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Tangles: A Story About Alzheimer's, My Mother, and Me
What do you do when your outspoken, passionate, and quick-witted mother starts fading into a forgetful, fearful woman? In this powerful graphic memoir, Sarah Leavitt shows how Alzheimer’s disease transformed her mother Midge―and her family―forever. In spare black and white drawings and clear, candid prose, Leavitt shares her family’s journey through a harrowing range of emotions while learning to cope with a devastating diagnosis, and managing to find moments of happiness. Tangles confronts the complexity of Alzheimer’s disease, and gradually opens a knot of moments, memories, and dreams to reveal an unbreakable bond between mother and daughter.
128 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 10, 2010
18 people are currently reading
4107 people want to read
About the author
Sarah Leavitt
8 books71 followersSarah Leavitt is the author of the graphic memoir Tangles: A Story About Alzheimer’s, My Mother, and Me (2010), and the historical graphic novel Agnes, Murderess (2019).
Tangles was published in Canada, the US, UK, Germany, France, and Korea. It was the first comic to be a finalist for the Writers’ Trust Non-Fiction Prize, was a Globe and Mail best book of the year, and is currently in development as a feature-length animation with Vancouver-based Giant Ant Media and a US production company. Tangles has been included in a number of exhibitions, notably at the Billy Ireland Cartoon Library and Museum and the National Library of Medicine. Tangles is part of the curricula in both health and literature courses from Canada to the UK to India.
Agnes, Murderess represents quite a departure from Tangles — Sarah describes it as historical fiction with a touch of horror. It all started when Sarah was visiting a small historical site in the Cariboo and found a pamphlet about a nineteenth-century serial killer. This led to nine years of research, writing and drawing, as she figured out how to tell the story of Agnes McVee, an historical figure who maybe never really existed.
Sarah has developed and taught comics classes for the UBC Creative Writing Program since 2012, where she is stealthily working on converting as many writing students as possible into comics makers.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 266 reviews
March 16, 2018
Sarah's mom started showing symptoms of Alzheimer's when she was only 52.
Something was wrong. She'd get confused about the strangest things, but if someone tried to help her or asked her what was wrong, she got mad.
She stayed in the background, all quiet. She couldn't remember how to get anywhere. She forgot things. She seemed to be just sad or angry all the time. But she told everyone everything was fine.
Maybe she was depressed. Maybe it was menopause or a midlife crisis.
But more things kept happening, small weird things. Like sometimes she couldn't figure out how to open the door or answer the phone. Sometimes it seemed like there really wasn't anything to worry about. Nobody understood what was happening to mother.
Two years later, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.
For the next six years, Sarah's father cared for her mother. Sarah and her sister, and her mother's sisters, helped as much as they could.
"Mom came out of the bathroom and started wandering off down the hall. "I feel left out", she murmured to herself."
Sarah's mom loved her family with a fierce and absolute love. Alzheimer's disease tore her away from them and from herself in a cruel, relentless progression of losses.
When Sarah visited her mom, she took notes and drew pictures the whole time she was there.
Over the six years since her mother's diagnosis, she collected a box of journals, sketchbooks, and scraps of paper. After her mom died, at 60 years old, Sarah spent four years writing and drawing this poignant graphic memoir.
Although the line drawings are simple, they enhance the intensity of the stories and bring home to the reader the chaos and pain caused by this illness for everyone involved.
"How's it going, Mom?"
"Oh, I think it's going quite sadly"
Something was wrong. She'd get confused about the strangest things, but if someone tried to help her or asked her what was wrong, she got mad.
She stayed in the background, all quiet. She couldn't remember how to get anywhere. She forgot things. She seemed to be just sad or angry all the time. But she told everyone everything was fine.
Maybe she was depressed. Maybe it was menopause or a midlife crisis.
But more things kept happening, small weird things. Like sometimes she couldn't figure out how to open the door or answer the phone. Sometimes it seemed like there really wasn't anything to worry about. Nobody understood what was happening to mother.
Two years later, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.
For the next six years, Sarah's father cared for her mother. Sarah and her sister, and her mother's sisters, helped as much as they could.
"Mom came out of the bathroom and started wandering off down the hall. "I feel left out", she murmured to herself."
Sarah's mom loved her family with a fierce and absolute love. Alzheimer's disease tore her away from them and from herself in a cruel, relentless progression of losses.
When Sarah visited her mom, she took notes and drew pictures the whole time she was there.
Over the six years since her mother's diagnosis, she collected a box of journals, sketchbooks, and scraps of paper. After her mom died, at 60 years old, Sarah spent four years writing and drawing this poignant graphic memoir.
Although the line drawings are simple, they enhance the intensity of the stories and bring home to the reader the chaos and pain caused by this illness for everyone involved.
