What do you think?
Rate this book
Things We Didn't Talk About When I Was a Girl: A Memoir
"Such a confrontation is bold, unsettling and timely. (Vanasco) wanted to find out how a person who hurts others talks to himself about his actions. If we are ever going to reduce sexual violence, it’s a critically important question." —Laurie Halse Anderson in TIME
"It’s hard to overstate the importance of this gorgeous, harrowing, heartbreaking book . . . Vanasco is whip-smart and tender, open and ruthless; she is the perfect guide through the minefield of her trauma, and ours." —Carmen Maria Machado in Bustle
A Best Book of 2019 at Esquire, Amazon, Time, Kirkus, and Electric Literature
Jeannie Vanasco has had the same nightmare since she was a teenager. She startles awake, saying his name. It is always about him: one of her closest high school friends, a boy named Mark. A boy who raped her.
When her nightmares worsen, Jeannie decides—after fourteen years of silence—to reach out to Mark. He agrees to talk on the record and meet in person. "It's the least I can do," he says.
Jeannie details her friendship with Mark before and after the assault, asking the brave and urgent question: Is it possible for a good person to commit a terrible act? Jeannie interviews Mark, exploring how rape has impacted his life as well as her own. She examines the language surrounding sexual assault and pushes against its confines, contributing to and deepening the #MeToo discussion.
Exacting and courageous, Things We Didn't Talk About When I Was a Girl is part memoir, part true crime record, and part testament to the strength of female friendships—a recounting and reckoning that will inspire us to ask harder questions and interrogate our biases. Jeannie Vanasco examines and dismantles long-held myths of victimhood, discovering grace and power in this genre-bending investigation into the trauma of sexual violence.
360 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 1, 2019
271 people are currently reading
12573 people want to read
About the author
Jeannie Vanasco
4 books219 followersJeannie Vanasco is the author of the memoirs A Silent Treatment (forthcoming 2025), Things We Didn't Talk About When I Was a Girl (2019), and The Glass Eye (2017).
Things We Didn't Talk About When I Was a Girl—a New York Times Editors' Choice, a Kirkus Best Book of the Year, a TIME magazine Must-Read Book of the Year, and the 2020 winner of the Ohioana Book Award in nonfiction—was published by Tin House in 2019. In its starred review, Kirkus called Things We Didn't Talk About When I Was a Girl "an extraordinarily brave work of self- and cultural reflection." The Glass Eye—honored as an Indie Next selection and an Indies Introduce selection by the American Booksellers Association as well as a Discover Great New Writers selection by Barnes and Noble—was published by Tin House in 2017. The New York Times Book Review praised The Glass Eye as "hypnotic . . . a haunting exploration of perception, memory, and the complexities of grief." Her third book, A Silent Treatment, will be published in September 2025 by Tin House.
Vanasco's writing has appeared in the Believer, the New York Times, the Times Literary Supplement, and elsewhere. Born and raised in Sandusky, Ohio, she now lives in Baltimore and is an associate professor of English at Towson University.
Things We Didn't Talk About When I Was a Girl—a New York Times Editors' Choice, a Kirkus Best Book of the Year, a TIME magazine Must-Read Book of the Year, and the 2020 winner of the Ohioana Book Award in nonfiction—was published by Tin House in 2019. In its starred review, Kirkus called Things We Didn't Talk About When I Was a Girl "an extraordinarily brave work of self- and cultural reflection." The Glass Eye—honored as an Indie Next selection and an Indies Introduce selection by the American Booksellers Association as well as a Discover Great New Writers selection by Barnes and Noble—was published by Tin House in 2017. The New York Times Book Review praised The Glass Eye as "hypnotic . . . a haunting exploration of perception, memory, and the complexities of grief." Her third book, A Silent Treatment, will be published in September 2025 by Tin House.
Vanasco's writing has appeared in the Believer, the New York Times, the Times Literary Supplement, and elsewhere. Born and raised in Sandusky, Ohio, she now lives in Baltimore and is an associate professor of English at Towson University.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 491 reviews
November 4, 2019
We used to be friends.
As you may have heard, this book is about the author, Jeannie Vanasco, interviewing the man and former friend who raped her when they were teenagers. After years of nightmares and trying to escape her past, Vanasco decided instead to confront it. To seek the answers she has needed for so long. To try and make sense of that one horrific night.
This an arresting premise, to be sure, though whether you feel curious about what this asshole has to say for himself or angry that he has been offered a platform will obviously differ from person to person. Vanasco herself seems keenly aware that some vocal feminists will not appreciate what she is doing. It is a terrible shame, though, that even among those who should seek first to help and protect survivors, the author feels the constant need to explain and justify herself. I think this book tells us a great deal about the way we "feminists" continue to fail survivors.
It seems almost trite to say it, but this is such a powerful, sad and raw memoir. Vanasco is constantly battling to keep control of the narrative, to get answers from Mark but not allow him to manipulate her or rewrite the story of what happened. A lot of the book focuses not on Mark, but on her feelings about reconnecting with him.
