The true story of Ali Valenzuela, a young woman who survived anorexia during her teen years.
Honestly, this was just a bad book. If Valenzuela handed me any given paragraph to mark for, say Level One Creative Writing, it would probably get a Merit (after she had tidied it up a bit) but I want more if I’m going to spend money on a book. (Even if that money is, like, five bucks at the closing down sale Dymocks in town had recently…)
Structurally, it is also a mess. She has the seemingly good idea to juxtapose writing about her experiences with actual diary entries made during her stay in a rehab centre (the same one Ritchie Manic went to, if I recall – which is kind of cool…). Except, the diary excerpts usually just repeat what she’s said a page earlier, often using many of the same words.
Most damning, though, is that there is almost no depth to this. Valenzuela makes the nice point that the visible ribs are only the outward manifestation of a mental illness that is more about control than weight loss, but other than that (and this book is almost 200 pages long) she doesn’t really say anything except “I hated that the nurses kept making me eat, but I knew they were doing to help me, so I didn’t complain too much…”
All in all, don’t bother with this one.