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The Body Alone: A Lyrical Articulation of Chronic Pain
The Body Alone is an inquiry into the experience, meaning, and articulation of pain. It is a personal hybrid account incorporating research, scholarship, and memoir to examine chronic pain through the multi-lens of medicine, theology, and philosophy. Broken bodies tell broken stories. Nina Lohman’s pain experience is portrayed through a cyclical narrative of primers, vocabulary lessons, prescription records, and hypothesized internal monologues—fractured not for the sake of experimentation but because the story itself demands it.
In both form and content, The Body Alone represents boundary-pressing work that subverts the traditional narrative by putting pressure on the medical, cultural, and political systems that impact women’s access to fair and equal healthcare. This is more than an illness narrative, it is a battle cry demanding change.
In both form and content, The Body Alone represents boundary-pressing work that subverts the traditional narrative by putting pressure on the medical, cultural, and political systems that impact women’s access to fair and equal healthcare. This is more than an illness narrative, it is a battle cry demanding change.
328 pages, Paperback
Published July 3, 2024
21 people are currently reading
331 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 24 of 24 reviews
July 30, 2024
For well over a decade, Nina Lohman has endured Chronic Daily Headaches – when a doctor presented her with this phrase, she remarks, it was not so much a diagnosis as a description. Having a clinical term for her extreme pain did nothing to solve it; no treatment she has tried has helped much either, from pharmaceuticals to acupuncture. (Doctors think they’re breaking new ground if they suggest ice packs or elevating her neck.) Like Meghan O’Rourke’s The Invisible Kingdom, this documents a quest with no natural end. Lohman’s health fluctuates, and medical professionals and family and friends minimize her pain because she is able to pass as well, to carry out the daily tasks of raising two children.
The subtitle is apt for a work that is fragmentary and not driven by chronology. Had Cataloguing Pain not already been taken (by Allison Blevins), it might have been a perfect title. Some of Lohman’s short pieces read like poems, including erasure poems based on her medical notes. Repeated headings demonstrate a desire to organise her illness so as to make sense of it: “A Primer,” “Classifications” and “Perhaps” musings. She dwells on the names of things – shades of colours, groups of animals – while she longs for a vocabulary tailored to her own circumstances. Imagined monologues by doctors, friends and her husband (“He”) show pain has not turned her insular; she has empathy even when people act in hurtful ways.
One aspect of the book that I found particularly interesting is that Lohman, though not raised with Christian beliefs, studied theology at university level. Doctrines of the Fall bringing anguish and the Cross offering atonement are logical to her yet feel irrelevant to her situation. She bristles when a religious friend suggests that pain might be “her cross to bear.” Lohman admits she has given up hope on ever being free of pain, so finds resonance with poet Christian Wiman, who has been living with cancer for decades and whose work is equally infused with pain and faith.
It’s a journalistic as well as personal narrative, in the tradition of Anne Boyer, Sinéad Gleeson and Susan Sontag, shifting between modes and registers as Lohman gives a history of opiates, records of her pregnancies, and précis of philosophical understandings of suffering. “Theorizing can only take me so far,” she acknowledges, toward comprehending bodily experiences that defy language. And yet she employs words exquisitely, marshalling metaphors though they’re inadequate. The tone flows from enraged to resigned to cynical and back as she depicts the helplessness of women in a medical system that ignores their pain. Especially if you have enjoyed work by any of the authors I mention above, I highly recommend this debut: it’s sure to be one of my books of the year.
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
The subtitle is apt for a work that is fragmentary and not driven by chronology. Had Cataloguing Pain not already been taken (by Allison Blevins), it might have been a perfect title. Some of Lohman’s short pieces read like poems, including erasure poems based on her medical notes. Repeated headings demonstrate a desire to organise her illness so as to make sense of it: “A Primer,” “Classifications” and “Perhaps” musings. She dwells on the names of things – shades of colours, groups of animals – while she longs for a vocabulary tailored to her own circumstances. Imagined monologues by doctors, friends and her husband (“He”) show pain has not turned her insular; she has empathy even when people act in hurtful ways.
