The story begins with a curious anecdote about a friend’s elderly mother, a resident in a dementia care facility, unexpectedly engrossed in Marcel Proust’s ”Swann’s Way.” This was highly unusual given her past disinterest in demanding literature. The source of the book remained a mystery, possibly a fellow resident’s misplaced possession. Remarkably, this literary encounter seemed to invigorate her, bringing a noticeable improvement in her mood and clarity. This sparked the narrator’s idea of initiating a reading circle at a local dementia care home, hoping to replicate this positive experience. He envisioned literature as a catalyst, forging new connections within the residents’ minds and fostering greater engagement with the world.
His first visit to the facility revealed a warm, inviting atmosphere, designed to cater to the residents’ varying needs and preferences. Pastel-colored walls adorned with artwork and tapestries, traditional furniture, and comfortable seating arrangements created a homey ambiance. The open-plan layout seamlessly integrated different activity zones, offering options ranging from music therapy and painting to cooking and communal dining. The narrator found the environment comforting and conducive to his literary project. Twice a week, he gathered a small group of residents for the reading circle. The staff had selected four individuals they deemed suitable: Hilma, a former dental nurse; Lisa, with a penchant for compliments and an articulate voice; Per-Olof, a retired electrician; and Lilla My, a former counselor, the youngest of the group with a playful demeanor.
Initial sessions involved introductions, casual conversations, and sharing past reading experiences. Per-Olof reminisced about his youthful enjoyment of Väinö Linna and Jack London, Hilma favored Lars Widding, and My mentioned Doris Lessing. These reminiscences revealed a dormant passion for literature, reigniting a spark in their eyes. Even with their fading memories, the residents recognized the narrator and eagerly anticipated the readings. His voice served as a familiar anchor, drawing them to their seats, ready to embark on literary journeys. The narrator kept the sessions short, reading for 15-20 minutes, often near a window overlooking fields and the distant highway, offering a soothing backdrop to the stories. His guiding principle was to treat the residents with respect, acknowledging their life experiences and appreciating their unique personalities and attentive listening.
He chose texts that resonated with their past, evoking memories of childhood and youth. Elsie Johansson’s ”Mosippan,” Czesław Miłosz’s autobiographical ”Issadalen,” and Torgny Lindgren’s ”Minnen” proved engaging choices. Per-Olof, in particular, seemed to dress up for Lindgren’s readings, adding a touch of formality to the occasion. The sessions were followed by coffee and discussions, sometimes lively, sometimes subdued, always centered on simple recognition and shared experiences. The narrator’s focus was on the power of the narrative voice, the personal connection fostered by the author’s tone and style. This was reaffirmed when he read from Saul Bellow’s ”Herzog,” a complex character grappling with mental instability. The group’s reaction surprised him. Instead of being put off by the challenging subject matter, they connected with Herzog’s vulnerability. My, in particular, aptly summarized their collective sentiment, stating Herzog needed ”a woman’s voice,” highlighting their empathy and focus on human connection.
Inspired by the residents’ engagement, the narrator set up a small library with books featuring strong narrative voices – Jack London, Ulla Isaksson, Harry Bernstein, and even a pocket edition of ”Swann’s Way,” as a subtle nod to the initial inspiration. Books disappeared regularly, found in various locations within the facility, a testament to the residents’ continued interest in reading. Proust, however, remained elusive, leading the narrator to speculate that Anna, a new, quiet participant in the circle, might have it. Anna was a small, grey-haired woman who always carried a brown handbag and rarely spoke. As winter deepened, the narrator continued his readings, selecting works that resonated with the season, including Tranströmer’s poems. He observed a heightened attentiveness, a yearning for connection within the group, particularly in Lisa and My.
The final session before Christmas centered around a Selma Lagerlöf story depicting the warmth and bustle of holiday preparations at Mårbacka. For the first time, Anna showed emotion, her eyes glistening with tears. The staff later revealed her personal history: a widow, estranged from her daughter, longing for connection. Just before Christmas Eve, the narrator and his son encountered Anna unexpectedly, sitting in a snow-filled ditch by the roadside, thinly clad and seemingly disoriented. They brought her back to the facility, where a staff member greeted her with surprising nonchalance, suggesting they hadn’t even noticed her absence. This raised concerns about the level of care and attention provided.
On Christmas Eve, driven by a sense of responsibility, the narrator visited Anna at the facility. He found her in her room, engrossed in television, her handbag resting on the bed. He invited her to his family’s Christmas celebration, but she remained unresponsive. As he was leaving, he remembered the missing Proust and inquired about the book in her handbag. Anna’s reaction was startling. She recoiled and cried out for help, deeply distressed by his question. Shaken, he left, realizing he had inadvertently trespassed on a private space, a world perhaps accessed through the pages of Proust, a world he could only glimpse from the outside. Despite the unsettling encounter, he felt a sense of accomplishment, believing he had reached her on some level, possibly through the shared experience of literature, the power of words to transcend the barriers of dementia.
