…"There is art to medicine as well as science. - Hippocratic Oath
Clinicians have spent centuries perfecting the art of tending to broken bodies. What happens when their medicine succeeds? What happens when it fails us? Where do we turn for healing of the body and the mind?
In this wide-ranging collection of essays, fiction, memoir, poetry and photography, Granta explores the mind of the physician, the plight of the patient and the maladies and fears that bring us together. From a young man struggling to regain his mental health, to a writer witnessing the surrender of her body to MS; from the dubiously labeled chalky horse-pills of faceless pharmaceutical conglomerates, to the hot-toddy that was Grandmother’s sworn remedy for everything from a bruised knee to a broken heart � here are the worldviews and the stories of both the surgeon, the shaman, and the patient.This collection shows that sometimes the best medicine is a story itself.
Note: There is more than one author in the Goodreads database with this name.
John Freeman is an award-winning writer and book critic who has written for numerous publications, including The New Yorker, The New York Times Book Review, The Los Angeles Times, The Guardian, and The Wall Street Journal. Freeman won the 2007 James Patterson Pageturner Award for his work as the president of the National Book Critics Circle, and was the editor of Granta from 2009 to 2013. He lives in New York City, where he teaches at NYU and edits a new literary biannual called Freeman's.
4.5 stars This is the first time I felt compelled to finish the whole Granta volume. I can't really explain why but from the first story that I picked up, I knew I would enjoy the language and the writing in this particular volume. Again, this hasn't happened to me before (and I have about 5 tomes of the Granta lying around). I can't say if there is anything truly extraordinary about it or if it just happens to appeal to me personally, but I loved how unifying and powerful the theme of medicine turned out to be for this collection of wonderful short stories. My favorites are Philanthropy and My Heart.
A mixed bag, as usual, but that's part of the appeal.
I smiled at the return of Robert Merrivale, and am looking forward to Rose Tremain's new novel, but on the whole it was the non-fiction which appealed most.Particularly moving were Linda H Davies' Randy and Mummy at the Drawbridge and M J Hyland's Hardy Animal. I was impressed by the practising doctors' writing: (for which read jealous of such polymaths!) Ike Anya's People Don’t Get Depressed in Nigeria and Terrence Holt's The Perfect Code. Of the four poems, Angela Carter's The Lady and the Skull was my favourite, whereas Ben Lerner's was too prosy and overlong for my taste. I don't usually 'get' the photo essay, and this time the collection of curiosities felt even more disjointed than usual, but then I was disconcerted from the start since I read AL Kennedy's introduction to them moments after reading this.
One of my favourite things about this issue is the artwork, particularly the illustrations at the start of My Heart, The Perfect Code and Hardy Animal. I wish we had potted biographies of the artists, as we do for the authors.
I received this subscription again from a friend for my birthday and this was the first edition. Oof. An entire analysis of "Medicine" also means an entire analysis of death and mortality. While it might be cliche to say this, it was pretty depressing. The story on the woman struggling with acceptance of her MS was powerful but achingly sad. The poems, while lovely, were dark. Even the first story, which was excellently crafted, seemed tinged with sadness. At many instances, I had to put it down and just take a breath. Overall, the entire collection made me feel small, mortal and fearful of being so frail. If that was the goal of the editors, bravo! I felt a sense of accomplishment and relief for finishing it.
A great compilation of short stories and poems about medicine from the perspective of both physician and patient. My favorite story was "People Don't Get Depressed in Nigeria." In it, the physician reflects on how the old stereotype of depression as being largely a Western illness does not hold up through his account of a patient with post-partum depression. Aside from the story-telling, the artwork in Granta is wonderful as well.
I've long been a fan of the idea of Granta, but have not until now found an issue that really spoke to me. As soon as I saw that this was the theme of the issue, I knew I was going to love it, and I had the pleasure of being right. The first story was pitch perfect, and it set the stage beautifully for what followed. Really wonderful.
A really solid variety of short stories that encapsulates so many different and often difficult emotions related to medicine. My favourite stories in this collection were ‘Night’ by Alice Munro, ‘Philanthropy’ by Suzanne Rivecca and ‘Randy and Mummy at the Drawbridge’ by Linda H. Davis. I found these stories in particular to have a specific creative flare that made them both engaging to read and their characters interesting and easy to empathise/sympathise with. Overall this collection illustrates how pacing is not only integral to creating tension but also when recounting narrative events in the characters’ pasts.
This was a good issue. My favourites were Chris Adrian, Rose Tremain and Suzzane Rivecca. Adrian's is the first piece and the best. The rest was average fare with Alice Munro putting me to sleep the fastest.
A melange of essays and fictional pieces centered around everything medical: diseases, death, patients and clinicians that I found to be continuously surprising. While they are punctuated by (almost) incomprehensible but curious little poems and evocative artwork, one's bound to find wrapped up in atleast one of the many longfiction/non-fiction accounts here.
