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No Archive Will Restore You
At once memoir, theory, poetic prose, and fragment, No Archive Will Restore You is a feverish meditation on the body. Departing from Antonio Gramsci’s summons to compile an inventory of the historical traces left in each of us, Singh engages with both the impossibility and urgent necessity of crafting an archive of the body. Through reveries on the enduring legacies of pain, desire, sexuality, race, and identity, she asks us to sense and feel what we have been trained to disavow, to re-member the body as more than itself.
118 pages, Paperback
First published November 13, 2018
39 people are currently reading
2010 people want to read
About the author
Julietta Singh
5 books58 followersJulietta Singh is Associate Professor of English at the University of Richmond. She is a writer and academic who works at the intersections of postcolonial studies, feminist and queer theory, and the environmental humanities. She is the author of Unthinking Mastery: Dehumanism and Decolonial Entanglements (Duke University Press, 2018), and No Archive Will Restore You (Punctum Books, 2018). Her academic writing has been published in leading cultural theory journals including South Atlantic Quarterly, Cultural Critique, Studies in Gender and Sexuality, Symploke, and the Journal of Postcolonial Writing. Her creative work has appeared in venues such as American Poetry Review, Animal Shelter, Prairie Fire, Social Text, and Women & Performance.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 99 reviews
March 18, 2022
The body, the person, is formed by and in time and history; the body keeps the score. In No Archive Will Restore You, Julietta Singh turns to keeping a score of the body, looking at it as an impossible, but nevertheless important archive. The body here is porous, and Singh's luminous autoethnography seeks to "gather the things that leak from it, or have been deposited in it, or that pass through it." Both the body as an archive and its formulation as such relies, therefore, on an intersubjective experience where the boundaries between us and the world blur and mix—we flow into the world and it flows into us.
In seminar yesterday, one of my classmates spoke about how going through medieval-era vellum folios in the Lambeth Archives made her think of skin: how the skin of her fingers felt against these sheets of long-preserved animal skin, how the natural oils from her skin nourished its surface, how this skin had been stretched beyond itself and into a new body (a body of knowledge), and how this skin, this body, would outlast her own. And yet, her mortal, ever-changing body will retain this encounter—we can consider it an encounter between two archives—until it remains; she will re-member those folios in the Lambeth Archives as an extension of her own body, a body that is more than itself.
What Singh does in No Archive Will Restore You is something similar, and indeed our seminar discussion was prompted by the book, which explores of the body as it extends into the world, through pain that radiates, through shit and puke, through childbirth, through the mobile phone as a fifth limb in long-distance relationships, and through our relationships with people and places and things. Seeing her skin and flesh in interaction with the flesh of the world, she meditates on the relationship between food and her queerness, between childbirth and language—or pain and sound, between text and sex, between cultural and personal intimacies, between skin and skin.
As with any site for the playing out of history, the body as archive needs excavating and interpreting, and as with any other archive, its interpretation is also its making. Singh's immersion in queer, feminist and decolonial theories may be evident in this conceptualisation, but this is not an inaccessible text. Rather, it pushes one to shirk the disavowal of the body as a location where knowledge—thought, observation, feeling—is produced, where the disgusting, shameful, and quotidian are just as important as the exalted. It is thus, in my eyes, an endeavour towards freeing the body, of re-attuning it to its own rhythms. However, as the title of the book suggests, Singh is cautious of seeing the archive—any archive—as restorative (of history, personal memory, integrity, and so on). Instead, her focus is on scarification/ experience, and the value that lies therein.
The particular form of embodied telling that Singh takes on here is different from my expectations going in, but in the best way possible. Rather than a life told through the body (see: Shanta Gokhale's One Foot On the Ground), Singh's memoir comes in snatches and fragments that give way to theorisation, which, interestingly, is also how traditional archives work (many have compared and related her with Maggie Nelson, including Nelson herself). This is also a telling that relies heavily on the reader's response and affect, something which definitely contributed to how unputdownable I found it to be. That, perhaps, is partly why the author and publishers have kept it legally free to read (here). Even through a screen I felt the skin of Singh's world gently raising the hairs on mine.
