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The Incest Diary
"In the fairy tales about father-daughter incest—'The Girl Without Hands,' 'Thousand Furs, ' the original 'Cinderella,' 'Donkey Skin,' and the stories of Saint Dymphna, patron saint of incest survivors—the daughters are all as you would expect them to be: horrified by their father's sexual advances. They do everything in their power to escape. But I didn't. A child can't escape. And later, when I could, it was too late."
Throughout her childhood and adolescence, the anonymous author of The Incest Diary was raped by her father. Beneath a veneer of normal family life, she grew up in and around this all-encompassing secret. Her sexual relationship with her father lasted, off and on, into her twenties. It formed her world, and it formed her deepest fears and desires. Even after she broke away—even as she grew into an independent and adventurous young woman—she continued to seek out new versions of the violence, submission, and secrecy she had struggled to leave behind.
In this graphic and harrowing memoir, the author revisits her early traumas and their aftermath—not from a clinical distance, but from deep within—to explore the ways in which her father's abuse shaped her, and still does. As a matter of psychic survival, she became both a sexual object and a detached observer, a dutiful daughter and the protector of a dirty secret. And then, years later, she made herself write it down.
With lyric concision, in vignettes of almost unbearable intensity, this writer tells a story that is shocking but that will ring true to many other survivors of abuse. It has never been faced so directly on the page.
Throughout her childhood and adolescence, the anonymous author of The Incest Diary was raped by her father. Beneath a veneer of normal family life, she grew up in and around this all-encompassing secret. Her sexual relationship with her father lasted, off and on, into her twenties. It formed her world, and it formed her deepest fears and desires. Even after she broke away—even as she grew into an independent and adventurous young woman—she continued to seek out new versions of the violence, submission, and secrecy she had struggled to leave behind.
In this graphic and harrowing memoir, the author revisits her early traumas and their aftermath—not from a clinical distance, but from deep within—to explore the ways in which her father's abuse shaped her, and still does. As a matter of psychic survival, she became both a sexual object and a detached observer, a dutiful daughter and the protector of a dirty secret. And then, years later, she made herself write it down.
With lyric concision, in vignettes of almost unbearable intensity, this writer tells a story that is shocking but that will ring true to many other survivors of abuse. It has never been faced so directly on the page.
144 pages, Hardcover
First published July 18, 2017
241 people are currently reading
3284 people want to read
About the author
Anonymous
791k books3,368 followersBooks can be attributed to "Anonymous" for several reasons:
* They are officially published under that name
* They are traditional stories not attributed to a specific author
* They are religious texts not generally attributed to a specific author
Books whose authorship is merely uncertain should be attributed to Unknown.
See also: Anonymous
* They are officially published under that name
* They are traditional stories not attributed to a specific author
* They are religious texts not generally attributed to a specific author
Books whose authorship is merely uncertain should be attributed to Unknown.
See also: Anonymous
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 640 reviews
July 29, 2017
I live in Israel. A few weeks ago, a girl my age killed herself after being sexually abused by her father since early childhood -- an abuse which, similar to the one described by the author of this "memoir", went unnoticed and ignored by her mother all these years. The same mother did not even attend her funeral.
Following the media's attention to this story, snippets of this girl journal were published. It was ugly. None of it was erotic in the slightest. It sounded like being forever locked inside a tiny, narrow, dark room without being able to breathe. I can assure you that none of it sounded like 50-shades-the-kiddie-porn version. None of it included descriptions of sex which sounded like something one could find in the more questionable parts of the internet written by basement dwellers who who are into erotic lit depicting sex between little children and adults (yes, I have read those, and yes, it sounds exactly like the descriptions in this book). None of it sounded like a Lana Del Ray song romanticizing strawberries and little girls and insects and cum.
I read a few people suspect the author might be male. I don't think so. I think it is a girl who spent too long on Tumblr and who has no damn clue what incest is really like. I have no idea, absolutely NO idea how this got published as a memoir. Haven't publishers learned from JT LeRoy? A Million Little Pieces? Anything?
Look, I'm no prude. I'm a fan of Dennis Cooper and Peter Sotos, two authors in whose writing I can actually see the merit. But this horrendous pile of sh*t marketed as a memoir is nothing more than jerk-off material and I read it with absolute rage and disgust thinking about the actual victims of incest. I could go on forever and ever, as you can see from my profile I never write reviews, but this one just killed me and my belief in the publishing world.
Following the media's attention to this story, snippets of this girl journal were published. It was ugly. None of it was erotic in the slightest. It sounded like being forever locked inside a tiny, narrow, dark room without being able to breathe. I can assure you that none of it sounded like 50-shades-the-kiddie-porn version. None of it included descriptions of sex which sounded like something one could find in the more questionable parts of the internet written by basement dwellers who who are into erotic lit depicting sex between little children and adults (yes, I have read those, and yes, it sounds exactly like the descriptions in this book). None of it sounded like a Lana Del Ray song romanticizing strawberries and little girls and insects and cum.
I read a few people suspect the author might be male. I don't think so. I think it is a girl who spent too long on Tumblr and who has no damn clue what incest is really like. I have no idea, absolutely NO idea how this got published as a memoir. Haven't publishers learned from JT LeRoy? A Million Little Pieces? Anything?
Look, I'm no prude. I'm a fan of Dennis Cooper and Peter Sotos, two authors in whose writing I can actually see the merit. But this horrendous pile of sh*t marketed as a memoir is nothing more than jerk-off material and I read it with absolute rage and disgust thinking about the actual victims of incest. I could go on forever and ever, as you can see from my profile I never write reviews, but this one just killed me and my belief in the publishing world.
August 6, 2017
I'm going to write this review in two parts: reader, and then as an incest survivor.
As a reader, the writing has moments where the author revealed what she said she used to cope in childhood through writing a daily journal-- she fixated on clouds and the sky, and on details that helped her to disassociate although she doesn't use that exact word, ultimately that's what she's doing.
The writing goes off into tangents. But I do like the way that she is honest about her part, her feelings and stays in her own head. She doesn't speak for others but she does share what she views others doing. There are themes and universals. Although if you're not an incest survivor of this type, it will be hard to connect with her as a reader- which I did.
As an incest survivor, I am sad that she had this experience and I can hear the pain she still struggles. Her story resonants and helps communicate how families keep these secrets safe while the victims stay unsafe. It will be helpful for others to read. It will allow others to feel less alone. I'm hoping that it will also give others the chance to see their own patterns, like I saw that were similar to mine, and determine to get help.
As a reader, the writing has moments where the author revealed what she said she used to cope in childhood through writing a daily journal-- she fixated on clouds and the sky, and on details that helped her to disassociate although she doesn't use that exact word, ultimately that's what she's doing.
The writing goes off into tangents. But I do like the way that she is honest about her part, her feelings and stays in her own head. She doesn't speak for others but she does share what she views others doing. There are themes and universals. Although if you're not an incest survivor of this type, it will be hard to connect with her as a reader- which I did.
