There is no delicate way to tell a person that he is holding a container full of the incinerated remains of his own body.
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"Grow apart." So often, when two people are asked to explain why their relationship has changed and isn't working out, at least one of them will say that they have simply grown apart. They have grown in different ways so that they have less connection and less in common than they once did. Sometimes it's not so much a matter of growing in different directions as growing at different rates.
Noggin is the ultimate tale of growing at different rates. Travis was dying of cancer, his body a waste, when he decided to enroll in a program from science fiction: he agreed to have his head cryogenically frozen in the hopes that someday medicine might be able to provide him with a new body. Saying goodbye to his loved ones is the last thing he remembers before waking up with his head attached to a new body. Except he's not 50 years in the future as expected, only a mere 5. His family, friends, and girlfriend are around much more tangibly than he ever thought possible, and he's suddenly faced with the prospect of picking his life up right where he left off.
At least, that's what it feels like to Travis. He was asleep for a few hours and now he's back, ready for everything to be the same. Everyone else, though, has spent 5 years living their lives without Travis, deciding whether and how to move on and become different people. They have grown. He has not. Now, none of the people Travis loves most make any sense to him and he has no idea who he is in relation to them or how to move forward.
I have to admit, with its sci-fi sounding premise, I expected this book to have more outrageous moments and elements. Aside from the medical advances, though, it was a realistic tale of normal people trying to deal with an extraordinary circumstance. And aside from the drama created by that circumstance, it's an entirely relatable tale of people that normal readers can see themselves reflected in. We may not have experienced "growing apart" in such a radical way as Travis has, but we've all experienced it enough to know what he's going through.
This story is surprising, personal, and moving.
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"I'm not sure I can do this anymore."
"Do what?"
"This. Exist. Be here like this with everything so fucked up."
"Hey, Travis? I don't think it really matters if you know how to exist."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't think any of us do."
"Then what are we doing?"
"I don't know. We're just meandering."