How a Mysterious European Showman Saved Thousands of American Babies
April 30, 2018
Raffel (In the Year of Long Division) sheds a welcome light on a medical outlier whose landmark treatment of premature babies was largely dismissed because of the carnival setting in which he showcased their care. Pulling together documents, photos, and interviews, including some with now-elderly preemies who were among Couney’s incubator babies, Raffel traces the extraordinary life of Michael Cohn, born in 1869 in Krotoszyn, Poland, as he reinvents himself in America as Dr. Martin Couney, proud showman of tiny incubator babies—some as small as two pounds—in specialized facilities he constructed at world’s fairs and summer amusement parks across the country. What the medical world ignored—save Chicago pediatrician and father of neonatology Julius Hess, who deeply admired Couney and was profoundly influenced by his work—was the meticulous attention those fragile babies were given: frequent feedings by round-the-clock wet-nurses or with a “spoon-to-the-nose” maneuver, and even oxygen. The exhibits, Raffel finds, were “the forerunners of the modern premature nursery” eventually popularized by Hess and other pediatricians. It’s estimated Couney saved between 6,500 and 7,000 preemies brought to him by their parents, an extraordinary accomplishment at a time when few doctors were even attempting it. With colorful descriptions of the carnival world and the medical marvels of early neonatalogy, Raffel makes a fascinating case for this unusual pioneer’s rightful place in medical history. Agent: Melanie Jackson, Melanie Jackson Agency.
June 1, 2018
A shocking and bizarre history of premature infant care in America.Editor and journalist Raffel (The Secret Life of Objects, 2012, etc.) tells her story mostly as a biography of an implausible character, Martin Couney (1870-1950), whose claim to being a physician could not be verified. Premature infants are unable to maintain a normal temperature and may become too weak to eat. This was no secret, and by the end of the 19th century, inventive physicians, especially in France, had produced primitive containers designed to keep them warm. At the time, hospitals mostly served the poor, and doctors worked alone. Neither wanted these expensive new devices, so inventors promoted them in international exhibitions or as commercial entertainment. "At the Infant Incubator Charity at No. 26, Boulevard Poissonière," writes the author, "Parisians paid fifteen centimes to see babies described by a reporter as 'just big enough to put in your pocket.' That same reporter stated that 'like the bearded lady in the circus, ' the show was worth the price." Raffel introduces her subject as a young promoter who secured London rights for Queen Victoria's 1897 Diamond Jubilee. After a profitable run, he sailed to the United States, where he operated preemie exhibits in fairgrounds and international exhibitions, with a permanent facility in Coney Island. In 1943, Couney's final year of operation, Cornell Hospital opened New York's first neonatal unit. Many readers will share Raffel's admiration of Couney, who never charged patients and paid obsessive attention to diet and hygiene (unfortunately, rivals were not so attentive). Survivors loved him, and while some physicians denounced the commercialization of his project, others approved, and he is considered a founder of American neonatology.The book's title is no hype; this is a startling account of an improbable huckster who made his living promoting a lifesaving device.
COPYRIGHT(2018) Kirkus Reviews, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
July 1, 2018
At the turn of the 20th century, there was no better place to see the astonishing changes around the globe than at grand expositions and fairs. In the United States, Coney Island provided a venue for showmen to present peeks into the future by revealing new gadgets, offering thrilling rides, and hawking sideshow oddity exhibits. Among these men was Dr. Martin Couney. Couney wasn't actually a doctor, but his idea of putting premature babies on display, snug in newly invented incubators, and charging viewers (but not the infants' parents) a small entry fee, saved lives-and made him rich. His success rate? Greater than 80 percent at a time when hospitals were sending similar three-pound newborns home to die. His genius was in recognizing the benefits of the incubator, perfecting how it worked, and, with his staff, creating methods for keeping the babies warm, fed, and loved. Never accepted by the medical establishment, Couney nevertheless continued to refine his process and save thousands of children. Presented in clustered tidbits, the narrative moves back and forth through time. While this meticulously researched work assumes knowledge of 20th-century history and personalities, such as the Dionne quintuplets, attentive readers will find a fascinating story set within the extraordinary richness of a burgeoning progressive era. VERDICT A solid addition for sophisticated teens.-Connie Williams, Petaluma Public Library, CA
Copyright 2018 School Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.