The book is written in short, fragmented chapters, which I appreciate won't be for everyone, but it really pulled me inside the author's mind. She clearly has a lot of thoughts circling in her head and I personally didn’t grow tired of hearing about them. Maybe this book works better if you’re familiar with depression and anxiety. The author spends a lot of time in her own head, questioning why she wants to do this and the language she chooses to explain the sexual assault, such as the way she places emphasis on the fact she was drunk for the first time-- to make herself seem more innocent? She wonders.
I could delete this rationale, or revise my stated motivations. But I would only be doing that in an effort to please or impress others. And I want to be honest here. Otherwise, why do this? This is a memoir, not a manifesto.
I think the most important message this book leaves us with is the thing Vanasco feels hesitant to say and yet it lurks beneath each chapter: rapists are not monsters in dark alleyways. They are friends, they are sons, they are brothers, lovers, boys. Some people bristle at these attempts to humanize rapists, but I think they misunderstand the importance of doing so. It is not for the rapists. It is not to make us sympathize with them. It is to make us sympathize with survivors. So many women don't report sexual assault because they think they will be hated for it, or not believed. Why? Because it is easy to believe the monster in the alleyway is a rapist. It is not easy to believe a friend/son/brother/lover is.
One last thing I wanted to note is that I am still struggling to make sense of the title. This is not really a criticism; I am just putting it out there in case anyone feels the same or wants to offer suggestions.
Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Youtube
October 3, 2019
Update: I decided to change this to two stars from one. It deserves at least an additional star for the act of doing this at all, what it took emotionally to be able to write anything down, let alone interviewing and seeing her rapist, someone who was a good friend and betrayed that relationship.
First: brave topic and approach. However, the execution is flawed. Most obvious: nothing in this book implies a list of things that weren’t taught to the author as a girl. Nothing was mentioned in any way, so the title just...doesn’t make any sense. My biggest problem is that it’s basically the story of her process interviewing the friend that assaulted her and putting it into a book, not the book itself. It feels like a long, drawn-out, repetitive Q&A with herself. She transcribes the conversations with him, so it becomes a Q&A with him. There seems to be no point, no lesson, no insight at all. The guy feels terrible, guilty, and feels he owes it to her to talk to her for this book...but it’s like you never get to the point. Several times in the book I had to flip back to make sure I hadn’t misplaced my bookmark because I’d already heard the same things, chapter after chapter.
I appreciate what I think she was trying to do which I think is prove how any guy, even the nice guys, can do something awful. But it doesn’t ever quite get there because the sample set is just “Mark”, it’s just (again) the process of talking through WANTING to make this point and wanting to write a book that achieves that, but not getting down to it. The author wants this to reach an audience, but to what end? I hope it helped her work through some things, but it just reads like someone talking about the book they’re GOING to write, an author’s work product, but not the book itself.
First: brave topic and approach. However, the execution is flawed. Most obvious: nothing in this book implies a list of things that weren’t taught to the author as a girl. Nothing was mentioned in any way, so the title just...doesn’t make any sense. My biggest problem is that it’s basically the story of her process interviewing the friend that assaulted her and putting it into a book, not the book itself. It feels like a long, drawn-out, repetitive Q&A with herself. She transcribes the conversations with him, so it becomes a Q&A with him. There seems to be no point, no lesson, no insight at all. The guy feels terrible, guilty, and feels he owes it to her to talk to her for this book...but it’s like you never get to the point. Several times in the book I had to flip back to make sure I hadn’t misplaced my bookmark because I’d already heard the same things, chapter after chapter.
I appreciate what I think she was trying to do which I think is prove how any guy, even the nice guys, can do something awful. But it doesn’t ever quite get there because the sample set is just “Mark”, it’s just (again) the process of talking through WANTING to make this point and wanting to write a book that achieves that, but not getting down to it. The author wants this to reach an audience, but to what end? I hope it helped her work through some things, but it just reads like someone talking about the book they’re GOING to write, an author’s work product, but not the book itself.
August 27, 2019
Oof. I suspected this would be great but it packs more of a punch than I even expected - Vanasco, a woman in her early 30s and teacher of memoir writing at a university, decides to get back in touch with her rapist, a guy she was close friends with as a teenager until he assaulted her at a party when she was 19. The book then chronicles the process of getting back in touch with this guy ("Mark"), first through a series of phone calls and how the process of revisiting the rape and her friendship with him - while also trying to write about it - impacts upon her, building up to when she decides to travel to meet him and interview him face to face.
Jeannie decides to record the phone calls, allowing for a level of self-analysis/reflection as well as being able to go over and really think about what Mark says during these conversations. She quickly realises that she is trying to reassure and comfort Mark through the language she uses to make sure she isn't making him feel uncomfortable. The level of introspection is, I guess, expected from someone who teaches memoir writing, but I found it added so much to the narrative. Why do (some) women find it so hard to put their own feelings above those of (almost invariably) men around them? Jeannie also discusses the writing process with a number of writer friends throughout the period spanning her conversations with Mark, helping her to further pick apart and analyse her own reaction to events, as well as how Mark responds to her getting back in touch.
I found this impossible to put down and a thought-provoking read on a number of levels.
Highly recommended.
Thank you Netgalley and Prelude Books for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review.