As an incest survivor, I am sad that she had this experience and I can hear the pain she still struggles. Her story resonants and helps communicate how families keep these secrets safe while the victims stay unsafe. It will be helpful for others to read. It will allow others to feel less alone. I'm hoping that it will also give others the chance to see their own patterns, like I saw that were similar to mine, and determine to get help.
Read
July 27, 2018I don't feel comfortable rating this because it's a true story and it was super disturbing and I feel like anything I rate it would just seem wrong. (I mean this is someone's life who am I to put a rating on it?) The writing was all over the place and it ended weird. There wasn't really a solid beginning or conclusion it was just a compilation of the author's memories. The memories were all over the place and there wasn't really a solid time line or story.
I can't believe that this is true. Like so much shit happened to this poor girl and now she's really fucked in the head cause of it and she doesn't really know how to properly cope even with the help of therapists. I don't know what I expected going into this, but it was a weird read. I guess I just expected more of a solid conclusion on how she's doing now or something, but we didn't really get much. Just a bunch of the bad and weird sex things that has happened to her in life. Idk I only finished it cause it was so short. It was just super creeptastic.
I can't believe that this is true. Like so much shit happened to this poor girl and now she's really fucked in the head cause of it and she doesn't really know how to properly cope even with the help of therapists. I don't know what I expected going into this, but it was a weird read. I guess I just expected more of a solid conclusion on how she's doing now or something, but we didn't really get much. Just a bunch of the bad and weird sex things that has happened to her in life. Idk I only finished it cause it was so short. It was just super creeptastic.
March 31, 2025
Some of the reviewers here have been reacting in an upsetting way to the author’s descriptions of abuse, taking issue with how she describes abuse as sometimes pleasurable, an example of how sexuality can be permanently altered and damaged by sexual abuse. As many victims of abuse can attest, sexual pleasure can be irrelevant to the moral meaning of sex. Many reviewers here are calling the book pornographic fiction written for shock value. One might have imagined that any reader of this account wouldn’t want to risk becoming yet another unhearing hearer. One thing I find striking is, that at the time of my writing, there are no reviews containing criticism directed at the abuser, but there are heaps of criticisms aimed at the "smutty" writing style, and the unbelievability of the author. This skepticism seems so weird to me because, by believing this account, there is no risk of defaming a potentially innocent man or “ruining” any lives—none of the standard tropes used to silence women or exonerate men could even in principle apply. It is heartbreaking that the most basic facts of an incest survivors experience is, in the minds of many, unthinkable except as fabrication and fantasy.
July 22, 2017
I can't review this, and feel good about it. So I'm just leaving it at this. Inconsistencies in the story of a victim of over 20 years is not indicative of lying. 20 years of abuse, by multiple people(including those she told her told her to just not talk about it anymore), will change your brain. Brainwashing, and sexual coercion from infancy doesn't just 'go away' with therapy, and every action and reaction of this author is completely, wholly authentic, imo, or could be. Not everyones reaction is the same, and no ones reaction to their own abuse is wrong.
February 2, 2018
This memoir is not something I will ever recommend that you read and I'm not glad I did. It is awful. It was awful to read it. The cruelty that human beings are capable of visiting on each other is something that will never cease to amaze me no matter how desensitized I think I've become to it and for that I suppose I'm grateful. I certainly don't want to feel nothing when I read a story like this.
This is a short, beautifully written, story of horrors. I think the fact that its writer remains anonymous is perhaps the only reason I felt like I could read it. If this woman had a name and a face she'd be "real" and I wouldn't be able to separate myself from her life. She'd look too much like me, or my sister, or my niece. I can't bear the thought of something like what this woman has lived happening to someone I care about. I need her to stay faceless.
I can't and I won't tell you to read this. It is powerful and awful and I can't unsee the things she showed me.
I can't get over what we turn into "normal" so we can survive it. My concept of normal and hers are so different its like we're speaking different languages. Like she's some kind of alien I would never think of calling human because her life and mine can't have happened on the same planet let alone mere miles away from each other.
Anonymous needed to tell her story and so I read it and I hope she knows that she's been heard.
I can't imagine it helping but I hope somehow still that it does.
This is a short, beautifully written, story of horrors. I think the fact that its writer remains anonymous is perhaps the only reason I felt like I could read it. If this woman had a name and a face she'd be "real" and I wouldn't be able to separate myself from her life. She'd look too much like me, or my sister, or my niece. I can't bear the thought of something like what this woman has lived happening to someone I care about. I need her to stay faceless.
I can't and I won't tell you to read this. It is powerful and awful and I can't unsee the things she showed me.
I can't get over what we turn into "normal" so we can survive it. My concept of normal and hers are so different its like we're speaking different languages. Like she's some kind of alien I would never think of calling human because her life and mine can't have happened on the same planet let alone mere miles away from each other.
Anonymous needed to tell her story and so I read it and I hope she knows that she's been heard.
I can't imagine it helping but I hope somehow still that it does.
April 6, 2021
Algunas reseñas que leí decían que era un libro morboso el cual no valía la pena leer ya que no poseía una reflexión o un aprendizaje, pero lo cierto es que estoy en desacuerdo.
Es una historia que gira en torno a un tema tabú como es el caso del incesto. Está escrito de una forma desgarradora y nada fácil de comprender. ¿La razón? Es explicito y la autora lo va desglosando desde el punto de vista de una víctima que sufrió el abuso desde muy joven. Sin embargo, lejos de ser una mujer que lo resiente como "normalmente" lo pensaríamos, lo hace desde el quiebre psicológico de creer que disfruta esos actos a tal punto en el que los busca en sus siguientes parejas.
Es una situación real, cruel y que no tiene un final feliz.
Es una historia que gira en torno a un tema tabú como es el caso del incesto. Está escrito de una forma desgarradora y nada fácil de comprender. ¿La razón? Es explicito y la autora lo va desglosando desde el punto de vista de una víctima que sufrió el abuso desde muy joven. Sin embargo, lejos de ser una mujer que lo resiente como "normalmente" lo pensaríamos, lo hace desde el quiebre psicológico de creer que disfruta esos actos a tal punto en el que los busca en sus siguientes parejas.
Es una situación real, cruel y que no tiene un final feliz.
July 23, 2017
I wanted to give this book five stars but I also wanted to give it one star. I know that I will never forget it. I desperately want to have coffee with the author.
August 11, 2021
I really liked this book and have been shocked by the comments of people that didn't, as most of them described it as "badly written pornography". I do not think that this book has anything to do with pornography and I find it quite shocking that so many individuals would interpret it as such. I really liked this book because of the raw emotions it translates. Sexual abuse is so complex and there is so much stigma surrounding it as well as women's sexuality in general, I truly appreciated that this book included how the author felt about the abuse and her arousal surrounding it. Contrary to what one may think victims can experience a wide array of emotions regarding their trauma and sexual arousal is one of many coping mechanisms. Thus, I liked her truthfulness and hope that whoever read it while having a similar experience may realize that there is no shame in their feelings and that they can share how they feel truly with their psychologist.
