March 7, 2022
The Swimmers, by Julie Otsuka
“Most days, at the pool, we are able to leave our troubles on land behind. Failed painters become elegant breaststrokers. Untenured professors slice, shark-like, through the water, with breathtaking speed. The newly divorced HR manager grabs a faded red Styrofoam board and kicks with impunity. The downsized ad man floats otter-like on his back as he stares up at the clouds on the painted pale blue ceiling, thinking, for the first time all day long, of nothing. Let it go. Worriers stop worrying. Bereaved widows cease to grieve. Out-of-work actors unable to get traction above ground glide effortlessly down the fast lane, in their element, at last. I’ve arrived! And for a brief interlude we are at home in the world. Bad moods lift, tics disappear, memories are reawakened, migraines dissolve, and slowly, slowly, the chatter in our minds begins to subside as stroke after stroke, length after length, we swim. And when we are finished with our laps we hoist ourselves up out of the pool, dripping and refreshed, are equilibrium restored, ready to face another day on land.” —The Swimmers, by Julie Otsuka
The most perfect encapsulation of a pool swim community I’ve ever encountered in a book. And then on page 77, the story shifts, becomes about one woman’s experience with dementia (and her daughter), and the pool is left behind, and how these pieces fit together is still something of an unsolved puzzle for me, but I am satisfied by the wondering so much.
