FALL SPOTLIGHT: SIDDHARTHA MUKHERJEE

Ingrid Christie

Even in a relatively short career publishing books for a general audience, Siddhartha Mukherjee has proven himself to be an indispensable science writer, the author of the modern classics The Emperor of All Maladies and The Gene. In a starred review, we call his latest, The Song of the Cell (Scribner, Oct. 25), “another outstanding addition to the author’s oeuvre, which we hope will continue to grow for years to come.” The author answered our questions via email.

You have had a successful academic and clinical career. What was the impetus for writing books for a general audience? I wanted to bring my readers into the world that I inhabit— a world imbued with the excitement of science and medicine as well as its failures and flaws. Medicine and science are human professions, and all things human—aspiration, ambition, greed, envy, hope, passion, love—are embodied within it. I want my readers to understand how we came about discovering the deepest secrets of nature: Where exactly was Rosalind Franklin when she performed her crucial experiments on DNA? Why did the highly touted breast cancer trials in the 1990s go wrong? What are we made of? Why does anyone need to know about cells and cellular therapy? What were some of the most formative books for you as a child? I read a lot and had many favorites; it would be hard to list them all. As a child, I loved fantasy and science fiction—and so The Ring Trilogy (Tolkien), Dune (Herbert) and Asimov’s and Heinlein’s books loomed large. As I grew older, I began to discover more fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. Primo Levi’s Life in Auschwitz was a touchstone. Midnight’s Children by Rushdie, Suketu Mehta’s mesmerizing Maximum City, Kate Boo’s Behind the Beautiful Forevers, and any of Murakami’s and Borges’ books taught me to read and write. Lewis Thomas’ The Lives of a Cell and Atul Gawande’s Being Mortal. Oh, and fiction and poetry: Zadie Smith’s White Teeth sent a joy and chill up my undergraduate spine. There was Sylvia Plath, of course; I read her in my moody teens and still come back to her. And finally, all I can remember now is a visit to Emily Dickinson’s house in Amherst, Massachusetts, with a miniscule desk overlooking a window in a tiny room. She reinvented modern poetry in this space, I often remind myself: How can one fathom it?

If someone were going to write the story of your life, who would you want it to be (and why)? Tough question. I guess I’d choose Lewis Thomas because he was so familiar with the intricacies and intimacies of being a scientist.

You are one of the most acclaimed contemporary science writers. For fans of your books, who else would you recommend? The list goes on and on from above. Over and beyond those I have already mentioned, I loved Jenny Egan’s A Visit From the Goon Squad. It’s not about science, but it raises a lot of questions about psychiatry and personality. Borges’ Labyrinths, which contain some of his best essays, and any book by Oliver Sacks, say, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.

Interview by Eric Liebetrau

behind” and disillusioned by economic and political infrastructures. The author uses this idea as a launching pad to deconstruct a host of cultural frameworks involving politics and place in communities around the U.S., and she offers a well-rendered critique of the implicit attitude that Black voters prefer Democrats or Black candidates. Through the lens of Black voters, Collins-Dexter examines often complex political concepts in an accessible way—Kanye West’s troubling persona is a recurring topic—but the rigor of her scholarship is never in question. In the section on populism, the author employs wrestling lingo and characters from the World Wrestling Federation to describe political ideology from the left and right. “With its exaggerated narratives of good, evil, and the struggle of the everyman,” she writes, “[wrestling] is the perfect way to understand populism— its pitfalls and its undeniable draw.” Reminiscent of Notes From No Man’s Land, by Eula Biss, this collection is well constructed and incisively argued. Collins-Dexter begins and ends with poignant memories of her father, effectively tying the personal to the universal. Featuring a vivid mix of hard data, anecdotal details, and scholarly research, this book is a must-read for anyone interested in politics and Black lives in America.

Crispin, Jessa Univ. of Chicago (256 pp.) $19.00 paper | Sept. 9, 2022 978-0-226-82010-1

The author of Why I Am Not a Feminist and The Dead Ladies Project returns with a sharp examination of patriarchal cultural norms in the Midwest.