July 9, 2017
Horrifying. Disassociating. Disgustingly enthralling.
They say reading fiction builds capacity for empathy. If anything can show that non-fiction can do the same, this can.
I can't recommend it. How could I? But I'm glad I read it.
They say reading fiction builds capacity for empathy. If anything can show that non-fiction can do the same, this can.
I can't recommend it. How could I? But I'm glad I read it.
Read
September 14, 2017I have been dreading writing this review. I'm expecting all manner of hell to be unleashed on/at me. S'okay. It's a polarizing book. And because of that, among other reasons, I'm not giving it a star review. I just can't. That feels terribly wrong on so many levels. I'll try to explain.
No part of me thinks that a story like this one, utterly horrifying as it is, can't be 100% true. I don't care to get into details, for I'm sure I and those in my circle of friends and family would appreciate anonymity as much as this author must, but I'm not one to doubt stories of terrible abuse. If anything I think I err on the side of believing tales of the awfulness humanity hath wrought upon itself and its kin. Partway into reading I was directed to the review in the New York Times -
- and I had no reason to think I'd ever find myself feeling conflicted about its contents.
Having said that...
Okay. Stay with me here.
My thoughts, while I was wincing my way through THE INCEST DIARY, turned to two other books I've read in the last however many years.
One was NOTICE by Heather Lewis. A glance at my Goodreads history tells me I read that in 2011, and apparently I never went back to review it. I remember how I felt, though, all the way through, and it was visceral and awful. I was so distressed reading about Lewis's protagonist's life (rumoured to be based on the author's own experiences), the countless unspeakable things that befell her, the choices she was driven to make... It was gruelling to participate in merely reading about it; I cannot imagine what living through it must have been like. Knowing that Lewis committed suicide two years before NOTICE started gaining traction in the literary world just made it hurt more.
The other was a memoir by Kathryn Harrison titled THE KISS (mentioned, interestingly enough, in the above-linked NYT review; evidently I'm not the only one). I did review that one** (oh my god, I read it in 2011, too - what the hell was I doing that year?? I must’ve been going through an especially masochistic phase), and while it was quite different in tone and subject matter than NOTICE it made me feel a similar sense of unease. THE KISS was not graphic, certainly not like NOTICE and definitely not like THE INCEST DIARY, but there was a feeling of truth in it that got under my skin and I’ve never forgotten it.
That’s the thing. NOTICE and THE KISS were hard as hell to read, and part of that was because of just how real and true they felt. I went through them feeling as though I should be slapped for being a voyeur to the abuse of these women. It felt dirty. I felt dirty. The pain practically leapt off those pages.
With THE INCEST DIARY...something was different. And I’m not sure I have the facility with words necessary to adequately express what that something was, but I’m trying. Make no mistake: this is one of the most horrifying accounts of abuse you will ever read. Whatever else you take from it, please trust me on that one. I created and led an online book club** for years, with thousands of members, and our interests lay in reading all sorts of really disturbing stuff; I know “disturbing” when I see it. In ...DIARY I’ve found something for which “disturbing” might not be a strong enough word. But yes, it is...different from others I’ve read.
For starters, this book was, if memory serves, far and away the most graphic of the three I’m discussing here. I mean...the level of detail is shocking. Which you would expect, obviously, from something published as a diary. It’s very much 100+ pages of free association/stream of consciousness, with very little form to it, not much of a set timeline, just a lot of dropping in on moments in the life of Anonymous to see what horrible degradation she was experiencing at any given time. Most of the book is about her father, about the abuse he visited upon her, sexually, physically, emotionally, spiritually. There are bits at the end that feel strangely tacked on, paragraphs here and there about lovers she took once she’d reached adulthood, but all roads lead back to her wretch of a father. And yet...as unflinchingly graphic as it is, I didn’t have that same sense of, “Oh, god, I shouldn’t be reading this, I should not know these things about this woman’s life, I can’t believe what a bad person I am for peeking in through this window.” It actually felt...more like an exercise in exhibitionism? Like the whole point was to shock, to titillate (?! I dare not speculate on who would react that way to such a book), to arouse just as the author described her own arousal. The crude language contributed to that impression for me. And ultimately I think the same emotional notes were hit so many times it numbed me. Was that its purpose? I don't know.
Abuse is so complicated. Feelings are never black and white. Having an orgasm in no way means you’re not being raped. Being jealous or possessive over your abuser doesn’t mean he’s not your abuser. Initiating a sexual encounter with your abuser does not mean he’s not your abuser. These are not the things that made me feel weird about this book. Those are things I’ve known for a long time.
Maybe it’s the anonymity. Maybe if there were a name or a face, even an unverifiable one, attached to THE INCEST DIARY it would feel more real to me. Which I realize sounds like I’m dancing dangerously close to victim blaming - “if she won’t admit it aloud then it obviously never happened!” - but that’s not where I’m coming from, or at least I’m trying not to come from that place. Maybe I’ve read too much bad erotica or fanfic or things that are meant to be both, and I’m reading signals where there are none (or, conversely, not seeing signals where I might expect to see some). Maybe it was the choice to use ten-cent words to describe acts and body parts. Maybe Anonymous didn't have the benefit of a good editor and the final product doesn't represent her experiences as well as they deserve. Maybe it's all just... Oh, who knows?
Maybe - and this is perhaps the most likely, even if not the one I relate to most strongly right this minute - THE INCEST DIARY is just so deeply revolting on every level that it’s easier for my brain to say, “Nah, no way, how could anything be this awful, how could any man do things this unspeakable to anyone, let alone his own child,” than it is to just take it at face value. I know I felt that in spades after reading a book called MUMMY KNEW (another one I clearly meant to come back and review but apparently couldn’t**). There may just be a limit to how much my mind can handle when imagining what one person can do to another.
The catch to all of this is that, in order to decide for oneself how one feels about THE INCEST DIARY, to consider its veracity, to debate its purpose or worth, one must read it for oneself. That's not a decision one should take lightly, 'cos this is no easy read, no matter what your takeaway might be.
Any way you look at it, I’m torn between
a) screaming at everyone I know to never, never read this book, because nobody needs that much horror and filth in their heads, and
b) saying that there could be real value in reading it because maybe you need to know that you’re not alone in whatever happened to you, that someone else survived something just as bad, or worse.
I’m not sure about that last bit, because “survived” is a strange word to apply to the ending of ...DIARY; Anonymous leaves her story off in a very dark place with no sign of where she’s headed, if she can heal, if she’s in imminent danger at the hands of a new man now. It’s a weird way to end a book, but that’s how diaries are sometimes, right? No real beginning, no definite ending, just another elliptical thought that could lead anywhere on the next fresh page, if ever there is one.
