For as long as I can remember, my mother has been afraid of dementia. It doesn’t help that she is innately forgetful. It’s hard for her to trust that her forgetfulness is not a sign of something more dire. I am the opposite. I look at my forgetfulness as natural, an inevitable result of my being less mindful than I could be. And of course, my age and menopause. I wanted to read this book the first time I heard about it. So very glad I did!
The titular Alice is a fifty year old linguistic professor working at Harvard when she begins to have forgetful moments but it isn’t until a more alarming incident causes her to take seriously her menopausal forgetfulness that she seeks out a medical opinion. Told in the third person limited, the reader lives inside of Alice’s head as her memory slowly shrinks. Because we are inside Alice’s mind through most of the novel, the harrowing effects of the disease are
While this is obviously a fictional account of one woman’s experience, the author researched the disease and its progression, shared her manuscript with an Alzheimer’s organization, and they approved of the story and how it presented the experience of having Alzheimer’s. And the experience is frightening. Watching the progression of this disease through Alice is harrowing. I often found myself reading through tears in my eyes.
As soon as I finished the book, I reached for the movie. I love Julianne Moore and trusted she could carry the weight of this role beautifully. Alec Baldwin cast as the husband worked as well because I didn’t especially like her husband and I don’t like Baldwin much at all. The movie is good and I can see why it received good reviews and why Moore, in particular, received the accolades of awards. It is not, however, has emotionally exhausting as the book itself.
A good movie. A better book. But isn’t that usually how these things go?