An intellectual history of scurvy in the eighteenth century
Scurvy, a disease often associated with long stretches of maritime travel, generated sensations exceeding the standard of what was normal. Eyes dazzled, skin was morbidly sensitive, emotions veered between disgust and delight. In this book, Jonathan Lamb presents an intellectual history of scurvy unlike any other, probing the speechless encounter with powerful sensations to tell the story of the disease that its victims couldn't because they found their illness too terrible and, in some cases, too exciting.
Drawing on historical accounts from scientists and voyagers as well as major literary works, Lamb traces the cultural impact of scurvy during the eighteenth-century age of geographical and scientific discovery. He explains the medical knowledge surrounding scurvy and the debates about its cause, prevention, and attempted cures. He vividly describes the phenomenon and experience of scorbutic nostalgia, in which victims imagined mirages of food, water, or home, and then wept when such pleasures proved impossible to consume or reach. Lamb argues that a culture of scurvy arose in the colony of Australia, which was prey to the disease in its early years, and identifies a literature of scurvy in the works of such figures as Herman Melville, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Francis Bacon, and Jonathan Swift.
Masterful and illuminating, Scurvy shows how the journeys of discovery in the eighteenth century not only ventured outward to the ends of the earth, but were also an inward voyage into the realms of sensation and passion.
I'll be honest here: I got through the first chapter, then started skipping around looking for points of interest, and that was pretty much that. This isn't a bad book, or it shouldn't have to be. It's a book that I read a deceptive review of—one that made it sound like a book not written by a humanities professor for other humanities professors, which is what we have here. Lamb is a witty, perceptive writer, and he's discussing an almost-forgotten but fascinating and dread disease within the context of its historical period and social and geographical milieu. Unfortunately, he does so in the jargony, belabored manner of humanities academics (and it is to his credit that his native wit and gift for the adroit turn of phrase—which a more commercially-oriented book would have showcased—can still dance in the leaden straitjacket of academic prose), complete with in-text parenthetical citations, and this makes reading it a chore. I've never understood why the MLA requires a prose style that is so shamelessly inimical to craft and clarity, that does such violence to language, but if the intent is to repel interested amateur readers (as opposed to academic citers, bibliographers, and other professional martyrs and masochists), mission accomplished.
I enjoyed this book, though I did have a few issues with it. Parts of it seemed to switch gears from the main point of the book which is scurvy, how doctors figured out what caused it, and how it was prevented without refrigeration and other modern preservation methods. The other was the use of quite a bit of medical jargon that I had to look up. I believe that this book is supposed to be for the general public, but that didn't always seem to be the case. All that being said I did enjoy learning about the discovery that the disease wasn't contagious, how they figured out how to cure it and how the sailors at that time dealt with the disease. It was also interesting reading about some historical incidences could have been influenced by captains and crew having acute reactions to scurvy. I think it's a good read just have a good medical website to explain terms just in case.
Ok, full disclosure: I did not finish this book. But I also still have things to say about it.
Within the prologue, this book throws a dig at the other book on Scurvy I’ve currently got on the go (Scurvy by Stephen R Bown)—wtf is happening in the academic scurvy world? Are there beefs we don’t know about??
Historically accurate edit of the above: Are there (salted) beefs we don’t know about? Because a diet of that and only that WILL give you scurvy.
To paraphrase Sam Gamgee, this was an eye opener and no mistake. I came away from it horrified, enlightened, and wishing that there could be a special corner in hell dedicated to those responsible for what happened in Australia. I don't believe in eternal damnation but a period of intense torture might suffice. I won't be able to read anything about exploration and colonialism in future without seeing them through the lens provided by this book. Reading it required a fair bit of stamina but it was worth the effort.
In the past week I have learned more about scurvy than I ever needed to know. I feel this book could have been marginally better if it didn't have such an incredible wealth of literature reviews that I just couldn't take in at the rate presented in the book.
wildly in-depth, complex, inventive look at scurvy thru the lens of history, poetry, psychology, romance, etc. especially obsessed with the chapter on the disease’s effects on the culture of early australian penal society
This book details how scurvy was recorded in written literature across history. I was disappointed as I was expecting more of a "guns, germs, and steel" type of book, which detailed the impact of diseases on various civilizations (guess I didn't read the book jacket too carefully). While well-researched and written, I didn't enjoy all the flowery text.
A book that could be split into two, depending on taste:
The parts that most closely related to the history of scurvy, its effects and consequences on history, were highly interesting and from which I have learnt a lot. For these parts I'd give it 5 stars.
The other parts that are quite philosophical, looking at how scurvy influenced fiction, or the author's philosophical opinions of how scurvy paralleled other struggles and stories, were a bit too heavy for me.
I gave up before I got to page 100, because it's so badly written and so repetitive. The first time I read that Captain Cook mistakenly believed that malt wort would prevent scurvy, I was mildly interested. After multiple times -- and remember, that's just before page 100 -- not so much.
There are many interesting facts, but they're randomly arranged; they're never mustered to make a point. And they're interspersed with meaningless academic vaporings. E.g., "So I agree with Kevis Goodman, who has argued that nostalgia, like scurvy, is a disease of motion and displacement, the pathology of imperial expansion, in which home stands as the norm from which ambitious nations cause their servants to deviate. Her emphasis on volition as am oscillation between free will and unintended momentum is a valuable model for what I call, with respect specifically to scorbutic nostalgia, an ellipse of loss and satisfaction." As this example illustrates, there's also lots of name-checking of people who are never properly introduced to the reader.
Citations are in-line, e.g., "On several occasions, British crews taking French prizes were convinced they had been tainted by the enemy craft (Lloyd and Coulter, 1961:3.133, 160)." This breaks up the flow. It's a style designed for a highly academic in-crowd, not a general readership. Why not use endnotes?
It's a shame, because there's a good book -- about scurvy as viewed through the intellectual lens of the Enlightenment -- buried somewhere in here and crying to be let out.