Jean-Dominique Bauby was the editor-in-chief of French Elle and the father of two young children when he had a stroke that left him completely paralysed with "locked-in syndrome". In other words, he had full consciousness, but was unable to move anything except for blinking one eye (the other eye was sewn shut to prevent infection).
Someone - he doesn't explain who - came up with a system in which the alphabet is rearranged in order of the letters used most frequently in French and then the person with whom he wanted to communicate would read this alphabet and Bauby would blink to alert them to stop at the required letter. And in that manner the entire book was dictated. I know. It's incredible. But is it readable? Carry on over the cut to find out.
I heard about this book years ago and have always wanted to read it, but I was put off - in a strange way - by my expectation that it would contain some secret of life, some advice on how to live that perhaps I wasn't ready for (who wants to know how to live when there's so much good stuff on the TV?!) and at first I was disappointed that it didn't.
I expected Bauby to be serene and accepting and wise and he really isn't. He's just a man, trapped in a failing body, angry that he's missing out on his life and upsetting his friends and family, annoyed when an orderly forgets to turn off the TV, and, by the end of the book I found that just as inspiring as whatever life lessons I thought he might provide.
What this book teaches and what I believe Bauby wanted to convey is that this could happen to anyone at any time. The things he thinks about aren't big life questions, but lighthouses, beaches, a cup of coffee with a friend. In other words, the things we all take for granted.
So, yes, the lesson of the book is take time to smell the roses because, well, you know, we're all dying - in other words, something we all know anyway - but the incredible lenghs Bauby went to to get the message across reinforces the fact that we really should pay attention. No matter what's on TV.