One aspect of the book that I found particularly interesting is that Lohman, though not raised with Christian beliefs, studied theology at university level. Doctrines of the Fall bringing anguish and the Cross offering atonement are logical to her yet feel irrelevant to her situation. She bristles when a religious friend suggests that pain might be “her cross to bear.” Lohman admits she has given up hope on ever being free of pain, so finds resonance with poet Christian Wiman, who has been living with cancer for decades and whose work is equally infused with pain and faith.
It’s a journalistic as well as personal narrative, in the tradition of Anne Boyer, Sinéad Gleeson and Susan Sontag, shifting between modes and registers as Lohman gives a history of opiates, records of her pregnancies, and précis of philosophical understandings of suffering. “Theorizing can only take me so far,” she acknowledges, toward comprehending bodily experiences that defy language. And yet she employs words exquisitely, marshalling metaphors though they’re inadequate. The tone flows from enraged to resigned to cynical and back as she depicts the helplessness of women in a medical system that ignores their pain. Especially if you have enjoyed work by any of the authors I mention above, I highly recommend this debut: it’s sure to be one of my books of the year.
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
June 20, 2024
Nina Lohman is a local writer. Her new book is 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘈𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦: 𝘈 𝘓𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘈𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘯. I have recently come to know Nina better at an exercise studio where we both go. She is lovely, genuine, and gracious. I bought her book yesterday with my iced coffee. On a whim, because I was in the middle of reading something else, I started 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘈𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦, and I didn’t stop. When I was done, I wanted to stand up, applaud, and burst into tears. Not just because of the beautiful words, but because of her courage in sharing her very personal story.
With her theological background and including bits of philosophy, Nina wove in the medical history of pain as she recounts her own experience of being healthy one day and suffering from chronic pain in the form of daily headaches the next. She writes about how this pain impacts her, but also her family. She writes about the care she has received from people trying to help.
While they have gotten better, I have had terrible headaches since I was little. I started going to a chiropractor when I was in 2nd grade because it was the only thing that offered any relief. Friends from grade school could see my eyes change, “Devin, you’re getting a headache, aren’t you?” 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘈𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 validated so many of my experiences, and for this, and for all people suffering from pain, or who know people in pain, I am incredibly thankful for its existence in the world.
page 54, 58, 63, purgatory, 89, 106, 156, 190, each one: “Love: A Specific Inventory,” 221, 271
With her theological background and including bits of philosophy, Nina wove in the medical history of pain as she recounts her own experience of being healthy one day and suffering from chronic pain in the form of daily headaches the next. She writes about how this pain impacts her, but also her family. She writes about the care she has received from people trying to help.
While they have gotten better, I have had terrible headaches since I was little. I started going to a chiropractor when I was in 2nd grade because it was the only thing that offered any relief. Friends from grade school could see my eyes change, “Devin, you’re getting a headache, aren’t you?” 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘈𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 validated so many of my experiences, and for this, and for all people suffering from pain, or who know people in pain, I am incredibly thankful for its existence in the world.
page 54, 58, 63, purgatory, 89, 106, 156, 190, each one: “Love: A Specific Inventory,” 221, 271
January 22, 2025
Can't think of a better word than "lyrical" to describe this book. The author deftly conveys the desperation of chronic and unexplained pain through the lenses of poetry and prose. She lets the reader into her world with crystalline clarity while still showing that pain is deeply personal and unique to the person experiencing it. A compelling read.
January 14, 2025
I unfairly took a star off the rating because reading this book constantly reminded me of my own chronic pain, which makes it worse. This is also why I read it so slowly.
Lohman is a beautiful, lyrical writer and she expresses the experience of living in pain so well. As she mentions, pain is very difficult to put into words and yet she articulates it so well.