Jeannie decides to record the phone calls, allowing for a level of self-analysis/reflection as well as being able to go over and really think about what Mark says during these conversations. She quickly realises that she is trying to reassure and comfort Mark through the language she uses to make sure she isn't making him feel uncomfortable. The level of introspection is, I guess, expected from someone who teaches memoir writing, but I found it added so much to the narrative. Why do (some) women find it so hard to put their own feelings above those of (almost invariably) men around them? Jeannie also discusses the writing process with a number of writer friends throughout the period spanning her conversations with Mark, helping her to further pick apart and analyse her own reaction to events, as well as how Mark responds to her getting back in touch.
I found this impossible to put down and a thought-provoking read on a number of levels.
Highly recommended.
Thank you Netgalley and Prelude Books for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review.
April 10, 2020
DNF at 22%.
I don't remember how I encountered this book, but I want to say that it was a "books similar to" recommendation from my library after reading Not That Bad: Dispatches from Rape Culture. So I added it, and then waited for ages on hold for it... and now I've read less than a quarter of it, which has taken me four days already, and I'm returning it.
This is a memoir about a woman's sexual assault when she was a teen, and her coming to terms with all that that entails - regarding what counts as rape (and how that has changed SINCE her rape), how she should feel about it, how she should feel about the man who assaulted her, how she should feel about how she feels, how she feels about how HE feels about what happened, how she feels about caring about how he feels... How she feels about writing about this, how she feels about how HE will feel about her writing about this, how she feels about her feeling anything about him feeling something about writing this... etc etc etc.
On the surface, this seems right up my alley. Examinations of the nuance of rape culture are important, and I appreciate them. But this one just did not work for me.
The style, right off the bat, was off-putting. This is written in staccato sentence clusters, sans quotation marks, and on top of that, it jumps around not only in time - one sentence speaking about now, and the next about the past - but also randomly among disparate and seemingly unconnected thoughts and ideas. And because of that, it has a very... mishmash, unfocused, first draft feel. Because a lot of this so far is the author's thoughts and feelings about the PROCESS of writing this book, it enhances that first draft feel even more. It's so meta that it bothers me. I get that it's relevant, but my Kindle informs me that there are approximately 78% and 5 hours left to read in the book, and I already feel the repetitiveness and my interest is waning.
In addition to that, I'm finding it hard to identify with the author and her friends here, and their responses and analyses of his actions, her actions, her reactions, his words, her words, etc. I know that everyone's experience is different, and people react and process very differently to their assaults than I have to mine. But these examinations of all of the feelings and underlying intent and analysis of every word, etc and the WAY that they discuss it... It feels less like friends discussing a traumatic experience and offering support than it does a critical analysis of a writing assignment. Already I've lost count of how many times the phrase "performance of gender" has been used. But THIS paragraph is where I stopped reading because... it's just too much.
Really.
It takes a certain amount of guts to write a memoir solely focused on one's sexual assault and reactions to it and to incorporate confronting one's abuser into it. I'll give it that. But... She's hardly the first person to write about their assault. Hardly the first to think about it or ask these questions, to wonder how it could have happened, how the person they trusted could have done this, etc etc etc.
This paragraph comes across as so pretentiously congratulatory that it just Noped me right out of the rest of the book. I am sorry that she was raped. I'm sorry that I was, and that millions of women have been and will be raped. I read a lot of difficult subject matter, so it's not the depictions of rape or suicide or mental illness or any of that that is bothering me and making this hard to read. It's the writing and the style and all the rest. Honestly, I feel like the way that this is structured and written is so clinically detached that I just... don't like it. It feels more about her writing than anything, and the assault is just the catalyst for it. That may work for some people, but it's not working for me. So I'm out.
I don't remember how I encountered this book, but I want to say that it was a "books similar to" recommendation from my library after reading Not That Bad: Dispatches from Rape Culture. So I added it, and then waited for ages on hold for it... and now I've read less than a quarter of it, which has taken me four days already, and I'm returning it.
This is a memoir about a woman's sexual assault when she was a teen, and her coming to terms with all that that entails - regarding what counts as rape (and how that has changed SINCE her rape), how she should feel about it, how she should feel about the man who assaulted her, how she should feel about how she feels, how she feels about how HE feels about what happened, how she feels about caring about how he feels... How she feels about writing about this, how she feels about how HE will feel about her writing about this, how she feels about her feeling anything about him feeling something about writing this... etc etc etc.
On the surface, this seems right up my alley. Examinations of the nuance of rape culture are important, and I appreciate them. But this one just did not work for me.
The style, right off the bat, was off-putting. This is written in staccato sentence clusters, sans quotation marks, and on top of that, it jumps around not only in time - one sentence speaking about now, and the next about the past - but also randomly among disparate and seemingly unconnected thoughts and ideas. And because of that, it has a very... mishmash, unfocused, first draft feel. Because a lot of this so far is the author's thoughts and feelings about the PROCESS of writing this book, it enhances that first draft feel even more. It's so meta that it bothers me. I get that it's relevant, but my Kindle informs me that there are approximately 78% and 5 hours left to read in the book, and I already feel the repetitiveness and my interest is waning.
