Lucy Ellmann		Doctors and Nurses

First published by Bloomsbury, 2006 February 20, ISBN 0 7475 8007 3, Bloomsbury paperback published 2006 February 21, ISBN 1 5969 1102 6.

First impressions are important. Having been tipped off (by JulesW - thanks!) that Lucy Ellmann's new book included an encounter with a naked rambler, my first encounter with the book disappointed. The cover promises a farce, and I had hoped that social nudity would no longer appear in an English novel for the purposes of a few sniggers. Never mind, look inside. Oh dear. Right from the off, almost every sentence includes at least one word in capitals. I don't know why Ellmann did this - it's bound to irritate at least some readers, and to damage the easy flow of reading for many more.

Press on. Read on. I try not to be exasperated by the capitals, by the obsession with lists (one list takes up twelve pages - but at least the percentage of capitalised words reduces for that duration), with extended descriptions (had Ellmann suddenly found the "Thesaurus" feature on her word processor?), by the provocatively shocking language, by the casual introduction of outrageous medical incompetence as a light-hearted topic. Most of the time, I fail, and reading is a chore.

Ellmann's heroine is Jen, an obese and often obscene nurse, who becomes the practice nurse in a single-GP surgery in a small town. Roger, the doctor, (nudge, wink, leer - why pass up an opportunity for smutty innuendo?) is a match for Jen's abysmal standard of medical care, and has a profitable sideline as an expert witness with breathtaking ability to draw wrong conclusions. Lust blossoms between the two - which is the norm for Jen, who can and frequently does have casual sex with any male she can get her hands on.

As some other reviewers have noted, there is a plot, but it appears not to be the point of the book. Ellmann is more concerned with setting out a range of appalling behaviours. The style teeters between deeply serious satire, black comedy, and adult fairy-tale farce. The reader is constantly offered the opportunity to wonder whether a character is based on some real-life public figure such as Shipman, Allitt or Meadows, but, whether through concern about libel or reluctance to wage a crusade, Ellmann always backs off or subverts these allusions by taking the similarity beyond caricature into ludicrous implausibility. Perhaps she feels that medical malpractice is too serious a subject for ridicule - in which case I don't understand why she gave it so much space. Perhaps she feels that NHS problems and shortcomings are too prevalent to be tackled other than by lampooning a collection of fictional incompetents. Either way, I could not work out whether I was supposed to go along with conventional willing suspension of disbelief, or to engage a form of willing belief.

There are other aspects of the book which leave the reader wondering. For example, every so often, Jane Eyre is mentioned, either directly or by overt use of plot elements. I could not decide how I was supposed to respond: knowing recognition, annoyance at clumsy subversion of a classic, appalled dislike of clumsy pastiche? My perplexity seems to be shared by reviewers in the broadsheets, so it does not reflect simply on my lack of literary sensitivites.

Just as I was starting to wonder whether I could survive to the end of this monstrous story of a monstrous woman, the naked rambler made his appearance. For me, this completely transformed the book - and it certainly transforms Jen. She immediately jumps on the bandwagon of body-freedom, and does her best to promote clothes-free enjoyment.

Perhaps I had finally become inured to Ellmann's stylistic foibles, and finally became able to engage fully with the work. More likely, Ellmann at last had something positive to say (oh, the temptation to capitalise "positive"!) Certainly, Jen's change is pronounced, as you can read in the extracts. She has a mission in life other than getting laid, eating, or acquiring handbags. A mission which is for the benefit of others, not for herself. Ellmann takes care to limit Jen's good qualities to this single point, which might lead some naturists to feel that the book gives naturism a bad press. Despite further bizarre and outrageous narrative events, I approve of the book overall rather than recommending against it.

As to the naked rambler himself, in his brief cameo appearance Ellmann doesn't name him, and doesn't even give him the capitals of being the Naked Rambler. While some of the activist's campaign strategy is clearly based on Steve Gough's long-distance walks, his statements and slogans owe a lot more to Vincent Bethell. What either of those two gentlemen think of this I have no idea.

To summarise, this is a book which doesn't fit easily (or even uneasily) into a standard category, which is likely to offend or put off at least some readers, which (in my view) would be vastly improved (and shortened) by elimination of irritating stylistic quirks and over-the-top caricature, but which in the end has positive things to say about naturism and social nudity. If that final attribute is possible from this unclassifiable near-mess of a novel, then it should be all the more possible from less idiosyncratic authors. Sadly, most present-day writers seem to find a use for naturism only when writing whodunits. Even Ellmann is not immune from this tendency - and if you want to understand that remark, you'll have to read this book for yourself.

Ratings:

Nudity	Naturist nudity	A good read?

Last updated 2006 June 14.
 
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