ingerlouise's review against another edition
reflective
slow-paced
2.75
I think I would’ve liked this better if I had read the physical copy, as I don’t think I could grasp the nuance of the way that this was written by listening to the audiobook.
An interesting exploration of pain and our ideas about it, but I got lost in the various lists that the author inserts when trying to define & relate different aspects of pain.
I could also tell that this was written by someone who primarily writes poetry for all of her use of lyrical prose and flowery descriptions. Still, I didn’t dislike this book.
An interesting exploration of pain and our ideas about it, but I got lost in the various lists that the author inserts when trying to define & relate different aspects of pain.
I could also tell that this was written by someone who primarily writes poetry for all of her use of lyrical prose and flowery descriptions. Still, I didn’t dislike this book.
jenniechantal's review
2.0
Unfortunately this book really didn't work for me. I ended up getting lost in the run on sentences, the excessive adjectives, the indirect comparisons, and the seemingly random connections between one chapter and the next. The jumping around made it feel incoherent for me.
I really appreciated the little she had to say about denial and her question of whether it leads to "breakdown" instead of "breaking down" and whether denial "makes a refusal of paralysis possible." I would have loved to hear more about that.
In the end, I was put off by what felt like disdain for other people living with chronic pain/illness. At one point she says "I found in the sick no viable model [for life/living]," um ok? And that her denial and compartmentalization as a means of coping allowed her to have a life that isn't oriented around migrane, "in other words, a life." Again WTF?
I really appreciated the little she had to say about denial and her question of whether it leads to "breakdown" instead of "breaking down" and whether denial "makes a refusal of paralysis possible." I would have loved to hear more about that.
In the end, I was put off by what felt like disdain for other people living with chronic pain/illness. At one point she says "I found in the sick no viable model [for life/living]," um ok? And that her denial and compartmentalization as a means of coping allowed her to have a life that isn't oriented around migrane, "in other words, a life." Again WTF?
rwcarter's review
3.0
Lisa Olstein is a poet and suffers from migraines. In Pain Studies, these two facets of her identity combine to create a study of pain by way of the artist. I have very mixed feelings regarding this text so I'll start with what I didn't enjoy, and then go into a discussion of what I did like/her general ideas regarding pain.
So first, this book was way more theoretical than I expected so I had to adjust myself to that almost immediately. In this way, I think that Olstein did us (or maybe just me) a disservice. As someone with chronic pain who is also a writer, Olstein had a unique opportunity to communicate the experience of pain in a way that could broaden minds and reduce stigma -- and I think she fell short of that. What could have been an informative practical discussion instead veered into the realm of theory. Now, don't get me wrong, I love me some theory. But there is such a pressing need (in my head at least) for almost a how-to guide to addressing pain in others that that's what I really craved. To add insult to injury, she even jokes about how she and a friend were discussing an idea for this very thing: An Incomplete Field Guide to Accompanying the Visibly and Invisibly Wounded. This is what I wanted and, to my chagrin, this text was something else. In terms of textual structure, I also had some beef. Olstein writes in very brief chapters which renders the reading relatively fast paced. Now this in itself is not an issue; the issue lies in how the chapters are broken. She breaks her Joan of Arc discussion along lines that don't seem to make sense. In my head, chapters tackle distinct topics, so when I start a new chapter only to realize we're still talking about what we were in the last chapter, my brain has to readjust and this makes the reading choppy. Realistically, these two things (the theoretical nature and the odd chapter delineations) are my only complaints but I'll admit that they had a significant impact on my reading. However, now I'll shift gears into my attempt at a summary of Olstein's theory of pain.
Olstein begins with the idea of chaos as outlined by Lucretius' concept of clinamen. Clinamen is an early metaphysical idea that posits atoms as falling like a rain, never touching, until one atom unpredictably swerves and collides into another. This collision leads to creation as we know it. Now think of the normal, Olstein's "habitual choreographies" as the constant rain of atoms. This is the model for the functioning body as seen by medicine as well, business as usual. Until, kablam!, an atom swerves; this is pain. Pain, for Olstein, is a chaos state derived from the traditional, "procedural" state of things. Her pain is specifically from migraines and so throughout the book she uses 'pain' and 'migraine' almost interchangeably. So here we are, pain/migraine pain as a state of chaos that deviates from the business-as-usual state of the body.
