Missing tells the story of Rivke Vasilevsky, an eighty-nine-year-old Jewish widow who finds herself alone in her New York (Brighton Beach) apartment to ponder the ravages of time. Her husband's death creates a void, and her children (and grandchildren) are caught up in their own lives and visit less and less. Rivke, who in the not-too-distant past never had a moment to herself, begins to reflect on what has brought her to this point, when a set of beads turns up missing.

This is the title's literal reference, but as the story unwinds much more is missing than mere beads. Rivke wrestles with the complex and often strained relationships that have made up her life: her parents, her husband, her children, and even her grandchildren (in fact, the person she feels closest to is her granddaughter). She also wrestles with the slippery nature of memory and communication. Through the fog of emotion and time, she is trying to piece together the truth about her life; not so much the mere circumstances of the past, but the emotional and relational truth.

What is amazing about Missing is the ability of Herman to take us inside this world. It is a feat of creative imagination to paint such a compelling picture of the life of the elderly. But Herman is not simply a realistic reporter of what life might be like for those whom life seems to have passed by. No, just as the real focus of Rivke's struggles is emotional, Herman's skill comes in letting us look inside the psychological rather than just the physical.

Sure, Herman touches on how age can effect the physical: the inability to sleep in a bed alone after a lifetime of sharing with a spouse; the sheer exertion required to take a bath; the inability to do the chores one used to complete on a daily basis, and that are required to keep even a small apartment clean and well organized; the difficulty of keeping straight the complicated number and nature of the many medicines prescribed; not to mention the aches and pains that build up when one is living in one's ninth decade.