Sugar, by Carly Nugent

I’ve just read Carly Nugent’s Young Adult novel, Sugar. Its protagonist, Persephone, aged sixteen, is initially bleak, confused, desperate, isolated and flat-lining with grief. A boy at her school has called her a cunt, she’s punched him in retaliation and they’re both suspended. She wants to understand why she deserved this appalling label from someone she barely knew and determines to find out. She also discovers a dead woman on a bush track and feels a connection with her. Persephone wants to understand what thirty-year-old Sylvia had done to deserve her death, believing this will somehow explain her own feelings of guilt. 

Persephone is the only child of Demi, also struggling with grief since the death of her husband, Persephone’s father in a car crash, twelve months earlier. Persephone had collapsed at his funeral and was subsequently diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. In her grief, Persephone conflates both events. She feels responsible for her father’s death which she irrationally believes she caused. Diabetes is her punishment.

Demi and Persephone are temporarily providing refuge to Iris, a nurse and her son, Steven, both sheltering from a violently abusive man. Nugent sensitively examines the dangerous attraction of such 'love'. 

Through these and other characters, Nugent deftly explores grief, teenage angst, domestic violence and relationships...

And did I forget to mention WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LIVE WITH TYPE 1 DIABETES? This was the thing for me. Diabetes is as much a presence in this narrative as any other character. Author Carly Nugent, herself living with Type 1, nails what it is to live with this dark passenger, with whom I've travelled now now for more than forty years. If you've ever 'sympathised' with someone's diabetes - 'oh, you poor thing it must be awful!' - or casually dropped some remark like 'my friend's dog died of diabetes' or suggested that a person with diabetes should eat lemons or cinnamon because it cures diabetes or... I could go on with a whole conference full of crap that I've endured over the years, you should read this book. Let Persephone enlighten you.

Not only is Persephone dealing with one of the hardest things for anyone to suffer, the loss of her father and all the other issues that beset any sixteen-year-old, she also has Type 1 diabetes as a constant companion. Diabetes, the needy child who never grows up and moves out, constantly ready to potentially kill you if you don't keep your balance on the tight rope, a metaphor which Nugent uses in Sugar.

I've often been grateful that I wasn't diagnosed until I was twenty-five. I had my own demons during my adolescence and diabetes would have been the perfect weapon against my family or myself. Type 1 diabetes is best held in check by obsessive routine. Even so it's a constant challenge. Nugent seems to encapsulate all of this in Sugar, where each chapter begins with a blood glucose value. For me, this added another layer of tension, knowing what I know. I was desperate to advise Persephone and save her, so real was she. 

I was totally immersed in Persephone's world. The characters were credible, the story beautifully written, including a great exploration of the power of the 'c' word. I could see the bush tracks along which she 'escaped' with her dog, Hermes. I've read books and seen films about Type 1 diabetes, but this is the first I've read that really connects with my own experience of living with this particular chronic illness.  

Warm regards, Carly Nugent. If I could have found you on social media I would have dropped you a line.

Correction: the dog's called Berenice, not Hermes 😊

Still putting the P in procrastination

 I sit at my desk ostensibly to do this week’s German homework; meine Hausaufgaben – my home tasks. Focusing on homework, when I eventually start, is mindful and has led to me swanning confidently around Berlin, interacting quasi-fluently with the locals.

I sit at my desk to work and I’m instantly distracted. Through the window my garden courtyard in the sun winks; beckons. But if I go out there I won’t get even halfway through my coffee before I’ll be disturbed by needy weeds and a lawn begging to be mown. At least pulling weeds I’ll be absorbed for the ninety minutes or so before my back requires rest and ibuprofen.

Sit at my desk, side-tracked by Blu-tacked notes and cards.

In front of me, a photo -card hangs on a lanyard. Al W. Athlete. Basketball. Australia. World Masters Games. 2017. My Al W. husband; beautiful human. Lifetimes ago. Tears.

Another card: RAIN. An acronym.

Recognise what is happening. I’m ruminating on Al; what’s befallen him. For no reason other than it was written in this chapter of the book of his life.

Allow the experience. Crying. I cry. I allow myself a few seconds of tears.

Investigate with interest and care. Life sucks. Parkinsons Disease. Lewy Body Dementia. Why wouldn’t I cry? I’m crying for both of us. Al doesn’t. He shrugs. Why him? Why not him? He said that when he got prostate cancer too. Not long after those Masters Games.

Nurture with self-compassion and care. Yeah, yeah. Poor me. It’s okay to cry, but crying doesn’t really work for me. Doesn’t provide any catharsis. I’ve stopped now anyway. I’m regularly astounded by my adeptness at putting one foot in front of the other. And weeding.

Another card: how do you eat an elephant? Bit by bit. This prevents overwhelm in my German language learning.

Another: perfectionism is the mother of procrastination – as is looking up quotations about perfectionism. Rather than writing that novel, memoir or even blog post. Too true.

Up high another card reads: Das ist mir Scheißegal. Quite a coarse German expression which I quite like. Google translates as ‘I don’t give a fuck.’ I think it sounds better in German.

Nietsche is there on another card:  …ce qui ne me tue pas me fortifie. That’s French for what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.

Now about that homework.