Reader Response: Devil in the White City

Erik Larson’s rendering of Chicago in the 1890s is remarkable. I’ve always been interested in how to write historical narratives and Larson, it seems, is a master. The story is anchored on two heavily archived events (or series of events), the murders of H.H. Holmes and the orchestration of the 1893 World Fair by Daniel Burnham.

In the preface Larson notes that “this is not a work of fiction. Anything between quotation marks comes from a letter, memoir and other written document.” Even so, I couldn’t at times help but wonder about the moments not in between quotations.   

At times Larson carefully chooses his words when he’s imagining a drama that can’t possibly be verified such as the anecdote from Holmes' memoir when the childhood bullies force him to confront a skull in the local doctor’s office.

Larson says: “The incident probably did occur but with a different choreography. … he merely gazed at the skeleton with cool appreciation. When his eyes settled back upon his captors, it was they who fled.” (pg. 39)

“Probably” is the type of springboard word that allows Larson to build the drama, and I think this scene was quite effective. In fact, somehow when dealing with a villain like Holmes it seems practical to dramatically indulge.

But I was more curious about how Larson made his decisions on some of his more menial details. Well, actually they’re not menial details. I should call them “everyday” details. I’m interested in how Larson chose to move his characters across a room, how he sets atmosphere, and to what degree they’re founded in historical documentation.

For instance in the chapter titled ‘Convocation,’ Larson sets up a scene where the architects are sharing their designs. He describes the room: “The light in the room was sallow, the sun already into its descent. Wind thumped the windows. In the hearth at the north wall a large fire cracked and lisped, flushing the room with a dry sirocco that caused frozen skin to tingle.” (pg. 113)

Burnham and some of the other architects recorded memoirs of the events, and perhaps Larson could figure out that the meeting was held as sundown on a windy day. And someone may have made a note about the fire. But did the fire cause frozen skin to tingle?

Whether this detail is true or not, I’m not so concerned. I wouldn’t claim that this book is inaccurate. But I wonder how Larson makes these decisions. Obviously the caption above, is full of rich wonderful detail that develops the scene, but when can a nonfiction author say the skin tingles? And when can’t he?

Reader Response: Radioactivity: Marie & Pierre Curie: A Tale of Love and Fallout

In the last two months I’ve read three nonfiction books that have entered in their own way into the lexicon of literary nonfiction – each in their own right based in science: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, The Spirit Catches And You Fall Down, and now Radioactive: Pierre and Marie Curie. Each has spent time atop various bestsellers lists.  

It makes me question whether this scientific narrative is a trend. Spirit Catches is an older book, from 1996, so it doesn’t fit the bill in terms of being a recent trend. All the same it sparked my curiosity. I searched some bestsellers lists and searched Amazon’s directory for recent books and no trends emerged – that I saw. Still, I wondered about how each book seemed so impactful and popular.

The thread that struck me, was that they all touched on topics of spirituality. It’s a subject matter that because of its immateriality is difficult to pin, or state or define. But I think that Redniss’ Radioactive is especially compelling because of it. Redniss book begins with the very theme:

"Radium is one of these – Nature’s magic, because as yet no one understands its beings, or causes of being, nor its results of being. If radium can bring to our vision those things which we cannot see (as it does the atom), its influence cannot be measured on materialists, ‘I’ll believe when I see.'” – quote from Louie Fuller in preface

Just like Skloot’s Immortal Life deals with the transcendent effects of HeLa over the Lacks family and just as Anne Fadiman’s The Spirit Catches deals with shamanism among the Hmong, Redniss uses a thread of love and otherworldly elements in the lives of the Curies to capture a force that’s implicit in the story. It’s a feat, worth noting I think.

It seems counterintuitive that matters of immaterial and impossible-to-measure qualities are the very elements that propel books about empirical science. If there are any doubts whether, Redniss intended there to be a spiritual thread throughout, it seems worth noting that the beautiful font she designed and used was named Eusapia LR, after Eusapia Pallidino, the spiritualist that the Curies visited.  