In addition to that, I'm finding it hard to identify with the author and her friends here, and their responses and analyses of his actions, her actions, her reactions, his words, her words, etc. I know that everyone's experience is different, and people react and process very differently to their assaults than I have to mine. But these examinations of all of the feelings and underlying intent and analysis of every word, etc and the WAY that they discuss it... It feels less like friends discussing a traumatic experience and offering support than it does a critical analysis of a writing assignment. Already I've lost count of how many times the phrase "performance of gender" has been used. But THIS paragraph is where I stopped reading because... it's just too much.
Rebekah says, You're wrestling with a really important question, which is, How can someone who seems so harmless or acts so well or is so intelligent be capable of committing what is understandably kind of an evil act and how can it happen? I'm going into the whole banality of evil thing - but not in an Arendtian sense, more in like a how can that act occur in such a commonplace setting - and now you're going back and talking to the guy and the guy is still himself. It's just fascinating to me. It's a fascinating work of journalism and memoir. I think that a lot of what gets shown online is conforming to a very flat intersectional narrative, simply because it has to be flat, it has to be blunt, or else it's not consumable. Your narrative is to be chewed and thought over and reflected upon in a way that maybe #MeToo isn't. #MeToo is more political activism. I think I would do the exact same, be the exact same way as you are, figuring this all out.
Really.
It takes a certain amount of guts to write a memoir solely focused on one's sexual assault and reactions to it and to incorporate confronting one's abuser into it. I'll give it that. But... She's hardly the first person to write about their assault. Hardly the first to think about it or ask these questions, to wonder how it could have happened, how the person they trusted could have done this, etc etc etc.
This paragraph comes across as so pretentiously congratulatory that it just Noped me right out of the rest of the book. I am sorry that she was raped. I'm sorry that I was, and that millions of women have been and will be raped. I read a lot of difficult subject matter, so it's not the depictions of rape or suicide or mental illness or any of that that is bothering me and making this hard to read. It's the writing and the style and all the rest. Honestly, I feel like the way that this is structured and written is so clinically detached that I just... don't like it. It feels more about her writing than anything, and the assault is just the catalyst for it. That may work for some people, but it's not working for me. So I'm out.
September 24, 2019
"I doubt I'm the only woman sexually assaulted by a friend and confused about her feelings."
Wow. This is one powerful read.
Heavy content warnings for rape and sexual assault.
15 years ago, Jeannie Vanasco was raped by a close friend. In this memoir, she explores how that incident affected her then, affects her now, and - in a move that makes this book not only unique but a necessary read - talks to her rapist about his view on the assault.
Despite being written in a simple style that's easy to follow, it's taken a week for me to get through this because the heavy subject matter was mentally exhausting at times.
It reads like a stream of consciousness - at times it is messy but that only makes it feel more real. Throughout the writing, Vanasco is exploring her feelings and coming to new ones, and the fact that she is constantly battling between what she, as a Good Feminist, should be feeling versus what she is actually feeling makes it a very interesting and relatable read.
The fact that the book is written in a kind of "real time" - the author describes writing the memoir while doing so - makes it feel very much like reading a diary. It's a very intimate feeling to read this book, but never feels intrusive.
The prevalence of sexual assault is felt heavily throughout the book. This was not the author's only experience of this, and she talks candidly about other times she's been violated. She also talks about the depressing number of her students who have had similar experiences, as well as friends of hers.
Many books exist about rape and sexual assault, but the nuance that this one offers by bringing the assailant's voice is brought to the table makes it a standout in a world of #MeToo and other movements that have made the topic an important talking point.
While this, as Vanasco herself acknowledges several times throughout the book, may be a red flag for many women, I'd encourage people to go in with an open mind. The perpetrator doesn't get an easy ride in this, and there's never a point where he's portrayed as either a someone without blame.
It's interesting to see both Jeannie and Mark (not his real name) process their feelings about that one night, 15 years later.
"This story isn't original, and that's the story. Sexual assault happens all the time. What makes this story sort of unusual is we're having the conversation. I don't think that happens very often."
4.5 stars.
Wow. This is one powerful read.
Heavy content warnings for rape and sexual assault.
15 years ago, Jeannie Vanasco was raped by a close friend. In this memoir, she explores how that incident affected her then, affects her now, and - in a move that makes this book not only unique but a necessary read - talks to her rapist about his view on the assault.
Despite being written in a simple style that's easy to follow, it's taken a week for me to get through this because the heavy subject matter was mentally exhausting at times.
It reads like a stream of consciousness - at times it is messy but that only makes it feel more real. Throughout the writing, Vanasco is exploring her feelings and coming to new ones, and the fact that she is constantly battling between what she, as a Good Feminist, should be feeling versus what she is actually feeling makes it a very interesting and relatable read.
The fact that the book is written in a kind of "real time" - the author describes writing the memoir while doing so - makes it feel very much like reading a diary. It's a very intimate feeling to read this book, but never feels intrusive.
The prevalence of sexual assault is felt heavily throughout the book. This was not the author's only experience of this, and she talks candidly about other times she's been violated. She also talks about the depressing number of her students who have had similar experiences, as well as friends of hers.
Many books exist about rape and sexual assault, but the nuance that this one offers by bringing the assailant's voice is brought to the table makes it a standout in a world of #MeToo and other movements that have made the topic an important talking point.
