We Are Not Ourselves

Out of the dozens of books I have read this year, this was one of my least favorites.

About halfway through I realized I was only continuing to read it because I just knew, after all the depressing scene of the first half, that there HAD to be a positive, satisfying point to the story by the time it reached its conclusion.

There wasn't.

This was a difficult story for me to understand. No, that's not correct; it was difficult for me to understand the point of the story. The major focus, at least of the latter portion of the book, seemed to be how Eileen, and to some extent her son Connell, dealt with Ed's Alzheimer diagnosis and inevitable slide into the horror of that neurological nightmare. But by the end it felt more like “We made it through that” than “We overcame that and emerged better than we were” though there was a tiny bit of that with Connell.

They were unlikable characters in a depressing and monotonous story.

Mr. Thomas has a way with words and is able to evoke nuanced feelings with a high degree of skill and talent. I would still look forward to reading his next work because of that skill and talent. I only hope that either he or I have reached a different point by then so that I will be able to enjoy the story he tells as opposed to just admiring his ability.