A review by sophiguana
Live Through This: On Creativity and Self-Destruction by Sabrina Chap
1.0
there are people out there who want so badly to have suffered; they want to try on the trauma and pain of others for fun, like its a costume. they cheapen peoples' lived experiences to feel more interesting. this book is full of these kinds of people and their bad writing that encourages victimhood and lacks emotional depth. people who can twist an experience into something it isn't.
many essays are exploitative, preachy, and alarmingly full of binary thinking. they lack depth and self-awareness. many were also poorly written, and it was like reading somebody's anal banal diary. no juice. no connection.
sometimes i felt a piece was just okay. despite the writing style, despite the voice, i appreciated their story because they didn't pretend to have pain to sound deep (inga, toni, dianne).
when I somehow found myself all the way at bell hooks' chapter I almost shit myself. what are you doing in here, bell hooks, and why didnt the author put your brilliant ass first?? her essay was like breathing fresh air again after being buried in a pile of garbage. she was the only one willing to talk about how trauma is with you every single day, about the myths of recovery and healing.
other exceptions, which i feel they must be named because i dont like them roped in with the exploitative mess of the other stories, were Cristy Roads, Patricia Smith, and Nan Goldin (yes it was all photos so what).
i thought i was gonna be reading emotional experiences i could connect to. but this was like almost an advice column, but with a short, non-complex statement about the author's childhood. i got really mad at some of the authors. especially nicole. i dont know who this book is for
many essays are exploitative, preachy, and alarmingly full of binary thinking. they lack depth and self-awareness. many were also poorly written, and it was like reading somebody's anal banal diary. no juice. no connection.
sometimes i felt a piece was just okay. despite the writing style, despite the voice, i appreciated their story because they didn't pretend to have pain to sound deep (inga, toni, dianne).
when I somehow found myself all the way at bell hooks' chapter I almost shit myself. what are you doing in here, bell hooks, and why didnt the author put your brilliant ass first?? her essay was like breathing fresh air again after being buried in a pile of garbage. she was the only one willing to talk about how trauma is with you every single day, about the myths of recovery and healing.
other exceptions, which i feel they must be named because i dont like them roped in with the exploitative mess of the other stories, were Cristy Roads, Patricia Smith, and Nan Goldin (yes it was all photos so what).
i thought i was gonna be reading emotional experiences i could connect to. but this was like almost an advice column, but with a short, non-complex statement about the author's childhood. i got really mad at some of the authors. especially nicole. i dont know who this book is for