From the Publisher
"Wise and somber. . .Sontag's closing words acknowledge that there are realities which no picture can convey." —Los Angeles Times Book Review
"The history of sensibility in a culture shaped by the mechanical reproduction of imagery....has always been one of the guiding preoccupations of her best work, from Against Interpretation to The Volcano Lover....Regarding the Pain of Others invites, and rewards, more than one reading." —Newsday
"For 30 years, Susan Sontag has been challenging an entire generation to think about the things that frighten us most: war, disease, death. Her books illuminate without simplifying, complicate without obfuscating, and insist above all that to ignore what threatens us is both irresponsible and dangerous." —O, The Oprah Magazine
"A timely meditation on politics and ethics. . .extraordinary . . .Sontag's insight and erudition are profound." —The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
"Regarding the Pain of Others bristles with a sense of commitment—to seeing the world as it is, to worrying about the ways it is represented, even to making some gesture in the direction of changing it. . .the performance is thrilling to witness." —The New York Times Magazine
"A fiercely challenging book. . .immensely thought-provoking." —The Christian Science Monitor
The Washington Post
Sontag's book does not anticipate the current role of photographers in Iraq. (Part of the book's argument was delivered as an Amnesty Lecture at Oxford University in February 2001 and took much of its inspiration from Sontag's reconsideration of Holocaust photography.) But the Iraq war transforms Regarding the Pain of Others into more than a smart-set sideshow about an intellectual's reversal. As the images come out of Iraq, Sontag's plainspoken, self-questioning book furnishes meditation of a high order. At times, she seems almost afraid to reach conclusions. But her oscillating and humbled mindfulness restores photography to its place in the humanist tradition. — Lorraine Adams
Los Angeles Times
Sontag is in top form: firing devastating questions and providing no answers for shelter. She hands us no morality meter, designed to scan a picture and flash up "necessary experience" in green or "atrocity-porn" in red. Instead, she quotes Plato -- the tale of Leontius reluctantly feasting his eyes on executed criminals -- to show that "the attraction of mutilated bodies" has always been recognized, not least in the obsession of Christian art with naked bodies in pain. Only in the 17th century are depictions of atrocity hitched to the notion that war is cruel and should be prevented. But "most depictions of tormented, mutilated bodies do arouse a prurient interest.... All images that display the violation of an attractive body are, to a certain degree, pornographic." (Sontag exonerates Goya, whose brutalized victims are, like their torturers and violators, "heavy, and thickly clothed"). — Neal Ascherson
The New York Times
As usual, she provokes. It probably isn't true that ''not even pacifists'' any longer believe war can be abolished, that photos have a ''deeper bite'' in the memory bank than movies or television, that ''the appetite for pictures showing bodies in pain is as keen, almost, as the desire for ones that show bodies naked,'' and that ''most depictions of tormented, mutilated bodies do arouse a prurient interest.'' I don't know, and neither does she. On the other hand, when she revises her own conclusions from On Photography to say she's no longer so sure that shock has ''term limits,'' or that ''repeated exposure'' in ''our culture of spectatorship neutralizes the moral force of photographs of atrocities,'' I agree with her for no other reason than I want to. Her job is not to win a verdict from a jury, but to make us think. — John Leonard
Susan Tekulve
This gripping debut novel examines how easily shrewd lies can be mistaken for acts of love. Spanning twenty-five years, it recounts the stories of three women who marry the same elusive man in succession. Alternately wise, charming and cold blooded, Ken Kimble is as charismatic as Mephistopheles, a sweet liar who promises each woman what she wants most of all in exchange for her complete devotion. To his first wife, Birdie Bell, he offers a way out of her small Southern town. To his second wife, Joan Cohen, a lonely heiress and breast cancer survivor, he offers hope for a final chance at love. His third wife, Dinah Whitacre, is a woman half his age who is disfigured by a birthmark on her face. Before marrying her, Kimble provides an operation that restores her beauty. With each successive marriage, Kimble gains wealth and worldly experience while his wives compromise themselves and fall apart. Haigh renders Kimble's sociopathic behavior in quiet, understated prose, carefully examining the mitigating circumstances that draw each woman to him. Though Kimble's rise to power drives the plot, the sophisticated portraits of his three wives provide the substance and intrigue in this book.
