“Gulp” is not for everyone; in fact, I’m not even sure it is for me. It’s true that author Mary Roach does a great job of explaining everything from how your taste buds perform to how your bowels work, but she adds a sense of crude humor that makes me uncomfortable. “Gulp” is like Captain Underpants for adults—okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration. In any case, I just want the science.

Roach is meticulous in her wide range of explorations, and she explains scientific concepts simply and efficiently. In one chapter entitled “The longest meal—can thorough chewing lower the national debt?” Roach describes a man named Horace Fletcher, who worked for Herbert Hoover’s WWI Commission for Relief. Fletcher convinced the government that if a person chewed food longer, she’d get more nutrients and feel fuller. What constituted a good chew? For a garden-variety scallion, 722 times. Fletcher argued that his food system was a great way to feed lots of people on a limited budget. If you haven’t heard of the Fletcher System, it’s because it didn’t work.

Do you know want to know the difference between stimulated and unstimulated saliva? If so, read “Gulp.” Roach explains in detail why saliva is so acceptable while it is in your mouth, but becomes totally disgusting for most people if it escapes and is dribbled or spit out.

She also explains how saliva protects your body from swallowing anything too acidic, acts as an excellent laundry presoak, and works as a good disinfectant for wounds (dogs take advantage of their healing saliva all the time).

Moving onto the stomach, Roach explains the physiology of eating too much. She writes of a woman admitted to the emergency room whose stomach contains 19 pounds of food. Her stomach ruptures, and she dies. Read the book if you want to know more about the stomach; this section is just too gross for me to explain.

But Roach doesn’t stop at the stomach. She goes on to discuss the rectum and its amazing storage capacity for contraband, the colon, flatus, what Elvis really died of (constipation), and fecal transplants. As I said before, the science is interesting. But the subject matter is difficult enough to digest (no pun intended) without the off-color references—and you can imagine how many she makes considering what she is writing about.

After reading my last paragraph, you might wonder exactly what a fecal transplant is. If you are healthy, you can donate your feces to a medical facility, it is processed into an almost odor free liquid (nitrogen goes in, and oxygen is pumped out) then transplanted into the colon of a recipient through a procedure similar to a colonoscopy.

Why would you need one? Let’s say you had ulcerative colitis, and your good bacteria are wiped out by chronic diarrhea. A fecal transplant, with its large amount of good bacteria, is a sure fire way to cure your diarrhea.

I’ve written enough. Now it’s your turn to read this fascinating, if not mentally and gastrically disturbing, book in our new book section at the entrance of Willey Library. If you are faint of heart, don’t pull it off the shelf. But if you’ve got a quirky mind and a rugged stomach, “Gulp” is for you.