Crispin, who lives in Philadelphia but grew up in Kansas, begins by describing a haunting she discovered in her home after moving back to her home state. The ghost in question, dubbed Charlie, came with a specific type of “dad energy…this disapproval, this long list of unspoken rules, this very Midwestern version of masculinity that is all emotional constipation yet still strangely captivating, that leaves those around it scrutinizing every glimmer of the eye, every change in tone or inflection, looking for some sign of approval or affection or respect. The kind of masculinity that makes you think love is a thing to be earned through sacrifice and improved performance.” Mixing memoir and cultural criticism, the author explores her relationships with the three “dads” of the title: her elementary art teacher, who was involved in a horrific act of violence; abolitionist John Brown; and Reformation leader Martin Luther. Crispin shows how these different figures and their legacies have personally affected her and how their broader influences—in family, politics, and religion—have affected America as a whole, particularly related to the many myths embedded in ostensibly pure Midwestern values. Examining how each of these aspects of culture has been modified, redefined, and coopted, Crispin thoughtfully explores how “the idea of community is not enough. It’s too floppy a concept, too nostalgic and indistinct. It doesn’t just mean knitting circles and someone to bring you groceries when you’re sick. It means clusters of like-minded people who shut out any dissent. Neo-Nazis have a great sense of community, as do anti-vaxxers and militias. What we need is society.” By challenging a host of societal assumptions about family, identity, gender, religion, and politics, the author upends an array of notions about American exceptionalism.

Dembicki, Geoff Greystone Books (256 pp.) $27.95 | Sept. 20, 2022 978-1-77164-891-2

Big oil knew about greenhouse gas–related climate change more than half a century ago—and did nothing but lie

about it.

In November 1959, writes investigative climate change reporter Dembicki, a prominent oil executive named Robert Dunlop “received a credible warning that his industry could cause death and suffering for large numbers of the planet’s inhabitants.” That warning came from physicist Edward Teller, one of the fathers of the atomic bomb and “no back-to-nature romantic,” who prophesied that his invention was a toy next to the consequences of fossil fuel–caused climate change. Moreover, added Teller, when the climate warmed, the ice caps would melt, the oceans would rise, and large swaths of the world would become uninhabitable. Even at the time, the facts were not hidden: So bad was the smog in Los Angeles in 1943 that “many assumed that it was a chemical warfare attack by the Japanese army.” Still, Dunlop and others in the petroleum business covered up those inconvenient truths, and decades later, players such as Koch Industries remain heavily invested in the fossil fuel economy, backed by media outlets such as Fox News, whose minions have steadfastly insisted that climate change is a natural phenomenon. The situation, though, is different in the courts, and renewable-energy warriors are waging combat against big oil that draws on many of the same tactics as the fight against big tobacco in the 1990s. One recent case, for instance, contests the extraction of Canadian oil sands, while another links typhoon damage in the Philippines to the international energy industry. Yet, even as one Exxon oil scientist warned 40 years ago that climate change would be catastrophic for people around the world, the Philippines included, the company still is “trying to convince people the emergency wasn’t real.”

D’Emilio, John Duke Univ. (248 pp.) $29.95 | Sept. 9, 2022 978-1-4780-1592-5

Unusual among today’s memoirs, this one is upbeat and generous spirited about its author’s early life and challenges.

