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4.3 AVERAGE
4.3 AVERAGE
Powerful. A little (hate to use this word, but..) triggering for me, but definitely thought provoking.
challenging
dark
emotional
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
What a book. Roxane talked about so much, and the intersection of all of these parts, beautifully. She makes it known that her race, her size, her sexuality, and ultimately, the sexual assault she has faced have shaped her into the person she is today. She is repetitive, but that's done purposefully. She also touched on a lot of the experiences and societal expectations that I have come across throughout my years of either (a) being considered a fat kid or (b) just doing research on society and everything that is wrong with it (as I always do). It is one of the reasons why this wasn't a 5-star read for me. This, however, does not detract from the book. On the contrary, actually, it was horrific to see how everything that I have learned about in theory or from passive retellings is so vividly described in this book. For me, one of my favorite things about this book is how it approaches being fat through a psychological lens. You get a deep dive into Roxane's brain and how sexual assault became the reason for her wanting to get bigger and be undesired so that she can remain protected. It also explores the aftermath of that, and how once someone becomes fat, society makes it infinitely worse for them. The feeling of taking up space and not having things to accommodate you is heartbreaking and profoundly life-changing to read. To see someone struggle to go places because of their size is something I am privileged enough to not have experienced.
An incredible book overall, and one I implore you to read if you have not read about black, overweight, queer people through their own writing yet.
An incredible book overall, and one I implore you to read if you have not read about black, overweight, queer people through their own writing yet.
A great read. Roxane Gay speaks to her own obesity and its roots through her gang rape when she was 12. But that's a simplification. She does well to convey the complicated relationship both her and the public have with someone her size and the various struggles she has, physically, emotionally and mentally.
Passages I liked
It took me a long time, but I prefer “victim” to “survivor” now. I don’t want to diminish the gravity of what happened. I
don’t want to pretend I’m on some triumphant, uplifting journey
The good thing about school is that students have been trained, from an early age, to follow the rules. They come to class
and generally sit and behave in an orderly fashion. When you tell them to do things, they do those things.
I became irritated and downright angry as I always do when I see exceedingly thin people at the gym. It doesn’t
matter that they are most likely thin for this very reason. I feel like they are mocking me with their perfect, toned bodies.
They are
flaunting their physical blessings and discipline. There is a smugness to how they use the exercise equipment, programming the computers for the most challenging levels. Their
placid facial expressions say, “This is hardly bothering me,” their bodies glowing with a thin patina of perspiration rather
than the gritty sweat of serious exertion
On that day, I was forced to use the bike I hate the most—the one closest to the entrance to the cardio/weight room, so that
my sweating and huffing and puffing and personal tics would be on display for each and every person coming and going through
the adjacent doors. I settled in, programmed the machine for sixty minutes, knowing I would stop at forty but giving myself
some room to push myself if I wasn’t dying by then. I glanced over at the girl next to me. She had been on the bike for about
two minutes longer. When forty minutes passed, my legs were burning fiercely. I looked at my neighbor and she looked back
at me. She had been eyeing me the entire time, wondering just how long I was going to last.
After forty-five minutes, I locked eyes with my neighbor/nemesis again and saw a glint in her eyes. I knew what was going
on. She was challenging me. She was letting me know that however long I lasted, she would last longer. She would not be bested
by a fat ass. At fifty minutes, I was certain that a heart attack was imminent. I was dizzy, faint, legs trembling, but death
was preferable to losing to that young upstart, that hussy. At fifty-three minutes, she glared at me, leaned forward, and
grabbed the handles of the bike. I turned up the volume on my music and started bobbing my head to the beat. At fifty-four
minutes, she grunted and tried to stare through me. Finally, she stopped and I heard her say, “I can’t believe she’s still
on there.” Her friends nodded in agreement. At sixty minutes, I calmly stopped pedaling, peeled my shirt away from my skin,
wiped the bike down, and slowly exited the room because my legs were rubbery and weak. I was trying to project poise and strength.
I knew she was watching. I was smug and temporarily triumphant. Then I stepped into the bathroom and threw up, ignoring the bitter taste
at the back of my throat as I embraced a hollow victory.
