A review of Gulp, by Mary Roach
W.W. Norton & Co., 2013
352 pages

You probably never wanted to know what raw whale skin tastes like (slightly nutty). Or, for that matter, the history of enemas in convents (the nuns rather enjoyed them). The beauty of Mary Roach’s new book Gulp is that she doesn’t really care what you want to know. Her newest endeavor was to research the digestive system and she has gleefully brought us a long for the ride. Her curiosity about gross-out subjects like feces, vomit, and entrails is infectiously delightful. You’ll find yourself laughing out loud and sharing her fascinating anecdotes over dinner—though you may lose sight of what is considered polite mealtime conversation.

As in her previous books Stiff, Boink, and most recently Packing for Mars, Roach finds one unifying theme and spends each chapter bouncing from one subject to the next. Gulp is cohesive in that it’s all about the alimentary canal, but its chapters cover a wide range of subjects. She discusses fecal transplants, the chemical composition of our flatulence, competitive eating, the bizarre fad of chewing food hundreds of times, the study of saliva, as well food aversion. This is far from a comprehensive list. Her 17 chapters each have a different topic and within those chapters there are endless digressions, mini factoids, historical anecdotes and personal adventures. This book is deeply researched with dozens of interviews from scientists, doctors, and others, alongside rich historical details. Her stories, however, never seem unwieldy. Each chapter is quick and fun. Dare I say it? They are bite sized.

One of the most endearing qualities of Roach’s book is her ability to humanize a very dehumanizing subject matter. She understands why these subjects are taboo and often discusses their ick factor in the midst of her tales. But Roach will always return to the conclusion that everybody digests food. Everybody farts! Everybody burps! Everybody drools! So why aren’t we talking about it? One of the most compelling passages is the discussion of Elvis Presley’s paralyzed colon and his ultimate death by constipation. It’s an incredibly compassion rendering of the rock and roll king; one, according to his long time personal doctor Nichopoulos, no one ever cared to know.

This was the low point of Presley’s career: the bulky jumpsuit and the isosolese sideburns era. His colon had expanded so dramatically that it crowded his diaphragm and had begun to compromise his breathing and singing. Beneath the polyester and girth, it was hard to see the man who had performed on the stage of the Ed Sullivan Theater, his moves so loose and frankly sexual that the producers had ordered him filmed from the waist up. Now there was a different reason to do so. “Sometimes right in the middle of the performance he’d think, I’m passing a little gas, and it wouldn’t be gas,” Nicholpoulos says quietly. “And he’d have to get off stage and change clothes.”

Everyone is this book is treated with dignity and respect. She points out the humor of bizarre situations but never ridicules. She understands quite deeply that these medical oddities and eccentric scientists are people too. You get the sense throughout the book that Roach truly loves the people she interviews.

Gulp is not for the truly faint of heart. This is a scientific and historic romp from our mouths to our anuses and everything in between. Things get messy. If you are queasy, the details of the bulimic girl who died from an exploding stomach might make you squirm. And if you dislike frank, anatomical talk the chapter on things found up people’s bums (magazines, vegetables, a light bulb) might make you blush. Consider yourself warned but try not to be scared off. Roach does everything in her power to undo taboos and make her subjects accessible and fun. For example, her interview with a prisoner about his bodily storage hatch is as nonchalant as two people discussing the weather.

There is one problem with this accessibility. Roach is prone to lighthearted, pop-culture references and cheesy puns. They can be a little too much at times and detract from the rich research she put obviously put into this text. Her Alaska sky is “princess pink,” she makes sure to point out that primordial soup is “not a Cambell’s product”. While transitioning two sections about offal she says, “In the same vein—ew! Sorry.” For someone expecting more highbrow literature, these can be like finger nails on a chalkboard.

But, it’s all about taste. For every hokey joke there is well wrought, hilarious wit and clever jokes. Her quotes from researchers both enlighten and amuse. At one point, two researchers are arguing in the cafeteria about collecting flatulence levels for an experiment. They animatedly discuss the differences between male and female farts and how females are more likely to hold them in, thus skewing results. Roach ends the section:

“Kligerman stirred his chili. “I don’t know, Len. I don’t know what  the ultimate fate of a suppressed fart is.”

 She doesn’t just rely on her subjects for a punch line; Roach is very capable of that on her own like this gem from one of her footnotes:

Rozin was not the first academic to feed ethnic cuisine to research animals. In “The Effect of a Native Mexican Diet on Learning and Reasoning in White Rats,” subjects were served chile con carne, boiled pinto beans, and black coffee. Their scores at maze solving remained high, possibly because of an added impetus to find their way to a bathroom.

  Speaking of footnotes, Roach uses them extensively. They’ve been a trademark of sorts for Roach throughout her books. Her footnotes are not for dry references and page numbers (though she has a sizable bibliography at the end); they are used for tangential asides and personal thoughts. Though they continue to be a fun element to her books, they can sometimes seem a little heavy handed. I found myself wishing over and over again that Roach had used more restraint. Some are fascinating little stories. Others are comic gold. And some just feel forced. Many times they do nothing to enhance the story but pull the reader away from the action. C’mon Mary, you want to say, you were just getting to the good part!

Mary Roach is a character unto herself. She’s very much present throughout the book, as she is in all her books, serving as an unwitting traveler in a strange land. She is our guide because she is our friend—a curious explorer who doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty so we won’t have to. She tastes cat food. She sticks her hand inside of a cow’s stomach. She shares stories of her husband’s noxious farts and invites us to her colonoscopy. Roach expels the unpleasantness of her subject matter and asks us to just go with it. She promises it’ll be a good story and she delivers. The book reads like an extended conversation at a party. The footnotes, digressions, and short chapters only enhance her casual, conversational feel. Each chapter could be proceeded with, “Just listen to this crazy thing I did last week!” Or, “Want to hear about something really weird and totally cool?”

Gulp is a rollicking adventure and a whirlwind of information. It’s not the next Silent Spring or A Brief History of Time but it is unabashedly fun. It’s quick wit and fast change of subject makes this the perfect book to stick in your bag during a long commute or for a waiting room. Honestly, this would actually be the perfect book to leave next to the can. That’s not a dig at Roach, I think she’d find it the highest compliment. After all, she would be the first to tell you, everybody poops.