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trees11's review against another edition
4.0
good old fashioned story with plot and characters. Even the main character is seriously flawed yet very attractive. This would be a perfect TV drama and I'm surprised no one has picked it up yet!
smiko's review against another edition
4.0
The book that inspired me to pursue a career in medicine. A tale of a doctor driven by scientific curiosity and a desire to help his fellow man. Lured away from his principles by money, the travails that follow are as poignant an indictment of greed as I have ever encountered. I do not want to ruin the book by detailing any more of the plot but I urge anyone considering a career in medicine or medical research to read this book.
catreba's review against another edition
emotional
funny
hopeful
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
Content Warnings
Moderate: Death and Miscarriage
khuzyma's review against another edition
fast-paced
5.0
يقول محمد قطب: «…والفنُّ الإسلامي ليس بالضرورة هو الفنُّ الذي يتحدَّث عن الإسلام! وهو على وجه اليقين ليس الوعظَ المُباشروالحثَّ على اتبّاع الفضائل. وليس هو كذلك حقائق العقيدة المُجرَّدة، مبلورةً في صورةٍ فسلفيَّةٍ.. فليسَ هذا أو ذاكَ فناً على الإطلاق».
ويقول: «فالفنُّ ليس «فكرةً» ولا «فلسفةً» ولا «مفاهيم مجرَّدة» كالتي تُعنى بها البحوث الفكريَّة في شتَّى الميادين.
وإنما هو الانفعال الذاتي الخاص بالأشياء والأشخاص والأحداث. الانفعال الذي تتلقَّاه كل نفسٍ مفردةً على طريقتها الخاصةِ في التلقي، وتنفعل به في أعماقها، و«تُعانيه» معاناةً كاملةً بكل جزئياته وتفصيلاته، ثمَّ تخرجُ من هذه المعاناة المشتبكة والتجارب والاتجاهات والميول.. تخرج منها بتحربةٍ شعوريَّةٍ معيَّنةٍ، أو «بإفرازٍ» معينٍ، يحمل السمات الذاتية لصاحبه، ويحبُّ صاحبه أن ينقله إلى «نفوس» الآخَرين في صورةٍ جميلةٍ يتوافرُ لها التأثير والإمتاع.
والفنُّ «رؤيةٌ» للواقع من خلال ذلك الانفعال الذاتيِّ الخاصِّ بالأشياء والأشخاص والأحداث، و«تفسيرٌ» لهذا الواقع في ذلك الضوء الخاصِّ، تفسيراً شعورياً -لا فلسفياً فكرياً- كما أنه هو «رؤيا» للمستقبل وللمجهول وللماضي كذلك بنفس الشروط.
والفنُّ الإسلامي -من ثمَّ- ينبغي أن يصدرَ عن فنانٍ مسلمٍ، أي «إنسان» تكيَّفت نفسه ذلك التكيُّف الخاصَّ الذي يُعطيها حساسيةٍ شعوريَّةٍ تجاه الكون والحياة والواقع بمعناه الكبير، وزُوِّدَ بالقدرة على جمال التعبير؛ وهو في الوقت نفسه إنسانٌ يتلقَّى الحياةَ كلها من خلال «التصوُّر الإسلامي»، وينفعلُ بها ويعانيها من خلال هذا التصوّر؛ ثمّ يقصُّ علينا هذه التجربة الخاصة التي عاناها في صورةٍ جميلةٍ موحيةٍ.
[…]
صحيحٌ أنَّ المسلم الحقَّ -بطبيعة إسلامه- يجد الطريق أمامه مُيسَّراً -حين يُوهَبُ الموهبة الفنية- لأنه يعيش بين المفاهيم الإسلامية بالفعل، وينفعل بالأشياء والأشخاص والأحداث من خلال هذه المفاهيم، دون جُهدٍ مبذولٍ منه ولا افتعال، بل دون قصدٍ واعٍ منه إلى هذه الانفعال.
وصحيحٌ -من ناحيةٍ أخرى- أنَّ المسلم وحده هو الذي تتسع نفسه للتصوُّر الإسلامي الكامل، لأنَّ هذا «التصوُّر» هو المُقتضى الطبيعي المباشر لحقيقة إسلامه، ولأنَّ الإنسان لا يصلُ إلى هذا التصوُّر الكامل الشامل حتى يكون قد أَسلمَ نفسه لله على طريقة الإسلام وبمفهوم الإسلام.
