Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts

Wednesday, 1 November 2023

Teju Cole event at The Portobello Bookshop

I very much enjoyed the event with Nigerian-American writer and photographer Teju Cole at The Portobello Bookshop last night, chaired by Roxani Krystalli -- I accessed the event online. Cole is currently the Gore Vidal Professor of Creative Writing at Harvard.

He was charming and funny - and illuminating on the writing process. He talked of writing as a way of not forgetting, a sense of 'if you don't write it down it will vanish'.

I was kind of relieved when he said that TREMOR, his new novel, is the least morose book he has written. He referred to having been a 'serious melancholic' in his younger years - he is now almost fifty - and made play of the fact he is no longer such a 'misery guts'. I had read his first (highly acclaimed) novel OPEN CITY in 2012 and confess to not having loved it, the writing is immaculate but I got weary of the heaviness of tone (I reviewed the book here on Goodreads over a decade ago). 

I am only two chapters into TREMOR and loving it. 

Near the end of the event, he alluded to the current assault on Gaza and mentioned a Palestinian friend who is just now harvesting olives. I was very glad he mentioned Gaza. I think it must be hard to perform just now as artist/writer and not mention what is going on in that part of the world.

Thanks, too, to Porty Books for making the event accessible online. Hybrid events are maybe the one good thing to have come out of the pandemic.

Wednesday, 13 June 2018

Ten years since The State of Me - publishing & illness (&Lionel Shriver)

This August it will  be ten years since the The State of Me was published. I'm still very proud of the novel and it remains my weapon in the fight for truth about my illness. A decade has been enough time for me to get over the roller coaster of the publishing process - and I have happily mostly forgotten the shock of it all. It was like a never-ending game of snakes and ladders. As a result of the liquidation of my indie publisher, the novel did not receive the marketing it should have done - but I remain very grateful my precious work was not lost in the drama and that HarperCollins rescued the book. This review by writer Elizabeth Baines remains one of my favourite reviews.

The path to being published was though unbelievably stressful and possibly contributed to my later developing idiopathic bilateral uveitis, a rare and serious autoimmune eye condition, where your iris attacks itself. It was a truly awful time, pouring steroids into my eyes, with the side effects of increased eye pressure, which also had to be treated (I'm sure ME was implicated and I still get six-monthly checks at eye hospital). I still remember at the time a friend telling me not to read  José Saramago's Blindness, which I, of course, did read.

If I were well, I'd no doubt be on to my third, or even fourth novel, by now, but I live necessarily in the margins of the writing world. It is often said you are only as good as your last book, but I'm happy to say that my novel is still being read quietly in the background, giving people pleasure and educating about ME.

I was delighted recently that Nick Duerden, a journalist and writer who has made a good recovery from his own very disabling postviral illness, messaged me and said he found the book 'very powerful and gripping'. He also said: 'You write fear, confusion and anger very well indeed. It moved me'. Nick is author of the recent memoir Get Well Soon (Green Tree, 2018). In the same week, Scottish film director and screen writer May Miles Thomas sent me a lovely card saying how much she had enjoyed the novel. I'd sent May a copy as a thank you for having the opportunity to watch her brilliant and hypnotic film Voyageuse free online on Vimeo.  Voyageuse made me think a lot about the layers of storytelling and how we (re)construct a life. I highly recommend this film.

I have been asked by Lighthouse Books to speak about writing and disability at a one hour event with other ill/disabled writers (I identify as chronically ill rather than disabled, the social model of disability does not in my view serve people with ME particularly well). I have said yes though I never know how I will be on the day, but am flattered as it's a decade since The State of Me was published. I've been shortlisted for a couple of short fiction awards since then, and had short non/fiction published here and there - details in sidebar - but because I live with ME, every minute of every day, I am the polar opposite of prolific (my novella-in-progress in 2015 is still in progress).

I do, though, know about the writing process - The State of Me took probably eight or nine years to write/publish in all - and I do, of course, know intimately about chronic illness. Writing is harder when you are ill. Everything is harder when you are ill. But writing (even as slowly as I do) sustains me. I would love to publish another book in my lifetime, I may be sixty by the time that happens, and I am not joking when I say that. Approaching my mid-fifties, I find I am thinking more about life and death and what we do in  a lifetime. I'm also more acutely aware of just how much my illness has thieved from me. (Interesting to read this interview with Elizabeth Strout who didn't publish her first novel until she was forty-two (I was forty-four). She went on to win a Pulitzer.)

*

Lionel Shriver has been off on one of her wee rants again - this time she is bemoaning the fact that Penguin Random House has a diversity drive. She petulantly writes:
“Thus from now until 2025, literary excellence will be secondary to ticking all those ethnicity, gender, disability, sexual preference and crap-education boxes. We can safely infer from that email that if an agent submits a manuscript written by a gay transgender Caribbean who dropped out of school at seven and powers around town on a mobility scooter, it will be published, whether or not said manuscript is an incoherent, tedious, meandering and insensible pile of mixed-paper recycling. Good luck with that business model. Publishers may eschew standards, but readers will still have some."
How can she be so goddam myopic and insecure? Diversity can only ever be a force for good (as long as we are talking about actual meaningful representation and not just tokenism). Do we really want to be reading the same novels about the same characters by the same people over and over again? There is an excellent response to Lionel's nonsense here.

I can honestly though say I have never felt discriminated against in terms of ethnicity (in fact, mixed race writers are all the rage) or disability, though one agent unprofessionally left her job without telling me, I imagine she did not realise just how slowly I wrote. It was a huge shock to me, but somehow I picked myself up and kept writing, slowly, slowly. Self-belief and the importance of bearing witness to the catastrophe of my illness was what drove me. But like many debut writers, I just felt constantly thwarted by the gate-keeping mechanisms of publishing in general. To be constantly told how good your writing was but because of marketing/pigeonholing there was no 'fit' for your book was soul-crushing. I think though pigeonholing is less rigid now, fiction and memoir are more readily blurred. The idea of what constitutes a novel is much more fluid.