"How's it going, Mom?"
"Oh, I think it's going quite sadly"
June 28, 2016
Tangles is a fiercely personal and beautiful and of course sad graphic memoir focused on the author's relationship with her mother and the journey she and their family take after her mother, Midge, is diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's disease. This is Leavitt's first book, and it deals with Midge and her sister, Midge's two daughters, and her husband. It is, as you might expect, two parts heart-wrenching, with a little dash of humor and a few cups of rage and several parts fascinating as Leavitt tracks the steady decline of her sweet and wonderful and smart mother. This is a teacher's family, they are everywhere, and Leavitt captures the spirit of the special care and attention of her family of caring teachers in this project.
As I read it, I steeled myself for the hard parts, the disintegration. But Leavitt takes her time, helping us get to know her, her Mom, and her sister, her Dad, the cat, her partner Donimo. This is in particular a short and intensely loving bio of her Mom, and a family history of sorts. They deeply love each other; we see what's at stake in what this horrific disease does to damage them all, though they do find ways to be a close family in spite of all the challenges. Since we get to know this lovely family--a family that loves music, that loves to cook and drink wine, that loves to dance--we of course care more as we see things fall apart. We also get a good and fascinating (really!) (also terrible, yes) look at the decline of a brain and the extent to which she is conscious of that decline.
Leavitt isn't always there, she lives far away, so it would be interesting to hear what her quite different sister or her father would say of this memoir, but I suspect they would fully support it for her love and all the passion and rage in it.
What I thought when I was reading it: There are professional memoirists and diary comics folks who choose to tell their daily stories all the time, but this is different, somehow. Leavitt does comics, she does other stories, so she is an artist. But this project feels like it could be seen as a kind of model for what we should all do in response to the most important things in our lives. Leavitt is a lovely artist; she may not be the best comics artist in the world, but she is earnest and honest and sincere and compelling and accessible and this comes through in her drawing. She makes us feel it, and that is a gift greater technicians may not be able to pull off as well.
Leavitt says she is working on an animated film of Tangles, and she also has an interactive website about the project:
http://sarahleavitt.com/tangles/
Here's a review in Graphic Medicine (I didn't even know there was such a cool publication!) with a sample page:
http://www.graphicmedicine.org/comic-...
As I read it, I steeled myself for the hard parts, the disintegration. But Leavitt takes her time, helping us get to know her, her Mom, and her sister, her Dad, the cat, her partner Donimo. This is in particular a short and intensely loving bio of her Mom, and a family history of sorts. They deeply love each other; we see what's at stake in what this horrific disease does to damage them all, though they do find ways to be a close family in spite of all the challenges. Since we get to know this lovely family--a family that loves music, that loves to cook and drink wine, that loves to dance--we of course care more as we see things fall apart. We also get a good and fascinating (really!) (also terrible, yes) look at the decline of a brain and the extent to which she is conscious of that decline.
Leavitt isn't always there, she lives far away, so it would be interesting to hear what her quite different sister or her father would say of this memoir, but I suspect they would fully support it for her love and all the passion and rage in it.
What I thought when I was reading it: There are professional memoirists and diary comics folks who choose to tell their daily stories all the time, but this is different, somehow. Leavitt does comics, she does other stories, so she is an artist. But this project feels like it could be seen as a kind of model for what we should all do in response to the most important things in our lives. Leavitt is a lovely artist; she may not be the best comics artist in the world, but she is earnest and honest and sincere and compelling and accessible and this comes through in her drawing. She makes us feel it, and that is a gift greater technicians may not be able to pull off as well.
Leavitt says she is working on an animated film of Tangles, and she also has an interactive website about the project:
http://sarahleavitt.com/tangles/
Here's a review in Graphic Medicine (I didn't even know there was such a cool publication!) with a sample page:
http://www.graphicmedicine.org/comic-...
September 6, 2016
I'm going to feel bad about giving this two stars because this is someone's painful story they are sharing with you. Unfortunately, I really started to resent how long this book felt. Each page consisted of so many panels and I wasn't feeling anything as it went on when I should have. How could I not care about the author and her family as they dealt with their mom having Alzheimer's? It should have worked but I couldn't quite put my finger on why I wasn't feeling any emotions toward this story.
