SCANTY PARTICULARS

An intriguing if ultimately disappointing life of a 19th-century doctor who concealed his sexual identity while modernizing medicine in the British Empire.

Freud would have had a field day with James Barry. A fatherless dandy, he depended throughout his life on male protectors to smooth over the controversies sparked by his pugnacity. These older men helped him graduate from Edinburgh University and shielded him from enemies when he was a military doctor with postings around the globe. His detractors scored points, however, once accusing him of having a homosexual relationship with Lord Somerset, his boss in South Africa. After that scarring incident, Barry became a more colorful and abrasive character, seen always with a large black manservant and a little dog named Psyche. He also became such an egotist that one pungent anecdote here shows Barry scolding Florence Nightingale for not properly running a military hospital. Because he was so brilliant—he performed, for example, one of the first successful caesarean sections in modern history—higher-ups in the military always gave him a wide berth. Not until the very last chapters does British journalist Holmes start explaining exactly what Barry’s secret was. Then the reader suddenly connects the dots between Barry’s odd manners, his fascination with hernias, his work with sexually transmitted diseases, and his particularity in regard to living conditions. Employing a mystery writer’s device in a biography can be annoying, however, when the possible conclusion hasn’t been telegraphed earlier on. Here, the punch line comes completely out of the blue, undercutting all that came before. A pity, because Holmes weaves her tale well enough to hold the reader until then.

A fascinating depiction of the Victorian era that fails to capitalize on its most salient detail.