Passages that got me shook
I wonder what he would think if he knew that unless
I thought of him I felt nothing at all while having sex, I went through the motions, I was very convincing, and that when
I did think of him the pleasure was so intense it was breathtaking.
My thoughts
I didn’t really like the writing style but it’s an interesting memoir.
It took me a long time, but I prefer “victim” to “survivor” now. I don’t want to diminish the gravity of what happened. I
don’t want to pretend I’m on some triumphant, uplifting journey
The good thing about school is that students have been trained, from an early age, to follow the rules. They come to class
and generally sit and behave in an orderly fashion. When you tell them to do things, they do those things.
I became irritated and downright angry as I always do when I see exceedingly thin people at the gym. It doesn’t
matter that they are most likely thin for this very reason. I feel like they are mocking me with their perfect, toned bodies.
They are
flaunting their physical blessings and discipline. There is a smugness to how they use the exercise equipment, programming the computers for the most challenging levels. Their
placid facial expressions say, “This is hardly bothering me,” their bodies glowing with a thin patina of perspiration rather
than the gritty sweat of serious exertion
On that day, I was forced to use the bike I hate the most—the one closest to the entrance to the cardio/weight room, so that
my sweating and huffing and puffing and personal tics would be on display for each and every person coming and going through
the adjacent doors. I settled in, programmed the machine for sixty minutes, knowing I would stop at forty but giving myself
some room to push myself if I wasn’t dying by then. I glanced over at the girl next to me. She had been on the bike for about
two minutes longer. When forty minutes passed, my legs were burning fiercely. I looked at my neighbor and she looked back
at me. She had been eyeing me the entire time, wondering just how long I was going to last.
After forty-five minutes, I locked eyes with my neighbor/nemesis again and saw a glint in her eyes. I knew what was going
on. She was challenging me. She was letting me know that however long I lasted, she would last longer. She would not be bested
by a fat ass. At fifty minutes, I was certain that a heart attack was imminent. I was dizzy, faint, legs trembling, but death
was preferable to losing to that young upstart, that hussy. At fifty-three minutes, she glared at me, leaned forward, and
grabbed the handles of the bike. I turned up the volume on my music and started bobbing my head to the beat. At fifty-four
minutes, she grunted and tried to stare through me. Finally, she stopped and I heard her say, “I can’t believe she’s still
on there.” Her friends nodded in agreement. At sixty minutes, I calmly stopped pedaling, peeled my shirt away from my skin,
wiped the bike down, and slowly exited the room because my legs were rubbery and weak. I was trying to project poise and strength.
I knew she was watching. I was smug and temporarily triumphant. Then I stepped into the bathroom and threw up, ignoring the bitter taste
at the back of my throat as I embraced a hollow victory.
Passages that got me shook
I wonder what he would think if he knew that unless
I thought of him I felt nothing at all while having sex, I went through the motions, I was very convincing, and that when
I did think of him the pleasure was so intense it was breathtaking.
My thoughts
I didn’t really like the writing style but it’s an interesting memoir.
challenging
emotional
informative
inspiring
reflective
fast-paced
I've had Roxane Gay on my radar for a while now, having always heard such great things about her writing, and I can totally see why. This was a very honest and vulnerable account of her experiences with her body, primarily focused on her having always been fat but touches on other experiences, too. The only reason this wasn't a full 5 stars for me was just because I felt like some points were repeated over and over again, almost to a fault. This is very much worth a read, but definitely go in expecting some heavy material at times.
TW: fatphobia, rape, eating disorders, racism, body-shaming
TW: fatphobia, rape, eating disorders, racism, body-shaming
Content Warnings
Graphic: Fatphobia, Rape, Sexual assault
Moderate: Body shaming, Eating disorder, Racism
adventurous
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
hopeful
informative
inspiring
lighthearted
mysterious
reflective
relaxing
sad
tense
medium-paced
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
emotional
hopeful
reflective
sad
fast-paced
Not my place to say that a memoir this viscerally personal and beautifully written is anything less than 5 stars.
Enjoyed overall though was a little repetitive and meandering at times. It wasn’t very structured at all, felt a little like a collection of articles/essays rather than a novel? But the subject matter was compelling and at times very beautifully written.