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Executive Times |
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2005 Book Reviews |
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Grace
by Linn Ullmann |
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Rating: •• (Mildly Recommended) |
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Click on
title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
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Ending Linn Ullmann’s
novel, Grace,
presents troubling end of life issues for terminally ill protagonist Johan Sletten and his pediatrician wife, Mai. Translated from
the Norwegian, it’s hard for me to tell if the novel is any colder or warmer
in that language. In English, it is a disturbing and cold story of love and
caring, with relationships replete with irony. Here’s an excerpt, from the
end of Part II, pp. 78-86: “What?” Johan rubbed his
eyes. “What you’re asking me to
do. What you’ve asked me several times to do.” “Oh, that,” he whispered. “It’s against the law.” “What damn law?” “Norwegian law. It’s
against everything the Medical Association of this country stands for, don’t
you see that?” Johan was wide awake now.
“And what about your own law, Mai?” She thumped a fist on the
comforter and looked at him. “My own law doesn’t count, dammit.
Do you realize that you’re asking me to commit a crime?” Johan’s eyes filled with
tears. He hadn’t expected this. “Well, we’ll just have to go to “I know,” Mai said. “You’re the one who took
Charley to the vet to be put to sleep. You didn’t balk at that.” “No.” “Woof, woof,” he
murmured. She smiled. “Oh, what the hell,”
Johan said, as if to put an end to the conversation. “Maybe I’ll come through
this. That’s what I mean to do, you know.” Mai was not listening.
She didn’t even notice when he tapped her arm. “Mai?” he whispered.
“Where are you? Come back.” She seized his hand.
“Would you like to know why this is so difficult for me, Johan?” “I thought we were
sleeping,” he said, shaking his head. There were tears in her
eyes. “I think it’s monstrous to force a person to go on living against his
will. I think it’s monstrous that people who are mortally ill and in great
pain cannot be given help to die when they choose—if they ask for it, I mean.
You talk about dignity. There is no dignity, Johan. People who are dying, old
or sick or both, are reduced to helpless infants—first by nature, then by the
hospitals. Is that what they mean by respect for human life? I can’t see that
happen to you. I won’t. It goes against everything that is good and beautiful
and true.” Johan stared at the
comforter. “That’s right,” he said. “You ask me to help you,
and I will, Johan. I will. You’re my husband, and I would give you anything,
even this. But I’m afraid. I’m afraid that my courage will fail me because
it’s you. Because you’re my best friend. Because I don’t want to see you die,
even if life, for you, becomes nothing but pain. And I am scared of the
consequences for me.” She’s going too far, he
thought. I don’t want this, not like this. He said, “Yes, but it
might not come to that, Mai. I’m feeling pretty good, actually. I think I’m
on the mend.” Mai clasped his hand
between her two. She snuggled up close to him and kissed his lips. “My
darling Johan.” Johan cleared his throat.
“I don’t think we should get too carried away, either. Here I am now, lying
right next to you, alive and kicking.” He got out of bed and started to jump
up and down in the white light of the bedside lamps. “See? Alive and
kicking!” He waved his arms about as he jumped. “From now on, just call me Jumpin’ Johan!” He was gasping for breath
and there was a tightness in his chest, but he went
on jumping. He shouted, “Jumpin’ Johan jumped and
jumped, up and down he jumped.” Every time he came down, his feet hit the
floor with a thud. Mai put her hands to her face. “Stop that, please,” she
whispered. “Come and lie down.” But Johan would not stop.
Thud! Thud! I’ll show her who can still jump till dawn, he thought. “Look at me!” He gasped.
“Look, Mai!” “Stop it!” she shouted. “I’ll show you who can
jump till day breaks and the rooster crows.” She began to cry. Johan stopped. He was
panting heavily. Her face was buried in her hands. He sat down on the bed and
stroked her hair. “Why do you do that?” she
shouted. “What, jumping?” There
was a willful note in his voice. He reached for the
tissues they kept on the bedside table, in case he started bleeding during
the night, and mopped his brow. Mai turned to him.
“You’re the one who wanted to talk about this seriously, so we’re talking.
But then you have to go and make a joke of the whole thing. Do you know what?
