The Swimmers: A novel (CARNEGIE MEDAL FOR EXCELLENCE WINNER)

By Julie Otsuka

NATIONAL BESTSELLER • CARNEGIE MEDAL FOR EXCELLENCE WINNER • From the award-winning author of The Buddha in the Attic and When the Emperor Was Divine comes a novel that "starts as a catalogue of spoken and unspoken rules for swimmers at an aquatic center but unfolds into a powerful story of a mother’s dementia and her daughter’s love" (The Washington Post).

The swimmers are unknown to one another except through their private routines (slow lane, medium lane, fast lane) and the solace each takes in their morning or afternoon laps. But when a crack appears at the bottom of the pool, they are cast out into an unforgiving world without comfort or relief.
 
One of these swimmers is Alice, who is slowly losing her memory. For Alice, the pool was a final stand against the darkness of her encroaching dementia. Without the fellowship of other swimmers and the routine of her daily laps she is plunged into dislocation and chaos, swept into memories of her childhood and the Japanese American incarceration camp in which she spent the war. Alice's estranged daughter, reentering her mother's life too late, witnesses her stark and devastating decline.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
• Release date: Feb 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9780593321348

Book preview

the

underground pool

The pool is located deep underground, in a large cavernous chamber many feet beneath the streets of our town. Some of us come here because we are injured, and need to heal. We suffer from bad backs, fallen arches, shattered dreams, broken hearts, anxiety, melancholia, anhedonia, the usual aboveground afflictions. Others of us are employed at the college nearby and prefer to take our lunch breaks down below, in the waters, far away from the harsh glares of our colleagues and screens. Some of us come here to escape, if only for an hour, our disappointing marriages on land. Many of us live in the neighborhood and simply love to swim. One of us—Alice, a retired lab technician now in the early stages of dementia—comes here because she always has. And even though she may not remember the combination to her locker or where she put her towel, the moment she slips into the water she knows what to do. Her stroke is long and fluid, her kick is strong, her mind clear. Up there, she says, I’m just another little old lady. But down here, at the pool, I’m myself.

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—

most days, at the pool, we are able to leave our troubles on land behind. Failed painters become elegant breaststrokers. Untenured professors slice, shark-like, through the water, with breathtaking speed. The newly divorced HR Manager grabs a faded red Styrofoam board and kicks with impunity. The downsized adman floats, otter-like, on his back, as he stares up at the clouds on the painted pale blue ceiling, thinking, for the first time all day long, of nothing. Let it go. Worriers stop worrying. Bereaved widows cease to grieve. Out-of-work actors unable to get traction above ground glide effortlessly down the fast lane, in their element, at last. I’ve arrived! And for a brief interlude we are at home in the world. Bad moods lift, tics disappear, memories reawaken, migraines dissolve, and slowly, slowly, the chatter in our minds begins to subside as stroke after stroke, length after length, we swim. And when we are finished with our

laps we hoist ourselves up out of the pool, dripping and refreshed, our equilibrium restored, ready to face another day on land.

---

—

up above there are

wildfires, smog alerts, epic droughts, paper jams, teachers’ strikes, insurrections, revolutions, blisteringly hot days that never seem to let up (Massive Heat Dome Permanently Stalled over Entire West Coast), but down below, at the pool, it is always a comfortable eighty-one degrees. The humidity is sixty-five percent. The visibility is clear. The lanes are orderly and calm. The hours, though limited, are adequate for our needs. Some of us arrive shortly upon waking, fresh towels draped over our shoulders and rubber goggles in hand, ready for our eight a.m. swim. Others of us come down in the late afternoon, after work, when it is still sunny and bright, and when we reemerge it is night. The traffic has thinned. The backhoes have quieted. The birds have all gone away. And we are grateful to have avoided, once more, the falling of dusk. It’s the one time I can’t bear being alone. Some of us come to the pool religiously, five times a week, and begin to feel guilty if we miss even a day. Some of us come every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at noon. One of us comes a half hour before closing and by the time she changes into her suit and gets into the water it’s time to get out. Another of us is dying of Parkinson’s disease and just comes when he can. If I’m here then you know I’m having a good day.

