Going into this book, I expected a sociological investigation, because Springs is a sociologist. Instead, I got detailed historiography, tracing the anti-Black origins of fatphobia from the Renaissance onwards.
 
This is not a criticism; I was just surprised. In fact, it was incredibly impressive. I will say, though, that historiography is not my strong suit, so this book did kind of…intellectually wind me. Especially because this book is incredibly rich with knowledge. Like…INCREDIBLY rich…Honestly, it’s fucked how meticulously researched it is.
 
But yeah, this book was a lot to take in. I found myself having to research unfamiliar concepts, events, etc. every few pages to be able to grasp anything. I know Strings peppered her sharp wit throughout the book, and this might’ve nicely broken up the dry text…but unfortunately, her historiography humour completely went over my head. I don’t think my personal lack of prior knowledge indicates a fault in the book. But I do believe everyone benefits from accessible writing.
 
That said, I think Fearing the Black Body is a fantastic book. It is an invaluable, pivotal text in fat Black studies – the first of its kind. In fact, as far as I know, it remains the only detailed historiographic account of the anti-Black origins of anti-fatness. Strings really did the hard yards here. The book has been out for 3 and a half years now, and already, its influence has been exponential. I really, truly think the legacy of this book will span at least the next hundred years.

(Review originally posted on instagram)

I know a lot of people love The Body Is Not an Apology. I understand why, and I do agree that it’s a good book! I think it even would’ve been revolutionary for me a few years ago. But at this point in my life, it just didn’t have a lot to offer me.

Things started off strong, and the prologue ensnared me. I remember tears forming in my eyes as I read Taylor’s conversation with her friend Natasha to my partner, who also almost cried hearing it. I was immediately hooked on Taylor’s beautiful writing style. It’s so clear that she is a poet. Her words are her art, each intentional and carefully considered, never merely a device to convey information. Unfortunately, though, this was where things peaked for me, and I spent the rest of the text waiting for it to get somewhere that it never went.

TBINaA is a great primer, but sometimes its high-level nature grew repetitive and even uncomfortable. There were instances, for example, where Taylor sandwiched harrowing details of racialised, gendered, or other forms of violence between fairly superficial discussions of self-love – something I found very jarring. I understood the link she was drawing between colonial, capitalist, patriarchal, white supremacist oppression and self-love, because I have theoretical knowledge and lived experience of them. But in the absence of a more nuanced analysis, relating these seemingly disparate topics would’ve been so confusing if I couldn’t fill the gaps myself.

This is a book that will mean something different to every person who picks it up, where reception depends upon each reader’s personal context. I’d recommend it as a starting point for folks who want to learn about how things like love, desirability, care, and self-image factor into social structures and dynamics of oppression. It provides a great general overview of these ideas, but isn’t where you’d go to find meatier, more in-depth discussions.

(Review originally posted on instagram)

Belly of the Beast is an incredibly concise, yet deeply thorough and nuanced exploration of how anti-fatness as anti-Blackness is constructed & violently enforced. Harrison focuses on how desirability politics, healthism, hyper-sexualisation & in/visibility are deployed under white supremacy (& specifically anti-Blackness) to produce & impose anti-fatness as anti-Blackness. 
 
Immaculately woven through this investigation is an analysis of how anti-fatness as anti-Blackness manifests across diverse experiences of gender, transness, and disability. The result is a refreshing, much-needed & well overdue fill for so many gaps in existing fat literature. 

I really can't overstate how impressive it is for a 109-page book to cover so much ground without sacrificing any complexity or integrity. I’ll admit, when I first started the book, I felt a bit unsure about the in-depth explanation of sociological concepts & key terms. I wondered whether it was useful, or just academic waffle. I quickly found, though, that it was not only useful, but imperative to the book’s accessibility, nuance, & simultaneous huge scope & brevity. 
 
There is no one I wouldn’t recommend this book to. However, I think it’s a particularly important read for white fat folks whose fat activism lacks a racially aware & critical lens. And I don’t just mean awareness of how fatphobia impacts Black folks differently. I mean how fatphobia is a direct product of anti-Blackness that largely impacts people based on their perceived proximity to Blackness, and thus, perceived distance from humanness. 
 
I am so grateful for this book. It is a generous offering that provides an opportunity for fat studies and fat literature to steer in a crucial direction. Belly of the Beast, along with other critical fat Black texts, also provides fertile ground for other localised contexts and experiences to be thoroughly and appropriately engaged. I would love to see the wisdom of this book applied to other Black contexts beyond Turtle Island (or the so-called united states/north america).

(Review initially posted on Instagram)