When my novel was eventually published ten years ago, it had nothing to do with representation of illness/disability -  the notion of diversity was not being trumpeted back then. My novel was published in spite of my illness rather than because of. It was published on its own merit, as novels should be. Also, I'm mixed race but The State of Me has nothing to do with race - I'm sure Lionel would be very confused: a mixed race author with a white main character whose illness/disability informs the whole novel. Also, my character does not use a mobility scooter, but I had my first try of one a few weeks ago at the Botanics in Edinburgh and it was bloody liberating.

*

Illness brings a walling off, there are simply aspects of being a writer that are impossible for me. I cannot embark upon the circuit of readings and  festivals that is required of writers these days. The performance part is, for many, a significant part of the writing life. I was lucky that (pre-liquidation) my indie publisher had no concerns about my being unable to do the running around and promoting. It does break my heart a little that I am walled off like this, but that is the case with many aspects of my life. Many years ago in late nineties, I was shortlisted for the Robert Louis Stevenson Award on the basis of a short story. The award is a month in France in Grez-sur-Loing where RLS spent much time. It looks blissful and restful and surely promotes one's creativity. I seduced myself into applying  as my undergraduate year in France in 1983 was cut short because of the onset of ME and I felt that RLS, himself ill his whole adult life, would have wanted me to go. But had I won I would have been unable to go as I learned later that you have to cycle through the forest to get your groceries.

Still, a decade ago I had my book launch in Waterstone's on George Street (it still had the comma then, though now closed down) - it was probably the happiest moment of my life.


Sunday, 7 January 2018

Learning to swim in Lahore; Muriel Spark and Kjersti Skomsvold

I recently reviewed Isambard Wilkinson's Travels in a Dervish Cloak, this passage stays in my mind:

Pakistani novelists of  a certain vintage remember a golden era in Pakistan's first decades when Anglo-Indians danced at Karachi's Metropole, hippies spun vinyl at discotheques, Pakistan was advertised as an exotic holiday location and Dizzy Gillespie beguiled a Sindhi snake charmer's serpent with his trumpet. That innocent age, if it ever existed, was dead.

It makes me nostalgic for a Karachi I barely know. We visited in 1974, two years after my father had died. I find myself scraping those memories up, trying to build a narrative (I have a letter that a visiting British doctor staying at Hotel Metropole left for my father who was then working at Jinnah Hospital in mid-1950s). I recall that we stayed in Lahore for a few days in the Intercontinental and that was where I learned to swim without arm bands. A far cry from the swimming lessons at primary school back home, where you would shiver as you were checked in line for verrucas. There was also an earthquake when we were in Lahore and all the dishes shook on the hotel breakfast table.

*

Many of us have been giving  Muriel Spark for Christmas because of the centenary of her birth. I've just re-read The Driver's Seat. I read it when I was about sixteen and didn't understand it, I am not sure I understand it any better but I much more appreciate the elegance and construction of this slim,  disturbing novel. And the humour is marvellous.

I just got a copy of Norwegian writer Kjersti Skomvold's MonsterHuman, which is now available in English. I blogged about her a few years ago and read her debut novel, which she started writing on post-it notes when she was very ill with ME. I'm obviously very interested in autobiographical, fictionalised accounts of ME and look forward to MonsterHuman. I see on Wikipedia that Skomvold also studied French at L'Université de Caen, which is a great coincidence as I was studying there in 1982/3 when I first became ill with Coxsackie virus, which later evolved monstrously into ME. We got ill at a similar age though I am a good decade older.

I love the start of new year, a whole new pile of to be read books on the bedside table:




Sunday, 9 July 2017

'Re-writing the hurt' (Jeanette Winterson)

Podcasts can fill me with dread because *sometimes* they are dull and you (often) can't fast-forward. I listened last night - lying down with my eyes closed - to a Jeanette Winterson podcast from 2012, it is a joy and delight. Her clarity and honesty soar and you could listen to her forever. She talks about 're-writing the hurt' in order to be able to cope with the narrative or the memory of what happened. On the writing of truth versus fiction she says she realised - with sadness - after Oranges are Not the Only Fruit that she had written a story that she 'could live with', the other was too painful, she 'could not survive it'. 

As I write slowly, slowly about my Pakistani father, often weeks, even months, with no writing - always thinking, though, always - I understand this more than ever: the stories we (re)write often make the truth bearable. I often say truth comes more easily through fiction. I think it's one reason I had to fictionalise my illness for The State of Me - the physical hell and wilderness of  this illness  -  being a political football, to hell with actual patients - is just too painful.

*

I'm reading (non-fiction) The Upstairs Wife by Rafia Zakaria. It's beautifully written and the Partition elements resonate for me, particularly descriptions of Saddar in Karachi, as that is where my father's family migrated to from north India in late 1940s/early 1950s.




I'm also reading (fiction) Memoirs of a Polar Bear by Yoko Tawada, which is funny and clever and heartbreaking, told from the point of view of three polar bears, an unnamed grandmother/memoirist, her daughter Tosca (though Barbara, her trainer, narrates parts too), and Tosca's son Knut (based on the real Knut in Berlin Zoo). The memoirist polar bear starts off in the circus and when being trained to get up on hind-legs by appliance of heat says: 'I'd always thought it was the floor feeling pain - not me - so it was the floor that had to change - not me - to make the pain go away'.

*

I watched Toni Erdmann on DVD a couple of weeks ago, very different, funny and quirky, if a little unsettling. It is three hours long though and I had to watch it in two parts, no big hardship. It doesn't feel long, and that is the main thing. And is a film that leaves you feeling happy.