***

Throughout Act 1, it was difficult to separate the visual art from the prose. It may have been a matter of conditioning but throughout I wanted to just flip the page and push through the prose. Or I wanted to just flip through and look at the art. I’m not sure if it was because the science was a bit heady, and required my full attention or whether it was because – I’m just not used to seeing a story presented this way.  Either way, the movement of the Curies’ story in Act 1 felt like it dragged.

I say this, because it’s worth pointing out that in Act II the narrative changed. The story picked up its pace and I didn’t have to think about why or how to flip through pages. It’s possible that I had finally gotten used to the format. But more likely, my perception changed because Redniss began to employ a very effective jump. She began to expand the narrative from following solely the Curies and began to include passages that related to a broader range of radioactive topics. Some examples: Daniel Foss’ cancer treatment in 2001 (pg. 72), Sadae Kasaoka’s account of the A-bomb in Hiroshoma (pg.83) and the account of the Chernobyl meltdown (pg. 113-117).

This structure continued from act II and into Act III. There’s a certain type of gymnastics of the mind that’s rewarding in the structure. For instance consider a sequence beginning on pg. 136 and continuing to pg.146. Paul Langviere and a journalist are about to duel for Marie’s honor. Then on the next page Redniss details the atomic experiments in Nevada.  Then over the course of two pages Preston Truman tells his heartbreaking account of living within toxic range of atomic testing in the 1950s and his childhood friends suffering from leukemia. The next two pages show images of the ominous-looking drill bits used to drill for underground atomic experiments in Nevada – symbolically implicating the harm caused by radiation. Then in the next two pages Marie Curie’s lover and a journalist are in a duel! (Only nobody fires.)

That’s a lot of action in 10 pages. And while, there’s no direct connection (that we know of) to radiation poisoning in Utah and drill bits in Nevada, there’s also no direct connection  between a duel in 1911 and a atomic experimentation in 1950. This sequence is only linked by Marie Curie’s work with radium and radiation.

And it’s enough. It works. And it’s a bit of thrill.

***

There’s a lack of transition in the prose from topic to topic.

But it doesn’t bother me at all. Somehow the Cyanotype printing and other art managed to provide transition enough.

The art also allowed for a certain economy of the prose. Redniss is able to get away with sheer blocks of quotation for whole pages at a time. It sometimes made me think of a film script. At the same time, when its Redinss’s words we’re reading, it’s a very effective sparing language.

***

My cousin, who’s in film school, picked up my copy of the book from off my coffee table. He said, “whoa!”

I told him, very briefly about the high points: a love story, radioactive condoms and suppositories, Hiroshima, Nevada and a duel.

He said that could be a good movie.

And I think he’s right. But only if the film could capture the feel Redniss’s art. I think.

Maybe?

***

What luck that for Redniss that the Curies were beautiful writers:

Pierre, my Pierre, you are there, calm as a poor wounded man resting in his sleep, hes head bandaged. Your face is sweet as if you dream. Your lips, which I used to call hungry, are livid and colorless…” – Marie Curie pg. 106

Who says scientists can’t write?

***

Has anybody made a movie about the Chernobyl Meltdown?

Her mention of the Zone of Alienation becoming home to wolves and bears and lynx and wild animals, made me think about radioactive wildlife. Bears with three heads, and wolves with scales that breathe nuclear fire rampaging through Russia. It could stand to become an instant Hollywood classic.

Just remember your heard it here first.

                                      Abandoned Chernobyl (image courtesy of oddizy.com)

Reader Response: James Fallows’ essay/column How America Can Rise Again,

In the realm of literary nonfiction, this particular piece feels to me as though it falls under the category of column-writing, meaning it’s written by a writer who’s paid to divulge his opinion. I suppose The Atlantic lists Fallows as a correspondent not a columnist– but that still means that he’s paid for his analysis. I don’t especially think that this piece has a columny feel – like “hey Washington you’re dumb and you ought to do the things I’m about to write about for the next ten inches!”

