Frimbo is an admirable erudite, reminiscent of Sherlock Holmes, while the “closed room” scenario with a handful of characters evokes Agatha Christie. The writing is accessible, the rendering of Harlem accents remarkable, and the accurate references to state-of-the art forensic medicine, using anatomy and chemistry, are engaging. The conversations between Archer and Frimbo explore the nature of science, faith, and psychology. 

Some passages contain philosophical observations: ‘Pure faith in anything is mysticism. Our very faith in reason is a kind of mysticism’ (p. 214).  
 
Fisher was an African-American physician-author whose clever novel contains only African-American characters, including the physician and the detective. Specialized in radiology, he lived most of his life in Harlem, but he had studied medicine at Howard University. The author of many short stories and plays, he was also a gifted musician and composer. He at died at the age of 37 from an abdominal cancer attributed to his work with X-Rays.   

The Conjure-Man Dies: A Mystery Tale of Dark Harlem
Rudolph Fisher  

Miscellaneous Original edition 1932  
Publisher University of Michigan Press 
Place Published Ann Arbor MI 
Edition 1992 
Page Count 316 

A previous version of this review was published in the NYU Literature, Arts, and Medicine Database.   
Web image by Salah Ait Mokhtar 

Frustrated in their attempts to access information, seek compensation, and prevent future deaths, the families convinced the flamboyant lawyer, Jan Schlichtmann, to take on what was thought to be a hopeless cause. Suddenly, the case seemed to promise a multi-million-dollar settlement. Large industrial concerns, as well as government officials, began to pay close attention. Obsessed with the enormity of the apparent crime, the creative Schlichtmann amassed a huge amount of damning evidence through careful and expensive scientific research. But the accused companies also invested large sums in experienced lawyers and scientists who used other data and legal technicalities to refute the charges. The families lost their case in 1986, and Schlichtmann was financially and emotionally ruined. By that time, 21 cases of leukemia had been identified – 4 times the anticipated rate for the population. A public health report found “no significant differences” in exposure between the leukemia cases and controls, yet concluded that “it is not possible to rule out exposure to this water as a factor” (Cutler et al 1986). 

Author Jonathan Harr began work on A Civil Action in 1986 before the opening of the trial, and he accompanied Schlichtmann to almost all meetings, relied on court transcripts, and conducted many painstaking interviews with the families and opposing lawyers. The result is an omniscient yet intimate perspective on these true events that reads like an action-packed thriller, complete with dialogue. It won many awards and was on the New York Times bestseller list for 65 weeks. It stands as an interesting commentary on the nature of environmental health and on the American justice system. 

Three years later, Steve Zaillian wrote and directed the award-winning film, A Civil Action (1998), based on Harr’s book and starring John Travolta and Robert Duvall. Shlichtmann received $250,000 for the portrayal rights, but is quoted as saying, “John Travolta made more money playing me than I ever did playing me” (Kix 2009). Forty years later, now at age 75, he continues to champion environmental causes, aiming for settlements rather than court cases and recounting his “lessons learned” on the speakers’ circuit. 

Woburn and A Civil Action had coincided with other prominent environmental disasters, caused by industrial failures: Three Mile Island (1979), Love Canal (1977-1979), Times Beach, Missouri (1983), Bhopal (1984), to name only a few. The book and the film contributed to rising awareness about the health risks of environmental damage, and they added to increasing skepticism over the intentions of private entrepreneurs and the courts. They also heralded a period that saw a growing body of legislation aimed to define responsibilities and regulate industrial pollution – measures coming, alas all too frequently, after new problems arose and covering jurisdictions defined only by political boundaries, which have nothing to do with the flow of water and air. In 2022, the United Nations declared that a healthy environment is a human right. Dozens of countries, including Canada (2023) and several American states, have enshrined that ideal in law, even if practicalities and protections lag far behind. 

Less known is that fact that Woburn triggered a public-health preoccupation with “clusters” and the nature of proof (Alexander et al., 1999; Kingsley et al., 2007) Do clusters indicate important dangers or are they unfortunate but random occurrences? A decade later, the Center for Environmental Health Sciences at Massachusetts Institute of Technology reported on its vain “search for causes” in the industrial toxins of the Woburn leukemia cluster (Durant et al., 1995). In 2002, a controlled study, based on Woburn, failed to establish a causal correlation between disease and contamination; it pointed out that incidence had returned to anticipated levels, while 8 consecutive years had seen no leukemia cases at all (Costas et al., 2002). Woburn has also been cited in efforts to provide better statistical evaluation of “clusters” (Waller, 2000). Woburn prompted recommendations to incorporate qualitative methods into public heath reporting (Brown, 2003) and to recognize the value of citizen science and epistemic differences in lay and professional “ways of knowing” (Brown, 1992; Petteway et al, 2019). Woburn is still being cited in public health assessments of environmental causes of malignancy, often with ambiguous outcomes (Binczewski et al., 2026). 