While this, as Vanasco herself acknowledges several times throughout the book, may be a red flag for many women, I'd encourage people to go in with an open mind. The perpetrator doesn't get an easy ride in this, and there's never a point where he's portrayed as either a someone without blame.
It's interesting to see both Jeannie and Mark (not his real name) process their feelings about that one night, 15 years later.
"This story isn't original, and that's the story. Sexual assault happens all the time. What makes this story sort of unusual is we're having the conversation. I don't think that happens very often."
4.5 stars.
August 1, 2021
I don't know if some people will read my review and call it tone deaf. Maybe it is. But it can't change the fact that reading this book made me angry at the writer and then I was even angrier at her for writing a book as a survivor of sexual assault and rape (multiple times) but being the person that I'm angriest at.
I want to make it clear that I also am a survivor. It was in such a way that I didn't even know it back then, that I am being sexually assaulted or as the writer mentions; "it wasn't written into the law yet". But it is a clear cut choice. Once you realize and accept that you were, you get to be sad, angry, confused, hurt, disappointed, and zillion other things. You get to mourn and try to heal or not. It is your life. You can write books about it.
You can also support other survivors on the aftermath of #metoo, by amplifying THEIR voices (hers included) and letting them tell their stories as they want it and reading their stories (which is what I try to do).
That being said, the first 20% of the book is her deciding what to name the friend who raped her, so that we don't recognize him and also shows us his friendly character. The next 75% of the book is her denying she was raped. She is not comfortable using that word, even though Mark is telling her, he raped her. There are no insights, no ending, no conclusion in what is left of the book (5%). She keeps telling us that she knows we will judge her for not being angry at the guy (no we're not), but she keeps giving him 75% of the book, she gives him a voice page after page. She interviews him twice on the phone, asks the same questions (no, the guy does not care about the friendship as much as she did and yes he was low-key plotting it all along and YES, he is ecstatic that she didn't sue him or tell anyone and he is super happy that she is so so so GRATEFUL that he is talking to her now and keeping him anonymous). Yet, she keeps asking him the same questions to get different answers, like he would admit to doing it on purpose when he knows she is writing a book about it when the statute of limitations has not expired. Then she decides to pay for a trip to go and ask all these questions in person, to get CLOSURE, I guess? I hope that she has gotten something out of it. The same Q&A continues for all the chapters, and you feel second hand embarrassment on her behalf for apologizing, reassuring, thanking her (former/friend) rapist on the phone and then listening to the recorded phone call for transcribing purposes. Then she realizes she is giving him too much voice and is defending him and then she tells us that she knows what she is doing will make us angry but keeps doing it for a few more chapters.
Change the title at least.
I want to make it clear that I also am a survivor. It was in such a way that I didn't even know it back then, that I am being sexually assaulted or as the writer mentions; "it wasn't written into the law yet". But it is a clear cut choice. Once you realize and accept that you were, you get to be sad, angry, confused, hurt, disappointed, and zillion other things. You get to mourn and try to heal or not. It is your life. You can write books about it.
You can also support other survivors on the aftermath of #metoo, by amplifying THEIR voices (hers included) and letting them tell their stories as they want it and reading their stories (which is what I try to do).
That being said, the first 20% of the book is her deciding what to name the friend who raped her, so that we don't recognize him and also shows us his friendly character. The next 75% of the book is her denying she was raped. She is not comfortable using that word, even though Mark is telling her, he raped her. There are no insights, no ending, no conclusion in what is left of the book (5%). She keeps telling us that she knows we will judge her for not being angry at the guy (no we're not), but she keeps giving him 75% of the book, she gives him a voice page after page. She interviews him twice on the phone, asks the same questions (no, the guy does not care about the friendship as much as she did and yes he was low-key plotting it all along and YES, he is ecstatic that she didn't sue him or tell anyone and he is super happy that she is so so so GRATEFUL that he is talking to her now and keeping him anonymous). Yet, she keeps asking him the same questions to get different answers, like he would admit to doing it on purpose when he knows she is writing a book about it when the statute of limitations has not expired. Then she decides to pay for a trip to go and ask all these questions in person, to get CLOSURE, I guess? I hope that she has gotten something out of it. The same Q&A continues for all the chapters, and you feel second hand embarrassment on her behalf for apologizing, reassuring, thanking her (former/friend) rapist on the phone and then listening to the recorded phone call for transcribing purposes. Then she realizes she is giving him too much voice and is defending him and then she tells us that she knows what she is doing will make us angry but keeps doing it for a few more chapters.
Change the title at least.
July 7, 2022
„Rzeczy, o których nie rozmawiałyśmy, kiedy byłyśmy dziewczynami” to zapis procesu powstawania książki o konfrontacji autorki z jej gwałcicielem, przyjacielem z młodości. Vanasco kontaktuje się z nim po latach i zestawia swoje odczucia z jego wspomnieniami, co powoduje lawinę pytań, na które autorka nie daje nam odpowiedzi: Czy ofiara może kontaktować się z gwałcicielem? Czy powinna czuć wdzięczność, że zgodził się na rozmowę? Czy powinna dawać mu prawo głosu, prawo do opowiedzenia tej historii na własnych warunkach? Czy jego perspektywa nie wpłynie na jej własne postrzeganie tego zdarzenia? Czy nie złagodzi tego? Czy fakt, że nie poinformowała o tym zdarzeniu policji czyni ją w jakiś sposób współwinną, jeśli później dopuścił się podobnych czynów? I jak ma się do tego feminizm i jego założenia?