There were some things in the story that bothered me such as when the Sarah and Hannah laugh at their mom when she eats a candle, or when she apologizes to the furniture whenever she happens to bump into it, or when she goes up to the mirror and talks to her reflection. I probably would have been more upset at stuff like this had the book touched me on a deeper level but the connection just wasn't there for me to truly care. The one thing that I do wish authors would stop adding to these type of memoirs is the oversharing of personal information. Why does every memoir on old age or illness have to have detailed information about the affected person's hygiene? The author goes into detail about her mom's pubic hair, bathroom accidents, bad breath, body odor, and overall appearance. I know she probably wanted to let the reader know as much as possible about what this disease does to a person, but I always cringe thinking how that parent would feel if she knew such intimate details about her were being shared with the world. I just feel like that person deserves a little bit of her dignity preserved.
There was one moment that made me feel very sad for the author as she explains how she always felt afraid of cleaning her mom for fear that she would look like a pervert to someone on the outside. Sarah is a lesbian and she was so afraid that someone would think she was somehow being improper toward her mom for doing something loving and caring for her. I thought that was really sad that she would have that fear.
There were a few sweet moments scattered throughout but the book did not pick up for me until the last 20 pages. For the most part, I was a little bored and annoyed with the length.
There were some things in the story that bothered me such as when the Sarah and Hannah laugh at their mom when she eats a candle, or when she apologizes to the furniture whenever she happens to bump into it, or when she goes up to the mirror and talks to her reflection. I probably would have been more upset at stuff like this had the book touched me on a deeper level but the connection just wasn't there for me to truly care. The one thing that I do wish authors would stop adding to these type of memoirs is the oversharing of personal information. Why does every memoir on old age or illness have to have detailed information about the affected person's hygiene? The author goes into detail about her mom's pubic hair, bathroom accidents, bad breath, body odor, and overall appearance. I know she probably wanted to let the reader know as much as possible about what this disease does to a person, but I always cringe thinking how that parent would feel if she knew such intimate details about her were being shared with the world. I just feel like that person deserves a little bit of her dignity preserved.
There was one moment that made me feel very sad for the author as she explains how she always felt afraid of cleaning her mom for fear that she would look like a pervert to someone on the outside. Sarah is a lesbian and she was so afraid that someone would think she was somehow being improper toward her mom for doing something loving and caring for her. I thought that was really sad that she would have that fear.
There were a few sweet moments scattered throughout but the book did not pick up for me until the last 20 pages. For the most part, I was a little bored and annoyed with the length.
December 17, 2016
4/5
I read this intense graphic memoir for the first time only a week after I had heard about it from a Goodreads friend (thanks, Dov). Then I reread it a few days later. But I couldn’t bring myself to write about it then. True, I’m always a dozen or so reviews behind, but I had thought this book would be easy to review. I knew how I felt about it (I loved it); I knew what I wanted to say (see review below). As it turned out, I’m thinking I waited these three and a half months because the wait gave me a good excuse to read it a third time.
Sarah Leavitt’s memoir describes her mother Midge’s decline from Alzheimer’s. The book’s in three parts, roughly chronological. Part 1 begins with the first signs of something not being exactly right and ends with the full diagnosis of Alzheimer’s; Part 2 details Midge’s gradual deterioration; Part 3 describes the final stages of Midge’s deterioration and her eventual death. I say these parts are roughly chronological, but the past is always present in all three parts and is not always chronologically presented. So even as the story proceeds to its inevitable and sorrowful ending, there are many glances backwards and sideways throughout.
The title seems to come from something Leavitt’s lesbian partner, Donimo, said about Midge: “Your mom’s mind is like the garden this summer . . . tangled, but with spots of brightness” (114). And that description is a fair one for this memoir, which includes loving views of Midge; her husband, Robert; their daughters, Sarah and Hannah (and their families); and Midge’s parents and two sisters. There is a deep honesty and integrity to how this story is told. We see many moments of joy throughout. One of my favorites has Midge, well along in her illness, out on a walk with her daughters, a walk that ends joyously in a rainstorm. We also see moments of anxiety, fear, anger, and regret. Dealing with this illness is something everyone in this book is always just beginning to learn to do. We peek in as each they deepen their understanding and enlarge their already aching hearts. Leavitt especially second guesses herself throughout. Am I doing enough? Are the things I am doing the best things to do? By the time we are finished with this book we have a strong sense of the entire family and all their nuanced responses to Midge’s illness and to each other. Leavitt seems excessively honest, showing all the family members at their best and worst and at most stages in between. Each person is clearly presented; there is no confusing any of these people with the others. Yet their very specific story has a universality to it that will speak to most people dealing with a case of Alzheimer’s in their own families. Or to someone like me who has not had that challenge.
I read this intense graphic memoir for the first time only a week after I had heard about it from a Goodreads friend (thanks, Dov). Then I reread it a few days later. But I couldn’t bring myself to write about it then. True, I’m always a dozen or so reviews behind, but I had thought this book would be easy to review. I knew how I felt about it (I loved it); I knew what I wanted to say (see review below). As it turned out, I’m thinking I waited these three and a half months because the wait gave me a good excuse to read it a third time.
