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Sanatorium
A young woman spends a month taking the waters at a thermal water-based rehabilitation facility in Budapest. On her return to London, she attempts to continue her recovery using an 80 pound inflatable blue bathtub. The tub becomes a metaphor for the intrusion of disability; a trip hazard in the middle of an unsuitable room, slowly deflating and in constant danger of falling apart.
Sanatorium moves through contrasting spaces - bathtub to thermal pool, land to water, day to night - interlacing memoir, poetry and meditations on the body to create a mesmerising, mercurial debut.
Sanatorium moves through contrasting spaces - bathtub to thermal pool, land to water, day to night - interlacing memoir, poetry and meditations on the body to create a mesmerising, mercurial debut.
223 pages, Paperback
First published April 20, 2020
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 35 reviews
May 8, 2020
Sanatorium is an intriguing mix of memoir/personal essay and prose poetry exploring chronic illness and "wellness". This is an accessible read in diary format with whimsical, watery interludes providing insight into the dis/embodied experience of living with disability and the constant search for recovery and relief. Palmer shines light on inequalities and contradictions within our healthcare system and attitudes to dis/ability in a way that is justly critical without being unduly unfair. The honesty and humour throughout is so fucking human, and I feel a little in love with Palmer now, to be honest.
As someone recently diagnosed with a disability affecting my musculoskeletal system and attempting to make sense of and peace with chronic illness (and who feels rather fobbed off by healthcare providers), this really resonated. Thank you, Abi, for the generosity of sharing this part of yourself with us in this way.
As someone recently diagnosed with a disability affecting my musculoskeletal system and attempting to make sense of and peace with chronic illness (and who feels rather fobbed off by healthcare providers), this really resonated. Thank you, Abi, for the generosity of sharing this part of yourself with us in this way.
February 7, 2021
Water is a source of comfort and delight for Abi, the narrator of Sanatorium (whose experiences may or may not be those of the author; always tricky to tell with autofiction). Floating is like dreaming for her – an intermediate state between the solid world where she’s in pain and the prospect of vanishing into the air. In 2017 she spends a few weeks at a sanatorium in Budapest for water therapy; when she returns to London she buys a big inflatable plastic bathtub to keep up the exercises as she tries to wean herself off of opiates.
Abi feels fragile due to a whole host of body issues, some in her past but most continuing into the present: an autoimmune connective tissue disorder, psoriatic arthritis, Crohn’s disease, and sexual assaults. Her knee is most immediately problematic, leading her to use a mobility scooter. As her health waxes and wanes, other people – unable to appreciate any internal or incremental changes – judge her by whether or not she is able to walk well.
The book is in snippets, often of just a paragraph or even one sentence, and cycles through its several strands: Abi’s time in Budapest and how she captures it in an audio diary; ongoing therapy at her London flat, custom-designed for disabled tenants (except “I was the only cripple who could afford it”); the haunted house she grew up in in Surrey; and notes on plus prayers to St. Teresa of Ávila, accompanied by diagrams of a female figure in yoga poses.
Locations are given in small letters in the top corner of the page, apart from for the more dreamlike segments that can’t be pinned down to any one place. For instance, I was reminded of a George Saunders story by the surreal interlude in which Abi imagines Van Gogh’s Starry Night reproduced in the hair on a detached pair of legs mounted on a wall as a work of art.
The different formats and short chunks of prose generally keep the voice from becoming monotonous, though I did wonder if occasional use of the third person (and some more second person) could have been effective, too. Far from a straightforward memoir, the book incorporates passages that are closer to fantasy and poetry, and the visual elements and fertile imagery attest to Palmer’s background as a mixed-media artist.
(I reviewed this as part of the shortlist for a new UK literary award, the Barbellion Prize, which will be given annually “to an author whose work has best represented the experience of chronic illness and/or disability.”)
Sanatorium is a fascinating work – matter-of-fact, playful and sensual – that vividly conveys the reality of life with a chronic illness. It was already on my wish list, but I’m so glad that this shortlisting gave me a chance to read it. Though I haven’t read the other nominees yet, the passages below are proof that this would be a deserving Barbellion Prize winner.