In sparkling fashion, D’Emilio enters company with Alfred Kazin and A Walker in the City, the classic work that, in Polish Jewish immigrant tones, evoked the early years of a Bronx boyhood. D’Emilio, a Guggenheim fellow and noted historian of gay history in the U.S., writes about his early years as a son of the Bronx, but in Italian Catholic hues. Like Kazin’s book, this one sings a hymn to that particular borough and to the city as a whole. This is also a son’s tale of a close-knit family adapting to a new world with a mixture of love, aspiration, loss, and tension. In D’Emilio’s case, the emergence of his sexuality in a particularly repressive era made growing up and adapting to American life even more complicated. While the author depicts his burgeoning gay sexuality with unusual ease, this part of him is by no means the only subject of this appealing book. He brings his Catholic family’s religiosity, the priests who taught and mentored him, and his own Catholic elementary schooling richly alive. He also offers a particularly affecting portrayal of one of Manhattan’s great Jesuit institutions, Regis High School, where D’Emilio’s intelligence caught the attention of his teachers to the point where he considered becoming a Jesuit priest. Columbia University also takes center stage as the site of his maturation as a scholar. During his undergraduate years in the tumultuous late 1960s, D’Emilio counseled fellow students about avoiding the draft and sought a conscientious objector deferment while working as an assistant to Margaret Mead. The author’s compassionate spirit suffuses the text to such a degree that one hopes for a future continuation into his years as a professional historian.

Figes, Orlando Metropolitan/Henry Holt (352 pp.) $29.99 | Sept. 20, 2022 978-1-2507-9689-9

An expert on Russia delivers a crucially relevant study of a country that has been continuously “subjected to the vicissitudes of ruling ideologies.” Wolfson History Prize winner Figes, one of the world’s leading authorities on Russian history and culture, shows how, over centuries, Russian autocrats have manipulated intertwined layers of mythology and history to suit their political and imperial purposes. Regarding current affairs, the author argues convincingly that to understand Putin’s aggressive behavior toward Ukraine and other neighboring nations, it is essential to grasp how Russia has come to see itself within the global order, especially in Asia and Europe. Figes emphasizes the intensive push and pull between concepts of East and West since the dubious founding of Kievan Rus, “the first Russian state,” circa 980. Russia’s geography meant it had few natural boundaries and was vulnerable to invasion—e.g., by the Mongols—and its mere size often required strong, central military control. It was in Moscow’s interests to increase its territorial boundaries and keep its neighbors weak, a strategy still seen today. Figes explores the growth of the “patrimonial autocracy” and examines how much of the mechanics of the country’s autocracy, bureaucracy, military structure, oligarchy, and corruption were inherited from three centuries of Mongol rule. From Peter the Great to Catherine the Great to Alexander II (the reformer who freed the serfs) and through the Bolsheviks to Stalin: In most cases, everything belonged to the state, and there were few societal institutions to check that power. “This imbalance—between a dominating state and a weak society—has shaped the course of Russian history,” writes the author in a meaningful, definitive statement. Today, Putin repudiates any hint of Westernizing influences (Peter the Great) while elevating the Eastern (Kievan Rus, the Orthodox Church). In that, he is reminiscent of Stalin, who recognized the need for patriotic fervor and national myths and symbols to unite and ensure the oppression of the masses.

Gay, Ross Algonquin (256 pp.) $27.00 | Oct. 25, 2022 978-1-643-75304-1

A prizewinning poet’s thoughts about grief, gratitude, and happiness. In a natural follow-up to his previous collection, The Book of Delights, Gay, winner of the 2015 National Book Critics Circle Award in Poetry for Catalogue of Unabashed Gratitude, ruminates about joy in a warm, candid memoir composed of 12 essays. In prose that veers between breezy and soulful, the author reflects on a wide range of topics, including basketball, dancing, skateboarding, couples’ therapy, music, masculinity, and his father’s cancer. As a biracial man, he has much to say about race and racism. For Gay, cultivating joy involves mindful observation. Once, watching a chipmunk’s antics, he wondered, “among other things, how many real-life chipmunks scaling sheer limestone walls do we miss when we’re watching videos on our cellular telephones of chipmunks falling off walls?” Joy also emerges from “the mycelial threads connecting

us, the lustrous web.” The author praises a community orchard, which has created “a matrix of connection, of care, that exists not only in the here and now, but comes to us from the past and extends forward into the future.” As a creative writing teacher, Gay rejects the workshop format, where students try to “fix” a classmate’s poem. His teaching encourages “unfixing work together—where we hold each other, and witness each other, through our unfixing,” sensitive to each student’s reality. He seeks to break through academic “conventions and boundaries” to make a human—and humane—connection: “you ask, after someone shares a sort of upsetting and nervous-making poem, are you ok? Or someone, missing class sends a doctor’s note and an x-ray of their broken bone as double proof, to which you reply: no need, I believe you.” For Gay, community opens a path to joy. Even in grief, “grieving, or the griever, consciously or not, connects to all of grief, and to all grievers.”