Wednesday, 10 May 2017

Dr Avindra Nath's research. And lovely books

I'm so very, very heartened by the research that is currently going in USA at the National Institute of Health with Dr Avindra Nath as principle investigator (PI). Dr Nath is a neuroimmunologist and exactly the calibre of scientist we need in ME research. His hypothesis is that ME is 'triggered by a viral illness that results in immune-mediated brain dysfunction'. His work is described as a 'deep-diving' into the disease, he is looking at not just one aspect but every aspect. Long overdue!!! Brian Vastag is a former science reporter for the Washington Post, now disabled by ME - he got ill almost five years ago. He's one of Dr Nath's patients - you have to have had a clear infectious trigger and been ill for less than five years - and has been tweeting some interesting details of the study. This is a lovely photo of doctor and patient (from Brian's timeline) - such mutual respect and warmth on display (can you even begin to imagine that scenario here with our so-called 'CFS experts'?).



More than thirty years ago, Peter Behan, the consultant neurologist who diagnosed me, was  looking into viral damage and mitochondrial dysfunction (I recently came across this article from 1985 in the The Journal of Infection. He describes muscle abnormalities in fifty ME patients, I'm uncertain if I was one of them but I had all the tests he refers to):


His paper states: 'The illness was severe, with a high morbidity, and a disastrous effect on their lives'. Of course, medical technology is way more advanced now and I'm optimistic about what will be uncovered in the years ahead. Just tragic though that a core in the medical profession, specifically UK psychiatrists, have held back biomedical research with their self-serving theories of false illness beliefs, and their wilful and sinister conflation of ME with 'chronic fatigue'. That's thirty-three years of my life I'll never get back - thanks, in no small part, to their biopsychosocial idealogy.

*

Been meaning for a while to mention Marion Michell's book Supinely Sublimely (2016).




Marion is a German-born artist, based in London. She is very severely ill and I can imagine what it cost her to produce this slim book of meditations and art. I love the cover, which if you look closely has tiny paper boats as faces. There is a sense too of being shackled, at least, I see chains, and what is ME if it is not a kind of prison, in all its grimly fluctuating, punitive severity. The book is perfect for dipping into and there are gems such as: 'Limbs, jaws, skull, the hair on my head hurt, my hands had been stamped on, and something pounded my ribs and stole my air. Half a week later, I am still returning''.

*




Another book I very much enjoyed recently is Zeeba Sadiq's 38 Bahadurabad (1996), a gorgeous mix of fiction and autobiography, it describes a young woman growing up in Karachi in 1960s with a doctor father who has spent time in Britain. I loved it, especially the chapter called 'Lame Auntie', the writing is exquisite. I was truly sad to learn that Zeeba had passed away suddenly in 2010 after suffering a brain aneuryism, we're almost the same age.

Monday, 10 April 2017

A Book of Banished Words

Delighted to have a short piece in Nancy Campbell's just published The Polar Tombola: A Book of Banished Words (photo from @BirdEditions).



More on  Nancy's live literature event  here: What happens when a language begins to disappear?


I first met Nancy on Twitter via a photo of a snowdrop three years ago and we came to 'know' each other through my dear late stepdad. My own banished word is described in 'The Hoot of an Owl', here is a fragment:

Coxsackie – pronounced cook-sah-kee – is the name of a small town on the Hudson River in upstate New York. Derived from Native American language, it’s said to mean the ‘hoot of an owl’. Poetic when whispered, but Coxsackie can also be a bully, swaggering its hard-sounding ‘C’s.
*

Life is truly stranger than fiction. How could I have known in winter 1982 that the hellish illness that had ruined my year in France - yet to be diagnosed as Coxsackie virus, which in turn triggered ME - would, thirty-five years later, be represented in a piece in a beautiful art book whose author had (by then) done a residency in my stepdad's childhood home in Greenland?

Tuesday, 24 January 2017

A change of mind...

Fiction titles are sometimes changed to be more nuanced and suit the country of publication. For example, Miss Smilla's Feeling For Snow by Peter Høeg, translated from the Danish - I gave it my dear late stepdad in 1993 - was published as Smilla's Sense of Snow in the USA. Smilla - a half Danish scientist with an Inuit mother -  has 'a feeling for snow', which is helping her solve the death of an Inuit child who is her neighbour's son in Copenhagen.




What may be more surprising is that the UK title of Suzanne O'Sullivan's popular-science book It's All in Your Head (2015) has been changed to Is it All in Your Head? for  recent  publication in USA.


This title change from bold declaration to interrogative has, I'd bet, nothing to do with British/American English differences but more suggests that publishers are now well aware of the fire O'Sullivan has come under for her ludicrous, irresponsible and harmful chapter 'Rachel', in which she frames ME/CFS as psychosomatic. This 'subtle tweak', of course, does nothing to ennoble the content, but does highlight a lack of certainty, which is surely a little embarrassing for a prize-winning science book. We can only hope that the next tweaking will be Is it All in Suzanne's Head?

*

This is a very good recent paper from Leonard Jason and Julia Newton and others, which explains the differences in criteria between 'chronic fatigue syndrome' and myalgic encephalomyelitis - signalling how crucial it is to know which disease we are diagnosing/studying (Suzanne O'Sullivan would do well to read it). Ramsay-defined ME - also known as classic ME - has the most physically impaired patients - and to fit the criteria you must have: acute onset with three major symptom categories: post-exertional malaise, neurological manifestations,  autonomic manifestations. Of course, I have all of these, though in the eighties, we didn't yet call the tell-tale burning/exhaustion in muscles 'post-exertional malaise' (PEM), we didn't know not being able to stand was 'orthostatic intolerance', and we didn't know not being able to remember the names of neighbours we had known for twenty years was 'brain fog' - we just felt as if we were dying.

