This isn't a book you'll want to pull out on a crowded train, with clinical terms like clitoris and vulvologist, not to mention earthier ones like the F word, on virtually every page to attract the startled attention of the passenger in the next seat. Bluntly describing her yearlong effort to deal with a searing pain in her vagina, Susanna Kaysen doesn't stint on the details of what this malady did to her relationship with her boyfriend (nothing good), nor is she forgiving of the callousness and stupidity displayed by some of her doctors and various alternative health practitioners. Yet her appalling saga is compulsively readable, thanks to Kaysen's propulsive prose and sharp dialogue. She's particularly good at capturing the way people talk about their ailments over dinner and in the middle of other activities. Conversations with friends ramble from her medical problem to tiger maple furniture in an utterly convincing way, and one darkly funny scene shows a pal urging Kaysen to buy a coral necklace following a particularly horrid visit to the doctor because, "You have to get a nice thing after that appointment." Kaysen's laconic humor keeps the book from seeming self-pitying, though her terseness tends to muffle its emotional impact; she expresses her emotions without really conveying them to the reader in any depth. Nonetheless, the pared-down candor that made her portrait of mental illness so gripping in Girl, Interrupted also distinguishes this account of a decidedly physical affliction. --Wendy Smith
From Publishers Weekly
Eight years ago, Kaysen's affecting story of her two years in a psychiatric hospital, Girl, Interrupted, helped sparked the memoir craze and later became a Hollywood blockbuster. Now Kaysen, also an accomplished novelist (Asa, As I Knew Him; Far Afield), returns with this thin, disappointing chronicle of what happened when "something went wrong" with her vagina. The terse narrative chronicles her quest to determine the cause of and cure for disabling vaginal pain vestibulitis, the medical term for a "sore spot" on the wall of her vagina. The most intriguing element is Kaysen's explosive relationship with an unnamed live-in boyfriend who, despite her pain, pressures her to have intercourse: "I want to fuck you, goddammit, he said, lunging at me, pushing his hand between my legs. I jumped out of bed. I was naked... I ran downstairs. All I could think of was to get away from the bed and from him and his fingers. I pressed my back against the wall in the living room and shook, from cold and the remnants of my desire." Later, sans boyfriend, Kaysen reflects too briefly on how she's changed as her desire for sex evaporates, concluding, "when eros goes away, life gets dull." Stingy with basic facts the reader is left wondering how old she is and how she spends her days (writing? teaching?) the memoir is admirable in its honesty and insights into medicine's limits. (Oct.)Forecast: Already the subject of a New York Times piece suggesting this "autopathography" may become the target of a backlash against such transgressive confessions, Kaysen's slight memoir will spark some controversy, but don't expect Girl, Interrupted-level sales.Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
From School Library Journal
After the shattering revelations of Girl, Interrupted, Kaysen is at it again, this time detailing her anguish and medical odyssey after she lost all sexual sensation. Copyright 2001 Reed Business Information, Inc.
From Library Journal
In this follow-up to Girl, Interrupted, Kaysen tackles an even more taboo subject than depression: her vagina. Maintaining the same humor and graphic honesty, she tells of her inconclusive search to diagnose and treat the shooting pains that plague her. Her gynecologist refers her to an herbalist, while her internist sends her to a biofeedback practitioner. She exhausts conventional aids like creams and pills as well as experiments with baking soda and acupuncture. Throughout, she bemoans how controlling, demanding, and unsympathetic her boyfriend is, leading the reader to wonder if her pain really lies in her head. It's as if the book is a form of therapy, allowing the author to dissect the mechanics of her sexuality. Told poetically and without apology, Kaysen's latest once again proves that the power of her work is deeply rooted in her ability to recognize her own emotions and convey them to others. Recommended for all public libraries.- Rachel Collins, "Library Journal" Copyright 2001 Reed Business Information, Inc.