Related/aforementioned books:
**For some reason only a couple of the links I put in this review are working; I'm not sure why, as I've tried to fix them all. Sorry about that.
No part of me thinks that a story like this one, utterly horrifying as it is, can't be 100% true. I don't care to get into details, for I'm sure I and those in my circle of friends and family would appreciate anonymity as much as this author must, but I'm not one to doubt stories of terrible abuse. If anything I think I err on the side of believing tales of the awfulness humanity hath wrought upon itself and its kin. Partway into reading I was directed to the review in the New York Times -
The author is apparently (there are a few clues) a published writer. Anonymity combined with extreme events: never a happy combination. About this book’s veracity, its publisher’s editor at large, Lorin Stein, who also edits The Paris Review, told the book’s potential foreign publishers in a statement: “I have no doubt about her honesty or clarity of mind. We interviewed old friends to whom the author confided the fact of her abuse years ago.”
- and I had no reason to think I'd ever find myself feeling conflicted about its contents.
Having said that...
Okay. Stay with me here.
My thoughts, while I was wincing my way through THE INCEST DIARY, turned to two other books I've read in the last however many years.
One was NOTICE by Heather Lewis. A glance at my Goodreads history tells me I read that in 2011, and apparently I never went back to review it. I remember how I felt, though, all the way through, and it was visceral and awful. I was so distressed reading about Lewis's protagonist's life (rumoured to be based on the author's own experiences), the countless unspeakable things that befell her, the choices she was driven to make... It was gruelling to participate in merely reading about it; I cannot imagine what living through it must have been like. Knowing that Lewis committed suicide two years before NOTICE started gaining traction in the literary world just made it hurt more.
The other was a memoir by Kathryn Harrison titled THE KISS (mentioned, interestingly enough, in the above-linked NYT review; evidently I'm not the only one). I did review that one** (oh my god, I read it in 2011, too - what the hell was I doing that year?? I must’ve been going through an especially masochistic phase), and while it was quite different in tone and subject matter than NOTICE it made me feel a similar sense of unease. THE KISS was not graphic, certainly not like NOTICE and definitely not like THE INCEST DIARY, but there was a feeling of truth in it that got under my skin and I’ve never forgotten it.
That’s the thing. NOTICE and THE KISS were hard as hell to read, and part of that was because of just how real and true they felt. I went through them feeling as though I should be slapped for being a voyeur to the abuse of these women. It felt dirty. I felt dirty. The pain practically leapt off those pages.
With THE INCEST DIARY...something was different. And I’m not sure I have the facility with words necessary to adequately express what that something was, but I’m trying. Make no mistake: this is one of the most horrifying accounts of abuse you will ever read. Whatever else you take from it, please trust me on that one. I created and led an online book club** for years, with thousands of members, and our interests lay in reading all sorts of really disturbing stuff; I know “disturbing” when I see it. In ...DIARY I’ve found something for which “disturbing” might not be a strong enough word. But yes, it is...different from others I’ve read.
For starters, this book was, if memory serves, far and away the most graphic of the three I’m discussing here. I mean...the level of detail is shocking. Which you would expect, obviously, from something published as a diary. It’s very much 100+ pages of free association/stream of consciousness, with very little form to it, not much of a set timeline, just a lot of dropping in on moments in the life of Anonymous to see what horrible degradation she was experiencing at any given time. Most of the book is about her father, about the abuse he visited upon her, sexually, physically, emotionally, spiritually. There are bits at the end that feel strangely tacked on, paragraphs here and there about lovers she took once she’d reached adulthood, but all roads lead back to her wretch of a father. And yet...as unflinchingly graphic as it is, I didn’t have that same sense of, “Oh, god, I shouldn’t be reading this, I should not know these things about this woman’s life, I can’t believe what a bad person I am for peeking in through this window.” It actually felt...more like an exercise in exhibitionism? Like the whole point was to shock, to titillate (?! I dare not speculate on who would react that way to such a book), to arouse just as the author described her own arousal. The crude language contributed to that impression for me. And ultimately I think the same emotional notes were hit so many times it numbed me. Was that its purpose? I don't know.
Abuse is so complicated. Feelings are never black and white. Having an orgasm in no way means you’re not being raped. Being jealous or possessive over your abuser doesn’t mean he’s not your abuser. Initiating a sexual encounter with your abuser does not mean he’s not your abuser. These are not the things that made me feel weird about this book. Those are things I’ve known for a long time.
Maybe it’s the anonymity. Maybe if there were a name or a face, even an unverifiable one, attached to THE INCEST DIARY it would feel more real to me. Which I realize sounds like I’m dancing dangerously close to victim blaming - “if she won’t admit it aloud then it obviously never happened!” - but that’s not where I’m coming from, or at least I’m trying not to come from that place. Maybe I’ve read too much bad erotica or fanfic or things that are meant to be both, and I’m reading signals where there are none (or, conversely, not seeing signals where I might expect to see some). Maybe it was the choice to use ten-cent words to describe acts and body parts. Maybe Anonymous didn't have the benefit of a good editor and the final product doesn't represent her experiences as well as they deserve. Maybe it's all just... Oh, who knows?
Maybe - and this is perhaps the most likely, even if not the one I relate to most strongly right this minute - THE INCEST DIARY is just so deeply revolting on every level that it’s easier for my brain to say, “Nah, no way, how could anything be this awful, how could any man do things this unspeakable to anyone, let alone his own child,” than it is to just take it at face value. I know I felt that in spades after reading a book called MUMMY KNEW (another one I clearly meant to come back and review but apparently couldn’t**). There may just be a limit to how much my mind can handle when imagining what one person can do to another.
The catch to all of this is that, in order to decide for oneself how one feels about THE INCEST DIARY, to consider its veracity, to debate its purpose or worth, one must read it for oneself. That's not a decision one should take lightly, 'cos this is no easy read, no matter what your takeaway might be.
Any way you look at it, I’m torn between
a) screaming at everyone I know to never, never read this book, because nobody needs that much horror and filth in their heads, and
b) saying that there could be real value in reading it because maybe you need to know that you’re not alone in whatever happened to you, that someone else survived something just as bad, or worse.
I’m not sure about that last bit, because “survived” is a strange word to apply to the ending of ...DIARY; Anonymous leaves her story off in a very dark place with no sign of where she’s headed, if she can heal, if she’s in imminent danger at the hands of a new man now. It’s a weird way to end a book, but that’s how diaries are sometimes, right? No real beginning, no definite ending, just another elliptical thought that could lead anywhere on the next fresh page, if ever there is one.
Related/aforementioned books:
**For some reason only a couple of the links I put in this review are working; I'm not sure why, as I've tried to fix them all. Sorry about that.
