The Thick and the Lean

I wasn't vibing with it

Another book that took me a while to write a review on because I had to turn over things in my head before I could get down on paper what I was thinking. Been a while since I read any of these books in succession, and I think I need more of them in my life.

Anyway: I think most people who've written reviews about this book have already mentioned how it tackles the relationship with food, and how it relates to diet culture, and how diet culture as been the basis for cultish behavior/actual cults (I like this episode from Cult Podcast about Jillian Epperly and Jilly Juice - just note that this podcast might slant more humorous than some people like while dealing with serious subject matter, and this particular episode makes liberal references to bodily functions that some people might not want to hear about in certain situations). This novel just takes it to an extreme, with an extra layer of factory town on top. Which, when you really think about it, a factory town isn't really all that different from a cult situation now, is it?

And while all that's definitely important to think about, and the book certainly puts it front and center, I was more drawn to the parallels between the two main characters, Beatrice and Reiko: specifically, how Beatrice seems to “ascend” in terms of the trajectory of her story and development, whereas Reiko's is a “descent”. 

It doesn't seem that way at first though. In fact, at first it feels like the opposite: Beatrice “descends”, while Reiko “ascends”, so to speak, when comparing the trajectories of their stories in the first third of the novel. But as the novel goes on, it becomes clear that while Beatrice's story is a “descent” in terms of her material circumstances, it is a clear “ascent” in terms of her inner life and her ability to be true to herself and the world. On the flipside, Reiko's story appears to be an “ascent” in terms of her material circumstances, but is a clear “descent” in terms of her inner life and her ability to be truthful to herself and the world. 

I suspect that I derived this metaphor from the way the way the City is portrayed in the novel: as one becomes wealthier, one “ascends” through the layers of society until one lives in the air itself, like an angel whose feet never touch the ground. But that kind of ascent is not necessarily good for one's soul; sometimes you have to touch grass in order to be a better person, instead of being so detached from the world that you forget it - and everyone else living in it - exists, and become absorbed entirely in nothing but your own personal concerns. 

While these comparisons are of course interesting, and highlight different aspects of the world in the novel (as well as similar ideas that are happening in the real world right now), I found myself wishing that Reiko's story had been given the space of an entirely different book. Not to say that it's badly-told, or that it's a bad story; I just think that it doesn't rest as comfortably alongside Beatrice's story as I would like. While the themes and concerns of their stories do have some overlaps, I truly feel like Reiko's story is a completely separate beast from Beatrice's, and deserves to have its own room to breathe, as it were. Maybe this book could have been done as a pair of matched novellas, as opposed to one whole novel? This is just my own thought of course, since the author knows what they want to do with their book and it's not my place to tell them how to execute the story they want to tell. 

That being said: I liked the uncertainty of their respective endings. The novel talks a lot about change and how to bring it about: whether that's change in oneself, or change in the world around oneself, and the uncertain endings for both Beatrice and Reiko are a reminder of how such change never really comes into being unless one continues to do the work. It's also a reminder that though stories end, life continues: it doesn't stop moving just because the storyteller decided to write “The End” at the bottom of the page. It's an important reminder, I think, to people who are on the front lines of initiating and creating change in the world: sometimes the ending of one story is just the beginning of another, and with that comes all the potential for change and uncertainty as one would expect from the start of any story. 

So overall, this was a great read: the language in particular is lovely, especially where it focuses on food descriptions. However, I think it bites off a bit more than it can chew. Beatrice???s story is great, and Reiko???s story is great, and the idea of using The Kitchen Girl to both world-build and connect their two disparate stories is pretty damn cool, but I rather think their stories are distinct enough that they need to be told entirely separately. I say this specifically in reference to Reiko's story, which i think could have been more justice if it just had a bit more room to breathe. The attempt to encompass so many themes - diet culture as religion; the sublime experience of the senses through food; being true oneself despite the potential consequences; sacrificing oneself in order to achieve stability and security in life; the effects of climate change; classism; racism; colonialism - this book tries to get them all in there and doesn???t quite let all those themes really breathe. I rather admire the attempt, but again I wish each of those ideas had been given a bit more room to really expand. 

4.5 ⭐️

I keep struggling with how to review this. The Thick and the Lean is the first I've read of Chana Porter's works and has definitely put her on my radar – I'm now very excited to pick up The Seep soon. I can see this not working for many, but the themes of sex, queerness, and taboo worked so well for me here. I felt so wrapped up in these stories and connected so strongly with the characters. I just loved this book.