ومع ذلك فإنَّ التصور «الفني» الإسلامي للكون والحياة والإنسان، هو تصورٌ كوني إنساني.. مفتوحٌ للبشريَّة كلها، لأنه يُخاطب «الإنسان» من حيث هو إنسان، ويلتقي معه كذلك من حيث هو إنسان، ومن ثمَّ يستطيع أيُّ «إنسان» أن يتجاوبَ مع هذا التصوُّر، ويتلقَّى الحياةَ من خلاله بمقدار ما تطيق نفسه هذا التلقِّي وذلك التجاوب؛ فيلتقي مع الفنِّ الإسلامي بذلك المقدار».
إذن هو إبراز الفضائل التي يَعرفها الإنسان من نفسه فِطرةً؛ معركة الفضيلة والشر، وتعقيد تركيب النفس الإنسانية من شهواتٍ وميولٍ وخيرية؛ فهي تارةٌ أمَّارة بالسوء وأخرى لوَّامة وأحياناً مطمئنة، ومجاهدة/معارك الإنسان مع نفسه أمام الرذيلة بأنواعها.
هذا هو الفن الإسلامي.. الإنساني بالأصالة.
وهذه المقطوعة الأدبية الرائقة، التي تقومُ على هذا الأمر؛ المُثُل العُليا المحبوبة لذاتها فِطرةً: العدل والصدق والعفة والوفاء والحب ونحوها، ومراغمتها الشرورَ التي لا انفكاكَ عنها ابتلاءً، هي أفضلُ مُعبِّرٍ عن هذا التعريف «الإسلامي الإنساني الكوني» للفن.
وقد قرأتها غير مرة، فلا أنفكُّ أجدها مؤثِّرةً معبّرةً.
(تُقرأ بالنصِّ الأصلي أو بترجمة حلمي مراد حصراً، أو لا تُقرأ أبداً)
ويعجبني هذا التعريف، لأني أستشعره من نفسي، وأجد الأدب إذا لم يوقف ممارسه على هذه الأبواب خيراً أو شراً فليس بأدب.
وعلى أن أكبِرُ قولةَ الأصمعي: «الشعر نكد بابُه الشر»، فإذا دَخلَ في الخَير ضَعُفَ ولَانَ. وأجدها ميزان نقد دقيق. (لا أستسيغ أبا العتاهية لذلك).
لكنها ليست على إطلاقها طبعاً، فحسان رضي الله عنه ومن بعده جرير وإلى يومنا هذا تجدُ أدباء فُحولاً بشتّى أنواع الأدب دخلوا وأدخلوا أدبهم بالخير، لكن ما أن تجدَ مَن نسجَ على طريقة أبي العتاهية تشعر بهبوطَ الشعر على أُمِّ رأسه، ويُستثنَى من ذلك من المعاصرين سليم عبد القادر، فهو نموذجٌ فذ في الشعر الإسلامي المباشِر خَرق مقولة الأصمعي، ليس له مثيلٌ في بابته أبداً. وثمة أسماء أخرى -معاصرة- وإن كانت أقل درجةً.
وإن أردت أن أضيف إلى «القلعة»، ما يدخل في حَدِّ «الفنِّ الإسلامي» (على التعريف الآنف ذكره-، فرائعة يوسُف إدريس «العيب» رأسٌ في هذا الفنِّ، لا رَيب.
ويمكن إضافة «سلطان العالَم» لألكسندر بلياييف، وإن كانت محسوبةً على «الخيال العلمي» وقلَّ أن أميلَ لقراءة هذا النوع، لكنها فريدةٌ في بابها، فلم تأتِ بإسفافٍ فانتازيّ سَمِجٍ، وبعيدة كل البُعد عن خوارق مارڤل وصَرعات ستار وورز وأضرابه. والصراع فيها بين هَوَس السيطرة (الإنساني) وشرور النفس أمام الخيرية المَفطورة والحب، مرسومٌ بدقَّة مُذهلة وإحساسٍ رفيعٍ، وهي تَليقُ بعصرنا كون للآلة دورٌ أصيلٌ فيها، يناسبُ عصر التقنية الباغية الذي نعيش وفجوره.
ويمكن بشيء من التجاوز أن نصنف «الشطرنج» لزفايغ كذلك.
وثمة غيرهم (تجاهلت النصوص المكتوبة بإسلامية أصيلة كنصوص باكثير مثلاً وغيره لوضوحها)، لكن أولاءِ -خاصةً الأوليتان لوضوح الأمر فيهما- لا يَعدِلهُم شيء فيما نُريد، حَسَب ما اطلعت عليه.
