"In the morning, she had forgotten."

I’m currently re-reading Dan Simmon's superb 1989 novel, Hyperion.  Simmons is a talented and versatile author whose work includes high concept SF like the Hyperion series and Ilium/Olympos cycle, horror novels like Carrion Comfort and The Children of the Night, and historical/speculative works like Drood.

Hyperion takes its structure from The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer, where each of the six major characters tells their tale to their fellow pilgrims. In this case, the pilgrims are making their way to the enigmatic Time Tombs on the distant planet Hyperion, where they hope to find the metallic Shrike, an anthropomorphic killing machine that will grant one of them a wish, and slay the rest. 

One of the pilgrims plans to ask that his daughter be healed - while doing archeological research in the Time Tombs, she has been afflicted with a terrible punishment, growing younger and younger each day, now with only a few days remaining until her life ends, ironically, by reaching its beginning.

I’m struck by the poignancy which Simmons gives to the situation through his description of the widowed father's reactions to the plight of his daughter as she grows younger and younger, losing her intellect and her memories one day at a time, bewildered and lost, up until the point where she says her last word: "Mamma".

For people like myself who have no children, it would be difficult to imagine how such a situation would feel, but Simmons creates a believable and tragic window into the gradual loss of a daughter.  It is made even more affecting by the father's inability to share his anguish with his daughter - because, if he does, she will simply forget.

- Sid

P.S. In passing, there is a marvelous wistful moment of whimsy at the end of Hyperion. It was such a perfect non-conclusion to the story that I was almost sorry that there was a sequel.