Sarah Leavitt’s memoir describes her mother Midge’s decline from Alzheimer’s. The book’s in three parts, roughly chronological. Part 1 begins with the first signs of something not being exactly right and ends with the full diagnosis of Alzheimer’s; Part 2 details Midge’s gradual deterioration; Part 3 describes the final stages of Midge’s deterioration and her eventual death. I say these parts are roughly chronological, but the past is always present in all three parts and is not always chronologically presented. So even as the story proceeds to its inevitable and sorrowful ending, there are many glances backwards and sideways throughout.
The title seems to come from something Leavitt’s lesbian partner, Donimo, said about Midge: “Your mom’s mind is like the garden this summer . . . tangled, but with spots of brightness” (114). And that description is a fair one for this memoir, which includes loving views of Midge; her husband, Robert; their daughters, Sarah and Hannah (and their families); and Midge’s parents and two sisters. There is a deep honesty and integrity to how this story is told. We see many moments of joy throughout. One of my favorites has Midge, well along in her illness, out on a walk with her daughters, a walk that ends joyously in a rainstorm. We also see moments of anxiety, fear, anger, and regret. Dealing with this illness is something everyone in this book is always just beginning to learn to do. We peek in as each they deepen their understanding and enlarge their already aching hearts. Leavitt especially second guesses herself throughout. Am I doing enough? Are the things I am doing the best things to do? By the time we are finished with this book we have a strong sense of the entire family and all their nuanced responses to Midge’s illness and to each other. Leavitt seems excessively honest, showing all the family members at their best and worst and at most stages in between. Each person is clearly presented; there is no confusing any of these people with the others. Yet their very specific story has a universality to it that will speak to most people dealing with a case of Alzheimer’s in their own families. Or to someone like me who has not had that challenge.
August 26, 2016
I love this book! I tend to be drawn toward the form of the graphic memoir, and this was not what I was expecting, but I appreciated the emotional honesty, humor and clear-eyed presence with devastating loss. There is something very simple about the book. Here is a writer who wants to hold onto time as her mother declines, knows that soon her mother will be gone, and the only way she can think to hold onto this 'time', these moments with her mother, is to keep a journal of their daily life.
The book is broken into parts, and then sections in a way that makes it a little less narratively connected and complex than some other graphic memoirs I've read. It's vignettish I suppose, without the kind of building, recursive reflection that often weaves through similar stories. And yet, Leavitt invites us into her world in a way that honors her experience, her relationship with her family, and her mothers' illness, and with tenderness and care, explores the complexity of family dynamics when a devastating illness hits.
I also really appreciated that this is a book in which the queer writer and her partner play a big role. It felt really good to read a book about a family in which people are emotionally connected, and queerness is not the tragic focus, but an accepted and appreciated part of life.
The opening scene -- the first section of the first part -- is called Nightmares, and I just finished reading "The Door" by Magda Szabo, which also opens up with a nightmare. And, as it turns out, last night I had a bit of a nightmare myself. Scary, but kind of cool, too. Very moody, a lot of noirish atmospheric pressure. I think it was in a kind of dramatic, night-time black and white in the rain dream (I often dream in color.) And I'm pretty sure part of it had to do with eating fast-food (eek!). And then, the usual anxieties my dreams are filled with. Don't need to go into that here, but often there is a kind of voicelessness in a time when the voice is most needed, and that is also something that happens in the opening of The Door. But not in the opening of Tangles. Sarah is young in this opening scene (and older reflecting back on this moment), living with her parents, and having a nightmare and she screams and waits for her mother to come in. This is her ritual. She calls out, then pretends to be sleeping when her mother comes in so she can hear her mother say, "It's okay honey. It was just a dream."
Only, of course, the illness her mother suffers from is a harsh reality, one she wishes she could wake up out of.
So, this is a graphic memoir in which Sarah's mother, who has always been provident, nurturing, a solid presence in the lives of her sisters (Sarah's aunts) and her husband and daughters (Sarah and her sister), and her students (she is a teacher) becomes more and more unraveled (untangled?) by Alzheimers. She does her best to find some continuous presence in her mother, and to remain compassionate though all of the challenges. One of the hardest things to tangle with emotionally in here, and perhaps intellectually, is the question of what it means to be human. Sarah's mother is able to articulate a feeling of no longer being a person as her illness progresses, and not only is this acutely painful to witness as a reader, but it brings up so many questions about the bonds that tie us together, and tie us to ourselves.
Some sections are one or two pages, some are much longer. They weave through time and offer just enough context to make sense of the present moment, and many of them start with quotes or transcribed conversations, often with some of the absurdity of language and thought that comes from dementia, and what Leavitt calls "poetic mistakes".
