Welcome to the Refinery29 Book Club! Each month five members of the team will read a book that has everyone talking, before sharing our thoughts and feelings with you. Join in the conversation or recommend a book for next month in the comments below.
Roxane Gay often writes about the personal and the political, but this memoir has been lauded as her most feminist yet. The writer, professor, editor and commentator is loved for her blisteringly honest words, and Hunger delves even deeper into the complicated, excruciating aspects of one's mind. A memoir that reads like a stream of consciousness, Gay looks at how her body came to be the size, weight and shape it is now. She maps her body out in two halves – before and after her rape – but her relationship with food, her family, and her public and private selves are not so simple.
Before most people had had a chance to read Gay's new memoir, the controversy had begun. Ahead of speaking on an Australian news website's podcast, Gay had made some particular requests, which interviewer and Mamamia founder Mia Freedman saw fit to publish on iTunes. A breach of confidence, the whole incident made clear just how unsure people are of discussing others' fatness. Gay's very existence proves this – how people who love her, people who want to hurt her, people who don't know her, judge, treat, and act towards a body that is unfamiliar to them.
A harrowing but vital read, click through to see what R29 staff thought about Roxane Gay's Hunger.
Georgia Murray, Fashion & Beauty Writer
What were your initial thoughts?
I found it really hard to read at first. She writes in short staccato sentences, repeats a lot of phrases, and each chapter jumps about the timeline, so I found it quite unenjoyable to begin with.
And final thoughts?
It felt like an internal monologue, which at times felt frustrating and at times felt like a privilege. I'm really glad I read Hunger, as it's not often you get such a searing and brutally honest insight into someone's mind.
Was it an enjoyable read?
For the first 100 pages, no, but the subject matter and how much Gay has been through drew me in further. She's lived such an interesting life, from the odd jobs she kept and odd people she met during her Lost Year, to the way she comes across as so defiant and independent, even in her lowest periods.
What did you learn?
How integral it is that we treat everyone with kindness, and to transcend your initial judgements – no matter how subconscious – because you have no idea what someone's life has been like.
What was your favourite part?
I don't think I have one. While I identified with some parts, and knew the importance of her speaking out on others, on the whole I didn't get any pleasure reading it – I just wanted to reassure and comfort her. Saying that, words like 'enjoyable' and 'favourite' don't seem appropriate for such an intense and personal book.
And least favourite part?
In the first section of the book, she makes clear that there are only two timeframes for her body: before and after her rape. The description of the event itself is tragic, but the pages leading up to it I found more unbearable. She talks about her reasons for, until now, writing around not about her rape: she didn't want to hurt her family, to be seen as fragile, for lovers to see her in the shadow of one single event, or for anyone to think her experience was unique (when, infuriatingly, it is all too common). Knowing that all of these reasons are what stop so many women reporting or talking about rape and sexual assault just made Gay's writing sting more.
Where should we read this?
At home, alone, sat on your sofa with a large glass of red.
Who would you pass this on to?
Any of my friends – it's so important to hear the first-hand experience of someone who navigates the world differently to you.
Will you be reading Gay's other works now?
I'd already devoured Bad Feminist and while I don't love the way she writes, what she writes about keeps me coming back.
Jess Commons, Health & Living Editor
What were your initial thoughts?
"This is very easy to read. I could read this all in one afternoon."
And final thoughts?
"I am sinking under this comprehension of how messed-up this world we live in is."
Was it an enjoyable read?
I felt acutely exposed to Roxane's thinking. It was uncomfortable, but not unenjoyable. I read along at a fast pace and didn't want to put it down, but each sentence lingered, weighing heavily. It's the kind of book you can finish and sit there, staring into space and contemplating solemnly for a long time.
What did you learn?
Obviously this is nothing new but I was horrified by her personal descriptions of how people deem fat women's bodies to be public space – something to comment on, to get annoyed with, to debate. How dare we act that way about anyone? It's unacceptable.
What was your favourite part?
When Roxane takes media-promoted thinness to task. She is honest in a way I think many body positivity bloggers are too scared to be. "Every time I watch a yoghurt commercial I think, my God, I want to be that happy. I really do," she says. And of course she does, everyone does. Adverts have successfully got us to equate thinness with success, with happiness, with sunny beaches and lots of money. None of us is immune. "It is a powerful lie to equate thinness with self-worth," she says. "Clearly, this lie is damn convincing because the weight loss industry thrives. Women continue to try to bend themselves to societal will. Women continue to hunger. And so do I."