(This review is printed here for the first time.)

Hsu, Hua Doubleday (208 pp.) $26.00 | Sept. 27, 2022 978-0-385-54777-2

A Taiwanese American writer remembers an intimate but unexpected college friendship cut short by tragedy. Hsu, an English professor and staff writer at the New Yorker, began his undergraduate years at Berkeley with the intention of cultivating an alternative, punk persona consistent with his love of indie bands and his obsession with creating zines. “I saw coolness,” he writes, “as a quality primarily expressed through erudite discernment, and I defined who I was by what I rejected, a kitchen sink approach to negation that resulted in essays decrying Beverly Hills, 90210, hippies, private school, George Bush…and, after they became trendy, Pearl Jam.” Consequently, when he first met Japanese American fraternity brother Ken, he wrote him off as “a genre of person I actively avoided—mainstream.” As they got to know each other, to Hsu’s surprise, he and Ken grew very close. The two spent hours “debating the subversive subtext of movies” and penning a screenplay inspired by the cult classic film The Last Dragon, an experience that led them to long conversations about the nature of Black and Asian solidarity. Over time, their relationship grew increasingly personal. For example, Hsu sought out Ken for advice the night Hsu planned to lose his virginity, and, years later, Hsu tentatively referred to Ken as his best friend. Then, one night, Ken was killed in a carjacking, abruptly truncating a relationship that Hsu thought would last forever and sending him into a spiral of grief and self-blame that lasted for years. This memoir is masterfully structured and exquisitely written. Hsu’s voice shimmers with tenderness and vulnerability as he meticulously reconstructs his memories of a nurturing, compassionate friendship. The protagonists’ Asian American identities are nuanced, never serving as the defining element of the story, and the author creates a cast of gorgeously balanced characters.

Joseph, Peniel E. Basic Books (272 pp.) $27.00 | Sept. 6, 2022 978-1-541-60074-4

A noted scholar of political history offers a hopeful vision of a future in which Black Americans take their places as full, equal citizens of the U.S.

Joseph, founding director of the Center for the Study of Race and Democracy at the University of Texas, provocatively links the Jan. 6, 2021, insurrection to the anti-Black violence of the Reconstruction era, a time of entrenched Jim Crow policies, which, he reminds readers, was not confined to the South. That first Reconstruction period was followed by a second, in his reckoning, which expanded from Brown v. Board of Education to the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. The third, which began with the election of Barack Obama, is “the most volatile yet.” By Joseph’s account, the White nationalism espoused by Donald Trump and those rioters hinges on two lies: “The first is that Black people are not human beings. The second is that the first lie never happened.” One need not be a far right-winger to embrace “redemptionist” rhetoric that imposes school segregation in the name of “parental choice” and voter suppression in the name of election security. Of course, the Trumpian backlash against the Obama years was grounded in “white nostalgia over the nation’s regime of racial slavery and grievance over that system’s demise.” Each era of reconstruction has brought renewed violence by those who insist on White supremacy, most recently as exemplified by the police murder of George Floyd and countless other Black Americans. Through joint actions with feminists, gay rights activists, other oppressed minorities, and allies, Black people have been able to assert their rights anew with the Black Lives Matter movement, bringing new vigor to the dismantling of redemptionist racism and resistance against “racial segregation, exploitation, and death”—a cause that, the author argues, can reach its goals within our lifetime.