Published by Random House on September 8, 2026
Switzy is the darkly humorous story of a man who copes with dementia by opting to end his life. Neither dementia nor suicide are funny, but dark humor offers a window into subjects that are difficult to address in fiction. The story is inherently sad but telling a sad story risks encroachment on maudlin territory. Lightening the story with guilty laughter allows the reader to sympathize with the protagonist without making a painful emotional investment in him.
David Hastings is seventy-something. He describes himself as addled. “That was the sort of old-fashioned euphemism. For the stutter in David’s mind. This shuffle of other disappeared things — images, facts, names, stretches of time significant and minor.” He holds onto phrases like “the quick brown fox” as proof to himself that his memory is not entirely gone. But he knows that his condition is worsening and that dementia will eventually rob him of everything — his memories, and with them, his identity.
David resolves to take control of his destiny. He discovers that a painless suicide is not an easy goal to achieve but finds a clinic in Switzerland that will facilitate his desire to die with dignity. Describing the content of letters that he wrote to various people, to be mailed after his death: “It was entirely my own decision, blah blah, signed off by these doctors blah.”
Hastings made some money during his life, for the last few decades as a company CFO. He lost that position after an audit revealed “the budget is off by nearly eight figures,” a discrepancy he was unable to explain. His job has always been to massage numbers, making them bigger or smaller to meet his employer’s needs, but he no longer understands account entries he doesn’t remember making.
David’s friend Stearns gave him another, less demanding position and let things slide until David noticed that people “were mad at him and he didn’t know why. He had missed a certain meeting — important. An important meeting! People avoided his eyes.” David coasted on his reputation for as long as possible, but even Stearns realizes he’s no longer capable of working.
“David had worked so frantically. Needless, his frantic work. And yet — they were all like him. Stearns and the others. Why did any of them fill their lives in this way? He had not needed to work as much, not nearly as much, and not with a feeling of such terror.” Through David, Emma Cline reminds us how sad it is that only on the last leg of our journey do we understand how misguided our priorities have been.
In one telling passage, Cline writes: “Everyone he knew had some sense of the unsatisfactory shape that their life had taken, bad decisions, a crucial opportunity that had been discarded. But choices that seemed, in retrospect, to be significant — they rarely were.”
Cline’s warning — that we should not wait for death to approach before we understand what in life is truly important — has value, but many books have made that same point. Fortunately, the novel works on other levels, as well. David has been tormented for years about his sexual desire for his oarding school friend Tom. They had an encounter, but David stood silently by while other students pulled a horrifying prank on Tom. David wants to speak to Tom about his desire and guilt, but Tom, now married with children, has little desire to revisit the past — even if David were capable of coherent conversation.
One recipient of David’s last letters will be his daughter Rebecca. He has concealed his dementia from her — she thinks he retired but has a consulting gig in Zurich — and continues to do so, substituting meaningless phrases for meaningful discussion, when he meets her for dinner in London before leaving for Switzerland. That we can drift so far from people we should love is another tragedy that Cline uses David's ordinary life to illustrate.
The story also has mysterious moments. David has two caregivers, but the one who is with him during his trips to London and Switzerland is Cody. David can’t always remember Cody’s name but refers to him as “the boy.” David is concerned that Cody is stealing from him (he has that concern about nearly everyone) but feels powerless to do anything to stop it. From time to time, the novel hints that Cody’s relationship to David is something more than a hired servant, even if David can't remember what it might be.
Cline’s writing style mimics David’s disintegrating mind. Phrases trail off, leaving thoughts unfinished. White space between thoughts represent the gaps in David’s train of thought. The text meanders, connecting disparate moments and distracted thoughts in ways that are meaningful only to David’s wandering mind. The text is remarkably effective in placing the reader inside David’s head.
The novel’s ambiguities, including Cody’s actual role in David’s life, might frustrate readers, but the ambiguity helps the reader understand what it is like to be David — a person who has lost confidence, who no longer understands what is expected of him. In the novel’s funniest scene, David is baffled by a naked woman who wants to seduce him. He simply has no idea how to respond.
The story is moving, while the dark humor keeps it from becoming oppressive. I suspect that many readers — like me — fear dementia more than we fear death. I applauded David’s resolve even as I was horrified by the assisted but uncoerced steps he took to end his life. I suspect that Switzy left an impression that will haunt me forever.
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