---

—

the rules at the pool

, though unspoken, are adhered to by all (we are our own best enforcers): no running, no shouting, no children allowed. Circle swimming only (direction counterclockwise, always keeping to the right of the painted black line). All Band-Aids must be removed. No one who has not taken the compulsory two-minute shower (hot water, soap) in the locker room may enter the pool. No one who has an unexplained rash or open wound may enter the pool (the menstruating among us, however, are excepted). No one who is not a member of the pool may enter the pool. Guests are permitted (no more than one per member at a time), but for a nominal daily fee. Bikinis are permitted but not encouraged. Bathing caps are required. Cell phones are forbidden. Proper pool etiquette must be observed at all times. If you cannot keep up the pace you must stop at the end of your lane to let the swimmer behind you pass. If you want to pass someone from behind you must tap them once on the foot to warn them. If you accidentally bump into another swimmer you must check to make sure that they are all right. Be nice to Alice. Obey the lifeguard at all times. Turn your head at regular intervals and remember, of course, to breathe.

---

—

in our real lives, up above, we are overeaters, underachievers, dog walkers, cross-dressers, compulsive knitters (Just one more row), secret hoarders, minor poets, trailing spouses, twins, vegans, Mom, a second-rate fashion designer, an undocumented immigrant, a nun, a Dane, a cop, an actor who just plays a cop on TV (Officer Mahoney), a winner of the green card lottery, a two-time nominee for Outstanding Professor of the Year, a nationally ranked go player, three guys named George (George the podiatrist, George the nephew of the disgraced financier, George the former welterweight Golden Gloves boxer), two Roses (Rose, and the Other Rose), one Ida, one Alice, one self-described nobody (Don’t mind me), one former member of the SDS, two convicted felons, addicted, enabled, embattled, embittered, out

of print, out of luck (I think I just seroconverted), in the twilight of lackluster real estate careers, in the middle of long and protracted divorces (It’s year seven), infertile, in our prime, in a rut, in a rush, in remission, in the third week of chemo, in deep and unrelenting emotional despair (You never get used to it), but down below, at the pool, we are only one of three things: fast-lane people, medium-lane people or the slow.

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—

the fast-lane people

are the alpha people of the pool. They are high-strung and aggressive and supremely confident in their stroke. They look excellent in their swimsuits. Anatomically, they tend to be mesomorphs who carry an extra pound or two of fat for enhanced flotation. They have broad shoulders and long torsos and are equally divided between women and men. Whenever they kick, the water churns and boils. It is best to stay out of their way. They are natural-born athletes blessed with both rhythm and speed and have an uncanny feel for the water that the rest of us lack.

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—

the medium-lane people

are visibly more relaxed than their fast-lane brethren. They come in all sizes and shapes and have long ago given up any dreams they may have once harbored of swimming in a faster and better lane. No matter how hard they try, it’s not going to happen, and they know it. Every once in a while, however, one of them will succumb to a bout of furious kicking, a sudden and involuntary windmilling of the arms and legs as though they thought, for a moment, that they could somehow defy their fate. But the moment never lasts for long. Legs soon tire out, strokes shorten, elbows droop, lungs begin to ache, and after a length or two they return to their normal everyday pace. That’s just the way it is, they say to themselves. And then amiably, affably—Just pulling your leg, guys!—they swim on.

---

—

the slow-lane people

tend to be older men who have recently retired, women over the age of forty-nine, water walkers, aqua joggers, visiting economists from landlocked emerging third-world countries where, we have heard, they are only just now learning how to swim (It’s the same with their driving), and the occasional patient in rehab. Be kind to them. Make no assumptions. There are many reasons they might be here: arthritis, sciatica, insomnia, a brand-new titanium hip, aching feet worn out from a lifetime of pounding on dry land. "My mother told me never to wear high heels!" The pool is their sanctuary, their refuge, the one place on earth they can go to escape from their pain, for it is only down below, in the waters, that their symptoms begin to abate. The moment I see that painted black line I feel fine.

---

—

above ground many

of us are ungainly and awkward, slowing down with the years. The extra poundage has arrived, the letting go has begun, the crow’s-feet are fanning out silently, but inexorably, like cracks on a windshield, from the corners of our eyes. But down below, at the pool, we are restored to our old youthful selves. Gray hairs vanish beneath dark blue swim caps. Brows unfurrow. Limps disappear. Kettle-bellied men with knee woes on land bob daintily up and down in their bright orange flotation belts as they aqua-jog in place. Plus-sized women well past their prime grow supple and agile in the water, dolphin-sleek in their figure-slimming Spandex suits. Stomachs are flattened. Bosoms lifted. Long-lost waistlines reemerge. There it is! Even the most rotund of us steers her majestic bulk down her lane with ease and aplomb, as though she were the stately Queen Mary. This body of mine was built to float! And those of us who would normally bemoan our sagging visages on land—Every year it gets harder and harder to keep up the face—glide serenely through the water, safe in our knowledge that we are nothing more than a blurry peripheral shape glimpsed in passing through the foggy tinted goggles of the swimmer in the next lane.

