Gritty story by a junior surgeon of what its really like working in the operating theatre in particular and hospital in general. Sort of analagous to office politics with real knives and plenty of gore, venom and the occasional sly romance. The author can look forward to a great career in writing chicklit if the medical world gets all too much for her.

Thoroughly enjoyable and recommended to lovers of tv medical soap operas as well as those who are addicted to medical memoirs. ( )

Very good read. ( )

I picked this up on a whim, out of a bag of incoming books at the shop, because I've rather enjoyed other 'medical memoirs' I've read in the past. I find them fascinating, perhaps because the medical profession is such a world apart - men and women caring for every kind of person in every kind of difficult situation, often at absolutely critical moments in their lives. Gabriel Weston's surgical memoir is definitely the best of the bunch so far, and I can see why it was longlisted for the Guardian First Book Award in 2009.

Weston is a surgeon in a big-city English hospital. Her book is divided into short, deftly-titled chapters, providing themes for her anecdotes and creating an interesting structure. 'Speed', for example, illustrates the importance of quick thinking and rapid action in saving lives; 'Hierarchy' delves into the power relations of a surgical ward, and 'Children' covers her time in the paediatric emergency room and children's department. Theming each section allows Weston to move around in time and to make important points about the surgical profession without muddling her narrative, and it really worked for me.

This is a beautifully written book that rings with the precise and matter-of-fact detail that a surgeon's eye is trained to notice. Weston's disclaimer points out that no one character or situation here is 'true' - but I don't think it really matters, because at the book's heart is a thoroughly authentic and experienced voice. There were some heartbreaking moments and some charming ones, some lyrical descriptions and some blisteringly earthy ones. Far from being frightened by the graphic surgical scenes, I found myself reassured by how much the human body can withstand, and how much a surgical team can do to mend it when it is broken. Highly recommended - though if you're squeamish you should probably give this one a miss! ( )

'Direct red' is the name of a dye, and the narrator uses the phrase as a prop to hold on to when things in the operating theatre become too much and threaten to overwhelm her. These are not true stories. It says at the beginning: This book is not literally true...none of these characters is real...events are a mixture of things that happened and that might have happened.

So what we deduce from the narrative (if we believe it) is that the author--a woman, as the name fails to tell you--did a degree in English Literature and then decided to train as a doctor and indeed become a surgeon. That sounds like an interesting story, but we don't really learn anything about it, except there is a description of the narrator meeting a presumably pseudonymous Mr Silk who invites her to his operating theatre to see his...operations...after which she decides to become a surgeon too.

I'm not sure that the background in Eng Lit has helped that much. There's a sentence (on p 19 of my edition, referring to Mark the fractured but fit motorcyclist) that fails to make sense as it stands:

[it was..]He who asked me how trying to become the doctor I was, was feeling.

I guess that should be something like:

He who asked me how I, trying to become the doctor as I was, was feeling.

but that's still pretty clumsy. That story about the English professor with the aortic aneurysm reminds me of something out of Colin Douglas as well...

Anyway, having been deprived of the interesting story we get a series of vignettes largely connected with surgical episodes. To me, they're not really done well enough. For instance, in the story about Troy the hip-hop DJ from Bradford we meet sullen lovely girls loitered there. Those of us who live in South London know the kind of [black] girls she means, but I really think the reader needs something more concrete here.

At the end, the narrator describes how a boy in hospital makes her feel guilty about leaving her own child to be tended by paid help, and she gets off the career ladder and takes up a part-time post without prospects of advancement. The interesting thing about that is that it's what town-dwellers did in the Middle Ages--sent their offspring to be reared in the country. But probably not to protect the mother's career prospects.

I was interested by the various cases of the narrator unfastening her bra as an intermediate form of relaxation.
(see also http://wp.me/pBfTB-I6 with helpful formatting) ( )

3.0 out of 5 stars Something of a letdown..., July 26, 2009
By Kathleen Wagner "*Mitakuye Oyasin or We are A... (SWPA) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)
Reading this book will give you an idea of what a young woman training to be a doctor in England faces. It is clear that bias against woman doctors has not yet been completely eliminated, especially among older, male doctors.

This book is a collection of the experiences of a young woman who enters medical school and the situations she faced and how she deals with them. Weston tells of dealing with children, emergencies, death,and more, and her own personal grow as she makes her way through.

The stories are brief and informative. The author mentions that it was her intent to depersonalize the stories in order to honor the privacy of her patients. Some of the experiences she relates are interesting and poignant.
In fact most of them are, yet there is something missing. The approach is matter of fact to the extreme. Some descriptions are somewhat graphic, but no more than need be to get the point across and give an accurate picture of the experience.

To me the most interesting part of this short book deals with Weston's own personal growth. I find it hard to describe exactly what it was that I found lacking, but there was indeed something missing here. Bland is the word I can best use to describe this book. It held my attention long enough to finish reading, but I was not sorry to put it down when I had. ( )