Steeled myself to read Helen Simpson's 'Lub Dub Lub Dub Lub Dub', published in The New Yorker on August 30, 2026. It's never easy to read stories about mortality, aging and friendships.
Tracey and Lois met for coffee on a hot May morning in London, in the middle of a heatwave. Right now, they're discussing about stovetops and Tracey's new cooker. They are old friends, and are in constant contact.
Tracey is worried about her recently retired 65-year-old husband Adam's heart, and is attending a CPR workshop after this. Lois is on her way to catch the 10.07 train at Euston to visit her 92-year-old elderly mother living in the Midlands. For all purposes, the story recounts another day in their lives.
The story ends with an oven exploding. Tracey stays at home while Adam heads out to a tennis session. He has been very taken with exercise. Tracey was simply reading while heating up a lasagna when the oven door exploded. Tempered glass bits went everywhere. Luckily she wasn't cut or bleeding.
I didn't know what to make of it this story. The mundane-ness of it all. Now, the title. It could simply be a reference to the steady march of the days till one dies. Like a heartbeat, plodding steadily till it stops beating. No one could tell when.
Lub dub lub dub lub dub is the noise of the heart beating when you listen with a stethoscope.
In an interview with the same journal, the author is asked if she still envisioned London to be headed for gloom and doom in 2040. She said yes. She had written an earlier story 'Diary of an Interesting Year' (2009) about Britain in 2040, after the 'Big Melt'. The author had taken her interest in climate science research and applied it to the storylines in her writing.
The author is then asked how old friends would help with this doom and gloom that seems to be the world's future, at this pace it's headed towards.
Later that day, Tracey joins a real-estate agent, Ollie, to look at a flat. She and her husband are thinking about moving into a smaller space. “Downsize and Die,” Ollie says they call it in the office, before catching himself. For Tracey, this is a line to share with Lois. Would aging be a lot grimmer without an old friend like this?
Oh, but surely friends are the flower of life all the way through! Having two or three people on the same wavelength is the ultimate luxury, whether you’re twenty-three or forty-six or ninety-two. Though you’re right—old friends become rarer as the big scythe starts to swish more frequently. And, while you can make new friends, by definition it’s impossible to make new old friends—so you lose your shared past as well.
The unusual thing about Tracey and Lois is that, as well as communicating via WhatsApp, they’ve actually managed to meet IRL and exchange an IRL hug.