Publishers Weekly
Twenty-six years after the publication of her influential collection of essays On Photography (1977), Sontag (In America) reconsiders ideas that are "now fast approaching the status of platitudes," especially the view that our capacity to respond to images of war and atrocity is being dulled by "the relentless diffusion of vulgar and appalling images" in our rapaciously media-driven culture. Sontag opens by describing Virginia Woolf's essay on the roots of war, "Three Guineas," in which Woolf described a set of gruesome photographs of mutilated bodies and buildings destroyed during the Spanish Civil War. Woolf wondered if there truly can be a "we" between man and woman in matters of war. Sontag sets out to reopen and enlarge the question. "No `we' should be taken for granted when the subject is looking at other people's pain," she writes. The "we" that Sontag has come to be much more aware of in the decades since On Photography is the world of the rich. She has come to doubt her youthful contention that repeated exposure to images of suffering necessarily shrivels sympathy, and she doubts even more the radical yet influential spin that others put on this critique-that reality itself has become a spectacle. "To speak of reality becoming a spectacle... universalizes the viewing habits of a small, educated population living in the rich part of the world...." Sontag reminds us that sincerity can turn a mere spectator into a witness, and that it is the heart rather than fancy rhetoric that can lead the mind to understanding. (Mar.) FYI: In a letter published in the January 13, 2003, issue of the New Yorker, Woolf scholar Jane Marcus asserts that Woolf never published the horrible war photos that she described-they appeared only in later editions of her antiwar essay. Instead, Woolf substituted images of a general, an archbishop, a judge-wordlessly insisting that her readers constantly consider the men of power who make wars. Marcus assumes that Sontag was drawing her conclusions from a later edition without realizing that she was crying Woolf. Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
Images of violence and suffering, whether photographic representations or artistic interpretations, are the subject of Sontag's (On Photography) latest dissection of modern culture. In meticulously documented and compulsively readable prose, this National Book Award-winning author explores a formidable array of associated topics. The complex relationships of image maker, object, image, and image viewer; the history of war photography; the image as propaganda; censorship, the staged photograph, and authenticity vs. aestheticism; the question of overexposure to images of atrocities; and the events of September 11, 2001, are only a brief sample of subjects she analyzes in these provocative and articulate essays. In one telling essay, she elaborates on the concept of the "memory museum" as a repository for photographic archives of suffering and atrocity and wonders why, given the success of the Holocaust Museum, there is as yet no museum devoted to the history of slavery in America. Perhaps, she speculates, some memories are simply too dangerous to social stability to be commemorated. Academic libraries supporting programs in journalism (especially photojournalism), communications, psychology, sociology, military history, and art history will find this work invaluable, and it could also be useful in high schools to spark discussion in current events and history classes. All libraries, regardless of type, size, or demographics, should own this book. [Previewed in Prepub Alert, LJ 11/15/02.]-M.C. Duhig, Lib. Ctr. of Point Park Coll. & Carnegie Lib. of Pittsburgh Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
With a glance back at the essays in On Photography (1977), the eminent intellectual, critic, and writer cobbles together a defense of war photography--with a result that’s as much maunder as miracle. The slightly superior, ever-unflappable tone will be familiar here to Sontag readers, as will be the wonderful aperçus that come along in a kind of pearls-on-a-string parade--"All memory is individual, unreproducible--it dies with each person," for example, or "To remember is, more and more, not to recall a story but to be able to call up a picture," or "Narratives can make us understand. Photographs do something else: they haunt us." Familiar, too, is the Sontagian pleasure of watching a mind roam through fields of history and reading--as the thinker touches down one moment in Plato, at another in Leonardo or Edmund Burke, all the while keeping up knowledgeably detailed references to politics and conflict from the Crimean war up to Somalia and Bosnia. And yet, for all its author’s capabilities, the essay remains only imperfectly satisfying. From Matthew Brady to now, photos of death and war have raised the question of whether prurience or sympathy is raised in the viewer of such images, degradation and moral numbing on the one hand or any kind of useful understanding on the other. Sontag reviews and explores this old question, and her answer, though without doubt the right one--"Let the atrocious images haunt us"--leads her to unexpected banalities ("There is simply too much injustice in the world") and an unfocused ending that all but randomly touches on great matters--whether the mass media create passivity, for example--and just as inexplicably glances away from them ("But it’s probablynot true that people are responding less"), leaving the greatest question--whether there is any "way to guarantee contemplative . . . space for anything now"--nudged at only lightly, and left to slumber on. Moments of brilliance and wonder amid the generally disappointing.