A Civil Action helped prepare the terrain for these many studies with their controls, statistics, and tracking of chemicals–mind you, only those chemicals that are already recognized and detectable. We no longer question the harm in smog and smoking, while improvements in respiratory diseases proclaim the benefits of keeping air clean. It is dismaying that the idea of water pollution as a harm to human health continues to be such a hard sell, while disasters like Flint, Michigan, or Grassy Narrows, Ontario, roil on. 

Water degradation is bad for flora, for fauna, and for the planet. Therefore, it is bad for us too. But for industry, the courts, and even some epidemiologists in their many ways of knowing, it remains an unproven hunch. 

References 

• Alexander, Freda E. 1999. Clusters and clustering of childhood cancer: A review 
• European Journal of Epidemiology 15: 847-852.
• Binczewski, N.R., Morimoto, L.M., Wiemels, J.L., Richardson, D.B., Bartell. S.M., Metayer, C., Vieira, V.M. 2026. Spatial analysis of residential location at birth, PFAS in public water, and childhood cancers in Southern California (2000-2019). Journal of Exposure Science & Environmental Epidemiology 2026 Mar 5:10.1038/s41370-026-00850-1. doi: 10.1038/s41370-026-00850-1. Epub ahead of print. PMID: 41781477; PMCID: PMC13032745. 
• Brown, Phil. 1992. Popular epidemiology and toxic waste contamination: lay and professional ways of knowing. Journal of Health & Social Behavior 33(3):267-81. 
• Brown, Phil. 2003. Qualitative methods in environmental health research. Environmental Health Perspectives 111(14):1789-98.  
• Costas, K., Knorr, R.S., Condon, S.K. 2002. A case-control study of childhood leukemia in Woburn, Massachusetts: the relationship between leukemia incidence and exposure to public drinking water. Science of the Total Environment 300(1-3):23-35. 
• Cutler, J.J., Parker, G.S., Rosen, S., Prenney, B., Healey, R., Caldwell, G.G. 1986. Childhood leukemia in Woburn, Massachusetts. Public Health Reports 101(2):201-5. 
• Durant, J.L., Chen, J., Hemond, H.F., Thilly, W.G. 1995. Elevated incidence of childhood leukemia in Woburn, Massachusetts: NIEHS Superfund Basic Research Program searches for causes. Environmental Health Perspectives 103 Suppl 6:93-8. 
• Kingsley, B.S., Schmeichel, K.L., Rubin, C.H. 2007. An update on cancer cluster activities at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Environmental Health Perspectives 115(1):165-71.  
• Kix, Paul. 2009. In the shadow of Woburn, Boston Magazine, City Life, 22 September:  https://www.bostonmagazine.com/news/2009/09/22/in-the-shadow-of-woburn
• Lagakos, S. W., Wessen, B. J., Zelen, M. 1986. An analysis of contaminated well water and health effects in Woburn, Massachusetts. Journal of the American Statistical Association 81(395):583–596.  
• Petteway, R, Mujahid, M., Allen, A., Morello-Frosch, R. 2019. Towards a people’s social epidemiology: Envisioning a more inclusive and equitable future for social epi research and practice in the 21st century. International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health 16(20):3983. 
• Waller, L.A. 2000. A civil action and statistical assessments of the spatial pattern of disease: do we have a cluster? Regulatory Toxicology & Pharmacology 32(2):174-83. 
• Jonathan Harr discusses A Civil Action on C-Span 

Web image by Medhum.org

Henry’s severe illness and his difficulties accessing treatment prompted Green to contemplate the horrifying statistics of tuberculosis and the paradox of our extensive knowledge about it. More than one million people still die every year from this ancient disease; yet the bacterial cause was elucidated a century and a half ago, and effective treatments have been around since the 1950s. Barring eradication, the germs mutate and become resistant. Given dire living conditions, it spreads. Effective therapy can be prohibitively expensive. “The cure is where the disease is not, and the disease is where the cure is not” (p. 5). People die where cures cannot be obtained. 