July 1, 2018
The positively bizarre history of the neonatal incubator in the U.S. is delightfully investigated in Raffel's portrait of the enigmatic Dr. Couney, an immigrant who introduced the lifesaving apparatus to the masses by running sideshows starring his tiny infant patients at Chicago's 1933-34 World's Fair, Coney Island, and Atlantic City. Readers will likely be surprised that incubators were not present in hospitals and shocked that some doctors advocated for allowing severely disabled babies to die without intervention. Raffel's research is impressive and her use of primary sources throws a great deal of light on how eugenics and a survival-of-the-fittest attitude justified the lax care of premature babies. Couney's work to spread the miracle of incubators is inspiring, and his unorthodox methods make for a spirited narrative. Raffel's account bounces around chronologically, which can be a bit confusing. But her interviews with Couney's former patients are inspiring and the numerous historic photographs are amazing and complement the story quite effectively. The topic is compelling on many levels, and Raffel's arresting and illuminating work of hidden history should not be missed.(Reprinted with permission of Booklist, copyright 2018, American Library Association.)
June 15, 2018
The story of European �migr� and purported "doctor" Martin A. Couney (1870-1950), who showcased incubators in carnivals and world fairs throughout the early 20th century, which helped to save the lives of hundreds of premature infants, is a wild and intriguing tale. Raffel (The Secret life of Objects; In the Year of Long Division) writes brief and focused chapters that bring together the many aspects of Couney's life, revealing the medical establishment's disdain of a carnival man and how some saw beyond that. Readers feel Couney's stresses and joys of working as a showman despite not being fully immersed in that world. VERDICT Written for general readers but heavily notated, this engaging title will appeal more to those interested in cultural history, particularly world fairs, than the history of medicine. [See Prepub Alert, 1/29/18.]--Eric D. Albright, Tufts Univ. Lib., Boston
Copyright 2018 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.
June 15, 2018
A respected writer of fiction and nonfiction who helped launch O, the Oprah Magazine, Raffel tells the question-raising story of Martin Couney, a doctor (reputedly) who fought to save ill-fated babies by placing them in incubators even as he made money showing them at various carnivals and side shows.
Copyright 2018 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.
June 1, 2018
A shocking and bizarre history of premature infant care in America.Editor and journalist Raffel (The Secret Life of Objects, 2012, etc.) tells her story mostly as a biography of an implausible character, Martin Couney (1870-1950), whose claim to being a physician could not be verified. Premature infants are unable to maintain a normal temperature and may become too weak to eat. This was no secret, and by the end of the 19th century, inventive physicians, especially in France, had produced primitive containers designed to keep them warm. At the time, hospitals mostly served the poor, and doctors worked alone. Neither wanted these expensive new devices, so inventors promoted them in international exhibitions or as commercial entertainment. "At the Infant Incubator Charity at No. 26, Boulevard Poissoni�re," writes the author, "Parisians paid fifteen centimes to see babies described by a reporter as 'just big enough to put in your pocket.' That same reporter stated that 'like the bearded lady in the circus, ' the show was worth the price." Raffel introduces her subject as a young promoter who secured London rights for Queen Victoria's 1897 Diamond Jubilee. After a profitable run, he sailed to the United States, where he operated preemie exhibits in fairgrounds and international exhibitions, with a permanent facility in Coney Island. In 1943, Couney's final year of operation, Cornell Hospital opened New York's first neonatal unit. Many readers will share Raffel's admiration of Couney, who never charged patients and paid obsessive attention to diet and hygiene (unfortunately, rivals were not so attentive). Survivors loved him, and while some physicians denounced the commercialization of his project, others approved, and he is considered a founder of American neonatology.The book's title is no hype; this is a startling account of an improbable huckster who made his living promoting a lifesaving device.
COPYRIGHT(2018) Kirkus Reviews, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.