Saturday, 7 January 2017

On fathers: Om Puri, Hisham Matar and some short writing

Saddened to learn that Om Puri has died aged only sixty-six. I loved him, of course, as the flawed Pakistani father in East is East. And as the taxi driver in My Son the Fanatic (based on a short story by Hanif Kureishi). I watched him more recently in Satyajit Ray's 1981 film Sadgati/Deliverance - Puri, in his early thirties, gave a devastating performance as an 'untouchable'.

*
The last book I read in 2016 was Hisham Matar's The Return. Anne Enright describes it as a terrible and lovely book, and it is: the writing is lovely and the truth is terrible, the knowing and not knowing the brutality of his father's death at the hands of the Gaddafi regime in the nineties. I underlined several passages as I read, words that stay in my head: 'I have always wondered if it is possible to lose your father without sensing the particular moment of his death'.

*

Happy that 2017 will see with the upcoming publication (print and digital) of Bath Flash Fiction anthology - I had a story longlisted almost a year ago - 'A widow with a bowl of wine and lipstick coming off'. This flash was inspired by seeing my dear stepfather in the funeral parlour in February 2015, the image still shocks me, though it was one of peace, but nothing about it was real, nothing.

I've not written much flash fiction, I've read more, but I think flash titles are very important, they act like a hinge for what's unfolding. I see flash fiction like fireworks - small with a beautiful punch - but still demanding time and energy in creating. Flash lends itself well to low energy writing. And as you tweak even 300 words,  you know more than ever, as you shift the words around in such a small space, how arbitrary it all is.  The story was accepted by an online literary journal at the same time as it was longlisted and I had to decide where I wanted it placed. I look forward to seeing my words - which with time passing now seem 'remote'  - see the light of day.

Friday, 18 November 2016

The world is fucked and books are all we have

The world is fucked and books are all we have. When things are tough, I look for illumination in poetry, nothing has helped, but then a few days ago someone tweeted 'Apes' (1990) by Adam Zagajewski.

 Apes

One day apes made their grab for power.
Gold seal-rings,
starched shirts,
aromatic Havanas,
feet squashed into patent leather.
Deeply involved in our other pursuits,
we didn’t notice: someone read Aristotle,
someone else was wholly in love.
Rulers’ speeches became somewhat more chaotic,
they even gibbered, but still,
when did we ever really listen? Music was better.
Wars: ever more savage; prisons:
stinking worse than before.
Apes, it seems, made their grab for power.

Poem by Adam Zagajewski, from Without End

 *

On my bedside table just now are these:



Last weekend, I read Claudia Rankine's prose-poem Citizen, which is startling and unsettling (for me, more prose than poem, but well worth reading). I often stop books for no good reason and take weeks/months to go back, it may be a concentration thing. This summer, I stopped The Vegetarian a third of the way through and started a thriller (Apple Tree  Yard by Louise Doughty, which I loved). I will go back to The Vegetarian soon (I also really liked the story behind the translation). The Blue Devils of Nada by Albert Murray is a gorgeous dipping-in book of essays and there are some gems there. I will also, of course, go back to James Baldwin (started and stopped for no good reason). Jackie Kay's Trumpet is a secondhand book passed on to me, which I look forward to.

*

The Goldfinch painting by Carel Fabritius has come to Edinburgh (how sad he died aged 32), which prompted me to start my Kindle version of Donna Tartt's Pulitzer-winning novel - I've had it for two years, unread. I'm 100 pages in and love the plot, but the style is too wordy for my liking. The micro-details clutter the prose, which is exhausting to read. I recall mixed reviews at the time. Julie Myerson was not too keen. Not sure I can stay the course. I think it would make a great film though.

*

A couple of weeks ago, I watched John Berger and Susan Sontag discussing the process of reading and writing in 'To Tell a Story' on Channel 4 in 1983. The discussion was part of a series called VOICES (I don't remember VOICES, Channel 4 had just started and I was at the beginning of the nightmare of what turned out to be ME). Berger and Sontag are so compelling, you agree with both of them even when they have opposing views. Their earnestness almost seems quaint now, but I was struck by their respectful disagreement with one another. They are mesmerising to watch and listen to.

And I have just discovered Scottish doctor, filmmaker and  poet Margaret Tait (1918-1999), what a remarkable woman. (‘Emily’: ‘Emily Dickinson shut herself in a room / And wrote about her pain. / She wrote too about joy’.) You can hear a recording of Margaret Tait reading 'Emily' and other poems  here on the Scottish Poetry Library website.

*

And Leonard Cohen is dead, that is hard to know. Since 1980, I have loved his poetry and his music and his beauty. He was old-ish, I guess, 82, but I have so many folded-up memories that his songs unfold again. 'Suzanne' is mentioned in my novel. ('...and she feeds you tea and oranges that come all the way from China' has to be one of the most beautiful lines ever).
 
I cried last Wednesday morning when I learned Trump was elected and I cried again two days later when I learned that Leonard  had died.

Saturday, 13 August 2016

Who has control of the story? - Anna Katharina Schaffner's EXHAUSTION

I recall when I read Salman Rushdie's Joseph Anton in 2012, my favourite line was, 'Who shall have control over the story?'. I thought, naturally, of the way the illness myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME) - an illness I have had for thirty-three years - has been ceaselessly misrepresented in the media, and of the way health editors, journalists and academics have locked onto the narrative of a group of UK psychiatrists - who harmfully conflate ME with unexplained 'chronic fatigue' - and recycled it uncritically, for the last two decades:
'At the heart of the dispute over The Satanic Verses, he said, behind all the accusations and abuse, was a question of profound importance: Who shall have control over the story? Who has, who should have, the power not only to tell the stories with which, and within which, we all lived, but also to say in what manner those stories may be told? 

