The frame story of The Notebook is set a nursing home, where the older versions of Noah and Allie are living out their final days together in the midst of great suffering. Allie has been struggling with Alzheimer’s for four years and, on most days, has no idea who she is or who Noah is to her. Noah, meanwhile, lives in constant pain due to rheumatoid arthritis and several battles with cancer. As both characters confront their imminent mortality, Nicholas Sparks demonstrates how vital memory is in the final stages of life, or in any stage of life accompanied by great suffering. As he shows Allie struggling to hold onto her memory—and Noah’s efforts to cling to the past and their stories for the both of them—Sparks argues that memory is a shield and a balm in the face of pain and mortality.
Noah and Allie are, in the frame story and present timeline of The Notebook, an elderly couple confined to a nursing home. Allie and Noah have shared “a lifetime of memories”—yet Allie, deep in the throes of Alzheimer’s disease, cannot remember who Noah is or what he means to her. By shifting from the 1946 narrative in Noah’s titular notebook to the present day in the novel’s final section, Sparks shows how past memories help the elderly Noah and Allie shield themselves from pain, fear, and uncertainty as they approach death. “We are in the final minutes in the day of our lives,” the older Noah says of his and Allie’s current circumstances, “and the clock is ticking. Loudly.” The “clock” of mortality is constant and deafening in Noah’s ears. The only thing that comforts him are the memories of the love he and Allie shared, the art and writing they created, and the children they raised together. He is devastated, however, by the fact that Allie cannot share in these memories with him due to her Alzheimer’s. Though Noah can help shield himself from the fear of mortality by retreating into memories of happier times, the woman he loves cannot. This creates within Noah the need to help Allie access her memories, even in the face of her debilitating disease—he knows that the only way to help her feel less alone and less afraid is to trigger within her the knowledge that she has lived a full, beautiful life and created a legacy to be proud of.
By exploring the unique challenges Allie faces in her old age as she struggles with Alzheimer’s, Sparks hammers home the ways in which memories can help one face down mortality—and how the absence of comforting memories can exacerbate one’s fears toward the end of life. On most days, Allie has no idea who Noah is—or who she herself is. Noah reads to her from the notebook containing the story of their lives nearly every day, hoping for one of the rare moments when Allie’s memories are triggered and she remembers who they are to one another. Noah does this for himself because he misses Allie terribly—but it soon becomes clear that he also takes on the burden of recalling their story of their lives for both of them. “Help me remember who I am,” Allie begs Noah one afternoon when he finishes reading to her. “Or at least, who I was. I feel so lost.” Allie’s plea indicates how lost she feels without her memories. Even in her disoriented state, she knows that something is missing. Noah is the only one who can restore to her the memories of happier times—memories which will help ease her pain, confusion, and sense of loss. There are rare days when Noah, after reading the notebook to Allie, finds himself rewarded when Allie breaks through the haze of her dementia and suddenly remembers who Noah is and all they’ve shared together. In these moments, Noah feels “young again,” no longer “deformed” or in pain—he is “the luckiest man alive” for the short time Allie is able to remember him. This shows that Noah’s uncertain project of stirring up Allie’s memories benefits them both. When they are able to rejoice in the memories of their lives together, they both feel comforted—and, for just a little while, they are able to feel insulated from the ravages of time and disease and the steady creep of mortality.
Toward the end of life, when memories are all one has, recollections of days gone are a shield against the encroachment of death and the constant reminders of life’s fleeting nature. Noah and Allie find relief in remembering the life they built together and the legacies they will leave behind. Even as their bodies and minds deteriorate, their fight to remember their shared past together gives them purpose and hope.
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Memory, Pain, and Mortality Quotes in The Notebook
I am nothing special; of this I am sure. I am a common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I've loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough.
But he had been in love once, that he knew. Once and only once, and a long time ago. And it had changed him forever. Perfect love did that to a person, and this had been perfect.
"So that's the ghost you been running from." When asked what he meant, Gus said, "You know, the ghost, the memory. I been watchin' you, workin' day and night, slavin' so hard you barely have time to catch your breath. People do that for three reasons. Either they crazy, or stupid, or tryin' to forget. And with you, I knew you was tryin' to forget. I just didn't know what. […] This girl you been tellin' me about was your first love. And no matter what you do, she'll stay with you forever."
"It's unbelievable, Noah. How long did the restoration take?"
He looked up from the last bag he was unpacking. "Almost a year."
"Did you do it yourself?"
[…] "I started that way. But it was just too much. It would have taken years, and so I ended up hiring some people . . . actually a lot of people. But even with them, it was still a lot of work, and most of the time I didn't stop until past midnight."
"Why'd you work so hard?"
Ghosts, he wanted to say, but didn't.
"I don't know. Just wanted to finish, I guess.”
The reason it hurts so much to separate is because our souls are connected. Maybe they always have been and will be. Maybe we've lived a thousand lives before this one and in each of them we've found each other. And maybe each time, we've been forced apart for the same reasons. That means that this goodbye is both a goodbye for the past ten thousand years and a prelude to what will come.
"I've heard it before, haven't I?"
"Yes," I say again, just as I do every time on days like these. I have learned to be patient.
She studies my face. Her eyes are as green as ocean waves.
"It makes me feel less afraid," she says.
"I know." I nod, rocking my head softly.
We are in the final minutes in the day of our lives, and the clock is ticking. Loudly. I wonder if I am the only one who can hear it.
There is beauty where we sit this afternoon, Allie and I. This is the pinnacle of my life.
This is why Allie is considered a miracle, because sometimes, just sometimes, after I read to her, her condition isn't so bad. There is no explanation for this.
I open a drawer and find the flowers I'd once given her long ago, old and faded and tied together with ribbon. They, like me, are dry and brittle and difficult to handle without breaking. But she saved them. "I don't understand what you want with them," I would say, but she would just ignore me. And sometimes in the evenings I would see her holding them, almost reverently, as if they offered the secret of life itself.