History is woven though Henry’s story, but so are politics, culture, and economics: the discoveries, the 19^th-century romanticization of ‘wasting away,’ the hard realities of pharmaceutical development and delivery. Henry has survived, become healthy and an inveterate TikToker and youtuber. He even has an episode on the power of storytelling. But other people that we encounter through this tale have died. 

We still have tuberculosis because statistics de-personify it, and geography allows ignoring it. Green uses Henry’s story to invite us to ‘[t]hink about how rare and precious humans are, and how many of them you get to worry for and care about. Then if you can, find a way to multiply that 1,250,000 times’ (p. 189).  

The book flows easily in language that is clear and accessible, a tribute to Green’s experience in writing young-adult fiction. In the end, without denying the benefits of medical interventions, he calls for a focus on the real cause of tuberculosis: injustice—tolerated and unchallenged. ‘Ultimately,’ he writes, ‘we are the cause’ (p. 184).  

Everything is Tuberculosis: The History and Persistence of Our Deadliest Infection
John Green
New York: Penguin/Crash Course Books
2025
ISBN 9780525556572 

Web image created by Medhum.org

In the throes of the early AIDS crisis, people began stitching panels to remember their loved ones. The panels were joined in quilts, and the quilts were joined with each other until they became bigger than a tennis court, bigger than a football field. So unwieldy it became, the giant quilt had to be broken into pieces in order to be manipulated. Chunks would tour on display. It now has a virtual existence too and is curated by the National AIDS Memorial.

In 1989, Robert Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman made Common Threads, a 79-minute documentary, narrated by Dustin Hoffman. Based on the AIDS Memorial Quilt, their film traced the stories of five people who had died through the words of their grief-stricken friends and family. The survivors describe the solace that they had derived from quilting memorial panels for their loved ones. They also refer to milestones in the disease history: the president who would not utter the word; the movie star who acknowledged his own disease only after 15,000 had already died. The five divergent tales serve to emphasize the awesome scope of the tragedy: each panel and each name must recall an equally unique and cherished life cut short. In their final scene, the AIDS quilt lies on the Mall in Washington as names of hundreds of loved ones are read by grieving families and friends.

As the drone-less but steady camera slowly pulls back high above the patches of color in the evening light, I was reminded of the famous, expanding scene midway through, Gone with the Wind, as Scarlet O’Hara picks her way through the waste of Civil War wounded and dead. Common Threads is equally political, and it too is a love story. It won the 1989 Academy Award for Best Feature Documentary. I cannot help but imagine that the quilt and the film helped to generate the protections against discrimination of people living with HIV/AIDS provided by the Americans with Disabilities Act, signed into law in 1990.

Stitchery, knitting, embroidery, macramé and crochet have long been significant components of occupational and art therapy for mental and physical health (Leone 2021; Youngson 2019). But they have been marshalled into numerous anti-war, anti-discrimination, pro-environment causes with remarkable aplomb, talent, and humor. Remember the pink Pussyhats from the Women’s March in 2017? Patterns for them still abound on the web. The possibly antediluvian origins of crafting protest are featured in history and fiction: recall Charles Dickens’s knitters at the foot of the guillotine (Tale of Two Cities, 1859); or Margaret Atwood’s Zillah who makes art from dryer fluff, calling it “naive surrealism with a twist of feminist lemon” (Cat’s Eye, 1988); or even Peggy Erhart’s more frivolous parking-meter protest in small-town America (A Dark and Stormy Knit, 2024).

Self-described “craft nerd,” Betsy Greer coined the word “craftivism” in 2003. She wrote Knitting for Good (Roost Books, 2008) and edited an anthology that goes well beyond knitting to other techniques and contexts (Craftivism, Arsenal Pulp Press, 2014). Scholars have noticed (e.g., Moreshead and Salter, 2023; Vachhani et al, 2025). The diffuse movement has even found critics who challenge its “white, feminist appropriation of graffiti,” and seek to empower it to “evolve and become a more intersectional” practice (Close, 2018).

References 
Close, Samantha. Knitting activism, knitting gender, knitting race. International Journal of Communication 12 (2018): 23-23. 
Leone, Lauren. Craft in Art Therapy. Routledge, New York and London, 2021 
Moreshead, Abigail, and Anastasia Salter. Knitting the in-visible: data-driven craftivism as feminist resistance. Journal of Gender Studies 32.8 (2023), 875–886.
Vachhani, Sheena J., Emma Bell, and Alexandra Bristow. The Affective Micropolitics of Craftivism: Organizing social change through the minor gesture. Organization Studies 46.4 (2025): 525-547. 
Youngson, Bel. Craftivism for occupational therapists: finding our political voice. British Journal of Occupational Therapy 82.6 (2019): 383-385. 

