It was waiting for her at the bottom of the ramp, it seemed. That familiar lucid glow, the radiant presence, swelling and singular. Quite unmistakable. For it was love, thought Anne, barely able to stop her body from shaking, from taking flight, she did not know, it was love through which God revealed Himself most clearly. The street was replenishing itself before her eyes. Hello there, she whispered quietly, through her tears, hello again. It was simple and yet too easy to forget, that for all the scripture and prayer, the sermons and services, love was the thing, and as long as she knew it, understood it as her only duty on this earth, He would remain close always.

Mortimer credits Marilynne Robinson as an influence, I believe; this passage also put me in mind of Tolstoy's short story Where Love Is, God Is.

However the writing had its down aspects for me as well. I could accept the poetry and Max Porter influenced playing with text shape to create spirals and fireworks and other images from time to time, though I tend to think novel text should stay in straight lines in readable fonts. The frequent poetry influenced enjambment, I didn't really care for, ie:

Her lips whispered a sorry, God to the ceiling.
It lingered and soured
in that way a thing does
when it is not quite true enough
to assimilate
into
the night.

In contrast to reminding me of Tolstoy that reminds me of Rupi Kaur. Not ideal.

The last pages come to the rescue again however, being a dazzling and affecting scene of dying with 0% sentimentality. They definitely bump the novel up to a 3.5. Early in the novel, and in her life, Lia had been asked if she'd ever experienced God. Mortimer writes, "she had hoped very privately all her life for a dazzling numinous moment - because how easy it would be to believe, she thought, when given a sign like that. I don't know, she said, honestly. Either I've had thousands or none."

Now dying, the final pages give the reader this exchange, with her husband and young daughter experiencing her last moments with her:

Soon now, he says, soon now I think.

Thousands, I try to say, I think thousands.

What's she saying?

Something about trousers.

( )

I admired this work more than I enjoyed it (though I did enjoy it, just not at a 5 star level). Not even quite sure how to review it without spoiling it, but I've never read anything quite like it before, and I really want to discuss a number of elements that I have questions about. Like I really have a lot of questions that beg discussion.

The components I really thought elevated this book was the imagination/originality, the use of language, the very realistic portrayal of the human characters (as opposed to the disembodied voice). If it were a bit shorter, this would be an amazing book club book, and honestly, I think it also has the makings of a book that could be used in so many ways in an English lit class. It says a lot about the human condition.

It didn't really tear at my heartstrings in the way I expected in that I wasn't ever crying or even close to that . . .which I expected in a book about death and illness.

Honestly though, I think this might be the Booker prize winner. It's not my favorite of the ones I've read so far, but I do think it is the most deserving in many ways. ( )

“The only thing worse than death is knowledge of it coming.”

Lia has cancer. She has a twelve-year-old daughter, Iris, and husband, Harry. There are three woven storylines. The first is Lia’s present day as she and her family deal with cancer. The second relates Lia’s past tumultuous relationship with her parents and first (overly idealized) boyfriend. The third is the cancer itself, which is given a voice that gets more prevalent as the book progresses.

The author was fourteen years old when her mother died of cancer, so this book is based on personal experience. The writing is elegant. Mortimer is clearly talented, and this is a debut, which is impressive. However, I do not think I am the right reader for this book since it falls into the category I call "misery books," which I generally try to avoid. I did not care for the segments narrated by “cancer” – this magical realist element was way over the top and too anthropomorphic for me.

I admired this book as an exercise in creative writing. I appreciated the poetic style but cannot think to whom I would recommend it. Certainly not to anyone currently or recently dealing with cancer in self or a loved one, and not to anyone feeling anxious or depressed. Many of my friends have loved this book, so my expectations were, perhaps, too high. I hope the author has experienced personal healing in the process of writing it.
( )

47. Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies by Maddie Mortimer
readers: Lydia Wilson & Tamsin Greig
published: 2022
format: 12:20 audible audiobook (448 pages)
acquired: September 11 listened: Sep 12-29
rating: 4
genre/style: Contemporary fiction theme: Booker 2022
locations: London
about the author: London-based screen writer born in London in 1996. This is her first novel.

My third from the Booker 2022 longlist. This one did not make the shortlist.

I have developed an odd relationship with the Booker longlist. I'm making my fourth consecutive attempt to follow it, and apparently I'm at the point where I get pleasantly surprised when I actually like a book. I really enjoyed this novel.

My worry when I started was that this would be too much like Sophia Ward‘s [Love and Other Thought Experiments], a novel that is basically applied philosophy with an emotional overlay. I didn't mind Ward's novel, but I didn't love it, and I didn't want to read another version of it. And there are major similarities. Like Ward's novel, this is a 1st novel from the English screen world. Ward is an actress, and Mortimer is a screen writer, and both are based in London. Both novels deal with a terminal illness, and personify the illness as its own character. When Lia's cancer opens the novel speaking in 1st person, all these similarities fell into place. What is different here is that I never fully took to Ward's characters, whereas early on I took to Lia here, the Christianity drenched atheist daughter of a minister.

Lia is young mother facing uncertainty and terminal illness, and she spends the novel revisiting her past. She's a beautiful character, and I found I simply really enjoyed spending time with her. That disarmed my inner critic, and I was i no hurry for this to end. The novel also has interesting structure, playing with voices. Lia's "voice" is a 3rd person narrative. Her cancer is told in 1st person. As the novel progresses, they interact in interesting ways. And, even though we know the end, I wanted to know everything. Mortimer kept me curious through the end, through to the last word. It's a very interesting ending.

This a sad but enjoyable novel. Gently recommended.

2022
https://www.librarything.com/topic/342768#7945087 ( )