I think most would agree that ME sufferers have not had the power to tell their stories, that they've not been allowed a voice. The vacuous 'yuppie flu' headline in the 1980s is nothing compared to what is dished out now. It's highly unusual to read accurate accounts of the illness in the media - unless it's a first person account - and the question of who shall have control over the story has been in my head again these past two weeks or so.

*

A few years ago I had a friendly exchange with a young academic on a medical humanities thread, she was researching the history of exhaustion for her book, including ME and 'chronic fatigue syndrome'. ME, of course, belongs no more in a 'history of exhaustion' than MS or lupus or cancer, but I pointed her in the direction of my novel, of Dr Melvin Ramsay's brilliant 1986 book on virally-triggered ME (my now retired neurologist wrote the preface), and of the International Criteria Consensus 2011. I clarified that ME was not 'chronic fatigue' or indeed chronic fatigue syndrome. I explained that post-exertional malaise (PEM) - also known as post-exertional neuroimmune exhaustion (PENE) - is the cardinal symptom of ME. She thanked me and said she would explore these texts.

I thought no more of this until the weekend before last, when someone on Twitter told me that Anna Katharina Schaffner had quoted me extensively in her new book EXHAUSTION and was 'trying hard to present us in unflattering ways'. I googled and found a Times Literary Supplement review* in which the reviewer had said:
In a chapter called 'Mystery Viruses' Schaffner frames Nasim Marie Jafry's semi-autobiographical novel The State of Me (2008) with a nuanced exploration of the controversial diagnoses of chronic fatigue syndrome, myalgic encephalomyelitis and post-viral fatigue syndrome. The author shows how and why both sufferers and medical researchers have so much invested in alternative somatic and psychological explanations'.
I was, of course, intrigued and got a copy of her book. I figured the truth would lie somewhere between 'unflattering' and 'nuanced'. Sadly,  nuanced it is not. Schaffner, while attempting to appear empathetic has, consciously or unconsciously, managed to misrepresent me in several ways - including misquoting me - and 'Mystery Viruses' is - wearily and, perhaps, unsurprisingly - little more than a puff piece on Professor Simon Wessely. He's referenced in 80% of the bibliography along with the dreadfully cruel social historian Edward Shorter (I guess he deleted this post).  Schaffner can see why ME sufferers would be offended by the latter, but nevertheless finds him 'thought-provoking' and gives him generous room in her chapter.

Bizarrely, not one reference is made by Anna to any ME biomedical researcher by name - as if they simply don't exist. Since she's a reader of my blog,  she could have, for example, mentioned Stanford's Professor Jose Montoya, specialist in infectious diseases, whom I had the great pleasure of meeting briefly last year. Montoya wants USA medical institutions to apologise to ME patients for the way they have been treated (the Norwegian government has already apologised to its sufferers - an anti-cancer drug Rituximab is currently under trial there for ME). Schaffner acknowledges ME is a controversial diagnosis, but sets up a false opposition of scientists against patients. Let's not  forget in early 2015, the Institute of Medicine's (USA) definitive report which - after examining 9000 research papers - concluded that ME is not psychological.  Research in the USA has been energised lately through the National Institute of Health. And the first European ME tissue biobank opened in London in May. (Interestingly, ME sufferers in Scotland are not permitted to donate blood.)

The task ahead is to unlock the mechanism of this poorly understood illness. That is all that is important. But Anna insists, instead, on embracing the dying narrative of UK psychiatrists, which casts ME sufferers as ungrateful militants.  I do wonder is the reading public not bored with this particular narrative by now? ME sufferers have  horribly diminished - often ruined - lives, but certain writers are still feting Simon - who apparently left the field fifteen years ago - by putting him at the centre of the narrative. Why do they persist in their misguided praise? Why are they not following the science?

Anna says in her introduction that 'works of fiction, in particular, can grant us precious experiential insights into how particular physical conditions...may feel', and yet on reading my novel appears to have wilfully misunderstood why ME sufferers are rightly angry with Wessely and others, who stubbornly push their harmful biopsychosocial theory,  for which they have not a scrap of evidence. When they suggest ME sufferers are perpetuating their own illness with aberrant beliefs, these psychiatrists are simply acting out their *own* beliefs. Really, think about it - how can 250,000 ME sufferers in the UK alone - former lawyers, doctors,  students, dancers, engineers, artists, teachers etc - all be keeping their own hellish symptoms going by faulty thinking? A kind of synchronised somatising? It's utter nonsense.

Schaffner has  not, I assume, accessed any of the medical sources I suggested, and gives a garbled history of the terminologies of ME and CFS: for the whole chapter she refers to 'CFS/ME' - the favoured label of UK psychiatrists. The rest of us talk about ME - or 'ME/CFS', if we have to. (It is admittedly confusing as in the USA, true ME is referred to as CFS, which is where the name originally came from in 1980s. Many researchers use the name CFS.)  Dr Daniel Peterson - involved in the Lake Tahoe outbreak in 1984 - speaks up here in support of the name ME, acknowledging that the label CFS hugely trivialises the illness.

However, during the 1990s, Simon Wessely and others effectively tried to 'disappear' Ramsay-defined ME, the illness I have, merging it with CFS, using the much broader Oxford Criteria (1991), which can include patients who *do* have a psychiatric basis to their fatigue. The CDC (Fukuda) 1994 criteria in USA that Anna refers to also have problems of being too broad, but she is, doubtless, unaware. Leonard Jason, professor of psychology, is excellent on criterion variance and the importance of case definitions. Ramsay-ME has by definition more severe physical impairment. The problem is that no one is speaking about the same illness and UK psychiatrists seem happy to conflate them. Most journalists writing about ME/CFS have no idea of the many different criteria. It's an unholy mess. People are misdiagnosed as having ME when they actually have CFS. It was recommended by the National Institute of Health in 2015 that the Oxford Criteria for CFS be retired as they could harm research.