Web image by Medhum.org

In her 2011 book Blood Feud (also published as Blood Medicine), award-winning journalist Kathleen Sharp describes a wrenching example of whistleblowing in the pharmaceutical industry about a drug designed to promote the growth of blood cells.  

Beginning in 1992, Mark Duxbury and Dean McClellan became high flying salesmen for Johnson and Johnson, Ortho branch – happily promoting the anemia drug Procrit (or Epogen — erythropoietin). (Yes! that’s the same hormone sometimes abused by high-performance athletes.) Developed by fledgling Amgen, Procrit was licensed to Ortho for specific uses. The two salesmen rejoiced as their careers took off; during 1993, they earned bonuses and their stature rose. Soon however, Duxbury was being encouraged to promote the drug for off-label uses and in high doses—all to enhance sales. He began to realize that the drug was not safe when used in these situations: people were dying because their unnaturally thickened blood resulted in strokes and heart attacks. He was appalled by the fact that the company was giving kickbacks to prescribers who were making false claims to Medicare. 

Duxbury raised objections with his employer. For voicing concerns, he was ostracized and then fired in 1998. Along with the stresses of his work, the financial difficulties, and emotional turmoil, Duxbury’s home life collapsed, his marriage fell apart, and he worried about his daughter, Sojourner. He developed multiple health problems, including sleep apnea and dependency on drugs and alcohol. 

Duxbury enlisted the help of the famous lawyer Jan Schlichtman featured in the 1995 book, A Civil Action, by Jonathan Harr (also the famous 1998 film starring John Travolta). In 2003, they launched a qui tam lawsuit under the False Claims Act against his former employer. A qui tam case allows an individual to sue on behalf of the government (i.e. the people); if successful, the individual will be entitled to a portion of the proceeds. The process stalled but was revived in 2009. However, Duxbury died suddenly of a heart attack in October 2009 at age 49 with the case still unresolved. The potential value of his qui tam was unknown but was estimated to be 150 million dollars four years later.  

Contacted by Duxbury in 2004, author Kathleen Sharp, initially hesitated to take up the project. After the FDA issued increasingly alarming warnings about the dangers of Procrit in 2006-7, she began to take his concerns more seriously.  Relying on interviews and many documents from courts and private papers, Sharp reconstructed the events in a narrative that resembles a novel, with direct quotes and even the inner thoughts of the players. Duxbury’s death intestate comes as a shock to the reader, as it may well have been to the author. Reference notes support the unverifiable claims made in her narrative—placing it somewhere in-between “recreative” journalism and fiction. 

Since the publication of Blood Feud, the case was referenced in an unsuccessful suit by Duxbury’s daughter Sojourner against her stepmother in 2013 and an appeal of the same year, which gave judgement to the defendant (i.e. not Duxbury). Duxbury v. Ortho Biotech has become an important precedent cited in other qui tam cases into the present. 

Blood Feud raises concerns about the behavior of pharmaceutical companies in duping their own salesmen to generate income even at the cost of human life. But it also invites consideration of the too-often-neglected responsibilities of the health care profession and the government. The thorny legal aspects of the pharma industry and its regulation result in multiple lawsuits that contribute to the ever-higher costs of drugs. 

Blood Feud: The Man Who Blew the Whistle on One of the Deadliest Prescription Drugs Ever 
Kathleen Sharp 
Dutton, New York, 2011: 432 pages 

Web image by Medhum.org

But medically assisted death is not new. It has been present and debated since at least Greco-Roman antiquity and probably much earlier. However, its current status in various countries and within them is fraught with controversy even after legalization. For their involvement, euthanasia providers have been celebrated – and they have gone to jail. They have been portrayed as heroes or as villains, prominent among them American pathologist, Jack Kevorkian (1928-2011). Sometimes, health care workers are wrongly accused of killing their patients, especially when an unusual cluster of deaths arises – one example being the vicious prosecution of Canadian pediatric nurse Susan Nelles in 1981 for having murdered unhealthy neonates. She was later vindicated, absolved of all blame.  