If it weren’t published in a national magazine I’d call it an essay. I mean, I guess it is an essay. But the reason I’m calling it a column is because it’s proffering an opinion on public policy which is normally in the realm of columnists like Thomas Friedman or Paul Krugman or David Frum. 

So in that sense, if it’s a column, it happens to be a very good, well written column.  Being that it is a column (I think,) I had a tough time keeping the part of my brain that was saying, “Holy shit, man. America’s in a heap of it,” apart from the part of my brain that was saying, “Oh, boy, nice use of anonymous sources Mr. Fallows.” Now that I’ve clearly confused myself on whether this is an essay or a column or an article or a what-have-you, I’m going to henceforth refer to it as an essay/column or an essay or a column.

I’m also going to divide my response into two halves. One for the side of my brain that was coolly commenting on technique, and the other for the side of my brain that was reacting to America’s descent into hell.

Analysis of Technique:

The primary reason I’d say that this essay/column was well written is because, while ultimately offering an opinion, the essay has a conversational flow to it. It isn't until the conclusion that I felt like I was hearing Fallows' opinion. Throughout the piece I felt more like I was at roundtable, hearing many opinions.

This sense is also lent from the structure of the piece. It's a compelling form. It follows a query: Is America going to hell? Fallows delves in to a serious analysis of the question by interviewing a multitude of high profile sources. The ultimate answer is yes and/or no. But the way the column’s structured provides a very conversational tone because Fallows follows his query with a 'good news versus bad news' format.  

After he presents the obvious general evidence that America is going to hell, he spends the bulk of the article analyzing the good news,( as in America’s going to hell but...) He begins by showing that America has a Jeremidian culture that promotes a pessimistic view, often with a beneficial outcome. He also discusses the relativity of America and China, discouraging the ‘us versus them’ dichotomy. The good news Fallows says is that America’s “feats of absorption (globally) and opportunity (domestically),” its university system and its openness to immigration are revered around the world. 

The bad news is that America exhibits signs of decline in terms of jobs, debt, military strength, and overall independence. But the biggest problem, Fallows says, is that the political culture and its system of representation has paralyzed the government.

At this admission, Fallows changes his “going to hell” query and surmises that he doesn't mean that "America is going to hell," but that America has "failed to adapt" and it’s a governmental system is flawed.  Then he briefly concludes, that America has two choices: a) work with our flawed governmental system  or  b) to work to contain the damage caused by our flawed system, or  as Fallows bleakly calls it:  "muddling through or starving the beast." His most salient recommendation is for the government to make decisions from a long-term-75-years-out standpoint as opposed to doing what's best to become reelected. He also mentions a coup, or for himself moving back to China as other possibilities. It's rather bleak.

The bleak tone is the finale, but for much of the column Fallows guides his roundtable toward evidence that America may not have gone to hell. He guided the converstation predominantly toward heartening evidence that societally America is as strong as it has always been. It wasn't until two-thirds of the way toward the end that Fallows juxtaposed the heartening evidence to the evidence of flawed polity, at which point it allowed for a type of problem/solution format. When Fallows finally reaches his dreary conclusion,  the fact that he focused on the positives of America's position in comparison to China - that structure of good news - made his conclusion especially hard hitting.    

Not only was the structure effective, but so was the viewpoint Fallows used. It allowed this essay to have an authority that’s rarely felt in a political column. Fallows, back home after a three-year stint in China, approaches the essay with a unique first-person view point. The deer in his front yard – a wildlife sighting unheard of in China – is a good example of how he draws  upon personal experience. However, it’s just a dropping in point for Fallows. Other writers would perhaps rely primarily on their first-person experience. I mean, he could have gone on like ‘In China I saw this, in America I see that… and so on.’ Instead the strength of this piece is Fallows', collection of others' opinions.

His seemingly endless list of sources is the primary way that Fallows maintained his unique authority, even more so than his first person experience. He interviewed historians, politicians, soldiers, ministers, civil engineers, broadcast executives and high-tech researchers from America and from abroad. He also referenced influential economy and history texts. That he collects so many viewpoints on this conversation of whether America is going to hell or not, and that he lets the conversation remain positive for the majority of essay, allows Fallows to enter in the end with his final "muddled or starving the beast" analysis.  

