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A review by stephwd
The End of Your Life Book Club by Will Schwalbe
2.0
I thought it was worth writing my review of ‘The End of Your Life Book Club’ following on from Albom’s brilliant ‘The Time Keeper’ despite having read the former back in August. In many regards there is a similarity between these two authors: both deal with loss, death and faith. However, the fundamental difference seems to be that where Albom succeeds in providing an uplifting message about living and subtly delivers a moral message about faith (and religion if that is your particular proclivity), Schwalbe fails.
On the surface, this book should have been everything that I love about literature. It tells the true story of Schwalbe and his mother, who on finding she has pancreatic cancer that will ultimately kill her, begins a series of chemotherapy treatments. Schwalbe accompanies her on many of these visits and in order to pass some of the time, they begin a book club with only two members. During the course of her illness, they read a series of books that they then discuss in detail and their different perspectives and views of these books are often interesting and enlightening. At the same time, Schwalbe also reveals many of the quite miraculous achievements of his mother during the course of her life, which have included visiting Afghanistan and raising enormous amounts of money for charitable organisations, the last of which is to create a library for children in Afghanistan so that education can continue despite the devastation there.
I did enjoy the opening half of the novel, but as it progressed, I found myself increasingly bored, which is a terrible thing to say about a novel that charts the death of such an amazing woman. So what was my problem? And this is a question I really did have to ask myself as my reaction seemed quite unreasonable.
Well, firstly, the real interest for me lay in Schwalbe’s mother and I increasingly felt that the story that I really wanted to hear was about her, which Schwalbe told only in brief, fleeting snippets. Given all she had achieved, I wanted more and it felt wrong to dwell so long on the dying embers of her life and ignore its brightest flames. In fact, at times this was all about Schwalbe rather than the character who should have been the heart of the novel.
Secondly, I think I resented the way in which her faith was so constantly discussed and thrust down the reader’s throat. Despite Schwalbe’s proclamation that he did not share his mother’s religious beliefs, it felt as if a great deal of time was given over to them and many of the novels that he chooses to discuss in the novel have a distinctly religious bent. Now Albom too has a religious grounding to his works. However, the difference is that he deals with faith and morality rather than forcing upon us a particular viewpoint that seemed forced and uncomfortable particularly when you don’t share those views.
Thirdly, the pattern of the novel became repetitive and the pace far too slow. Schwalbe’s needed a lesson from the brevity of Albom where the precision of his word choice and concise nature of his writing have a far greater impact than endless factual regurgitation.
Lastly, I was not confident in Schwalbe’s narrative voice. At times, there was a resentment and detachment about his style. For all his seeming idolisation of his mother, there seemed an underlying frustration that her charity work had ultimately taken her repeatedly away from her family and left him to flounder alone in a job he hates and ultimately gives up. Yet Schwalbe never acknowledges this, yet it does feel embedded within his writing and this creates a sense of discomfort.
Having said this, I do not think you can fail to be moved by the events in the story or the ultimate sense of sorrow with which it ends. Moreover, the idea behind the novel is original and interesting (which I think accounts for much of its success). However, it felt more like a money making opportunity to become a novelist (I know harsh criticism) rather than a genuine outpouring of grief in the way ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’ genuinely was. Yes, interesting, but would I recommend it, would it even make it on to my book club list? Sorry…no.
On the surface, this book should have been everything that I love about literature. It tells the true story of Schwalbe and his mother, who on finding she has pancreatic cancer that will ultimately kill her, begins a series of chemotherapy treatments. Schwalbe accompanies her on many of these visits and in order to pass some of the time, they begin a book club with only two members. During the course of her illness, they read a series of books that they then discuss in detail and their different perspectives and views of these books are often interesting and enlightening. At the same time, Schwalbe also reveals many of the quite miraculous achievements of his mother during the course of her life, which have included visiting Afghanistan and raising enormous amounts of money for charitable organisations, the last of which is to create a library for children in Afghanistan so that education can continue despite the devastation there.
I did enjoy the opening half of the novel, but as it progressed, I found myself increasingly bored, which is a terrible thing to say about a novel that charts the death of such an amazing woman. So what was my problem? And this is a question I really did have to ask myself as my reaction seemed quite unreasonable.
Well, firstly, the real interest for me lay in Schwalbe’s mother and I increasingly felt that the story that I really wanted to hear was about her, which Schwalbe told only in brief, fleeting snippets. Given all she had achieved, I wanted more and it felt wrong to dwell so long on the dying embers of her life and ignore its brightest flames. In fact, at times this was all about Schwalbe rather than the character who should have been the heart of the novel.
Secondly, I think I resented the way in which her faith was so constantly discussed and thrust down the reader’s throat. Despite Schwalbe’s proclamation that he did not share his mother’s religious beliefs, it felt as if a great deal of time was given over to them and many of the novels that he chooses to discuss in the novel have a distinctly religious bent. Now Albom too has a religious grounding to his works. However, the difference is that he deals with faith and morality rather than forcing upon us a particular viewpoint that seemed forced and uncomfortable particularly when you don’t share those views.
Thirdly, the pattern of the novel became repetitive and the pace far too slow. Schwalbe’s needed a lesson from the brevity of Albom where the precision of his word choice and concise nature of his writing have a far greater impact than endless factual regurgitation.
Lastly, I was not confident in Schwalbe’s narrative voice. At times, there was a resentment and detachment about his style. For all his seeming idolisation of his mother, there seemed an underlying frustration that her charity work had ultimately taken her repeatedly away from her family and left him to flounder alone in a job he hates and ultimately gives up. Yet Schwalbe never acknowledges this, yet it does feel embedded within his writing and this creates a sense of discomfort.
Having said this, I do not think you can fail to be moved by the events in the story or the ultimate sense of sorrow with which it ends. Moreover, the idea behind the novel is original and interesting (which I think accounts for much of its success). However, it felt more like a money making opportunity to become a novelist (I know harsh criticism) rather than a genuine outpouring of grief in the way ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’ genuinely was. Yes, interesting, but would I recommend it, would it even make it on to my book club list? Sorry…no.