---

—

people to watch

out for: aggressive lappers, determined thrashers, oblivious backstrokers, stealthy submariners, middle-aged men who insist upon speeding up the moment they sense they are about to be overtaken by a woman, tailgaters, lane Nazis, arm flailers, ankle yankers, the pickup artist (we are not that kind of a pool), the peeper (a highly regarded children’s TV host in his life above ground who is best known belowground for his swift lane change—Nubile new female swimmer in lane four!—and his accidental underwater bump: So sorry), the woman in lane four with the wide, overextended stroke (too much yoga), the former three-time Olympian (two silver medals, hundred-meter medley relay; one bronze, hundred-meter backstroke) who is now in her second year at the medical

Reviews for The Swimmers

[josephking6602 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Great writing, but lacked a clear natrative thread

[dreesie-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I am not a swimmer, but the pool chapters reminded me so much of the years I spent going to a gym--the same people generally took the same group classes or used the machines at around the same time on the same day. Everyone had a passing acquaintance with everyone else. And then people would leave, due to illness or injury or death or moving or just following a certain teacher to another gym. It was very nostalgic for me, as my wonderful gym completely revamped during covid and I am no longer a member. And yes, I still run into some people just around--out on walks, or grocery shopping, etc.

The later chapters, focusing on Alice, are heart-wrenching. When she loses the pool and her swimming, she loses herself. With dementia she cannot find a new pool and learn new routines and new people. She has lost the familiar faces and rules that she knows well. Of course, she also loses her exercise. It is truly heartbreaking to read. And it also makes me wonder if losing that routine and the exercise and pleasure it gave hastened her decline.

[zeljanamaricferli · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

The Swimmers is a literary promise that never really fulfilled itself for me. It consists of a few different parts, more disjointed than connected, with a few lovely paragraphs.

For me, it was just not engaging at all. Regardless of Otsuka's undeniable skill, I struggled to finish this. Not having to think about it feels like a huge relief.

[andy5185 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Julie Otsuka has a beautiful writing style that brings you immediately into the moment. This book was heart wrenching. It starts with these swimmers having to adjust to their pool being closed down and wrestling with how hard change is. But a lot of it was enlightening as well for me to read - how our relationships to routine can sometimes be the best at different stages of life. And then the story moves into a daughter dealing with her aged mother’s decline with dementia and loss of memory and self. And yep, it’s unbelievably moving and sad and real (and did I mention sad?!) This is not an emotionally easy read, but I think it’s a worthwhile experience.

[jwhenderson_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Apart for their individual routines (slow lane, medium lane, rapid lane) and the comfort each swimmer finds in their morning or afternoon laps, the swimmers are strangers to one another. Nevertheless, as a rift opens up at the pool's bottom, they are abandoned in a forgiving world without solace or consolation.

Alice, one of these swimmers, is gradually losing her memory. The pool served as Alice's last line of defense against the dementia that was advancing on her. Without the support of her fellow swimmers and the stability of her daily laps, she is thrown into disarray and turmoil and is reminded of her early years and the Japanese American internment camp where she spent the war. We learn that Alice's estranged daughter, who returned to her mother's life after a long absence, witnessed her shocking and tragic fall. The Swimmers is the most compelling and enduring work yet from a modern artist, told in hypnotic, incantatory writing. It is a searing, intimate story of mothers and children, and the sorrows of relentless loss.

[rmarcin-630843 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A group of swimmers uses the community pool to swim laps. They know each other as members of the pool community, but don't socialize. One day, a crack appears on the bottom of the pool, and after an attempt to repair the crack fails, the pool is closed. Now the swimmers feel displaced.
One swimmer, Alice, is now disoriented, and is losing her memory. Incorrectly diagnosed with Alzheimer's, she is moved to a home. Her daughter narrates the story, and talks about what her mother does and doesn't remember, the relationship with her mother, and the memories her mother is losing. It is a sad story of how dementia robs people of their memory and its toll on the family.
Short book, but very poignant.

[castlelass · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This slim novel starts as a story about a pool and the people who swim daily in it. It morphs into a story about a woman with mental decline. It is poignant, reflective, and beautifully written. This author excels at pointing out the importance of small details in daily life. It is written in two parts, which at first seem completely separate, but the reader gradually realizes the reason behind this structure. The entire two-part story serves as a metaphor. I look forward to reading more from this author.

