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3vi333's review against another edition
5.0
oh saint teresa! teresa, floating on your back in ecstasy. teresa, gargling clouds and holy water. teresa who wails, face crumbled in triangles. teresa, dressed in a wet-look wedding dress, damp hair hanging around her shoulder. saint teresa, refuser of bread.
Merged review:
oh saint teresa! teresa, floating on your back in ecstasy. teresa, gargling clouds and holy water. teresa who wails, face crumbled in triangles. teresa, dressed in a wet-look wedding dress, damp hair hanging around her shoulder. saint teresa, refuser of bread.
Merged review:
oh saint teresa! teresa, floating on your back in ecstasy. teresa, gargling clouds and holy water. teresa who wails, face crumbled in triangles. teresa, dressed in a wet-look wedding dress, damp hair hanging around her shoulder. saint teresa, refuser of bread.
foggy_rosamund's review against another edition
5.0
I bought this book on a whim, but I was hooked as soon as I took it out of the envelope. I read it in almost one sitting. Written in short snapshots of prose, this book is not quite a poem and not quite an essay, similar to the work of Maggie Nelson or Amy Berkowitz. The author spends a month at the titular Sanatorium in Budapest, where she bathes in sulfurous water and undergoes various therapies to help her regain movement and strength. She lives with a connective tissue disorder and arthritis, and experiences chronic pain. I found her story completely gripping. She overlaps the realities of living with a disabled body with the life of the mind and soul, and explores all this through water: the relief she finds in bathing, the pressure of hydrotherapy, the freedom of movement in a swimming pool. She brings to life the joy of swimming for a disabled person, and the difficulties that surround actually entering the water. Her book captures her acute struggles and her moments of relief, with humour, passion and depth. Though I do not have the same conditions as Abi Palmer, her experiences are familiar to me, and I found a lot of solace and gained a sense of companionship through reading this book.
I also had to laugh when I read these two observations, which come within a few pages of one another:
I ask a nurse about the side effects listed on my medication, such as nausea and liver failure. She says that side effects only happen to people who are worried about the side effects.
On the medicine packet they warn that the itching might be the symptom of a damaged liver. When I tell her I'm struggling to function mentally, the doctor tells me I'm being too hard on myself. She wonders if the itching might be a symptom of anxiety.
I have had pretty much exactly these conversations with healthcare professionals. They're the same everywhere.
Merged review:
I bought this book on a whim, but I was hooked as soon as I took it out of the envelope. I read it in almost one sitting. Written in short snapshots of prose, this book is not quite a poem and not quite an essay, similar to the work of Maggie Nelson or Amy Berkowitz. The author spends a month at the titular Sanatorium in Budapest, where she bathes in sulfurous water and undergoes various therapies to help her regain movement and strength. She lives with a connective tissue disorder and arthritis, and experiences chronic pain. I found her story completely gripping. She overlaps the realities of living with a disabled body with the life of the mind and soul, and explores all this through water: the relief she finds in bathing, the pressure of hydrotherapy, the freedom of movement in a swimming pool. She brings to life the joy of swimming for a disabled person, and the difficulties that surround actually entering the water. Her book captures her acute struggles and her moments of relief, with humour, passion and depth. Though I do not have the same conditions as Abi Palmer, her experiences are familiar to me, and I found a lot of solace and gained a sense of companionship through reading this book.
I also had to laugh when I read these two observations, which come within a few pages of one another:
I ask a nurse about the side effects listed on my medication, such as nausea and liver failure. She says that side effects only happen to people who are worried about the side effects.
On the medicine packet they warn that the itching might be the symptom of a damaged liver. When I tell her I'm struggling to function mentally, the doctor tells me I'm being too hard on myself. She wonders if the itching might be a symptom of anxiety.
I have had pretty much exactly these conversations with healthcare professionals. They're the same everywhere.
I also had to laugh when I read these two observations, which come within a few pages of one another:
I ask a nurse about the side effects listed on my medication, such as nausea and liver failure. She says that side effects only happen to people who are worried about the side effects.
On the medicine packet they warn that the itching might be the symptom of a damaged liver. When I tell her I'm struggling to function mentally, the doctor tells me I'm being too hard on myself. She wonders if the itching might be a symptom of anxiety.
I have had pretty much exactly these conversations with healthcare professionals. They're the same everywhere.
Merged review:
I bought this book on a whim, but I was hooked as soon as I took it out of the envelope. I read it in almost one sitting. Written in short snapshots of prose, this book is not quite a poem and not quite an essay, similar to the work of Maggie Nelson or Amy Berkowitz. The author spends a month at the titular Sanatorium in Budapest, where she bathes in sulfurous water and undergoes various therapies to help her regain movement and strength. She lives with a connective tissue disorder and arthritis, and experiences chronic pain. I found her story completely gripping. She overlaps the realities of living with a disabled body with the life of the mind and soul, and explores all this through water: the relief she finds in bathing, the pressure of hydrotherapy, the freedom of movement in a swimming pool. She brings to life the joy of swimming for a disabled person, and the difficulties that surround actually entering the water. Her book captures her acute struggles and her moments of relief, with humour, passion and depth. Though I do not have the same conditions as Abi Palmer, her experiences are familiar to me, and I found a lot of solace and gained a sense of companionship through reading this book.
I also had to laugh when I read these two observations, which come within a few pages of one another:
I ask a nurse about the side effects listed on my medication, such as nausea and liver failure. She says that side effects only happen to people who are worried about the side effects.
On the medicine packet they warn that the itching might be the symptom of a damaged liver. When I tell her I'm struggling to function mentally, the doctor tells me I'm being too hard on myself. She wonders if the itching might be a symptom of anxiety.
I have had pretty much exactly these conversations with healthcare professionals. They're the same everywhere.
simplepretzel's review
emotional
informative
reflective
slow-paced
4.0
Everyone should read this. Chronic illness mixes with time, truth, water, rest & relaxation. Pain and exhaustion underpins everything. I’ve never felt pulled in by an artistic/poetic book in this way. Stories are created and discarded equally, with ease, used when they’re useful & dropped when they’re done. Plus- who doesn’t love Instagram handles included in further reading?
zotty's review against another edition
5.0
Such a brilliant work. I was lucky to see Abi Palmer's museum exhibition when I was in Edinburgh, and her voice comes through very distinctly in this book as much as in her other work. Love the defiance of linearity and tropes. It's definitely one of my top reads this year.