From AudioFile
In this peculiar little book, the author of GIRL, INTERRUPTED explores her sexuality and sexual dysfunction graphically and in great detail. Kaysen focuses on one particularly bad relationship and the chronic physical pain she suffered throughout, her consultations with a parade of physicians, and advice from well-meaning friends. Read by the author, the unpolished performance has the feel of an intimate conversation with a close friend. Kaysen is at times even-keeled, hysterical, frustrated, and amused. And while she gets off to a slow start, the use of her own voice complements the intimacy of the subject matter. Anyone offended by strong language, however, should steer clear. H.L.S. © AudioFile 2002, Portland, Maine-- Copyright © AudioFile, Portland, Maine
From Booklist
Medical memoirs are terrifying, humbling, and inspiring. Maxine Kumin, Linda Hogan, and Susan Antonetta have all written about injuries and torturous maladies and the revelations they engender with surpassing fortitude and lyricism, and now another writer joins the pained but redemptive chorus.Kaysen gets right to it, whether she's reporting retrospectively on her bout with mental illness at age 18 in the acclaimed Girl, Interrupted (1993), brought powerfully to the screen in an Oscar-wining 1999 production, or writing about another assault from within that forced her to put her life on hold. Her ailment? Excruciating and incessant pain in her vagina. In prose pared down to the essentials and peppered with sharp wit, Kaysen recounts her long, fruitless search for a diagnosis and cure. She is examined and treated unsuccessfully by a gynecologist, an internist, and various alternate health-care practitioners. Drugs and creams are supplied; she is told to soak in tea, baking soda, and oatmeal; and surgery is suggested. In between, she argues with her boyfriend about her inability to have sex and discusses her problems at length with friends. Thoughts on sexuality, love, trust, femininity, age, self-image, and the wisdom of the body radiate out from her pain like rays from the sun, touching her rapt, sympathetic, and often amused readers with the heat and light of her hard-won insights and candor. Donna Seaman
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
Camera My Mother Gave Me FROM OUR EDITORS
Susanna Kaysen brings the same unsparing self-examination that characterized Girl, Interrupted to this frank account of the mysterious vaginal ailment from which she suffered. This is an unusual but fascinating and perceptive exploration of body and mind, sexuality and self.
FROM THE PUBLISHER
The Camera My Mother Gave Me takes us through Susanna Kaysen's often comic, sometimes surreal encounters with all kinds of doctors - internists, gynecologists, "alternative health" experts - as well as with her boyfriend and her friends, when suddenly, inexplicably, "something went wrong" with her vagina.
SYNOPSIS
The Camera My Mother Gave Me takes us through Susanna Kaysen's often comic, sometimes surreal encounters with all kinds of doctorsﾽinternists, gynecologists, ﾽalternative healthﾽ expertsﾽas well as with her boyfriend and her friends, when suddenly, inexplicably, ﾽsomething went wrongﾽ with her vagina.
FROM THE CRITICS
Book Magazine
Kaysen's second memoir begins with a description of an ailment that affected her but is rarely mentioned: unexplainable vulvar pain, or vulvodynia. Like Kaysen's Girl, Interrupted, this book takes readers into a world rife with condescending health practitioners, dismissive doctors and mixed medical messages. Throughout, Kaysen refuses to flinch or concede to doctors' suggestions that her so-called medical problem rests solely in her head. By turns funny, angry and wry, the book offers an intimate look at what happens when sexual pleasure becomes impossible. Along the way, it addresses how mind connects to body, and how sex connects to relationships. It is intensely moving, if somewhat unsettling, stuff. Brave and honest, it explores the impact of sexual intercourse on emotional, spiritual and physical well-being. ﾽEleanor J. Bader
Publishers Weekly
Eight years ago, Kaysen's affecting story of her two years in a psychiatric hospital, Girl, Interrupted, helped sparked the memoir craze and later became a Hollywood blockbuster. Now Kaysen, also an accomplished novelist (Asa, As I Knew Him; Far Afield), returns with this thin, disappointing chronicle of what happened when "something went wrong" with her vagina. The terse narrative chronicles her quest to determine the cause of and cure for disabling vaginal pain vestibulitis, the medical term for a "sore spot" on the wall of her vagina. The most intriguing element is Kaysen's explosive relationship with an unnamed live-in boyfriend who, despite her pain, pressures her to have intercourse: "I want to fuck you, goddammit, he said, lunging at me, pushing his hand between my legs. I jumped out of bed. I was naked... I ran downstairs. All I could think of was to get away from the bed and from him and his fingers. I pressed my back against the wall in the living room and shook, from cold and the remnants of my desire." Later, sans boyfriend, Kaysen reflects too briefly on how she's changed as her desire for sex evaporates, concluding, "when eros goes away, life gets dull." Stingy with basic facts the reader is left wondering how old she is and how she spends her days (writing? teaching?) the memoir is admirable in its honesty and insights into medicine's limits. (Oct.) Forecast: Already the subject of a New York Times piece suggesting this "autopathography" may become the target of a backlash against such transgressive confessions, Kaysen's slight memoir will spark some controversy, but don't expect Girl, Interrupted-level sales. Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.
