After two traumatic head injuries (recounted in fascinating, harrowing detail) Bathurst began losing her hearing in her late 20s. Deafness was not a haven of peace and quiet from a noisy world, but a nightmare of confusion, frustration, and broken connections that left Bathurst increasingly isolated and ashamed. “Hearing gave you other people,” she notes. Without it, she was alone. But she was lucky. Her hearing loss was actually caused by otosclerosis, and surgery restored 80% of it. While never at home in deafness, Bathurst learned a lot from and about it. Along with her own story she tells those of members of the military and musicians (the one who would speak on the record about it) who have been deafened by their work. She also explains the complex physiology of the ear and the equally complicated psychology of the deafened struggling to negotiate a world directed by sound. She critiques society’s unwillingness to acknowledge the widespread hearing loss caused by machinery, weapons, and earbuds, and contrasts it with the supportive and intensely visual community of the congenitally deaf. Throughout this vivid and thought-provoking memoir she explores all aspects of sound, a phenomenon so powerful and versatile it can lull us to sleep, send us in to transcendence, or drive us mad.