An eloquent reminder of an act we take for granted ... Not all the chapters in On Breathing are as engaging. Some feel like a patchwork of academic commonplaces in search of an argument, a perfectly curated list of recondite theoreticians wheeled out and underused, like a scholarly nervous tic ... The best sections, by contrast, are those rooted in Webster’s experience: the reflections that emerge from her psychoanalytic work, her parenting or even a wryly conflicted chapter on yoga.
This book, then, is an exploration of what it might mean to think about breathing psychoanalytically, proceeding more impressionistically than argumentatively, more poetically than narratively ... Her tone is calm, even as she describes crises.
A thoughtful exploration of breath through the lens of psychoanalytic thinking ... By way of elegant digressions through theory, anecdotes from her practice, and stories from her own life, Webster argues that in forgetting the significance of the act of breathing—forgetting the reality of our shared dependence on air—we bury the significance of certain experiences in our lives and ignore our profound interconnectedness. But one of the many strengths of this strikingly intelligent, rigorous, and unusual book is that Webster does not corral her stories too forcefully toward this one thesis, or present only the information that would advance a single argument, an approach that helps her avoid unconvincing, forced connections and makes room for an appealing strangeness ... Throughout the essays, her tone is authoritative but more curious than argumentative ... She often poses questions and leaves them unanswered, explicitly inviting more thought from the reader ... On Breathing is a short book, but it covers a surprising amount of ground ... She is adept at relaying personal information in a manner free of overwrought emotional declarations but deeply moving all the same ... Again and again, Webster guides the reader through surprising material, fluidly making genuinely unexpected links as she goes. And again and again she resists a declarative ending ... There are a few instances in On Breathing when Webster ends an essay in an unnecessarily and uncharacteristically sweeping fashion ... On Breathing does not deliver pat conclusions or promises to save the world. Perhaps because of this, it feels refreshingly honest, probing, and curious. When life is shaped too forcefully into an argument, its real texture is lost. On Breathing has retained that texture, that strangeness. My mind wandered into new plains as I was reading, partly because a lot of the material in On Breathing felt unexpected. But also partly, I think, because Webster’s curious, generous tone and method of approach invite an expansiveness of thought from the reader. I wouldn’t expect a book to offer more.
An ambitious meditation that struggles under its theoretical burden, never quite finding its natural rhythm ... At times other writers’ thoughts compete with [Webster's] own voice ... The author’s most compelling moments emerge when she connects theory to direct experience ... The narrative boldly attempts to bridge personal memoir with academic discourse, achieving moments of profound insight even as it sometimes gets tangled in its theoretical underpinnings.
