There is no need for this review to talk about the contribution Mark Raphael Baker made to Melbourne with his continual quest for understanding the role of faith and Judaism, here in Australia and across the world. He was simply an erudite communicator, known for his reflective and contagious pursuit of questions and deliberations. This memoir continues those most universal of themes, and yet, remains unique to his own telling. This is his story.

He died, quickly, of pancreatic cancer.

Of course, it is brutal reading at times. There are descriptions of emotional anguish and physical pain. However, all of this is offset by a story of a newfound love, by his family and the birth of another daughter. Despite the title, Baker’s story includes an exciting courtship and a new, committed relationship. He does write about the grief of his past – in the preceding seven years, Baker’s first wife, his brother and his father all died – but he also talks about stretching and reading, about losing glasses and moving house. He admits to moments of foolishness and of a deep, centred joy created by his family.

Readers will turn to this book for answers about their own existence. Perhaps they might consider it a guide, or a sneak peek into the other side of living. Certainly, it carries all those elements. Those who admire his work will want to read his final words. But, putting aside all the intellect and philosophical references of this memoir and those very spaces Baker constantly walked, this book, in the end, is simply an account of a man embracing every conceivable possibility with grace. I read it because I knew it would remind me of horizons and the importance of owning our pain, our past and our follies. It does that beautifully and optimistically.