I was fortunate to be diagnosed almost as soon as possible after developing chronic pain and to be experiencing this now rather than 20 years ago, so I can only imagine what she went through. My diagnoses are my shield against the sexism and disbelief she encountered and I still explain them to medical professionals on a regular basis. Truly, it seems like no one cares that this incredibly common experience is ruining the lives of millions just because it predominantly affects women and other AFAB people.
Lohman is a beautiful, lyrical writer and she expresses the experience of living in pain so well. As she mentions, pain is very difficult to put into words and yet she articulates it so well.
I was fortunate to be diagnosed almost as soon as possible after developing chronic pain and to be experiencing this now rather than 20 years ago, so I can only imagine what she went through. My diagnoses are my shield against the sexism and disbelief she encountered and I still explain them to medical professionals on a regular basis. Truly, it seems like no one cares that this incredibly common experience is ruining the lives of millions just because it predominantly affects women and other AFAB people.
February 16, 2025
I don’t remember where I heard about this book, but I got a notification that my library hold for it was ready a few weeks ago. I often browse and place holds during “painsomnia” episodes and I’m finally at a point in my chronic pain journey where I want to read about chronic pain.
I want everyone who loves someone with chronic pain to read this book. Nina Lohman writes wonderfully about such a terrible experience. I felt so seen and heard. It is such an isolating experience and so hard to describe; I appreciate the hard work that went into articulating it in this digestible, lyrical way.
Getting my own copy ASAP.
I want everyone who loves someone with chronic pain to read this book. Nina Lohman writes wonderfully about such a terrible experience. I felt so seen and heard. It is such an isolating experience and so hard to describe; I appreciate the hard work that went into articulating it in this digestible, lyrical way.
Getting my own copy ASAP.
June 11, 2024
Devastating and raw. I could not put it down.
October 11, 2024
This is a beautiful book - full of poetry-like prose and such vulnerable truth telling about chronic pain that it made me both cry and laugh aloud in comradery. This is a review in quotes that I loved from the book by a local author. GORGEOUS.
1. There is something I should say about holding pain for this many years: it changes you, and by change what I really mean is that it transforms.
This part of the story isn't easy to tell, but it's important that you know it.
I suppose you could say that life is change.
We wake in the morning where our changing bodies participate in a changing world. We change our minds, our politics, our homes, our work, our clothes, our hair, our hearts.
Fair enough.
But that is not the change I am talking about. Did you notice how I said holding pain, not having pain, not being in pain, not suffering from pain? Holding.
2. On account of this unpredictable and volatile state of being, I continue to find the company of books easier to consume than the company of people. Books require less— energy, posturing, avoidance while still providing what I need challenge, insight, access to realities beyond my reach. I gladly take the small solace they offer. With only so much to give, this approach is an efficient use of both limited time and empathy. What's interesting is that you wouldn't know any of this if we met on the street. I present beautifully. I am an excellent conversationalist. A hugger and reflexive conversational arm-toucher. I laugh, genuinely, am curious, kind, and extroverted.
Unless I admit you into my most true self, you will be none the wiser about the toll pain— and its bruised aftermath-takes in my life.
This omission is my choice. It's a refusal that, in the end, protects us both.
3. It's a difficult task to reduce the severe into the specific. What I am trying to say is that the pain scale is inadequate. Even complaints registered at 10 fail to communicate the complexity of the experience. Numbers are far too linear to express pain's range. That's because pain bleeds. I can suffer hurt. I can tolerate severity. I can mitigate the distraction.
It is the persistence of pain that proves problematic. The pain scale measures only the intensity of pain, not the duration. This may be its greatest flaw. I struggle with the realization that pain-specifically the residual, overarching effect of pain—is likely endless. A measure of pain, I believe, requires at least two dimensions. The suffering of hell is terrifying not because of any specific torture, but because it is eternal.
4. I believe the writers come closer to the truth. In a concept called negative capability, the poet John Keats characterized the ability to pursue a vision of artistic beauty even when that same pursuit leads to confusion and uncertainty. In other words, negative capability is the ability to hold in tandem multiple, often opposing, views. But, and this is key, the goal is not simply to hold these views as a measure of strength but to use them as the basis for creation. To make something beautiful out of the paradox.