The next move she makes is to talk about how pain and the experience of pain is extralinguistic. Using a critique of an essay by Elaine Scarry as well as a list of her own symptoms, Olstein shows how the language we normally use doesn't suffice to describe pain. Scarry describes the logic used by physicians to address pain, breaking down the phenomenon into parts. These parts describe the time scale of pain (words like 'throbbing'), a temperature scale (words like 'burning'), and a pressure scale (words like 'pinching'). It's words like these that are the basis of things like a 1-10 pain scale. But everyone knows these scales aren't helpful, Olstein says this is because they weren't written by someone in pain. This implies that there's some subversive language accessible only to those suffering. Olstein says that a scale used to measure sea calmness, the Beaufort Wind Scale, is actually more aligned with the experience of pain. Clearly the language we have for pain is inadequate. This point is further proven by Olstein's listing of her own symptoms, which often contradict each other: difficulty reading and heightened reading acuity; appetite stimulation and appetite suppression; blurred vision and hyperacuity of vision. Here we begin to see the rain drops that are normally separate, collide.
How do we access this "extralanguage" if we are not in pain? Olstein proposes thinking about it like a photo negative: "It's remarkable how much primary knowledge we glean from secondary arguments against it -- a kind of negative proof -- and from the procedural mechanisms intended to stamp it out." In trying to pin down what pain is, we learn the equally valuable truth about what pain is not ("Horse, then, unhorses"). She draws an admittedly odd parallel to the trial of Joan of Arc. Joan claimed to be told by God to lead soldiers to victory in the Hundred Years War which she did, dressed scandalously as a man. Trying to understand this divine intervention, the court asks her questions, and in these questions (and Joan's response to them) we can paint a picture of her experience, albeit a negative one. In this way, pain seems ontologically nihilistic. We understand its being by understanding what it isn't, again implying that our known procedures and scales for sussing out physical dysfunction will not suffice.
Her next step after pointing out that language is not a good vehicle for pain description is to turn her attention to art. She is an artist after all. Her first example is a collection of sculptures by Donald Judd. Each work is an aluminum box with the same external dimensions, but the internal characteristics are all different across the 100 works in the collection. Infinities contained within a "finity". Olstein says "Art/migraine disrupts habitual choreographies, it reorganizes us, it reorganizes time." For Olstein, art (specifically Judd's art) and its habit of disrupting habits and expectations is closer to a language of pain than our own language it. It's not her "negative proof", this is firsthand. The fact that we struggle to interpret it interestingly may prove her point. She uses another example, James Turrel's Skyspace, as a way to further this analogy. Here, one views the sky through an oculus that is light by changing light. As the light changes, the perception of the dusk/night/dawn sky is altered. This is a biological phenomenon. And yet the way her and her students describe what they see varies immensely. Here again Olstein is showing how art may be a linguistic alternative for the experience of pain.
Along with the art metaphor, Olstein makes an interesting move bringing in a phenomenon in neuroscience known as prediction-error signal. This occurs when the brain is expecting something that doesn't happen. Most commonly, this is understood in terms of behavioral training. If you're trying to catch a ball and you miss, the brain creates a prediction-error signal so that next time, you'll adjust your hand position. Simplified, but that's the idea. Olstein says the presence of pain in the clinic is like this, a signal of something unexpected. However, we can decide what happens next. As a doctor, we can be frustrated by unexplained pain or we can be motivated. As a sufferer, we can succumb or we can fight. At the end of Olstein's meditations there is a distinct hint of hope in the face of chaos.
Generally, what I found impressive about these essays was how Olstein integrates various forms of media and culture into attempting to describe her pain. She references the TV show House M.D., she utilizes the trial of Joan of Arc, she examines sculpture, she reads Virginia Woolf, she analyzes plays, she incorporates biological science. This type of writing is what I love and is very 'in' right now. The idea that answers to the questions we have about the world manifest in every aspect of our life. Think of the excitement when you read that Euler's number, the golden ratio, a seemingly random 2.718281828..... appears in wildly disparate parts of nature. The human and the nautilus shell, linked by a single number. While the idea of grand narratives like this are decidedly anti-postmodern, they're a hell of a time to read about.