I think that there's a patience to this technique and it has a hard-hitting pay off.

My Opinion:

(Cliché alert) This column was like a roller coaster ride. (End cliché alert)

In chronological order here are my thoughts as I read this column/essay:

[ Good questions. Is America ahead of or behind China? And is America going to hell? Good question.

They get cell phone service on subways in China? Goddamn, I barely get any at my house. Oh yes, yes our infrastructure is ancient. Oh man. We’re living in ruins. Oh and, indeed, all of our smart Nobel Prize winners were born in other countries. Of course we’re going to hell.

Oh but not to worry, we’re no Rome. We have too many cities, to be toppled. And after all,  even the pre-Colonial Puritans thought America had gone to hell and they didn’t even know what America was yet. Heck, Jimmy Carter was all doom-and-gloom in the eighties, when our excess was never greater! See, everything’s fine. Even Chinese diplomats speak in awe of our ability to avoid catastrophe. Anyway, this whole global idea of being ahead or behind other people is like brand new – only since Sputnik, ya know? And geez of course China’s going to have a larger economy than ours, there’s like a gazillion people in their country.

Plus, everybody in the world is coming to our Universities. We’re, like, by far the smartest people on earth. (Yeah, Americans rock!) And we’re the only ones who really understand a “global network” and we’re not really that racist anymore. I mean, we may gripe about it but we still let immigrants in our country. I mean, shit, we have “immigrant billionaires.” America’s awesome and we don’t enforce the “one baby rule.” We’ll rebuild our greatness. Everybody will see!

What’s that? Oh wait, Fallows is talking about our political system. Decades worth of special interest groups, tax breaks, and earmarks have created a “favor-ridden state.” Oh man. Systemic plaque and an enfeebling pattern of  demosclereosis. Come On! Disproportionate representation in the House and Senate, but, but… Now Fallows is talking about rewriting the constitution. I mean, nobody will allow that. Ever. Oh man now he’s listing all the public services America’s been shortchanging for last thirty years, Jesus. Only 26% of American bridges are safe! What! Is it even safe to drive across the bridge on my way to school? I better stay home tomorrow.

Oh finally here’s the conclusion: a coup? Communism? No, that’s not it. Oh, “muddle through or starve the beast.” I see… Stay the course.. Okay. Alright. Okay.

I’m glad this article is over; I’m super depressed.]


The fact that I had such a manicdepressive response to this piece by Fallows, may be the primary reason, I feel compelled to describe it as a column. I think, the other reason is that a lot of the evidence that Fallows uses to support his argument or to guide the conversational flow is opinions. His sources, while all in high-ranking, impressively important roles, tended to state their opinions and not so much facts. The effect, I think, resulted in my feeling like I was being jerked around.

As for my actual opinion on whether America is going to hell? ... Well, I'm not qualified to say because I don't hold some sort of high level executive role in government or at university, so I'll just stay mum.

Reader Response to The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved

In Hunter S. Thompson’s article, The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved, the “real beasts” ended up being Thompson and Ralph Steadman. This piece is interesting on many levels, but this thread of caricaturization compels the narrative to a depth rarely seen in magazine writing.

First a note on Thompson’s voice: It’s strong. Really really strong. All manner of adjectives could lend themselves to describe it: irritable, frantic, violent, terse, on-edge, etc. But the ways he manages to command the voice through imagination and dialogue is what most interested me. It’s established from the get-go with his opening scene where he exchanges remarks with Jimbo about the imagined forthcoming riots at the Kentucky Derby.

"Well...maybe I shouldn't be telling you..." I shrugged. "But hell, everybody else seems to know. The cops and the National Guard have been getting ready for six weeks. They have 20,000 troops on alert at Fort Knox. They've warned us — all the press and photographers — to wear helmets and special vests like flak jackets. We were told to expect shooting..."

