Scan barcode
jem_of_the_brew's review against another edition
This review was first published on the Underground Writers website, and you can also read it on my blog here: https://oddfeather.co/index.php/2021/10/18/the-first-time-i-thought-i-was-dying-by-sarah-walker/
Trigger warning: mention of self-harm, mental illness, eating disorders, suicide, and pornography.
Sarah Walker’s 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 experiences—both lived and witnessed at close hand—of 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. Walker’s 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 ‘Yes Yes No’ 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 school—which is largely clinical and contains nothing about giving and receiving pleasure—and pornography—which is a carefully scripted fantasy. She relays her own early experiences of sex, and those witnessed at close hand, and wonders what sex education – that isn’t purely clinical or pornographic—could 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 Walker’s 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 experiences—both lived and witnessed at close hand—of 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. Walker’s 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 ‘Yes Yes No’ 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 school—which is largely clinical and contains nothing about giving and receiving pleasure—and pornography—which is a carefully scripted fantasy. She relays her own early experiences of sex, and those witnessed at close hand, and wonders what sex education – that isn’t purely clinical or pornographic—could 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.
smitchy's review against another edition
4.0
Interesting, gritty, confronting. Sarah walker's biography tackles difficult and important issues ranging from body image and mental health to the impact of the 'Me too' movement in Australian acting circles.
She examines sex and relationships, consent and control. Talks about self-harm from the perspective of someone who has done it and watched others suffer with it. She looks at the mental health system and how far we have to go.
Sex, death, suicide, love, loss, anxiety: no topic is off limits and I respect her for it. This is sometimes hard to read but well worth it and I think of particular interest if you have teenage daughters. This book will make you uncomfortable, it will make you think, it will unsettle you.
She examines sex and relationships, consent and control. Talks about self-harm from the perspective of someone who has done it and watched others suffer with it. She looks at the mental health system and how far we have to go.
Sex, death, suicide, love, loss, anxiety: no topic is off limits and I respect her for it. This is sometimes hard to read but well worth it and I think of particular interest if you have teenage daughters. This book will make you uncomfortable, it will make you think, it will unsettle you.
rhearne's review against another edition
5.0
There's a lot to be said about a good book of essays and this is a good book of essays. I devoured this. I loved the writing, the themes, the messages. It was subtle in the way it tackled complex topics. At different times I cringed, became enraged, laughed, averted my gaze and cried.
zadiekm's review against another edition
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 against another edition
3.0
I took Declan’s Fry’s advice (see his insightful review in the SMH for more) and started my read of this collection with the final essay, Contested Breath. Fry’s 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, heartfelt—perhaps 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 I’d 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 didn’t simply draw on the body and it’s 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 isn’t necessarily a style of writing I’m averse to as a reader, I’m just not sure it worked for me here.
If you read Fry’s review you’ll also come across what he articulates as a genre of “unnerved memoir,” this collection writing into an existing field of work (“an almost comically crowded field.”) I reflected on this a lot as I read this book, particularly as several of the texts Fry names in this genre are works I’ve 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 can’t unsee the patterns now—the stylistic tendencies that were articulated as typifying this genre admittedly for me are often what I find the strongest elements in a work, Osborne-Crowley’s 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 didn’t simply draw on the body and it’s 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 isn’t necessarily a style of writing I’m averse to as a reader, I’m just not sure it worked for me here.
If you read Fry’s review you’ll also come across what he articulates as a genre of “unnerved memoir,” this collection writing into an existing field of work (“an almost comically crowded field.”) I reflected on this a lot as I read this book, particularly as several of the texts Fry names in this genre are works I’ve 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 can’t unsee the patterns now—the stylistic tendencies that were articulated as typifying this genre admittedly for me are often what I find the strongest elements in a work, Osborne-Crowley’s recent release and the way memoir and meta content overlapped, for example.
Many thanks UQP for a review copy.
rumore's review against another edition
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 against another edition
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.