With adverts leaking into our social media, influencers becoming part of our daily rhetoric, this is more important to remember than ever.
And least favourite part?
I hesitate to say "least favourite part" because that's a really fucked-up way to describe it but the hardest bit to read is about Roxane's sexual assault. It's brutal. But, like everything else she writes, it's for a purpose. A chapter needed to give context and understanding to the rest of the book.
Where should we read this?
Exactly where I read most of it; lying outside in your back garden on a summer evening. Somewhere quiet, still and where you're not likely to be disturbed.
Who would you pass this on to?
I think everyone should read it. From the trolls who lambast fat women for daring to wear swimsuits in public, to women who exist daily unable to stop their bodies from being used for political reasons, to kids still forming opinions about who sits where in society. It's complex. It will prevent people from seeing women's bodies as one-dimensional. It will remind you that you do not know other people's journeys. If you have subconscious prejudices against certain communities it may be down to society, but it's up to you to rid yourself of them. And you should start working on that, stat.
Will you be reading Gay's other works now?
Yes. I've had Bad Feminist on my shelf for a year now, like the bad feminist I am. I will be picking it up asap.
Natalie Gil, News Writer
What were your initial thoughts?
I'm a sucker for memoir and found Hunger easy to get stuck into. Gay emphasises early on how painful the book was for her to write, describing it as “the most difficult writing experience of [her] life, one far more challenging than I could have ever imagined,” which makes you feel like a privileged, trusted confidant and begs you to continue listening to her confession. The short length of many of the chapters also encourages you to keep going as you feel like you’ve read more than you actually have, so you don’t get deflated. A psychological trick that I can always get behind.
And final thoughts?
I knew people’s bodies are often manifestations of their internal pain and suffering, having known people with eating disorders such as anorexia and read a lot about them, but Gay’s disclosure that her fatness began as a response to rape opened my eyes to a whole other dimension of experience.
Was it an enjoyable read?
Not really. I’d probably go as far as to say it was one of the least enjoyable books I’ve read and I never really looked forward to picking it up. The structure is hard to follow at times, too, but I’m not sure Gay owes it to readers to turn her life into an easily digestible narrative. I’m glad I read it.
What did you learn?
The importance of empathy and compassion. As a forward-thinking progressive, I like to think I had this already, but the book reiterated to me the importance of kindness and suspending judgment until you know all the facts about someone else’s life. It sounds obvious, but we never really know what someone else is going through until we walk a mile in their shoes. With the global resurgence of far-right populism and a notoriously heartless Tory government, this should constantly be at the forefront of our minds.
What was your favourite part?
I was particularly intrigued by Gay’s analysis of the “weight-loss industrial complex”, Western culture's obsession with weight loss and the absurd, cruel messages that industry heavyweights – the likes of Weight Watchers and co – peddle to consumers. “We’re supposed to restrict our eating while indulging in the fantasy that we can, indeed, indulge. It’s infuriating,” she writes. “When you’re trying to lose weight, you cannot have everything you want. That is, in fact, the whole point.” It made me even angrier at the heartless corporations who exploit people’s insecurities for their own gain (see: plastic surgeons, the weight-loss tea industry, I could go on).
And least favourite part?
Reading about sexual violence is always difficult and when you learn about its potential long-term consequences it’s particularly heartbreaking. However, the sadness, anger and discomfort I felt just goes to show how important it is that survivors share their stories.
Another part I was uncomfortable with, but for different reasons, was Gay’s chapter about anorexia and people who restrict their eating. She describes the illness as enviable because of the “self control” it requires. I was disappointed by the surface-level description of these deadly mental illnesses.
Where should we read this?
It’s easy to read during a commute, thanks to the short chapters and, at times, disjointed structure. You can simply pick up where you left off and don’t need to re-familiarise yourself with the narrative. I definitely wouldn’t recommend it as a beach read or to anyone in need of cheering up, mind.
Who would you pass this on to?
Someone with little knowledge of the extent of fat-shaming and fatphobia in our society, who is open to broadening their horizons.
Will you be reading Gay's other works now?