[lindaloretz · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I listened to this book while walking and finished it in a few days. The words were rhythmic and lyrical—comforting sometimes and disturbing at others. The beginning was about the anonymity of a group of daily swimmers. They came from all walks of life and had one significant commonality—swimming laps in the underground pool.

The routine and regularity of swimming suddenly stopped when a crack developed in the pool, and the pool permanently closed. The crack was symbolic for all involved, especially one of the swimmers, Alice, whose equilibrium went awry. Her dementia advanced, and we hear from her daughter how she becomes unrecognizable in Belavista, a “long-term, for-profit memory residence.” In the facility, Alice experienced a different kind of routine; anonymity overtakes her life. Euphemisms and platitudes are vernacular. Yet, in poetic language, the author describes Alice’s life events that she does remember, and she certainly remembers how her daughter distanced herself from her.

[clara53_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

An intensely touching memoir (the cover says it's a novel, but in my eyes it's a memoir, at least partially), major part of which features poignantly described progress of dementia of the narrator's aging mother (drawn from the author's life, I presume), how it affects the close family; and what's more - the repetitive structure of the narration defies all logic and helps it to evolve into the most moving, heartrending (and yet, apparently and sadly, not so uncommon) story.

Two parts to this book - one about the pool and "the swimmer" (amazingly insightful characterizations there!) and the other about the mother/daughter relationship (or, at time, the regrettable lack thereof); and at the beginning these two parts seem to be unrelated. In one interview that I've read, Ms. Otsuka says that it was her intention - to surprise the reader with that kind of arrangement. And it worked - the jolt of the shift was palpable and then made sense: there was a connection after all.
 
I remember Julie Otsuka well from her novels "When the Emperor Was Divine" and "The Buddha in the Attic", and I had a feeling that her new book would be comparable to those two - in its emotional value and in the quality of narration. It was that and so much more!

[bibliophageoncoffee · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The first half and second half almost felt like two different books, but it worked.

[squeakychu · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I think the best way to read this book is as I did—going in blindly and knowing nothing about the subject matter but trusting the author to tell you a good story. It starts with a large underground pool and lots of swimmers. I won’t tell you where it will take you, but it will be some place unexpected and sad. Grab your bathing cap and dive in for the swim. Prepare yourself, though. Despite this deep dive, you might find yourself in your own water of tears.

This book is also a social commentary on contemporary life in addition to the main story. Jabs are sneaked into the narrative every so often. Be alert for them!

The author writes so beautifully that you’ll find it hard to put this book down and start reading it faster and faster despite the upsetting subject matter. Many lines made me cry. This whole tender story made my heart hurt. Near the end, I thought to myself, “What a depressing book". By the time this book ended, I was devastated.

However, this is a beautiful novel incorporating a fascinating way of writing a story and is one I would highly recommend.

[bookworm12_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

 This was not what I was expecting, but the meditative writing was just what I needed. What begins as a story about members of an underground swimming pool quickly became a collection of short stories about a woman with dementia. It felt deeply personal and raw. Otsuka’s unique writing style draws attention to the small details that make up or every day lives. She weaves her family’s history into the story in a beauty way.

[bobbieharv · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A beautiful, poignant book, that uses different point of view whick all swirl around Alice, a woman with progressing dementia. In the first, and longest, chapter, a community of swimmers begin to notice a crack appearing in the pool - a metaphor for the collective mind. But Alice keeps swimming, not noticing. The rhythm of the words is the rhythm of the swimmers. They describe the appearance of the crack using first person plural - we, the swimmers; Alice, who doesn't notice the crack, comes to us in the third person.

The remaining chapters point out the things Alice, "she," is forgetting; the rules of the nursing home, again first person plural; and finally the more accusatory "you," from her daughter who was always trying to be closer.

And this doesn't really do justice to the beauty and complexity of this short book.

[brianinbuffalo · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The unhurried pacing and unconventional structure of Otsuka's slim novel were a bit challenging for this reader. But to the author's credit, "The Swimmers" morphs into a thought-provoking and emotional story that explores the tragedy of dementia. Otsuka's minimalist literary technique should be a vivid reminder to all word merchants that sometimes, less is more.

[ccayne_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A poetic rumination on what anchors our lives and what happens when we're cut loose.

[reader1009-863136 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

fiction - a community of swimmers deals with the loss of their underground pool when they can no longer ignore the cracks appearing at the bottom; a mother's family places her in a memory care facility when she develops a rare type of early onset dementia. (Incidentally, the mother is a survivor of the Japanese incarceration camps of WWII.)