This is how and why nonsense about ME is written and how a dysfunctional narrative has been perpetuated. The wrong people have been controlling the story. And younger, naive writers pick up the baton. Listing the symptoms of ME, Schaffner includes 'a perceived sense of effort', making her bias - and ignorance - obvious early on. Post-exertional malaise - described in this short film by Dr Mark VanNess -  is listed in the Institute of Medicine (2015) report as one of several  core symptoms, objectively verifiable:
 
          Post-exertional malaise (PEM)
PEM is worsening of a patient’s symptoms and function after exposure to physical or cognitive stressors that were normally tolerated before disease onset. Subjective reports of PEM and prolonged recovery are supported by objective evidence in the scientific literature, including failure to normally reproduce exercise test results (2-day cardiopulmonary exercise test) and impaired cognitive function after exertion. There is sufficient evidence that PEM is a primary feature that helps distinguish ME/CFS (SEID) from other conditions.
 *

Before moving on to discuss my novel, Schaffner writes, How does living with chronic fatigue actually feel?' - disrespectfully disregarding that ME is not 'chronic fatigue' and that neither I nor my character Helen Fleet live with chronic fatigue (I had pointed this out to Schaffner in our exchange). I live with a poorly understood neuroimmune illness, which has many very disabling symptoms, severe fatigue being only one. These other hellish symptoms are described in detail in The State of Me, but Schaffner does not seem to think they are worthy of discussion. (Of course, since she has appropriated ME -  via my novel - for  a monograph on exhaustion, it would not suit her to look at the many other symptoms.)

My character Helen Fleet is no saint - I wanted her to be flawed - ill people are not saints in real life or fiction. And Helen Fleet is not me and I am not Helen Fleet, but all the medical procedures are true. Schaffner, at first, seems to empathise with Helen, recognising her humour in helping her cope with a life of chronic illness. But she skips over the utter hell and shock and heartbreak of being largely bedbound, aged twenty, getting a diagnosis of ME - wrongly referring to Coxsackie B4 as 'a rare virus' - it isn't - and failing to mention that a cluster of people became ill with ME in the west of Scotland at this time (described in Melvin Ramsay's text, which I recommended to her).

More tellingly, she ignores  the fact that Helen is diagnosed by a consultant neurologist. She ignores the 'full house of abnormalities', the abnormal muscle biopsy and EMG. And goes on to ignore the (albeit experimental) immunotherapies Helen has: the plasma exchange, the anti-viral drugs, the ACTH injections, the vitamin C/magnesium drips, the evening primrose oil clinical trial. Of course, she is constrained by how much she can quote without permission, but it is bizarre she would not reveal to her readers that my character is diagnosed in a neurology clinic by a consultant neurologist, as I was. Of course, that might undermine her 'Wessely as saint' narrative later on, the Wessely who has stated: 'Like it or not, CFS is not simply an illness, but a cultural phenomenon and metaphor for our times'.

Schaffner then starts to dabble in amateur psychology examining the causes of my own illness, by psychoanalyising my character Helen. She suggests that because fictional Helen's fictional parents got divorced, that maybe Helen (and I) are suppressing painful childhood emotions. Her audacity is quite something, others have commented on how intrusive, not to mention, unethical this is. She can simply not understand why Helen is so against a psychiatric explanation of her illness. She seems to forget that Helen's story is informed by my lived experience of ME since the age of 18, along with a consultant neurologist's diagnosis in 1984, and mounting, incontrovertible biomedical evidence that ME is physical. But this is not quite enough for this young academic - she appears to know more than me about my own illness. Perhaps she would like to track down the others who got ill in the west of Scotland post-Coxsackie virus and psychoanalyse them too?

Schaffner goes on to highlight Helen's 'scathing' attitude  towards those who suggest her illness may not be physical in origin. Her empathy for  Helen evaporates and she gets to what she really wants to say, no longer literary critic but judge and jury, exploring the issue of how I/Helen/ME sufferers dare to be scathing about psychiatrists (who don't believe ME is physical), in particular, Professor Simon Wessely. You have to wonder, did she even read my novel or did she just flip through it looking for extracts that would suit her chapter?

She describes Simon as 'one of the most important CFS researchers in Britain' - I beg to differ - he has conflated CFS with ME and caused utter chaos since the early 1990s. Schaffner is breathtakingly careless, though, as she appears keen to merge my anger at Wessely with those who have allegedly 'targeted' him (the threats narrative was tirelessly explored in UK media). She may like to know that Simon Wessely and I exchanged several long emails a couple of years ago (polite but ultimately fruitless, in my opinion). And I certainly do not regard myself as being scathing, I'd say my reaction, under the circumstances, is rational and healthy. Schaffner has quoted selectively from my blog, but she could so easily have read all the research that I post and tried to learn, but instead she took the easy option, recycling the weary, psychogenic narrative that the London media loves to recycle again and again. I guess she missed this quote from a journalist in 2007: 'I’m sure there is a lot of psychiatric literature on how denying another person’s reality triggers all sorts of deep hostile responses'. And I guess she also missed Simon's open letter conversation from 2012 with the Countess of Mar, a long time advocate for people with ME.

Anna also writes: 'Jafry not only wishes that doctors who suggest graded exercise or CBT would fall ill with ME themselves...'. This is simply  dishonest. I often say - as Helen does - let those who don't believe that ME is a physical illness have it for a day or a week, then they will soon believe.  I say let them try graded exercise when they have experienced severe ME (they wouldn't, they couldn't). I say that graded exercise (GET) is dangerous for people with ME, because it is.  Nowhere have I said I want doctors who recommend GET and cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) to get ill themselves. But Schaffner  happily misrepresents me. Well-meaning doctors who are in the dark may recommend these therapies because the hugely flawed NICE guidelines tell them to. There was, in fact, an excellent article recently in the British Journal of General Practice, highlighting the fact that GET and CBT can cause harm.