Read
October 13, 2017Cuando busqué opiniones sobre el libro pensé ¿por qué la mayoría no lo puntúa? Ahora lo entiendo perfectamente.
¿Qué puntuación puedes ponerle a este diario? Es un diario que trastorna, que pone imágenes en la cabeza del lector que causan repulsa, situaciones incomprensibles en el entorno de esta víctima de abusos sexuales. Resulta curioso la aparente carencia de emoción por parte de la narradora. Y descorazonador su final.
Desde luego la apuesta de la editorial es arriesgada porque ¿puede alguien que lo ha leído recomendar su lectura? Yo no me atrevo.
¿Qué puntuación puedes ponerle a este diario? Es un diario que trastorna, que pone imágenes en la cabeza del lector que causan repulsa, situaciones incomprensibles en el entorno de esta víctima de abusos sexuales. Resulta curioso la aparente carencia de emoción por parte de la narradora. Y descorazonador su final.
Desde luego la apuesta de la editorial es arriesgada porque ¿puede alguien que lo ha leído recomendar su lectura? Yo no me atrevo.
February 5, 2019
Lately I have been reading books by women who have published under the pseudonym Anonymous. It is often because the depiction of sex, rape and violence in the text is portrayed in a way that offers no redemption. Incest Diary is a brief account of a woman’s molestation by her father that endured from when she was a toddler to when she was 21. She describes in explicit details the violence enacted upon her. She describes the effects and feelings of orgasms experienced during rape. She also tells us about her current sexual relationships which mirror and role play the abuse of her father. She exists in a world with no objective morality, for no one in her life, and she repeatedly tells relatives about the abuse, will condemn what is happening to her. It is a tight philosophical damnation of a world in which a young girl’s rape has no consequences. She is a character trapped in a fairy tale, of which the violent implications have been expunged.
October 8, 2018
"Sex with my father made me an orphan."
My 5 star rating is not a recommendation of this book. In fact, depending on the prospective reader, it might be the opposite.
I have seen reviews of this memoir that condemn it as cheap pornography because of the author's obsessive use of words like "cock", "pussy" and "cunt". These, in my view, are readers who found it unbearable to empathize with the way that her father's actions sexualized her to the point of neurosis. Myself, I was awed (mostly in the negative sense of the word) by the brutal honesty with which she exposes what her father's constant abuse did to her experience of sexual pleasure.
I have also seen reviews that condemn her account as implausible because of the several inconsistencies that can be found in her memories. These are readers who are not familiar with their own memory, particularly that of their earliest years. The memory of childhood is not a forensic account of palpable facts, but rather a series of foundational impressions that are as deep as they are vague. And when the frailty and pliability of memory are combined with the self-protective efforts of a mind systematically exposed to brutal trauma, the result is precisely what the author here relates with searing clarity: one's own past becomes a minefield, and every step one takes on it threatens to decimate at the same time that it illuminates. Which is what this book does.
You have been warned.
My 5 star rating is not a recommendation of this book. In fact, depending on the prospective reader, it might be the opposite.
I have seen reviews of this memoir that condemn it as cheap pornography because of the author's obsessive use of words like "cock", "pussy" and "cunt". These, in my view, are readers who found it unbearable to empathize with the way that her father's actions sexualized her to the point of neurosis. Myself, I was awed (mostly in the negative sense of the word) by the brutal honesty with which she exposes what her father's constant abuse did to her experience of sexual pleasure.
I have also seen reviews that condemn her account as implausible because of the several inconsistencies that can be found in her memories. These are readers who are not familiar with their own memory, particularly that of their earliest years. The memory of childhood is not a forensic account of palpable facts, but rather a series of foundational impressions that are as deep as they are vague. And when the frailty and pliability of memory are combined with the self-protective efforts of a mind systematically exposed to brutal trauma, the result is precisely what the author here relates with searing clarity: one's own past becomes a minefield, and every step one takes on it threatens to decimate at the same time that it illuminates. Which is what this book does.
You have been warned.
January 15, 2018
4 Pleasure as a neads to survive STARS
Ame el libro, odie la historia que cuenta.
Me muero por escribir la reseña, pero no se por donde empezar, y lo peor es que no tengo mucho tiempo, porque este libro lo pedí prestado a la biblioteca y tengo que regresarlo en una semana.a semana.
"He said he couldn't help it. He told me it was my fault. He said that he couldn't help it because I was so beautiful and it felt so good. He said he was a sick man. A weak victim of his desire."
Ame el libro, odie la historia que cuenta.
Me muero por escribir la reseña, pero no se por donde empezar, y lo peor es que no tengo mucho tiempo, porque este libro lo pedí prestado a la biblioteca y tengo que regresarlo en una semana.a semana.
January 12, 2018
Puedo entender perfectamente que gran parte de los lectores que lleguen hasta “Diario de un Incesto” acaben escaldados y perdidos en un mar de desconcierto. Al fin y al cabo, viviendo en la era en la que vivimos, lo más normal es que el lector medio espere encontrar en este libro anónimo una especie de lamento desgarrado por parte de una víctima que expone su vida truncada. ¿Qué era es esta en la que vivimos que conduce a este tipo de presunciones? La era de la simplificación de conceptos en pos de una polaridad maniqueista absoluta: algo puede ser bueno o malo, positivo o negativo, beneficioso o perjudicial, pero lo que no puede permitirse es ostentar términos intermedios. En el mundo del blanco o el negro, no hay posibilidad para los grises.
Y, sin la capacidad para explorar y asimilar los grises, la palabra “incesto” conduce directamente al juicio de valor. La palabra “incesto” conduce, de hecho, a todo un conjunto de conceptos que orbitan a su alrededor como “violación”, “relación sexual no consentida”, “pedofilia” y varias más que, sin embargo, nada tienen que ver con la etimología del propio término. Según la RAE, el “incesto” es una “relación carnal entre parientes dentro de los grados en que está prohibido el matrimonio”. Nada más. Y nada menos.
Sin la capacidad para explorar y asimilar los grises, habrá quien sienta frustración e incluso indignación al encontrar que la persona que escribe “Diario de un Incesto” lo hace reconociendo lo siguiente desde las primeras páginas: “Mi padre es mi secreto. Sus violaciones son mi secreto. Pero el secreto que encierra ese secreto es que a veces me gustaba. A veces lo estaba deseando y a veces lo seducía para que me follara“. Se intuye en este diario mucho de escritura terapéutica, mucho de sacar hacia fuera lo que duele dentro para que no se enquiste. Una forma realmente impactante de exponer ciertos hechos de forma ordenada y visceral (sin perder cierta pluma poética y emocionalmente desarmante) que, si no es así, nunca serían expuestos y quedarían totalmente barridos bajo la alfombra de una sociedad que, ante este tipo de grises morales, prefiere no tener que cuestionarse unidades básicas de la moral tan solidificadas como que “el incesto está mal”.