Something destructive. Something holy. To make art out of what arises from the negative space. The purpose is to let the tension of the two opposing views inform, rearrange, or focus what otherwise feels worthless.
I am reminded of the words I read years ago when I first began exploring pain as a subject. Whatever pain achieves, it achieves in part through its unsharability, and it ensures this unsharability through its resistance to language.
5. Occasionally the medicine works. It does its job properly. It quiets the nag, interrupting the pain signals so that I am afforded the luxury, for a few hours at least, of being only somewhat reminded of my brokenness.
The problem with having medication that works is that I know about addiction. I've seen lives commanded by substances disintegrate. There's nothing special about me. I am just as prone as anyone. Aside from my own will, I possess nothing that would protect me from the slide into addiction.
This is why I find myself forgoing my prescription and instead sitting in the tub filled with eucalyptus Epsom and a scoop of
CBD bath salts. This is why I drape a wet washcloth over my face, inhaling deep. It's still morning. Already the pain has knotted and frayed beyond what feels manageable.
Already I am less. Already I have been forced to abandon my plans for the day.
It is difficult to be steeped in pain while also remembering how well medication works. But the medication I took yesterday, the one that effectively shaved off the sharpest edges of pain, isn't designed for long-term use. My pain is long-term. My pain has no end. If I let it, the medication could have no end, either. If I let it, it could quiet the pain forever.
So which is it? Unraveling by pain? Or unraveling by opioids?
1. There is something I should say about holding pain for this many years: it changes you, and by change what I really mean is that it transforms.
This part of the story isn't easy to tell, but it's important that you know it.
I suppose you could say that life is change.
We wake in the morning where our changing bodies participate in a changing world. We change our minds, our politics, our homes, our work, our clothes, our hair, our hearts.
Fair enough.
But that is not the change I am talking about. Did you notice how I said holding pain, not having pain, not being in pain, not suffering from pain? Holding.
2. On account of this unpredictable and volatile state of being, I continue to find the company of books easier to consume than the company of people. Books require less— energy, posturing, avoidance while still providing what I need challenge, insight, access to realities beyond my reach. I gladly take the small solace they offer. With only so much to give, this approach is an efficient use of both limited time and empathy. What's interesting is that you wouldn't know any of this if we met on the street. I present beautifully. I am an excellent conversationalist. A hugger and reflexive conversational arm-toucher. I laugh, genuinely, am curious, kind, and extroverted.
Unless I admit you into my most true self, you will be none the wiser about the toll pain— and its bruised aftermath-takes in my life.
This omission is my choice. It's a refusal that, in the end, protects us both.
3. It's a difficult task to reduce the severe into the specific. What I am trying to say is that the pain scale is inadequate. Even complaints registered at 10 fail to communicate the complexity of the experience. Numbers are far too linear to express pain's range. That's because pain bleeds. I can suffer hurt. I can tolerate severity. I can mitigate the distraction.
It is the persistence of pain that proves problematic. The pain scale measures only the intensity of pain, not the duration. This may be its greatest flaw. I struggle with the realization that pain-specifically the residual, overarching effect of pain—is likely endless. A measure of pain, I believe, requires at least two dimensions. The suffering of hell is terrifying not because of any specific torture, but because it is eternal.
4. I believe the writers come closer to the truth. In a concept called negative capability, the poet John Keats characterized the ability to pursue a vision of artistic beauty even when that same pursuit leads to confusion and uncertainty. In other words, negative capability is the ability to hold in tandem multiple, often opposing, views. But, and this is key, the goal is not simply to hold these views as a measure of strength but to use them as the basis for creation. To make something beautiful out of the paradox.
Something destructive. Something holy. To make art out of what arises from the negative space. The purpose is to let the tension of the two opposing views inform, rearrange, or focus what otherwise feels worthless.