I've not had the pleasure of reading Julie Otsuka before, but have become an instant fan of her skill in weaving rich, compelling narratives from what could otherwise just be a series of mundane observations. This is a short book and a quick read, with plenty of fodder for book groups to discuss.

[thewanderingjew_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The Swimmers: A Novel, Julie Otsuka, author; Traci Kato-Kiriyama, narrator
If we think of the underground pool, as if it was like the human body, as a structure that ages, we have a very creative study that deals with the wonders and dangers of living and of dying, of caring deeply or of moving on when the inevitable happens and we fail, losing our purpose in the process.
This underground pool is a place where people of every stripe congregate to swim. They all have different abilities and backgrounds, likes and dislikes. They have different religions, races and philosophies. Some are professional and some are blue collar workers. Some don’t work at all. Some are not in perfect health and some look like they are perfectly sound. They will all eventually age.
When a beloved, underground pool develops cracks and begins to show signs of failure, the swimmers all begin to worry. It is old, they know. Is it showing signs of its age? They each worry in different ways. Some run from the idea of the failure, ignoring it, hoping it will simply go away, some embrace it and look for ways to repair it. Universally, however, they do worry about it. Will it get better? Will it get worse? Why is it happening? Is there a rational explanation? Should they continue to swim there or swim someplace else? Should they stop swimming entirely? Should they move on?
This is an amazing and creative exploration of relationships between those who love something or someone deteriorating and those that are the victims of the ultimate failure. The author uses the pool to contrast those reactions. While most swimmers have the ability to move on, one swimmer cannot. Her name is Alice. She has dementia. In the pool she is almost normal and is accepted. Outside of the pool, Alice’s dementia impacts her life disastrously. Alice’s body and mind are aging against her will, just as the pool is aging and losing its purpose. There is no rational explanation that is acceptable, as those involved are faced with the loss of something or someone they love. How do they react to Alice? The same questions asked of the swimmers can be asked of those who know Alice.
There is tremendous stress placed on everyone. There is no known reason for the failure. There is no known cure, but they try to find one. They hope for a remission or a repair of what is wrong. Experts are called in, but no cure can be found? It is unexplained and unexplainable. The pool and Alice are both simply sick, and no one knows why, or how serious it is, or if it will get worse. How do they react to this tragedy? Will just move on? How will they treat the thing they loved once, that has begun to change?
The author has so skillfully compared the two that the reader understands that the aging process is largely unpreventable and incurable. How we age and how we care for those aging is really important. How we react is equally important. The love of Alice and her family is strong and they do their best to care for her as those who love the pool try to keep it open.
As relationships are explored, the reader sees that some things cannot be fixed. Some things have to be tolerated, somehow. Will the pool still have value if it is no longer used? The reader will wonder, as Alice’s memories begin to fade, will she still be valuable without them? What happens to all those who have had relationships with her? Does she simply cease to exist to them? Does everyone else just move on?
Above all else, this short novel is about compassion, love and relationships, relationships of family members, friends and associates. The narrator is superb as she reads with just the right amount of expression, not to become a part of the novel, but to simply tell its story. Both the author and the narrator are perfection personified.

[viviennestrauss · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I just happened to turn on NPR yesterday when I was nearly finished with this book - Otsuka was being interviewed by Terry Gross - what serendipity! It did make finishing the book, (which is beautifully written) all the more heart-wrenching.

[beamis12 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Otsuka has written three books, around a decade apart. She is one of those authors with such a distinctive writing style, that her books are easily recognized. Her last wasn't a favorite, I compared to to Green Eggs and Ham, not in subject matter but in stylistic endeavour. Nonthless, her books, intrigue me, she writes slim books all with a different subject. This one is as the cover shows, about swimming.

The first part follows her collective we voice, showcasing a group of swimmers at a local pool. She describes why they swim, how they swim, what they get from swimming. This daily exercise means alot to these swimmers as apparently does the rules and sameness. That is until a crack appears a crack appears in one of the lanes. Their reactions and actions took after the crack appears, follows. None of these people are named except one swimmer named Alice. Alice, who is allowed to swim an extra life. So far, this first section follows her previous books.

But then, the second and we learn why Alice is named. What now follows becomes personal, and it is poignant, and heartbreaking. Mother, daughter, husband, Alice a woman who is mentally deteriorating. This part sounds like it might be a fictional memoir and I thought, though I may be wrong, that this is her mother/daughter story.