Book Review: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

8 DECEMBER 1995. PARIS, FRANCE: Jean-Dominique Bauby, the editor of Elle magazine, kissed his girlfriend goodbye. He greeted the driver of the car he was testing and climbed in. He told the driver about his weekend’s plan and arranged to be collected after work, to go and pick up his son. By the end of the day he was an hour late, and as they drove out of Paris, they battled the Friday afternoon traffic.



That day was the last of Bauby’s “normal” life.





Just minutes after meeting his son and starting their return to Paris, a vascular accident happened in Bauby’s head; a problem with his brain’s circulation blurred his vision and distorted his awareness. Rushed to hospital, he lay comatose for weeks. To say his life changed on that December afternoon does not begin to describe the upheaval. At just 43 years old, Bauby suffered a stroke that left him paralysed.



Doctors diagnosed Bauby with locked-in syndrome; he lost the use of his body but his mind was untouched. He learned to communicate using his left eyelid and went on to write Le Scaphandre et le Papillon (The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, translated by Jeremy Leggatt, Vintage International). Without speech, conveying his story was painstaking, he spelled out every word.



Another Frenchman wrote the only other well-known book to feature locked-in syndrome. Grandpapa Noirtier in Alexander Dumas’s Le Comte de Monte-Cristo (The Count of Monte Christo) also communicated by the blinking of an eye. Bauby discusses Dumas’s works and asks readers to consider which character they might want to be. He concludes: “No one would dream of choosing Noirtier…”



The book takes us through what became Bauby’s last year. We encounter his victories and despairs, and we adventure beyond the confines of the hospital into the wide-open spaces of the world stored within his head. We share the juxtaposition of achievements from his past with the fantastical dreams of his present. Isolated and with the time to observe, his characterisations of the people he encountered are incisive and concise. He summarises hospital staff with nicknames – Blue Eyes and Big Bird, Rambo and Terminator – bespoke titles for individuals. His words paint pictures that share his vision and let us see through his eyes.



Bauby’s prose is stark. Perhaps a result of his difficulties with communication, there is no verbiage. Although the outcome is inevitable, hope fills every page. He wrote his story in plain language and Leggatt’s translation holds true. There is poignancy about his writing that lets it soar. Ultimately, in death, it is a celebration of the simple beauty in life.