Overall, I think if you go into this knowing it will be abstract it will increase your appreciation for the text. Olstein is clearly a poet in spite of her prose. Her mind is intriguing, captivating, and hard to interpret; just like pain.
So first, this book was way more theoretical than I expected so I had to adjust myself to that almost immediately. In this way, I think that Olstein did us (or maybe just me) a disservice. As someone with chronic pain who is also a writer, Olstein had a unique opportunity to communicate the experience of pain in a way that could broaden minds and reduce stigma -- and I think she fell short of that. What could have been an informative practical discussion instead veered into the realm of theory. Now, don't get me wrong, I love me some theory. But there is such a pressing need (in my head at least) for almost a how-to guide to addressing pain in others that that's what I really craved. To add insult to injury, she even jokes about how she and a friend were discussing an idea for this very thing: An Incomplete Field Guide to Accompanying the Visibly and Invisibly Wounded. This is what I wanted and, to my chagrin, this text was something else. In terms of textual structure, I also had some beef. Olstein writes in very brief chapters which renders the reading relatively fast paced. Now this in itself is not an issue; the issue lies in how the chapters are broken. She breaks her Joan of Arc discussion along lines that don't seem to make sense. In my head, chapters tackle distinct topics, so when I start a new chapter only to realize we're still talking about what we were in the last chapter, my brain has to readjust and this makes the reading choppy. Realistically, these two things (the theoretical nature and the odd chapter delineations) are my only complaints but I'll admit that they had a significant impact on my reading. However, now I'll shift gears into my attempt at a summary of Olstein's theory of pain.
Olstein begins with the idea of chaos as outlined by Lucretius' concept of clinamen. Clinamen is an early metaphysical idea that posits atoms as falling like a rain, never touching, until one atom unpredictably swerves and collides into another. This collision leads to creation as we know it. Now think of the normal, Olstein's "habitual choreographies" as the constant rain of atoms. This is the model for the functioning body as seen by medicine as well, business as usual. Until, kablam!, an atom swerves; this is pain. Pain, for Olstein, is a chaos state derived from the traditional, "procedural" state of things. Her pain is specifically from migraines and so throughout the book she uses 'pain' and 'migraine' almost interchangeably. So here we are, pain/migraine pain as a state of chaos that deviates from the business-as-usual state of the body.
The next move she makes is to talk about how pain and the experience of pain is extralinguistic. Using a critique of an essay by Elaine Scarry as well as a list of her own symptoms, Olstein shows how the language we normally use doesn't suffice to describe pain. Scarry describes the logic used by physicians to address pain, breaking down the phenomenon into parts. These parts describe the time scale of pain (words like 'throbbing'), a temperature scale (words like 'burning'), and a pressure scale (words like 'pinching'). It's words like these that are the basis of things like a 1-10 pain scale. But everyone knows these scales aren't helpful, Olstein says this is because they weren't written by someone in pain. This implies that there's some subversive language accessible only to those suffering. Olstein says that a scale used to measure sea calmness, the Beaufort Wind Scale, is actually more aligned with the experience of pain. Clearly the language we have for pain is inadequate. This point is further proven by Olstein's listing of her own symptoms, which often contradict each other: difficulty reading and heightened reading acuity; appetite stimulation and appetite suppression; blurred vision and hyperacuity of vision. Here we begin to see the rain drops that are normally separate, collide.
How do we access this "extralanguage" if we are not in pain? Olstein proposes thinking about it like a photo negative: "It's remarkable how much primary knowledge we glean from secondary arguments against it -- a kind of negative proof -- and from the procedural mechanisms intended to stamp it out." In trying to pin down what pain is, we learn the equally valuable truth about what pain is not ("Horse, then, unhorses"). She draws an admittedly odd parallel to the trial of Joan of Arc. Joan claimed to be told by God to lead soldiers to victory in the Hundred Years War which she did, dressed scandalously as a man. Trying to understand this divine intervention, the court asks her questions, and in these questions (and Joan's response to them) we can paint a picture of her experience, albeit a negative one. In this way, pain seems ontologically nihilistic. We understand its being by understanding what it isn't, again implying that our known procedures and scales for sussing out physical dysfunction will not suffice.
