Last week I finished Mona Awad's book, 13 Ways of Looking at a Fat Girl.
But, while I often compose my review for a book a day or two after reading, I sat with this one for a while. The reason is rather simple:
I don't know that I've ever been so conflicted about how I felt about a book.
There are books I've disliked that I wish I liked, books I've liked but wish I didn't, books that didn't live up to the hype, books I liked most of but disliked the ending, books I liked more upon revisiting...
But nothing like this.
I both liked, and really disliked, this book.
In fact, there were elements I actually loved, and elements I hated.
My reaction was that strong.
The story follows Lizzie/Liz/Elizabeth, who changes her name throughout the story. Each of the 13 chapters (get it? 13?) offers a vignette, a moment in her life, beginning with her early adolescence. She'd never liked the way she looks, and as she ages, she begins to lose the weight that she feels has held her back her whole life.
The narrative concerns itself, also, with Lizzie's relationships - friends, her mother and father, her husband, coworkers - and how she sees all of this against the backdrop of her weight.
And now comes the part in this review that is the reason I've been putting off writing it. Namely, what do I think of it?
I' m going to get a little real here for a minute, to help frame my reaction.
I've always been uncomfortable about my weight.
Like many, many girls, I grew up thinking I was fat. I wasn't, but I developed early. While most kids were skinny and climbing trees or whatever, I had hips and cleavage and thighs that touched. I was never skinny, so in my mind, that meant I was fat.
I also want to explain that I'm old enough to not have been bombarded with Internet images or social media my entire childhood and adolescence. We only got the Internet when I was in high school, and even then it was dial-up. (And that tone still haunts me.) And though I did watch a lot of movies, we didn't have regular TV out on the farm until we got a satellite dish sometime in my teenage years.
I can only imagine the struggle that girls face now.
Weight has been a constant in my life, so in a lot of ways I can identify with Lizzie about that element. It's always lurking around the corner, in the shadows, trailing behind me, second-guessing anyone who comments on my appearance.
Unfortunately, it's a reality for a lot of people, and it's one of the things I liked about this book.
But...
But.
There is no growth for Lizzie. She isn't struggling with her identity and her relationships in spite of, or because of, her weight. She allows it to consume her (in place of the food she wishes to consume). She uses it as a crutch for all of her faults, all her perspectives, every single thing in her life.
She's not a nice person. In fact, she has almost no redeeming qualities.
Even as my fourth grade self squeezing into real bras while my classmates ran around in t-shirts, I knew there was more to me than what the scale said or the tag on my clothing. As I became a teenager, and my weight fluctuated, first dropping significantly, then climbing again, I knew that wasn't it. If a boy liked me, he'd better like more than my shape. And if he didn't, that was too bad. I'd pine away or not, because, hey, I was a teenager, but I didn't throw myself into a pit of self-despair. I was good at (parts of) school. I was a decent human being, nice even. I was a good friend. Loyal. So what if I was never a size zero? One day I told myself I'd find a guy who either didn't care or maybe even prefer short, kind of chubby, girls.
Yeah, there were days when I was more down about it than not (mostly swimsuit shopping), but those days didn't define my life.
They define Lizzie's.
And the worst part is, she never grows or changes. There is never any development. She is condescending, selfish, even cruel. She never takes any responsibility for herself, or anything else, for that matter.
I GET that was probably the whole point - she isn't a good person, not because of her weight, but rather because she isn't a good person.
And in that sense, that "this is the point" sense, I liked the book.
And the format, of vignettes and those snippets of time... I really, really liked that aspect. It was rather effective, and a style that actually reminded me a bit of The Girl with the Empty Suitcase.
(Shameless plug there!)
But, I hated the protagonist.
I hated the stereotypes of the "fat girl". I liked the question of the struggle that overweight people have, but hated the way Lizzie addressed and dealt with (or rather, didn't) it.
I liked the way her name changed to show how unhappy she was in her skin and her life, even after the weight loss.
Parts were really, really uncomfortable. And not in a good, "hold-the-mirror-up-to-yourself-and-society" way. More in a "questioning-why-am-I-even-reading-this" way.
It's a short read, but, like I said, not a happy one.
So, really, and as I'm sure you can tell from my jumble of thoughts, I'm still not sure what I think about this book.
It had the potential to be really rather awesome.
But it reduces "a fat girl" to stereotypes and a lousy personality and, really, nothing.
Is it an attempt to reflect the negative effects on an individual of a society based solely on appearance? Yeah, maybe. Probably, even.
But there are holes in that approach, too, namely the way she treats other women, especially "fat" ones, who maybe aren't cold-hearted and self-obsessed.
So, we're back to "I don't know."
Out of five stars, I'd give it three question marks. Yup, that conflicted.
On the plus side, I'm not likely to forget it anytime soon.
Have you ever read a book to which you just didn't know how to respond? Please comment below!
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