In seminar yesterday, one of my classmates spoke about how going through medieval-era vellum folios in the Lambeth Archives made her think of skin: how the skin of her fingers felt against these sheets of long-preserved animal skin, how the natural oils from her skin nourished its surface, how this skin had been stretched beyond itself and into a new body (a body of knowledge), and how this skin, this body, would outlast her own. And yet, her mortal, ever-changing body will retain this encounter—we can consider it an encounter between two archives—until it remains; she will re-member those folios in the Lambeth Archives as an extension of her own body, a body that is more than itself.
What Singh does in No Archive Will Restore You is something similar, and indeed our seminar discussion was prompted by the book, which explores of the body as it extends into the world, through pain that radiates, through shit and puke, through childbirth, through the mobile phone as a fifth limb in long-distance relationships, and through our relationships with people and places and things. Seeing her skin and flesh in interaction with the flesh of the world, she meditates on the relationship between food and her queerness, between childbirth and language—or pain and sound, between text and sex, between cultural and personal intimacies, between skin and skin.
As with any site for the playing out of history, the body as archive needs excavating and interpreting, and as with any other archive, its interpretation is also its making. Singh's immersion in queer, feminist and decolonial theories may be evident in this conceptualisation, but this is not an inaccessible text. Rather, it pushes one to shirk the disavowal of the body as a location where knowledge—thought, observation, feeling—is produced, where the disgusting, shameful, and quotidian are just as important as the exalted. It is thus, in my eyes, an endeavour towards freeing the body, of re-attuning it to its own rhythms. However, as the title of the book suggests, Singh is cautious of seeing the archive—any archive—as restorative (of history, personal memory, integrity, and so on). Instead, her focus is on scarification/ experience, and the value that lies therein.
The particular form of embodied telling that Singh takes on here is different from my expectations going in, but in the best way possible. Rather than a life told through the body (see: Shanta Gokhale's One Foot On the Ground), Singh's memoir comes in snatches and fragments that give way to theorisation, which, interestingly, is also how traditional archives work (many have compared and related her with Maggie Nelson, including Nelson herself). This is also a telling that relies heavily on the reader's response and affect, something which definitely contributed to how unputdownable I found it to be. That, perhaps, is partly why the author and publishers have kept it legally free to read (here). Even through a screen I felt the skin of Singh's world gently raising the hairs on mine.
February 1, 2024
some books rely too heavily on quoting Maggie Nelson
April 4, 2020
To think of one's body as an archive in itself has also been an idea that I cherish and have been thinking with. Yet, in this book, Julietta Singh approached it differently from what I had expected before reading. For her, to think about one's body as an archive is a long single moment of solitude. It is an act done with others, in fragments, and in and out of time, which her writing style reflects.
The body archive is an act of hope and an act of love against the foreclosures of reason, the dichotomic body-mind/mind-soul dualities. It is a way of knowing the body-self as a becoming and unbecoming thing, and turning toward's rather than against one's self. The body archive is a process of peace making, of radical seeing, sensing and feeling.
This stems solely from a point of departure that considers bodies to extend in space beyond skin. She also profoundly and beautifully explores the idea of boundaries, how do our bodies melt into one another, how do we carry someone else's body into ours, and what are the limits between one's flesh and the flesh of the world - if the world had a physical visible flesh.
The body archive is an act of hope and an act of love against the foreclosures of reason, the dichotomic body-mind/mind-soul dualities. It is a way of knowing the body-self as a becoming and unbecoming thing, and turning toward's rather than against one's self. The body archive is a process of peace making, of radical seeing, sensing and feeling.
This stems solely from a point of departure that considers bodies to extend in space beyond skin. She also profoundly and beautifully explores the idea of boundaries, how do our bodies melt into one another, how do we carry someone else's body into ours, and what are the limits between one's flesh and the flesh of the world - if the world had a physical visible flesh.
August 18, 2024
Julietta Singh is right up there with Carmen Maria Machado and Maggie Nelson (which, really, is about as good as it gets)
February 26, 2020
In chapter two, Singh briefly ponders the cliché when she recalls a relationship with a professor that “turned into a silly affair”. “I’m a cliché!” she shamefully confesses to a feminist mentor, who, as far as Singh narrates it, she’s apparently consulting for dim and insufferable meta-analysis: “But of course it’s cliché!” her mentor ecstatically replies. “It’s cliché because it is continuously reproduced! You are part of a reproductive machine!”
