A Song for Olaf

Jennifer Boulanger’s A Song for Olaf is a deeply moving memoir that chronicles the intimate and heartrending story of sibling love during one of the most harrowing public health crises in modern history—the dawn of the HIV/AIDS epidemic. Told with poetic clarity and emotional depth, this book captures both the personal and political turmoil of the 1980s and 1990s, when ignorance and stigma ran rampant, and love often became both sanctuary and battleground.

At the heart of the narrative is the author’s relationship with her brother, Olaf—a vibrant, creative, and unapologetically himself young man who came of age just as the world began to turn its back on those like him. Boulanger’s portrayal of Olaf is tender, often lyrical, and rich with detail. Through anecdotes, reflections, and vivid memories, she brings him alive on the page—not only as a brother and a victim of the AIDS crisis, but as a full person: defiant, witty, brilliant, and achingly human.

One of the strongest themes woven throughout the memoir is the power—and limits—of love in the face of systemic failure. Boulanger does not shy away from examining how institutions, including the medical community, government, and even schools, failed people like Olaf. She writes with righteous anger and aching vulnerability about the lack of care, empathy, and understanding. At the same time, she honors the personal moments that made her brother’s life radiant: the music he loved, the art he created, the community he helped shape.

Another resonant theme is memory itself—how we hold on to those we’ve lost and how storytelling can be an act of both healing and resistance. Boulanger’s prose is marked by an educator’s clarity and a sister’s devotion. Her background in advocacy and literacy infuses the book with a grounded sense of purpose. This is not just a personal story—it is a witness account, a historical document, and a call to remember.

What makes A Song for Olaf stand out from other memoirs of the AIDS crisis is its unwavering focus on siblinghood. While many works explore romantic or activist relationships during this time, Boulanger centers a familial bond that is often overlooked. Her reflections are raw and sometimes painful, but always anchored in love: “He was my star, even as the world tried to eclipse his light.”

For those of us who lived through the early years of the epidemic, this book is both a mirror and a memorial. For younger generations, it offers a deeply human portrait of what was lost—and what was fought for. Ultimately, A Song for Olaf is not just a story of grief, but of grace. It reminds us that remembering is a revolutionary act, and that every life—no matter how brief—is worthy of song.