Hide by Matthew Griffin

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This book didn't just make me cry, it made me wretch with pain at the honest love.

There are many books written about people falling in love, but books that explore the endurance of love are rare.

Much of the power of the book comes from that fact that Wendell and Frank in mid-century mid-west USA could not live openly as a same-sex couple. There is a claustrophobic nature of their relationship from the start as a result – outside of their home they live separate lives, at home there is only the two of them.

And this kind of works for them.

But the heat of the book comes from the account of their old age, of Frank's mind and body failing and Wendell becoming care-giver. And in this sense I think their genders are not so important – we can all call to mind couples whose lives have been compressed – even when their relationship had been outward facing, their home open doored – not just age, but the need of one to care for the other has closed them down.

It is unflinching in recounting the ways in which the body, and mind, can abandon us – and, told through Wendell's voice, the need to clear up afterwards.

For better for worse, in sickness and in health – vows Frank and Wendell never got the chance to make, but vows they lived as truly as anyone.

There is a third character, Daisy the dog, who Wendell buys as an attempt to bring Frank out of himself. It works, but is also a source of pain – that Frank can show love to Daisy only highlights his inability to articulate his love for Wendell.

And the “resolution” of Daisy's story – I was reading it on the train back from London, I had tears rolling down my face, and I had to put the book down, and then force myself to pick it up and read on – and then put it down, and then read on. The unstoppablity, the horror, even recalling it now is hard.

In some ways Frank becomes a horrible person, in some ways a complete innocence – stripped of all dignity yet proud and stubborn.

It is a lesson in what love really looks like – happy ever after can be a long hard slog – when you find yourself the care-taker of the body that was the person who is the love of your life. [I know the tenses in that sentence are awkward]  When you are tired, exhausted, but you go on because you will go to the end of the earth for them – but while going on in that moment all you feel is rage.

I read a copy from the library, but I have now ordered a copy – something I never do – but it has such power that I want to have it, to have the chance to re-read it. Until Our Blood is Dry by Kit Habianic is probably one of the few books that has had the same kind of emotional punch for me – I remain unsettled by it. I read a lot and most books go in one ear and one the other (sic), my reason for having this blog is to externalise my memory – but I don't think I will need a blog to recall this story...