المقصد أنَّ حدَّ ما يسمى «الفن الإسلامي» حسب التعريف أعلاه واسع، إذ بقايا الفطرة عند الناس هي محل الاجتماع هنا.
harini's review against another edition
3.0
3.5 Stars
The story was engaging and that's honestly the only thing that kept me reading this book. I liked the characters too but none were my favorites. The writing is what let the book down for me. It was a tad dull for my taste and dragged on.
I would still recommend this book as the story is something that everyone needs to read.
The story was engaging and that's honestly the only thing that kept me reading this book. I liked the characters too but none were my favorites. The writing is what let the book down for me. It was a tad dull for my taste and dragged on.
I would still recommend this book as the story is something that everyone needs to read.
joemaggs's review against another edition
5.0
A brilliant book that will really make you think; not only about just how far we’ve come to have the NHS but also about what’s more important in life - money or a sense of purpose. Manson is an extremely imperfect hero - this book is truly of its time and so we see the protagonist shackle his wife into the misogynistic role of standing by her husband despite his aggression, mistreatment and infidelity, all while putting him and his ideas on a pedestal and having his tea ready at the end of the day. It’s a shame her character is not allowed to develop at all, really - she simply serves as a vehicle through which Manson is idolised. The book is thoroughly interesting and you’ll feel immersed in the time, and will definitely experience a rollercoaster of emotions - for me particularly it was sheer frustration and disappointment at Manson’s actions. Overall, a great book that excellently explores the nature of medicine at the time while navigating what is essentially one of life’s biggest questions - what do you hold most dear?
pxr014's review against another edition
4.0
More of a 3.5 star book. I opted to give it 4 stars because it did resonate with me, especially towards the beginning.
I was recommended this book by one of my PSUCOM interviewers almost 2 years ago. We bonded over being readers, but quickly realized that we had very different taste in books (not a bad thing!). She recommended several books to me, but this was the one that stuck out to me and that I got from the library a week after my interviews. It has sat on my bookshelf ever since, until recently, when I decided to give it a go.
Apparently, this book is something of a classic when it comes to medical novels. I am amazed at the impact it had in the UK at the time (1930s and 40s), highlighting many of the issues of the healthcare system. In fact, this book was an inspiration for the introduction of the NHS, the way Upton Sinclair's [b:The Jungle|41681|The Jungle|Upton Sinclair|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1332140681s/41681.jpg|1253187] prompted the federal government to investigate the meatpacking industry and thus inspired the eventual creation of the FDA (never say a book can't have large impacts on society! Although unfortunately Sinclair's goal with his novel was very different from what the federal government ended up instating; but that's a different story for a different review).
As with most compelling stories, this one is still very relatable, especially in the US. It's been close to 100 years since this book was written, but Cronin's criticism of the healthcare system of the UK in the 1930s, in which doctors are sometimes incompetent or uncaring, in which money often comes before the health of patients, in which the poor and uneducated are not given the care they deserve, still holds true in 21st century America. As someone who will be starting my own journey into physicianship soon, the book has given me a lot to think about. I anticipate I'll probably re-read this book, although perhaps in the more distant future.
But I'm not just a budding doctor; I'm also a reader, and boy, do I have some issues with this book when it comes to the writing. There's a reason why this book, despite the very real impact it had when it was written and the pressing matters it discusses, has largely become forgotten.
The book starts out in a very promising way. I loved all of the characters, who were pretty well fleshed out. At one point, the main character and his friend decide that the only way they're going to get a leaking sewer replaced and thus save the town from the enteric fever that has been spreading is to blow it up. Having 2 doctors sneak over to a sewer in the dead of night and drop some dynamite in it to save their patients--within the first 50 pages--is a pretty promising start. However, as the book progressed, the characters became flatter and the plot more repetitive. Andrew would face some injustice, he would get angry, he would do something against the status quo, he'd get in trouble, but then because he was so good at his job/did the right thing, he'd somehow land a higher position, then at the new position, the cycle would start over. This was broken by Andrew's descent into depravity in the last quarter or so of the book. I understand that Cronin was trying to highlight the faults of the system, but his plot (which was lovely at first) became so mundane after about 200 pages in. The last half of the book was such a slog. The newer characters became one-dimensional, Andrew became annoying, and the plot slowed down. The biggest injustice Cronin committed, however, was towards Christine, who started out as one of my favorite characters and ended the book as a trope. She went from fiery, smart-as-a-whip schoolmarm to the devoted but neglected wife whose constancy serves as a moral anchor for the wandering husband. She deserved better.
That being said, Cronin was really good with scene, and even in the lowest points of the story, moments would shine through that reminded me why I enjoyed the book so much in the first place (like when Andrew takes Christine to the Plaza for a disastrous meal). The ending wasn't too bad. Unfortunately, it was a bit preachy in places (again, more so toward the end), culminating in Andrew's page and a half long monologue on the state of the healthcare system.
