The design and UX isn't done, Rob and Abbie, okkurrrr! đ
zadiekm's review
5.0
completely engrossing & unexplainably beautiful. I cried
//
reread this heartbreaking october in the sun at carlton gardens. cried. it's so beautiful. it might be my favourite book. ultimate comfort read
//
reread this heartbreaking october in the sun at carlton gardens. cried. it's so beautiful. it might be my favourite book. ultimate comfort read
jaclyn_sixminutesforme's review
3.0
I took Declanâs Fryâs advice (see his insightful review in the SMH for more) and started my read of this collection with the final essay, Contested Breath. Fryâs tweet about this review helpfully pointed me to the @australianbookreview podcast in which Walker reads this (well worth a listen, it gave me chills!) It truly was beautifully crafted writing, heartfeltâperhaps even more so as it took on another dimension being read aloud. Yes Yes No was another standout for me, perhaps less from a craft level and more so because it is subject matter Iâd love to hand to teen readers.
I found this was a collection that drew me to consider things like lens and gaze and agency as much as it drew me expressly to discussions about the body. There was a pointedness to the reflections that didnât simply draw on the body and itâs functioning, but how these were observed and processed and almost fixated upon though this was not always particularly fruitful, or even pleasant, to read.
For me the individual essays felt untethered, not always feeling like they were making a point and more leaning to reflective and contemplative wandering. I think that was the point though, the essays are part memoir and social commentary and seem to knead at these discussions. While this isnât necessarily a style of writing Iâm averse to as a reader, Iâm just not sure it worked for me here.
If you read Fryâs review youâll also come across what he articulates as a genre of âunnerved memoir,â this collection writing into an existing field of work (âan almost comically crowded field.â) I reflected on this a lot as I read this book, particularly as several of the texts Fry names in this genre are works Iâve enjoyed⌠I wonder how much my engagement with this style of writing is because I am an unnerved reader of sorts. Please pop over and share your thoughts with Fry (he placed a call out on Twitter for comments) as I canât unsee the patterns nowâthe stylistic tendencies that were articulated as typifying this genre admittedly for me are often what I find the strongest elements in a work, Osborne-Crowleyâs recent release and the way memoir and meta content overlapped, for example.
Many thanks UQP for a review copy.
I found this was a collection that drew me to consider things like lens and gaze and agency as much as it drew me expressly to discussions about the body. There was a pointedness to the reflections that didnât simply draw on the body and itâs functioning, but how these were observed and processed and almost fixated upon though this was not always particularly fruitful, or even pleasant, to read.
For me the individual essays felt untethered, not always feeling like they were making a point and more leaning to reflective and contemplative wandering. I think that was the point though, the essays are part memoir and social commentary and seem to knead at these discussions. While this isnât necessarily a style of writing Iâm averse to as a reader, Iâm just not sure it worked for me here.
If you read Fryâs review youâll also come across what he articulates as a genre of âunnerved memoir,â this collection writing into an existing field of work (âan almost comically crowded field.â) I reflected on this a lot as I read this book, particularly as several of the texts Fry names in this genre are works Iâve enjoyed⌠I wonder how much my engagement with this style of writing is because I am an unnerved reader of sorts. Please pop over and share your thoughts with Fry (he placed a call out on Twitter for comments) as I canât unsee the patterns nowâthe stylistic tendencies that were articulated as typifying this genre admittedly for me are often what I find the strongest elements in a work, Osborne-Crowleyâs recent release and the way memoir and meta content overlapped, for example.
Many thanks UQP for a review copy.
rumore's review
4.0
Such an original collection of essays. I was drawn to finish them and was greedy for more. And thank you Sarah for some amazing lines that will stick with me, like "...the unvarnished frankness of watching your own anus expand and contract."
keepingupwiththepenguins's review
4.0
If you were a drama kid in high school, The First Time I Thought I Was Dying by Sarah Walker is a must-read. It's along the lines of Maggie Nelson's The Argonauts, Bri Lee's Beauty, and Fiona Wright's fabulous essay collections. Of course, given the subject matter, the collection warrants a few trigger warnings around consent and coercion, and body shaming, but assuming you can deal with those, this is a very interesting and insightful read.
My full review of The First Time I Thought I Was Dying appeared first on Keeping Up With The Penguins.
