June 15, Magers & Quinn, 3038 Hennepin Av. Rosalind Bentley, a reporter for the Atlanta Journal Constitution, is a former writer for the Star Tribune.Įvent: 7 p.m. She’s trying to gather the crumbs of the child’s sweetness, in the hope the woman might be nourished and sated, if only for a moment. With “Hunger,” she is fighting for the “good girl” who trusted a terrible boy. She is a woman in the middle of her life. Gay is one of our most vital essayists and critics. It is a clear-eyed assessment of a life crippled early. “Hunger” is about Gay’s craving and the way the culture denies it. And the memory of a working-class man in Michigan who loved her, wanted to have children with her and build a life with her is bittersweet but enduring. Thoughts of those quiet, persistent acts gird her in dark times.
Yet, there are moments of light in “Hunger.” At her lowest points, her family stepped up to show her love. As she writes early in the book, it is not a tale of triumph. By the middle of the book it felt relentless, so much so that I wrote in a margin, “Lord, help her find peace.” I hadn’t become insentient to her pain, but I had become weary of the self-flagellation.
There are few chapters or even pages where Gay doesn’t criticize herself. Self-doubt and loathing become a corporeal presence that hounds her and at times overwhelms the reader. That period, which included a brief stint with a woman in Minneapolis - during winter, no less - she calls her “lost years.” She didn’t believe she deserved better. But sleeping with strangers is a dangerous way to numb the soul. Becoming a phone-sex worker, as Gay was for a short time in Arizona, in and of itself isn’t an illegitimate choice. Her choices damaged her already fragile dignity. Throughout her early 20s, as she continued to gain weight, she seemed to will episodes of self-sabotage. Her fury, humiliation and exasperation sprawl through “Hunger.”Įven so, she’s weary of a body she built in response to a crime. From her time at Exeter Academy to a short stint at Yale to her hard-earned success as a writer, the message that she needed to lose weight to matter has been relentless. That message smothered Gay as her body grew. Whether it’s an episode of “The Biggest Loser” or a person’s own family, she writes, the obese are barraged by messages that scream, Try harder, then maybe you’ll matter. Those with “unruly bodies” are not treated as people worthy of respect, but more like walking, talking objects, masses of flesh that must be reduced, fixed and groomed to be seen, heard and loved. In “Hunger,” she singles out the twisted way the culture frames obesity.
It is a deeply honest witness, often heartbreaking and always breathtaking.Īs a cultural critic, Gay is a master of the call-out, mincing no words when taking on misogyny or racism. In a collection of staccato chapters, she shares how she forged the shield. Pound by pound, she built a soft, thick mass of armor to protect the sweet bits of her soul that were left. For nearly 30 years, Gay used food to cope with an act of violence done to her before she was out of puberty, before her body had a chance to blossom gently and unbruised.Īs she writes in “Hunger,” turning her 6-foot, 3-inch frame into a fortress by “eating and eating and eating,” was a response to the gang rape.
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To that cluster she added cherry tomatoes, basil, scallions, olive oil: a bowl full of summer.Īt the time, Gay was writing her new book, “Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body.” The “zoodles,” their creation and consumption, were part of her determined effort at self-care. It was a swirling green and white nest of health, curled by the blades of her trendy new kitchen tool. A couple of years ago, during the height of the Spiralizer gadget craze, Roxane Gay posted a picture on Tumblr of a cyclone of zucchini strips she’d just rendered.