Readalikes I have also reviewed:
Heal Me by Julia Buckley
Bodies of Water by V. H. Leslie
My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
Abi feels fragile due to a whole host of body issues, some in her past but most continuing into the present: an autoimmune connective tissue disorder, psoriatic arthritis, Crohn’s disease, and sexual assaults. Her knee is most immediately problematic, leading her to use a mobility scooter. As her health waxes and wanes, other people – unable to appreciate any internal or incremental changes – judge her by whether or not she is able to walk well.
The book is in snippets, often of just a paragraph or even one sentence, and cycles through its several strands: Abi’s time in Budapest and how she captures it in an audio diary; ongoing therapy at her London flat, custom-designed for disabled tenants (except “I was the only cripple who could afford it”); the haunted house she grew up in in Surrey; and notes on plus prayers to St. Teresa of Ávila, accompanied by diagrams of a female figure in yoga poses.
Locations are given in small letters in the top corner of the page, apart from for the more dreamlike segments that can’t be pinned down to any one place. For instance, I was reminded of a George Saunders story by the surreal interlude in which Abi imagines Van Gogh’s Starry Night reproduced in the hair on a detached pair of legs mounted on a wall as a work of art.
The different formats and short chunks of prose generally keep the voice from becoming monotonous, though I did wonder if occasional use of the third person (and some more second person) could have been effective, too. Far from a straightforward memoir, the book incorporates passages that are closer to fantasy and poetry, and the visual elements and fertile imagery attest to Palmer’s background as a mixed-media artist.
(I reviewed this as part of the shortlist for a new UK literary award, the Barbellion Prize, which will be given annually “to an author whose work has best represented the experience of chronic illness and/or disability.”)
Sanatorium is a fascinating work – matter-of-fact, playful and sensual – that vividly conveys the reality of life with a chronic illness. It was already on my wish list, but I’m so glad that this shortlisting gave me a chance to read it. Though I haven’t read the other nominees yet, the passages below are proof that this would be a deserving Barbellion Prize winner.
You go through life as a chronically ill person with so many different people who have so many different opinions about how your treatment should be. They’re not always useful or right. You have to build your own narrative and your own sense of what feels appropriate. You have to learn to trust your body to tell you what’s working. But that’s hard too, when your body keeps changing the rules.
I am one of the more privileged ones and still I’m screaming. God, it would be so nice just to dissolve into nothing and wash up onto a lonely beach.
I wonder if what I’ve learned about chronic illness, more than anything, is that it’s a constant cycle. You fall apart, then you try your best to rebuild again. I wonder what would happen if I stopped trying.
Readalikes I have also reviewed:
Heal Me by Julia Buckley
Bodies of Water by V. H. Leslie
My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
August 25, 2020
I bought this book on a whim, but I was hooked as soon as I took it out of the envelope. I read it in almost one sitting. Written in short snapshots of prose, this book is not quite a poem and not quite an essay, similar to the work of Maggie Nelson or Amy Berkowitz. The author spends a month at the titular Sanatorium in Budapest, where she bathes in sulfurous water and undergoes various therapies to help her regain movement and strength. She lives with a connective tissue disorder and arthritis, and experiences chronic pain. I found her story completely gripping. She overlaps the realities of living with a disabled body with the life of the mind and soul, and explores all this through water: the relief she finds in bathing, the pressure of hydrotherapy, the freedom of movement in a swimming pool. She brings to life the joy of swimming for a disabled person, and the difficulties that surround actually entering the water. Her book captures her acute struggles and her moments of relief, with humour, passion and depth. Though I do not have the same conditions as Abi Palmer, her experiences are familiar to me, and I found a lot of solace and gained a sense of companionship through reading this book.
I also had to laugh when I read these two observations, which come within a few pages of one another:
I ask a nurse about the side effects listed on my medication, such as nausea and liver failure. She says that side effects only happen to people who are worried about the side effects.
