Mona Awad

13 Ways of Looking at a Fat Girl

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'A beautiful, necessary book' ROXANE GAY.
'Echoes of Margaret Atwood's The Edible Woman' IRISH TIMES.


Growing up in the suburban hell of Misery Saga, Lizzie has never liked the way she looks. Though she dates guys online, she's afraid to send pictures: no-one wants a fat girl. So Lizzie starts to lose weight. With punishing drive, she counts almonds consumed, miles run, pounds dropped, navigating double-edged validation from her mother, her friends, her husband, her reflection in the mirror. But no matter how much she loses, will she ever see herself as anything other than a fat girl?

In her darkly funny, deeply resonant and shocking debut novel, Mona Awad delivers a tender and moving depiction of a lovably difficult young woman whose life is hijacked by her struggle to conform.

'Devastating' EMERALD STREET.
'Honest, searing and necessary' ELLE.

This book is currently unavailable
211 printed pages
Publication year
2019
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Impressions

  • Diana Catshared an impressionlast year
    👍Worth reading
    🔮Hidden Depths
    💡Learnt A Lot
    🎯Worthwhile
    🚀Unputdownable
    😄LOLZ
    💧Soppy

Quotes

  • DDaudalagidhas quoted3 days ago
    Like every time I came over, I came over intending to end it. Twice I opened my mouth to say it. Twice what came out was, Let’s order Chinese.
    Now I’m just lying here spinning, my mouth open and parched from MSG, too stoned to move, watching two of him walk back toward me.
  • DDaudalagidhas quoted3 days ago
    I no longer look at myself in the mirror on the way to the bathroom or the kitchen. I lie in my slip, never naked in front of him now, and I watch him, oblivious to my existence, playing the harmonica, for which I have now acquired a dull loathing, filling my room with its terrible, earsplitting whine. I watch him smoke my cigarettes, his thin freckled chest with its odd hair tufts, exhaling and inhaling. It’s over forever on the tip of my tongue, but when he sits up from my bed to say, Well, I should probably get going, I stare at his severely stooped knobby back, his shoulders hunched up around his ears, and when I open my mouth what I say is, Can I come with you?
  • DDaudalagidhas quoted3 days ago
    “I’m dying,” I tell him quietly on our ­six-­month anniversary.
    “Oh, Dizzy Lizzy,” he says, grabbing my breast.
    “I love you.” I say it more often, more fervently than before, the words slipping from my mouth before I can catch them, reel them back in.
    “And I love you,” he says, stroking my thigh. When he touches me now, I feel revulsion and gratitude at the same time.
    We have sex and I cry through the whole thing.

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