Siri Hustvedt is a writer whom I much admire. Particularly the wonderful
What I Loved. I am also fascinated, both professionally and personally, by the narrative of health and dis-ease, and particularly in how illness impacts identity. It has always felt to me as if the proper understanding of disease HAS to move out of the medical textbooks and into the individual story of how THIS condition impacts on the `I' of this person.
So Hustvedt's book joins a growing pile of my much admired books which are written by fine writers who explore both the narrative and the clinical interpretation of an illness they have personally suffered from : Hilary Mantel's
Giving up the Ghost: A memoir (hypothyroidism and endometriosis) Tim Parks'
Teach Us to Sit Still: A Sceptic's Search for Health and Healing (bladder dysfunction) , Oliver Sacks'
Migraine and
A Leg to Stand on (Picador Books) (neurological problems) , Joanne Limburg's
The Woman Who Thought Too Much: A Memoir (OCD)
Following the death of her beloved father, Hustvedt, a practised lecturer and public speaker, finds herself overcome, possessed even, by a sudden attack of spasmodic strong shaking, whilst speaking at a memorial service eulogising his work. Curiously, she had no prior sense of stage fright, and whilst her body was out of control, the shaking did not affect her voice, and she was able to continue her speech. Almost as if her mind and voice (and of course the musculature of the throat) were one thing, and the muscles of her limbs and back were quite another. The attacks of shaking continued to occur, generally connected with some, but not all, of her public speakings. Her background as a writer, and that writerly ability to stand outside self (in order to create `character' and the narrative of `other') enabled her to research and comment on her condition even whilst it inhabited her. Indeed she began to speak at various gatherings whether writerly or more scientifically based, about her researches into the borders between neuropsychiatry/neurology and psychiatry. Inevitably there's an inhabiting of the nature of brain, the nature of mind, the nature of identity.
This isn't an easy book - some of the `left brain stuff' involves quotations from texts on neurology, psychiatry, psychoanalytic theory which are at times almost unbearably dense and jargonistic, but Hustvedt sharply and clearly guides the reader through.
However, the particular `gem' which I will take away from this book is not from Hustvedt herself, but a quotation from one Rita Charon, a physician with a PhD in literature, who ran a series of talks as part of a programme in Narrative Medicine, at Columbia University. Hustvedt quotes Charon thus:
"Non-narrative knowledge (in medical term, my bracketed inclusion) attempts to illuminate the universal by transcending the particular; narrative knowledge, by looking closely at individual human beings grappling with the conditions of life, attempts to illuminate the universals of the human condition by revealing the particular"
Quite. Whether a deeper understanding of wellness and illness (or indeed, even the wellness still within a person despite of, or even INSIDE the fact of their illness) by the understanding of the particular person's story; or, in an even wider context, storytelling itself as illumination.