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stels_library's review against another edition
5.0
the easiest five star I’ve ever given. this is probably the closest thing to a must read book. your friends should read it. your enemies should read this. tbh I wish I could just shove it down everyone’s throats <3
kirstenm922's review against another edition
emotional
informative
sad
tense
fast-paced
5.0
Content Warnings
Graphic: Sexual assault, Rape, Violence, and Sexual violence
steen's review against another edition
5.0
Goosebumps reading this. Sometimes tears. It is immensely rewarding to read something that is so searingly honest, introspective, brave. You feel it all with Chanel. The fear, humiliation, shame, hope, relief, change.
rheading's review against another edition
5.0
Chanel Miller's story is one of bravery and beauty. I'm grateful that such a strong woman channeled and articulated a complex mix of emotions like pain, rage, and anxiety into a brilliant memoir. My heart hurts after reading about her experiences, but is hopeful that her work is a catalyst for positive change in institutions that are meant to help and empower victims of sexual assault. Despite the darkness that descended upon their lives, Chanel and her amazing support system found and created light. This book felt emotionally difficult to process, but it is necessary for this story to be told as truthfully as possible.
teavani's review against another edition
5.0
truly unforgettable, Miller accounts her experience in the aftermath as the victim of sexual assault at the hands of rapist Brock Turner at Stanford.
- exemplifies such resilience and strength through vulnerability
- covers such a vast array of topics - flaws with the system, institutional betrayal and neglect, stigma and double standards for victims, especially women, mental health, etc.
you can feel the fury, injustice, frustration, and invasion of self through the pages. the writing is so captivating and Miller’s talent is evident. the last 1/3 especially, i lost track of time while reading. honestly no words i could muster up would really do this memoir justice
Quotes:
A still, dark ocean, flat and vast. Horror was present, I could feel it moving, shifting my insides, wet and murky and weighted, but on the surface, I saw only a ripple. Panic would arrive like a fish, briefly breaking the surface, flicking into the air, then slipping back in, returning everything to stillness (7).
Every time I thought of that morning, another jar was born. Now jars filled every inch of my mind. I had nowhere to put them. They cluttered the stairwells, could not be contained in cabinets. I was full of these sealed jars, no room to sit or walk or breathe (32).
He'd seen me as a body, but would attempt to destroy me as a person (46).
When we think of people fitting together, we may think of a man inserting himself into a woman, but there are many ways we overlook. The way ears are thin as construction paper, allowing me to press the side of my face against his chest. Fingers can be interlaced without getting tangled. One hand can create a tiny chair for one chin. We are designed to bend and fold, to comfort ourselves and each other. We have so many small parts that need tending to. After the assault, I felt this need to be touched, but wanted nothing to do with invade, inject, insert, inside, only wanted the intimacy of being wrapped up safely in something (58).
Would I have had any credibility? Would my private life have been exhibited to show that I was too
loose, my lifestyle indecent? I would never have been able to explain they were my choices, but choices made during a period of sadness and low esteem. We all have different ways of coping, self-medicating, ways of surviving the rough patches. To deny my messiness would be to deny my
humanity. I don’t believe there is such a thing as an immaculate past or a perfect victim (66).
Men had lines other men didn’t cross, an unspoken respected space. I imagined a thick line drawn like a perimeter around Lucas. Men would speak to me as if no line existed, every day I was forced to redraw it as quickly as I could. Why weren’t my boundaries inherent? (84)
The way I saw it, my side was going to convince the jury that the big yellow thing in the sky is the sun. His side had to convince the jury that it’s an egg yolk. Even the most eminent attorney would not be able to change the fact that it is a massive blazing star, not a ludicrous floating egg. But I had yet to understand the system. If you pay enough money, if you say the right things, if you take enough time to weaken and dilute the truth, the sun could slowly begin to look like an egg (150).
I was suddenly aware of the defense’s palm wrapped firmly across the top of my head, holding me underwater, saying, Don’t you come up (165).
During trial, the jury was forced to pick; is he wholesome or monstrous. But I never questioned that
any of what they said about him was true. In fact I need you to know it was all true. The friendly guy who helps you move and assists senior citizens in the pool is the same guy who assaulted me. One person can be capable of both. Society often fails to wrap its head around the fact that these truths often coexist, they are not mutually exclusive. Bad qualities can hide inside a good person. That’s the terrifying part (194).
She mistook it as a nurturing passivity, gentle absolution. What I meant was take note of his mental health, because in my experience, when men were upset, lonely, or neglected, we were killed (219).
How to distinguish spontaneity from recklessness? How to prove nudity is not synonymous with promiscuity? Where’s the line between caution and paranoia? This is what I’m mourning, this is what I do not know how to get back (260).
