Book Review: Intoxicated by my Illness | Anatole Broyard

  “The space between life and death is the parade ground of Romanticism. The threat of illness itself seems to sound a Romantic note- I’ve been feeling exalted since I heard the diagnosis. (…) All your life you think you have to hold back your craziness, but when you’re sick you can let it out in all its garish colors.” Anatole Broyard, Intoxicated by my Illness.

When I first heard a passage from this book, I felt completely drawn in. It had power. Our Communication in Medicine teacher classified it as “too good to be recommended”, and therefore as soon as I arrived home, I ordered it. And when I finally got my hands on it and I started devouring it, it shocked me. It was so tiny, and had such a powerful cover (I like the spanish cover better). But the thing is that what was awaiting me inside was huge and magical.

I started to read it with vivid passion. Nevertheless, I was enjoying it so much that I started to slow down, to turn back pages to re-read some passages (it seems like I do this a lot). It was amazing how many incredible ideas were to be found in those words.

I also realized that it was not an easy book. Not in the slightest. It talks about death and sickness with such sincerity, with nude honesty, that sometimes you want to cry. It’s hard. Really hard. It punches you in the solar plexus and takes all the air in your lungs. 

The author was a well-known literary critic and editor of The New York Times. He was diagnosed with prostate cancer, something of which he tells us about in here. And let me tell you, it’s terrific. He’s witty, charming, stylish, groundbreaking, critical, canny, sharp, sardonic. He’s on edge and he knows it. He feels expanded, he feels sick, he feels alive, he feels intoxicated by his situation and makes the most of it. He accomplishes that thing that every human wants to accomplish: "to be alive when they die". He races to the finish line with the whole weight of his life and sickness, of all the love and friendship he has, with his hate and his passion and his bargains and fears and forces and knowledge on his shoulders, and he breaks the finish line with vigour.

This book also contains one of his better-known short stories, What the cystoscope said, as well as other writings about how sickness is (or isn’t) treated in literature, how he thinks people should behave towards his illness, how he himself acts towards it, about which kind of doctor a patient wants, needs. And every word is brilliant. Absolutely radiant.

I won’t reveal much more, because this is one of those things that needs to be treasured, one of those books that the reader must own. But I would sincerely recommend this book to everyone, even thought as I said, is not an easy or safe reading. It’s like a fight. And it’s worth every single bruise.

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5 stars out of 5 

☆☆☆☆☆

And you? Have you read this book? 
Have you read something similar? What do you think?