Nor did her family actually read Bad Feminist: they merely read a review of the book in the New York Times, which referenced the rape. Gay had written about the rape before, in various pieces published online, but her family hadn’t read those.
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In fact Gay’s family didn’t realise what she’d been through until another ten or more years later, when Gay wrote about the rape in her (excellent) essay collection Bad Feminist. But even at the end of that period, when Gay hesitantly established contact once more, she didn’t tell her family about the rape. Her family was, naturally, beside themselves with worry. Gay is vague about that year but it seemed to consist of sexual misadventures in share-houses and squats. I can’t disappear, though, so either I have to be graceful in the face of this unsolicited or I have to ignore it because if I allowed myself to lose control I would let loose so much rage.Īt the age of nineteen Gay dropped out of her ivy-league college and, as far as her family was concerned, disappeared for a year. I want to disappear until my body is no longer a spectacle. When I am at the gym I want to be left alone in my sweaty misery. In her anger it seems to me that she punishes them. Anger at the family who are constantly worrying about and make suggestions about her weight, The Weight, as if her weight wasn’t part of who she is. Anger at the family who never recognised her subsequent suffering.
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Impossible, irrational anger at the parents who didn’t stop the rape from happening or its humiliating aftermath. But what I heard, in between those lines, was Gay’s anger. She wishes her twelve-year-old self had told them what happened and sought their help. Over and again we read about how much she loves her parents and brothers and how much they love her. Instead, it opened her up to a whole different form of cruelty, which Gay articulates and examines with exquisite prose that has the precision and clarity of surgery, albeit with none of the anaesthetic.Īt its heart, though, I think this is a memoir about Gay’s relationship with her wealthy, loving, lovable Haitian-American family. Her fat became a defence against the cruelty of others, supposedly protecting her from the male gaze. Gay ate for comfort and to deliberately turn her body into a fortress. At the end of the school year Gay’s family moved interstate and she was able to start over at a new school but by then the damage was done. Gay continued to see the boyfriend, who continued to abuse and humiliate her. But those boys told all their friends and Gay subsequently became known as the school slut.
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But at a deeper level Hunger is really about Gay’s mental discomfort. And if that were all Hunger was about it would probably be enough. Gay details her daily indignities and humiliations as a woman of size moving through a world designed for much smaller people. Hunger is so raw, poignant and compelling that it hurts to read it.Īt the most superficial level Hunger is a memoir about Roxane Gay’s body – specifically her very tall (6’3), very large (200 kgs +) body.