"I am grieving but it is too early to burn the body."

This is the third book (almost in a row) that I've read recently that features dementia, with the repercussions of the loss forming a central point in the novel. Coincidence or not, and despite each book being very different, it is a thread that will always bind them together in my mind. They (The Last Wave and Ghosts) are all such different stories told by very different writers but the suspended grief of mourning someone who remains only bodily runs through each of them.

The fracturing of her mother's memory sends Antara searching through her own memory. The trauma, the toxicity and the secrets of her past and present are drawn to the forefront of her mind. It is as if her mother's shifting conception of reality is forcing her to reconsider the validity of her own memories. Who is she and did she get here? Are these questions she can even answer? As her mother's memory slips further Antara's own daughter comes into the world, and the mother-daughter relationship shifts again.

"Maybe we would have been better if I had never been designated as her undoing. How do I stop myself from making the same mistake? How do I protect this little girl from the same burden? Maybe that's impossible. Maybe this is wishful thinking."

The cover quote for this book is absolutely spot-on: taut, unsettling, ferocious (Fatima Bhutto in case you were wondering).

"I will never be free of her. She's in my marrow and I'll never be immune."

You meet more Taras and Antaras than I can count over the course of this novel, and Doshi never once falters in her weaving of them.