I am reminded of the words I read years ago when I first began exploring pain as a subject. Whatever pain achieves, it achieves in part through its unsharability, and it ensures this unsharability through its resistance to language.
5. Occasionally the medicine works. It does its job properly. It quiets the nag, interrupting the pain signals so that I am afforded the luxury, for a few hours at least, of being only somewhat reminded of my brokenness.
The problem with having medication that works is that I know about addiction. I've seen lives commanded by substances disintegrate. There's nothing special about me. I am just as prone as anyone. Aside from my own will, I possess nothing that would protect me from the slide into addiction.
This is why I find myself forgoing my prescription and instead sitting in the tub filled with eucalyptus Epsom and a scoop of
CBD bath salts. This is why I drape a wet washcloth over my face, inhaling deep. It's still morning. Already the pain has knotted and frayed beyond what feels manageable.
Already I am less. Already I have been forced to abandon my plans for the day.
It is difficult to be steeped in pain while also remembering how well medication works. But the medication I took yesterday, the one that effectively shaved off the sharpest edges of pain, isn't designed for long-term use. My pain is long-term. My pain has no end. If I let it, the medication could have no end, either. If I let it, it could quiet the pain forever.
So which is it? Unraveling by pain? Or unraveling by opioids?
January 1, 2025
Oh man. I can see how this book wouldn’t be enjoyable for some — it is indeed very lyrical, very poetic, purple prose I suppose you could say — but I loved it. As someone who has lived with the elusive but persistent beast that is chronic pain for well over a decade, I felt these words resonate in my soul. There’s so much about chronic pain that is either unknown or isn’t important enough to a patriarchal society to invest in understanding. The experience of chronic pain can be so isolating because people without chronic pain cannot possibly understand it and it’s one of those things that creeps into every facet of your life. I loved this book.
April 17, 2024
Exquisite articulation of the sensory, cognitive, and emotional experience of chronic pain. Lohman collages material from medical text, narrates harrowing scenes in medical and domestic settings, and meditates on the meaning—or rather the impulse to find meaning—in pain. Along the way she provides an historical account of how pain has been conceptualised and philosophized throughout history, and how pain is a gendered experience in which a patriarchal medical establishment disbelieves and disenfranchises women who suffer from chronic severe pain. A remarkable new contribution to the world of disability studies, and to literature at large.
September 29, 2024
As a fellow long-time unexplained pain sufferer, I recognize the journey to want to eliminate pain, to at least ferret out a reason. The unknowing is also exhausting, discouraging.
June 14, 2024
This was a beautifully written glimpse into the life of the author as she lives with chronic pain of unknown origin. The author tells the story lyrically instead of as straight prose which allows a lot more freedom in the telling, and she doesn't hesitate to bring you right into her story. As someone who has a chronic health condition that took years of my life and lots of trial and error to come to some kind of understanding of I really felt for the author and could see echos of my story in hers. I thankfully have more answers and better treatments than the author but still can empathize with her and understand a lot of where she takes us on this journey. I especially connected with the idea that as a woman she was constantly second guessed and provided treatments that were designed around the physiology of men. In our healthcare system women are still in many ways an afterthought and this puts us at a disadvantage in so many ways, but especially when it comes to getting true answers and help.
Using her voice to help others better understand the journey of chronic pain is one way she is taking back her life and that is evidence in this book and I applaud her for being brave enough to bring it to the world.
I received an advanced copy of this book from netgalley. All opinions are my own.
Using her voice to help others better understand the journey of chronic pain is one way she is taking back her life and that is evidence in this book and I applaud her for being brave enough to bring it to the world.
I received an advanced copy of this book from netgalley. All opinions are my own.
July 8, 2024
Nina Lohman was a young theology graduate student when she suddenly developed chronic headache pain. In The Body Alone, she describes her experience of chronic pain while playing with different literary forms. I loved her creative expression and how she incorporated her passion for storytelling, mythology, and linguistics among other disciplines. Although she lost me occasionally, it was a fascinating journey.