Schaffner seems largely unaware of the abuse and neglect that people with ME have suffered, the unrelenting, detrimental nonsense in the press. I recall five or six years ago someone on a forum saying that ME sufferers just wanted to fucking stay at home and eat pot noodles all day. And an anonymous doctor suggesting 'lead in the gullet' was what was needed. This kind of online  abuse is not unusual. It would be unacceptable for any other patient population to endure this.

Neither, of course, does she acknowledge the ongoing problems with the PACE trial (which underpins GET and CBT as safe, effective therapies). This is the trial that used the Oxford Criteria;  the trial where you could be more ill at the end than at the beginning and still be considered recovered; the trial that cost £5 million pounds. Schaffner tells us blithely that  GET and CBT are  'moderately efficacious' for the relief of symptoms. I think those who have gone from mild to severe ME after graded exercise would disagree. **We are still awaiting the results of the outcome of the QMUL tribunal in May over the PACE trial and its refusal to share data. But because the trial was spun so successfully in the media, no one is really aware of the problems, apart from ME sufferers and the scientists who are challenging The Lancet over its publication of PACE in the first place.

I often say it can take a decade to adjust to a life with severe ME, we do everything in our power to recover, to keep hold of our lives, but the illness is bigger than us. This is not nihilistic, it is fact. We relapse severely when we push ourselves; we learn to pace, it is how we cope, how we endure, how we survive. We also have to cope with the emotional stress that comes with physical decline. Our families suffer as they watch us, helplessly from the sidelines. They too have lost a daughter or a husband or a mother or a brother to this hellish illness. Yet, on top of the physical hell - and it is hell in its acute/severe form - we as an ill population have to face these ongoing, irrational claims by a group of psychiatrists. I honestly don't know how I'd have coped when first diagnosed had I been subjected to those who arrogantly  tell us that pacing/resting is counter-productive, and who promote GET and CBT. I count my blessings I was diagnosed a good seven years before these particular psychiatrists dominated the narrative, before they controlled the story. Their advocating CBT, of course, is not to help us cope, as with other physical illnesses, it is to rid us of our false illness beliefs.

I'd confidently say that all ME sufferers, regardless of severity of illness, have been neglected or derided at some point by someone somewhere, but there is a truly invisible, neglected group: 25% of  patients are so severely ill, they are housebound/bedridden for decades, they don't make any improvement at all. There are patients who tragically die.  What have these 'CFS' psychiatrists done for the most severely ill apart from cast doubt on their psychological health?  It's scandalous.

As I said at the beginning, Anna has misrepresented me in several ways, consciously or unconsciously, though no doubt appearing nuanced to those who know little about ME. I think perhaps the most ludicrous sentence she has written is:  'In her view, the cardinal symptoms of of ME, are post-exertional malaise, or post-exertional neuroimmune exhaustion, which are caused by viral triggers'. 

In my view? Dear god.

And while I find it both amusing - and somewhat impudent - that she questions myself and the many, many ME sufferers and advocates who dare to challenge the authority of UK psychiatrists, I'm not sure if she's being incredibly naive or simply disingenuous. She has, of course, been heavily influenced by the never-ending spin coming out of King's College. It's a little disappointing, but she is certainly not the first and no doubt won't be the last to appropriate ME as a chapter for her book (ME is the 'go to' illness if you need a chapter) with no real curiosity for truth. I'm glad she used extracts from my novel, hopefully others will now read it, but in doing so she demonstrates a lack of control in her own narrative. She is a literature scholar, after all, not a judge of how patients should respond to inappropriate and harmful treatment.

While Schaffner finds it 'ironic that Wessely should have become such a hated figure in the CFS/ME community', I find it 'ironic' that her book is published by Columbia University Press, which states: Columbia University Press seeks to enhance Columbia University’s educational and research mission by publishing outstanding original works by scholars and other intellectuals that contribute to an understanding of global human concerns. In early 2015, Mady Hornig and Ian Lipkin, both highly respected ME researchers at Columbia University, had this to say: Immune Signatures in Blood Point to Distinct Disease Stages, Open Door to Better Diagnosis and Treatment. But as I said before,  Anna mentions not one single biomedical researcher by name. They are not important in her landscape.

*

I can see that the narrative of ME is a morass from the outside, but those who really know, who really understand are patients such as myself who have lived through the politics, and seen the embedding of psychiatry since the 1990s, the very harmful conflation of ME with fatigue. In her cultural history of exhaustion Schaffner could have done something different, she could have explored why a group of doctors is clinging to an outdated model of ME, a veritable sinking ship, she could have asked why on earth this is happening. But she didn't. In 2016, almost thirty-three years after my own diagnosis, it's chilling that the psychogenic narrative of ME is still being given time of day. All that should be being discussed is biomedical research. Anything else is redundant and indulgent. It is we sufferers and serious biomedical researchers who should have control over the story.

*I've since had some emails with the TLS reviewer, who is a cultural historian - he was respectful and empathetic - while we still disagree on some points - and I think has learned more about the politics around ME.

** I see that QMUL has been ordered to release the PACE trial data. 

And here is info about the recovery data being sought.

*** And on re-analysis, the Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality (AHRQ) has declared the PACE trial findings to be invalid - GET and CBT are ineffective for 'ME/CFS'. Oxford criteria, once again, found lacking.

**** Blog from  Prof Vincent Racianello (immunology) on The Lancet/PACE circus, 29 August 2016

Monday, 23 May 2016

Introduction to James Baldwin

I have never read James Baldwin - there is no reason, so many books are (necessarily, due to time and energy) unread - but after seeing this twelve minute film by Sedat Pakay, From Another Place (1973), I was mesmerised, and bought Giovanni's Room. I did not know that Baldwin spent significant time in Istanbul. The film is exquisite, his voice seduced me and I had to have him.




