Poison in Small Measure: Dr. Christopherson and the Cure for Bilharzia (review)

In this delightful book, Ann Crichton-Harris, an independent scholar based in Toronto, chronicles her eight-year journey to reconstruct the life and work of her great-uncle, John B. Christopherson, a nearly forgotten pioneer in the treatment of bilharzias. Along the way, the reader enters into a complex world of petty careerism, colonial rivalries, bald-faced racism, humanitarian concern, and dedication to duty. Those nostalgic for the British Empire will find much to enjoy in this book. It recreates the contradictions of empire with its rigid rules and protocol, intolerance and dogged heroism. The author shares her love for research: we learn of her interviews over tea and fruitcake, the search (sometimes in vain) for memoirs, and the detective-like sorting through clues in private letters, memorabilia, dusty volumes of published articles, and archives.

The reader who suspects or fears that this book is another paean to a notable family member learns otherwise before the book even begins. Yusuf Fadl Hasan, a professor of history at the University of Khartoum, in a brief foreword, quotes Christopherson's words: "The Mohammedan Religion has never done anything in the World except engender a selfish peace of mind to the individual and a total disregard for other peoples' feelings. It breeds wars for nations by its intolerance. It has never invented anything, nor am I aware that any Mohammedan has initiated peaceful work of any kind at any time. It is the opposite to the Christian religion of Charity, Peace, diligence and Usefulness" (p. x). Hasan then praises Crichton-Harris for her response to this view: "Christopherson's knowledge of history let him down with respect to both the Muslim's achievements in mathematics, ophthalmology and optics, and to the infamous work of his fellow Christians—the Inquisition and the Crusades for a start. It is almost certain that he had many Muslim friends and acquaintances among his assistant medical men, yet he though nothing of writing in such a manner" (p. 313). Yet Christopherson later complained that "[a] native officer never does an ounce of work that he is not made to do" and "the native women are so indolent and ignorant that it is hopeless at present to try and train them as nurses" (p. 369). He was finally able to hire two British nurses, who did not disappoint him. The author, however, insists that Christopherson, like his contemporaries, believed that he was on a mission to make Sudan a better place for its people and that he had considerable regard for his native colleagues.

Crichton-Harris documents Christopherson's great discovery at the outset of her book. In 1917, in the men's ward of Khartoum Civil Hospital, he found that injecting tartar emetic (antimony), already used as a treatment for leishmaniasis, into the veil of a bilharzia patient killed the eggs of the bilharzia helminth. He then spent many years researching the correct dosage of tartar emetic since it was a poison that could kill the patient. He published his results in a series of articles but did not receive the recognition that he expected. He was nominated for a Nobel Prize in 1922, did not receive it, and, according to the author, sank from history's view. Apparently he clashed with key personalities such as Andrew Balfour, director of the Wellcome Laboratory in Khartoum, and Major P. R Phipps, private secretary of Sudan's governor-general, Sir Reginald Wingate. Still, personality conflicts happen in all walks of life, and it is not quite clear why Christopherson's led to his sinking into historical oblivion. Perhaps he lacked the all-important patron who would broadcast his achievements at every opportunity.

The book is loaded with details of mundane daily life, family squabbles, and likes and dislikes that stray far from the overall theme of the book. All kinds of relatives and their activities crowd the book. But...