Doubleday pub, 2022
Bonnie Garmus’s Lessons in
Chemistry struck a chord with me on so many levels, not just as a reader,
but as someone whose life has been deeply shaped by the very subject the book
celebrates. The protagonist, Elizabeth Zott, is a brilliant chemist navigating
the strict gender norms of the 1950s and 60s. Her fierce passion for science
and her refusal to bend to societal expectations brought back memories of my journey—especially in the early years of my marriage and the progress I
made in my academic life. But beyond that, it was the presence of chemistry in
my life that resonated most deeply: I was married to a man who was immersed in organic chemistry.
Forty years ago, I entered marriage with all the usual hopes: companionship, shared dreams, and emotional connection..
But I quickly realized that my husband’s world was, in many ways, dominated by
chemistry. And this is not an exaggeration. Even before we got married, the
signs were there—subtle clues I failed to truly see. Shortly after our wedding,
he jumped headfirst into his research at the University of Hyderabad, and I
found myself adjusting to a new family life on my own. He was gone from seven
in the morning to seven at night, and here I was in a completely new setup. I
had to adjust to a different lifestyle, unfamiliar surroundings, food I wasn’t
accustomed to, and ideas that didn’t quite align with what I grew up with. It’s
a lot to take in. Women go through a great deal when they leave behind the
comfort of what they know to build a new home from scratch.
A month later, when we moved to
Shillong in Meghalaya, I thought perhaps the stunning beauty of the hills would
inspire a shift in our relationship. Yet, instead, the North-Eastern Hill
University’s Chemistry Department became his second home, his sanctuary. I
don’t say this with bitterness but with understanding. Chemistry wasn’t just
his career; it was his passion, his identity, and the force that defined him.
I found myself seeking ways to fill
the emotional and intellectual void. I enrolled in an MPhil program in English,
finding joy in literature, and connected with the Kannada Association. While
our lives seemed to run on parallel tracks, his immersed in the world of
molecules, benzene rings, and carbon chains, mine exploring the literary worlds
of new women writers in India, Sartre’s existential philosophy, Burke’s
writing, and the voices of North-Eastern authors, there was an unspoken balance
between us. Life was muddled, full of challenges, violence, curfews, the beauty
of the hills, the color of the blooms, the birth of our son, and the rhythms of
domestic life, but we built a life together, even if we walked different paths.
This is why Lessons in Chemistry
felt so incredibly personal to me. Elizabeth Zott’s journey to be taken
seriously as a scientist, her use of a cooking show to educate and empower
women, and her ability to fight back against the deep-seated bias in her world
all mirrored the dynamics I had lived. Her story is not just about science;
it’s about carving out space for yourself in a world that often refuses to make
room. Elizabeth’s struggle for recognition is not just the story of a woman in
science; it’s a moving, often humorous exploration of women in academia, their
fight for identity, and their quiet, everyday revolutions. It’s a story of
resilience—and it felt so deeply familiar. For me, it was more than just a
book; it was a reminder of what it means to be a woman carving a path in a
world that doesn’t always make it easy.
The novel tracks Elizabeth Zott, a
beautiful, brilliant chemist in the 1950s and 60s who refuses to conform to the
era’s expectations of women. Her research is continually undermined by the Hastings male researchers who view her gender rather than her genius. Still, she persists,
eventually transforming a cooking show called Supper at Six into a
radical platform for teaching science and self-worth to housewives across
America.
Garmus writes with warmth, humor,
and a sharp sense of truth, blending themes of feminism, science, motherhood,
and self-discovery. The supporting characters, Elizabeth’s precocious daughter
Madeleine, her spirited neighbor Harriet, and even her astute dog Six-Thirty,
bring a lightness and a touch of chaos to the narrative. And while the book
doesn’t shy away from disappointment or injustice, it never loses its sense of
hope. For anyone who has ever felt unseen, underestimated, or pigeonholed by
society’s expectations, Lessons in Chemistry offers both validation and
inspiration. It’s a story that lingers long after the final page—and for me, it
was a reminder that, even in a life shaped by someone else’s passion, there’s
always room to nurture your own.
Of course, no book is ideal, and one
can definitely find fault with the book’s ending, which seems like a fairy tale
one. Other issues are the bashing at male chauvinism, a dig at religion, a
talking dog and a preachy tone around the whole
educated vs. uneducated thing. Yet the book
and the storyline is for common ordinary women and not for academics, and if one
imagines this kind of everyday readership, then the novel works.
If Bonnie Garmus ever happens to
read this, I want to thank her. Lessons in Chemistry helped me
understand something vital - not just about being a woman in the 1950s and 60s,
but about being a woman today. It’s a story that transcends time, a quiet ode
for all those who are still finding their space in a world that’s reluctant to
make room for women.
*****
Here are 2 passages from the book:
“And although I said it affects
everyone,” he continued, “it’s an especially dangerous time for the homemaker.
Because unlike a fourth grader who can put off her homework, or a businessman
who can pretend to be listening, the homemaker must force herself to keep
going. She has to get the kids down for a nap because if she doesn’t, the
evening will be hell. She has to mop the floor because if she doesn’t, someone
could slip on the spilled milk. She has to run to the store because if she
doesn’t, there will be nothing to eat. By the way,” he said, pausing, “have you
ever noticed how women always say they need to run to the store? Not walk, not
go, not stop by. Run. That’s what I mean. The homemaker is operating at an
insane level of hyper productivity. And even though she’s in way over her head,
she still has to make dinner. It’s not sustainable, Elizabeth. She’s going to
have a heart attack or a stroke, or at the very least be in a foul mood. And
it’s all because she can’t procrastinate like her fourth grader or pretend to
be doing something like her husband. She’s forced to be productive despite the
fact that she’s in a potentially fatal time zone—the Afternoon Depression
Zone.” (208)
*****
More than three thousand people worked
at Hastings Research Institute— that’s why it took Calvin over a week to track
her down—and when he did finally find her, she seemed not to remember him.
“Yes?” she said, turning to see who had
entered her lab, a large pair of safety glasses magnifying her eyes, her hands
and forearms wrapped in large rubber mitts.
“Hello,” he said. “It’s me.”
“Me?” she asked. “Could you be more
specific?” She turned back to her work.
“Me,” Calvin said. “Five floors up? You
took my beakers?”
“You might want to stand back behind
that curtain,” she said, tossing her head to the left. “We had a little
accident in here last week.”
“You’re hard to track down.”
“Do you mind?” she asked. “Now I’m in
the middle of something important.”
He waited patiently while she finished her
measurements, made notations in her book, reexamined yesterday’s test results,
and went to the restroom.
“You’re still here?” she asked, coming
back.
“Don’t you have work to do?”
“Tons.”
“You can’t have your beakers back.”
“So, you do remember me.”
“Yes. But not fondly.”
“I came to apologize.”
“No need.”
“How about lunch?”
“No.” “Dinner?”
“No.”
“Coffee?”
“Listen,” Elizabeth said, her large
mitts resting on her hipbones, “you should know you’re starting to annoy me.”
(18-19)
*****
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