This presumably intentional metaphor for the book itself is unfortunate, since No Archive Will Restore You (at least up until this point, as far as I read) really does fail to be more than the tritest academic probing, with fragmentation substituting for style. As with The Argonauts, personal anecdotes serve as the inroads to cursory explorations of some loose theory. As with The Argonauts, my disappointment stems from an inability to stay with either a particular idea or in a personal scene for little more than a paragraph at a time. Here, too, it seems especially unidirectional: always the personal a way station en route to intellectual musing. Perhaps the book evolves (though I tend to doubt it, given its low page-count). But for me, the problem with these works of blended memoir and theory (see also Ann Cvetkovich’s Depression: A Public Feeling) is that each genre tends to use the other as a crutch when they could be excitingly coextensive. But that would require greater character definition and detailism overall.
This presumably intentional metaphor for the book itself is unfortunate, since No Archive Will Restore You (at least up until this point, as far as I read) really does fail to be more than the tritest academic probing, with fragmentation substituting for style. As with The Argonauts, personal anecdotes serve as the inroads to cursory explorations of some loose theory. As with The Argonauts, my disappointment stems from an inability to stay with either a particular idea or in a personal scene for little more than a paragraph at a time. Here, too, it seems especially unidirectional: always the personal a way station en route to intellectual musing. Perhaps the book evolves (though I tend to doubt it, given its low page-count). But for me, the problem with these works of blended memoir and theory (see also Ann Cvetkovich’s Depression: A Public Feeling) is that each genre tends to use the other as a crutch when they could be excitingly coextensive. But that would require greater character definition and detailism overall.
October 10, 2025
Returning to this beautiful book for the first time since I encountered it two years ago, and realizing how profoundly it informed my thinking and my desire to engage with the archive. Julietta Singh is my personal hero. To profess unabashedly to be all feeling, all sensation; I aspire to communicate the ambivalence of my own desires, in the moments when language is up to the task, with the lyricism and grace that Julietta Singh harnesses.
April 18, 2021
"We were graduate students in a small cultural theory program, plummeting deeper and deeper into debt, which is in a sense its own hellish kind of archive. We were hoping to be one of the rare exceptions that would be plucked into that almost mythical land of tenure-track work...why did we stay, with the odds so stacked against us? I don't blame the archive per se, but it undoubtedly held out a kind of promise for each of us that kept us tethered to academia. The archive was an elusive hope of our individual salvation...if only we could stumble upon the right archive, the secrets that no one else had yet discovered, we might still be one of the chosen ones" (21-22).
This book is stunning. It's beautifully written, worded in a way that made me feel like I was emotionally connecting to the author's desperate search for language that made sense of lived, borrowed, and sometimes fantasy experiences that are felt in our bodies. It made me cry several times.
The descriptions of academia, work, health, and of romance and sex and motherhood, were so poignant I want to just sit down, re-read the entire thing even though I just finished it. I want to highlight every big, punchy line and memorize them.
This book is stunning. It's beautifully written, worded in a way that made me feel like I was emotionally connecting to the author's desperate search for language that made sense of lived, borrowed, and sometimes fantasy experiences that are felt in our bodies. It made me cry several times.
The descriptions of academia, work, health, and of romance and sex and motherhood, were so poignant I want to just sit down, re-read the entire thing even though I just finished it. I want to highlight every big, punchy line and memorize them.
February 6, 2021
the only reason this is 2 and not 1 is because this was readable, unlike other works for my fem lit source.
Honestly, there is a brand of creative academia that is so far outside my realm of thinking, in that it reads as absurdist but the writer is being genuine. For example, the author tried to convince me it was natural instinct to want eat our mothers, and I'm sorry, I have never wanted to eat my mother, even metaphorically. A lot of this reads as if it's trying to be profound, but I read it as bullshit.
There are times I see glimmers of sense, or what she's trying to say in a particular moment, but the way she talks about it makes it lose its meaning.
And honestly, what the fuck is an archive? At least what is Singh's archive? It reads like she came up with her own definition of the word and writes like we should all be on board with her abstract bs definition.
