‘𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝜤 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝜤’𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆, 𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆?’

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This novella, a pinch under 100 pages long, does what it says on the tin.

The Death of Ivan Ilyich starts with the aftermath. With the rites and routines of those left behind. It moves backwards in time, to chart the life of Ivan Ilyich, to portray how he lived among those left behind. And then, the last third follows his steady decline to death as a still youngish man.

The portrayal of living with illness, with pain, is a masterstroke. How it must play with the mind, with the resilience of someone. The up and down of despair and hope. The interactions with others, the resentment. That feeling of separateness from the world. It's a similar feeling to acute episodes of anxiety.

The very last section, the final days and hours, had me enthralled. Ivan Ilyich battling with his very soul and an almost transcendental letting go of his earthly concerns. 

I knocked a star off because his life was kind of dull to read about. I get that's sort of the point but it didn't make it super enjoyable to read about. 

But you should read this. A truly epic exploration of living and dying.