My full review of The First Time I Thought I Was Dying appeared first on Keeping Up With The Penguins.
jem_of_the_brew's review against another edition
This review was first published on the Underground Writers website: http://underground-writers.org/review-the-first-time-i-thought-i-was-dying-by-sarah-walker-by-jemimah-halbert-brewster/
Trigger warning: mention of self-harm, mental illness, eating disorders, suicide, and pornography.
Sarah Walkerâs The First Time I Thought I Was Dying is a collection of nonfiction essays about the many facets of living in and taking care of a human body, while knowing that one day it will cease to function altogether. Each chapter is a personal essay about a different aspect of life in a body, starting with her work as a photographer and the different ways we present versions of ourselves that we deem acceptable or desirable to an audience. From there she moves on to her experiencesâboth lived and witnessed at close handâof what it means to push at boundaries when performing on the stage; emetophobia and personal control over the body; sexual coming of age and the state of sex education in Australia; eating disorders and the manipulation of self-image through photography; the many types of self-harm and where they come from; states of anxiety and how it can manifest as phobias; and adjusting rituals of death and community during a pandemic.
Walker somehow manages to make these very difficult, very real topics highly readable; I read the whole book in two days! In sharp, clear prose she lays bare deeply personal experiences alongside facts, figures and studies of everything from sex education in schools to suicide to grief to body hair removal. I found that her pragmatic, matter-of-fact syntax and her deeply compassionate and insightful point of view kept me engaged and eager to learn more. Her work and lived experiences as an artist, writer, photographer, and theatre performer give her a broad and critical insight into culture
Overall, I found this work to be very perceptive and eye opening. Walkerâs experiences may not be relatable to everyone, but she expertly uses her experiences and knowledge as jumping off points for a broader conversation that includes everyone. For example, the chapter âYes Yes Noâ interrogates the universal experience of sexual coming age, and how, particularly in Australia, the two main sources of information for young people navigating this process are sex education at schoolâwhich is largely clinical and contains nothing about giving and receiving pleasureâand pornographyâwhich is a carefully scripted fantasy. She relays her own early experiences of sex, and those witnessed at close hand, and wonders what sex education â that isnât purely clinical or pornographicâcould actually look like and the good it could do.
I would recommend this work to anyone who is interested in prodding and exploring the taboos and boundaries between the self and society. I would also recommend it to anyone who has ever wondered about the ways in which we all communicate and live in the strange, gross, wonderful meatbag homes of our selves.
Trigger warning: mention of self-harm, mental illness, eating disorders, suicide, and pornography.
Sarah Walkerâs The First Time I Thought I Was Dying is a collection of nonfiction essays about the many facets of living in and taking care of a human body, while knowing that one day it will cease to function altogether. Each chapter is a personal essay about a different aspect of life in a body, starting with her work as a photographer and the different ways we present versions of ourselves that we deem acceptable or desirable to an audience. From there she moves on to her experiencesâboth lived and witnessed at close handâof what it means to push at boundaries when performing on the stage; emetophobia and personal control over the body; sexual coming of age and the state of sex education in Australia; eating disorders and the manipulation of self-image through photography; the many types of self-harm and where they come from; states of anxiety and how it can manifest as phobias; and adjusting rituals of death and community during a pandemic.
Walker somehow manages to make these very difficult, very real topics highly readable; I read the whole book in two days! In sharp, clear prose she lays bare deeply personal experiences alongside facts, figures and studies of everything from sex education in schools to suicide to grief to body hair removal. I found that her pragmatic, matter-of-fact syntax and her deeply compassionate and insightful point of view kept me engaged and eager to learn more. Her work and lived experiences as an artist, writer, photographer, and theatre performer give her a broad and critical insight into culture
Overall, I found this work to be very perceptive and eye opening. Walkerâs experiences may not be relatable to everyone, but she expertly uses her experiences and knowledge as jumping off points for a broader conversation that includes everyone. For example, the chapter âYes Yes Noâ interrogates the universal experience of sexual coming age, and how, particularly in Australia, the two main sources of information for young people navigating this process are sex education at schoolâwhich is largely clinical and contains nothing about giving and receiving pleasureâand pornographyâwhich is a carefully scripted fantasy. She relays her own early experiences of sex, and those witnessed at close hand, and wonders what sex education â that isnât purely clinical or pornographicâcould actually look like and the good it could do.
I would recommend this work to anyone who is interested in prodding and exploring the taboos and boundaries between the self and society. I would also recommend it to anyone who has ever wondered about the ways in which we all communicate and live in the strange, gross, wonderful meatbag homes of our selves.
samvanzweden's review
challenging
emotional
informative
reflective
sad
medium-paced