Hillary Johnson, author of Osler's Web, has also recommended that I read Negroland, a memoir by Margo Jefferson, an American journalist and critic.




Sunday, 1 May 2016

Wellcome Book Prize 2016 - ignorance rewarding ignorance

*Updating this post: fantastic news, first ME biobank in Europe is officially opening its doors to external researchers on May 12 at London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine. More info here.

I resent using any more energy - it truly takes its toll - on the daft neurologist Suzanne O'Sullivan, but the travesty of her winning the Wellcome Book Prize is too important to ignore. I've been trying to correct her harmful nonsense about ME since she won the prize last week, on Twitter. She herself blocks everyone who challenges her, including the mother of severely ill patient Whitney Dafoe whose father, Stanford scientist Ron Davis, is valiantly trying to complete the ME jigsaw.

In serious scientific circles, there is no longer any doubt that myalgic encephalomyeltis/chronic fatigue syndrome (I hate that name, but it is used in research) is  a serious, complex physical illness - though poorly understood, it is NOT psychiatric or psychological. However, that didn't stop O'Sullivan from including ME in a chapter of her 2015 book, It's All in Your Head, a study of psychosomatic illness - or rather a series of anecdotes about patients she has seen. She has published before on carpal tunnel syndrome and non-epileptic seizures (I have not been able to find any papers on ME, unsurprisingly).  Whatever the merits of the other chapters, O'Sullivan has no expertise whatsoever in ME, but that didn't stop the judges from being seduced by her magnificent nonsense (worth noting I think that no one in the research world has heard of Suzanne O'Sullivan, but she is elevated to an ME 'authority' just by having this book published).

Her ME chapter is, of course, wholly uninformed and manipulative, unoriginal in its prejudice and bias. I reviewed the book last year on Goodreads.  Her Rachel chapter is revealing only in what it omits. It's fairly clear to anyone who is informed about ME -  as patient, carer or true specialist - that O'Sullivan is havering (good Scottish word). She's not going to rock the science, of course, that is progressing nicely - but unfortunately she is persuading new gullible readers that ME is an unconscious switch in our heads that flicks on and mimics serious illness. You couldn't fucking make it up that in 2016 this got the Wellcome Book Prize. The judges - I imagine intelligent and decent people - though only one seems to work in medicine/science - simply rewarded ignorance with ignorance.

What is *most* galling is the fawning, ignorant media, who have indulged her all week, themselves almost wilfully ignorant of biomedical research. They assume a mantle of authority. And readers and reviewers of O'Sullivan too become overnight experts in a neuroimmune illness they know nothing of.

I was told earlier by an obnoxious book reviewer (he was making quips about his own hypochondria and full of praise for her book, saying he'd be 'thrilled' to know he didn't have a serious neurological disorder, and wondering why do patients have  a problem with a likely psychological diagnosis) that the ME chapter is *only* 20 pages and that he had no interest in debating further. I told him I've been ill for 33 years, diagnosed by a consultant neurologist, and 250, 000 in UK have ME, so 20 pages is not just 20 pages; and I suggested perhaps it's best not to tweet about a book if you have no interest in discussing the issues. For this, he blocked me. My voice silenced just like that. Basically told to dry my eyes, we have nothing to complain about. A quarter of a million lives already severely diminished, further harmed by O'Sullivan's nonsense. Yes, book bloggers know best. What a luxury to be able to dismiss those 20 pages! He blocked others too who tried to educate him.

Interestingly, no one in the UK media has yet asked Suzanne O'Sullivan about the toxic PACE trial - which has just been in court over failure to share its data (someone on Amazon has suggested there might be a significance that one of the judges works for QMUL, but surely not, that is just too depressing to contemplate that judges would not be independent. Though the way this illness has been relentlessly politicised since the nineties truly stinks. Personally, I don't believe there was any 'fix', just lazy, old prejudices about ME being confirmed). O'Sullivan predictably praises GET/CBT in her book - cannily, without actually naming PACE - as the most effective treatment, with no reference at all to the harms of graded exercise. Just as she praises Simon Wessely, without naming him. His name, of course,  now carries too much baggage. Her claim that he is 'the person in the UK who has taken this illness the most seriously' is, I'd confidently say, a giant whopper (there are a few in the chapter). She conveniently omits the 1980s' UK specialists: Melvin Ramsay, Peter Behan, Betty Dowsett, John Richardson, and Nigel Speight (my illness was taken very seriously in 1984 by Professor Behan, then Doctor).



And, of course, she disingenuously conflates ME and 'chronic fatigue', just like those psychiatrists she emulates. O'Sullivan - and those like her - seek to control a dying narrative. She has been silencing those who politely challenge her. I was blocked when I simply asked her this. She lives in a little bubble on Twitter, which only lets praise in. Patients with ME have no right of reply. Is this not quite strange for a scientist? The prize is about stimulating scientific debate, one wonders what she is so afraid of. The truth, perhaps?

It has been gruelling having this illness for 33 years, and indescribably exhausting trying to educate others, yet still we are facing this prejudice and nonsense from a small, self-congratulatory club in the UK (USA are miles ahead, although we do have fantastic initiatives here like Invest in ME annual conferences). As someone else said on Twitter, how much evidence do these people need, what will it take? What do they all gain from acting like petulant children, fingers in ears?

I cried when I read that O'Sullivan had won the Wellcome Prize. Could this really be the most deserving book on the shortlist? - it is not even well written, the somewhat toneless chapters all blur into one (not to mention that the made-up patient name 'Camilla' is alienating, but that is a trivial point).  I have now run out of words, trying to educate the seemingly ineducable, but I do still have my precious novel. It remains my weapon. Two of these books tells the truth about Ramsay-ME, one recycles nonsense: