The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Jean-Dominique Bauby)

--The blurb--
"In 1995, Jean-Dominique Bauby, the witty, gregarious editor of French "Elle", suffered a stroke that left him totally paralyzed, able to communicate only by blinking his left eye. By doing so, he was able to compose this book - at once a record of appalling suffering and a testament to the endurance of the human spirit."

--The review--
Occasionally cases of locked-in syndrome and paralysis make the news. In 2005 it was British man Tony Nicklinson, who campaigned tirelessly in the press for the right to die with assistance (he died naturally mere months after losing his case in the High Court). In 2010, Times journalist Melanie Reid fell from her horse, making her an instant tetraplegic. Her position as a writer for one of Britain's most respected broadsheets has enabled her to not only raise awareness of tetraplegia but also to chronicle her day-to-day existence with humour and pathos. In the late 1990s, memoir The Diving Bell and The Butterfly served a similar purpose, drawing the public's attention to locked-in syndrome as experienced by former ELLE editor Jean-Dominique Bauby. Through painstaking blinks of his eyelid, he was able to describe his days in hospital near Berck-sur-Mer thanks to the dedication of Claude Mendibil, who took down Bauby's story letter by letter after he had memorised each pithy chapter in his head.

Bauby certainly takes pithiness to extremes in this tiny volume, which barely attains 140 small pages, with wide margins. However, this is no bad thing, as the concision of his writing enhances its artistry and poignancy. This combination of brevity and beauty makes the book a portable masterclass for anyone wishing to know how to write well. In spite of the devastating position in which Bauby finds himself, his unique view of the world he now inhabits and his voyage through memory is simultaneously accessible and elegant - a feat in itself considering how despairing such a text could be.

Naturally, though, Bauby does acknowledge the most painful aspects of his new existence, including getting used to feeling like he has a diving bell for a head, not being able to communicate even his most basic needs without someone patient enough to sit through his blinking, managing the vast quantities of saliva that his mouth now suddenly produces, and trying to rebuild his relationship with his children. Readers are buoyed, though, by the fact that he is still so lucid and descriptive, and the butterfly of the book's title seems to represent not only the freedom that he still has in his mind, but also the delicately dancing beauty of his prose and the ever-increasing acuity of other senses (such as his hearing - at one point he marvels "I must have the ear of a butterfly!"). This instils us with the belief that in spite of his near-total immobility and lack of physical independence, he still has so much to live for - and, furthermore, gives us hope that he may recover, which is fuelled by small signs of progress in his physical condition.

Thanks to the dense layering of stunning images and very real emotion with which The Diving Bell And The Butterfly is packed, Bauby leaves a stunning literary legacy which is already rightly remembered even more than his successful career as a magazine editor. While this degree of physical limitation is not what anyone would choose for themselves, Bauby's memoir - which neatly flits, like a butterfly, between his past life and his present experiences - is an inspiring reminder of the fortitude of the human mind and spirit, which is indeed a legacy that writers like Melanie Reid can take even further strength from.

The Way of the Tumbrils (John Elliot)

--The blurb--

"In The Way of the Tumbrils, a dozen of the most turbulent and tragic episodes of the French revolution are recounted. Part history, part guide book, The Way of the Tumbrils is a story of men and women fighting desperately to avoid the scaffold."

--The review--

When today's tourists see the darker side of Paris, including iPhone theft, a permanent trail of dog faeces, and the constant whiff in the air of surliness and cigarette smoke, it can be easy to forget the city's rich history and cast of memorable characters. Thankfully, John Elliot, in what is sadly his only book, is able to bring the whole fabulous story back to life in The Way of the Tumbrils. The writer is, by his own description, not really a writer at all, but just an ex-railwayman with an interest in his subject. However, these humble origins have begotten a text of greatness, which would make a superb gift for all history buffs and Paris fans.

The tumbril, or tumbrel, was a two-wheeled cart often used at the time of the Revolution to transport goods and people. The reason for the tumbrils in Elliot's story, and indeed in its title, is predictably sinister and completely appropriate to the author's highly visual and sensory retelling of this time in history.

Accessible and well-written, The Way of the Tumbrils mixes first-, second- and third-person, which contradicts all the stylists and goes against all the rules, and yet somehow works. Humorous stories arise from Elliot's lack of grasp of French, which seems even funnier given his level of interest in the country's history. However, other scenes indicate that the writer has a higher command of the language than he gives himself credit for. The overall result is a lively account of the bravery and treachery that pervades French history, and the fact that The Way of the Tumbrils only covers the Revolution is almost painful - Elliot is so engaging that a complete history of France would have been extremely desirable.

In spite of the book being published in 1958, the routes set out by Elliot are still easily navigable today - although the inclusion of maps, at least in the e-book edition (the print editions perhaps have them) would have been even more helpful in this regard. There are also other formatting problems with the digital version: some accents and letters are missing or erroneous, and some images and captions are split across several pages. For this reason, the print version is recommended. The accompanying pictures, though, generally are reproduced beautifully.

While the Bastille chapter lacks the same pace and humour as the rest of the book, the writer manages to keep the reader's attention throughout. Although a certain amount of knowledge is presupposed, this does not preclude understanding and may prompt the reader to find out more. Combining history, geography and tourism, The Way of the Tumbrils also considers questions of ethics: its at times emotive and highly descriptive nature may even go as far as to cause some readers to reconsider their views of the death penalty.

If the object of history books is to enable the reader to imagine what it was like to be present at significant times in the past, Elliot certainly achieves this with The Way of the Tumbrils - and remarkably so considering his lack of status as a professional historian. Thanks to his work, many could even be ready to forgive Paris its mounds of mégots, and tour the place of the past today.