Yet those of us who have worked with seriously ill people on the hospital wards know that a therapeutic choice to help suffering can run the risk of shortening those few remaining days. I recall more than half a century ago, a diminutive, elderly patient, writhing in agony on her bed. A much-respected senior clinician on his rounds demanded to know why we had not given “enough” morphine. “But chief!” we protested, “to raise the dose could stop her breathing!” “Why are you giving morphine?” he asked. “To relieve the pain.” “Have you succeeded?” “No.” “Then give enough; enough to make her comfortable” We did. She stopped moaning and died soon after. Unforgettable. We realized that decisions like this must be happening everywhere, but they occur within a cloud of trepidation, as bereaved family members might choose to make accusations. 

Prior to Canada’s 2016 legalization of medical assistance in dying (MAiD), people seeking help to end their lives with dignity would sometimes go to Switzerland. There, providing assistance to a person able to voluntarily self-administer lethal drugs had been legal (with variations) since the 1940s. In 1998, the Swiss non-profit organization Dignitas was founded to offer assisted death (or assurances thereof) to its members. In 2010, 89-year-old Kay Carter of Vancouver, who was suffering from spinal stenosis, went to Switzerland to end her life. It seemed outrageous that “death with dignity” was available to citizens who could afford to leave the country– yet everyone else was deprived. After her death, the Supreme Court decision that struck down Canada’s law against assisted suicide is known as “Carter vs Canada.” Considering that ordinary suicide had been illegal in Canada until 1972, these changes reflect a remarkable and relatively rapid shift in attitudes to death and dying.  

But the controversies are not over. And Canada is far from alone. Religious objections can be found in many communities. Vulnerable and disabled people together with their caregivers worry that they could be targeted or urged to accept assisted suicide by institutions wanting to save money. The prohibitions on access for children or the mentally ill are repeatedly challenged and have been overturned in some jurisdictions. Psychiatrists argue that assisted suicide would rarely be contemplated if more mental health services were available. Palliative care doctors resent the implication that they should be the administrators of euthanasia; they saw themselves as purveyors of comfort for life, not death. They pointed to the World Health Organization emphasis on the global need for more palliative care, and they complained that the new law made patients even more hesitant to accept their help. Swirling throughout these debates is the well-intentioned question about how a society should treat the least of its members: humane treatment or humane killing. 

It is scarcely surprising, then, Assistedlab.ch comes out of Switzerland; nor is it surprising that it finds a rich supply of sources. Launched in 2023, it claims to be “a living archive of assisted dying” that strives neither to endorse nor criticize the movement. Led by Anna Elsner, a professor of French Culture and Medical Humanities at the University of St Gallen whose 2011 doctorate from Cambridge focused on mourning in the work of Marcel Proust. Her polyglot team includes three other investigators and a manager, all with doctorates in either history or literature, all with Swiss affiliations. They are supported by ten assistants, mostly graduate students, seven from Canada and one each from the Netherlands, Switzerland, and the United Kingdom. They rely on an advisory board of four distinguished scholars from Montreal, Glasgow, London, and Garrison, New York (the Hastings Center).  

Funded in part by a starting grant from the European Research Council for five years (2023-2028), assistedlab.ch also acknowledges support from several other universities. It is active on Bluesky with 1400 followers and, in mid-2025, launched a newsletter to feature the latest entries and events of interest. 

Aside from its specific subject-matter, assistedlab.ch has many features in common with our own Medhum, the most obvious being the preparation of reviews by team members. The site is plain but attractive and color-coded for analysis of textual, performance, visual and audio sources, the majority being textual sources. Each menu entry sports a black and white image, which sometimes turns to color upon clicking. The sources – fiction and non-fiction books, short stories, essays, films, plays, artwork, podcasts, memoirs, news reports, and farewell letters from the recently deceased. Most sources are linked from the articles describing them, most from recent decades but some dating back to the 1990s. A bibliographic list of further reading in print or other media accompanies each entry. Keyword tags and an efficient search function make exploration easy. 

At the time of writing, assistedlab gathers more than a hundred articles, all in English, although the works examined can be in other languages. In addition, a news section, similarly color-coded, provides information about upcoming and recently past events: lectures, theatre, conferences, workshops, interviews and new publications. Thoughtful description takes precedence over hyperbolic criticism or praise, making the site welcoming for anyone approaching this dire matter with curiosity for themselves or their loved ones in terms of personal or professional life. It will be fascinating to learn usage statistics for assistedlab.ch, not only the numbers, but also the geographic origins and user traits, for it should serve a wide array of human beings as we wrestle with the most fundamental of existential questions facing us all.  

