Tag: Dementia

  • Short Story Review: “HOUYHNHNM” by André Alexis

    (The short story “HOUYHNHNM” by André Alexis, appeared in the June 20th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Photograph by Vanessa Winship

    (I’ll probably SPOIL it)

    Did you ever have a simple turkey sandwich but for whatever reason, was just amazing? Like, it’s made up of all the same simple ingredients that you have in your house, but somehow the person in the kitchen put it together in a way that somehow was spot on. Man, it’s just a turkey sandwich, but it’s great turkey sandwich.

    I mean no disrespect, but that is exactly what “HOUYHNHNM” by André Alexis was to me. The title of the story is taken from the name of a race of fictional intelligent horses from Gulliver’s Travels. The story is told by the adult son of a well to do but modest doctor who is all scientific logic, and buys a horse. This isn’t his first horse he’s owned, but soon a special bond is formed between the doctor and the horse, to the point where the doctor spends all of his free time with the horse; walking, reading to him, talking to him. It even gets to the point to where the doctor builds the horse a special barn to live in. Suddenly, the doctor passes, and the son takes on the responsibility of caring for the horse, only to find that the horse can speak. The son realizes why his father spent so much time with the animal, and also the son begins to do the same things that his father did when he was attending the horse.

    I used the metaphor of the simple ingredients here because nothing in this story took me by surprise. I knew where it was going, I saw all the pieces, I knew was Alexis was going to build. I knew that with the son now spending time with the horse, he was gaining a deeper understand of who his father was. And when the horse’s decline set in, I also knew that the story was alluding to having a parent who is succumbing to dementia, and the pain that can cause when the loved one soon no longer recognizes you. Even with that said, it was an effective story – honest and authentic. Not a word seemed false or forced. The title of the piece was clearly there to say to the reader that this horse was real, and not a figment of the narrator’s imagination, though, that was the only aspect of the story that I kept expecting to surface, but it never did. And I apricated that dedication to the premise – this is a talking horse story.

    Maybe it’s me. This is a story about losing a parent, and that subject still holds a soft spot in me. But I do think that there is more to this story. Though I did know where this story was going, I experienced a special catharsis in the son gaining a better understanding of his father. That might be a very basic desire of all children after their parents die, and though it might be basic, it is still a wish I hope comes true.

    (Say! If you like what you have read, please like, share, and leave a comment. It would help justify my existence.)

  • A Night of Theatre and Being Out

    Last night, I went to see my friends in a puppet show. It was titled SORRY ABOUT THE WEATHER and was performed at HERE, as part of their PUPPETOPIA puppet fest. I loved the show, but my view might be a little biased. Sure, it was a puppet show, I love puppet shows, and it was created and performed by my friends. The subject of the piece is about a woman with dementia, and is an “interpretation of what is in her weather mind.” It’s also about losing a loved one to a disease, which struck a deep chord with me. I found myself reliving the feelings I had during that week in hospice, slowly watching my mother slip away in a haze of painkillers, only to become a husk of a vital person that she was. It made me admit again that there are issues of her passing that I still need to uncover and unpack.

    After the show, I got to see my friends and talk to them briefly. The last time I saw them was back in September 2018 when we did a puppet show together, and I missed being in their presence. It was a nice chance to have a hug, and say it was nice to see you, and to have contact again with people. For such a bittersweet melancholy show, it was a nice that I got to visit with them, and have an honest fulfilling smile as I made my way out of the theatre.

    And this was an evening for me. The wife and the kid were having a mother/daughter night, so dad could go out, and have a break. So, I walked up Hudson Street with this crazy idea that I would go to The White Horse Tavern, as it was a writer’s hang out, and good ol’ Jack Kerouac got kicked out of the joint so often that it was a joke to tell him to go home. But what I thought would be a low-key Wednesday night turned out to be a very happening night in the West Village. All the restaurants were full, as were the bars, and there was no room at the tavern for me.

    But, it didn’t bother me, as I was happy to be out in the City again. Sure, I was in a rich, swanky part of the City, and not exactly my crowd, yet there were people out and walking and talking and it was good to see, or I guess, remind myself of what I liked about the City. It was a pleasant not too warm Spring evening, with conversations floating around and bumping into each other, not unlike the people standing and waiting to get a table or seat at the joint they were in front of.

    What I did was make my way back to the subway, and headed for Harlem. I knew that the chance of me getting seat at one of my local bars was better. And I was right. I was able to camp at a corner seat, so I could watch the Mav’s get crushed by Golden State, and I could also hear a guy complain about his job to the bartender. I had my beer and a bourbon neat, and the windows were open in the place, so the sounds of the City could come in. A nice reminder why I like living in this place.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)