This is a terrific book. You might be prone to think its just another book about a loved one caring for their spouse with a terminal disease - but I assure you it is not. The author (the wife of a husband with ALS) leaves nothing out. Her story is raw, emotional, honest, humorous, happy, sad; emotion after emotion and everyone can relate to her regardless of your situation. I couldn't put this down and finished it in one day. Her writing style is so great I was feeling her exhaustion just from reading it and yet she continued to find her inner strength to keep on going for her own sake as well as her sons and husband. This is not a story about sadness and disease but the strength of a woman and her rediscovery of love for her husband and life.

Thank you to Edelweiss and Ingram Publisher Services for an advanced e-ARC in exchange for my honest review. ( )

Alison Acheson’s Dance Me to the End: Ten Months and Ten Days with ALS, is a deeply moving account of the horror of disease and the beauty of marriage. Her narrative explores the “sustenance left in . . . ancient stories” (72) and how they can permeate to the bone marrow and help one persevere into the depths of suffering. It’s a book about what a good marriage can be in this broken world.

Acheson’s central metaphor is the biblical story of Martha and Mary—symbols of the active and contemplative spiritual lives. And the overarching framework is the mystery of grace. It is a woven narrative: like a tapestry of “silver fabric . . . [woven] between raw fingers” (312).

It’s also a book about how life catches us off guard and slams reality at us: “After years of struggling to make ends meet, growing my sons, growing my self—suddenly all the pieces seemed to have come together. Three weeks before Marty’s diagnosis, I’d told him how much I loved my fiftieth year, how it could go on without end, and I’d be happy” (155).

And if life can hit us in these extreme ways, the author reflects upon the significance of “simple happiness” (115), and the need to prepare in advance: “[I]t is important that we go out and glean our bits, bring them in, so that when the time comes, we have what we need to get through. . . . to gather together elements of our world that resonate with us, that feel to have the capacity to build and strengthen us, to do this in healthy times, will surely grow and feed us in times that are not healthy” (294). And also to further this goal: “We collect experience, we connect with others, we build laughter and soul and home—so that when we need a foundation and a shelter, it will be there for us. But if it hasn’t been built, the sand under us will give way” (295).

The book is suffused with sincerity; it is authentic, realistic, spiritual, serious, romantic, humorous, with touches of both physical and emotional beauty. It contains numerous sentences worthy of highlighting, but here are a few of my favorites:

“White Rock, a beach town with hilly streets pushing up from the water . . . ” (38).

“It was dusk, and the sky had that luminous indigo teal to it . . . ” (41).

“I found myself folding away summer dresses. I’ve always loved summer dresses, cooling, feminine” (110).

“There was a window in the ensuite bathroom, and immediately outside this window was a weeping birch. In the summer, the glass was filled with delicious little green leaves. In the fall, the leaves were rattly orange” (162).

And finally this classic touch:

“Ten minutes later, Jesus [her son’s pet snail] was trolling the edges of the bowl, antennae up and happy as shit. Returned from the dead” (193). ( )