Web image from Assistedlab.ch.

This eloquent statement against the madness of war is the first novel in a trilogy that includes The Eye in the Door (1993) and finally The Ghost Road (1995), which was awarded the Booker prize. The story is closely based on the publications and annotated literary papers of three real men who met at Craiglockhart in 1917: psychiatrist W.H.R. Rivers (1864-1922) and two poets: Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967) and Wilfred Owen (1893-1918). Owen wrote some of the most moving war poetry and the knowledge that he would be killed in action at age 25 simply adds to the poignant sense of futility.  

Pat Barker (b. 1943) probed the tenacious role of class within the military hierarchy, while the society, which the military purports to defend, is rapidly being transformed by the converging lives of domestic servants and aristocrats. Her descriptions are powerful: the yellow skin of women who work in the munitions factory; the surgeon who can no longer bear the sight of blood; the young soldier who cannot eat because his nose and mouth had once been filled with rotting flesh when he was hoist by a grenade into the decomposing belly of a dead German. Rivers helps the men to recall and to understand the origins of their ailments by gentle, patient conversation–a treatment that he described in Lancet, 2 Feb 1918. 

Regeneration
Pat Barker
London: Viking Press
New York: Plume
1991, 256 pages)

From the Vault: In these times, certain works of literature seem to be as relevant to us now as when they were published — possibly more relevant than the times that they depict. From the vault of the now closed Literature, Arts and Medicine Database, we will pluck a few items for their power and timeliness. 

Web image by  National Library of Medicine

The Iranian-American author, Azar Nafisi (b. 1955), reminisces about her experiences teaching English literature in Iran before, during and after the revolution and the Iran-Iraq war (1980-1988). The book opens near the end of her sojourn in Tehran. A small group of young women, who have been friends since they were University students, gather in the author’s home to read and discuss English novels. They wear western clothes, remove their veils, and eat sweets. Some have been in prison. They conceal their simple purpose from fathers, husbands, brothers, because meeting to read Western fiction would be construed as an act of defiance.  

In four sections, two named for twentieth-century novels and two for nineteenth-century authors — “Lolita” “Gatsby” “James” and “Austen,” Nafisi constructs a series of flashbacks that describe the events of late 1970s to the 1990s in the inner and outer world of an academic woman. The books and writers used in the section headings have walk-on parts or starring roles that jar in this ostensibly alien context. Yet, they work surprisingly well for the women students, stimulating them to think in new ways about the situation in which they find themselves. Conversely, as the students assimilate the English and American writers into their world, we learn more about their Iran. 

Myriad details of moment, garb, color, and food, evoke the everyday “feel” of protests and atrocities that are known in the West only through journalist’s reports. The long descriptions contrast sharply with a relentless and probably deliberate lack of precision about several basic things. For example, the author withholds her age and the identity and the nature of her relationship with “my magician,” a greatly admired man –perhaps a lover or a teacher–who seems to exist on chocolate and philosophy.  

Possessives and the first-person singular are used liberally (“my students”) to remind us that this is one woman’s story—notwithstanding the solace, but barely developed presence, of a husband, two children, and a mother. The decision may have been made to protect personal privacy. But the result also conspires to build a narcissistic tone, as if the author marvels at her own creativity, attractiveness, resilience, survival, and escape.  

Some of the most engaging passages describe the male students’ difficulty with literature that they perceive to be immoral (for its sexual content or for the agency it assigns women). In the social climate, the young men are utterly unable to accept great writing on its own terms. One wonders how they would react to Nafisi’s own book and her portrayal of them. The wonderful device of a mock trial of Gatsby (pp. 120-136) challenges the students by going to the heart of the conflict of politics, religion, literature, and justice; it would work well as an excerpt and is worthy of emulation in our classrooms. The work deepens our understanding and complicates the impressions of Iran that are generated by a steady diet of news reports. 

In 2024, Reading Lolita in Tehran became a film directed by Israeli filmmaker Eran Riklis. 

Born into a privileged, Iranian family and educated in both England and the United States, Nafisi saw the great changes in her beloved country as the encroachment of a retrograde, unthinking tyranny, hostile to women and to reason. She moved to the United States in 1997 and became a citizen in 2008. She has served as a professor of English literature in several universities, holds at least nine honorary doctorates and numerous awards and prizes for her creative work. 