Honestly, there is a brand of creative academia that is so far outside my realm of thinking, in that it reads as absurdist but the writer is being genuine. For example, the author tried to convince me it was natural instinct to want eat our mothers, and I'm sorry, I have never wanted to eat my mother, even metaphorically. A lot of this reads as if it's trying to be profound, but I read it as bullshit.
There are times I see glimmers of sense, or what she's trying to say in a particular moment, but the way she talks about it makes it lose its meaning.
And honestly, what the fuck is an archive? At least what is Singh's archive? It reads like she came up with her own definition of the word and writes like we should all be on board with her abstract bs definition.
June 3, 2019
Thoroughly enjoyed this raw, intimate and thought-provoking blend of theory, memoir and prose-poetry that reminded me of one of my favorite books, Maggie Nelson's The Argonauts. Singh's deconstruction of the archive resonated with me on many levels, as a former history of science graduate student, aspiring archivist and current librarian. Highly recommended for anyone who loved The Argonauts or enjoys bracing personal/theoretical work at the intersections of postcolonial studies, feminist and queer theory.
February 28, 2020
After reading the first chapter for a literature class I felt a little underwhelmed by the rest of the book. Still, the theoretical model of body as archive has resonated so loudly with me that this gets four out of five stars.
February 7, 2021
This is so close to me that it feels like a curse. It ultimately does not fulfill the promise of the title. Have yet read a feminist/queer memoir that is not self-indulgent, which is to say, I'm still not into memoirs.
January 24, 2022
I really wanted to like this more. I liked the form of memoir vignettes, I liked the premise of grappling with the archives, but I found the content itself (the specific vignettes, the way the archive is grappled with) less compelling.
March 18, 2023
read this exactly when i needed to
May 16, 2021
c.w. basically everything - trauma, disordered eating, racism, queerphobia, misogyny
the body is the archive, because it is always imperfect and ever changing. And yet it holds onto everything.
A quote:
"I become ever more preoccupied with this notion of transformative touch between friends. With contact that cannot be reduced to the normative cultural paradigms – sexual and parental – of intimate touch. What kinds of touch live beyond these paradigms, making up dissenting communities? The touch I desire most intensely is the touch of the friend that folds me into collective alterity, that feels and shapes me as an anti-normative social body. A misfit thing held and felt by other misfit things."
the body is the archive, because it is always imperfect and ever changing. And yet it holds onto everything.
A quote:
"I become ever more preoccupied with this notion of transformative touch between friends. With contact that cannot be reduced to the normative cultural paradigms – sexual and parental – of intimate touch. What kinds of touch live beyond these paradigms, making up dissenting communities? The touch I desire most intensely is the touch of the friend that folds me into collective alterity, that feels and shapes me as an anti-normative social body. A misfit thing held and felt by other misfit things."
September 3, 2020
Rating: B
CW for eating disorders, mentions of sexual assault, cancer, racism, childbirth.
I read this in two chunks in an afternoon for an online book club discussion of the text.
Good parts that stuck out to me:
- Open access! The book is legally free!
- Discussions of biology/body/mind
- Love with emojis, iPhones
- Sound
- Discussions of (ethical) cannibalism
- Richmond-specific parts
- The concept of the body as an archive
- It was written in short chunks so was pretty readable.
I couldn't relate to the discussions of academics and found them less interesting than other parts. I also thought the discussion about shit seemed.... random? Or maybe I'm just not used to seeing books talk so much about poop? (Captain Underpants aside).
CW for eating disorders, mentions of sexual assault, cancer, racism, childbirth.
I read this in two chunks in an afternoon for an online book club discussion of the text.
Good parts that stuck out to me:
- Open access! The book is legally free!
- Discussions of biology/body/mind
- Love with emojis, iPhones
- Sound
- Discussions of (ethical) cannibalism
- Richmond-specific parts
- The concept of the body as an archive
- It was written in short chunks so was pretty readable.
I couldn't relate to the discussions of academics and found them less interesting than other parts. I also thought the discussion about shit seemed.... random? Or maybe I'm just not used to seeing books talk so much about poop? (Captain Underpants aside).