You’re belittling us, Johan. You’re doing everything you can to avoid talking
about what has befallen us, befallen both you and me. You’re sick. You’re not
getting better. Do you know how much that hurts? And you refuse to admit it;
that hurts too. We need to make plans. We need to make arrangements.” Her
voice broke. “I’m going to fight it,
Mai.” But his voice was faint. Sweat poured off him, however much he mopped,
his breathing was labored, and the nausea was coming back. He felt as if
some creeping thing in his belly were trying to work its way up and out, but
he whispered that he was going to fight this and then he mumbled that she musn’t take away what hope he had; she was supposed to
take his hand and say that she would be with him, right there with him
always. But she did not hear. Possibly he couldn’t quite form the words and
say them out loud. Mai said, “Johan, this
conversation began with you asking me to help you. I need to know if you are
sure you know what you’re asking for, and that you’re sure this is what you
want—if the time comes. That’s just one of the things we have to talk about.” “What about the
consequences? For you, I mean.” “I don’t know.” Mai turned out the light. For a while
they just listened to each other breathe. Johan whispered, “All I want is for you
to say that you’ll be with me when it becomes hard to bear. That you’ll hold
my hand. You said that a while back, and I loved hearing you say it. I want
to hear you say it again. The other part. about you
helping me if. .. I hadn’t really
thought it through properly, and you took me seriously. That scared me.” He
gave a little laugh. “I don’t know what I want, you see. I don’t know what
will happen, so it’s hard to know what I want.” She squeezed his hand; he went on. “All I want is to lie here next to
you.” ‘And you will lie here next to me.” “That’s all. Nothing else.” “That’s all.” “Let’s forget the other part. I didn’t
like that conversation. I just want to take one day at a time.” “Then let’s forget all about it.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good night, Mai.” “Good night, Johan.” First came the
light: white, hot. Then came the headache. Johan was
woken by the headache. Or the light. Or both.The
sheets were damp with sweat, his and hers. The fist had ground its way deeper
into his skull, except that it was no longer a fist, it was a hammer,
pounding away. Pounding him to pieces, he thought. “Go right ahead. Don’t
mind me,” he muttered to himself. He dragged himself into the bathroom, threw
up in the sink, and stared at himself in the mirror. His boil leered redly. He knew they would have to go back to He went back to the
bedroom. Mai was up. She had turned on the light and started packing. “I’ll just take the
essentials,” she said, without looking up. “I can come back in a day or so
and get the rest, close the place up.” “I think we’d better
leave as soon as we can,” Johan said. “I know.” She looked up at him,
trying to keep her features composed, but her face told him exactly what she
could see in his. “Is it that bad?” he
whispered. “No, no,” she said,
turning away. Johan took her hand and
sank down on the edge of the bed. She sat down next to him. They stayed there
like that, hand in hand on the edge of the bed. “I don’t want it to be
like this, Mai. I don’t want it to get any worse. This headache.. . it... I don’t know why my head should hurt so much.” “We’ll get it checked
out.” “What we talked about
yesterday?” “Yes.” “I don’t know what came
over me. . . not
to be able to finish a conversation that I actually initiated. It matters so much
to me, do you understand? I want you to help me, Mai. I want you to help me
when the time comes. I can’t take this!” Johan was sobbing now. “Help me,
Mai! I need to know that I have some control! Things just keep on happening
to me, you know? I need to have some control! Promise me that you’ll help
me!” “I will help you!” “I don’t want to be
humiliated.” “You won’t be
humiliated.” “I want to have control.” “You will have control.” ‘And dignity?” ‘And dignity.” “You’ll help me?” “I’ll help you.” “You promise?” “I promise.” She leaned into him, put
her arms around him, and whispered, “You’re sure about this, Johan? I have
to know that you’re completely sure.” “Yes.” “You have to tell me if
you’re not absolutely sure.” “I’m sure.” Johan looked at Mai. She
was crying. But there was something else, too, a new look on her face. He
had learned to read that face: the grief over the child she had aborted all
those years ago, the pointless lies she told that he seldom bothered to
comment on; the seconds before she reached orgasm—the way she laughed
then—and her mouth when she was asleep, a slack and rather ugly mouth,
vulnerable and totally unaware of being observed. Johan looked at that face
now. Her eyes met his. “I
think you’ve made the right decision,” she whispered. “No one, certainly not
you, should have to suffer more than necessary.” She wiped away his tears and
her own. ‘And we have the time that’s left to us, Johan. That time is ours.” “That time is ours,” he
echoed. She got up and went back
to the suitcase. His eyes followed her. She was so light on her feet, like a
young girl. And her face, Mai’s face. Johan couldn’t find the right word. She
packed a few things and went out to the kitchen. He heard water running. He
sat where he was on the edge of the bed. His head. He wanted to scream: AHHHHHHHHHH.
OHHHHHHHHHH. AHHHHHHHH! Maybe he could sit here and scream until it
passed. A blinding white flash. AHHHHHHHHHH! Another flash. He
imagined his head, a severed head, Johan’s head on a
platter. Who was it again? Who chopped off whose head and served it up on a
platter? Was it Caesar’s head on a platter? No, no, no. Not a hammer, a sledgehammer.
And Mai? What was it about Mai, about her face? He had always been able
to read her face, but this time, before she got up and went to the kitchen
and turned on the tap, what was it? A word, he couldn’t think of it. She said
she would help him. He said he was sure. It was a deal. Then he glimpsed
something in her face. It was as if something had finally loosened its grip.
He pictured her at the piano on the rare occasions when she forgot that she
wasn’t gifted enough. What was it her father had said? She wasn’t graced. On
those rare occasions when she forgot she wasn’t graced. Grace, Johan thought.
Mai’s face. He whispered, “I have no faith. I have no hope. But I do have
love.” Could it have been
relief? Again he pictured the
look on Mai’s face. Yes, that was the word. It was relief he had seen
in her face when he said he was
sure. Not composure, not regret, but relief. Poor Mai. She had
promised to do as he asked. He had begged her, and in the end she had
promised, and relief had crossed her face. Something inside him fell
apart. He hadn’t thought it would be like this. He wanted to call out to her,
shake her, plead with her, only touch her. “This isn’t
how I thought it would be, Mai!” But he couldn’t. It hurt. The words wouldn’t
come, only sobs. Not even sobs, only weird inhuman sounds that seemed as if
they couldn’t be his. And the pain in his head, that couldn’t be his. Johan
stretched out on the bed, pulled the covers over his face, and lay quite
still. Like when he was a child, waiting for his mother to find him, take him
in her arms, and comfort him until the hurt was gone. The complexity of Grace, and the search for
comfort, control and dignity will captivate readers. Steve Hopkins,
November 21, 2005 |
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ã 2005 Hopkins and Company, LLC The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the December 2005
issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/Grace.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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