Review: Delirious, by Damien Wilkins

Delirious is the 14th novel from Damien Wilkins, Director of the International Institute of Modern Letters at Te Herenga Waka/Victoria University. The novel follows married couple Mary and Pete as they sell up and move into a retirement village. They are nervous, excited, uncertain (“they were not old old”), and somewhat resigned.

Ageing is a central concern of the novel, explored through the present as well as the past. For Mary and Pete, the past is defined by the death of their only child, Will, at just 11 years old, at a camp he didn’t want to go to. Two years later, Mary’s sister Claire also died.

Mary worked as a police officer until a year after Will’s death, although what brought about the end of her policing career is not revealed until the end of the book. What we do know is how much she defined herself by the job, how much she thinks about it, her bravery in the face of crime and the pervasive sexism, and her determination to join the force in spite of her family’s preconceptions of her.

Mary and Pete prepare their house for sale, packing up and throwing out. But when Mary receives a call from an ex-colleague concerning the circumstances around Will’s death, the pain of the past is brought back into sharp focus.

The characters in Delirious are whole and as contradictory as we all are. Beneath the clean, straightforward writing is a raw honesty. Wilkins does not shy away from the characters’ innermost thoughts, and through the close points of view of both Mary and Pete, he reveals those thoughts we do not speak aloud. Our pettiness, our cruelty. The thoughts we are ashamed of, or not brave enough to share.

​​“Go, he said. Go. What a great idea. She could tell he was hurt.” Early in the novel, Pete says he values the privacy in their marriage. “Not everything shared, open. This, he felt, was a sort of freedom. You let the other person be themself.” And yet, he can’t stop wondering why he saw Mary standing outside last night, worrying that she is withholding something from him.

Even in Claire and Mary’s close sisterly relationship, there were details Mary never told Claire about her work, keeping them secret as a matter of pride and mystery. The rift between who we are and what we present to the world is also reflected in Mary and Pete’s regret about sending Will to camp. He didn’t want to go, he feared he wouldn’t fit in. They pressed him to go, wanting him, perhaps, to be a more “normal kid”.

The book spends much of its time in the past — the older we get, the more history we have. Pete reminisces about his mother’s descent into dementia. In her delirium, she was caught up in conspiracies and outlandish imaginings. But while her mind lost its grip on reality, she also became, in other ways, more herself. “Having never been much of a talker, she was now unstoppable a performer. Free of her husband’s social dominance, she blossomed.” Pete sees who his mother was beneath her silence. Wilkins explores the hidden depths: what we choose to show, what we choose to hide.

Throughout the book, Pete and Mary’s fear of ageing simmers. They fear sinking into delirium like Pete’s mother. They look at the others in the retirement village, those with limited mobility, those whose lives are restricted to the walls of the home. But they are also keenly aware of the alternative. Will died at 11 years old. Claire, when her own son was just 17. And this is, perhaps, the heart of Delirious. The contrast of growing old and never growing old. The heartache in each.

Ageing may not be seen as the most glamorous topic, but this smart and sensitive novel proves it to be rewarding, if rare, territory. Delirious teaches us that there is always more to learn from the past — personal, pre-colonial — and that ageing is a perilous, precious privilege. Reviewed by Clare Travaglia