I am a fan of the author, Olivia Judson, and use her rollicking good book in my course on Biology of Reproduction. But heaven save us from scientists that go Hollywood. As Dr Tatiana, OJ starts to look a little down at heel, her dress a little wrinkled, she wobbles a bit on her spikes, her smile morphs into rictus in later vignettes. The attempts at humor that give the book its charm, become ghastly pantomimes in the clumsily choreographed production numbers. I'd pass.