"No!" he shouted; his hands flew up and hovered momentarily between us, as if to ward off the words he was hearing. Then he whacked his fist on the bar. "Those sons of bitches! God Almighty! The Kentucky Derby!"

Thompson is speaking within an imagined realm, a sketch of the darkest impressions of American culture where all facets of humanity are in some surreal carnival of greed and filth. He’s operating within a sort of caricature of reality. It’s a totally outrageous viewpoint and he manages to bring the subjects of his story into his realm by entering into a dialogue with unsuspecting bystanders, (esp. with Steadman.) Whether what Jimbo or Thomspon said in the above exchange is true and 100% accurate reporting is besides the point. The point is that Thompson is capturing a cultural moment, by fitting this world of the Kentucky Derby in his cultural vantage point. In order to pull this off he has to impose a super strong voice. And it’s not just in his dialogue but all throughout the prose, such as in moments like, “Creeping Jesus, I thought. That screws the press credentials.”

When he operates with this assertive voice, these imagined scenes of drunken debauchery and soulless inbreeds become not so much imagined, but more like a stained canvas on which he’s working.

I guess what I’m saying, is that his voice comes from operating in a decadent vantage point and imposing it upon the situation that he’s reporting. And when it reflects a broader cultural feeling, like when he riffs on national news headlines about Black Panther movements and student revolts, it’s very effective and widens the scope of the story. Otherwise why would we even care to be reading about the 1970 Kentucky Derby forty years later?

In other words, this isn’t a story about the Kentucky Derby but more of story reflecting the sociological and political climate on the eve of the Kent State shootings in 1970. And it takes one hell of a narrative to turn a simple horseracing assignment into all of that.

One of the ways that Thompson, achieved, this full rounded narrative was by using a type of plot device. Obviously, the race itself, is only two minutes long, and Thompson could care less about winners or losers of it. Instead he writes a narrative about writing a narrative. You could look at this as a sort of a quest narrative. At first Thompson’s quest is about getting his bearings, finding Steadman, getting his press credentials, rental car, etc. It sets the tone of his off-the-cuff approach. Then Thompson focuses his lens on the caricaturization of derby-goers. In particular he’s trying to find a particular face, a sort of quest.  He describes what he’s after as “the mask of the whiskey gentry — a pretentious mix of booze, failed dreams and a terminal identity crisis; the inevitable result of too much inbreeding in a closed and ignorant culture. … a symbol of the whole doomed atavistic culture that makes the Kentucky Derby what it is.”

Thompson ends up getting too far into the carnival of the Derby and loses sight of any quest, and it’s almost pure reportage of scenes. When he references his stained red notebook, his prose almost takes the form of lists.

Then in the end, in the hungover dreariness afterwards, he’s reminded of the quest:

“There he was, by God — a puffy, drink-ravaged, disease-ridden caricature...like an awful cartoon version of an old snapshot in some once-proud mother's family photo album. It was the face we'd been looking for — and it was, of course, my own. Horrible, horrible...”

The reason that this quest maneuver is so successful is that it allows him to in the end cast his critical satirical eye on himself. This realization, is the climax of the narrative. It’s effectiveness is that by identifying himself as the epitome of the doomed culture he’s recording, he establishes a twisted sort of credibility for what might otherwise be an unreliable narrator. It, in a way, justifies his use of hyperboles and exaggerations within a piece of reportage.

“And unlike most of the others in the press box, we didn't give a hoot in hell what was happening on the track. We had come there to watch the real beasts perform.”

Reader Response: What Really Happened to Phoebe Prince

“What Really Happened to Phoebe Prince?” by Emily Bazelon is an in-depth look at the bullying and suicide of Phoebe Prince and the prosecution and administrative fallout that ensued.

The first thing I noticed about this piece is that it’s, in way, piggy backing on the fact that this story has been widely covered and editorialized. Heck, when this series ran new Massachusetts state legislation in reaction to this story was already in motion, and the trials of the defendants in question hadn’t even run their course yet.