So, this book is a mixture of humor and anguish, with some travel through time and from place to place. Sometimes I wanted it to be a bit more intensely reflective, but as it is it is a beautiful book and one that I think will continue to have a lot of meaning for a lot of people. That said, I have a friend who has been going through a lot of hardship watching a family member die of early onset Alzheimers, and I am wondering if I should send it to her or not. It's hard to know.
I recommend this book and look forward to reading more of Leavitt's work!
The book is broken into parts, and then sections in a way that makes it a little less narratively connected and complex than some other graphic memoirs I've read. It's vignettish I suppose, without the kind of building, recursive reflection that often weaves through similar stories. And yet, Leavitt invites us into her world in a way that honors her experience, her relationship with her family, and her mothers' illness, and with tenderness and care, explores the complexity of family dynamics when a devastating illness hits.
I also really appreciated that this is a book in which the queer writer and her partner play a big role. It felt really good to read a book about a family in which people are emotionally connected, and queerness is not the tragic focus, but an accepted and appreciated part of life.
The opening scene -- the first section of the first part -- is called Nightmares, and I just finished reading "The Door" by Magda Szabo, which also opens up with a nightmare. And, as it turns out, last night I had a bit of a nightmare myself. Scary, but kind of cool, too. Very moody, a lot of noirish atmospheric pressure. I think it was in a kind of dramatic, night-time black and white in the rain dream (I often dream in color.) And I'm pretty sure part of it had to do with eating fast-food (eek!). And then, the usual anxieties my dreams are filled with. Don't need to go into that here, but often there is a kind of voicelessness in a time when the voice is most needed, and that is also something that happens in the opening of The Door. But not in the opening of Tangles. Sarah is young in this opening scene (and older reflecting back on this moment), living with her parents, and having a nightmare and she screams and waits for her mother to come in. This is her ritual. She calls out, then pretends to be sleeping when her mother comes in so she can hear her mother say, "It's okay honey. It was just a dream."
Only, of course, the illness her mother suffers from is a harsh reality, one she wishes she could wake up out of.
So, this is a graphic memoir in which Sarah's mother, who has always been provident, nurturing, a solid presence in the lives of her sisters (Sarah's aunts) and her husband and daughters (Sarah and her sister), and her students (she is a teacher) becomes more and more unraveled (untangled?) by Alzheimers. She does her best to find some continuous presence in her mother, and to remain compassionate though all of the challenges. One of the hardest things to tangle with emotionally in here, and perhaps intellectually, is the question of what it means to be human. Sarah's mother is able to articulate a feeling of no longer being a person as her illness progresses, and not only is this acutely painful to witness as a reader, but it brings up so many questions about the bonds that tie us together, and tie us to ourselves.
Some sections are one or two pages, some are much longer. They weave through time and offer just enough context to make sense of the present moment, and many of them start with quotes or transcribed conversations, often with some of the absurdity of language and thought that comes from dementia, and what Leavitt calls "poetic mistakes".
So, this book is a mixture of humor and anguish, with some travel through time and from place to place. Sometimes I wanted it to be a bit more intensely reflective, but as it is it is a beautiful book and one that I think will continue to have a lot of meaning for a lot of people. That said, I have a friend who has been going through a lot of hardship watching a family member die of early onset Alzheimers, and I am wondering if I should send it to her or not. It's hard to know.
I recommend this book and look forward to reading more of Leavitt's work!
December 10, 2010
Sitting down to read the first pages, I'm forcing myself to go more slowly, to absorb the wonderful details and deeply moving story. So far I've found myself re-reading certain pages because I'm just so moved by them, and so fascinated... very excited to add more comments after I'm done savouring this wonderful work.
After finishing the book:
One might assume that a book about a family's journey through Alzheimer's would be one sad story and nothing more. In the case of Tangles, they would be very wrong.
This amazing book made me laugh heartily and cry deeply, yes; it also drew me into the world of the family as though it was a part of my life, also. And I think that is a marker of an excellent author - regardless of whether the story is purely fiction, non-fiction or some combination of the two.
Sarah Leavitt's loving and brave accounts of her times with her mother as the disease of Alzheimer's progressed kept me captivated.
My first graphic novel (and the author's!) made me want to savour the book in short, delectable morsels, like a delicious new food that I wished to savour and appreciate, though I found it hard to not sit and gobble the entire book one rainy Sunday afternoon. The details in Sarah's drawings told as much and more than the words, at times. Seemingly simple drawings convey so much rich detail I found myself re-reading panels to examine each thorougly. I could feel the love pouring off the pages, even when other emotions were so clearly being conveyed.
