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“A mosaic mystery told in vignettes, cliffhangers, curious asides, and some surreal plot twists as Raffel investigates the secrets of the man who changed infant care in America.”—NPR, 2018's Great Reads What kind of doctor puts his patients on display? This is the spellbinding tale of a mysterious Coney Island doctor who revolutionized neonatal care more than one hundred years ago and saved some seven thousand babies. Dr. Martin Couney's story is a kaleidoscopic ride through the intersection of ebullient entrepreneurship, enlightened pediatric care, and the wild culture of world's fairs at the beginning of the American Century. As Dawn Raffel recounts, Dr. Couney used incubators and careful nursing to keep previously doomed infants alive, while displaying these babies alongside sword swallowers, bearded ladies, and burlesque shows at Coney Island, Atlantic City, and venues across the nation. How this turn-of-the-twentieth-century émigré became the savior to families with premature infants—known then as “weaklings”—as he ignored the scorn of the medical establishment and fought the rising popularity of eugenics is one of the most astounding stories of modern medicine. Dr. Couney, for all his entrepreneurial gusto, is a surprisingly appealing character, someone who genuinely cared for the well-being of his tiny patients. But he had something to hide... Drawing on historical documents, original reportage, and interviews with surviving patients, Dawn Raffel tells the marvelously eccentric story of Couney's mysterious carnival career, his larger-than-life personality, and his unprecedented success as the savior of the fragile wonders that are tiny, tiny babies.
A New York Times Book Review New & Noteworthy Title A Real Simple Best Book of 2018 Christopher Award-winner
“A mosaic mystery told in vignettes, cliffhangers, curious asides, and some surreal plot twists as Raffel investigates the secrets of the man who changed infant care in America.”—NPR, 2018's Great Reads What kind of doctor puts his patients on display? This is the spellbinding tale of a mysterious Coney Island doctor who revolutionized neonatal care more than one hundred years ago and saved some seven thousand babies. Dr. Martin Couney's story is a kaleidoscopic ride through the intersection of ebullient entrepreneurship, enlightened pediatric care, and the wild culture of world's fairs at the beginning of the American Century. As Dawn Raffel recounts, Dr. Couney used incubators and careful nursing to keep previously doomed infants alive, while displaying these babies alongside sword swallowers, bearded ladies, and burlesque shows at Coney Island, Atlantic City, and venues across the nation. How this turn-of-the-twentieth-century émigré became the savior to families with premature infants—known then as “weaklings”—as he ignored the scorn of the medical establishment and fought the rising popularity of eugenics is one of the most astounding stories of modern medicine. Dr. Couney, for all his entrepreneurial gusto, is a surprisingly appealing character, someone who genuinely cared for the well-being of his tiny patients. But he had something to hide... Drawing on historical documents, original reportage, and interviews with surviving patients, Dawn Raffel tells the marvelously eccentric story of Couney's mysterious carnival career, his larger-than-life personality, and his unprecedented success as the savior of the fragile wonders that are tiny, tiny babies.
A New York Times Book Review New & Noteworthy Title A Real Simple Best Book of 2018 Christopher Award-winner
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En raison de restrictions imposées par l'éditeur, la bibliothèque n'est pas en mesure d'acheter des exemplaires supplémentaires de ce titre et nous vous présentons toutes nos excuses si la liste d'attente est longue. N'oubliez pas de regarder s'il existe d'autres exemplaires, car d'autres éditions sont peut-être disponibles.
Extraits-
From the cover
"All the World Loves a Baby"
Chicago, 1934
Chicago had already sweated through one hell of a week, and today was only Wednesday. The trouble began with a bang, literally, on Sunday when the cops shot down John Dillinger outside the Biograph. Gangster was seeing a movie. If you didn't know better, you might have believed the deceased was seeking revenge: As the final larcenous breath rattled out of his lungs, the city was being strangled.
By Tuesday, the mercury in the snazzy Havoline Thermometer Tower, soaring over the Century of Progress fairgrounds on the lakefront, had shot up to 105-with 109 degrees reported inland at the airport. Either way, it was the hottest day ever on record for Chicago.
Heat deformed the air, which seemed to wobble. Clothes stuck to flesh. Flesh stank. With ice in short supply and the stench of the slaughterhouses ripening-where pigs strode doomed over the bridge of sighs and cattle hung bloody from hooks-people fled to the beaches of Lake Michigan to sleep.