Not a bad book. It made me think. I liked the characters. It had so much potential to be a really outstanding book, but it didn't quite get there.
I was recommended this book by one of my PSUCOM interviewers almost 2 years ago. We bonded over being readers, but quickly realized that we had very different taste in books (not a bad thing!). She recommended several books to me, but this was the one that stuck out to me and that I got from the library a week after my interviews. It has sat on my bookshelf ever since, until recently, when I decided to give it a go.
Apparently, this book is something of a classic when it comes to medical novels. I am amazed at the impact it had in the UK at the time (1930s and 40s), highlighting many of the issues of the healthcare system. In fact, this book was an inspiration for the introduction of the NHS, the way Upton Sinclair's [b:The Jungle|41681|The Jungle|Upton Sinclair|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1332140681s/41681.jpg|1253187] prompted the federal government to investigate the meatpacking industry and thus inspired the eventual creation of the FDA (never say a book can't have large impacts on society! Although unfortunately Sinclair's goal with his novel was very different from what the federal government ended up instating; but that's a different story for a different review).
As with most compelling stories, this one is still very relatable, especially in the US. It's been close to 100 years since this book was written, but Cronin's criticism of the healthcare system of the UK in the 1930s, in which doctors are sometimes incompetent or uncaring, in which money often comes before the health of patients, in which the poor and uneducated are not given the care they deserve, still holds true in 21st century America. As someone who will be starting my own journey into physicianship soon, the book has given me a lot to think about. I anticipate I'll probably re-read this book, although perhaps in the more distant future.
But I'm not just a budding doctor; I'm also a reader, and boy, do I have some issues with this book when it comes to the writing. There's a reason why this book, despite the very real impact it had when it was written and the pressing matters it discusses, has largely become forgotten.
The book starts out in a very promising way. I loved all of the characters, who were pretty well fleshed out. At one point, the main character and his friend decide that the only way they're going to get a leaking sewer replaced and thus save the town from the enteric fever that has been spreading is to blow it up. Having 2 doctors sneak over to a sewer in the dead of night and drop some dynamite in it to save their patients--within the first 50 pages--is a pretty promising start. However, as the book progressed, the characters became flatter and the plot more repetitive. Andrew would face some injustice, he would get angry, he would do something against the status quo, he'd get in trouble, but then because he was so good at his job/did the right thing, he'd somehow land a higher position, then at the new position, the cycle would start over. This was broken by Andrew's descent into depravity in the last quarter or so of the book. I understand that Cronin was trying to highlight the faults of the system, but his plot (which was lovely at first) became so mundane after about 200 pages in. The last half of the book was such a slog. The newer characters became one-dimensional, Andrew became annoying, and the plot slowed down. The biggest injustice Cronin committed, however, was towards Christine, who started out as one of my favorite characters and ended the book as a trope. She went from fiery, smart-as-a-whip schoolmarm to the devoted but neglected wife whose constancy serves as a moral anchor for the wandering husband. She deserved better.
That being said, Cronin was really good with scene, and even in the lowest points of the story, moments would shine through that reminded me why I enjoyed the book so much in the first place (like when Andrew takes Christine to the Plaza for a disastrous meal). The ending wasn't too bad. Unfortunately, it was a bit preachy in places (again, more so toward the end), culminating in Andrew's page and a half long monologue on the state of the healthcare system.
Not a bad book. It made me think. I liked the characters. It had so much potential to be a really outstanding book, but it didn't quite get there.
ilyap's review against another edition
4.0
Muy interesante el enfoque que aporta sobre las sociedades médicas del principio del siglo anterior. Personalmente, el ritmo que llevaba el libro al principio hacia que fuese un poco difícil de leer pero a medida que va avanzando te vas enganchando más al estilo del autor. Cristina y Denny mis personajes favoritos.
epictetsocrate's review against another edition
3.0
Spre sfârșitul unei după-amiezi de octombrie a anului 1924, un tânăr îmbrăcat în haine cam ponosite căta, cu o privire fixă, prin fereastra unui compartiment de clasa a treia a trenului aproape gol care, pornit din Swansea, urca opintindu-se din greu pe panta văii Penowell. Manson călătorise toată ziua, venind dinspre nord, schimbase trenul la Carlisle și Shrewsbury, totuși era foarte agitat în această ultimă parte a plictisitorului drum care ducea către sudul Țării Galilor. Căci la capătul drumului, în acest ținut straniu și mutilat, îl aștepta postul lui ― primul din cariera sa medicală.
