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A review by books_with_mana
Thin Girls by Diana Clarke
5.0
I’m not going to lie. If you struggle with eating disorders, maybe skip this book. Perhaps it’s all the ash in the air (which makes me nauseous), but while reading this novel, I went through weird binging phases which was reminiscent of old toxic eating habits. But it’s also been incredibly ashy and there was just a massive heatwave, so I haven’t been able to work out, so that’s most likely the reason behind my terrible eating. If anything, this book had me hyper-focusing on my relationship with food, which is probably one of its many intentions.
One of the more popular thematic concerns in the 21st century is the body. Maintaining and sustaining a corporeal form isn’t all that it’s chalked up to be. However, Thin Girls follows our protagonist, Rose, who has a twin sister. I’m fresh off of the Brit Bennett train, so literary fiction with twins piques my interest.
The novel opens with Rose in a rehabilitation facility for anorexia. She describes herself as an anorectic and a part of the thin girls. This is her community. This is her tribe. But that wasn’t always true. Before she was a thin girl, Rose was a twin. This a pattern for Rose. She defines herself by others, and at her worst, by what she’s not. The narrative continues to flip between the present (the rehabilitation timeline) and the past (from childhood and onward). The two plots have us exploring Rose’s traumas and the development of her eating disorder.
One of the shining aspects of the novel is the twin-thing. Our characters, Rose and Lily can feel each other’s pain and taste the other’s emotions. So when Rose begins to starve herself, Lily eats. As Rose begins to lose weight, Lily starts to gain. Although this trope seems contrite, Clarke’s take is refreshing and works. The flavor emotions the siblings’ experience brings a breath of fresh air into a trope that’s overdone, especially when both of the characters have EDs.
This novel explores sexuality, eating disorders, trauma, suppression, and how childhood and family affect us in adulthood. This novel is intense. The descriptions of the body are often jarring, bleak, and gross. Clarke is talented at incorporating smell into this novel, specifically rancid smells. Often times I found myself saying "ew" out loud and needing to look away from the page.
Despite rave reviews from my bookseller friends, I was hesitant when starting this novel. Some of my favorite works that explore the body are Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Danarembga and My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh. One examines what happens to the body-psyche after generations of colonialism and the other follows the top 10% wasting itself away out of existence. The bar is high.
I’m pleased that this novel surpassed all of my expectations with its clever narrative structure, unique usage of found text, and its commentary on behavior. The sheer amount of animal behavioral, psychological, zoological, and diet research that went into this novel blows my mind. This novel is written and organized with so much intention; every image had a purpose to drive the story and theme.
Read this, if you don’t have an eating disorder that’s at risk of being triggered.
One of the more popular thematic concerns in the 21st century is the body. Maintaining and sustaining a corporeal form isn’t all that it’s chalked up to be. However, Thin Girls follows our protagonist, Rose, who has a twin sister. I’m fresh off of the Brit Bennett train, so literary fiction with twins piques my interest.
The novel opens with Rose in a rehabilitation facility for anorexia. She describes herself as an anorectic and a part of the thin girls. This is her community. This is her tribe. But that wasn’t always true. Before she was a thin girl, Rose was a twin. This a pattern for Rose. She defines herself by others, and at her worst, by what she’s not. The narrative continues to flip between the present (the rehabilitation timeline) and the past (from childhood and onward). The two plots have us exploring Rose’s traumas and the development of her eating disorder.
One of the shining aspects of the novel is the twin-thing. Our characters, Rose and Lily can feel each other’s pain and taste the other’s emotions. So when Rose begins to starve herself, Lily eats. As Rose begins to lose weight, Lily starts to gain. Although this trope seems contrite, Clarke’s take is refreshing and works. The flavor emotions the siblings’ experience brings a breath of fresh air into a trope that’s overdone, especially when both of the characters have EDs.
This novel explores sexuality, eating disorders, trauma, suppression, and how childhood and family affect us in adulthood. This novel is intense. The descriptions of the body are often jarring, bleak, and gross. Clarke is talented at incorporating smell into this novel, specifically rancid smells. Often times I found myself saying "ew" out loud and needing to look away from the page.
Despite rave reviews from my bookseller friends, I was hesitant when starting this novel. Some of my favorite works that explore the body are Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Danarembga and My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh. One examines what happens to the body-psyche after generations of colonialism and the other follows the top 10% wasting itself away out of existence. The bar is high.
I’m pleased that this novel surpassed all of my expectations with its clever narrative structure, unique usage of found text, and its commentary on behavior. The sheer amount of animal behavioral, psychological, zoological, and diet research that went into this novel blows my mind. This novel is written and organized with so much intention; every image had a purpose to drive the story and theme.
Read this, if you don’t have an eating disorder that’s at risk of being triggered.