I do not seem to have control over how I spend my time.Just as I’m at a place where I am able to do more reading and writing, life gets busy with everything else again. I feel like Ryder, the protagonist in The Unconsoled written by Kazuo Ishiguro. While my experience is not as surreal as that of Ryder, the point is I am not getting closer to what I really want to do. The uneasiness and anxiety that Ryder feels is totally relatable. Ryder struggles to make sense of the requests and expectations made upon him, and suddenly he finds that he is totally unprepared for the speech and performance that he is supposed to deliver at the concert. When the story begins, we know that Ryder, a renowned pianist has been invited to perform in a small European city and he is constantly disrupted by tasks and requests made upon him since the day he arrives in the city. The Unconsoled is definitely a read that deserves a second and even a third read.
Recently, I fear I have left my brains elsewhere. It is that feeling of trying to hold onto some fragmented thoughts somewhere at the back of my head. Consciously subconsciously I tread forward and endeavour to be mindful of every decision I make, big or small and mindful about how I spend my time. If I reflect on how I have spent my time , I know much time has been wasted in fretting, pottering around and attending to menial tasks. Every day there are tasks and work to attend to, places to go to and before you know it the day has ended. You feel disappointed if you have not even read a page of the book that you want to start reading or deliberated on the ideas that you have scribbled on your notepad when they flashed through your mind just this morning. It is a matter of prioritizing what is important to you and you are unsettled easily.

“There is no means of testing which decision is better, because there is no basis for comparison. We live everything as it comes, without warning, like an actor going on cold. And what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself? That is why life is always like a sketch. No, “sketch” is not quite a word, because a sketch is an outline of something, the groundwork for a picture, whereas the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, an outline with no picture.”― Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
The Unbearable Lightness of Being is another book that I hope to read again one day.

Few months ago, I picked up a copy of Elizabeth is Missing from an Indie bookshop at a shopping mall located about ten minutes drive from my home. The bookshop used to lend out books thus some of their books have plastic covers. The shop has since branched out into selling crystals and they only bring in new books occasionally. Nonetheless it is always a pleasure to drop by the shop just to browse through the titles of the books that are sitting on the shelves at a section of the shop. One Saturday, I picked up Elizabeth is Missing by Emma Healey and I am glad that I did. The novel is an engaging read. I was definitely attracted to the little sketches that appear in the book. Every chapter begins with a little drawing on its first page.


Maud Horsham, aged eighty-two, has become increasingly forgetful. She makes a cup of tea and does not remember to drink it. She arrives at a shop and forgets why she goes there. She has the nagging feeling that her friend, Elizabeth is missing. Her memory is failing her. While she keeps notes to remind herself about things that she does not want to forget, she keeps mixing up the present with the past. As the story unfolds, we come to know that her elder sister, Sukey vanished seventy years ago. That happened shortly after World War II. It remains an unsolved mystery till this day. She is haunted by the mystery of her sister’s disappearance and now thinks that her friend is also missing. She has vivid memory of what followed after her sister’s disappearance. Sukey was married to Frank and her parents also had a lodger named Douglas then. She recalls all the conversations with Frank and Douglas. She remembers steps taken by her and her parents to find her sister but to no avail. Now she is determined to find her friend.

Maud has a son and a daughter. Tom is now married with children and they live in Germany. Her daughter, Helen takes care of her. Both Helen and her paid care-giver Carla warn her not to leave the house. She will not abide by their rules. In her search for Elizabeth, she visits the police station to report that her friend is missing , she even places an ad for missing persons in the local paper, and pays multiple visits to Elizabeth’s house looking for clues. She is unable to retain information hence she has problems piecing together the information she gathers. She carries notes but they are unclear and incongruous…. It is her mental state.
‘I feel in my pockets for notes ,but there’s nothing there, just a few threads and emptiness. I’ve no notes at all. The lack makes me feel sick;I’m cut loose and whirling about in the wind. I wring the fabric of my coat, scrunching up and down in panic. And then, inside the ripped lining, I find one small blue square with my writing on it : Where is Elizabeth?“
Maud calls Peter Marham, Elizabeth’s son .
‘ “Hello?”It’s man’s voice, thick and slurred. I’m on the settee in my sitting room. The phone’s just stopped ringing and it’s pressed against my ear.
“Hello. Who is it?“I say.
“Peter Markham. Who’s this?”The words are clearer now; there’s a whine to the voice.
“My mother’s name is Elizabeth. What do you want?“
Peter Markham : I know that name. “Is that Elizabeth’s son?” ask.

“Oh, did I call you?”I say.
“Course you phoned me.”He says something under his breath.’Bloody’something.”What do you want?“
“Perhaps Elizabeth asked me to call you.” I say.
“Asked you?Why?”he says.”Where are you calling from?”
“don’t know why,”I say.”t must be important.“
I hold the receiver away from my ear and pause to think, gripping the phone until the plastic creaks. When did I see Elizabeth? And what did she ask me to call about? I can’t remember. I rest the receiver on the arm of my chair and flick through the bits of paper on my lap, shuffling past the number for Peter Markham, a shopping list and a recipe for gooseberry crumble. The drone of a car somewhere in the distance is like a fly buzzing under glass, like a memory flinging itself at the surface of my brain. I pick up the phone and hold the next note under the lamp: Where is Elizabeth?My stomach drops.”She’s missing,”I say aloud.’
Peter tells Maud that his mum is alright. She keeps going to Elizabeth’s house but her friend is not there.
The narratives are in Maud’s voice and told in alternate timelines, the past and the present. As a child, Maud was nicknamed ‘Mopps’. Memories of Sukey’s mysterious disappearance keep flooding back while she is bent on looking for Elizabeth, her good friend.

Its author, Emma Healey has cleverly crafted Maud’s mental state.
‘ If I turn left and left again I’m in the kitchen. I have that written down. And there’s a soapy smell in here that remidns me of the walkt to Sukey’s house and a woman bundling a mass of sheets and towels into a washing basket.
” That letter’s for you.”she says, straightening up and nodding to the envelope on the counter. ‘From Tom, and he’s sent us a photo of their cat, for some reason. I’m sure he expects us to be thrilled. What’d you want for breakfast?“
“I’m not allowed to eat,” I say, picking up the photo.”That woman told me.”
“What woman?“
“The woman,”I say. God, I’m sick of explaining myself all the time. That woman who works here. Is that right? “She works here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know the one… Yes,you do. She works here. Always busy. Always cross. Always in a rush.”
” think you mean me, Mum.”
“No,” I say. “But maybe I do mean her. ‘What’s your name?”
She makes a face at her pile of washing.”I’m Helen,”she says.‘
-Chapter 15 Elizabeth is missing, Emma Healey
Our mind is always playing tricks on us and yet we are afraid of losing our mind. Elizabeth is missing is Emma Healey‘s debut novel. The book is the winner of the Costa Book Award in 2014. Elizabeth is missing was adapted into a British drama film in 2019.
Healey is insightful and observant. The novel is an affecting read.