Although Alzheimer's has not touched my family personally, there was so much I could still relate to, as a daughter, a mother and a sister.
I highly recommend this book to everyone.
After finishing the book:
One might assume that a book about a family's journey through Alzheimer's would be one sad story and nothing more. In the case of Tangles, they would be very wrong.
This amazing book made me laugh heartily and cry deeply, yes; it also drew me into the world of the family as though it was a part of my life, also. And I think that is a marker of an excellent author - regardless of whether the story is purely fiction, non-fiction or some combination of the two.
Sarah Leavitt's loving and brave accounts of her times with her mother as the disease of Alzheimer's progressed kept me captivated.
My first graphic novel (and the author's!) made me want to savour the book in short, delectable morsels, like a delicious new food that I wished to savour and appreciate, though I found it hard to not sit and gobble the entire book one rainy Sunday afternoon. The details in Sarah's drawings told as much and more than the words, at times. Seemingly simple drawings convey so much rich detail I found myself re-reading panels to examine each thorougly. I could feel the love pouring off the pages, even when other emotions were so clearly being conveyed.
Although Alzheimer's has not touched my family personally, there was so much I could still relate to, as a daughter, a mother and a sister.
I highly recommend this book to everyone.
November 24, 2024
I think this is most helpful for someone who has no personal experience with Alzheimer's/Dementia, but who also might be a caregiver in the future.
As a current caregiver for a parent with Alzheimer's, it was emotionally devastating to read. Very tough.
As a current caregiver for a parent with Alzheimer's, it was emotionally devastating to read. Very tough.
March 2, 2019
Pure emotion in book form. You see the love, the good, bad, and ugly in everyone. It is very real and touching.
June 6, 2013
The last graphic memoirs I read were Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home and Are You My Mother?, making my expectations for this work unusually high.
For one, I was disappointed upon opening the book to see that the art is simplistic at best. Yet, I was pleasantly surprised that despite their lack of depth, they still contributed to the meaning and sentiment of the book a great deal.
In this story daughter Sarah recounts her mother’s slow ascent into Alzheimer’s disease. I picked up this book because I wanted something different, but I also was drawn to hearing about the real Alzheimer’s experience as my grandmother was recently diagnosed and has started exhibiting symptoms.
Levitt’s story was sweet and loving, yet surprisingly raw. She divulges all the ugly sides of Alzheimer’s such as her mother’s anger, her own resentments, and the day-to-day care giving that can drain the sufferer’s and the caregiver’s dignity.
Whereas these instances can make the reader uncomfortable, it cannot be argued that Alzheimer’s and Dementia are subjects that are in dire need of such blunt honestly. Alzheimer’s makes us uncomfortable. A loss of memory and mental acuity feels tantamount to the loss of a person’s soul and identity. Account’s such as Levitt’s can help families recently diagnosed with the disease as they prepare to cope.
For one, I was disappointed upon opening the book to see that the art is simplistic at best. Yet, I was pleasantly surprised that despite their lack of depth, they still contributed to the meaning and sentiment of the book a great deal.
In this story daughter Sarah recounts her mother’s slow ascent into Alzheimer’s disease. I picked up this book because I wanted something different, but I also was drawn to hearing about the real Alzheimer’s experience as my grandmother was recently diagnosed and has started exhibiting symptoms.
Levitt’s story was sweet and loving, yet surprisingly raw. She divulges all the ugly sides of Alzheimer’s such as her mother’s anger, her own resentments, and the day-to-day care giving that can drain the sufferer’s and the caregiver’s dignity.
Whereas these instances can make the reader uncomfortable, it cannot be argued that Alzheimer’s and Dementia are subjects that are in dire need of such blunt honestly. Alzheimer’s makes us uncomfortable. A loss of memory and mental acuity feels tantamount to the loss of a person’s soul and identity. Account’s such as Levitt’s can help families recently diagnosed with the disease as they prepare to cope.
July 21, 2012
Ever since reading Still Alice, I've been fascinated by early onset Alzheimer's, and I really liked this graphic novel. The art is not why you would read this book - very simple black and white sketches, but the honesty and pain shines through. This memoir is told in short story/vignettes form, and sheds light on the effects of this disease on the patient and their family. Well worth the read.
November 3, 2021
Aw, wow. What a beautiful piece of work.
Sarah Leavitt's mother is diagnosed with Alzheimer's and Sarah tries to keep track and take note of the process. She begins a bit late, perhaps, for the reader, who wished she could have known Midge a little more before the Alzheimer's began. Nevertheless, I found myself shocked several times by what Leavitt had managed to communicate, depth of feeling-wise, with tools you maybe wouldn't assume could get such a job done: these scratchy little hard awful drawings; these extraordinarily mundane vulnerabilities, humiliations; a woman I never knew at all.
