An eloquent plea for a more humane approach to death and a moving meditation on the life that leads to that end.Taylor (My Beautiful Enemy, 2014, etc.) was never a prolific novelist, but she makes every word count in this short memoir, published in her native Australia shortly before she died in the summer of 2016. "I've put off using my death as material for a long time, mainly because I couldn't find the right tone," she writes. "I'm not even sure I've found it now." Despite that note of uncertainty, the author's command of tone is masterful; her precise observance and unsentimental reflection take readers through the final stages of her fatal melanoma. It left her with so much gratitude at the richness of her life and significant regret over the loss of control a dying person experiences, given society's tendency to want to prolong life as long as possible. There are three parts to the memoir. The first focuses on Taylor's medical treatment, what led to it, and how she procured a drug from China that would allow her to commit suicide or to at least have that choice. The second encompasses the lives and deaths of her parents, whose marriage ended in tumult never resolved, and how the arrangements after those deaths intensified tension among the author and her siblings. There is a cautionary tale in this, a lesson she doesn't want her own loving family to have to learn. The third section evokes the author's childhood, what she remembers earliest and most vividly, and how life toward its end brings us full circle. "It's often said that life is short," she writes. "But life is also simultaneous, all of our experiences existing in time together, in the flesh." There is an ever expanding body of literature on coming to terms with mortality, and this entry ranks with the best. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

We are all just a millimetre away from death, all of the time, if only we knew it, asserts Australian novelist Taylor. Approaching her fiftieth birthday, she was diagnosed with malignant melanoma behind her right knee. It metastasized to brain, lung, and other body parts. Taylor wrote this memoir at 60 and died months after its completion. She imparts valuable lessons about the process of dying and describes feelings of grief, loneliness, and the fear of perishing horrifically as well as gratitude for a meaningful life. Her account is organized into three sections, Cold Feet, Dust and Ashes, and Endings and Beginnings. The first is the best, even when she seriously contemplates suicide: Taylor purchases a euthanasia medication online from China; My stash calls to me day and night, like an illicit lover. Let me take you away from all this, it whispers. The other two sections concentrate on memories (especially of youth and her parents), failures, and mistakes. Eloquent and emotional writing on an elemental topic that so many are reluctant to talk about.--Miksanek, Tony Copyright 2017 Booklist

Australian writer Taylor, who found herself out of treatment options for melanoma-related brain cancer, reflects on the end of her life in this unflinchingly honest memoir. Taylor, who died in 2016, shares her emotions of anger, sadness and worry, especially for her loved ones, as well as her acceptance of the inevitable. She looks back on her childhood and family and recalls the fractured relationships of her parents and siblings, the joy of motherhood, and the unlikely and fantastic life of a writer. Taylor, who wrote the book in just a few weeks, considered the emptiness a nonreligious person such as her might face, and came to terms with it, providing a blueprint for those struggling with the same questions. This slender volume brings a fresh point of view to end-of-life care, the concept of having a sense of control over the unknown, and the role of chance in life. This deep meditation is beautifully written and destined to be an important piece of the conversation surrounding death. Taylor's last testament to life is a welcome departing gift from a thoughtful and inspired author. (Aug.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.