I didn’t learn much from this book, but I did enjoy reading it. For those of us who suffer chronic pain, reading this memoir can feel validating. As the author warns in the beginning, this is not a linear story, and it doesn’t end well. However, the author survives and finds another version of life to replace the one that pain stole from her, and we can do the same.
For those who haven’t experienced chronic pain, I think reading this book will help them better understand what chronic pain is like.
Recommended for those who enjoy creative nonfiction.
Thanks to University Of Iowa Press for providing me with an unproofed ARC through NetGalley. I volunteered to provide an honest review.
I didn’t learn much from this book, but I did enjoy reading it. For those of us who suffer chronic pain, reading this memoir can feel validating. As the author warns in the beginning, this is not a linear story, and it doesn’t end well. However, the author survives and finds another version of life to replace the one that pain stole from her, and we can do the same.
For those who haven’t experienced chronic pain, I think reading this book will help them better understand what chronic pain is like.
Recommended for those who enjoy creative nonfiction.
Thanks to University Of Iowa Press for providing me with an unproofed ARC through NetGalley. I volunteered to provide an honest review.
August 21, 2024
As I age, the clearer it becomes to me that everybody is different; every BODY is different. Medical science has managed astonishing achievements, but really, such things are a matter of statistical probability: i.e., in response to your particular symptoms, THESE are the means that have been shown to have the best probability of alleviating them. As a chronic pain sufferer who has tried dozens of allopathic and alternative medical treatments to alleviate suffering, I am drawn to thoughtful meditations on the question of what to do when pain persists. Lohman's book, as its subtitle suggests, is a journal of sorts, with entries personal, poetic, scientific, dialectic, analytic, theological. Especially coming from Lohman's background as a graduate student in theology, her book is a personal theodicy--an examination of the question: How can evil (pain) exist in a world created by an all-powerful and all-good deity. To my reading, this resulting volume is deeply satisfying precisely because it does NOT provide easy, pat answers, but rather, records the raw efforts of a soul in search of honest answers.
October 22, 2024
"At the library, I wander the stacks deliberately choosing books premised on the body. This desire to ingest the language others use to describe the function, and dysfunction, of their bodies is a hunger snagged against the edge of my stomach. Arms laden with books, I return home, retreat to the same sagging corner of the couch, and sink into pain narratives." (224)
I do the exact same thing, which is how I ended up with this book. Lohman's narrative certainly rings true, and I appreciated the glimpses into theology as another non-religious person who has always been fascinated by religions.
I was really engaged until about halfway through the book. Lohman warns us repeatedly that this will not be a linear narrative, which I'm on board with, but the book started to feel very repetitive. Repetition, boredom, isolation and self-focus (I mean this in a neutral way) are very common aspects of chronic pain, but perhaps because I already experience similar things, I didn't feel like I needed pain to be so precisely mirrored in this way. Still, I liked how the book wrapped up this impossible -to-end story, so I'm glad I stuck with it.
I do the exact same thing, which is how I ended up with this book. Lohman's narrative certainly rings true, and I appreciated the glimpses into theology as another non-religious person who has always been fascinated by religions.
I was really engaged until about halfway through the book. Lohman warns us repeatedly that this will not be a linear narrative, which I'm on board with, but the book started to feel very repetitive. Repetition, boredom, isolation and self-focus (I mean this in a neutral way) are very common aspects of chronic pain, but perhaps because I already experience similar things, I didn't feel like I needed pain to be so precisely mirrored in this way. Still, I liked how the book wrapped up this impossible -to-end story, so I'm glad I stuck with it.
September 30, 2024
Nina Lohman has very bravely and very beautifully described what it is like to live with chronic pain and how it affects every aspect of her daily life. As someone who has chronic pain, I identify so much with this book but it was very uplifting and positive in many ways.
Ms Lohman has pain of unknown origin and the book considers her experiences with healthcare professionals and the mess that is the American health industry. She shows how the impact of chronic pain is ‘felt’ by all the people in her circle and captures perfectly the need to escape the pain and be ‘normal’.
