Bookish Thoughts

I really ought to have taken the time to write this back when I finished this book. The main reason I maintain this book blog is to help me remember what I read. The act of writing about a book, coupled with the ability to go back and read it, keeps this all fresher in my mind. But now it's been almost two months since I read Lindy West's second essay collection, and I'm struggling to remember the specifics of the book. All I'm left with are general impressions. Lindy West is superb at articulating her rage, a rage I often share but have a harder time talking about. I think it's her comedic background that makes her so adept at words, at being able to say so much with so little and make incredibly cutting and precise observations. At the same time, she has an incredible amount of compassion for people who disagree with her, or who have even hurt her. She's good at teasing out small victories without losing sight of the bigger picture. And she does an incredible ...

After reading this book, I want more than anything to be friends with Lindy West. She's smart and articulate and funny in a very specific way that I associate with Mallory Ortberg and the-toast. But more than that, she's kind. She's kind in a way I aspire to be, always believing the best of people and willing to talk to them and seeing the victories in small, incremental changes. This book was billed to me as a collection of essays, but it flows so much better than most essay collections. The transitions are seamless, and it's almost a memoir. West's writing is so personal and passionate, her personal so politic, that it's hard to distinguish between the two. She lays herself bare as a way of forcing her opponents to acknowledge her humanity. And that certainly takes a toll, but she does it with such grace that you almost miss how hard it is for her to be so naked and raw all the time. West writes about being a fat feminist, and all that entails. She details...