Sentence of the Day: J. D. Vance

Self has decided to tackle Hillbilly Elegy. Even though she’s not sure she can relate. Makati being as far as one can imagine from the Appalachias.

p. 15: Even knowing what a pistol-packing lunatic Mamaw was, I find this story hard to believe.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

#amreading: The New York Review of Books on Oliver Sacks (21 May 2015)

You will notice, dear blog reader, that all the magazines self has been quoting this week are three years old. That is because 2015 is the last year she had much leisure time. She thinks it’s a very good sign that she saved all these past issues of New York Review of Books. Like she knew, she’d be getting back to them one day. Even if that day was three years later.

Moving on.

Oliver Sacks is no longer with us. Nevertheless, his ouevre remains. Jerome Groopman, in his review of Oliver Sacks’s memoir On the Move: A Life, quotes Sacks’s description of himself:

of “vehement disposition, with violent enthusiasms, and extreme immoderation in all my passions.” A talented student drew a contrast with Ivan Ilyich, who was passionless and shaped his behavior to strictly conform to others’ expectations. Tolstoy judged Ilyich’s life as “most simple and most ordinary and therefore most terrible.”

Which is why self is sharing this photo (taken at the San Carlos Auto Pride carwash):


Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

Recommended Reading: Women Writing (Comics, Nonfiction, Novellas)


Skinning the Rabbit, by Jane Eaton Hamilton (The Sun, July 2017)

The Cone of Uncertainty: Parenting on the Edge of Climate Change, by Sarah Grey (Salvage Quarterly, 28 November 2017)

On Yoga, Diversity Lite, and the Empire of American Wellness, by Namrata Poddar (CounterPunch, 3 November 2017)

The New Bad Girls of Contemporary Literature, by Myriam Gurba (Literary Hub, 1 December 2017)

Why are America’s farmers killing themselves in record numbers? by Debbie Weingarten (The Guardian, 6 December 2017)


DC New Talent Showcase 2017


In Search of Lost Butter Chicken, by Sukhada Tatke (National Geographic Traveler: India, June 2017)


Day of All Saints, by Patricia Grace King (Miami University Press, November 2017)

I Don’t Think of You (Until I Do), by Tatiana Ryckman (Future Tense Books, September 2017)



#amreading Travel Writing: Lawrence Durrell on Alexandria

Going ashore in Alexandria is like walking the plank for instantly you feel, not only the plangently Greek city rising before you, but its backcloth of deserts stretching away into the heart of Africa. It is a place for dramatic partings, irrevocable decisions, last thoughts; everyone feels pushed to the extreme, to the end of his bent. People become monks or nuns or voluptuaries or solitaries without a word of warning. As many people simply disappear as overtly die here. The city does nothing.

— Lawrence Durrell in An Alexandria Anthology: Travel Writing Through the Centuries, edited by Michael Haag (Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press)

#amreading #amwritingfantasy: Inspired by Ian McEwan’s SATURDAY

The first time self read Saturday, by Ian McEwan, was in 2009. She only knows for sure because she did a Search on this blog. And up it popped, complete with spoilers.

But, since she believes she has more time to appreciate reading while she’s in Ireland, she’s going to give Saturday another go.

Amazing how ‘interior’ it is. Also amazing: that it’s about a surgeon. And she just got through reading Do No Harm, by neurosurgeon Henry Marsh. She swears, that’s just coincidence.

What Saturday‘s already succeeded in doing, even though self is only a few pages in: it’s gotten her to add a few more lines to the story she began three days ago, after arriving at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre in Annaghmakerrig. Working title: Transporter 2118

“As a matter of fact . . . ” I thought, but why mince words when she could read minds.

Tu-an Ju rose from the bed.

Oh. I didn’t realize she was that tall.

Looks like the transporter might have a problem.


Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.


DO NO HARM: p. 171

Self just joined a Doctors Book Club. So she can participate in the book club discussion on Do No Harm. She even sent a link to her nephew, William. The one who got married in September. The one who works at Columbia-Presbyterian.

Henry Marsh is doing his round of the spinal theatres. In one theatre, he asks the operating: “Why such a large incision? And why are you using the big bone rongeurs?”

Marsh goes over to the operating table.

“I’ll have a look.”

He picks up “a pair of forceps and” looks into the wound. “A long shiny white thread, the thickness of a piece of string — four or five inches long — came up out of the wound . . . ”

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ!”

