by Maggie Tarnawa
Martha Mason’s “Breath: A Lifetime in the Rhythm of an Iron Lung” is relatively short as memoirs go, but it’s not a quick read. Therein lies its strength and weakness. The author’s voice and style command praise, but the reader is ultimately left searching for something more substantial.
Mason, born in 1937 in Lattimore, North Carolina, contracted polio as an 11-year-old girl. She spent the next 61 years of her life in the 800-pound, bright yellow, steel cylinder that made it possible for her to breathe, only emerging for short intervals to be bathed and turned.
Soon after learning that she will live in an iron lung until she dies (which her doctor then said might be only a few years), Mason resolves never to be a “Barbara” (a girl in her second-grade class who needed help with everything after she broke her arm). She also credits her enormous will to live and excel to her competitive spirit and her tireless mother, Euphra Mason. She went on to graduate from high school, Gardner-Webb College and Wake Forest University, first in her class at each school. Clearly, Martha possesses no ordinary zest for life.
The memoir begins in Mason’s twilight years, as she’s caring for her Alzheimer’s-stricken mother, the same mother who acted as nurse, scribe and moral buttress to her since contracting polio.
Mason describes how, all from her iron lung, she runs her household: hires and manages caretakers for herself and her mother, plans meals, pays bills and entertains friends with all the savvy and élan of any person not in an iron lung.
Right from the opening sentence, Mason’s voice conveys a tireless and unflappable love of life. Despite her mind-boggling physical limitations, her desire to learn and to contribute to her world never ceases to inspire.
Especially interesting (and funny) are the passages about Mason’s helper Ginger, a heavyset rhubarb-haired mountain woman who goes from clueless and clumsy to Mason’s most invaluable caretaker. Mason teaches Ginger to read, and Ginger, in turn, provides the nearly 24-hour care that Mason requires. In the scope of the larger narrative, Ginger supplies much-needed comic relief.
Part Two of the book chronicles Mason’s childhood, adolescence and college years. It’s in the latter part of this section, namely Mason’s experiences at Wake Forest University, where things get really interesting. Martha and her parents move from Lattimore to Winston-Salem, North Carolina, with Martha and her iron lung travelling in a borrowed Bost Bread truck. She attends classes with the help of her mother and a two-way intercom system that allows her to listen to and participate in the discussion, all from her off-campus apartment. She dictates papers and articles to her mother. The greatest challenges Martha faces at Wake Forest are intellectual and emotional, not physical. Having always been an “A” student, our memoirist finds her abilities dwarfed by the illustrious minds in higher education. Nonetheless, she graduates summa cum laude on June 6, 1960.
What Mason’s self-described “useless” quadriplegic body takes from her life, her very active mind replaces. Despite having grown up white and Baptist in a small southern town, Mason’s viewpoints and philosophies are staunchly world-centric. Her struggle with religion begins early in her life. As a child she mentions being frightened of the fire-and-brimstone speeches given at her local church. She expresses disbelief in a God who “excludes everyone not fortunate enough to be Southern Baptist or even Christian.”
There’s no doubt that Mason is a ceaseless thinker and formidable writer. Still, the question remains: Would her memoir be so exceptional if it weren’t for her remarkable circumstances? Of course, there’s no way of knowing where Miss Mason would have gone had polio not confined her to the iron lung.
Some phrases evoke shivers of emotion — “I live with a stable of nightmares, but hope keeps them in harness” — while others are overly detailed and historical. Mason seems intent on paying respect to every caretaker she’s ever had. While certainly a noble and gracious gesture, this doesn’t make for the best memoir material.
From a writer as evocative and deft as Mason, I would have loved to hear more sizzle and grit.
Originally published by Real Change, Seattle, Wash. © www.streetnewsservice.org
