A provocative and meticulously structured exploration of identity, language, and the body, My Corpse Inside exposes the thin and increasingly blurry line between the physical and the digital, between the living and the dead. Jamison contends with the complex and disturbing relationship of sexuality and violence through a torrent of virtual horrors—shock sites, hookup apps, beheading videos, and creepshots—as well as through Jamison's own experiences of being surveilled and exploited online. Inspired by Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s master horror film Kairo, which portrays ghosts overflowing into our reality through the internet, this fragmented book-length essay clarifies Julia Kristeva’s infamously abstruse theory of abjection and subjectivity and updates it for today’s constant virtuality. My Corpse Inside is a disquieting work that asks readers to confront the violence, fetish, horror, and loneliness inherent in our eternal connectivity.
I picked up this book because I've been sliding down an online-horror rabbit hole lately—the whole ecosystem around shock sites, creep shots, and the grim "why" behind beheading videos posted on the aforementioned. I was expecting something more like an autopsy of internet grotesquery, but what I got was stranger, smarter, and way more internal.
Jamison doesn't do the "here's a list of awful things the collective internet created" approach. Instead, this book feels like sitting in someone's head while they process how digital horror leaks into identity, desire, fear, memory—sometimes in messy, eerie, essay-fragment ways. It's lyrical but also deeply uncomfortable, in a way that matches the subject matter without turning it into a spectacle.
What surprised me most is how little the book is about gore or shock; it's about what those corners of the web do to your sense of self. The writing moves between theory, confession, and analysis (specifically of a J-Horror film, Kairo). It ends up feeling like a long, haunted meditation in an online world that constantly dehumanizes.
If you want plot, this won't satisfy you. But if you like weird, cerebral, body-focused nonfiction—the kind that drifts between personal essay and digital haunting—this is absolutely worth picking up. It's one of those books that doesn't tell you what to think; it just gets under your skin and stays there.