Book Review: Passing For Thin

I first read Passing For Thin last fall. I saw it in the bookstore one day when I was looking around. It was during one of those times when I was starting another diet. I thought that the story of a woman who had lost 170 pounds sounded rather intriguing.

I wasn't ready for this book when I first read it, but I still couldn't put it down. Even, while I was rooting for Frances to be successful in her quest to lose weight, my heart hurt for her lack of self-esteem. It was too hard to read back in October. I bought the book because I was wrestling with my own weight problems, but I hid from the harsh spotlight it shone on deeper personal insecurities.

I've since been working through some of these issues and picked up the book to read again while sick in the bed this weekend. I was ready.

Frances' story of overcoming her addiction to food as an antidote to her personal insecurities was still hard to read, though. This true story starts with a vivid chapter that describes her early relationships to food as an escape from painful reality. It was almost too much. It hurt to read this first chapter because I both hurt for Frances and I hurt for the child in me who hid from painful reality in a similar fashion, though through means other than food.

Later, as an adult, Frances enters a twelve-step program, much like Alcoholics Anonymous, for people who struggle with food. She begins to follow a very strict diet and loses 150 pounds in 13 months while relying on the newfound family she finds in the program.

This book, though, is not really about her weight loss because it glosses over those 13 months in just a few pages. The bulk of the book is about her finding herself when the fat suit of armor is stripped away. She speaks often of "passing for thin", as if even after she's lost all the weight, she is still a fat girl pretending to be thin for the rest of the world. Her "fat self" is the self that hides from reality and tries to use food as a crutch because she feels trapped into a life she cannot control. Her "thin self" is the self-confident woman she can't quite believe she can be, but who makes her life what she wishes. The two selves are constantly at war, with neither quite claiming victory.

Frances' story is the story of each of us. We all wrestle with our own private addictions and insecurities, our "fat selves". It may not be food or alcohol or drugs, but something less tangible. The good news of the story, though, is that we can choose to change by taking one step- and then the next one- and then the next. If we accidentally step backwards, that's ok, as long as we go ahead and take that next first step, constantly striving to be the "thin self" inside.

Book Review: Can You Keep a Secret?

So, I just finished reading Can You Keep a Secret? by Sophie Kinsella. As in, stayed up until 3 AM this morning to finish reading it. It was a really thoroughly enjoyable book. Yes, it was fluffy, and no I won't remember the storyline next year, but I laughed hard at the main character's secrets and dilemmas. The two main characters are at once fragile and likeable enough that you wish they would be your friends. I stumbled onto this author by accident, but I really enjoyed this book. It reminds me quite a bit of When Harry Met Sally and You've Got Mail and Bridget Jones' Diary.

Short Version: Emma Corrigan(who is deathly afraid of planes) sits next to a stranger on a flight that is actually quite fiercely turbulent and bumpy. Once the bumpiness begins, Emma begins pouring out all her secrets to the fascinated stranger. She shares every private detail: from the acutely embarassing, to the sweetly poignant, and the endearingly insane. When the flight ends, she gets off, embarassed that she's acted so silly but relieved that she'll never see the guy again. Obviously, she does see him again. Obviously, through several crazy turns they end up seeing each other too much for her taste at all, until she realizes she likes seeing him. Obviously, he ends up telling her crazy secrets to the people she would least be likely to share them with. Obviously it ends up all okay in the end and you leave with a warm happiness.

I laughed out loud enough that I'm surprised my roommates didn't start worrying about my sanity.

In fact, this sort of made me wonder about some of the things I've told strangers. Being from the south and my father's child, quite often I find myself talking to strangers in a rather familiar way. I've often told them things I wouldn't tell most of the people I hold dear. What would happen if one of those strangers somehow became a main character in my life? Would it be weird to have someone that knew those things interacting with the people that I would never share such information with?

Movie Review: The Mexican

The Mexican is a surprisingly good movie. I've now seen most of it twice in four days. The first time I watched it alone. The second time I watched the second half (the best part) with my French roommate and her friend. It drags in the beginning, but the second half is the best part.

With humor and hints at a deeper plot, this slightly neurotic romantic action comedy describes the adventures of Brad Pitt (who's acquiring a pistol of historical importance for a crime boss that Pitt put in jail), Julia Roberts (Pitt's overpsychoanalyzed girlfriend, who's kidnapped to manipulate Pitt, but ends up befriending her gay kidnapper), and a host of other characters who are trying to acquire this old pistol.

While the storyline is totally unbelievable, the storytelling is masterful enough that you make yourself suspend disbelief. While much of the movie seems predictable, there are enough plot twists to keep you guessing. And the characters are likeable enough that I could forgive the gratuitous violence.

The Mexican won't alter your life view, but it's a fun piece of fluff that seems to be the perfect compromise between romantic comedy, brainless action, brainless humor, and melodramatic drama. Something for everyone and no deeper subtexts to leave an aftertaste or cause unwanted self-reflection.

Thus, begins again, my blogging attempts.