where she was previously Head of the Humanities Division. She has also taught at the universities of Princeton, Leeds, and Sheffield. She has published extensively on literature, science, and medicine: previous books include The Mind of the Child: Child Development in Literature, Science and Medicine, 1840-1900 (2010, winner of the British Society for Literature and Science Prize), and the co-authored work Anxious Times: Medicine and Modernity in Nineteenth-Century Britain (2019).
Shuttleworth applied the “Page 99 Test” to her new book, In Quest of a Cure: Literary and Medical Cultures of the Health Resort, and shared the following:
On page 99 we encounter Robert Louis Stevenson as a young man – an aspiring writer, but in ill- health. He was delighted when he was ordered by his doctor to spend the winter in Menton on the French Riviera, and explicitly without his over-anxious parents. On arrival, his elation turns to despair as his body refuses to obey his commands – he fears he may be dying. On moving hotels, however, his spirits lift when he meets a Russian child, ‘a little polyglot button of a three year old’ who initially pronounces him to be a mädchen (or girl) due to his long hair. He is soon spending all his time with her and her family, playing games, and at one point spending an entire afternoon ‘washing Nellie’s dolls with her’.Learn more about In Quest of a Cure at the Oxford University Press website.
Stevenson’s ‘delight in children – their joy in life, their creativity and imaginative seriousness – which emerges in much of his later work stems from this period. Later that year he publishes ‘Notes on the Movements of Young Children’ which uses Nellie’s dancing to analyze why we find the somewhat graceless movements of young children so lovable. The attraction, he suggests, is in sympathy, as you ‘see her struggling to find expression for the beauty that was in her against the inefficacy of the dull, half-informed body’. Stevenson is fascinated by what he sees as ‘this war of intelligence against the unwilling body’. He aligns the position of the child, struggling to express herself, with that of the invalid, and also the artist. The page concludes: ‘The child is thus a figure for both the invalid and the artist, and in her sheer joy in life, and determination to overcome the limitations of her body, she clearly became for Stevenson a model for how to transcend the confinement of an invalid identity.’
I was delighted to find that page 99 is an excellent entry point for the book. In Quest of a Cure pursues the lives and writings of various invalids sent into medical exile in Europe by their doctors, roughly in the period 1860-1930, and this example illustrates how closely medical experience and literary writing were intertwined. The findings were often unexpected – in this case, Stevenson’s alignment of the young child, artist, and invalid. Much of the book looks at a period before sanatoria emerged, when invalids lived largely in hotels, and moved around freely; they also often brought their families with them. One theme that emerged during the writing of the book was the position of children in these resorts, accompanying their parents, or indeed suffering themselves. Such strange lives they lived: joyful, and cosmopolitan, as we saw on page 99, but also framed by the presence of disease and death.
Stevenson is one of the various invalids I look at who visited both Menton, and its subsequent, snowy, counterpart, Davos, in the Swiss Alps, where walks on the beaches and into the hills were replaced by vigorous skating and tobogganing, which Stevenson adored. When he arrived in Davos, he was accompanied by his new wife, Fanny, and stepson Lloyd. Lloyd later recalled that he had enjoyed his time in Davos ‘the tobogganing, the skating, the snow-balling’, yet it was a place where ‘half the population … were coughing away the remnants of life’. Stevenson himself became almost as famous for being an itinerant invalid as for his writings, as this 1955 advert for Guinness suggests:The book follows Stevenson from Menton and Davos, to Bournemouth, and Saranac Lake in NY State, before his subsequent voyages to the South Seas and Samoa (accompanied by his family and redoubtable, widowed mother).
Stevenson is only one of many travellers for health in the book. Others include John Addington Symonds (who made full use of the sexual freedom afforded by his move to Davos), the artist Aubrey Beardsley, and in the twentieth century, Katherine Mansfield and Thomas and Katia Mann. By focusing on two resorts, Menton and Davos, I am able to explore the intersections of lives in these self-declared ‘English Colonies’; the changing patterns of treatment, from balmy seaside to snowy Alps, and from hotels to sanatoria; and the highs and lows of medical exile, for patients, their carers, and their families.
--Marshal Zeringue
Posts