Y, ojo, que la escritora de este “Diario de un Incesto” deja bien claro que ha intentado en contadas ocasiones explicar lo ocurrido a personas de su entorno familiar e incluso a amigos y pareja, y que el resultado siempre ha sido el mismo: no le han creído… o no le han querido creer. Será que, al fin y al cabo, su postura es una rotunda negativa ante la tentación de victimizarse a si misma, de permitir que lo vivido la sitúe en una posición servil. Aceptar lo ocurrido, aceptar incluso que hubo cierta parte de sexo consentido y numerosas ocasiones en las que ella misma buscó a su padre para mantener relaciones sexuales, tiene mucho de empoderamiento. Y negarle a la narradora ese empoderamiento porque va en contra de una cláusula moral de la Edad Media es, simple y llanamente, tan retrógrado que duele.
“Diario de un Incesto” tiene mucho de arrancarse una costra sabiendo que va a doler un segundo, que sangrará a continuación, pero que también ayudará a sanar (y que incluso proporcionará cierta sensación de placer que siempre aparece cuando se calma el dolor). La escritora de este diario a veces se muestra frontal y asertiva con el incesto: “El sexo con mi padre me dejó huérfana“. Una única frase capaz de decir tanto y de obligarte a reflexionar en torno a algo tan básico como que, al introducir el sexo en una relación familiar, ambas personas quedan relevadas de alguna forma u otra de sus propias funciones dentro de esa misma unidad familiar y pasan a habitar el terreno de la nada y la incertidumbre.
Pero también es capaz de enfrentarse al incesto con parábolas que acaban resultando igual de elocuentes: “No sé qué hay de cierto en ello, pero tengo, y siempre he tenido, la impresión de que en realidad mi padre quería matarme, y que yo lo seduje para impedir que lo hiciera. Recurrí a la sensualidad para seguir con vida. Salvé mi vida dándole placer sexual. Y él se hizo adicto a nuestras relaciones sexuales, y a mi me ocurrió lo mismo“. Parábolas preñadas de grises morales que entierran un personaje tan simplificado como el de Lolita y se embarcan en la construcción de algo mucho más complejo. Algo que, debido a su propia condición de psique fragmentada por el trauma, nunca acaba de construirse y solo se vislumbra a través de grietas y fisuras.
Es así como percibimos que, más que probablemente, el padre de la escritora de este diario consiguiera su consenso victimizándose a él mismo, haciendo sentir a su hija que, sin el sexo que ella le proporcionaba, incluso podría haberse llegado a suicidar. Haciéndole sentir que fue ella la que susurró cantos de sirena impropios de una niña y, sobre todo, imposibles de obviar cuando tu mujer incluso te empuja hacia ellos. Pero también percibimos que ese pedacito de la narradora que consintió y buscó también se desarrolla a medida que la persona madura, de tal forma que acaba viendo el mundo y construyendo su red de relaciones humanas a través de su trauma. Sus primera pareja adulta es un señor mayor en el que proyecta precisamente la horfandad mencionada más arriba. Y continuamente observa el mundo a su alrededor detectando patrones de conducta inquietantes entre padres e hijos.
“Diario de un Incesto” es un proceso de construcción de una persona que siempre estará incompleta por culpa de un trauma. Pero, a la vez, es una necesaria colleja en la moral del siglo 21, una moral que creemos avanzada pero que sigue funcionando en torno a binomios maniqueistas y que todavía es incapaz de asimilar, explicar y aprehender complejidades como la propuesta en este diario.
Y, sin la capacidad para explorar y asimilar los grises, la palabra “incesto” conduce directamente al juicio de valor. La palabra “incesto” conduce, de hecho, a todo un conjunto de conceptos que orbitan a su alrededor como “violación”, “relación sexual no consentida”, “pedofilia” y varias más que, sin embargo, nada tienen que ver con la etimología del propio término. Según la RAE, el “incesto” es una “relación carnal entre parientes dentro de los grados en que está prohibido el matrimonio”. Nada más. Y nada menos.
Sin la capacidad para explorar y asimilar los grises, habrá quien sienta frustración e incluso indignación al encontrar que la persona que escribe “Diario de un Incesto” lo hace reconociendo lo siguiente desde las primeras páginas: “Mi padre es mi secreto. Sus violaciones son mi secreto. Pero el secreto que encierra ese secreto es que a veces me gustaba. A veces lo estaba deseando y a veces lo seducía para que me follara“. Se intuye en este diario mucho de escritura terapéutica, mucho de sacar hacia fuera lo que duele dentro para que no se enquiste. Una forma realmente impactante de exponer ciertos hechos de forma ordenada y visceral (sin perder cierta pluma poética y emocionalmente desarmante) que, si no es así, nunca serían expuestos y quedarían totalmente barridos bajo la alfombra de una sociedad que, ante este tipo de grises morales, prefiere no tener que cuestionarse unidades básicas de la moral tan solidificadas como que “el incesto está mal”.
Y, ojo, que la escritora de este “Diario de un Incesto” deja bien claro que ha intentado en contadas ocasiones explicar lo ocurrido a personas de su entorno familiar e incluso a amigos y pareja, y que el resultado siempre ha sido el mismo: no le han creído… o no le han querido creer. Será que, al fin y al cabo, su postura es una rotunda negativa ante la tentación de victimizarse a si misma, de permitir que lo vivido la sitúe en una posición servil. Aceptar lo ocurrido, aceptar incluso que hubo cierta parte de sexo consentido y numerosas ocasiones en las que ella misma buscó a su padre para mantener relaciones sexuales, tiene mucho de empoderamiento. Y negarle a la narradora ese empoderamiento porque va en contra de una cláusula moral de la Edad Media es, simple y llanamente, tan retrógrado que duele.
“Diario de un Incesto” tiene mucho de arrancarse una costra sabiendo que va a doler un segundo, que sangrará a continuación, pero que también ayudará a sanar (y que incluso proporcionará cierta sensación de placer que siempre aparece cuando se calma el dolor). La escritora de este diario a veces se muestra frontal y asertiva con el incesto: “El sexo con mi padre me dejó huérfana“. Una única frase capaz de decir tanto y de obligarte a reflexionar en torno a algo tan básico como que, al introducir el sexo en una relación familiar, ambas personas quedan relevadas de alguna forma u otra de sus propias funciones dentro de esa misma unidad familiar y pasan a habitar el terreno de la nada y la incertidumbre.
Pero también es capaz de enfrentarse al incesto con parábolas que acaban resultando igual de elocuentes: “No sé qué hay de cierto en ello, pero tengo, y siempre he tenido, la impresión de que en realidad mi padre quería matarme, y que yo lo seduje para impedir que lo hiciera. Recurrí a la sensualidad para seguir con vida. Salvé mi vida dándole placer sexual. Y él se hizo adicto a nuestras relaciones sexuales, y a mi me ocurrió lo mismo“. Parábolas preñadas de grises morales que entierran un personaje tan simplificado como el de Lolita y se embarcan en la construcción de algo mucho más complejo. Algo que, debido a su propia condición de psique fragmentada por el trauma, nunca acaba de construirse y solo se vislumbra a través de grietas y fisuras.
