bansrithakkar's review against another edition
5.0
Absolutely brilliant, utterly fascinating. Sacks' colorful commentary gives a whole new perspective not only of neurological conditions and their historical context, but (in some cases) what it might mean to be a human, have a life, an identity beyond a functioning body, beyond being alive.
kurtwombat's review against another edition
4.0
Imagine that you wake up one morning with a hand at your throat trying to strangle you. You scream out in alarm waking your spouse who turns on the light and finds that it is your own hand at your throat and you are unable to stop it. Imagine someone asks you to identify an object and your best guess is that it might be for holding change because it has five long pouches. Then it is put on your hand and you realize it is your glove. Imagine being able to walk perfectly fine but your friends tell you something is wrong. You go to a doctor who films you walking across a room. When you see the film, you realize for the first time that you are leaning so far to one side, at least 20 degrees, that if you leaned much more you would fall over—and you have no sense of it at all. Some of the amazing and true patients treated by Dr. Oliver Sacks and discussed in this book.
Reading books about science (in this case neuroscience) can often be dry and mechanical. The poetry and mystery that moves in and around all things can be lost with the mere recitation of facts and figures and the faces of those most intimately impacted can become dry stiff masks revealing little of their inner life. I enjoy reading Oliver Sacks because he opens the door to poetry and mystery without making light of the science. The science, after all, is why we are here and while I certainly don’t want a soapy drama about each patient, Sacks strings enough humanity through each case that it intensifies the power of each affliction. For many of these folks there is an understandable depression over their plight but some have so little awareness of what they are suffering that the sadness has nothing to latch onto. The feeling becomes kind of a vagabond sadness permeating every working sense and weighing down any emotion that might try to take flight.
Though not every story is a sad one. The patient who didn’t recognize his own glove, was a music teacher who taught until he died in his late eighties. He could not recognize people or objects out of context but often could link clues together with music to create a kind of alternate image. He hummed while he walked across campus to find classrooms he had taught in for decades. He also painted and when he lost his connection with objects, gave up realism for abstract art. Part of the power of this book and people in general is that even under the most awful conditions—we often find a way to not only survive but to thrive. But for those who did succumb to their afflictions, often by just living a kind of shadow life until their bodies finally quit on them, perhaps what we learned from them affords a kind of meaningful afterlife they were denied while on earth.
Reading books about science (in this case neuroscience) can often be dry and mechanical. The poetry and mystery that moves in and around all things can be lost with the mere recitation of facts and figures and the faces of those most intimately impacted can become dry stiff masks revealing little of their inner life. I enjoy reading Oliver Sacks because he opens the door to poetry and mystery without making light of the science. The science, after all, is why we are here and while I certainly don’t want a soapy drama about each patient, Sacks strings enough humanity through each case that it intensifies the power of each affliction. For many of these folks there is an understandable depression over their plight but some have so little awareness of what they are suffering that the sadness has nothing to latch onto. The feeling becomes kind of a vagabond sadness permeating every working sense and weighing down any emotion that might try to take flight.
Though not every story is a sad one. The patient who didn’t recognize his own glove, was a music teacher who taught until he died in his late eighties. He could not recognize people or objects out of context but often could link clues together with music to create a kind of alternate image. He hummed while he walked across campus to find classrooms he had taught in for decades. He also painted and when he lost his connection with objects, gave up realism for abstract art. Part of the power of this book and people in general is that even under the most awful conditions—we often find a way to not only survive but to thrive. But for those who did succumb to their afflictions, often by just living a kind of shadow life until their bodies finally quit on them, perhaps what we learned from them affords a kind of meaningful afterlife they were denied while on earth.
memequeensopsop's review against another edition
emotional
informative
reflective
sad
fast-paced
5.0
becky_05's review against another edition
challenging
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
slow-paced
3.0
readingwithlibby's review against another edition
3.0
I found this book very interesting, but I struggled with how formal I felt it was and I really struggled with language used. I do understand context and I know the book was published some time ago, but it’s so awful and degrading, it can’t be ignored. It was a good insight into different neurological conditions and what was thought of them all those years ago, but I don’t think I would particularly recommend this book to anyone!!