On the medicine packet they warn that the itching might be the symptom of a damaged liver. When I tell her I'm struggling to function mentally, the doctor tells me I'm being too hard on myself. She wonders if the itching might be a symptom of anxiety.
I have had pretty much exactly these conversations with healthcare professionals. They're the same everywhere.
I also had to laugh when I read these two observations, which come within a few pages of one another:
I ask a nurse about the side effects listed on my medication, such as nausea and liver failure. She says that side effects only happen to people who are worried about the side effects.
On the medicine packet they warn that the itching might be the symptom of a damaged liver. When I tell her I'm struggling to function mentally, the doctor tells me I'm being too hard on myself. She wonders if the itching might be a symptom of anxiety.
I have had pretty much exactly these conversations with healthcare professionals. They're the same everywhere.
September 11, 2020
I am reading through the Good Reads list of eligible books for the 2020 Goldsmiths Prize. https://www.gold.ac.uk/goldsmiths-prize/ This prize seeks to reward “creative daring and fiction that breaks the mould or extends the possibilities of the novel form” The shortlist of 6 books will be announced on Sept 30. Let’s see how many of them I can have read in advance!
This debut novel works around the themes of sickness and disability. The narrator, a young woman from London is chronically plagued by pain which has no diagnosis. She is given a month’s stay at an expensive rehab center in Budapest. The story is non-linear in that the setting alternates between the sanatorium there and her apartment back in London. Other unusual techniques that make it eligible for the Goldsmiths are the structure, broken up into short chapters, some just a few sentences long, and interspersed line drawings of the human body during various exercises that she is required to do.
Water plays a big part in that her therapy consists largely of being immersed in a sulphuric bath which “smells like rotten eggs” but seems to help. When she gets home, where there is no bathtub, she obtains a large inflatable plastic tub which sits in the middle of her living room. It’s presence almost becomes a symbol for her illness in that it is always there and in the way.
There is much imagistic writing as when on a particularly bad day she writes that “the air is clogged with the taste of sickness”. The themes of disability and chronic illness are very real and descriptive in a way that is new to me.
My rating on the chance of this book making the shortlist....6/10
This debut novel works around the themes of sickness and disability. The narrator, a young woman from London is chronically plagued by pain which has no diagnosis. She is given a month’s stay at an expensive rehab center in Budapest. The story is non-linear in that the setting alternates between the sanatorium there and her apartment back in London. Other unusual techniques that make it eligible for the Goldsmiths are the structure, broken up into short chapters, some just a few sentences long, and interspersed line drawings of the human body during various exercises that she is required to do.
Water plays a big part in that her therapy consists largely of being immersed in a sulphuric bath which “smells like rotten eggs” but seems to help. When she gets home, where there is no bathtub, she obtains a large inflatable plastic tub which sits in the middle of her living room. It’s presence almost becomes a symbol for her illness in that it is always there and in the way.
There is much imagistic writing as when on a particularly bad day she writes that “the air is clogged with the taste of sickness”. The themes of disability and chronic illness are very real and descriptive in a way that is new to me.
My rating on the chance of this book making the shortlist....6/10
April 30, 2022
A raw, beautiful, haunting, and flowing mix of diary entries, poetry, and creative non-fiction. The book chronicles the author's experience with chronic illness, pain, water, and the seemingly never-ending cycle between being unwell and (almost) well, and believed and questioned about the validity of one's disability. She includes the beautiful and the ugly. It's strange and hypnotic, but I'm into that kind of thing.
(Sidenote: it kind of angers me that my local library labeled this as fiction, instead of the biography/non-fiction that it is. Almost as if women telling their stories of pain and disability in this format isn't real enough for those categories. But maybe it's not that deep. I don't know).
(Sidenote: it kind of angers me that my local library labeled this as fiction, instead of the biography/non-fiction that it is. Almost as if women telling their stories of pain and disability in this format isn't real enough for those categories. But maybe it's not that deep. I don't know).
