At times a tough read, but one of the most compelling books I've read this year. Despite having zero interest in this sort of subject usually, I couldn't put it down and polished it off in a day or two. 
 These are basically a collection of stories by renowned neurosurgeon Henry Marsh. Starting off with a description of how he ended up in this line of work in the first place, we then are introduced to a series of patients he helps both here and in his charitable work in Ukraine. 
 What struck me is what an excellent writer he is. One of the themes he covers is how in many ways, the operating, even on an organ as complex as the brain, is the easy bit, it is the "human" side of things, the dealing with people who are usually going through some of the most difficult times of their lives which is really difficult. 
 Over time, he tells us how his skills in this regard have developed, and I really thought you could see signs of this in his writing style - economic and efficient but deeply warm and moving at the same time. This is a man who is used to holding extremely difficult conversations with people, where he needs to explain matters which are totally alien to the layman, in a clear, balanced manner. 
 There are points at which he seems to be a somewhat cantankerous man, but I can't even begin to think how spending thirty years handling the sort of work stress he handles would affect me. 
 If you had asked me, before reading the first page, what I thought would be in the book, one of the obvious things would be the state of the NHS, the sprawling bureaucracy, the non-functional IT systems, the growth of a management-heavy cultured, and that is here in spades. 
 It pales into insignificance, though, when you consider some of the truly heartbreaking stories he relates. The people whose lives are turned upside down, whether it be the diagnosis of a brain tumour, or the effects of what can happen should operations not go as hoped. 
 The thing which really struck me was some of the language the authors uses. 
 It doesn't take long to notice the frequent use of the words "wrecked" and "broken" to describe what happens to patients following procedures which go wrong. 
 At first sight, this can appear high-handed or somewhat dismissive, not too dissimilar to, say, mechanics describing a car as "a knacker", or a "lemon". 
 You soon come to realise, though, that this is anything but dismissive of the things which can go wrong for patients. The words are actually crushingly accurate, he is working in a world where a simple mistake can result in wrecked lives, broken minds. Maybe thinking of them in such blunt terms sounds heartless, but it struck me as a way for the surgeons to cope with the horrible reality of either factors out of their control, or the results of a simple mistake. The stakes are huge. 
 "Good surgeons", he is told by a colleague, "tend to have bad memories". That seemed very appropriate. 
 Two things will stick in my mind for a while. One is the patient, a teacher in his 50s, who is diagnosed as having a tumour at the base of his skull. 
 A long, difficult operation is envisaged, eventually lasting 18 hours. Marsh removes almost all of the tumour, certainly enough for the man to recover, and later acknowledges he should have stopped at that point. Instead, he admits he is at that point thinking he has arrived in the big league of neurosurgery, and finds himself thinking how the big medical conference speakers show their post operative scans and there is no tumour left at all. 
 So, he decides to remove the small remaining bit of growth left. As he does so, an essential artery is torn, blood gushes everywhere, and he knows immediately that this was "a catastrophe". That patient never woke up, and remained in a persistent vegetative state. 
 The story alone at that point alone would be tough enough, but several years later, he is visiting another patient at a nursing home, where he sees a name he recognises on the door to a patient's room, so takes a look inside. He realises, with horror, that the grey, curled up, motionless figure on the bed is the man mentioned above. A life "wrecked". 
 It struck me that it must have taken immense courage to write about something like that, to admit that ruined life was in some part a terrible consequence of his hubris. It is this sort of amazing honestly that makes this book such an excellent, but difficult, read. 
 The other story which will stay with me is that of how Mr Marsh became a neurosurgeon in the first place, a circuitous route, which he said contrasts hugely with the process of admittance to medical school today - he had no science background at all, not even at O Level. 
 I found myself wondering whether in the focus on extraordinary A Level performance that gets people into med school these days, we are missing out on more people like Henry Marsh, who as well as being true experts in their field, offer so much more by having the sort of empathy and understanding which bridges the gap between medical professionals and the people on the operating table.