She manages it, though. This is a very true story, it's almost a graphic pathography? It's incredible.
Sarah Leavitt's mother is diagnosed with Alzheimer's and Sarah tries to keep track and take note of the process. She begins a bit late, perhaps, for the reader, who wished she could have known Midge a little more before the Alzheimer's began. Nevertheless, I found myself shocked several times by what Leavitt had managed to communicate, depth of feeling-wise, with tools you maybe wouldn't assume could get such a job done: these scratchy little hard awful drawings; these extraordinarily mundane vulnerabilities, humiliations; a woman I never knew at all.
She manages it, though. This is a very true story, it's almost a graphic pathography? It's incredible.
July 1, 2020
A loving, touching story of a family that bonded as one, that grew & expanded and that came together to care for a special member in a time of need.
This family loved this lady for all she was, for the wonder that was her.
Thank you for telling this story of watching a loss and learning to stand strong & cope & always to love.
This family loved this lady for all she was, for the wonder that was her.
Thank you for telling this story of watching a loss and learning to stand strong & cope & always to love.
September 24, 2019
This really hit home for me. With a bare drawing style, Leavitt really paints a beautiful picture of the journey through this disease. Some stages I recognized. Others I have packed away for the time I will experience it. I have already been treasuring the time I have with my mom, and I am relieved that we have already been freed of the caregiving aspects, but I know emotional journey all too well already. I cry for what is ahead. Hopefully not for a while.
April 28, 2021
Review pending — moved to tears by this one
ETA review:
I’m sorry that I’m like this but I’m hitting y’all with another sad book review. I haven’t lived this experience and pray I never do, but as someone who loves their mom dearly and can’t imagine life without her alive and well, this book struck me deeply.
Tangles is a graphic memoir written from the author’s perspective as she navigates her mother Midge’s early-onset (age 52) Alzheimer’s Disease. For Midge, things started small, as they often do. Irritability, forgetfulness, and mood swings with emotions of uncertain origin. For a while, it was just weird and small, but over a couple years, Midge’s mental state deteriorated and was finally given a diagnosis. Her entire family devoted the following six years to adapting to Midge’s disease and to assume the role she always thought she would reign over as the caretaker of the family. Tangles is the result of years of journaling, drawing, sketching, and revisiting often-painful memories, and is given to us in three parts; Leavitt introduces us to Midge as the powerful, intelligent, and sensitive matriarch of the family, which only makes it harder to not be upset as Part 2 unfolds, and we observe the decline of all of those traits that made Midge who she was. Finally, part 3 faces the inevitable final stages of Midge’s life. All of it in profound honesty and only sometimes sprinkled with a happy memory or an endearing moment. At one point or another, everyone in the family is shown both at their best and at their worst. Not only does this book highlight the devastation of terminal illness and the complexity of navigating it as a family unit, but it also has a specifically queer and Jewish-American perspective as Sarah shares her unique experience under these identities.
For me, the part where Midge and her husband are outside of the doctor's after the diagnosis and he turns to her and says, "it's not how we planned things, is it, Midge?" - just had me crying for wayyyyyyy too long. Like most of my sad reads, I can’t exactly just recommend this to anyone, but I do give it a 8/10 and consider it a worthy one.
ETA review:
I’m sorry that I’m like this but I’m hitting y’all with another sad book review. I haven’t lived this experience and pray I never do, but as someone who loves their mom dearly and can’t imagine life without her alive and well, this book struck me deeply.
Tangles is a graphic memoir written from the author’s perspective as she navigates her mother Midge’s early-onset (age 52) Alzheimer’s Disease. For Midge, things started small, as they often do. Irritability, forgetfulness, and mood swings with emotions of uncertain origin. For a while, it was just weird and small, but over a couple years, Midge’s mental state deteriorated and was finally given a diagnosis. Her entire family devoted the following six years to adapting to Midge’s disease and to assume the role she always thought she would reign over as the caretaker of the family. Tangles is the result of years of journaling, drawing, sketching, and revisiting often-painful memories, and is given to us in three parts; Leavitt introduces us to Midge as the powerful, intelligent, and sensitive matriarch of the family, which only makes it harder to not be upset as Part 2 unfolds, and we observe the decline of all of those traits that made Midge who she was. Finally, part 3 faces the inevitable final stages of Midge’s life. All of it in profound honesty and only sometimes sprinkled with a happy memory or an endearing moment. At one point or another, everyone in the family is shown both at their best and at their worst. Not only does this book highlight the devastation of terminal illness and the complexity of navigating it as a family unit, but it also has a specifically queer and Jewish-American perspective as Sarah shares her unique experience under these identities.