Afară se stârni o ploaie cumplită, care acoperi asemenea unui oblon munții ce se înălțau de amândouă părțile căii ferate cu un singur terasament. Piscurile lor se pierdeau în necuprinsul cenușiu al cerului, dar povârnișurile ciopârțite de puțurile minelor coborau negre și posomorâte, întinate de mormane mari de zgură peste care câteva oi murdare rătăceau de colo-colo, în speranța deșartă că vor găsi ceva de păscut. Cât vedeai cu ochii, niciun tufiș, nicio urmă de vegetație. În umbra crescândă a serii, copacii păreau niște stafii pitice și descărnate. La o cotitură a căii ferate, fulgeră pe neașteptate strălucirea roșie a unei turnătorii, luminând un grup de muncitori, ale căror busturi goale se încordau, în timp ce brațele se ridicau pentru a lovi. Deși această scenă se pierdu repede în spatele siluetei neprecis conturate a suprastructurii unei mine, ea lăsa în urmă o impresie de forță vie și intensă. Manson trase adânc aer în piept: simțea crescând în el drept răspuns o energie nestăvilită, o bruscă și covârșitoare voie bună, țâșnită din speranțele și făgăduielile viitorului.
Se lăsase întunericul, subliniind și mai mult ciudățenia și nefirescul împrejurimilor, atunci când, o jumătate de oră mai târziu, locomotiva intră gâfâind în Blaenelly, un orășel așezat la extremitatea văii și la capătul căii ferate: în sfârșit ajunsese. Apucându-și valiza, Manson sări din tren și străbătu repede peronul, căutând cu lăcomie un semn de bun venit. La ieșirea din gară, dedesubtul unei lămpi zgâlțâite de vânt, aștepta un bătrânel cu chipul gălbejit, cu o pălărie colțuroasă pe cap și îmbrăcat într-un impermeabil lung până la călcâie. El îl cercetă pe Manson cu ochi de icteric, apoi se hotărî, oarecum în silă, să vorbească:
― Dumneata ești noul asistent al doctorului Page?
― Da. Manson. Andrew Manson, așa mă cheamă!
― Hm! Pe mine Thomas. Lumea îmi zice de obicei moș Thomas, naiba s-o ia! Am brișca aici. Urcă în ea… sau poate vrei mai bine să înoți?
Afară se stârni o ploaie cumplită, care acoperi asemenea unui oblon munții ce se înălțau de amândouă părțile căii ferate cu un singur terasament. Piscurile lor se pierdeau în necuprinsul cenușiu al cerului, dar povârnișurile ciopârțite de puțurile minelor coborau negre și posomorâte, întinate de mormane mari de zgură peste care câteva oi murdare rătăceau de colo-colo, în speranța deșartă că vor găsi ceva de păscut. Cât vedeai cu ochii, niciun tufiș, nicio urmă de vegetație. În umbra crescândă a serii, copacii păreau niște stafii pitice și descărnate. La o cotitură a căii ferate, fulgeră pe neașteptate strălucirea roșie a unei turnătorii, luminând un grup de muncitori, ale căror busturi goale se încordau, în timp ce brațele se ridicau pentru a lovi. Deși această scenă se pierdu repede în spatele siluetei neprecis conturate a suprastructurii unei mine, ea lăsa în urmă o impresie de forță vie și intensă. Manson trase adânc aer în piept: simțea crescând în el drept răspuns o energie nestăvilită, o bruscă și covârșitoare voie bună, țâșnită din speranțele și făgăduielile viitorului.
Se lăsase întunericul, subliniind și mai mult ciudățenia și nefirescul împrejurimilor, atunci când, o jumătate de oră mai târziu, locomotiva intră gâfâind în Blaenelly, un orășel așezat la extremitatea văii și la capătul căii ferate: în sfârșit ajunsese. Apucându-și valiza, Manson sări din tren și străbătu repede peronul, căutând cu lăcomie un semn de bun venit. La ieșirea din gară, dedesubtul unei lămpi zgâlțâite de vânt, aștepta un bătrânel cu chipul gălbejit, cu o pălărie colțuroasă pe cap și îmbrăcat într-un impermeabil lung până la călcâie. El îl cercetă pe Manson cu ochi de icteric, apoi se hotărî, oarecum în silă, să vorbească:
― Dumneata ești noul asistent al doctorului Page?
― Da. Manson. Andrew Manson, așa mă cheamă!
― Hm! Pe mine Thomas. Lumea îmi zice de obicei moș Thomas, naiba s-o ia! Am brișca aici. Urcă în ea… sau poate vrei mai bine să înoți?