The book isn’t a chronological memoir. It diverts and digresses and is all the better for it. The audience for this is wide - it should be read by all healthcare professionals, by people who know someone with chronic pain, and by "sufferers" themselves. Each would benefit greatly from this beautifully written work.
I was given a copy of this book by NetGalley
Ms Lohman has pain of unknown origin and the book considers her experiences with healthcare professionals and the mess that is the American health industry. She shows how the impact of chronic pain is ‘felt’ by all the people in her circle and captures perfectly the need to escape the pain and be ‘normal’.
The book isn’t a chronological memoir. It diverts and digresses and is all the better for it. The audience for this is wide - it should be read by all healthcare professionals, by people who know someone with chronic pain, and by "sufferers" themselves. Each would benefit greatly from this beautifully written work.
I was given a copy of this book by NetGalley
December 16, 2024
3.5 stars rounded to 4 for Goodreads.
The Body Alone is a quick read, but by no means an easy one. Like chronic pain, as Lohman explains, the book meanders. It reflects the daily struggles of chronic pain with its repetitive structure and continuous reflections on the same themes/ideas.
Normally, I would not care for the repetitiveness this book offers, but I think the way it did so to show the repetitiveness of chronic pain was done quite well, so I did not mind it as much here. It did feel a bit preachy at times; there were moments it felt like she was saying "this is how you are supposed deal with chronic pain" instead of "this is how I deal with chronic pain." As someone with chronic pain, I feel like I did not learn much from this book, as I have already had many of these same thoughts myself.
The Body Alone is a quick read, but by no means an easy one. Like chronic pain, as Lohman explains, the book meanders. It reflects the daily struggles of chronic pain with its repetitive structure and continuous reflections on the same themes/ideas.
Normally, I would not care for the repetitiveness this book offers, but I think the way it did so to show the repetitiveness of chronic pain was done quite well, so I did not mind it as much here. It did feel a bit preachy at times; there were moments it felt like she was saying "this is how you are supposed deal with chronic pain" instead of "this is how I deal with chronic pain." As someone with chronic pain, I feel like I did not learn much from this book, as I have already had many of these same thoughts myself.
November 19, 2025
Nina Lohman details her descent into chronic pain and all the subsequent tragedies that follow. She mixes poetry, humor, actual doctor notes, and more to tell her story. It doesn't have a happy ending (13 years on and she's still in pain). In fact, it doesn't really have an ending at all since she's still in the process of living her life and was so when she finished this.
I shouldn't like this book. It's depressing and has no happy ending. But it's so emotionally raw and well written that I have come to care for the author and her tragic story. I'm glad I read it, but I wish there was a stronger undercurrent of hope within it.
I shouldn't like this book. It's depressing and has no happy ending. But it's so emotionally raw and well written that I have come to care for the author and her tragic story. I'm glad I read it, but I wish there was a stronger undercurrent of hope within it.
April 2, 2024
This is a story of pain. Some parts are, at the very least, uncomfortable to read, but so important. She describes her pain lyrically and in metaphors because how else can you describe it? Lohman is brutally honest about what it's like to suffer from chronic pain, which I can relate to and say it's the most seen I've felt when reading about it. I recommend not only to those experiencing chronic illness, but especially to those who love someone who has a chronic illness.
July 16, 2024
I read this bizarre and beautiful book in two days. I couldn’t put it down. Lohman’s voice is fierce and real, the hybrid elements really work, and the fractured path to the story actually contributes to the telling in powerful ways.
BUT: Don’t read this if you don’t want to be furious about the state of women’s healthcare.
BUT: Don’t read this if you don’t want to be furious about the state of women’s healthcare.
July 9, 2024
Wow! 😮
October 5, 2025
Thank you for sharing and writing this book. Just thank you. I can’t explain what reading your words meant to me. Thank you.
August 29, 2024
This book is beautifully written.
Displaying 1 - 24 of 24 reviews