For me, the part where Midge and her husband are outside of the doctor's after the diagnosis and he turns to her and says, "it's not how we planned things, is it, Midge?" - just had me crying for wayyyyyyy too long. Like most of my sad reads, I can’t exactly just recommend this to anyone, but I do give it a 8/10 and consider it a worthy one.
October 26, 2013
This is one of those graphic novels that transcends its art. At first glance, the art looks unimpressive, to say the least. But Leavitt quickly sucks you into the story. She focuses on her mother's struggle with Alzheimer's, yes, but we also get to peek in on Leavitt's own personal journey, relationships with her sisters, romantic life, and vacations.
I ate it up in less than a day (granted, I was on a reading vacation), and quickly warmed to the amateurish art. In some ways, the very basic figures and hard-lined panels become signposts that this comes from a more truly personal storytelling place. It feels like a journal - like we're getting an inside view of Leavitt's soul.
Extra points for including vacations (yeah, graphic novel travelogues!) and parents who accept your queer identity without batting an eye.
I ate it up in less than a day (granted, I was on a reading vacation), and quickly warmed to the amateurish art. In some ways, the very basic figures and hard-lined panels become signposts that this comes from a more truly personal storytelling place. It feels like a journal - like we're getting an inside view of Leavitt's soul.
Extra points for including vacations (yeah, graphic novel travelogues!) and parents who accept your queer identity without batting an eye.
November 18, 2018
A memoir of Alzheimer's impacting a brilliant, relatively young woman, Midge, from the point of view of her daughter, Sarah Leavitt. We learn how Midge was witty, alive, full of energy and vibrant liberal, and little by little the disease took everything from her, until the day she was barely recognizable and eventually dead.
Despite the strong topic, the book didn't make me feel much, maybe because I didn't like the author; sometimes I felt she was more interested in her story than in her mom (I know this is probably inaccurate, but she came across that way). The art is very simple and fails to transmit emotions.
Despite the strong topic, the book didn't make me feel much, maybe because I didn't like the author; sometimes I felt she was more interested in her story than in her mom (I know this is probably inaccurate, but she came across that way). The art is very simple and fails to transmit emotions.
April 1, 2015
Absolutely heartbreaking, this book surprised me in the best of ways. I didn't expect to cry so much while reading a "graphic memoir," nor did I expect to laugh so much while reading about Alzheimer's. This is a beautiful representation of Leavitt's life and family, and it's made me think about my relationships with my mother and grandmother in new ways. I really feel like this should be a must-read.
December 7, 2014
A marvelous graphic novel about the journey through alzheimer's that the author makes with her mother. Sparsely told and illustrated. Powerful.
February 13, 2019
I can't imagine how this could be better - and by "better" I mean more devastating, sincere, and soul-baring. I loved Leavitt's seemingly simple, but lovingly rendered and evocative, illustrations. The expressions and particularly the clasped hands of Leavitt's mother were haunting and crushing - what an emblem for her Alzheimer's. I couldn't believe how short the book was, but how Leavitt was able to present so much detail of everything from the mundane aspects of care to the grand attempts to reconcile someone's whole life, memory, and impact. I was also so surprised to find myself crying at the end of the book - Leavitt's mother had been slowly leaving for so long, but her actual exit was still so sad and final. Maybe it was cathartic too.
May 15, 2019
Wow! Thanks Sarah Leavitt for your willingness to share your relationships with your family members as you work together to take care of your Mother as she has Alzheimer's disease. I laughed and cried as you navigated through the loss of your mother due to the disease and later with death. It was eye-opening to read about your experiences. I hope you found creating this memoir to be healing and cathartic. You were a kind and loving daughter. I recommend Tangles if you haven't read it yet.
July 26, 2017
I'd like to think I won't ever have to go acknowledge Alzheimer's in my lifetime, but it truly helps to read about the lives of those affected by this horrible disease. Thank you Sarah for sharing your life with us. It does make a difference.
May 17, 2018
An almost unbearably sad graphic memoir about the artist's mother's early onset Alzheimer's. Very compassionate and honest.
September 17, 2018
Powerful and heartbreaking.
January 14, 2021
This book was so sad, it made me cry...
November 23, 2025
Sweet and sad, tender and traumatic, this has it all.
November 25, 2025
Fully devastating i cried so much
November 26, 2025
Um I cried hysterically through the entire second half. Read with caution
August 16, 2019
This book was difficult for me, as I've had three grandparents who suffered from Alzheimer's. It was beautifully-written (and illustrated) and heart-wrenching.
September 30, 2024
this made me cry in public.
February 13, 2022
Paramparça eden bir hikaye. Dağıldım.
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