I occasionally preface a book review, as such, on the basis of commuter tips (“this was a lovely diversion from an adjacent, ill-bathed bus neighbor” - that type of thing that, incidentally, often leads to a “but”). Here, might I offer some travel advice? If you find yourself in a Mexican resort, anticipating a poolside lunch “con guacamole” while perhaps a bit queasy from trying to beat the all-inclusive system via beverages the previous evening, you might not want read this book until safely through customs days later. The part covering severed heads utilized for, gasp, plastic surgery practice finally did me in just before fajitas.

All in all this is an enjoyable book - something like 49 ways to use a cadaver. With the often macabre, occasionally bizarre content, Roach levels a necessary sense of humor and sensitivity at the subject matter. She’s, I guess, cordial to corpses and decent to “decendents” (the proper trade term for the deceased as in “decadents leaving property to decendents.” You don’t want to know what “frothy purge” means). From the early days of a dearth of dead people for research - and the accompanying trade in grave robbing - and those heady years of the guillotine, to the blood transfusions (Kervorkian’s first, and perhaps last, North American use of cadaver blood in the early sixties), forensic science (sensing a future tourist destination in Knoxville), limbless crash test cadavers, gardening compost, and other productive uses of donor bodies these days, this book is “Muy interesante,” as one might say in Mexico. One might also exclaim that after being vomited on at midnight from a fifth floor balcony… but that’s for another review…

Perhaps my favorite anecdotes revolved around how blood, gallstones, a “tincture” of human navel, and so forth have been used to purportedly combat various ailments from ancient China to more recent eras and closer proximity (respectively epilepsy, hiccups, and sore throat in case you were wondering). Additional highlights include recommendations to gorge on parts of mummified folk to contend with palsy or vertigo OR EVEN bruises as recently as about a century ago! Must have been some bruise. I appreciate the quote from the editor of the Merck Manual stating it wasn’t until after 1920 or so that “the average patient with the average illness seeing the average physician came off better for the encounter.” The various panaceas credited to excrement throughout the centuries read like a Who’s’ Who of known medical conditions. On a related subject, I don’t know if I’ll look at marshmallows, caramels, gummi bears, sports drinks, or ice cream the same way again (be sure to read the footnotes).

At any rate - assuming the two of you who may read this evaluation are interested in this subject or this author - I can’t imagine a better take on this stuff that would be geared towards the non-morticians among us. Beyond merely a sideshow-like catalogue of post-life opportunities, Roach’s master narrative is about the detachment of one’s “spirit” from one’s remains after brain function has ceased. Thus certain hang-ups about institutionally prescribed practices of proper interment - most obviously notions that the body should be deposited intact - are falsely idyllic and tend to preclude what just might be the best destination for one’s corpse. In the author’s own mellifluous words,

When you get right down to it, there is no dignified way to go, be it decomposition, incineration, dissection, tissue digestion, or composting. They’re all, bottom line, a little disagreeable.

Roach also admits that there’s a possible unsavoriness in one’s remains being flung into a wall at 60 mph as a crash-test cadaver (or, more often, “a controlled impacting device… directed at it.” The use of “it” representing the aforementioned detachment of “person” from “corpse”). A donated cadaver might be laid out in a grassy lawn in Tennessee (lovely) to be inspected at various intervals for levels of decay, larvae infestation, etc. (not so lovely) for forensic purposes. Most of us think that donating one’s remains to “science” means a simple reuse or study of one’s organs or, in the author’s case, one’s skeleton possibly being displayed in a high school classroom somewhere. Those are all plastic nowadays and the diversity of body reuse purposes is apparently quite high. The point being that, despite these more disagreeable uses, all hopefully serves a purpose for some greater good. Perhaps I could imagine physical reutilization as fertilizer so long as it doesn’t result in more hydrogenated corn syrup. Perhaps I’ll leave that to my survivors as the author advises.

Great book but, again, consider the dining options in your immediate future before diving in to this one.