Some readers have complained that there's not enough about ageing, and too much reflection on being young. Many have praised her beautiful, eloquent writing. Parsons is careful to point out her own privileged position as an educated, white, middle class woman in a rich country, although her own experience of debilitating illness has sharpened her awareness of fragility and discrimination.
Ultimately I found it quite hard to relate to A Question of Age. Although I'm well aware that there are fewer years ahead of me than behind, I haven't really experienced a sense of loss of youthful power or beauty. My own adolescence and youth was pretty miserable, at least as far as sex and relationships were concerned, so I have few regrets about leaving those years behind. I love being middle-aged, pleasing myself, sure of my own preferences, with a few good friends and a loving family. I've been very lucky and I know it, but it leaves me with little to lament about growing older. Long may it stay that way.
I remember being vaguely dissatisfied with A Question of Age when I read it in 2022 -it was more about being a woman in the middle of mid-life and it didn't really speak to me. And now that I am properly old - retired, and a pensioner, no less! - I have gone right beyond and feel quite pleased with myself. I think I am happier now than I was when I was young, or perhaps more contented. More realistic about myself and others. Things don't seem so urgent and emotional. Saying no is easier. I accept that I have limited energy and can't be all things to all people. There's a freedom in not really caring much about what others might think of me. I can release my inner dag/nerd/weirdo quite happily!
ReplyDeleteI couldn't agree more, Sue. I think you're right, this book is less about actually being 'old' and more about the realisation that youth is slipping away -- a completely different thing. Isn't it liberating to not care anymore :)
ReplyDeleteOh, yes! And no more uncomfortable shoes. Or tight waistbands. Years ago, to go to some formal do - it might have been the Sisters in Crime extravaganza where I was given an award - I bought some expensive Spanx (yes, yes, I did, I really did) so I could look a bit more svelte than I am. Wearing them felt like being digested by a python but at least, I thought, I didn't bulge. A few weeks ago I found them at the back of the drawer. Straight into the bin! Bulges, be free!
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