Science lessons at school were not generally enjoyable for me. Biology made me pass out whereas Physics made me cry out with frustration. I could understand Chemistry - up to a point. I must admit that even that was still quite a low point in my education and was way down on my preferred periodic table of lessons, with English and History usually combining to make me feel happy instead. When I read the marketing endorsements for Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus it was really the unusual juxtaposition of science with TV in its own exploratory period that made me sit up and take notice (which I occasionally did in those long-ago classes when not using the Bunsen burners to pointlessly burn hundreds of defenceless spills – a sort of metaphor for my own life back then). Chemical terms are used throughout the book, but I literally jumped over them, happy in the knowledge that our main character – Elizabeth Zott – understands what she is talking about with such authority. The book races along and I had as little inclination as ever to pause for descriptions of method and apparatus. Elizabeth is a research scientist thwarted by the misogyny of 1950s America and still in the 1960s as she becomes an unwitting feminist hero in her role as the host of a TV cookery show. The programme airs in the afternoon slot immediately before ‘housewives’ everywhere need to galvanise themselves to ensure their husbands’ suppers are on the table the moment they walk through the door. Elizabeth is also strikingly beautiful which leads to both men and women wanting to pigeonhole her even more. Elizabeth has met and fallen in love with her kindred spirit, Calvin, and a brilliant daughter - brilliantly named Mad for short – is the result of their experiments. Calvin’s back history provides a simmering background to the novel, while Elizabeth, her daughter and curious dog Six Thirty take centre stage. Achingly funny in places, I loved the introduction of secondary characters such as her down-trodden neighbour and equally eccentric doctor, but her TV producer Walter Pine was probably my favourite of all. He was as mystified by the autistic certainty of Elizabeth as he was captured and concerned in equal measures by her uncontrollable zest for life in largely unforgiving circumstances. I didn’t really like the ending – and not just because it was the ending. I felt that things unfolded far too quickly. We needed to be put through more tests before arriving at the author’s (and our) results. I got a real feel for early 1960s live television shows but would have liked a little more historical context to this, and in the early part of the story set in the 1950s. I felt that for all the undoubted accuracy (I assume) of the science, some aspects were too thin and skated over before the ice could melt. In conclusion, this isn’t just a story about a woman trying to make it in a man’s world – then or now – it is a tale of something or somebody quite different from us landing in our everyday lives. It is about how we handle that difference. History shows that we have so often handled that badly. Unsurprisingly I learned more from that subject than the indisputable evidence that science is all around us: it makes us who we are and how we are with others, even if we don’t often talk about it.
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AuthorI am a fiction writer, currently living in Worcestershire, enjoying mystery dramas, thrillers, poetry, comedy and history. I read a wide range of fiction, also writing book reviews here and sharing on amazon, goodreads and Waterstones sites. Archives
October 2024
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