December 29, 2022
Such a brilliant work. I was lucky to see Abi Palmer's museum exhibition when I was in Edinburgh, and her voice comes through very distinctly in this book as much as in her other work. Love the defiance of linearity and tropes. It's definitely one of my top reads this year.
May 24, 2020
An incredibly powerful and beautiful book.
May 24, 2020
This is by far the best book of the year. How it mixes frank language with the poetic feels so fresh. I can't wait to start my new cycle of rereading this book.
March 27, 2022
My experience reading this was nostalgically reminiscent of my Tumblr days. Raw, cryptic, and strange… unfortunately not in a way that vibed with me at all.
February 23, 2021
In an ideal world that rating would be 4.5 stars, but there's no room for nuance in rating here, right? And that's actually fine, I wish Abi Palmer and this book all good things so let's go with 5.
This book is overwhelming in a good way. I ugly cried. I felt awkward because I'd chosen this for my bookclub without reading it beforehand and was concerned that they'd dislike it, or that it'd seem TMI or inappropriate in some way. Basically, I felt extremely protective of this book before I was halfway through - and while it's very well written throughout, I did like it more the more I read, as the relatively disparate sections start to come together. It's short, which is nice; it flows. Although some people might be frustrated by the collection of forms Abi uses, you don't have to understand all the meanings and implications of every page to enjoy the book - you can just float along and see if it resonates with you.
Many of Abi's observations really struck a chord with me, not just because of shared experiences or whatever, but because of how she details events and so carefully manages to convey her take on them while often saying very little explicitly. The resignation, detachment from reality, suppressed frustration or even despair at the absurd and illogical nature of medical bureaucracy (and sometimes medical professionals themselves): all these emotions are so real and so tied in with the experience of chronic illness, and she handles them beautifully. I felt like parts of this book could have come from my own head, except I could never create something so textured and clever.
Other thoughts/things to love: the idiosyncratic description of the sanatorium in Budapest; the awkwardness of those orchestra encounters; how the book doesn't gloss over the messy and often indefinite nature of medical diagnosis; the ironic (imo) rendering of The Lightning Process; the soft, slight way she details other parts of her life (and people in her life) in the book.
Anything less positive? Sure, I didn't love the more explicitly poetic passages so much, and sometimes the jumping about left my sense of time a bit hazy, but this wasn't really a problem. I will rush to buy the next thing Abi writes.
This book is overwhelming in a good way. I ugly cried. I felt awkward because I'd chosen this for my bookclub without reading it beforehand and was concerned that they'd dislike it, or that it'd seem TMI or inappropriate in some way. Basically, I felt extremely protective of this book before I was halfway through - and while it's very well written throughout, I did like it more the more I read, as the relatively disparate sections start to come together. It's short, which is nice; it flows. Although some people might be frustrated by the collection of forms Abi uses, you don't have to understand all the meanings and implications of every page to enjoy the book - you can just float along and see if it resonates with you.
Many of Abi's observations really struck a chord with me, not just because of shared experiences or whatever, but because of how she details events and so carefully manages to convey her take on them while often saying very little explicitly. The resignation, detachment from reality, suppressed frustration or even despair at the absurd and illogical nature of medical bureaucracy (and sometimes medical professionals themselves): all these emotions are so real and so tied in with the experience of chronic illness, and she handles them beautifully. I felt like parts of this book could have come from my own head, except I could never create something so textured and clever.
Other thoughts/things to love: the idiosyncratic description of the sanatorium in Budapest; the awkwardness of those orchestra encounters; how the book doesn't gloss over the messy and often indefinite nature of medical diagnosis; the ironic (imo) rendering of The Lightning Process; the soft, slight way she details other parts of her life (and people in her life) in the book.
Anything less positive? Sure, I didn't love the more explicitly poetic passages so much, and sometimes the jumping about left my sense of time a bit hazy, but this wasn't really a problem. I will rush to buy the next thing Abi writes.
