100 books like In Pursuit of Memory

Corkin, a research psychologist, presents a fascinating case study of her patient, Henry Molaison, a man with no memory. Molaison—or H.M., as he was known in the scientific literature until his death in 2008—was a 27-year-old with severe epilepsy when he underwent radical brain surgery in 1953 to cure his intractable seizures.

Though Molaison’s seizures largely abated after the operation, he developed an even bigger problem, which manifested almost immediately after his surgery. Daily events vanished from his mind almost as soon as they had occurred.

Like most patients living with dementia, he could form no new long-term memories. With no new memories, he lived in a perpetual present, disconnected from his past (or at least the past after his surgery) and his future.

Swinton, chair in divinity and religious studies at the University of Aberdeen, focuses on the ways the standard model of dementia, which views the disease almost exclusively as a consequence of brain damage, is incomplete.

Patients with dementia, Swinton notes, can have varying degrees of brain damage. Some whose autopsies revealed significant damage manifested little clinical impairment while alive. Others with only minor neuropathology had full-blown symptoms.

Therefore, Swinton argues, it is clear that social environments, through implicit messaging or explicit neglect, worsen the demented condition. What is called for is an approach based on respect and dignity.

Thomas’s 2015 novel revolves around Eileen Leary, a tough Irish American nurse yearning to break the middle-class mold in which her life is set when her husband, Ed, a neuroscientist, develops early-onset Alzheimer’s.

Thomas describes his slow deterioration and the ravages inflicted on Eileen and their son, Connell, in drawn-out moments and exquisite detail. In an especially harrowing scene, Eileen stays up all night watching her once brilliant husband struggle with the simple task of tabulating the final grades in his community college class.

Though the narrative sometimes gets bogged down in minutiae, it is as unsparing an account of Alzheimer’s as I have ever read.

In Scar Tissue, a 1993 Booker Prize finalist, an unnamed narrator gives a first-person account of the precipitous decline of his mother from dementia (though her condition is never explicitly named).

“She remembers captions of New Yorker cartoons,” he says, lamenting that “it is what happened five minutes ago that is slipping away.” It is a predicament with which dementia caregivers are all too familiar.

Yet, despite his mother’s descent into oblivion, the narrator insists she be treated with dignity. “You keep telling me what has been lost,” he tells her neurologist, “and I keep telling you something remains.”

Erwin Mortier is a poet, and this slim, intense volume is a haunting memorial to his mother in her final months. She died of early-onset dementia, and Mortier struggles to find adequate words for a condition that is profoundly connected to the failure of language and the connection of the self to the world.

As a writer and lover of memoir myself, the fact that I still remember how I felt after reading Green Vanilla Tea the first time, says a lot. The tremendous sadness of the book is woven so tightly with the love and appreciation of family in this book, I felt transported. Marie Williams shares the tragic story of her husband’s frontal temporal dementia as they are raising two teenage boys. Her beautiful prose describes a journey that is messy, tender, and sacred. This book changed my concept of love – stretching and renewing me!

Leaving Tinkertown is a romp of a memoir that takes the reader behind the scenes of Tinkertown, her father’s colorful roadside attraction in New Mexico. As Ross Ward descends into Alzheimer's, we learn what it was like growing up with this man and how Tanya’s complicated but tender history with him both repels and pulls her back home. Tanya’s writing is gorgeous, and this memoir is both vivid and heartbreaking! It’s a story you won’t soon forget.

This book is a kind of detective story. It returns to the scene of a long-ago committed crime, namely the incomplete diagnosis and substandard care Jerry Weinstein received in an indifferent health care system and a culture haunted by stigmas. The authors are a masterful team. Bruce Miller is a neurologist at the University of California, San Francisco’s Memory and Aging Center. He’s a widely-recognized expert in the diagnosis and classification of neurodegenerative diseases. Cindy Weinstein is a professor of English literature who focuses on the 19th century American novel. Weinstein’s expertise is Herman Melville, the master of narratives of dissection.

Jerry, Cindy’s father, died in 1997 after a years-long struggle with an inadequately diagnosed and neglected dementia. Together, physicians and literary scholars reconstruct what happened. By putting words to the problem, they make sense of what was painful nonsense. This is the book to understand the value of… show more.

When I read this graphic novel for the first time in 2010, it had just been published, and my mom was still my mom. I had been a care aide for ten years and I was thinking a lot about what families had already been through by the time their beloved came to me in Extended Care. Tangles tells the story of Sarah Leavitt's family from the beginning, when the family starts to notice something is wrong with Mom, to the diagnosis of Early Onset Alzheimer's disease, through the long journey until death. The pictures and text were a perfect combination that cracked open my heart and made me a better care aide.

Years later, I had a more personal use for Tangles. My mom didn't have Alzheimer's disease, but Leavitt's book resonated like a tuning fork in St. Paul's cathedral. "I decided to pretend she wasn't my mother… show more.

Difficult for me not to gush about this book by my good friend! It is amazingly rich. It builds on Kitwood, introducing the idea of ‘malignant positioning’. It deepens Kitwood’s approach to personhood using William Stern’s notion of ‘Critical Personalism’. Steve sets out how, from a social constructionist standpoint, we can give different accounts of selfhood. He shows how these remain relevant even as dementia advances. The richness, for me, comes from the verbatim accounts of people with whom Steve worked closely over an extended period of time. Theory and reality come together. We get to know real people and see into the intricacies of their lives. The importance of the new culture of dementia care – where seeing the person as a psychosocial being is imperative – becomes utterly compelling.