Ratings27
Average rating3.7
From the best-selling, award-winning author of The Buddha in the Attic and When the Emperor Was Divine comes a novel about what happens to a group of obsessed recreational swimmers when a crack appears at the bottom of their local pool--a tour de force of economy, precision, and emotional power. The swimmers are unknown to one another except through their private routines (slow lane, medium lane, fast lane) and the solace each takes in their morning or afternoon laps. But when a crack appears at the bottom of the pool, they are cast out into an unforgiving world without comfort or relief. One of these swimmers is Alice, who is slowly losing her memory. For Alice, the pool was a final stand against the darkness of her encroaching dementia. Without the fellowship of other swimmers and the routine of her daily laps she is plunged into dislocation and chaos, swept into memories of her childhood and the Japanese American incarceration camp in which she spent the war. Alice's estranged daughter, reentering her mother's life too late, witnesses her stark and devastating decline. Written in spellbinding, incantatory prose, The Swimmers is a searing, intimate story of mothers and daughters, and the sorrows of implacable loss: the most commanding and unforgettable work yet from a modern master.
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While this short book, roughly divided into 3 narratives, felt a bit disjointed at times (the abrupt transition / subtlety of connection was especially evident to me between parts 1 & 2), I still profoundly enjoyed each part individually. The writing was touching and distinct in each story. As someone who is a creature of habit and enjoys partaking in rituals that ground me, I could relate to Part 1 well (even though it got silly towards the end). Part 2 made me feel sad for the state of our profit-oriented world that seems to have lost a part of humanity. Part 3 really moved me, and I have a soft spot for immigrant narratives. All in all, I would love to read more of Otsuka's work.
One of the most depressing books I've ever read. It honestly probably lost a star for how much it fucked me up and bummed me out
I finished this last night and I can't stop thinking about it. It's an odd duck, in some ways--the first third is lyrical and lovely and feels (dare I say) like moving through warm water. The rest of the book is more like going from the hot pool to the cold pool. Whew. Otsuka continues to delight and amaze me.