In what may be an example of irony, this book has been making me feel “inflamed.” When I think about the mark left by the book thus far, I can’t help but feel critical.
I feel critical of its attempt to be both an impassioned cry to take notice of the presence of colonialism in places we believe are unbiased and a layman’s scientific primer on inflammation. While I am usually one of the first to advocate for complexity, this particular marriage of science and social justice isn’t working for me.
On the heels of finishing R.F. Kuang’s “Babel,” I can’t help but draw parallels between the fiery passion of the authors and the revolutionaries of (mostly) fictional Oxford. The subtitle of “Babel,” which is “Or the Necessity of Violence,” fits the case made by the characters, and I can’t help but wonder if the authors of “Inflamed” might agree with the sentiment.
“Inflamed” feels like an assault on the nervous system, with little to offer any relief as of yet. Its rhetoric is so strong it implies oppression is an insurmountable fact of life and there is little room for hope. So far, the book has layered metaphor upon metaphor seemingly because it can, rather than in service of clearer communication.
After a few chapters, I find myself wishing for two books: (1) a book to explain and describe inflammation, medical, societal, environmental, or otherwise, and (2) a book to suggest what’s to be done about what ails us as individuals, as societies, and as a world. Interspersing the two leaves me feeling emotional—angry, frustrated, and despondent.
I still have hope, though, and will invest a few more chapters when my nervous system and my heart allow. I hope the book begins to soothe and turns down the emotional volume, rather than continuing to inflame, or it will lose this sympathetic reader.