Book Review: Everything is Tuberculosis by John Green

In the postscript of Everything Is Tuberculosis, John Green reflected how Shreya Tripathi was reading The Fault in Our Stars on her deathbed before he "knew that TB was still a thing" (186). And this is where I'd like to begin my review. That very book was my introduction to John Green, and I'm sorry, John, but I hated it. I was in high school, and the idea of love, romance, and relationships felt confusing and gross. At the same time, I was reading Erich Fromm's The Art of Loving, trying to understand why my high school friends were suddenly so interested in dating.

I now come to understand love as something deeper and more expansive than just romantic attraction. While I no longer find romance confusing or off-putting, it's still not a genre I'm drawn to as a reader. That said, after finishing Everything Is Tuberculosis, I can tell just how much love, compassion, and thoughtful care Green put into writing this book, and I genuinely enjoyed it. In fact, I plan to include it in a lecture I'm giving on medical anthropology. Thank you, John, for this book, and for the activism you do to draw attention to a disease that is both curable and still widely neglected. Green reminded me that love doesn't always take the form of romance. Sometimes, it looks like fighting for access to medicine and care. Sometimes, it looks like telling a story so that the world starts listening.

It's worth noting that tuberculosis is the oldest known contagious disease. Mummies from ancient Egypt, dating back five thousand years, show signs of TB infection, and researchers estimate that TB bacteria may have existed for as long as 3 million years. Despite major advances in medical science and technology, smallpox remains the only human disease we've successfully eradicated. Tuberculosis is curable, but curing it on a global scale requires political will, sustained investment, and equitable access to treatment, not just for those who can afford overpriced medications, but for everyone. As Adam Grant, one of my favorite thinkers, puts it, this book serves as "a timeless reminder to pay attention to your attention." And if we truly paid more attention to TB, not just as a distant, forgotten disease but as an urgent global health issue, maybe we could finally eliminate it.
As John Green writes in one of the book’s most striking passages (181):

I once asked a tuberculosis doctor, KJ Seung: Of the 1,300,000 people who will die of TB this year, how many would survive if they had access to the kind of healthcare I have? After all, while TB is often curable now, it remains a very difficult disease to treat, especially in cases of extensive drug resistance. And people in wealthy countries do continue to die of TB, albeit rarely — in the U.S., around five hundred people will die of TB this year. In Japan, over a thousand.
“How many would die if everyone could access good healthcare?” he asked me, as if he seemed confused by my question.
“Yes,” I said.
“None. Zero. Zero people should die of TB.”

It can difficult to imagine eliminating a disease that has been with us for millennia — but if we longer want to see people dying from TB, then we have a responsibility to make that future possible.

Green dedicated the book to "Shreya Tripathi, Henry Redier, and TB fighters everywhere." As readers will come to learn, Shreya Tripathi was an Indian TB activist who "sued the Indian government to get access to bedaquiline" (133). Tragically, Shreya passed away in 2018. By the time she finally gained access to the drug she needed, it was too late. But her activism, along with the efforts of many others, helped make it possible for people like Henry Redier to receive life-saving treatment for multi-drug-resistant TB. Henry, as readers will also come to know, was a young patient at Lakka Government Hospital in Sierra Leone, whom John Green met in 2019. It was Henry who first drew John into researching and understanding tuberculosis. Henry also has a Youtube channel that he's excited for readers to check out, please consider showing him some support.

Throughout the book, John Green draws powerful parallels between how we imagine tuberculosis (its discovery, the search for a cure, the development of vaccines, its stigmatization and romanticization, and the complex care regimens) and the broader histories of colonialism, racism, and poverty. He puts these narratives in conversation, showing how this ongoing, entangled history continues to shape the lives of people like Henry. Green urges readers to consider not just the medical facts of TB, but the social, political, and historical forces that determine who suffers from it and who gets to survive. His discussion touches on critical themes in medical anthropology: the social determinants of health, the double burden of illness, structural and racial violence, and the ethics of care.

I urge you to read this book yourself to fully grasp the deep entanglement between TB and humanity. You'll learn surprising connections, like how TB played a role in the recognition of New Mexico as a state, how it "sorta kinda but not really caused World War I," (14) or how it helped give us the cowboy hat and Adirondack chairs. And more than anything, I hope this book inspires you to join the effort to end TB because a different future is possible, if we choose to make it so.

Book Review: Slow Noodles by Chantha Nguon

(Disclaimer: I am speaking on my experience and cannot speak for all Cambodians or the country.)

This book is a memoir about Chantha Nguon who takes her reader through her childhood, her experience during the Khmer Rouge genocide, her time as a refugee in Thailand, and her calling for a purpose in life—all while recounting recipes associated with those experiences and emotions. Chantha and her husband, Dara Chan Kim created the Stung Treng Women’s Development Center to educate and help women lift themselves out of poverty. If you feel compelled, please check out their website and consider supporting their work.

