At twelve, Howard Dully was guilty of the same crimes as other boys his age: he was moody and messy, rambunctious with his brothers, contrary just to prove a point, and perpetually at odds with his parents. Yet somehow, this normal boy became one of the youngest people on whom Dr. Walter Freeman performed his barbaric transorbital—or ice pick—lobotomy.
Abandoned by his family within a year of the surgery, Howard spent his teen years in mental institutions, his twenties in jail, and his thirties in a bottle. It wasn’t until he was in his forties that Howard began to pull his life together. But even as he began to live the “normal” life he had been denied, Howard struggled with one question: Why?
“October 8, 1960. I gather that Mrs. Dully is perpetually talking, admonishing, correcting, and getting worked up into a spasm, whereas her husband is impatient, explosive, rather brutal, won’t let the boy speak for himself, and calls him numbskull, dimwit, and other uncomplimentary names.”
There were only three people who would know the truth: Freeman, the man who performed the procedure; Lou, his cold and demanding stepmother who brought Howard to the doctor’s attention; and his father, Rodney. Of the three, only Rodney, the man who hadn’t intervened on his son’s behalf, was still living. Time was running out. Stable and happy for the first time in decades, Howard began to search for answers.
“December 3, 1960. Mr. and Mrs. Dully have apparently decided to have Howard operated on. I suggested [they] not tell Howard anything about it.”
Through his research, Howard met other lobotomy patients and their families, talked with one of Freeman’s sons about his father’s controversial life’s work, and confronted Rodney about his complicity. And, in the archive where the doctor’s files are stored, he finally came face to face with the truth.
Revealing what happened to a child no one—not his father, not the medical community, not the state—was willing to protect, My Lobotomy exposes a shameful chapter in the history of the treatment of mental illness. Yet, ultimately, this is a powerful and moving chronicle of the life of one man. Without reticence, Howard Dully shares the story of a painfully dysfunctional childhood, a misspent youth, his struggle to claim the life that was taken from him, and his redemption.
From the Hardcover edition.
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这本书的语言风格让我感到既兴奋又挫败。一方面,作者的词汇量和句式变化之丰富令人叹为观止,那种对语言的驾驭能力,仿佛是在指挥一支交响乐团,每一个词语的位置都经过精心设计,充满了音乐性和韵律感。我常常需要停下来,仅仅为了回味一个精妙的比喻或者一个力量感十足的排比句。但另一方面,这种过度的文采有时反而成了理解内容的障碍。很多段落读起来就像是纯粹的语言艺术展示,而非叙事推动的必要环节。尤其是在涉及到内心独白的部分,常常被卷入一个又一个复杂的主语和从句中,导致我需要反复阅读才能把握住作者究竟想要表达的核心观点。它更像是写给那些热爱文学形式本身的读者的一份礼物,对于我这种更注重情节驱动的阅读者来说,阅读过程像是在攀登一座装饰得无比华丽,但同时又异常陡峭的山峰,每一步都充满挑战,需要极强的专注力。
评分这本书的叙事节奏简直就像是作者在黑暗中摸索,试图拼凑出一个失落的记忆碎片。一开始,我完全被那种近乎破碎的、跳跃式的叙事方式所吸引,仿佛置身于一个迷宫,每翻过一页,墙壁都在重新排列。作者对于细节的捕捉极其敏锐,那些日常生活中看似微不足道的感觉——比如清晨阳光穿过百叶窗投下的光影,或是某种特定气味带来的瞬间抽离感——都被赋予了沉重的意义。然而,随着阅读的深入,这种精雕细琢的笔触开始带来一种疏离感。人物的情感波动往往被包裹在一层厚厚的、近乎哲学思辨的外壳之下,读者很难真正“进入”他们的内心世界。我花了很长时间去适应这种阅读体验,它要求读者投入极大的耐心和心力去解读那些潜藏在文字背后的潜台词和象征意义。整体而言,它更像是一部需要被“解码”而非“阅读”的作品,后劲十足,但前期门槛略高,不太适合追求快速情节推进的读者。这本书挑战了我对传统小说结构的认知,让我重新审视叙事与真实之间的界限。
评分老实说,我很少读到如此风格化如此鲜明的作品。这本书给我的感觉是,作者似乎在试图用一种非传统的方式来描绘“存在”的本质。它探讨的主题宏大而晦涩,涉及记忆的不可靠性、身份的流动性,以及时间在感知中的扭曲。阅读过程中,我不断地被抛入哲学性的沉思之中,作者提出的问题比提供的答案要多得多。书中没有传统意义上的高潮或低谷,一切都维持在一个恒定的、令人不安的平衡状态。这种对戏剧冲突的刻意规避,使得故事缺乏传统意义上的吸引力,但却赋予了它一种近乎冥想式的、令人沉静的力量。它不是那种让你在公交车上读到废寝忘食的书,而是那种需要你泡上一杯浓茶,在深夜里,完全清空杂念后才能沉浸进去的作品。它更像是一件观念艺术品,而非一本轻松的小说,非常挑剔受众,但对于能够进入其频道的人来说,它会成为一次深刻的精神洗礼。
评分从结构上来看,这本书简直是反传统的典范。它毫不留情地打碎了线性叙事的时间轴,将过去、现在和(也许是)未来并置于同一个段落中,相互渗透,模糊了事件的先后顺序。这种碎片化的处理方式,初看之下会让人感到非常困惑,仿佛在玩一个被打乱了顺序的拼图游戏。我花了大约三分之一的书本篇幅才勉强适应这种叙事跳跃的节奏,并开始欣赏作者试图通过这种方式传达的“同时性”体验。书中角色的对话也极其跳跃和隐晦,充满了未尽之言和潜台词,你必须时刻保持警惕,才能捕捉到那些隐藏在字里行间的微小线索。这本书的价值并不在于它讲述了一个多么动人的故事,而在于它如何讲述。它迫使你走出习惯的舒适区,用一种全新的、充满不确定性的视角去审视文本。如果你期待的是一个明确的“结局”或“解释”,那么你很可能会失望;但如果你热衷于探索语言和结构本身的极限,那么这本书绝对是值得一试的。
评分我必须承认,当我拿起这本书时,我对它抱持着极高的期望,毕竟封面设计和书名就透露出一种极端的、引人入胜的张力。但阅读过程中的体验却是一种奇异的、慢热的煎熬。作者似乎对现实世界中的因果逻辑采取了一种玩世不恭的态度,情节的发展常常是突兀的、非线性的,就好像作者突然决定将叙事轨迹转向一个完全意想不到的方向,而没有给出足够的铺垫。书中对环境的描摹倒是有一手,那些冰冷、压抑的室内场景,那些反复出现的特定颜色和材质,构建了一个令人窒息的氛围,这部分处理得非常出色,完全可以作为文学教科书的范例。但人物的动机却成了最大的谜团,他们的行动常常显得不可理喻,让人不禁怀疑作者是否只是在堆砌华丽的意象,而疏忽了角色内在的逻辑自洽性。读完之后,我感觉自己经历了一场漫长而迷幻的梦境,醒来后只留下一些模糊的、但又挥之不去的色彩和情绪,而非清晰的故事脉络。这本书需要读者拥抱混乱,才能从中找到一丝秩序。
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