For me the beginning piece by Chris Adrian titled Grand Rounds was the best. Written like a lecture from a dais by a voluble, jet-lagged haem-oncologist, as he gets talking about narrative medicine, then ventures on the conceptual and everyday-clinical struggles in delineating empathy and sympathy, to finally dropping the bomb of a revelation (I'll let the readers find out): I was completely absorbed and found myself gawping at the meta-emotional elements (Adrian himself is a haem-oncology fellow). It's a tour-de-force and its ingeniousness is never really equalled in the rest of this collection, even as some accounts come close.
The recounting of the explosion of activity that accompanies every code run is captured terrifically in the Perfect Code by Terrence Holt which took me back to my own anxiety and adrenaline fuelled code-running episodes during on-calls. With it, there is the ignominy of referrals to surgeons and the very often stare-in-your-face futility of all your work as the resuscitating clinician.
Then there is Philanthropy: an honest-to-bones account of a drug abusing patient-turned-specialist nurse and fundraiser for psychiatric services who has to go through the regular humiliation of having her facilities funded by well-meaning but conditional philanthropists. The present one happens to be the mother of a former fellow patient of our narrator, and brings to surface some rather accurate observations on philanthropy and attitudes towards psychiatry.
While not my favourites, Ike Anya's People Don't Get Depressed in Nigeria was impressive for its lucid detailing of a mental health patient in rural Nigeria, Rose Tremain's The Cutting satiated the Historical Medicine reader in me by detailing a cancer excision in pre-anaesthetic days and Gish Jen's humorous account of two brothers making an elderly-appropriate home for their ageing, inconsolably Chinese parents gave me many minutes of quality reading.
Of the rest, I'd recommend My Heart by Mehmedinovic and Ordinary Light by AL Kennedy: excellent blow-by-blow accounts of living with heart attacks and multiple sclerosis as essential reading for students and casual readers alike to help with empathising that bit more with the sufferers. If narrative medicine needed more effective examples, these two accounts are exactly that. While slightly overwritten, I found them filled with observations and quotes (Like this: I was some strange balance of thought and meat... the bewildering and lovely fact that I am both cerebral and animal pursues me) that made me forgive the indulgences.
This is my second volume of Granta, especially close to my heart this time. A somewhat mixed bag, though the best stories are very good.
I personally liked Hardy Animal (as a personal account of living with MS), The Cutting (for a sense of the macabre), and Night (for the atmosphere and strangeness). It was the last two stories that really had power though, for the fiction of Philanthropy and the emotion of Randy and Mummy at the Drawbridge (probably my favourite in the collection).
The only dud for me was The Perfect Code. I know it's written by a doctor but it just sounded so inauthentic (clearly there are some differences in the way crash calls are run in the States). The sense of futility and chaos certainly can exist but the 'medicine' involved dragged me back out. Still, I suspect that won't bother most non medical readers.
Add in some poems, interesting illustrations and a photo essay and it's a pretty good collection. Perfect to dip in and out of.
Medicine was one of my least favourite Grantas so far. That's not to say it wasn't good, but it didn't measure up to the standard of greatness I have come to expect with every issue.
Usually the stories and poems are related to the theme in more creative and subtle ways. But in this issue, nearly every piece is about disease. The lack of diversity in subject matter made it a sludgy read for me. Needless to say, it's still worth picking up; it's Granta.
Another sterling copy of Granta, this time dedicated to medicine. Viewpoints include those of doctor, patient, other sorts of healers, set in a host of places - Nigeria, New York, England. Was especially struck by Chris Adrian's "Grand Rounds," MJ Hyland's "Hardy Animal," and the collection of Victorian and modern photographs from Brad Feuerhelm's work/archive. So many sights trained on the what works - and fails miserably - in modern medicine and other parts of life.
Good issue that offers perspectives about medicine and illness from physicians and patients alike. From Chris Adrian's story of a physician falling apart under a lecture to Linda Davis' expression of her fears and hopes for her autistic son as she considers her own mortality, I was caught up in the narratives, sometimes uncomfortably, but always compelled to read on.
I liked Semezdin Mehmedinović's contemplation of the mundane and his mortality. Suzanne Rivecca's amazing piece that captures the gulf between the social worker and the do-gooder socialite, and the unpredictable measure of that gulf. And James Lasdun's Blueberries presented to us as we end our blueberry season here. These stood out for me. Every story took me places where I rarely go.
Favourites from this issue: Chris Adrian's "Grand Rounds" (very funny / effed up) and Suzanne Rivecca's "Philanthropy" was amazing. There are also a few great first-person essays about dealing with heart attacks, MS, and Linda H. Davis's very straightforward account of dying of non-Hotchkin's lymphoma while worrying about her special-needs son's future. ("Randy and Mummy at the Drawbridge."
Fiction and non-fiction stories/poems - physical ailments, mental ailments. For this layperson, I found this to be an enjoyable read (except for the first story, which I couldn't get into).
A thoughtfully curated collection of writing around the theme 'medicine' including short stories, moving essays and a fascinating collection of photographs. Not a dud piece in there.
A mixed bag. Not the strongest Granta - at times the pieces seemed to stretch the theme a little too far. The Tremain, Munro and Hyland parts stood out for me.
The only Granta I've read cover to cover - all great, but the two pieces that stuck with me are The Perfect Code, Terrence Holt and Night, Alice Munro.