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IaIr Book Reviews r<* A Few Words from the Book Review Editor on the Occasion of the Publication of his First Six Reviews When I received a call from Suzanne Poirier last October asking if I might be interested in becoming Literature and Medicine's first book review editor, I was pleased and honored and a little uneasy. I was pleased because I love and value the work the journal has done over its thirteen-year history. I was honored to be asked to play a part in that work. And I was a little uneasy because, of all the people who might have received that telephone call, I felt myself an unlikely candidate. "Think it over for a few days and get back to me," Suzanne said. Hanging up the telephone, I remembered finding the first volume of Literature and Medicine in the library at the University of Iowa in 1984. In search of support for my dissertation on the early essays of Richard Selzer, I had devoured its essays and its one review and had scribbled dozens of citations across the pages of my legal pad. I had snatched the "Subscribe Now and Save" form out of the front of the library's copy, and sent it off with a request for a copy of volume 1. Now, reading through the notes I have written in the margins of that first volume, I see that it has been a kind of map for me, leading me from one idea to another, from one writer to another, from one bibliography to another, from notes to dissertation to conference presentation to finished book. I see that it and the second volume and then the third and all the others have enabled me to establish permanent residence in the field of literature and medicine. Ready to give a little back for all I had received, I called Suzanne and accepted the job. The work began with long-distance telephone talks with Anne Hudson Jones and Suzanne, pages of notes on my legal pad, and the arrival of a huge box from Galveston full of books that had been submitted for review. By February, cryptic messages and publication announcements appeared in my mail and continued through the cold, wet months. When I had finally placed the last book with a reviewer around April 1,1 called Suzanne and told her the news: I had five good reviewers lined up like seeds in the rows of the garden I had not yet Literature and Medicine 13, no. 2 (Fall 1994) 306-330 © 1994 by The Johns Hopkins University Press Book Reviews 307 found time to plant. "I really think we need to do this one other book," she replied. "Why don't you call up ...." While the first time is always the hardest, it is also the most educational, and that has certainly been the case for me. What I have learned is that people in our business are willing to accommodate their hard work to the most demanding of schedules. I've learned that they take deadlines seriously, that they can turn a manuscript around in the blink of an eye, and that they don't mind telephone calls at the oddest of hours (even on holiday mornings) or over the most peculiar of matters, like how many of those little roman numeral pages there are at the beginning of the book. As I waded through books and manuscripts , worried about how reviewers might feel about changes I wanted to make, and finally realized that the perfectly spelled, punctuated , and styled review exists only in some distant, parallel universe, I began more fully to appreciate the hard work of past editors and to think about what I might do to insure that my work would merit such an evaluation from the next book-review editor. This question led me to three specific goals and a number of commitments. First, I believe the strength of our discipline lies in the very things that make it a complex and fascinating place in which to work—our incredible variety, the levels and kinds of our expertise, and the range of our interests. Though it can publish reviews of only a tiny fraction of the available books, Literature and Medicine has kept us aware of important texts in both the scholarly and creative ends of our field. I am committed, with a great deal of help from my colleagues, to maintaining the coverage and balance characteristic of the journal. This issue, for example, includes reviews of two collections of short stories written by physician-authors, one specialized study of early modern English drama, one study of cultural discourse regarding pregnancy, one fictionalized report of time spent by a physician-patient in intensive care, and a volume of letters written by a Civil War surgeon. Second, I'd like Literature and Medicine's reviews to continue to be as informative and evenhanded as they have been in the past. That is, I want them to be places readers come to receive both information about the works being reviewed and strong, informed recommendations . While I have no intention of interfering with the disciplinespecific expertise that makes for outstanding reviews, both positive and negative, I will encourage reviewers to attend first to excellence. The recognition and delineation of excellence sensitizes us to good work, makes it available to us, and enhances our own pursuit of the best that we can accomplish. In my heart of hearts, I want all reviews to be 308 BOOK REVIEWS praise songs, but when a reviewer tells me that a text is faulty, that it is not one we should read, I will work hard with that reviewer to be certain this is so, and when I am convinced, I will help the review go forward. Finally, I see the review process as an important part of the collaborative activity by which disciplines create, shape, and sustain themselves. Because reviews are about what we should or should not read and because what we read shapes the terrain through which we will travel and the territory in which we will dwell next year and the year after that, I am committed to making the review process as open and participatory, as clearly reflective of the overall composition of our discipline, as possible. This means that I will call on both new and established reviewers and that I will actively seek out as wide a variety of voices, styles, and informed perspectives as possible. To do less, I think, would be a disservice to us all. Charles M. Anderson Ethan Canin, The Palace Thief. New York: Random House, 1994. 205 pp. Clothbound, $21.00. For a world that characterizes us according to our most visible roles, Ethan Canin, in this collection of four stories, makes it evident that he is "a literary artist who also is a physician" and not "a physician who also writes books." The former category includes Anton Chekhov and William Carlos Williams. Is Canin that good? Quite possibly. The Palace Thief, in its stories "Accountant," "Batorsag and Szerelem," "City of Broken Hearts," and "The Palace Thief," is terse, compelling, painful, and immensely competent. It is also timely. In a literary market in which the inner lives of women have been increasingly examined, The Palace Thief gives voice to this less frequently explored dimension of men's lives. It also touches upon AIDS, divorce, society's puerility and corruption, the isolation of artists and intellectuals , the waste of lifetimes, and a growing mystification between generations . In "Accountant" the protagonist, Abbot Roth, is a solitary and cerebral crypto-romantic who has for the most part foregone such youthful pleasures as sports, cars, and dating in favor of practicalities: ...

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