And Every Morning The Way Home Gets Longer And Longer

Pages 54-66 are a transitional section, in which the narrative shifts from metaphorical exploration toward compression and urgency. While the square and imagined space remain active, the text increasingly emphasizes repetition, fear, and attempts at emotional regulation as Grandpa’s cognitive decline accelerates. Rather than introducing new symbolic frameworks, this section revisits established motifs with heightened frequency and intensity, reflecting the looping patterns of Grandpa’s memory and the growing emotional strain placed on those around him.

Repetition is the defining literary device in this section. Grandpa’s habitual gestures—his hands moving anxiously in his pockets, his fingers pressing against his temples as if trying to “shake loose a piece of the past” (56)—recur throughout the narrative. These repeated physical actions substitute for language when words fail, suggesting that Grandpa’s body remembers patterns as his mind struggles to retrieve their meaning. On a structural level, repetition slows the narrative rhythm, creating a sense of stalling and circling rather than progression. This looping effect places the reader inside Grandpa’s experience, where attempts to remember often return to the same starting point without resolution. In this way, repetition becomes both symptom and form, reinforcing the theme of Memory Loss as the Erasure of Identity without restating it explicitly.

Fear also intensifies as a recurring motif in this section, though it is rarely named directly. Instead, fear surfaces through behaviors like humor and reassurance. Grandpa repeatedly seeks to ease Noah’s anxiety—and, indirectly, Ted’s—by reframing frightening situations in playful or absurd terms. Noah’s assertion that forgetting allows Grandpa the chance to “get to know [him] again” exemplifies this reframing (61). Rather than denying fear, the narrative shows characters learning to accommodate it, redirecting it into their connection with one another. As Grandpa’s memory continues to decline, fear is not an obstacle to be overcome but an emotional constant that must be managed and shared.

Humor is one of the primary tools for this management. The description of the chaotic string lights outside the boat—hung in a tangled mess so Noah would laugh rather than be afraid—introduces levity without trivializing the surrounding grief (65). The imagery used to describe the lights emphasizes Grandpa’s intentional prioritization of emotional comfort over order or aesthetics. Humor disrupts the accumulation of sorrow, offering a momentary release that allows both characters and readers to continue forward as the situation worsens. This dynamic is reinforced when “Grandpa laughs and the square shakes” (61), a line that attributes physical power to laughter itself while emphasizing the space’s instability. These moments align with the theme of The Emotional Labor of Letting Go, illustrating that laughter does not negate loss but makes its presence bearable.

Noah’s role becomes increasingly significant, particularly as a mediator between Grandpa and Ted. Grandma’s observation that “the universe gave you both Noah” positions him as a bridge rather than a passive observer in their relationship (66). Noah absorbs emotional tension without fully understanding its source, offering connection where confrontation might otherwise occur. His presence allows Grandpa and Ted to remain linked despite unresolved resentment. This mediation exemplifies Love as an Anchor Against Cognitive Decline, not by idealizing Noah’s innocence but by emphasizing his emotional awareness. Noah does not solve the conflict between Grandpa and Ted; he sustains it without allowing it to erupt into anger or stagnate into silence.

Underlying this relationship dynamic is an ideological tension between religious belief and disbelief. Grandpa’s atheism contrasts with Noah’s openness to faith and Grandma’s pragmatic framing of belief as a comfort rather than a ritual or doctrine. The text treats this difference with restraint, allowing multiple forms of meaning-making to coexist without privileging one over the other. This reinforces the novella’s broader refusal to provide definitive answers to existential questions.

Pages 54-66 function as rising action within the novella, leading to the moment when the medical reality of Grandpa’s condition overshadows the narrative’s use of imagery and imagined space. Rather than expanding the metaphorical world, here, Backman intensifies established images, allowing readers to feel the strain of maintaining coherence as Grandpa’s memory slips further away. In doing so, the section bridges the emotionally rich interior world of earlier sections with the unavoidable reality that awaits in the pages ahead.