Review by Booklist Review
It starts with hallucinations. Then Leo's behavior veers towards the bizarre. He's 53, a professor and medical researcher; his wife, Addie, is a collage artist. Dedicated to each other and their work, they've lived happily as New Yorkers without children. Now Leo is derailed by Lewy body dementia. He can't work and requires constant care. As difficulties ludicrous and frightening escalate, Addie places him in a shockingly expensive facility. Things go awry. A second attempt leads Addie to Larissa, a multitalented, wholly caring aide. Though facing financial calamity, Addie won't deny Leo and Larissa anything, sacrificing her own needs, pushing through anxiety and sorrow to keep creating. A character of exceptional strength, contrariness, and wit, Addie narrates in pithy, stinging, frontline dispatches recounting the mysteries, mayhem, humor, heartbreak, and intermittent radiance of lives shadowed by dementia. Kirshenbaum (Rabbits for Food, 2019) conveys Addie's incisive and poignant thoughts about perception, time, and change, her loneliness and determination, with breathtaking precision and restraint. The literary equivalent of a collage electric with unexpected juxtapositions, Counting Backwards is a novel of exquisite sensitivity and artistry.
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Kirshenbaum (Rabbits for Food) offers a deeply moving and playfully arch narrative of an artist dealing with her husband's mental and physical decline. A typical "internal weather report" for Addie, a middle-aged New Yorker, is "overcast with anxiety." Her husband, Leo, who runs a university medical research lab, begins showing signs of dementia in his early 50s. Addie tries to meet his changes with humor, as when he hallucinates Mahatma Gandhi outside their window ("Is he wearing anything more than a dhoti?" she says, adding, "You might want to bring him a coat"). At a low point, she calls a suicide hotline. She finds occasional relief by going out for drinks with a suave man named Z, whose departure for Europe angers her, and she mocks Z for calling Europe "the continent." After Leo is diagnosed with Lewy body dementia, Kirshenbaum sardonically outlines the disease's seven stages, showing how Addie's reaction to the news mirrors the various stages of grief, beginning with denial. The bulk of the story is delivered in Addie's crisp second-person narration and her interstitial journal entries, in which she remarks on Leo's transformation ("Asks if I want to go to Times Sq. to watch the ball drop* / *Stark raving mad question"). Kirshenbaum puts her lively wit to good use, tempering the sadness of her drawn-out depiction of Leo's deterioration and Addie's attempts to wrap her head around the ultimately lonely nature of existence. It's a tour de force. Agent: Joy Harris, Joy Harris Literary. (Mar.)
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Review by Library Journal Review
In Kirshenbaum's (An Almost Perfect Moment) latest, Leo is a professor at a prestigious university; his wife, Addie, is a collage artist. Their life, as a middle-aged, childless-by-choice couple in New York City, is fulfilling and peaceful, until Leo starts experiencing hallucinations. They start off as halos around streetlights and graduate to Gandhi stirring a pot of lentils. Leo consults ophthalmologists, neurologists, and other specialists, but none can pinpoint the cause of the visions. His symptoms and behavior worsen, until he finally gets a diagnosis of early-onset Lewy body dementia. When Leo stabs his nephew during a family visit, Addie must find a care home for Leo. This starts a long process of Addie struggling to find care for Leo and stay financially afloat while mourning a husband who is still physically present. In Kirshenbaum's raw novel about loss, caretaking, and love, biting humor is used to relate searing observations on marriage, art, friendship, and disease. VERDICT Kirshenbaum invites readers to consider who they are without their memories and how we make decisions about prolonging life. An important novel about dementia, highly recommended for all libraries.--Lynnanne Pearson
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Review by Kirkus Book Review
A middle-aged couple contends with dementia. One day, Addie's husband comes home and tells her, "You look like my wife, but you arenot my wife." Then he adds, "My wife is prettier than you are." This pronouncement comes as one in a long line of increasingly erratic behaviors for Leo: What begins with hallucinations leads inexorably to stabbing his nephew with a kitchen knife. Kirshenbaum's latest novel, which features the same irresistibly bittersweet dry wit as her others, follows Addie's journey alongside Leo to understanding what's gone wrong with his mind. It takes them nearly two years to reach a diagnosis: Leo has early-onset Lewy body dementia. In short, vignettelike chapters written in the second person, Kirshenbaum traces Addie's increasing social isolation, her financial worries, and the many, many different shades of feeling she has for Leo, whom she adores, resents, and misses even as he is (technically) still with her. Kirshenbaum's use of the second person is so seamless it's easy to forget about it completely; as a reader, you simply hop into Addie's shoes and carry on. And if the storyline occasionally sags, that seems to be part of the point: Kirshenbaum is meticulously mapping a segment of life so often stigmatized and associated with shame. At one point, Addie finally tells her best friend, Z, just how bad it's gotten with Leo. Z's response is devastating: First he tells Addie how sorry he is, and when she asks why, he says, "Everyone will be talking about how pathetic [Leo] is, and they will pity you and avoid you. No one wants to be around that." Kirshenbaum's book is the precise opposite. An exquisitely nuanced mix of bleak humor and heartrending drama. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
