In “Warm Springs: Traces of a Childhood at FDR's Polio Haven,” Susan Richards Shreve writes achingly about the loss of control that comes with bearing illness, and also of powerful acts of will and defiance in the face of that terrifying fact.
She gives the reader utterly telling, quick-stroke particulars of family, like the brief, lovely two paragraphs that describe her parents' meeting. And beyond family, she plucks names from history, less-known people, who deserve more renown for their works.
Susan has a wonderful way of letting the little details conveyed by dialogue communicate essential traits of the people in “Warm Springs...”
And she describes perfectly the need for anyone with a physical disability to create a world that can be lived entirely in their head. A personal note: my beloved nephew Michael was born with spina bifida. And I've watched from the time he was two, how his mind has become sharp, his curiosity endless, his intelligence formidable. And much of that came from his being still, being forced to focus his mind on where he was.
She communicates the true horrors of disease, with lines like “...limbs so painful that a patient cannot bear to be touched, even by sheets.” There's also the steadfast determination, and in her case, head-strong penchant for carving her own path (as she remarks to Father James at one point “I'm always in trouble”), and, whether realistic or not, the fervent desire to heal, to always, no matter what setbacks or emotional buffeting a person might endure, have hope.
Susan Richards Shreve gets the duality of illness just right; how it can simultaneously separate and connect, wound and provide great wells of self-knowledge, and also, the ability to empathize, understand and grow far beyond whatever physical limitations get placed in front you.