Autorce zdarza się w tej książce wspominać, że decyzja o odnowieniu kontaktu z gwałcicielem jest dla niej trudna nie tylko z tych najbardziej oczywistych przyczyn, ale też ze względu na to, że boi się w jaki sposób zostanie to odebrane przez inne kobiety; czy nie będzie to postrzegane jako zdrada lub jako dowód na to, że ma zaburzony obraz tej sytuacji, że jest w tym jakiś rodzaj masochizmu. Myślę, że to jest główny powód przez który ta książka wzbudza takie kontrowersje, brak zrozumienia dla zachowania, które wykracza poza schemat. Dużo się ostatnio mówi o napaściach na tle seksualnym, głównie na fali ruchu #MeToo; mam też wrażenie, że ten temat dla wielu kobiet powoli przestaje być już tabu. Trochę nam media wtłoczyły do głowy, że jedyną słuszną reakcją na gwałt są nienawiść, gniew i chęć zemsty. I tutaj pojawia się Jeannie Vanasco ze swoim kontrowersyjnym projektem w ramach którego konfrontuje się ze swoim oprawcą, a czytelnicy zaczynają odczuwać dysonans, bo przecież to nie jest zachowanie, które wydawałoby się być zdrowe. A przecież to też jest droga ku zrozumieniu (choć może i niekonwencjonalna), szczególnie jeśli krzywdzącym jest ktoś, z kim było się blisko. Czytanie „Rzeczy…” to była nie tylko świetna lektura, ale też pewnego rodzaju doświadczenie wykraczające poza granice literatury.
Autorce zdarza się w tej książce wspominać, że decyzja o odnowieniu kontaktu z gwałcicielem jest dla niej trudna nie tylko z tych najbardziej oczywistych przyczyn, ale też ze względu na to, że boi się w jaki sposób zostanie to odebrane przez inne kobiety; czy nie będzie to postrzegane jako zdrada lub jako dowód na to, że ma zaburzony obraz tej sytuacji, że jest w tym jakiś rodzaj masochizmu. Myślę, że to jest główny powód przez który ta książka wzbudza takie kontrowersje, brak zrozumienia dla zachowania, które wykracza poza schemat. Dużo się ostatnio mówi o napaściach na tle seksualnym, głównie na fali ruchu #MeToo; mam też wrażenie, że ten temat dla wielu kobiet powoli przestaje być już tabu. Trochę nam media wtłoczyły do głowy, że jedyną słuszną reakcją na gwałt są nienawiść, gniew i chęć zemsty. I tutaj pojawia się Jeannie Vanasco ze swoim kontrowersyjnym projektem w ramach którego konfrontuje się ze swoim oprawcą, a czytelnicy zaczynają odczuwać dysonans, bo przecież to nie jest zachowanie, które wydawałoby się być zdrowe. A przecież to też jest droga ku zrozumieniu (choć może i niekonwencjonalna), szczególnie jeśli krzywdzącym jest ktoś, z kim było się blisko. Czytanie „Rzeczy…” to była nie tylko świetna lektura, ale też pewnego rodzaju doświadczenie wykraczające poza granice literatury.
December 3, 2024
Anestetizzata.
Non solo perché la maggior parte dei crimini sessuali li commettono loro, ma dovrebbero leggerlo soprattutto gli uomini. Dopo potremmo pensare di non contenderci quale metà della mela abitare.
Non solo perché la maggior parte dei crimini sessuali li commettono loro, ma dovrebbero leggerlo soprattutto gli uomini. Dopo potremmo pensare di non contenderci quale metà della mela abitare.
November 12, 2019
Wow. This was an extremely heavy book. Jeannie Vanasco wrote a memoir about how she was raped by one of her best friends when she was nineteen and now in her thirties gets back in contact to interview him about what happened.
The book is unlike anything I’ve ever read before. It shows all of the complicated and conflicting feelings that can come after a sexual assault. Jeannie worries that she’s not angry enough, that she’s letting other women down by giving “Mark” a voice, that she’s too forgiving towards him, and so on. A lot of the book details how she wrestled with the idea of writing the book. How interviewing “Mark” and hearing his side of things is what makes it different in terms of the market, but then why is the story only worth telling when you get his voice and hear how the assault impacted his life?
The format of the book was also interesting, there are large parts of the book that are transcripts of the conversations that Jeannie had with “Mark.” But then she’d cut in and analyze what he was saying and have input from her friends and her partner Chris.
This isn’t a light book by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a very compelling read. I’d highly recommend reading it if you feel equipped to handle the subject matter.
The book is unlike anything I’ve ever read before. It shows all of the complicated and conflicting feelings that can come after a sexual assault. Jeannie worries that she’s not angry enough, that she’s letting other women down by giving “Mark” a voice, that she’s too forgiving towards him, and so on. A lot of the book details how she wrestled with the idea of writing the book. How interviewing “Mark” and hearing his side of things is what makes it different in terms of the market, but then why is the story only worth telling when you get his voice and hear how the assault impacted his life?
