Scan barcode
A review by slippy_underfoot
My Good Bright Wolf by Sarah Moss
4.0
Sarah Moss’s gripping memoir of her mental health struggles, UK release 29 August, is creative and affecting.
“This is a memoir in that it’s an account of what I remember. Memory is fallible.”
Moss initially uses a chorus to vividly reflect this, scoffing at inconsistencies and untruths – “You’re getting this from films, you have no idea” – playing down her emotions, accusing her of attention-seeking. This exasperated, gainsaying, voice stays with us throughout, but the source of it shifts tellingly.
She recalls active, intellectual parents with no time for the unhealthy inane 1980s, making her curious about other families, who seemed warmer, closer. These families eat fish fingers, food forbidden at home and which when visiting she declines, fearing to be thought greedy and weak. In the classic books she compulsively re-reads she’s told that self-denial, for women and girls, is a sign of “goodness”, so it’s easier just to be “good”, politely refuse the food, and deal with the hunger pains.
Moss provides such a vivid and painful insight in to the effects of her parents’ cold practicality. It left her feeling undervalued, loved perhaps, but uncared for and admonished constantly. We are with her through her school years, her friendships, and her initial battles with mental health and eating disorders. In more recent years her thoughts are filled with reprimands and compulsions, leading to a complete breakdown of her health. In care, she’s considered “not compliant” for not following her eating plan. If she could follow an eating plan, she argues, she wouldn’t be here...
Moss bravely shows the disjoint between her high level of privilege and her low level of contentment – what right do I have to be this distressed when others have so much more cause? In trying to understand this she foregrounds the pernicious effects of class, race, and gender politics.
This is a book about her, rather than her conditions. Even though we feel their ravages the heart and soul of this book is the real Sarah Moss who suffered and persisted, and who continues to have hope.
Moving and exquisitely written.
Thanks to @netgalley and @panmacmillan for this title, which I requested.
“This is a memoir in that it’s an account of what I remember. Memory is fallible.”
Moss initially uses a chorus to vividly reflect this, scoffing at inconsistencies and untruths – “You’re getting this from films, you have no idea” – playing down her emotions, accusing her of attention-seeking. This exasperated, gainsaying, voice stays with us throughout, but the source of it shifts tellingly.
She recalls active, intellectual parents with no time for the unhealthy inane 1980s, making her curious about other families, who seemed warmer, closer. These families eat fish fingers, food forbidden at home and which when visiting she declines, fearing to be thought greedy and weak. In the classic books she compulsively re-reads she’s told that self-denial, for women and girls, is a sign of “goodness”, so it’s easier just to be “good”, politely refuse the food, and deal with the hunger pains.
Moss provides such a vivid and painful insight in to the effects of her parents’ cold practicality. It left her feeling undervalued, loved perhaps, but uncared for and admonished constantly. We are with her through her school years, her friendships, and her initial battles with mental health and eating disorders. In more recent years her thoughts are filled with reprimands and compulsions, leading to a complete breakdown of her health. In care, she’s considered “not compliant” for not following her eating plan. If she could follow an eating plan, she argues, she wouldn’t be here...
Moss bravely shows the disjoint between her high level of privilege and her low level of contentment – what right do I have to be this distressed when others have so much more cause? In trying to understand this she foregrounds the pernicious effects of class, race, and gender politics.
This is a book about her, rather than her conditions. Even though we feel their ravages the heart and soul of this book is the real Sarah Moss who suffered and persisted, and who continues to have hope.
Moving and exquisitely written.
Thanks to @netgalley and @panmacmillan for this title, which I requested.