This is one deeply weird book, about two deeply weird people -- the author (it's a memoir) and his late wife, both accomplished Harvard oncologists - which, if nothing else, shows that highly successful people can be just as fucked up as unsuccessful people.
The writing is very good (the only reason it gets any stars at all), which is how I came to read this - I randomly picked it up to browse at the library and quickly got hooked - but the story is twisted, and in my opinion shouldn't have been published at all. The wife is portrayed as "intensely private," but this is privacy to the point of serious mental illness; to the point of not seeking medical care for breast cancer so that no one will know - including her husband, the author! - even after the tumor has grown to the degree that it has greatly disfigured her body externally. The author's descriptions of this are not easy reading.
I do sympathize with the consequences of the cancer victim's mental illness on her husband, and can perhaps understand why writing his story would help him process his role in these events. But I cannot understand any desire to PUBLISH it, to share the story of his wife's mental - and physical - illness with the wider world. This is such a unique story that there are no real lessons to be learned for any reader; there is no greater good served by revealing the deeply private wife's innermost secrets, secrets she desperately tried to hide from the world.
The revealing of secrets continues to the very end of the book, when he writes about finding his wife's journal from before they were married, which reveals that as a single woman she slept with a lot of men in a short period of time. WHY? Why does anyone need to know this? Why in the name of God would the author, who claims and really does seem to have loved and respected his late wife, reveal this to ME, or any other reader? WHY? In a short epilogue, the author writes about finding new love, a decade or so after the loss of his wife -- and in so doing, writes that his new wife was married - unhappily, but still, married - when she began to pursue him.
I just don't get it. It is as if the author felt that the only way to process the destructive keeping of secrets was to reveal each and every single secret. But I don't think that's the way mental health works. And I don't think you should read this book. I wish I hadn't.