Yes, definitely. If anything, I’m now more intrigued to read her other books, particularly Difficult Women and Bad Feminist, because I’m invested in her story and journey and would like to see how her style differs when she’s not writing memoir.
Sadhbh O'Sullivan, Social Media Assistant
What were your initial thoughts?
It was sharp and painful and clever and engrossing in ways that non-fiction often struggles to be, and took topics – like feminism – that have been overwrought and/or oversimplified in modern writing. Having read about her fatness in the past I was very excited to read her exploration of what is an exceptionally difficult topic. Fat people and their bodies are hated and demonised, and it’s so important to come to a point where people’s appearance isn’t used as a moral judgement; 'health' (as though this is something you can see from looking at someone) is weaponised to diminish fat people’s humanity but it is also something that the individual has to tackle, too. We’re obsessed with fatness, weight and the journey itself: to acceptance, to weight loss, to some kind of change. Writing about fatness in that sense is, I can only imagine, exceptionally hard, as you not only know these complicated experiences, you live them. I’d been anticipating this book for a long time.
And final thoughts?
I read this very quickly. It felt like looking into an opening in someone’s chest; it was so intimate and clearly painful to write. It felt valuable. It was also quite sprawling – the narrative cut in and out of life, and explored the world we live in. It was hard to understand the structure, I think because it is hard to structure a life in this way. Gay writes about her body before her trauma and after, and that acts as a pivot in how she sees, and how she fed, her body. Where stories about our bodies have become quite trite and tired, the conclusion felt earned because it wasn’t a full stop.
Was it an enjoyable read?
Yes.
What did you learn?
I'm not sure.
What was your favourite part?
I think the asides that analysed the language we use: "The term 'morbid obesity' frames fat people like we are the walking dead, and the medical establishment treats us accordingly." Or when she makes the distinction between being broke and poor: "Being broke is nothing like poverty." I really enjoy her writing style because it takes these sidesteps that illuminate the text and the reader.
And least favourite part?
Sexual violence is a very difficult thing to read. It is painful and shocking and violent. When I say it was my least favourite part, I mean that it hurt to read. I hurt reading it. But it is integral and we can’t dismiss or remove things because they hurt. This is exactly the crux of Hunger.
Where should we read this?
This is a serious and engrossing book. I think it’s a good one for the commute. You won’t lose your place, and when you start reading again you immediately get picked up and swept along by the narrative.
Who would you pass this on to?
My friend who recently wrote something similar to this, though much shorter. The experience is not a universal one and I think this will only illuminate the brilliant thoughts they already have.
Will you be reading Gay's other works now?
I already have.
Natasha Slee, Social Media Manager
What were your initial thoughts?
I prefer books about real-life human experience, historically or in present day, and often struggle to connect to fictional worlds. So I was pleased when Hunger landed on my desk. The first few passages felt like a fervent stream of consciousness; the kind of notes I make when I am very distressed or anxious and trying to get every thought onto paper so I can compute the whole. For that reason I felt immediately emotionally committed.
And final thoughts?
There are heartbreaking lows in Hunger, and passages which seethe with white hot anger, so it was a relief to read that Gay had found a path to acceptance, healing and truth – even if that process is not yet complete.
Was it an enjoyable read?
I enjoyed it in as much as I felt very privileged to be presented such intimate details about Gay's life and body, when I do not know her personally. Gay tells us things many of us would not have the words to express to our closest friends.
What did you learn?
To consciously check my privilege and bias every moment of every day. And that we all have a responsibility to create a world of care and love.
What was your favourite part?
So much of Gay's experience feels familiar, even if the catalyst does not. She proves the importance of empathy. Just because someone does not look like you on the outside, doesn't mean they do not feel like you on the inside. We all move through the same world after all.
And least favourite part?
I found the passages about Gay's family particularly heartbreaking. Despite the love, the lifelong family struggle with her 'weight problem' felt exhausting.
Where should we read this?
I read the majority on my commute. The brief passages are digestible in snatched minutes, but also it felt fitting to be surrounded by every kind of human and human experience while I read it.
Who would you pass this on to?
My most emotionally intelligent and empathetic friends.
Will you be reading Gay's other works now?
Yes, absolutely, having not read any other work by Gay. I think it will be Bad Feminist next.
Have you read Hunger? Let us know your thoughts below! And keep an eye out for September's Book Club, on Fiona Mozley's Elmet.
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