Empty

This is a serviceably written book about the author\’s eating problems, both with under- and overeating. It flows smoothly and is at times pleasurably granular in its depiction of the writer\’s formative years. As the pages unspool, however, it gets bogged down in its own attention to detail (how many guys she kisses in high school, how many beers she chugs, how many unpleasant encounters she has with her mother, how many teachers call her brilliant). But the problem is not only a lack of propulsion. The larger problem is the narrator\’s solipsism regarding her own privilege. Simply put, her bemoaning of the toll it took (and continues to take) on her to keep her grip on that most highly valorized status of contemporary white American womanhood–thinness–is unseemly. This is the kind of book that sounds like it grew out of a \”Vogue\” essay, of the genre \”It really triggers my OCD to run a house in South Hampton AND an apartment in the city!\” While I know this sounds dismissive, and her whole point is that she has a bona fide psychiatric disorder, consider what the book leaves out: the depth of her fat phobia, and the ways in which she has reaped the fruits of her successful aspiration to avoid the stigma of fatness. There is ample literature on the impact of lookism and the prevalence of negative stereotypes about fat people in our culture. Imagine a book where the protagonist spent hundreds of pages writing about how intolerably anxious and distraught they felt when they did something that made them appear, say, Jewish, or dark-skinned, and how the quest to avoid this spiraled to the point where it became a pathology that takes over their lives. It is not enough to write, as the author does, that she can\’t help her aversion to fatness and her bottomless craving for thinness. I disagree, although I can certainly understand and sympathize with the fact as a woman in urban, upper-middle-class white American circles, it is terrifying to contemplate inhabiting what some writers have called the \”degraded identity\” of fatness, with all of the challenges that go along with it. But it is precisely her inability to acknowledge this central driver of her behavior, this failure of both her own curiosity and, yes, her moral courage, that limits the book\’s interest and psychological depth. The issue of interest is not her binge-eating or restricting per se. It is the underlying psychology, her cruelty towards herself, her perfectionism, her competitiveness, and her terror of being shamed or humiliated. There is one great moment in the beginning of the book where she gives us a glimpse of the side of her that is so full of rage, in an image of herself torturing her body like she is her own kidnap victim. Sadly, the book fails to live up to the promise of that flash of insight.

As a long-time binge eater myself, I recognized and identified with Burton\’s vivid descriptions of her daily frantic and endless struggle with this disorder. In the end, though, it is a memoir about yo-yoing between anorexia and binge eating, yet never does she explore the roots of the problem. There can be no true escape and resolution without the long, grueling hard work and deep understanding attained through years of sessions with an a-one, apt professional. I found the ending of this book very unsatisfying; it went nowhere.

It was a breath of fresh air to actually to read a memoir where the author doesn\’t predictably end the book with talking with authority and superiority about how she is \”fixed\” and how her life is great now and she is completely cured. While I am sure this is the case for some of those people who write such books, it never seems genuine. It was refreshing to read a book where the author admits that, although she has healed considerably from her \”lowest\” point, she still has her struggles and admits to not having all the answers. No one does, and when you read books where the ending is tied up in a Lifetime movie-esque ending, it can make the reader feel ashamed and abnormal (otherwise I would take myself to the self-help section) and it can make people feel discouraged and alienated if they aren\’t \”cured\”- especially if they are as old or older than the now \”transformed\” author. I don\’t have an eating disorder, but I have suffered from other addictions and from very low self esteem and I know how it is to live a double life. I am happy she was brave enough to admit to all of this without sounding cocky. She deserves happiness and I am happy that she painted a hopeful (but realistic) ending. No Demi Lovato cookie cutter stories here.

So many people out there struggle with binge eating – or at the very least, feeling out of control with food and eating. But this eating disorder is so misunderstood and mischaracterized as people being lazy or not having the strength or willpower to stick to \”normal\” eating or dieting. Susan\’s brave recount of her experience is what so many of us needed to read. Add to that the fact that many people with eating disorders experience multiple disorders over their lifetime. Her description of her relationship with food and it being akin to alcoholism – that she\’ll most likely never have a \”normal\” relationship with food and eating, but will continue working on her recovery – is so refreshing. Not to mention her beautiful writing. Highly recommend to anyone in ED recovery and anyone who knows someone with an eating disorder.

Susan Burton does something that very few people are able to do: Seamlessly construct a memoir that is a coming-of-age story that explores the beginnings and the extent of a terrible disease. At times heartbreaking, Empty is both a memoir and an exploration of American girlhood. An amazing work by an amazing author.

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