The first in a series of articles on the novels shortlisted for the 2015 Desmond Elliott Prize begins with Emma Healey's debut bestseller, the wonderfully acclaimed Elizabeth is Missing. Spoilers as always.
Praise for Emma Healey is exactly right. Like everyone says, for her to so intricately imagine, and write, from the perspective of an elderly woman with advancing dementia is incredible. And frightening.
To reach out to an audience of younger people who are increasingly frustrated and fearful of the elderly and becoming old, and make them see the other side in such a plain way is really something special. And is doubtlessly the most fascinating and important thing to take away from Elizabeth is Missing.
When it comes to plot, it isn't necessarily the most complicated but how can it be when the protagonist can't remember her own name? I regret to say that the endings are a little more predictable than I would've liked, however maybe this is intentional, there's a good chance Maud has known all along about the fate of the missing women.
Which brings me onto my next point. Missing women. Healey seems to really shine a light on female vulnerability in this novel, in so many ways. Portrayals of vulnerable youth, elderly, mental, physical, social situation.
Healey demonstrates how women are prone to physical decay, mental trauma, and even death. In fact, three women die in the novel, one presumably at the hand of her husband, one of physical health and another knocked down in the street – each death centre to the plot. Considering that women are supposed to live longer than men, this seems like a lot.
But then again, Healey presents a very female-centric world, with the main character's immediate family consisting mostly of women. Women are represented as the centre of the family, dutifully bound to look after their mothers, sisters, daughters, whether they like it or not. While the men seem to leave and live as they please, disobeying the law, migrating to other countries, dying of old age, etc. It's a world that doesn't seem fair, and yet it seems accurate – so it's hardly going to be the feel-good novel of the year.
It's not that the men are ever portrayed as evil, or the women even particularly downtrodden, it's just a saddening portrayal of the human condition. It's sad to see Maud as a young girl while the reader knows she can barely remember her identity in the present. It's sad to see Helen struggling with caring for her while still trying – singlehandedly – to raise a family of her own. And it's sad that this exact scenario is happening to so many families as I type.
It's easy to see why Healey's debut became a bestseller. It's relation to crime fiction, readability and portrayal of dementia is at times comic and always heartwarmingly charming. It challenges first-person narration in a topical light and for that I would recommend it to anyone having to deal with dementia – in any shape or form. So let me try and forget that this novel reinforces the vulnerability of women, because that's not the point. Right?
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