Es así como percibimos que, más que probablemente, el padre de la escritora de este diario consiguiera su consenso victimizándose a él mismo, haciendo sentir a su hija que, sin el sexo que ella le proporcionaba, incluso podría haberse llegado a suicidar. Haciéndole sentir que fue ella la que susurró cantos de sirena impropios de una niña y, sobre todo, imposibles de obviar cuando tu mujer incluso te empuja hacia ellos. Pero también percibimos que ese pedacito de la narradora que consintió y buscó también se desarrolla a medida que la persona madura, de tal forma que acaba viendo el mundo y construyendo su red de relaciones humanas a través de su trauma. Sus primera pareja adulta es un señor mayor en el que proyecta precisamente la horfandad mencionada más arriba. Y continuamente observa el mundo a su alrededor detectando patrones de conducta inquietantes entre padres e hijos.
“Diario de un Incesto” es un proceso de construcción de una persona que siempre estará incompleta por culpa de un trauma. Pero, a la vez, es una necesaria colleja en la moral del siglo 21, una moral que creemos avanzada pero que sigue funcionando en torno a binomios maniqueistas y que todavía es incapaz de asimilar, explicar y aprehender complejidades como la propuesta en este diario.
January 1, 2019
This is impossible to rate. It made me physically ill and gave me nightmares. I also think it's an important contribution to the literature on sexual violence and trauma, for the reasons stated in this essay:
All this said, I believe there’s still another reason why books like The Incest Diary are controversial (and I believe this sheds at least some light on why a novel like My Absolute Darling has been so upsetting for so many). The Incest Diary is written by a victim of rape, but not the kind of victim whose visibility contemporary feminism has fought for. This is both because it brings up the uncomfortable question of complicity when it deals with the author’s attraction to her father, and because the author is a person who has not survived in the sense that we mean when we call someone a “survivor” of sexual violence. Indeed, she writes that hers is a “creation story,” one in which the years of brutal sexual abuse she suffered are so central to her selfhood that they cannot be separated from her survival. They cannot be overcome, but must be integrated into her experience, and as the book ends, the author is still very much in the middle of that process.
The Incest Diary ends without resolution, depicting the author stuck in a psychoanalytic repetition of the dynamic she had with her father with another man. The book is about the inescapability of such violence; its entire structure and story challenge the notion that one can emerge as a “survivor” from certain kinds of trauma. Though we seem more ready than ever, as a culture, to talk about sexual violence, we may not yet be ready to hear the story of the person who has lived but not “survived.” And yet, if we are as concerned about the accounts of women being taken seriously as we say we are, we should welcome such stories, even if they don’t meet our expectations or confirm our biases.
July 27, 2017
Deeply disturbing but also very accurate as far as what I have seen throughout my time as a sexual assault advocate working with survivors and hearing their stories.
I don't quite know how to feel about the book; it is extremely, extremely graphic and not for the faint of heart by any means. Some of it reads like an erotica, but it's easy to tell how much her fathers physical and sexual abuse has impacted her, and it's incredibly humbling. The true scope of the impact of trauma is not fully known, and many who haven't went through similar traumas have a hard time grasping that.
I don't quite know how to feel about the book; it is extremely, extremely graphic and not for the faint of heart by any means. Some of it reads like an erotica, but it's easy to tell how much her fathers physical and sexual abuse has impacted her, and it's incredibly humbling. The true scope of the impact of trauma is not fully known, and many who haven't went through similar traumas have a hard time grasping that.
July 18, 2017
This is poorly written pornography. It was touted as something that would be groundbreaking, but instead it is almost embarrassingly crude - at the same standard as the pornography you find on the cubicle walls in public toilets. It is not believable, in fact I have doubts as to whether the writer is actually female. It seems more like the improbable ravings of an adolescent boy. There are inconsistencies in it, coupled with illogical claims about the characters. I have no interest in badly written pornography - it is not even erotic - and will not be finishing the book.
May 7, 2024
i mean ya it’s really good. it’s exactly what you think it is. i’m not a victim of incest but i am a csa survivor so it’s extremely cathartic to read something like this. to hear someone share their story so bluntly and honestly. i loved it. i hope she got something out of writing and publishing this. i think she did
July 20, 2017
Dwight Garner's review in the New York Time (18 July 2017) called some of the vignettes in this memoir "horror scenes", and I agree to the extent that they were gruesome, but unlike of movie of fiction, this was about a living woman, not an imaginary one. The descriptions of the cruelty are almost understated, even when describing her father penetrating her with a knife and cutting. What was haunting to me was the indifference to her plight shown by her mother, her relatives, and her friends. This second violation felt as terrible as the first.
Anytime a work is published by "Anonymous" there will be a temptation to dismiss the work as fiction, with the author using the memoir form for style. While I can't attest to the veracity of any of these claims, I can only say that the story unfolds in a way that draws you in, and shakes you to your core. It seems real. It seems genuine. And, we know, sadly, that such victims -- and monsters -- exist. This story, or one like it, could be told by millions.
I rarely act so spontaneously from a book review, but I'm glad I did. The work is short, just a couple of hours of reading time, and though brief, it felt complete. A longer work might have been repetitive, soul crushing, or both.
Anytime a work is published by "Anonymous" there will be a temptation to dismiss the work as fiction, with the author using the memoir form for style. While I can't attest to the veracity of any of these claims, I can only say that the story unfolds in a way that draws you in, and shakes you to your core. It seems real. It seems genuine. And, we know, sadly, that such victims -- and monsters -- exist. This story, or one like it, could be told by millions.
I rarely act so spontaneously from a book review, but I'm glad I did. The work is short, just a couple of hours of reading time, and though brief, it felt complete. A longer work might have been repetitive, soul crushing, or both.
October 14, 2017
Crudo, repulsivo, indignante, desgarrador, injusto. Un testimonio de violación relatado con distancia emocional y de forma explícita. Muy incómodo pero necesario.
February 18, 2019
Hay cosas que no cuadran, por lo que me cuesta creer que sea un caso real, es demasiado enfermizo y novelesco.
September 8, 2021
Story 5/5
Narration 5/5
Deviant!
Narration 5/5
Deviant!
June 23, 2022
I don't write detailed reviews for books often (I'm not as committed as a lot my fellow GoodReads users, to whom I take my hat off). However, I feel the need to say something about this book.
