Lorsque son père meurt, Kay Wilkinson ne peut pas pleurer. Pendant dix ans, la maladie d'Alzheimer a progressivement érodé cet homme érudit. La mort de son propre père ne devrait-elle pas être un tel soulagement ? Tous deux professionnels de la santé en bonne santé et pleins de vitalité, Kay et son mari Cyril ont vu trop de leurs patients âgés du NHS dans des états de délabrement similaires. Déterminé à mourir dignement, Cyril leur fait une proposition modeste : ils devraient se mettre d'accord pour se suicider ensemble une fois qu'ils auront tous deux atteint 80 ans. Lorsque l'accord est scellé en 1991, les époux envisagent allègrement de passer trois autres décennies ensemble. Mais ensuite, ils atteignent quatre-vingts ans.

When her father dies, Kay Wilkinson can’t cry. Over ten years, Alzheimer’s had steadily eroded this erudite man. Surely one’s own father passing should never come as such a relief? Both healthy and vital medical professionals in their early fifties, Kay and her husband Cyril have seen too many of their elderly NHS patients in similar states of decay. Determined to die with dignity, Cyril makes a modest proposal: they should agree to commit suicide together once they’ve both turned eighty. When their deal is sealed in 1991, the spouses are blithely looking forward to another three decades together. But then they turn eighty. By turns hilarious and touching, playful and grave, Should We Stay or Should We Go portrays twelve parallel universes, each exploring a possible future for Kay and Cyril, from a purgatorial Cuckoo’s-Nest-style retirement home to the discovery of a cure for ageing, from cryogenic preservation to the unexpected pleasures of dementia. Weaving in a host of contemporary issues – Brexit, mass migration, the coronavirus – Lionel Shriver has pulled off a rollicking page-turner in which we never have to mourn deceased characters, because they’ll be alive and kicking in the very next chapter.