Guest column by Anna Johnston

Anna Johnston is a former baby, aspiring octogenarian and emerging Australian author with a love for the heartfelt and hilarious. She grew up in country Victoria before moving to Melbourne where she lives joyously with her husband and daughters by the beach. Anna left an imminent career in medicine to follow her heart into her grandfather’s nursing home where she became the social support coordinator, taking great delight in shaking up the usual program. When injury left her unable to continue working in aged care, she began to write about it, channelling her love for older people onto the page. Anna has enjoyed a lifelong passion for theatre, screenplay, travel, and creative writing.

When you hear the word hero, who springs to mind? Is it a strapping detective with a chiselled jaw and an even sharper mind, or a savvy young woman navigating the unpredictable waters of romance? Maybe it’s a boy wizard or a brave soul uncovering her identity in her sixties. It’s probably safe to say that not many pictured a crinkly octogenarian in a nursing home stepping into the spotlight. The truth is, older heroes or protagonists are rare in literature, with approximately only 2-3% aged eighty and above. This statistic reveals a significant gap in representation for our aging population and highlights the traits society deems worthy of leading a 100,000-word novel.

How old is old?

A troubling assumption in the portrayal of older people is the narrow definition of what constitutes “old.” In recent years we’ve witnessed a vital and heartening increase in protagonists aged in their late fifties to late seventies, with fabulous characters like Ove, Harold Fry, and members of The Thursday Murder Club. However, those over eighty continue to be significantly underrepresented and are often stereotyped as caricatures. We wouldn’t classify a five-year-old protagonist alongside a twenty- or forty-year-old, why do we apply this same broad categorization to our older characters? The same happens in nursing homes where older people are commonly seen as a homogenous group that fails to account for the significant generational gap between a resident who is eighty and one who is 101 and old enough to be their mother.

Fillers and Filters

Despite recent strides in the positive-aging movement, we live in a society that idolises youth. If we have signs of aging, we must erase them using whatever face creams, lasers, surgery, hair dye or makeup the ads and influencers can convince us to buy. Thanks to social media, young girls now flood Sephora for anti-ageing skincare as teenagers line up for Botox. In recent times, we’ve begun to tread the dangerous waters of digital anti-ageing where you can get rid of wrinkles with just one tap. ‘You don’t look *insert age*!’ is a popular compliment that sounds good yet implies that looking your age or looking old is bad. The overarching message is clear: whatever you do, don’t show your age, hide it.

Fear of the Unknown

The reality is that most people fear aging; looking old and being old. We associate aging with death, decline and loss. Loss of strength, loss of collagen, and often loss of purpose or worth. We’re convinced the only growth we have to look forward to involves nasal hair or skin flaps. Consequently, our heroes—both in film and literature—often embody idealized traits such as youthful skin, thick hair and strong pelvic floors. If our instinct is to avoid aging, why would we want to read about aging characters?

It’s human nature to fear the things we cannot see and therefore cannot understand. Due to the anti-ageing revolution, age is hidden, and we are seeing fewer wrinkles than ever before, in person and online. Many of those who do show signs of old age reside in nursing homes, away from the general public. To normalize and destigmatize aging we need to see it and experience its richness and complexity. In our books, on our screens and in our communities. A beautiful example of this is seen in the emergence of dementia villages: specially designed communities that mimic a typical neighbourhood, allowing residents to live freely in a secure and supportive environment. The best part? Members of the public are free to visit, eat at restaurants or go to the cinema there, which increases exposure to dementia, promoting understanding, compassion, and a more balanced view of aging.

What Readers Want

Readers typically seek characters who are relatable and experience psychological growth alongside their stories. However, common stereotypes perpetuate a belief that older characters are inherently stagnant or passive. Having worked in Aged Care in both a nursing home and in the community, I witnessed firsthand that this view doesn’t align with reality. While physical abilities may decline over time, mental engagement, learning and emotional growth can remain vibrant. This was evident in the cooking program I developed for older widowed men in the community where gentlemen in their eighties learnt to cook for the first time, or in social media classes where residents in their nineties made new connections. When it came to crafting emotionally rich and compelling characters for my novel, it was my grandparents, Fred and Dawn, who provided inspiration. We enjoyed a beautiful friendship, and I was privileged to bear witness to their ever-maturing resilience, charisma, and love until their passing. Though their youthful glow had faded, they lit up any room they entered. They did not have great physical strength, but they sure knew how to lift others up. Despite many hard seasons, they never stopped blossoming. From a writer’s perspective, the journey of an eighty-year-old learning, changing, and growing can offer an even more profound character arc than that of a young adult undergoing similar changes.

For me, the greatest of literary heroes are those with qualities that I can realistically aspire to. I doubt I’ll ever solve murders, discover new lands, and I definitely won’t compete in nationally televised blood sports. But, if I’m lucky, I’ll get to grow old. I hope I won’t have spent a fortune trying to hide my skin or be someone without purpose who is incapable of change. I hope to be like my grandparents, shaped and polished by time in all the ways that count: compassion, wisdom, and love. Someone who has learnt from past mistakes and has had eighty years of practice being kind to others.

In Frederick Fife, I wanted to showcase not just an elderly character but an elderly hero who inspires hope and shows that, unlike eyesight, worth does not diminish with age. Someone whose journey illustrates that just because life may end in a nursing home, living does not. The characters of both Fred and Albert emphasize that love, discovery, and personal growth are possible at every stage despite physical limitations or, in Albert’s case, a dementia diagnosis. These men may not be in the best physical shape, yet they reshape the world around them with kindness. Through telling their stories I hope, in some small way, to challenge societal perceptions of aging and highlight the depth and richness of older adults’ lives, presenting them as dynamic individuals who continue to evolve, surprise themselves and contribute meaningfully to the world around them.

My author bio states that I’m an aspiring octogenarian, and while it’s a playful remark, it is absolutely true. Because more than anything, aging is a privilege; one that is not afforded to everyone. It’s time to stop hiding it, stigmatising it, misrepresenting it, and narrowly categorizing it. It’s time to seek it, to celebrate it. To display it, in all its beautifully human glory, wrinkles, arthritis, dementia and all.

I don’t want my daughters to fear aging or to grow up in a world where only smooth skin is acceptable. I don’t have a magic wand to vanquish negative views on aging, so I use the next best thing: my pen.

The Borrowed Life of Frederick Fife by Anna Johnston

At eighty-two, kind-hearted Frederick Fife is broke, lonely, and on the verge of homelessness—until a case of mistaken identity lands him in a nursing home, pretending to be someone else. Meanwhile, caregiver Denise Simms is struggling with a failing marriage and a sick daughter, but Fred’s mysterious arrival sparks her curiosity. As their paths intertwine, unexpected truths bring them both healing and a renewed sense of purpose.

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