One clue about the quality of a
book is that moment when you’ve turned the last page, closed the back cover,
and you sense its aftertaste. With this one, I felt I had had a deep,
far-reaching, "round" conversation about a very personal, often
hidden-from-public-view topic. A scholarly and at the same time intimate
exchange between the accounts of chronically ill women on the one hand and my
own close encounters with and observations and understanding of chronic illness,
impairment and health challenge on the other. In that combination of
scholarship and intimacy, this is a surprising book, a welcome and a needed
book.

Building on years of separate and
joint research on women, chronic illness, and identity making of their own as
well as on that of others, Moss and Dyck’s new book falls not on terra
incognita. It does, however, push out the boundaries of theory and research
practice in this topical area to a fresh and interesting new frontier. In doing
so, the authors develop the conceptual building blocks for a radical body
politics, which aims to view chronically ill women not as victims, but as
continually active creators of their lives under volatile, unpredictable
conditions. Weaving together theory and the personal accounts of 49 Canadians,
the resulting impression is that of a well-grounded, solid, critical empirical
analysis, and maybe more importantly, a very "real" depiction of the
actual lives of chronically ill women.

Women, Body, Illness is a
relatively slim, if significant compendium, maybe not least for the fact that
one of the authors herself lives with a chronic illness (Chronic Fatigue
Syndrom or Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME)). In the first five of ten chapters,
they stake out the theoretical, conceptual and empirical spaces in which
chronically ill women configure their lives. In the next four chapters, Moss
and Dyck let the research subjects speak mostly for themselves — the most
successful and engaging chapters of the book, not only informing the theoretical
framework but also "lightening it up" — infusing oxygen into the
dense beginning.

In each of these empirical
chapters, the emphasis is on a different aspect of living a life with chronic
illness (Rheumatoid Arthritis and Chronic Fatigue Syndrom are the primary
foci). Chapter 6 addresses the process of destabilizing the material body
associated with the onset, diagnosis, and discursive exploration, naming and
taking-on (inscription) of the illness. Chapter 7 tackles how the ill body and
its immediate environment is redefined and reshaped materially and
discursively. Chapter 8 broadens the analysis out to the recreation of women’s
identity as chronically ill women as they engage and negotiate their physical
and social environment and its boundaries. Finally, Chapter 9 goes yet a step
further by describing how women not only rethink themselves and remake their
lives but also reshape their environments in order to make sense of the (new)
condition. All of these processes of naming, redefining, reconfiguring,
reconnecting and remaking are embedded in women’s social relations (relations
of power with real material implications). The concluding chapter 10 briefly
ties the empirical and theoretical strands back together, leaving no loose ends
untied.

Overall, I appreciated the
down-to-Earth "realness" of how the lives and strategies of
chronically ill women are depicted. The ambiguities, the losses, frustrations
and courageous attempts at sense-making and resistance that chronically ill
women deal with on a daily basis were captured in a convincing way; the
specificity, the reprioritization of mundane and special tasks and events, and
the emphatic denial of "typicality" when every day is different from
the next resonated with my experience. But what I was missing — especially in
something claiming a radical approach — was a more insistent questioning of
why women — especially women — become affected by chronic illness. Of course,
that topic is huge and complex, but affected women ask themselves that question
all the time, and I simply found the study too "thin" in this
respect, not radical enough in the analysis of the environment-health
relationship.

A second critical remark extends
the one above by thinking about the "so what?" question while
considering potential audiences for this book. Of course, there are the
relatively simple categories of (healthy) scholars of Women’s Studies, feminist
geographers of health/illness, and other social theorists — especially within
geography — concerned with body, identity, and how the
environment/locality/place affect and is affected by the internal states and
outer actions of people. But for a book on this subject matter, so well
depicting the challenges, transitions, and variably effective strategies of
chronically ill women, the potential readership should extend to the realm of
praxis: health care providers in private and public settings, friends, family
members and supporters of chronically ill persons, even insurance providers and
health policy professionals. For that audience, if they can tolerate the dense
jargon early on, there is much here to learn and understand about what it means
to have RA or ME. But if they were hoping for some pointers on how to alleviate
the challenges of chronically ill women, there is no advice here: nothing on
the need for public education and awareness-raising among health care
professionals; nothing on improvements in health and insurance policy; nothing
(other than examples) to guide employers. I always thought (or hoped) a radical
politics means more than rewriting theory. And while scholarly activism takes
many forms (and Moss and Dyck have their own versions), I was disappointed to
find so little on "what to do." Thus I strongly encourage the authors
to broaden their analysis to make the sample more representative and thus lay
the groundwork for practical changes to help ease the lives of chronically ill
women.

Finally, of course, I would like to
recommend the book to those affected by a chronic illness, to send — if
nothing else — the message of "you’re not alone."  Except, I don’t know of one who could get
past Chapter 1, given how most frequently suffer from extreme fatigue, lack of
energy and ability to concentrate or comprehend complex, dense material —
precisely the conditions Moss and Dyck so well describe. To that audience I
say, wait for one of your "good days" and go straight to chapters
6-9. The beginnings reiterate the basics of the theoretical framework if you’re
really into it, but mostly: pick through the other women’s stories — as you
are able — and yes, even leaf through the footnotes — there is the occasional
really useful support information and a great reserve of further references.
There are people — like Pamela Moss and Isabel Dyck — who
"get" what you’re going through.

©
2003 Susanne C. Moser

Susanne
C. Moser, Ph.D., Environmental and Societal Impacts Group, National Center
for Atmospheric Research, Boulder, CO.

Categories: Philosophical, Memoirs