Nonfiction by Roxane Gay
This is definitely a memoir of the author's body, and hers alone. I think she's trying to make a statement about women in general and our love-hate relationship with our own fat-thin bodies, and I get that, but it doesn't really fly well. It's mostly a navel-gazing type of book, which is not my favorite style. Even though the navel she's gazing at does look quite a lot like my own, as a "woman of size" in a world that tells me to take up less space.
Really the only interesting thing in this book is what she says about the (annoyingly frequent) claim that inside every fat woman is a skinny woman trying to get out: "Yes; I ate that skinny woman. She was delicious but unsatisfying." HA!
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