Still Alice (Lisa Genova, Ph.D.)

I hate to start this with a total downer but I had to read something while waiting for the new ones from Jodi (Picoult) and Jen (Lancaster). Both authors are favorites of mine and will release new books this spring. Actually, Jodi just released her new one, House Rules, this week. Yea!  So exciting!  Still waiting for Jen’s My Fair Lazy…

Anyway, I ran across Still Alice (Lisa Genova, Ph.D.) while in Costco one Saturday. Brian (husband extraordinaire) abandoned me in the book aisle so he could shop for wine. I didn’t buy the book that day. I wrote the title on the back of my Costco list and Kindled it later so I could have it for an upcoming PHX/SAN trip. Confession: Since Brian gave me the Kindle for my last birthday, I rarely read print books anymore. Another confession: While my Kindle is currently my FAVORITE tech device, I miss the feel and the smell of books. To get that “fix”, I visit Barnes and Noble on a semi-regular basis. One final confession: I needed a glass or two of that wine after reading Still Alice.

Back to the book…I finished it four days ago and its realistic portrayal of an academic’s (Alice Howland) descent into early-onset Alzheimer’s still haunts me. Alice Howland is a Harvard linguistics professor (how’s that for irony?) who becomes symptomatic during the prime of her life and in the midst of the career she loves. Alice’s horrifying symptoms, described by Alice herself, and her handling of her situation begs a few questions.

First, what do we do when our “services” (anywhere…at work, at home, in a relationship) are no longer needed? Alice must resign her position shortly after her diagnosis and the situation devastates her almost as much as the disease itself. What would we/will we do when personal circumstances result in unwanted change?

Second, who are we beyond our positions at our jobs? Alice was a Harvard professor. Who is she after her resignation? Who are we when we’re no longer working? What happens to our identities then?

Third, what is the condition of our relationships? Alice doesn’t truly know or understand one of her own children long before her disease manifests itself. And she doesn’t notice the distance that begins to separate her from her husband (also a professor). Should our relationships be reexamined, changed, or strengthened in the near future?

Thankfully, my family has not been plagued by this often hereditary disease so I don’t perseverate on the possibility of contracting it the way I sometimes do when I “WebMD” the symptoms of something I’m experiencing only to find a long list of related terminal illnesses. But this book scares the hell out of me, anyway, and it forces me to consider the difficult concepts of personal identity, self-worth, and relationship dynamics.

Still Alice is definitely worth reading. Brace yourself.