The format of the book was also interesting, there are large parts of the book that are transcripts of the conversations that Jeannie had with “Mark.” But then she’d cut in and analyze what he was saying and have input from her friends and her partner Chris.
This isn’t a light book by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a very compelling read. I’d highly recommend reading it if you feel equipped to handle the subject matter.
July 28, 2019
5 big huge giant stars for this memoir. I’ve not read anything like this before. I loved her style, transparency, honesty, and heartfelt true emotion in this. Transcribing conversations with her perpetrator was smart, but then analyzing her own behavior in each interaction after transcription was genius. If you or anybody you know has experienced sexual assault or a confusing sexual encounter with anybody in your life, this book will shed some light. It did for me.
October 22, 2019
“I’m interested in writing about us, because I want to understand, I want to believe, that it’s possible to be a good person, a really good person, who makes a mistake.”
Wow. Okay. This is the #MeToo era book I’ve been waiting for. The movement has been so crucial from an activism standpoint, but I’ve often felt like the mainstream conversation lacks the nuance that has shaped my personal experiences.
When Jeannie Vanasco was 19 years old, her good friend Mark raped her at a party. Now, years later, she revisits this experience from an intellectual perspective: the banality of contemptible acts, the philosophy of forgiveness, the psychology of a good person capable of doing terrible things. From her standpoint, Mark isn’t an “easily digestible bad guy;” he’s more complex than that, and her prior friendship with him complicates things even further.
This is a mix of a memoir and a recorded conversation between Jeannie and Mark, who agreed to talk to her and help her unpack what happened. It’s extremely self-referential and introspective, as much of the book is Jeannie processing her uncomfortable feelings about writing it, and the self-aware realizations she reaches throughout.
She notices the things she does—the things that many women are conditioned to do—to minimize her own experiences and protect those around her, including her abuser. She questions herself constantly, wondering if she’s centering Mark too much, if she should be more angry at him. She struggles with the language of what happened to her, finally coming around to labeling it “rape.”
I found so much of this to be extremely relatable. It’s the parts of the #MeToo dialogue that are most uncomfortable to talk about, as gray areas often are. The complexity of being raped or sexually assaulted by someone you know and care about. The reluctance to use certain terms, such as “rape,” because an experience doesn’t fit preconceived notions of what that means. The question of whether a single bad act should define someone, and what accountability and forgiveness might look like.
Smart, challenging and incredibly thought-provoking. There are no easy answers here, but lots to think about.
Wow. Okay. This is the #MeToo era book I’ve been waiting for. The movement has been so crucial from an activism standpoint, but I’ve often felt like the mainstream conversation lacks the nuance that has shaped my personal experiences.
When Jeannie Vanasco was 19 years old, her good friend Mark raped her at a party. Now, years later, she revisits this experience from an intellectual perspective: the banality of contemptible acts, the philosophy of forgiveness, the psychology of a good person capable of doing terrible things. From her standpoint, Mark isn’t an “easily digestible bad guy;” he’s more complex than that, and her prior friendship with him complicates things even further.
This is a mix of a memoir and a recorded conversation between Jeannie and Mark, who agreed to talk to her and help her unpack what happened. It’s extremely self-referential and introspective, as much of the book is Jeannie processing her uncomfortable feelings about writing it, and the self-aware realizations she reaches throughout.
She notices the things she does—the things that many women are conditioned to do—to minimize her own experiences and protect those around her, including her abuser. She questions herself constantly, wondering if she’s centering Mark too much, if she should be more angry at him. She struggles with the language of what happened to her, finally coming around to labeling it “rape.”
I found so much of this to be extremely relatable. It’s the parts of the #MeToo dialogue that are most uncomfortable to talk about, as gray areas often are. The complexity of being raped or sexually assaulted by someone you know and care about. The reluctance to use certain terms, such as “rape,” because an experience doesn’t fit preconceived notions of what that means. The question of whether a single bad act should define someone, and what accountability and forgiveness might look like.
Smart, challenging and incredibly thought-provoking. There are no easy answers here, but lots to think about.
November 25, 2020
Bardziej 4.5 za drugą połowę, ale i tak zaokrąglam na korzyść, bo to świetna książka jest.
Wiele pytań pojawiło się w mojej głowie w trakcie lektury tej książki. I chyba udzieliło mi się stosowane przez Vanasco racjonalizowanie, analizowanie i rozkładanie na czynniki każdej myśli, każdej niepewności, każdego słowa, każdego zdania, bo mam lekki problem nie tyle z ubraniem moich myśli w słowa, ale w zdecydowaniu się na ostateczny ich kształt. Bo najchętniej o tej książce rozmawiałabym godzinami - najchętniej z kimś, kto czytałby ją równolegle, z kim mogłabym na bieżąco odnosić się do poszczególnych fragmentów (mam masę znaczników!), poszczególnych działań i myśli autorki. To bardzo nieoczywista książka, mimo tego, że pewnie spodziewacie się lektury trudnej emocjonalnie. Nie do końca tak bym ją nazwała. W każdym razie, jest to idealna lektura do klubu dyskusyjnego.