Her next step after pointing out that language is not a good vehicle for pain description is to turn her attention to art. She is an artist after all. Her first example is a collection of sculptures by Donald Judd. Each work is an aluminum box with the same external dimensions, but the internal characteristics are all different across the 100 works in the collection. Infinities contained within a "finity". Olstein says "Art/migraine disrupts habitual choreographies, it reorganizes us, it reorganizes time." For Olstein, art (specifically Judd's art) and its habit of disrupting habits and expectations is closer to a language of pain than our own language it. It's not her "negative proof", this is firsthand. The fact that we struggle to interpret it interestingly may prove her point. She uses another example, James Turrel's Skyspace, as a way to further this analogy. Here, one views the sky through an oculus that is light by changing light. As the light changes, the perception of the dusk/night/dawn sky is altered. This is a biological phenomenon. And yet the way her and her students describe what they see varies immensely. Here again Olstein is showing how art may be a linguistic alternative for the experience of pain.
Along with the art metaphor, Olstein makes an interesting move bringing in a phenomenon in neuroscience known as prediction-error signal. This occurs when the brain is expecting something that doesn't happen. Most commonly, this is understood in terms of behavioral training. If you're trying to catch a ball and you miss, the brain creates a prediction-error signal so that next time, you'll adjust your hand position. Simplified, but that's the idea. Olstein says the presence of pain in the clinic is like this, a signal of something unexpected. However, we can decide what happens next. As a doctor, we can be frustrated by unexplained pain or we can be motivated. As a sufferer, we can succumb or we can fight. At the end of Olstein's meditations there is a distinct hint of hope in the face of chaos.
Generally, what I found impressive about these essays was how Olstein integrates various forms of media and culture into attempting to describe her pain. She references the TV show House M.D., she utilizes the trial of Joan of Arc, she examines sculpture, she reads Virginia Woolf, she analyzes plays, she incorporates biological science. This type of writing is what I love and is very 'in' right now. The idea that answers to the questions we have about the world manifest in every aspect of our life. Think of the excitement when you read that Euler's number, the golden ratio, a seemingly random 2.718281828..... appears in wildly disparate parts of nature. The human and the nautilus shell, linked by a single number. While the idea of grand narratives like this are decidedly anti-postmodern, they're a hell of a time to read about.
Overall, I think if you go into this knowing it will be abstract it will increase your appreciation for the text. Olstein is clearly a poet in spite of her prose. Her mind is intriguing, captivating, and hard to interpret; just like pain.
bulletobinary's review
3.0
I didn't not enjoy this book. I went in without expectation and was pulled in by Olstein's lyrical voice. You can tell this is a narrative written by a poet, which is both good and back. There are moments of beauty and astute observation, but as a whole the book feels chaotic and disorganized.
If you like closure or an observable thesis in the books you choose to read, this one is not for you.
If you like closure or an observable thesis in the books you choose to read, this one is not for you.
transpinestwins's review
informative
reflective
sad
slow-paced
3.0
There were individual chapters, fragments, and thoughts I found really compelling (the "stimulating negation" of the color blue, Joan of Arc's revelations as a kind of private suffering akin to chronic pain, "Would I cut off a hand? Yes, the left," critiquing how House M.D. depicts pain, the varying uses of denial, etc.), and the opening is a slam dunk ("All pain is simple, and all pain is complex. You're in it and you want to get out. How can the ocean not be beautiful? The ocean is not beautiful today"). As a book, however, this didn't feel cohesive. I'm not sure how I'd describe the structure other than "lyrical," and it felt as though chapters followed one another / that the book ended where it did on a whim rather than with clear intent. I wanted more guidance and less stream-of-consciousness, I think.
courtneyfalling's review
2.5
There are a few interesting philosophical musings here (particularly in the pages between the late 80s and early 90s on pain as both isolating and empathy-enhancing, and again near the end of the book on pain as meaning vs. meaningful), but overall the writing felt too intellectual and fragmented for its aim and within its place in the pain/patient memoir genre.