SELF (Flapping her hands about): OH NO The student’s just cut someone’s spinal cord.

Marsh: The “registrar had completely misunderstood the anatomy and opened the spine at the outer end rather than the inner edge of the spinal canal and hence had immediately encountered a nerve root, which, even more incomprehensibly, he had then severed.”

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

The Red Book: DO NO HARM, p. 72

Dr. Henry Marsh visits the Bessarabian Market, Ukraine:

Igor was later to tell me that the Bessarabian Market was still functioning only because it had become something of a tourist attraction. He suddenly became quite excited and pointed at one of the fish stalls.

“Very rare!” he said, pointing at three long, smoked eels in a glass cabinet. He bought one of them and gave it to me as a present. It smelt rather awful.

“Very unusual!” he said proudly. “They are in Red Book!”

“What’s the Red Book?” I asked.

“Book of animals soon dead. None left. You are lucky to have one,” he said happily.

“But Igor, this could be the last Ukrainian eel!” I said, looking at the long and once beautiful creature, who had been swimming, glittering, in some remote Ukrainian river and was now smoked and dead and wrapped in a Giorgio Armani plastic bag.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

Advice: DO NO HARM, p. 45

  • “Go and have a cup of tea. Tea is the best haemostatic agent!”

— Henry Marsh to a fellow doctor who calls him about a patient’s oozing haemangioblastoma

DO NO HARM: Aneurysm, Part 2 (SPOILER ALERT)

Wonder what the woman patient in this chapter would think of Henry Marsh’s book? Doubt the hospital administration would have told her:

We tried three times to clip the aneurysm but the first two clips were flawed and the head surgeon ended up throwing one of the flawed clips across the operating room. You’re damn lucky.

Anyhoo, the day after the operation, when Marsh visits the patient, she has a huge black eye and a swollen forehead. Marsh may not have appeared sufficiently concerned about the patient’s appearance because her husband, who happens to be there, glares at Marsh angrily.

Marsh explains his nonchalance thus:

  • Perhaps I should have expressed more sympathy but after the near-disaster of the operation I found it difficult to take her minor post-operative problems seriously.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.


It is really interesting reading the Goodreads reviews of Do No Harm, as many of the reviewers seem to either: a) know the author personally, or know someone he has treated, or b) suffer from a malady mentioned in the book.

Self engaged in the discussion yesterday: someone summarized each chapter, thereby indirectly dropping spoilers. So self recommended putting a SPOILER ALERT over her review, as right now she is in the chapter called Aneurysm, and until reading the review she was completely on pins and needles.

And now self needs to add:


The chapter has the pacing of the very best thrillers. The protagonists are a neurosurgeon (the author) vs. a patient’s brain.

The brain acquiesces quite easily, but the fault lies in the first aneurysm clip (six-millimetre, titanium) which won’t open. The assistant tries first, but fumbles, so after a few seconds the author has to take over. This time, the clip does open, but the applicator can’t seem to release the clip.

Of all the — ! This patient (a 32-year-old wife and mother) has to have the worst luck in the world! The author has to sit there holding the clip and cursing, worried that if he moves his hand, the aneurysm will tear off the cerebral artery and cause a catastrophic hemorrhage in the patient’s brain (It’s at this point where self can’t stop thinking of the Jeremy Renner character in The Hurt Locker, when he finds an IED but discovers to his horror that it’s one of those butterfly ones, six little bombs in a circle, and he’s standing right in the middle)

He realizes he has no choice but to remove the clip he has just so painstakingly positioned, and find a third clip.

As the doctor removes the second clip, “the aneurysm suddenly swells and springs back into life, filling instantly with arterial blood. I feel it is laughing at me . . . ”

The author shouts, “That’s never happened before!” which is a completely futile statement, in self’s humble opinion. Because literally nothing has ever happened before.

So what does the author do? He throws the offending clip, just flings it across the room.

Gawd, if self was the patient, and she was watching this go down (Thank God for anesthesia) she might very well change her mind about the operation and say: Let me out of here!

(And if this were an American hospital, wouldn’t the doctor be afraid of writing about this incident? America being such a litigious society, after all. But this is England, self is reminded. And England is not as litigious.)

Here’s the rub: “The faulty ones, for some strange reason, turned out to have stiff hinges.” (p. 30)

Self has a feeling the story turns out well; it wouldn’t be in the book otherwise. It simply wouldn’t.

Stay tuned.

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