Sara’s Reviews > Everything Is Tuberculosis: The History and Persistence of Our Deadliest Infection > Status Update

Microbes challenge my very understanding of myself—what am “I,” in the end, if half of me isn’t me, and the half of me that isn’t me dictates some of “my” thinking and feeling? What does it mean to be a person whose consciousness, whose love and longing and fear, can be snuffed out by an overgrowth of bacteria that neither love nor long nor fear? How absurd that I can be murdered by that venomous little atom!

Framing illness as even involving morality seems to me a mistake, because of course cancer does not give a shit whether you are a good person. Biology has no moral compass. It does not punish the evil and reward the good. It doesn’t even know about evil and good.

“The beauty of women is greatly owing to their delicacy, or weakness.”

Treating disease—whether through herbs or magic or drugs—is unnatural. No other animals do it, at least not with anything approaching our sophistication. Hospitals are unnatural, as are novels and saxophones. None of us actually wants to live in a natural world. And yet we tell ourselves that some—and only some—lives end naturally (which really means “acceptably” or “well”).

As Barbara Duden has written, “Pain is in the body. It leaves no trace for the historian, unless complaints about it are recorded.” But I wonder if we also ignore illness because of our bias toward agency and control. We would like to imagine that we captain the ships of our lives, that human history is largely the story of human choice.