November 9, 2023
An experimental non fiction collect of short form essays, poetry, and art.
Abi is a mixed-media artist and writer who is awarded a grant to travel for one month to Budapest to a rehabilitation facility for thermal pool therapy. Abi attempts recreating the experience back in her London flat. The collection goes back and forth between her time in Budapest, back in London attempting to find relief and reflections and memories of growing up in her hometown of Chertsey.
I found her connections to the spiritual and other realms really interesting especially during the sections where she discusses her experiences with paralysis and connects to how many people feel with chronic pain and the wish to escape from their bodies and constant pain, even if it's only momentarily.
Abi is a mixed-media artist and writer who is awarded a grant to travel for one month to Budapest to a rehabilitation facility for thermal pool therapy. Abi attempts recreating the experience back in her London flat. The collection goes back and forth between her time in Budapest, back in London attempting to find relief and reflections and memories of growing up in her hometown of Chertsey.
I found her connections to the spiritual and other realms really interesting especially during the sections where she discusses her experiences with paralysis and connects to how many people feel with chronic pain and the wish to escape from their bodies and constant pain, even if it's only momentarily.
April 29, 2022
feel like i can't give this 3 stars but idk ... i think its a very individualistic account of sickness & a sanatorium, but it was nice n sometimes relatable to read. & there were moments when i went ~ oh ~ out loud which feels very in keeping w the thread of ecstatic painpleasure that runs throughout the book. it was definitely not as sexy as i was lead to believe it would be tho!!!
also there was some sexual violence described which i found rly upsetting, especially on page 115
also there was some sexual violence described which i found rly upsetting, especially on page 115
May 19, 2021
3.5 stars
May 23, 2023
"In Bernini’s statue The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa, she is lying back in a swoon with her mouth wide open. An angel stands over her. In one hand he holds an arrow, directed at her heart; the other teases the hem of her robe. Beams of light erupt from the sky. You can tell from her face she is in both kinds of ecstasy.
When I look at that sculpture, the folds of her marble dress, I can feel her lightness. Breathing life into stone. That is exactly what it means to float."
Abi Palmer is a visionary! I really enjoyed reading this book and the interesting things that she had to say about chronic pain and the implicit failures of our own bodies, as well as the ways that queerness intersects with chronic pain / being disabled. I'll read anything Abi writes next: thank u for this marvel and gem of a book <3
When I look at that sculpture, the folds of her marble dress, I can feel her lightness. Breathing life into stone. That is exactly what it means to float."
Abi Palmer is a visionary! I really enjoyed reading this book and the interesting things that she had to say about chronic pain and the implicit failures of our own bodies, as well as the ways that queerness intersects with chronic pain / being disabled. I'll read anything Abi writes next: thank u for this marvel and gem of a book <3
February 11, 2023
another quick lyrical affecting read, I felt a bit lost in it and also found multiple elements (queerness, the legs portrait) made me perk up and then they got lost too. would be unlikely to reread this, but would read something else from same author for sure
July 23, 2023
Detective goes to remote getaway spot to celebrate her brother's engagement. Huge storm and missing people and murder
June 2, 2021
Solidly enjoyable , a refreshing and original approach to personal memoir, particularly of illness and disability, and deservedly shortlisted for the fabulous Barbellion Prize. During the book it is revealed that the funding for the author's sanatorium stay came from an arts organisation which gave me pause for thought. I somehow doubt that the package offered stands up to standard randomised clinical trial level evidence scrutiny, yet this sort of provision for unwellness has a long history (the town in which I live was essentially founded on it) and remains culturally embedded as such outside the UK. I enjoyed her ambivalence, and her ability to reflect overall besides providing a visceral account of her experience.