Bazelon, however, takes the stance of reporter that’s willing to turn over a stone yet unturned. The primary question raised in this article appeared to be: To what degree does Phoebe bear responsibility of her own fate? The other questions seemed to be: To what degree are the prosecutions of “bullies” reasonable? And to what degree did the administration properly handle the situation?

Nut Graph/thesis: “I've wrestled with how much of this information to publish. Phoebe's family has suffered terribly. But when the D.A. charged kids with causing Phoebe's death and threatened them with prison, she invited an inquiry into other potential causes. The whole story is a lot more complicated than anyone has publicly allowed for. The events that led to Phoebe's death show how hard it is for kids, parents, and schools to cope with bullying, especially when the victim is psychologically vulnerable. The charges against the students show how strong the impulse is to point fingers after a suicide, how hard it is to assess blame fairly, and how ill-suited police and prosecutors can be to punishing bullies." pg.2

Bazelon takes a comprehensive approach by relying heavily on sources and documents made public, and interviews with other students, law professionals and educational professionals. The lead-up to Phoebe's death and the fallout are as comprehensively covered as can be, but it seems like there's only so much depth you can achieve in a story when so many key players are unavailable for comment directly to the reporter. Missing key players included: The Prince family, Phoebe's counselor, D.A. Elizabeth Scheibel, the defendants, and Super Intendent Sayer. 

Given that Bazelon didn't have access to any of the aforementioned sources, I think she managed to portray a well-rounded perspective. I really do respect the reporting of this piece, but I had a tough time reading it as a narrative. I suppose in nonfiction literature, I feel wary about being to pick out a nut graph on my first read or any read. It seemed to me like the three sections read at best like a well written newspaper story and at worst like academic journals. The first section about the lead up to Phoebe’s sucide read like a play-by-play, as perhaps told by a sociologist. The second section about the D.A.’s zealousness (which I actually thought could have been a longer piece unto itself) read like a law brief. And the third section was like an education-adminisitration-bullying analysis.

I suppose the reason that I was turned off a bit by this very dry approach to this heavy topic, is because I felt like there could have been more humanity. Maybe, it’s because when I was in high school, I had a pal who tried to commit suicide, or that I’ve since had other friends do the same, maybe I’m biased  … but it’s seem as though, this piece had no emotional appeal to a subject that I feel has emotion inherit in it.

I, mean, this is a tragedy and I don't really know what the tone should have been, but to me I felt like I was reading briefings of the entirety of the scenerio, and I think I wanted to know more about what the answer to these situations are and what the reaction from the family was. 

 

Maybe this, added depth, or humanity was impossible to delve into when so many people close to the story were already burned out on media exposure.  Perhaps, the tendency for national media to overplay the sentimentality of these types of stories swung the pendulum too far back  the other way in Bazelon’s corner?

Other notes on reading:

- Sometimes I think that when a story has as many links as this one does it’s over done. But given the highly publicized nature of this piece I think it’s very appropriate and lends itself to the piece. (Also, makes me think that this is an ideal, online read…)

- The visual elements of this article were puzzling. (I read the PDF version.) I didn’t understand the painted portraits of the various characters.  It’s odd and a little confusing to have unlabeled portraits in the middle of the page, in a story that had a multitude of characters. Then it switches gears toward the end of the piece and the layout is full of photos, also confusing.

- After the upfront tone of the nut graph Bazelon goes on to explain her approach to dealing with the public discourse of such sensitive information. After that Bazelon goes on to keep the reader in the loop, parenthetically disclosing  some of her editorial, choices. (Phoebe’s parents requested that no personal information not previously publicly released, be discussed; the names of students, not previously published, have been changed. etc.)

These are important ethical choices that must be disclosed to the reader. In a way it’s part of the story. Bazelon could have had a note from the editor, up front, but I think making these choices parenthetically part of the narrative lend weight to the heaviness of the subject matter.

Class Reading

I'll be reading Rachel Carson's The Sea Around Us, from a section titled, The Long Snowfall, pg. 75.

Reader Response to The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

In an interview with Rebecca Skloot about The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks I heard her say that she weaves together three narratives: that of the immortal cell, the narrative of Henrietta Lacks and the Lacks family, and the narrative of Skloot’s journey of discovery and in particular her relationship with Deborah Lacks.

