I have always wanted a tattoo, but I have never been able to express WHY I want one, until now:
The list of bullshit I deal with, by virtue of my body, is long and boring, and I am, frankly, bored with it. I am extraordinarily visible but invisible. They walk into me, they bump me, they stand obliviously in my line of sight. What I have not figured out is how people can be so aware of my presence as to stare holes in my very aura, and yet, on a practical level, I might as well be wearing Harry Potter’s cloak. In 30-plus years, I have become almost immune to the stares because it is such a constant occurrence. Using a wheelchair for all of my life, I am aware on a subatomic level of people staring at me.
This particular passage was especially resonant. I hate not fitting in so many places where I want to be. I hate how I am extraordinarily visible but invisible. I hate how people stare at my body, comment on my body. I hate my weakness at being unable to control my body.
People project assumed narratives onto your body and are not at all interested in the truth of your body, whatever that truth might be. Your body is constantly and prominently on display. When you’re overweight, your body becomes a matter of public record in many respects. You can reach out from the cage, but only so far. The frustrating thing about cages is that you’re trapped, but you can see exactly what you want. This is the reality of living in my body: I am trapped in a cage. And, as a FAT wheelchair user, Gay’s passages about her body were doubly affecting. Now I, as a wheelchair user, do not consider “fat” a disability (unless it is related to a medical condition) but appreciate the comparison. It shows me just how much I take for granted, how much we all take for granted when we are able-bodied. Is there an elevator? Are there stairs to the stage?…That I have to ask myself these questions shows me a fraction of the questions people with disabilities must ask to be out in the world. I cannot climb too many stairs, so I am always thinking about access to space. I don’t know if fat is a disability, but my size certainly compromises my ability to be in certain spaces. …my body has forced me to be more mindful of how other bodies, of differing abilities, move through the world. To her credit, Gay also notices and comments on this correlation in the last chapter: She is writing from the perspective of being severely overweight, but the passages resonated with me in relation to my experience with disability. Although food plays a significant role in the telling of her story, Gay writes about all types of hunger we experience: hunger for love, for safety, for protection, for acceptance, the hunger that is at the center of the human experience.Īlmost every passage I marked was a passage in which Gay was writing about her body. I feel a modicum of guilt for doing that to a library book, but at least I didn’t come at it with a highlighter.īecause Gay often writes about her weight and her relationship with food, the use of the word “hunger” as the title is misleading. Her words are so poignant I dogeared numerous passages so that I could come back and refer to them in this review. Hunger gets 5 stars sheerly from the quality of Roxane Gay’s writing.