Reading Lolita in Tehran
Azar Nafisi
Random House, New York 2003
347 pages

From the Vault:
In these times, certain works of literature seem to be as relevant to us now as when they were published — possibly more relevant than the times that they depict. From the vault of the now closed Literature, Arts and Medicine Database, we will pluck a few items for their power and timeliness.

Web photo by  ariyan Dv 

The story, “A Jury of Her Peers” by Susan Glaspell (1876-1948) tops the list of all the classic fiction pieces I used in more than three decades of teaching in a medical school. It is vivid, accessible, and moving – and it conveys important historical messages while also holding up a mirror to current affairs and professional identity. 

The Pulitzer-Prize winning-author, was inspired to write this powerful tale, following her coverage as a journalist of the 1901 trial of woman who had murdered her husband. First she wrote it as a play, “Trifles,” in which she played a role when it opened in Providence RI in 1916. The following year she adapted the play as a story. A moody thirty-minute film was produced and directed by Sally Heckel in 1980, making use of Christina Rossetti’s poem “In the Bleak Midwinter,” set to the music of the Gustav Holst. A rather blurry version can be found on youtube. 

On a cold winter day, Mr. Hale has found his neighbor, Mr. Wright, strangled to death in his own home. Mrs. Minnie Wright claimed not to know who killed her husband, but she had already been arrested and was awaiting charges in jail. County Sheriff Peters brings Hale, his wife Martha Hale and his own wife Mrs. Peters to the isolated. Wright home. The two wives are to gather Minnie’s clothing and see to her preserves. The men mock women’s “trifles” and jokingly tell them not to miss any clues, before they turn to the “more serious,” manly work of finding a motive. In a basket of patches destined for a quilt, the women find a strangled canary. In quilt-like fragments, they piece together the difficult life of the absent third woman. The kitchen contains many signs of Minnie Wright’s life of abuse and violence, signs that are clearly visible to the women and ignored by the men. With silent understanding, they destroy the evidence that could incriminate her.  

Considered to be one of the earliest examples of feminist literature, this story is a wonderful teaching tool. Written before women could sit on juries, it raises important issues about the discriminatory aspects of justice, the contingency of laws, and the construction of psychiatric diagnoses, especially insanity in criminal defense. Minnie’s “peers” are her female neighbours who scarcely knew her, but who easily imagine the hardship of her life and the abuse that she (and perhaps they too) suffered.  

Over many years, I had the unforgettable experience of reading this story with a combined class of law students and medical students co-taught with my law-school colleague Mark Weisberg.ⁱ All the students believed that Minnie deserved to be acquitted. But their reasons differed along professional lines, and this same difference appeared every year we taught with the story.  

The future lawyers wanted her to find pardon in a medicalized solution: they longed for an insanity defense in the battered wife syndrome, a diagnosis which did not become available until the 1970s.  

The future doctors believed that Minnie was far from insane; her actions, they thought, were taken in reasonable self-defense; they wanted a legal fix that would change the laws to allow women to sit on juries and to recognize the harm of domestic abuse. In fact, women as jurors evolved slowly over many more years at different times and places and involved several legal cases on appeal.  

The class discussion centered on why members of each group sought to preserve the rightness of their own professional canon even when they understood that the rules expressed in the story were decades out of date.  

1, Mark Weisberg and Jacalyn Duffin, 1995. “Evoking the Moral Imagination: Using Stories to Teach Ethics and Professionalism to Nursing, Medical, and Law Students”; Journal of the Medical Humanities 16. 4: 247-263 Reprinted in Change, The Magazine of Higher Learning, 27. 1: 20-27.

An earlier version of this review was published in the NYU Literature, Arts, and Medicine Database (Litmed).
Web image by Brajendra Singh

A Jury of Her Peers from Internet Archive (Open in New Window)