Read
January 4, 2026In 1 adem uitgelezen in de trein van Hamburg naar Kopenhagen. het gevoel dat ik moest huilen overviel me meerdere keren tijdens het lezen. Het deed me denken aan The Argonauts qua stijl: fragmentarisch en persoonlijk, vermengd met theorie. Er wordt veel aangeraakt: racisme, childbirth, archivering, pijn, relaties met ouders en vrienden, queer relaties, lange afstands relaties. Had graag langer stil blijven staan bij bepaalde momenten want het voelde gehaast soms, en toch ergens navelstaarderig? Of misschien voldeed het gewoon niet aan mijn verwachting aan de hand van de titel en was ik daarom chagrijnig. Er zaten hele mooie zinnen/stukken in, zowel inhoudelijk als qua proza.
April 8, 2023
(3.5) I absolutely adore Julietta's writing style, and appreciated deeply many of the overarching symbols, themes, and concerns present. The body as archive is something I am really obsessed with, and her articulation of it is beautiful. So many moments deeply resonated with me. But, at the same time, a lot of moments really didn't. Some parts felt profound on a surface but did not hit me deeply. Every person will interact with a text differently so I'm not faulting the writing for that. Just some things didn't hit.
I'm so glad I read this book & even gladder that I took her class. It opened up my entire world and formed me and my wants as a writer. :)
I'm so glad I read this book & even gladder that I took her class. It opened up my entire world and formed me and my wants as a writer. :)
April 22, 2024
Absolutely beautiful book! I am completely floored by the amazing combination of queer theory, critical theory, and poetic creative nonfiction. Throughout reading, I found myself screaming “why didn’t I come up with this?!”
November 29, 2023
AMAZING!!!
January 22, 2024
A delight, just like all of Julietta’s books/stories/essays.
December 22, 2025
(The title has been stuck in my head like a piece of inoperable shrapnel for the months since I came across and noted to read this.
Apt enough. A body archive is a collection of hauntings too.)
Fragmentary, part essay, part a memoir in wracking wrecked vignettes.
Rich. A plumbable brief work.
Some disparate notes: I do like works which dwell so closely to, so thoroughly in the organic. (Philosophia that practices somatophilia, if you will.) I found Singh's reflections on eating disorder resonating, for all that my concrete personal experiences have been dissimilar.
Apt enough. A body archive is a collection of hauntings too.)
Fragmentary, part essay, part a memoir in wracking wrecked vignettes.
Rich. A plumbable brief work.
Some disparate notes: I do like works which dwell so closely to, so thoroughly in the organic. (Philosophia that practices somatophilia, if you will.) I found Singh's reflections on eating disorder resonating, for all that my concrete personal experiences have been dissimilar.
... I think of this child, who is herself a fragment of my body. And of my own body, which is also fragment. Something born, something shattered, something that articulates its interest in a mythical whole.
October 3, 2023
Shoutout to the fragments about fragments, some of them were good. The new materialist girlies all write with the same tone which has quickly gotten tired and tiring imo, but the content was interesting in parts. I appreciated the length - take what resonates, leave the rest, and you haven’t lost too much time or patience.
December 29, 2020
Unexpected and marvelous.
September 29, 2025
One of the most expansive books I've read this year and this lifetime. I LOVE ALL OF THIS.
February 13, 2025
«I want to burrow so deep in language with you that we exceed it»
November 15, 2018
I enjoy reading this small memoir-theory a lot more than I should and (I think) I ever understand. Singh traces her body as her approach on seeing archives. Her takes on archives are really political and at the same time, poetic. Archives are not static, they expand, they transform, they reify, and they give a new meaning in each context, usage, time, and space. They both are the exemplification of becoming and unbecoming. I eerily make this connection of body archives with my experience reading the transmigration records made by the Dutch. My body, who belongs in that hellish estate, is so attached, yet so distant at the same time.
February 13, 2023
read this & weep
October 13, 2019
This is a slim book, part memoir, part essay, part theory. The ideas here, of the archive, of the body and the visceral, as the limits of memory and words, are all ideas that interest me greatly and entangle me, so the book sat with me in heart and mind. I wish that some of the ideas and presentations weren’t simply presented and glossed over and moved onto the next flight of ideas, but the writing is concise and direct.
July 23, 2020
I'm not sure I know what I just read, but I know it was a journey through a life via embodied telling. Singh's body is the locus for this autobiographical journey as she revisits the archive of her pain and pleasure. Singh gives us a creative example of what an embodied archive can be and how the archive is alive.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 99 reviews