The Swimmers
by Julie Otsuka
Award: Carnegie Winner 2023
Date Read: February 6, 2023
Once again, as I was reading the first couple of pages, I found myself thinking how much the voice here sounds so much like The Buddha In The Attic. And, you know, derp. Of course, they are the same author. I need to pay more attention to that when I pick up a book. As with The Buddha, I loved this novel almost as much.
Similarly to her previous novel, The Swimmers focuses on the collective “we” and what drives each of them to seek out time at an underground pool. The observations about society, taking time for oneself and the ultimate demise of their favorite exercise and pastime seem so intimate without ever focusing on one single individual. As the obsession with swimming laps seems to finally sink in, the swimmers observe a crack in the bottom of the pool that occupies their minds while they swim. Everyone seems to understand this is the beginning of the end.
The second half of the novel centers on the author’s (Julie’s?) mother slowly succumbing to dementia. The agony of moving her into a care facility. The false cheeriness required of the residents. The formulaic schedules and lifestyles all geared towards the finality of life. The tormented ecstasy the author has in experiencing her mother’s touch just one last time. The heartbreak of losing your mother even though her body marches on.
Both of these halves share the gradual but imminent decline among all things in life. Everything you experience, love or cherish will end. Everything. Whether it’s an exercise practice or relationship with a loved one. It will end someday. This is such a harsh fact to absorb about life that it’s almost indigestible. I had to learn this fact in a Buddhist philosophy course in college and it’s powerful.
Not only does Otsuka understand this about life, but she can present it in such lyrical prose that it almost masks the inevitability of the obvious. I would have her teach me these lessons any day.
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