“The first thing you learn about the mind is how delicate it is, how easily it can come apart. When we are well, the world feels solid, there are a thousand different certainties we can call upon to conjure up the self: that our memories are reliable. That our senses do not lie to us, that the world means us no harm, that we are loved, and capable of loving, that other minds share our world , that our words have meaning to them, that we can touch each other. That we exist. But the whole thing is a trick of balance and perspective, and knowing when to look away. The most surprising thing can trigger a crisis”

Lullaby is the eleventh novel by award-winning New Zealand author and playwright, Bernard Beckett. As his twin brother lies comatose following a freak accident, eighteen-year-old Rene is aware that the six-hour window of opportunity to save Theo is quickly dwindling. And two things need to happen if Theo is to be saved: Rene needs to decide if he will consent to the controversial procedure being proposed; and he needs to be found competent to make that decision. As the hospital’s psychologist makes her assessment of Rene’s competence, the series of events that led to this unusual situation are gradually revealed. And the pressure on Rene to decide does not come only from the medical team.

Beckett presents the reader with an interesting philosophical dilemma which becomes more complicated with each new twist of the plot. This original novel explores the nature of memory and examines what makes us who we are. Beckett’s personal experience with twins is apparent: “Every way you can find of praising a person is also a way of insulting anyone else who’s listening. Twins understand that”, and he gives his characters some perceptive observations: “I don’t understand that, the way awkward moments never lose their cutting edge. With something big, like your parents dying, the pain dulls with time. Somehow the simple act of living absorbs it”

Beckett’s prose is often beautiful: “It wasn’t what we said…it wasn’t the words we chose, but the shape they fell into, the rut of a thousand conversations past. A poem of anxiety, accusation and denial, and the last line always there but never uttered” and “Anger’s a tight-fitting, ugly little place to make your home. It infects everything, even travels backwards through time” and “Questions queued, jostled, foundered. Fragments of understanding jigsawed together, then dissolved” are examples. This book is promoted as Young Adult, but many older adults will enjoy it too. Clever and thought-provoking.