The Swimmers

 

The Swimmers by Julie Otsuka

Fiction

2022

Finished on December 20, 2024

Rating: 4/5 (Very Good)

Publisher's Blurb:

The swimmers are unknown to one another except through their private routines (slow lane, medium lane, fast lane) and the solace each takes in their morning or afternoon laps. But when a crack appears at the bottom of the pool, they are cast out into an unforgiving world without comfort or relief.

One of these swimmers is Alice, who is slowly losing her memory. For Alice, the pool was a final stand against the darkness of her encroaching dementia. Without the fellowship of other swimmers and the routine of her daily laps she is plunged into dislocation and chaos, swept into memories of her childhood and the Japanese American incarceration camp in which she spent the war. Alice’s estranged daughter, reentering her mother’s life too late, witnesses her stark and devastating decline. Written in spellbinding, incantatory prose, The Swimmers is a searing, intimate story of mothers and daughters, and the sorrows of implacable loss: the most commanding and unforgettable work yet from a modern master.

I was quite sure that I'd read one of Julie Otsuka's earlier novels, but if so, it must have been pre-blogging days since I can't find a review here or on Goodreads. I picked up a copy of The Swimmers while on one of our recent road trips and I'm glad I didn't let it sit on my shelves for too long. It's a quick read (under 200 pages) and despite the sad themes of estrangement, dementia, and loss, I was enjoyed the book and was deeply moved. 

The first part of the novel revolves around the group of swimmers and their daily routines, habits, and quirks at the pool. There was a time, many years ago, that I thought I could add lap swimming to my workout routine. I got a colorful Speedo swimsuit and some fancy goggles and began a short-lived venture into swimming at our gym. I'm not sure how many weeks (days?) I lasted, but I do remember that I found it very dull, and it was all I could do to swim for 30 minutes. I was a runner at the time, and I quickly returned to my daily runs outside while listening to my favorite music. I'm not sure my knees appreciate my choice of running over swimming, and now I do neither. But I digress.

Most days, at the pool, we are here to leave our troubles on land behind. Failed painters become elegant breaststrokers. Untenured professors slice, shark-like, through the water, with breathtaking speed. The newly divorced HR Manager grabs a faded red Styrofoam board and kicks with impunity. The downsized adman floats, otter-like, on his back, as he stares up at the clouds on the painted pale blue ceiling, thinking, for the first time all day long, of nothing. Let it go. Worriers stop worrying. Bereaved widows cease to grieve. Out-of-work actors unable to get traction above ground glide effortlessly down the fast lane, in their element, at last. I've arrived! And for a brief interlude we are at home in the world. Bad moods life, tics disappear, memories reawaken, migraines dissolve, and slowly, slowly, the chatter in our minds begins to subside as stroke after stroke, length after length, we swim.

The cadence of Otsuka's prose is snappy and at times, circular or repetitive, and I think I would have enjoyed listening to the audio edition of the book in order to hear the poetic delivery of the story. The middle section lost momentum, and I grew tired of the swimmers' anxious queries about the ongoing discovery of new cracks in the pool surface. However, the final section drew me back in, but oh how my heart ached for Alice, who suffers from frontotemporal dementia.

FTD. Some of the symptoms: gradual changes in personality, inappropriate behavior in public, apathy, weight gain, loss of inhibition, the desire to hoard.

Lisa Genova's brilliant work, Still Alice (reviewed here), put a face on Alzheimer's, and Julie Otsuka has done the same with dementia and the heartbreaking existence in a memory care facility. Otsuka's collective point-of-view, as well as her litany of traits and behaviors of the swimmers (and residents in the "home") requires patience from her readers, but overall, I thought the book was exceptionally good. It might hit too close to home for some, but the inclusion of humor provides some levity to an otherwise devastating narrative. Recommend with reservations.