Roxane Gay's memoir "Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body" is brutal. Heartbreaking. Honest. Revelatory.
Her journey will not be the reader's journey; her story will not be the reader's story. But for every woman whose reality does not conform to the impossible ideal seen on the glossy pages of fashion magazines, there will be a chapter ⦠a paragraph ⦠a sentence ⦠a phrase ... that hits home; that makes the reader say: Yes. That's how it is.
Brutally assaulted at the age of 12, by a gang of boys that included her then-boyfriend, Gay withdrew in fear and shame, told no one, and began to protect herself in the only way she knew how â by building a wall out of her own body, by creating a physicality that would protect her against further sexual assault by making her âinvisibleâ to men. She ate to fill the emptiness within her. She ate for the sensual pleasure it gave. She ate when she was bored. When she was nervous. When she was sad. When she was angry.
The result, not surprisingly, was massive weight gain. That, combined with an adolescent growth spurt that topped out at 6'3â, and her indulgence in tattoos, produced a formidable physical presence, backing up a radical feminist outrage over "the toxic cultural norms that dictate far too much of how women live their lives and treat their bodies."
But "Hunger" is not an âaccept me as I am because all bodies are beautifulâ tale. Nor is it a âhow I lost 400 pounds and found loveâ story. It's a painfully honest look at how one lives each day in a prison of flesh, knowing all the while that it is a self-built prison â or perhaps a citadel.
Readers may not agree with many of Gay's choices. They may be particularly appalled at her continuing obsession with the boy â now man â who led the devastating assault on her 12-year-old self. Gay is a work in progress â a human being who was, in her words âbrokenâ, and had to get more broken in order to heal.
Her journey will not be the reader's journey; her story will not be the reader's story. But for every woman whose reality does not conform to the impossible ideal seen on the glossy pages of fashion magazines, there will be a chapter ⦠a paragraph ⦠a sentence ⦠a phrase ... that hits home; that makes the reader say: Yes. That's how it is.
Brutally assaulted at the age of 12, by a gang of boys that included her then-boyfriend, Gay withdrew in fear and shame, told no one, and began to protect herself in the only way she knew how â by building a wall out of her own body, by creating a physicality that would protect her against further sexual assault by making her âinvisibleâ to men. She ate to fill the emptiness within her. She ate for the sensual pleasure it gave. She ate when she was bored. When she was nervous. When she was sad. When she was angry.
The result, not surprisingly, was massive weight gain. That, combined with an adolescent growth spurt that topped out at 6'3â, and her indulgence in tattoos, produced a formidable physical presence, backing up a radical feminist outrage over "the toxic cultural norms that dictate far too much of how women live their lives and treat their bodies."
But "Hunger" is not an âaccept me as I am because all bodies are beautifulâ tale. Nor is it a âhow I lost 400 pounds and found loveâ story. It's a painfully honest look at how one lives each day in a prison of flesh, knowing all the while that it is a self-built prison â or perhaps a citadel.
Readers may not agree with many of Gay's choices. They may be particularly appalled at her continuing obsession with the boy â now man â who led the devastating assault on her 12-year-old self. Gay is a work in progress â a human being who was, in her words âbrokenâ, and had to get more broken in order to heal.
