The first major statement this book makes is the cover. You don’t even need to read the title. If you are the sort of person who needs content warnings and somehow managed to obtain a copy without a cover, ask yourself whether you can keep reading after the sentence “I was unaware that my facial features had melted and my hair has burned.”
So many memoirs open with the Big Tension Scene, then move back to “when I was six, I called my doll Barbara and we had tea parties.” Not this. The book is really short – excluding the front matter, there are 224 pages including lengthy Acknowledgments section. Which is worth reading, too, those are not your regular acknowledgments. Except for a word in the first chapter’s title, nothing about Pell’s book is ‘normal’ – a word I loathe (it’s not EVEN a setting on my washing machine). This memoir is a blade. A very sharp blade.
“I’d gone from being vice president of communications at the top design center in America to someone who didn’t even have the vocabulary to understand her current situation.” It’s such a cliche – an accident can alter your life. Well, in this case, the accident alters everything about the author’s everything. And she doesn’t shy away from telling it all – the accident itself, what followed immediately afterwards, progressing with time; there are 61 days of medically induced coma, and then there are weeks, months, years. (As Charlene Pell says in the acknowledgments section, this memoir has taken her 20 years to write.)
While shocking for someone who’s never been in a similar situation, it was all-too-familiar for me to read about a gathering of burn specialists who neither welcomed, nor wished to have any actual burn victims present, and the lack of realisation (in 1996, luckily, not recently) that the mind and the body are actually connected. The author worked hard, once she has sufficiently recovered, to change this state of affairs. This is what I mean by ‘blade’ – the combination of her ‘old’ persona of vice-president of communication and her new person created someone who might be either invisible or too visible for a lot of people who like their women pretty, glossy, and ideally either printed or on a screen.
Towards the end, the author states: “Some people treat me as if I’m invisible. This behaviour is the most painful reaction because, as a total lack of acknowledgment, it disavows me as a human being. […] A less painful form of invisibility happens when people avoid me altogether by looking away or down. […] I refuse to allow the spontaneous reactions of strangers to have any control over my well-being. I have become ‘staring-resistant’.” Way more than that. She has become an inspiration (not in trauma-porn way, there’s a specific quote I have in mind) for other burn victims; an aspiration, possibly. She has survived the plane accident, losing the man she loved, losing the job she loved, not knowing for many years whether she’d ever be able to recover the physical abilities she used to take for granted. And the one thing that’s clear at the end is that this blade is not about to become blunt or rest somewhere as a souvenir.
A legacy (“traditional”) publishing contract has fallen apart, as the author mentions in the Acknowledgments section. I have a feeling that a ‘real’ publisher might have found this book to be too much. There’s the ‘raw and honest’ to be praised and then there’s a real person who does not hide anything not to make the reader uncomfortable. Yes, a burn victim can crave sex and intimacy (if I were a betting person…) and share how her new body and mind experiences both.
Who would I recommend this book to? Myself, for starters. My disabilities are invisible, wounds still hidden (or rather still trying to heal – my memoir might also take 20 years to write). And to people who are ashamed of who they are or have become, in the society’s eyes, but also their own; who believe they can only become ‘staring-resistant’ by making themselves invisible. This is not a book of platitudes, a gratitude diary, or even a “if I can do it, you can too.” It’s an exceptional person sharing her exceptional self.
This was a painful, difficult, incredible read. Those 224 pages took me two weeks to complete. And yet, I can see myself returning to the book – once I grow enough to understand it better.
I have received a free copy of In This Altered Body via NetGalley. This did not influence my review.
My ratings:
5* = this book changed my life
4* = very good
3* = good
2* = I probably DNFed it, so I don't give 2* ratings
1* = actively hostile towards the reader*