This is a difficult non-fiction book to review, and some parts were a little difficult to read (about) also. The title says it all. The story -- a mother, diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and her son, who begin a book club of sorts, in which they recommend books to each other, and talk about them during her chemotherapy sessions. Their dissection of the books allows the reader into the intimate places of their hearts and minds, to see how each comes to terms with the eventual inevitable terminal outcome. It's quite a bit about books and the treasures we derive from them -- and it's about life and living, of leaving and being left behind. Despite the seeming 'normalcy' in which the story unfolds, there is is a raw tenderness that belie the strong undercurrents of emotions which accompany such a season in life. It's not morbid; some parts can even be said to be celebratory. In all, I'd say that this is a fitting memorial to the author's mother.