But honestly, I wouldn’t have been able to easily pick that out, if I hadn’t heard her say it, which, I think is a credit to Skloot’s skill as an author. Or to put it another way, I suppose if I had only read the first two thirds of the book I could see it: Henrietta’s narrative, the scientific narrative and a reporter struggling to gain access the Lacks family. Three narratives. But I think the success of this structure really comes to fruition, in that, by the time the reader reaches the last third of the book, the section titled Immortality, that all three narratives are so tightly woven that the reader loses sight that there is a structure. It becomes one story. And I think any good story should do this; a reader should get lost in the story.  

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is a giant of a story and the issues raised are not simple or easy to pin by any means. They’re far-reaching. There’s the questions of biomedical ethics in regards to informed consent, the monetary rights as well as actual rights of possession of tissue samples that go along with it. Skloot raises questions about the historical treatment of African Americans by the medical community; and how, while that treatment is no longer reprehensible, its legacy is still alive in the memories of the communities it affected. There’s the questions of class and poverty and the current affairs of health care. (If HeLa came from a middle class white woman this story would hold little of its intrigue.) When the story is over, these heavy questions remain, leaving a residue that far outweighed my ability to recollect the three narratives Skloot referenced.

I think the primary reason that three narratives were able to become one in my reading experience  is that the journey of Skloot and Deborah becomes centerpiece. Throughout the Immortality section Skloot uses Deborah’s reactions to the unfolding of  HeLa in the public perspective as a way to push forward the central conflict of the book. Deborah literally falls apart when she reads the details of her mother’s autopsy in a medical journal. When scientists come to take blood samples from her to gather information to clear up the wreckage of the “HeLa Bomb,” she waits and waits for results from what she thought was a cancer test. (Deborah remains uncertain as to whether she has cancer or not for the rest of the book.) When Deborah learns how to use the internet, she obsessively and compulsively googles HeLa in search for an understanding about her mother.

On one hand Deborah simply misunderstands the science, like when she thinks her mother is cloned. But on the other hand, she is empathically and spiritually bound to her mother. Deborah has this very real yearning to connect to her mother and this idea that Henrietta is not at peace –  she has a continually seeking and worrying personality that creates a sympathy readers can latch on to. (She’s also firmly placed within a rich family background that Skloot establishes early on.)

As Deborah’s own health concerns begin to rise to the forefront of the story, it’s almost as if her character takes over and encompasses all of the book’s issues at once. In the chapter Hela, Goddess of Death Deborah says, “Truth be told, I can’t get mad at science ... I’m walking drug store! I would like some health insurance so I don’t got to pay all that money every month for drugs my mother cells probably helped make.”

The best example of the transcendent merging of the three narratives is the remarkable scene toward the end of the book where Skloot, Deborah and Zakariyya visit Christoph Lengauer’s lab to finally see Henrietta’s cells. It’s an event that Deborah calls a miracle. It’s like a wave of relief for Deborah when Lengauer admits that the medical community doesn’t treat humans as humans and that the Lacks family ought to be recognized. In terms of structure, the scene is a collision of all three narratives.  In the scene there’s the ongoing continuing work that’s carried on by the HeLa cells, there’s the acknowledgment of Henrietta as a real person with a real history and there’s a sort of climactic or triumphant understanding for Deborah.

Other notes on reading:

- I’ve always kind of harped on the concept that a good story connects the past to the future and I couldn’t think of a better example than this one.  The story connects the cells of a woman who died over 60 years ago to the conceptual future of health care issues. But it’s also super fascinating to think about the very literal future this book implicates of the ever multiplying cells, growing and growing and growing. (I, mean, this is really obviously obvious, but it’s a trip to think about.)

- This was a really cool RadioLab segment featuring a sound bites of interviews in the book and really remarkable sound bite from the scene where Deborah’s cousin Gary does his “exorcism”/prayer/thing and casts the “burden” of Deborah’s cells to Rebecca.