Library Journal
In this follow-up to Girl, Interrupted, Kaysen tackles an even more taboo subject than depression: her vagina. Maintaining the same humor and graphic honesty, she tells of her inconclusive search to diagnose and treat the shooting pains that plague her. Her gynecologist refers her to an herbalist, while her internist sends her to a biofeedback practitioner. She exhausts conventional aids like creams and pills as well as experiments with baking soda and acupuncture. Throughout, she bemoans how controlling, demanding, and unsympathetic her boyfriend is, leading the reader to wonder if her pain really lies in her head. It's as if the book is a form of therapy, allowing the author to dissect the mechanics of her sexuality. Told poetically and without apology, Kaysen's latest once again proves that the power of her work is deeply rooted in her ability to recognize her own emotions and convey them to others. Recommended for all public libraries. [Previewed in Prepub Alert, LJ 6/1/01.] Rachel Collins, "Library Journal" Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.
AudioFile
In this peculiar little book, the author of GIRL, INTERRUPTED explores her sexuality and sexual dysfunction graphically and in great detail. Kaysen focuses on one particularly bad relationship and the chronic physical pain she suffered throughout, her consultations with a parade of physicians, and advice from well-meaning friends. Read by the author, the unpolished performance has the feel of an intimate conversation with a close friend. Kaysen is at times even-keeled, hysterical, frustrated, and amused. And while she gets off to a slow start, the use of her own voice complements the intimacy of the subject matter. Anyone offended by strong language, however, should steer clear. H.L.S. (c) AudioFile 2002, Portland, Maine
Kirkus Reviews
A vagina dialogue: pithy, funny, adventurous, sexy, and eye-opening. The conversation is between Kaysen (Girl, Interrupted) and her vagina, which abruptly begins to give her pain instead of the pleasure they have shared so frequently over the years. Kaysen starts on a round of health practitioners, beginning with her comfortable gynecologist and moving on to an alternative medicine practice, a surgeon who specializes in the vulva (he's a "vulvologist"), and her respected internist. She rejects surgery, which involves cutting a nerve that may also dull her sexual pleasure. But she gives a number of other options a try, from Novocain and estrogen creams, which only increase the pain, to baking soda baths and tea soaks, which don't help at all. She researches the most likely diagnosis, but skeptically says no to the no-lettuce diet recommended as a cure, just as refuses Prozac: "My life is terrible," she tells a doctor. "So I should take Prozac and feel better about it, even though it's still terrible." Meanwhile, her live-in boyfriend demands sex of one sort or another on a constant basis and refuses to believe how painful ("like razor blades") even the slightest arousal-let alone intercourse-is for her. It's too much like rape, she frets; he leaves. Friends offer sympathy, advice, and good meals throughout the ordeal. Eventually the pain recedes, but so does all sensation. Does this mean no more sex, she wonders in anguish? For her, sexual conquest was what relationships were all about. Maybe that's what her vagina was trying to tell her. She isn't sure, so she's still listening. (One other unanswered question: What does the title mean? There's no indication here.) Disguised asplain, brown memoir, a voluptuous exploration of sexuality, aging, the failures of modern medicine, attempts at self-knowledge, and the meaning of pain.
Art & Photography
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