It’s the tenderness of a palm, my pulse alive beneath a touch, connecting, something bubbles up
through me, releases in the form of an eye droplet. Being fully inside my body makes me feel beautiful, powerful, makes me want to be consumed, to share all the small parts of me (265)
Erasure is a form of oppression, the refusal to see (285).
- exemplifies such resilience and strength through vulnerability
- covers such a vast array of topics - flaws with the system, institutional betrayal and neglect, stigma and double standards for victims, especially women, mental health, etc.
you can feel the fury, injustice, frustration, and invasion of self through the pages. the writing is so captivating and Miller’s talent is evident. the last 1/3 especially, i lost track of time while reading. honestly no words i could muster up would really do this memoir justice
Quotes:
A still, dark ocean, flat and vast. Horror was present, I could feel it moving, shifting my insides, wet and murky and weighted, but on the surface, I saw only a ripple. Panic would arrive like a fish, briefly breaking the surface, flicking into the air, then slipping back in, returning everything to stillness (7).
Every time I thought of that morning, another jar was born. Now jars filled every inch of my mind. I had nowhere to put them. They cluttered the stairwells, could not be contained in cabinets. I was full of these sealed jars, no room to sit or walk or breathe (32).
He'd seen me as a body, but would attempt to destroy me as a person (46).
When we think of people fitting together, we may think of a man inserting himself into a woman, but there are many ways we overlook. The way ears are thin as construction paper, allowing me to press the side of my face against his chest. Fingers can be interlaced without getting tangled. One hand can create a tiny chair for one chin. We are designed to bend and fold, to comfort ourselves and each other. We have so many small parts that need tending to. After the assault, I felt this need to be touched, but wanted nothing to do with invade, inject, insert, inside, only wanted the intimacy of being wrapped up safely in something (58).
Would I have had any credibility? Would my private life have been exhibited to show that I was too
loose, my lifestyle indecent? I would never have been able to explain they were my choices, but choices made during a period of sadness and low esteem. We all have different ways of coping, self-medicating, ways of surviving the rough patches. To deny my messiness would be to deny my
humanity. I don’t believe there is such a thing as an immaculate past or a perfect victim (66).
Men had lines other men didn’t cross, an unspoken respected space. I imagined a thick line drawn like a perimeter around Lucas. Men would speak to me as if no line existed, every day I was forced to redraw it as quickly as I could. Why weren’t my boundaries inherent? (84)
The way I saw it, my side was going to convince the jury that the big yellow thing in the sky is the sun. His side had to convince the jury that it’s an egg yolk. Even the most eminent attorney would not be able to change the fact that it is a massive blazing star, not a ludicrous floating egg. But I had yet to understand the system. If you pay enough money, if you say the right things, if you take enough time to weaken and dilute the truth, the sun could slowly begin to look like an egg (150).
I was suddenly aware of the defense’s palm wrapped firmly across the top of my head, holding me underwater, saying, Don’t you come up (165).
During trial, the jury was forced to pick; is he wholesome or monstrous. But I never questioned that
any of what they said about him was true. In fact I need you to know it was all true. The friendly guy who helps you move and assists senior citizens in the pool is the same guy who assaulted me. One person can be capable of both. Society often fails to wrap its head around the fact that these truths often coexist, they are not mutually exclusive. Bad qualities can hide inside a good person. That’s the terrifying part (194).
She mistook it as a nurturing passivity, gentle absolution. What I meant was take note of his mental health, because in my experience, when men were upset, lonely, or neglected, we were killed (219).
How to distinguish spontaneity from recklessness? How to prove nudity is not synonymous with promiscuity? Where’s the line between caution and paranoia? This is what I’m mourning, this is what I do not know how to get back (260).
It’s the tenderness of a palm, my pulse alive beneath a touch, connecting, something bubbles up
through me, releases in the form of an eye droplet. Being fully inside my body makes me feel beautiful, powerful, makes me want to be consumed, to share all the small parts of me (265)
Erasure is a form of oppression, the refusal to see (285).
laj_1029's review against another edition
5.0
Everyone should read this book. Chantel gives every victim a voice and reminds them that they are seen. Despite the injustices in the legal system, we have to fight harder for victims. But more than that, we have to stop blaming victims. I can’t imagine what she actually went through but I am in awe of her fight.
bjhenning's review against another edition
4.0
4.5 stars. Overall a very moving memoir. My only complaint is that the last few hours of the audio book really dragged on. At multiple points, it seemed like the author was wrapping the story up, making concluding remarks, just for the book to continue on.
kylenards1's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
4.75