I felt very aware that this was a book by someone who works visually as well as word, and it felt perhaps like part of something (a something I'd like to see), a text to be chopped up and projected onto walls with photographs or installations or read out to visitors wearing headphones. It veers between dream-like sequences and down to earth realities - mould on bathtubs, especially in the inflatable she has at home, features heavily. I found the inclusion of the little figures, so typical of rehabilitation leaflets, by way of punctuation between many of the pieces effective and disturbing. She has much to say about the approach and attitudes of those who define themselves as helping professionally and shows how patients are constantly wrong-footed, not listened to and made to doubt themselves, to no good end. She includes a chilling piece which I was not surprised to learn at the end of the book comes from Phil Parker's secretive and money-raking Lightning Process, which oddly seems to appeal to medics and researchers when similar schemes are rightly derided. Conversely I kept finding images from the film A Cure for Wellness popping into my mind as I read (there are no eels this book, thank goodness)
She deftly captures a relationship with her body and its multitudinous ailments and malfunctions, in which it too wrong-foots her, not always reacting as she expects, for good or ill, and quietly (because she doesn't have the energy for more) exasperating her far more than those involved with her appreciate in their own annoyance. She demonstrates the questionable nature of therapist aspirations (valuing being able to walk, however haltingly and painfully) to the corner over being in a fit state to travel around the city in a wheelchair and generally *live*) Most of the book is about her own experience but she also writes about the other, very different, sanatorium guests, often regulars and this and other establishments.
A book in which those professionals who wish to gain a real understanding of the experience of chronic illness could usefully steep themselves.
I felt very aware that this was a book by someone who works visually as well as word, and it felt perhaps like part of something (a something I'd like to see), a text to be chopped up and projected onto walls with photographs or installations or read out to visitors wearing headphones. It veers between dream-like sequences and down to earth realities - mould on bathtubs, especially in the inflatable she has at home, features heavily. I found the inclusion of the little figures, so typical of rehabilitation leaflets, by way of punctuation between many of the pieces effective and disturbing. She has much to say about the approach and attitudes of those who define themselves as helping professionally and shows how patients are constantly wrong-footed, not listened to and made to doubt themselves, to no good end. She includes a chilling piece which I was not surprised to learn at the end of the book comes from Phil Parker's secretive and money-raking Lightning Process, which oddly seems to appeal to medics and researchers when similar schemes are rightly derided. Conversely I kept finding images from the film A Cure for Wellness popping into my mind as I read (there are no eels this book, thank goodness)
She deftly captures a relationship with her body and its multitudinous ailments and malfunctions, in which it too wrong-foots her, not always reacting as she expects, for good or ill, and quietly (because she doesn't have the energy for more) exasperating her far more than those involved with her appreciate in their own annoyance. She demonstrates the questionable nature of therapist aspirations (valuing being able to walk, however haltingly and painfully) to the corner over being in a fit state to travel around the city in a wheelchair and generally *live*) Most of the book is about her own experience but she also writes about the other, very different, sanatorium guests, often regulars and this and other establishments.
A book in which those professionals who wish to gain a real understanding of the experience of chronic illness could usefully steep themselves.
April 21, 2021
A young woman’s month at a water based rehabilitation centre.
I have absolutely no idea what I’ve just read in Abi Palmer’s Sanatorium. It’s part memoir, part flash fiction, part fantasy, part lucid explanation of illness and pain, part metaphor for life, frequently written with the fabulous intensity of a narrative poem and always with luminous, beautiful, and occasionally stark, prose. However Sanatorium might be defined, it is written with incredible imagination, intelligence and beauty. There’s both sadness and humour so that Sanatorium feels perfectly balanced even while the narrator herself can feel slightly unhinged.
The quality of the prose is mesmeric and quite unsettling. Frequently poetic in tone, I found the writing ethereal and slippery. Reading it felt a bit like trying to catch something in the corner of my eye and not quite being able to see it. Ali’s experience illustrates how we are simultaneously bound by and yet not confined to our bodies so that there is a magic lantern effect in reading Sanatorium. This effect gave the book an almost mystical feeling that I absolutely loved. The iterative image of water is sensational. Abi Palmer conveys its power to heal and destroy, to support and dissolve, to buoy us up and to deluge us in ways that are poetic, unusual and completely compelling.
