I’m Just a Person by Tig Notaro

Rating: ★★★★

I don’t frequently read memoirs or non-fiction books in general, but I do enjoy listening to podcasts. I decided I would start listening to non-fiction books on audio because it seems similar, and it’s gone well. Whenever I’ve tried listening to fiction on audio, I always miss something. But I really enjoyed listening to Tig Notaro’s memoir and was able to keep up with it. I think it’s hard to review or rate a memoir since it’s really about your own emotional connection to the work. I mean, it’s someone’s life story. How can you judge that?

In the memoir, Tig talks about the trajectory of her career and how she was becoming more famous, but I honestly didn’t know who she was before Star Trek: Discovery. Forgive me. I do think she’s incredibly funny and smart. I love her sense of humor. The memoir is full of that dry, sarcastic way about it. And the audiobook is narrated by her, which made it even better.

The subject matter is very heavy as it deals with the death of her mother and Tig’s several illnesses that occurred during and after that event. My favorite moments were when she discussed her mother because my own mother died in 2018. Tig’s relationship with her mother is different than mine, but the way she described her mother really reminded me of my own. Also, the things Tig said when she sat beside her mother in the hospital resonated with me.

Is it normal to re-read memoirs? I don’t know. I feel like I would re-read the moments regarding her mother because of how much I felt during those moments. I don’t know. It just felt very honest.

The entire memoir is honest, and I haven’t read a memoir in quite some time, but the ones I have read sometimes feel like the author is trying to create a narrative for their life. Not that it’s fake, but just polished. I’m sure things are polished here, but I connected with it in such a way and it was written in such a way that made me see Tig as a whole person with flaws, desires, struggles, setbacks, and ultimately the drive to keep going. I believe I will carry these stories with me, and perhaps return to this book at some point. I do recommend it.

Real Queer America: LGBT Stories from Red States by Samantha Allen

Rating: ★★★★

I’ve wanted to read more queer stories for a long while, so picking up this travel memoir was very refreshing. It’s about queer people in “red states,” where many people probably don’t think queer people are. Or if they do, they think they’re miserable and oppressed. That’s not an invalid idea, but Real Queer America shows that there are queer communities thriving in red states. Utah, Texas, Georgia. I’ll be honest: I don’t want to visit these places. But there are people there working hard for inclusion, community, and the right to just live. This book made me teary in many places, and I enjoyed reading it. It was an easy read, and though the writing felt disjointed in some places, I liked how Allen connected the lives she was learning about and the places she was exploring to her own life. That made it feel connected to me, that somehow I am also connected to these red state queer communities. I’m nonbinary, I’m queer, and I’ve been looking for community. It’s hard to find for lots of reasons, but this book helped me see that it’s out there. People are working for it. In the end, this book changed my perspective on queer people in red states. I don’t want to just give up on red states altogether. I want to help them change and be more accepting. I want to help the people there who are already doing the work.

Somebody’s Daughter by Ashley C. Ford

Rating: ★★★★★

I read Somebody’s Daughter in about 3 days, which is amazing for me. I am a very slow reader, and I’ve been a horrible slump for years. Much of this is due to the fact that my mother died in 2018 and I’m still grieving. It still hurts. Her death was traumatic because it happened quickly, over a few weeks, out of nowhere. I didn’t have a great relationship with my mother, and some of what I experienced can be found in these pages. Ford is my age and by hearing her interviews, following her Twitter, and reading this memoir, I feel like I’m not so alone. For me, childhood was a mix of good things and bad things, but I can really only remember the bad things. I feel guilty about that. I think Ford feels similarly.

Regarding the book itself: I loved it. I devoured it. I wanted more when it ended. I can’t wait to read what’s next. I’ve never read any of Ford’s essays, but now I want to find them. The way it’s written is so accessible and familiar. It makes you feel what she feels without pity or pride. Ford is writing about her experiences with the understanding of an adult. While the hurt is still there, she’s not wallowing in it. In that way, I wasn’t put off. There wasn’t a wall. I could be empathetic to what was happening.

I struggled a bit between giving this memoir 4 or 5 stars because there was one thing that bothered me: I wanted more. Some questions weren’t answered for me. Some things felt unsaid. Some things felt left out. But when I thought about it, I realized all the questions I had weren’t about Ford herself. They were about the people around her. Allen, for example. What happened to him? Did he stick around or disappear? How did she grow apart from R.C. and why? Did her mother ever believe her about anything? This book is about Ford, her growth, her pain, her love. In it, we can see ourselves. We don’t need fleshed out characters with their own backstories.

I don’t read a whole lot of nonfiction. In fact, the last one I read was by Roxane Gay in 2017. Wow, that’s a long time ago. But I haven’t even read many other books between then and now. Ford’s memoir made me want to read more memoirs, but I get nervous about being disappointed. However, it’s important to take a leap of faith. I want to try to do that.

This review is a lot more personal than my others because this book feels so personal to me. I connected with it so deeply, even though Ford and I have very different lives. I learned a lot here, and the stories, the passages, the thoughts, the experiences, everything in this book made me want to keep going and keep trying and do new things. I am so happy I read this.

Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body by Roxane Gay

Rating: ★★★★★

[TW: Mention of rape.]

Wow, this book was painful to read. I mean that in a good way. This memoir is amazing. I’ve never read anything like it. I connected to it so strongly, and yet I didn’t because I don’t have the same experiences as Gay. Still I did connect to it because of her raw honesty. That’s what this book is: raw honesty. And because of that, it’s incredibly powerful. Many chapters made me have to stop and take a breather. Gay has such a strong voice. I love this book, but it was painful.

I think there’s the misconception out there that this book really focuses on being a fat woman in the world. Yes, that is a factor. But if there were a title and a subtitle, being a fat woman in the world would be the subtitle. The title would be her rape when she was twelve. That event changed the course of her life. In the book, she says she ate food, making herself fat, to try to protect her body. I have not had this experience. I am a fat woman, but I have been fat as long as I can remember. I am just built this way. It wasn’t a conscious choice. In a way, it may not have been a conscious choice for Gay either.

No matter what, we are similar in that we are fat women trying to move through the world. In the chapters that focus on her experiences as a fat woman trying to move through the world, I could really agree with what she was saying and feel a connection to her. That means something to me. It also means something to me that she is willing to be so open and honest and raw with her truth and her pain. We don’t have to have shared experiences for me to sympathize and empathize and see some of myself in what she has gone through. I loved this book, but it’s not enjoyable. I also fear what some critics might say. I fear they won’t understand, or they will purposefully not want to understand. But I’m happy this book exists.