After a life of reading and writing, what does it feel like to be deprived of both, to be thrown back only on what’s in your head? The literary snippets that emerge into Todd’s consciousness during a month of radiation are sometimes apt, often ludicrous. They draw her back into childhood in Wales, Bermuda, Ceylon when literature functioned as friend and escape, to her unquiet past in sixties Ghana, then America at the dawn of the rights movements. Her father, nearing 100, is caught in the same ‘hospital-land’: both learn the selfishness of sickness and both respond by telling stories.