The conversational tone is so convincing that it is as if Abi Palmer is on the phone, telling the reader about her month in the sanatorium in Budapest. This had the effect of drawing me in completely.
It’s difficult to review Sanatorium because it is such an elusive chimera of a book. I was spellbound reading it because, it’s moving, mystical and magnificent. In Sanatorium Abi Palmer gives everyone a mesmerising insight into pain and life affecting illness, but above all, into hope. I didn’t always understand every allusion or reference, but I finished the book with renewed gratitude for my own life and a feeling that, if ever I were to meet Abi Palmer I would like and respect her unreservedly. I really recommend giving Sanatorium a read.
I have absolutely no idea what I’ve just read in Abi Palmer’s Sanatorium. It’s part memoir, part flash fiction, part fantasy, part lucid explanation of illness and pain, part metaphor for life, frequently written with the fabulous intensity of a narrative poem and always with luminous, beautiful, and occasionally stark, prose. However Sanatorium might be defined, it is written with incredible imagination, intelligence and beauty. There’s both sadness and humour so that Sanatorium feels perfectly balanced even while the narrator herself can feel slightly unhinged.
The quality of the prose is mesmeric and quite unsettling. Frequently poetic in tone, I found the writing ethereal and slippery. Reading it felt a bit like trying to catch something in the corner of my eye and not quite being able to see it. Ali’s experience illustrates how we are simultaneously bound by and yet not confined to our bodies so that there is a magic lantern effect in reading Sanatorium. This effect gave the book an almost mystical feeling that I absolutely loved. The iterative image of water is sensational. Abi Palmer conveys its power to heal and destroy, to support and dissolve, to buoy us up and to deluge us in ways that are poetic, unusual and completely compelling.
The conversational tone is so convincing that it is as if Abi Palmer is on the phone, telling the reader about her month in the sanatorium in Budapest. This had the effect of drawing me in completely.
It’s difficult to review Sanatorium because it is such an elusive chimera of a book. I was spellbound reading it because, it’s moving, mystical and magnificent. In Sanatorium Abi Palmer gives everyone a mesmerising insight into pain and life affecting illness, but above all, into hope. I didn’t always understand every allusion or reference, but I finished the book with renewed gratitude for my own life and a feeling that, if ever I were to meet Abi Palmer I would like and respect her unreservedly. I really recommend giving Sanatorium a read.
December 13, 2024
Sanatorium is a gorgeous memoir told via prose and poetry. The author has a chronic illness and to get some relief she goes to a thermal spa rehab in Budapest for a month. There she spends a lot of time soaking in a tub. Among other things! But a lot of soaking. On her return she wants to replicate this experience so gets an inflatable tub for her London flat.
Of course this is a serious subject, it’s about how chronic pain & illness affects every element of your life. And then on top of that the hurdles to get access to treatment. But this book is funny! I couldn’t help but think of the ‘due to my agonies’ tweet while reading it.
Dreamlike and well worth a read.
Of course this is a serious subject, it’s about how chronic pain & illness affects every element of your life. And then on top of that the hurdles to get access to treatment. But this book is funny! I couldn’t help but think of the ‘due to my agonies’ tweet while reading it.
Dreamlike and well worth a read.
November 1, 2021
I found this book when I was browsing the Penned in the Margins catalogue after starting Elizabeth-Jane Burnett's recent poetry book Swims, and I thought it sounded intriguing. Sometimes books or lyrics are described as "honest" and I have never really known what that means, but this book is honest. It is a very raw account of living with painful disabilities during a visit to a health spar, and it certainly made me think again about how I approach people. That said Abi Palmer manages to stay humorous and this book is funny, perhaps mre so because of the subject matter.
(There's another on my 'to read' list published by Penned in the Margins, Low Country: Brexit on the Essex Coast, that bodes well.)
(There's another on my 'to read' list published by Penned in the Margins, Low Country: Brexit on the Essex Coast, that bodes well.)
