Mike Sansbury, assistant manager of The Grove Bookshop reads Do No Harm; Stories of Life, Death and Brain Surgery by Henry Marsh published in paperback at £8.99 by Phoenix Press I HAVE reviewed novels, memoirs and history books, but this book is like no other in my experience. Henry Marsh is an eminent neurosurgeon who, as retirement approaches, has written an impressively honest, heartfelt account of various episodes from his career. Everyone has successes and failures but few people’s mistakes can have such potentially catastrophic consequences. Moving a knife through a millimetre can result in a patient becoming paralysed, losing the power of speech; it can cause death or worse.

“I often have to cut into the brain and it is something I hate doing.” As opening lines go this is pretty impressive, and as an admission it is a little startling, although clearly major brain surgery is meant to be a last resort. Even after several decades as a surgeon, Marsh has not lost his sense of wonder at the beauty and complexity of the brain, or at the fact that, while operating, he is “moving through thought itself, through emotion and reason…, memories, dreams and reflections” which, in their physical manifestation, resemble nothing more than jelly.

In this movingly honest book, Marsh reflects on particular operations, recalling patients’ names and personalities; his humanity shines through despite the need to be impersonal when working on the brains themselves. He genuinely cares about patients and colleagues, about waiting lists and the problems caused by petty bureaucracy within the health service. Despite a privileged upbringing the young Henry rebelled (though still securing a degree from Oxford) and only came to medicine after working as a hospital porter during a gap in his studies. His memories of the long years of training are fond ones, showing faith in the system of housemen and registrars, consultants and fully fledged surgeons, but he abhors the lazy use of jargon. Gallows humour is much in evidence, but disrespect for patients is frowned upon; he is ready to appreciate a relative’s difficulty in deciding on the best course of option for a patient, but is frustrated when his expert opinion is not accepted without question. He admits to pride, overconfidence, tiredness and despair; in short, he is human, decent and keen to do as good a job as he can.

As we read his accounts of actual cases we cannot help but hope for success, and he succeeds regularly, but it is the failures which stay in the memory, as they must with the surgeon himself. Most touching are the case of the young Ukrainian girl whose relentless tumour is beyond his powers of salvation, and the gentle schoolteacher, “wrecked” by an error, whom he discovers by chance, years later, catatonic in a nursing home where he has come to see another patient. He accuses himself of hubris, but his recognition probably qualifies him for absolution.

Everyone has experience of hospitals, most as patients or relatives, some as staff or medics, and this memoir has relevance to all. Henry Marsh has been a patient too, and has accompanied relatives requiring surgery, so he comes across almost as a well-informed Everyman figure. Most of all, however, he appears as an honest, decent human being who has used his talents to do good; he is aware of his failings and is not afraid to admit to them, which makes this all the more impressive.