A Jury of Her Peers Directed by Sally Heckel in 1980

A child of unconventional, British-born parents, raised in the bucolic countryside of Vancouver Island, British Columbia, her relentless pursuit of science began in a love of animals, carrying her through two Canadian universities to a University of Chicago PhD in pharmacology and tenuous postdoctoral positions investigating the pituitaries of whales and armadillos. The research sent her to sea with grudging whalers and to inhospitable deserts by night. She married fellow pharmacologist Ellis Kelsey, followed him for his work, and became a mother of two daughters. Lack of paid opportunities for a woman scientist sent her commuting to medical school in Chicago where she obtained an MD degree in 1950 at age 36, while her husband kept the home and family together. She was working as a G.P. locum tenens and as an editor for JAMA. After a stint in South Dakota, the family relocated to Washington in 1960 where she began her lengthy career in the FDA, rising through the ranks to positions of prominence. Not long after the move, her stance on thalidomide earned her the Distinguished Federal Service Award of 1962, presented by President J​ohn​​ ​F. Kennedy. It also brought widespread admiration, mountains of fan mail, several other honours, and the resentment of male colleagues. Ellis died suddenly in 1966, but she kept working into her 90s, taking on the public-health challenges of other notorious “remedies” seeking approval. Kelsey’s fame eventually subsided but rose again in 2015 with late honours and her death at 101 years of age.  

Cheryl Krasnick Warsh​,​ who lives and works on Kelsey’s parental home of Vancouver Island, has given us a wonderful biography. With many previous publications in gender history and the history of alcohol and other drugs, Warsh is well placed to handle this vast and ​multifaceted​​ ​topic, sensitive to the misogyny of Kelsey’s century and with expertise on the nature and fortunes of licit and illicit substances.  

In twenty short chapters, Warsh divides this long life into three ​​segments– before​,​ during, and after thalidomide– and identifies her subject in three different ways. She describes “Frankie’s” early years in simple prose, reminiscent perhaps of Gertrude Stein or Emily Carr. Quirks and disputes in the Oldham home become evidence of a high-functioning, dysfunctional family. As a young woman, “Frances Oldham” delved into science studies at what would become University of Victoria and McG​i​ll in Montreal but made the ​trip ​back home every summer. She slipped into the laboratory of distinguished pharmacologist E.M.K. Geiling at the University of Chicago, when he believed the applicant was male. Despite his initial skepticism, Geiling fostered her career and supervised her doctorate. In 1937, she worked on the lethal side-effects of elixir sulfanilamide and determined that the solvent was responsible. At that time, she also became interested in researching harmful effects of pharmaceuticals on pregnancy and explored the legal protections (or lack thereof) for their consumers. With Geiling and Ellis Kelsey, Frances Oldham wrote a pharmacology textbook, one of the first in America, that went into four editions. These experiences, her medical degree and the work with JAMA were excellent preparations for her concerns about thalidomide. Now she was “Dr Kelsey,” one of two in the same home. 

Kelsey first doubted the value of this new drug when the side effect of peripheral nerve damage seemed to have been excluded from the incomplete applications and their inadequate trials. Further delay allowed for the early reports of fetal damage (coming from newspapers rather than manufacturers) to add to the concerns. While she succeeded in blocking the approval of thalidomide, it had managed to make its way into the US anyway, in the form of free samples given to practitioners sloppily engaged as researchers in shoddy “clinical trials.” Warsh carefully tracks the resultant American harm through reports of at least 56 damaged or dead infants documented in a survey of city health officers in 1962—probably merely the tip of an iceberg. She also probed the tragedy’s impact on attitudes to abortion, respect for the disabled, and increasing caution over medications. 

Beyond the thalidomide story, this biography provides a good sense of the evolving field of pharmacology and interesting chapters on the thorny history of several famous drugs–Krebiozen, laetrile, dimethyl sulfoxide (DMSO), artificial sweeteners, and diethylstilbestrol (DES)–and the harmful impact of Xrays on the pregnant belly. Kelsey found support from other women scientists, in particular Barbara Moulton and Helen Taussig​,​ who became her friends. 

Warsh has tapped into a wealth of sources—extending well beyond the numerous publications, FDA documents, and newspaper reports. She interviewed Kelsey, aged 99, in 2014 and spoke with her colleagues, daughters and other family members. She made excellent use of the personal papers, sorted by the pharmacologist herself with the help of FDA historian John Swann; they contain more than 78,000 items and occupy more than 100 feet of shelving in the Library of Congress. Moreover, Warsh follows the court decisions, changing legislation and rules governing not only drug approvals but ​also ​the ordering of female lives in terms of employment and reproductive freedoms. Yet she handles all this information with a deft light touch, accessible language and playful humour.  

A great read about a great scientist and a fascinating era in biomedical science. 

Frances Oldham Kelsey, the FDA, and the Battle Against Thalidomide
Warsh, Cheryl Krasnick
Oxford University Press. 
New York, 2024-03-15

Photos of Frances Oldham Kelsey from Wikicommons

Cheryl Krasnick Warsh Interviewed at Library of Congress