There are a number of 1 star reviews from people criticising this memoir, scrutinising its content and doubting its validity. "There's no way this is real". To those people I say, what bubble do you live in that you do not believe that that could be someones experience? The world is a cruel place, filled with weak, evil and twisted people like the father in this case. It is also full of people who will sit back and do nothing in-spite of the truth staring them in the face (like this authors wider family). The age old 'ignore it and it will go away'.
Abuse changes you, warps your self-image, self-worth, subsequent relationships and ability to trust in ways which are incomprehensible to those that have never had the misfortune to experience it. I see a number of people criticising this stating that it reads like smut and that the eroticism of the writing doesn't reflect the outlook of a victim of this type of abuse. I completely understand being utterly repulsed by this, but people experience and adapt to 'adversity' in different ways. We are only human. It is evident that this is a coping mechanism. Not only that but that the abuse that she has endured since she was an infant has impacted her sexually preferences throughout her life.
"Experiments with other animals proved the same - when an animal is scared, it goes home, no matter how terrifying home is."
"Today I read in a book about torture that the more a captive is raped, the more likely she is to experience pleasure. Pleasure as a means of survival. The more she is raped. The more pleasure. Does this mean I have felt the most pleasure in the world? My body is pure rapture."
I recently watched an interview of an incest survivor on the "Soft White Underbelly" YouTube channel and her account of her abuse and it's impact on her life was very similar to the account in this memoir.
This book was undoubtedly uncomfortable, disturbing and deeply sickening to read. Despite this, I find it wholly authentic. Could I/would I recommend this book for someone else to read? No. It isn't the type of book you recommend. It's content either grabs you are repulses you.
I am often drawn to anonymous authors. I find the brutal honesty to be incredibly brave, regardless of the fact that the author has chosen to keep their name private. Being able to put the experiences that this author has obviously endured into words, never mind down on paper and out into the world for people like us to read and criticise must be terrifying, but likely cathartic too.
I am giving this 5 stars, because how do you critique someone else's horrific experiences? I don't feel like I can.
There are a number of 1 star reviews from people criticising this memoir, scrutinising its content and doubting its validity. "There's no way this is real". To those people I say, what bubble do you live in that you do not believe that that could be someones experience? The world is a cruel place, filled with weak, evil and twisted people like the father in this case. It is also full of people who will sit back and do nothing in-spite of the truth staring them in the face (like this authors wider family). The age old 'ignore it and it will go away'.
Abuse changes you, warps your self-image, self-worth, subsequent relationships and ability to trust in ways which are incomprehensible to those that have never had the misfortune to experience it. I see a number of people criticising this stating that it reads like smut and that the eroticism of the writing doesn't reflect the outlook of a victim of this type of abuse. I completely understand being utterly repulsed by this, but people experience and adapt to 'adversity' in different ways. We are only human. It is evident that this is a coping mechanism. Not only that but that the abuse that she has endured since she was an infant has impacted her sexually preferences throughout her life.
"Experiments with other animals proved the same - when an animal is scared, it goes home, no matter how terrifying home is."
"Today I read in a book about torture that the more a captive is raped, the more likely she is to experience pleasure. Pleasure as a means of survival. The more she is raped. The more pleasure. Does this mean I have felt the most pleasure in the world? My body is pure rapture."
I recently watched an interview of an incest survivor on the "Soft White Underbelly" YouTube channel and her account of her abuse and it's impact on her life was very similar to the account in this memoir.
This book was undoubtedly uncomfortable, disturbing and deeply sickening to read. Despite this, I find it wholly authentic. Could I/would I recommend this book for someone else to read? No. It isn't the type of book you recommend. It's content either grabs you are repulses you.
I am often drawn to anonymous authors. I find the brutal honesty to be incredibly brave, regardless of the fact that the author has chosen to keep their name private. Being able to put the experiences that this author has obviously endured into words, never mind down on paper and out into the world for people like us to read and criticise must be terrifying, but likely cathartic too.
I am giving this 5 stars, because how do you critique someone else's horrific experiences? I don't feel like I can.
July 26, 2017
I believe the book itself may be of some comfort to survivors of child abuse. Many times survivors believe that they have enjoyed the abuse and yes even masturbate to or romantasie the abuse which will usually lead to a great shame that eats away at your soul.
However this book does show you that while some "pleasure" may come from the abuse it does not mean there is something wrong with you nor that you actually wanted it.
However this book does show you that while some "pleasure" may come from the abuse it does not mean there is something wrong with you nor that you actually wanted it.
Read
November 10, 2025I don’t feel comfortable rating this book since it’s based on a truly devastating real-life story. The narration is disgustingly cruel and deeply disturbing- this is not a book for everyone.
Read
August 3, 2017I love a gritty read amongst my light reads, but did not enjoy this at all.
If the author was named I may have found it more compelling, but to me it seemed like a fictitious fetish short story.
Use of the word "pussy" and "cock" when the author describes being raped makes it feel like I'm reading a porno.
At the end of the day it was a trash read for those who get off on incest. Disturbing but completely fictional. Don't bother.
If the author was named I may have found it more compelling, but to me it seemed like a fictitious fetish short story.
Use of the word "pussy" and "cock" when the author describes being raped makes it feel like I'm reading a porno.
At the end of the day it was a trash read for those who get off on incest. Disturbing but completely fictional. Don't bother.
October 19, 2017
Muy enfermo y sin ningún mensaje ni reflexión
March 16, 2025
Books read & reviewed: 1️⃣0️⃣5️⃣🥖4️⃣0️⃣0️⃣
╔⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤╗
5️⃣🌟, boring ahh cover, unboring ahh contents
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➕➖0️⃣1️⃣2️⃣3️⃣4️⃣5️⃣6️⃣7️⃣8️⃣9️⃣🔟✖️➗
The incest diary...So horrifying horrible, but there is a heated debate to which if this is real or this is fiction. This is a first person account of the sexual assault that her own father does to her. I have no further opinion since this is just sad. Sad because this is a thing someone probably experienced in their life.
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Date Read: Monday, March 17, 2025
Book Length: 28k words: WE ARE BACK INTO SHORT NOVELS!!
Disturbingness scale: 😶😨 out of 1️⃣0️⃣0️⃣ potatoes 🥔: 6️⃣0️⃣
My 19th read of splatterpunk march ✨
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*Pre-Read✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Boring ahh cover 😐
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5️⃣🌟, boring ahh cover, unboring ahh contents
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The incest diary...So horrifying horrible, but there is a heated debate to which if this is real or this is fiction. This is a first person account of the sexual assault that her own father does to her. I have no further opinion since this is just sad. Sad because this is a thing someone probably experienced in their life.
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Date Read: Monday, March 17, 2025
Book Length: 28k words: WE ARE BACK INTO SHORT NOVELS!!
Disturbingness scale: 😶😨 out of 1️⃣0️⃣0️⃣ potatoes 🥔: 6️⃣0️⃣
My 19th read of splatterpunk march ✨
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*Pre-Read✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Boring ahh cover 😐
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