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September 25, 2022This was a great account of a woman with chronic pain's visits to a thermal spa in Budapest interlaced with semi-spirtual, and quite sexual visions of St Theresa of Avila (something linked with healing - patron saint??). Lots of elements of the characters' many senses of self and how disability affects this. It was really poetic, descriptive and I very much enjoyed it while also being struck e.g. by how the council housing system really is not very accessibility adapted (e.g. her flat was refitted with a wetroom that simply flooded to her knees and she had mobility issues so struggled immensely to turn off the water; and had such difficulties being able to access a bath that she purchased an inflatable one - but the room is so small that the bath is practically an upright one and she more or less has to crouch in it)
I'm very tired idk if I'm explaining well hahah I may rewrite but basically all of the housing sounded incredibly suffocating and then the spa is both a bougie and painful experience including gruelling physio activity
I'm very tired idk if I'm explaining well hahah I may rewrite but basically all of the housing sounded incredibly suffocating and then the spa is both a bougie and painful experience including gruelling physio activity
April 13, 2020
A beautiful, tender, often funny book, with fragments of memoir, poetry and short fiction detailing Abi’s experiences with rehabilitation for chronic illness. Abi writes with the intimacy and humour of a close friend inviting you into their thoughts. I found I wanted to read Sanatorium slowly, so as to savour it (an experience I rarely have with books). Even in Abi’s considerations of the limitations of her body, the book felt expansive, and provided an insightful look into living with chronic pain which is pertinent and necessary. I’d recommend anyone and everyone to read this book.
May 30, 2020
Wonderful in every sense.
A book that breaks genre, that break the flimsy lines of 'reality' and which speaks a hot and steamy truth. I love the way it plays with image, both in its words and illustrations. Abi's descriptions are visceral and right there with you.
The notes for 'further reading' at the back includes Instagram handles – a feature which reminded me of the real-time community feel of the book. Though its voice is a singular protagonist, it feels far bigger than that. Thank you for this book, Abi Palmer!
A book that breaks genre, that break the flimsy lines of 'reality' and which speaks a hot and steamy truth. I love the way it plays with image, both in its words and illustrations. Abi's descriptions are visceral and right there with you.
The notes for 'further reading' at the back includes Instagram handles – a feature which reminded me of the real-time community feel of the book. Though its voice is a singular protagonist, it feels far bigger than that. Thank you for this book, Abi Palmer!
July 11, 2021
It feels like the structure and style of this book managed to communicate the experience of chronic pain, or specifically the experience of wellness-seeking/relief-seeking really well. It captured the circularity of chasing relief from pain, then becoming more active physically with increased wellness, only for that increased activity to result in another bout of pain from which you're going to seek relief from.
January 17, 2021
Only a few pages in I felt as if I were trapped with one of those people who continually talked about their ailments, one more page and I knew that I was.
I do not have capacity to feel empathy for every stranger who has access to a keyboard. There are millions of blogs just like this one online, why this one is on paper is a mystery to me.
I do not have capacity to feel empathy for every stranger who has access to a keyboard. There are millions of blogs just like this one online, why this one is on paper is a mystery to me.
July 17, 2020
oh saint teresa! teresa, floating on your back in ecstasy. teresa, gargling clouds and holy water. teresa who wails, face crumbled in triangles. teresa, dressed in a wet-look wedding dress, damp hair hanging around her shoulder. saint teresa, refuser of bread.
January 20, 2021
This was really great and a good example of a more surreal book told in vignettes that really worked for me.
Sanatorium discusses some really important issues around disability and access to healthcare.
Sanatorium discusses some really important issues around disability and access to healthcare.
February 26, 2021
Was super excited to read as I saw a rave review from Reese ( this is a book club book and hers are usually great). Pretty boring. Barely stuck it out. Kept thinking it would get better. It didn't. Stephen King is much bettwr with this type of thriller. 🤷♀️
April 19, 2020
This book is beautiful, honest & raw.
August 8, 2020
Absolutely stunning. So beautifully written I cannot recommend it highly enough
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