For those unfamiliar, the Khmer Rouge regime ruled Cambodia between 1975 and 1979 during a period of political unrest. This took place during the Vietnam War (or the American War, depending on who you ask), a time of intense geopolitical tension in the region. The Khmer Rouge envisioned an agrarian utopia where the country would rebuild itself from "year zero." Money and culture were abolished, and everyone was to become a farmer and live as equals. In pursuit of this goal, the Khmer Rouge killed an estimated 1.2 to 2.8 million people—between 13 and 30 percent of the population.

The regime systematically killed people based on their identity and worked others to death under brutal conditions. Ethnic minorities (particularly the Chinese, Vietnamese, and Cham) were targeted alongside educated individuals. Others were accused of being enemies of the regime, often labeled as CIA agents, were sent to prison camps for “re-education” —some of which were converted from high school buildings. Few made it out of the prison camps alive. Death found people in many form: starvation, disease, exhaustion from forced labor, execution, or during desperate attempts to escape. This is an oversimplified history. If you would like to learn more and prefer watching a video/documentary I would suggest the following:

1. "First They Killed My Father" movie directed by Angelina Jolie. It is based on a memoir, portraying the experience of the tragedy from a five-year-old girl's perspective.
2. "Don't Think I've Forgotten" documentary directed by John Pirozzi. This explores Khmer Rouge through the lens of music. You can the documentary on Internet Archive (part one and part two).
3. "The magic of Khmer classical dance" Ted Talk by Prumsodun Ok.This talk discusses Cambodian culture and how the genocide almost swept it all away.

This book gave me the perspective of a Cambodian Vietnamese (an ethnic minority) during the atrocious period of Cambodia's history. In fear of being targeted, Chantha's family returned to their homeland in Vietnam. Chantha was a child then: How could a child call a place she never grew up in home?

Unfortunately, many people in Cambodia hold negative view of Vietnam and Vietnamese. In my experience, many Cambodians believe that Vietnam and ethnic Vietnamese are trying to claim Cambodia’s land. Those who hold this sentiment would often tell the story of Koh Tral. Koh Tral was an island of Cambodia until 1939 when the Governor General of Indochina, Jules Brévié, redraw the boundaries between Cambodia and Vietnam. Koh Tral became a part of Vietnam and has been renamed Phú Quốc. Many Cambodian nationalists still dream of reclaiming the island.

Beyond territorial grievances, anti-Vietnamese rhetoric manifest in disturbing ways. I’ve heard public service announcements claiming that Vietnam is trying to poison Cambodia through its exported products. A vendor at my local bazzar once warned me, "Don't buy Vietnamese shoes, they’re laced with poison that could kill the wearer over time."

The anti-Vietnamese sentiment runs so deep that it has also become a political device. For years, a political party has campaigned on promises to expel all the "yuon" (the term they used) from Cambodia. This party has garnered considerable support from voters and was close to winning the election several times. Note that the word "yuon" refers to people from Vietnam, and while some may argue it's not a bad term, it is often used in derogatory contexts.

I am embarrassed to admit that I also hear this sentiment from my family. A family member was nicknamed "yuon" because they did not like sharing when they were younger. Needless to say, sharing is a social skill a child learns over time, and they grew up to be kind and compassionate—the nickname stuck with them until high school.

The book brings me back to my roots, helping me connect with my elders by showing me what it was like to be in their shoes. My family doesn't speak much about the Khmer Rogue. The only person who talks about it is my grandma. And when she does, she usually talks about stealing food, painting it as an act of mischief. Or she would tell me about the songs she learned as a propaganda singer.

My grandparents and parents have lived through the Khmer Rogue. I could only imagine how scared, angry, hungry, exhausted, hurt, and hopeless they must have felt. And the bitter-sweetness of stealing and sharing food because the ration wasn't enough to stop their stomach from rumbling at night. It's easy to see why my grandpa would yell at me if I didn't finish all the food on my plate as a kid. And even though my family isn't the most affectionate, they are showing love in the best way they know how to. At times their idea of love frustrates me but I understand, to some extent, where it is coming from.

I would recommend this book to anyone with a warning: this heavy book will pull your heartstrings in all directions.

If you're Cambodian, I think this book offers a perspective of the genocide that could help you connect with and understand your family better. I would even encourage you to ask your elders about their childhood to learn more about them if you feel comfortable doing so.

Have you ever just thought that your parents and grandparents know (mostly) about your entire life, but you can't say the same about them? Not too long ago, I learned that in her teenage years, my mom was picked on for inheriting monolid eyes from her half-Chinese father. That was the day I realized she has monolids—it’s amazing I had never noticed that. These are the stories we miss when we don't ask. Go connect with your family and learn more about them.

For non-Cambodians, I think this provides a perspective of the Khmer Rogue period and knowledge of Cambodian cuisine, there are recipes in the book. This is not the most fun book, but it holds important history.