During the day, perspiring throngs pressed their way into the Great Halls and pavilions at the world's fair, less interested in the scientific and cultural marvels on display than in inhaling refrigerated air. They poured out onto the midway, dripping into their summer cottons and brimmed hats, fanning their faces with folded maps, mopping up ice cream that melted faster than they could eat. Freaks, savages, steamy strippers, and miniature humans were there for their viewing pleasure. If people couldn't stanch the sweat, they could at least secure a couple of hours' respite from the cruel Depression and the news coming out of Germany.
Today, the high-finally!-was supposed to be south of 100. That in itself was cause for celebration. As for the news, for the fifteen minutes between 12:45 and 1:00 p.m., the airwaves would belong to Dr. Martin Arthur Couney and the adorable babies whose lives he had saved in his incubator sideshow.
The radio script had a written instruction not to conduct todayÕs program as a farce. Yes, the announcer could make a few cracks about all the crying and yelping, but he needed to mind himself, on account of the Òethical standingÓ of the cityÕs physicians who had a manicured hand in this thing. This baby ÒhomecomingÓ would not be half as fun as the midget wedding two weeks earlier. Why, even a former vice president of the United States had been out in the Lilliputian Village when that tiny torch singer married her groom, and the cops had to stop the mob from going nuts.
Every day, you had a new extravaganza at the Century of Progress. It wasn't just the grand Hall of Science, the Halls of Religion, and Travel and Transport, the Homes of Tomorrow, with everything prefabricated, some kind of dream. It was Ripley's and strippers and marching bands and neon Deco blazing through the sweltering night. So what if it wasn't as grand as the famous White City back in 1893? Who cared if the old folks didn't find the sky ride quite as stirring as the Ferris wheel they liked to carry on about? You really had to hand it to the planners and the backers-they'd managed to pull a rabbit out of the hat of the Depression.
Given a choice, you might rather escape than eat. People jam-packed the midway, reeking of Tabu perfume, of Burma-Shave, and summer BO, ready to part with whatever they had, dollars thick in silver clips or crumpled in a pocket, a scavenged coin or two, nickels pilfered from a pay phone.
Train after train steamed into Union Station, belching out tourists. Folks at home depended on the radio, the ticket to the world. Today's show would reconvene the tots who'd been...
Au sujet de l’auteur-
DAWN RAFFEL has been a magazine editor for 30 years, and has written profiles for magazines such as Reader's Digest and O, The Oprah Magazine. Her four books are The Secret Life of Objects (a memoir), Further Adventures in the Restless Universe (stories), Carrying the Body (a novel), and In the Year of Long Division (stories), and her stories have been widely anthologized. She has taught creative writing in the MFA program at Columbia University; at Summer Literary Seminars in St. Petersburg, Russia; Montreal; and Vilnius, Lithuania; and at the Center for Fiction in New York. Currently, she is the books editor at Reader's Digest.
Critiques-
April 30, 2018 Raffel (In the Year of Long Division) sheds a welcome light on a medical outlier whose landmark treatment of premature babies was largely dismissed because of the carnival setting in which he showcased their care. Pulling together documents, photos, and interviews, including some with now-elderly preemies who were among Couney’s incubator babies, Raffel traces the extraordinary life of Michael Cohn, born in 1869 in Krotoszyn, Poland, as he reinvents himself in America as Dr. Martin Couney, proud showman of tiny incubator babies—some as small as two pounds—in specialized facilities he constructed at world’s fairs and summer amusement parks across the country. What the medical world ignored—save Chicago pediatrician and father of neonatology Julius Hess, who deeply admired Couney and was profoundly influenced by his work—was the meticulous attention those fragile babies were given: frequent feedings by round-the-clock wet-nurses or with a “spoon-to-the-nose” maneuver, and even oxygen. The exhibits, Raffel finds, were “the forerunners of the modern premature nursery” eventually popularized by Hess and other pediatricians. It’s estimated Couney saved between 6,500 and 7,000 preemies brought to him by their parents, an extraordinary accomplishment at a time when few doctors were even attempting it. With colorful descriptions of the carnival world and the medical marvels of early neonatalogy, Raffel makes a fascinating case for this unusual pioneer’s rightful place in medical history. Agent: Melanie Jackson, Melanie Jackson Agency.
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