Vanasco zajmuje się pisaniem, specjalizuje się w pamiętnikarstwie. Podjęła się projektu literackiego, w ramach którego chce skonfrontować swoje odczucia, swoją traumę, swoje przemyślenia ze wspomnieniami przyjaciela z młodości, który ją zgwałcił. Jest bardzo ostrożna w tym, jak konstruuje tę książkę, jak rozbudza ciekawość czytelniczki (do czytelniczek głównie się też zwraca), jest 100% obecna w swoim tekście, tzn. mamy do czynienia z książką, której treść jest równoczesnym komentarzem do niej. Vanasco strofuje sama siebie, by nie popełnić jakiegokolwiek błędu, by nie przeinaczyć pewnych szczegółów, które pamięta, po to, by nikt nie był w stanie zdyskredytować jej wspomnień w związku z gwałtem i tym, co go poprzedzało. A poprzedzały go lata bliskiej przyjaźni - którą zresztą Vanasco poddaje w wątpliwość w trakcie pisania, zastanawiając się, na ile jej odbiór tej znajomości był zgodny z odbiorem przyjaciela. Vanasco ciągle też rozprawia się w swojej głowie, a może przed swoimi czytelniczkami, z tym, co powinna czuć, a co faktycznie czuje, trochę się usprawiedliwiając, ale wszystko skrzętnie dokumentując, przez co jej wspomnienia stają się maksymalnie rzeczywiste i maksymalnie nam bliskie. Nie jesteśmy w stanie Vanesco oceniać - zresztą, mam wrażenie, że ona przyjęłaby krytykę czy to swojego zachowania, czy też myśli, jakie od lat kotłują się w jej głowie, za część tego projektu. Bo ona sama pełna jest wątpliwości. Wątpliwości, czy to nadużycie można nazwać gwałtem (porównuje różne definicje gwałtu, jakie obowiązywały w różnych latach w USA), czy ma prawo czuć się tak jak się czuje, czy nie powinna się wstydzić tego, że chce skontaktować się z byłym przyjacielem, czy nie powinna czegoś powiedzieć inaczej, czy powinna czuć większą złość. Vanasco otwiera się na siebie, na byłego przyjaciela, na to, co inni sądzą o zdarzeniu i o projekcie, bo to wszystko dostarcza jej pewnych informacji. To wszystko wywołuje lawinę przemyśleń, również u czytelniczki.
Czy od definicji gwałtu zależy powaga i intensywność tego, co się wydarzyło? Jakby dopiero potwierdzenie z góry, że "tak, to był gwałt", daje nam pole do zatwierdzenia w głowie, że "tak, to było poważne" i "tak, mam prawo się tak czuć". Vanasco zadaje sobie pytania, czy jej trauma może być (i czy jest) równa traumie innej dziewczyny, której gwałt był na przykład brutalniejszy.
To też każe mi myśleć o innej kwestii: o tym, jak łatwo oceniamy innych, nawet w sytuacjach, gdy mówimy, że nie wolno usprawiedliwiać sprawców (np. przemocowych partnerów), a jednak wydaje mi się, że zdarzają się sytuacje, kiedy usprawiedliwiamy osoby z naszego najbliższego otoczenia, próbując w jakiś sposób wytłumaczyć pewne zachowania (niekoniecznie brutalne i niekoniecznie związane z tą sferą życia). Vanasco pisze: "Takie próby usprawiedliwiania agresorów frustrują mnie, a przecież rozumiem te dziewczyny."
Zdaje mi się, że łatwiej jest mówić z dystansu i retrospektywy, bo wiemy, czego ON się dopuścił, ale musimy pamiętać, że dla wielu kobiet ten ON to był ktoś tak bliski czy znany jak dla nas mąż, ojciec, przyjaciel. To znowu pokazuje, że dopóki nie mamy tej wiedzy PO czasem trudno jest nam ocenić, czy my faktycznie pewne zdarzenia 'usprawiedliwiamy' czy to są zdarzenia mieszczące się w granicach normalności. I kto ma o tym zadecydować, gdzie te granice są. My? Kobiety? Bo trudno jest określić np. po 5/10/15 latach związku, czy to dane zachowanie przekreśla wszystko? Czy to ten moment, kiedy powinno się wszystko zakończyć? I Vanasco decyduje się napisać tę książkę też trochę po to, by to ON potwierdził, ze dopuścił się nadużycia, że ją zgwałcił. Czyli to oni muszą to potwierdzać? Czyli to ich potwierdzenie jest kluczowe? Lub potwierdzenie w formie odgórnej definicji?
Książka przez cały czas trzyma poziom, choć w drugiej połowie trochę traci napięcie. Mam lekkie wrażenie, że to on rozproszył autorkę, że za bardzo skupiła się na nim, że on zdominował drugą część książki, a przecież jak sama redaktorka powiedziała: tu chodzi o jej refleksje.
To nie jest książka, która odpowiada na jakieś pytania. To książka, który wychodzi od pytań i w trakcie powstawania generuje całą masę kolejnych. To książka, która naprawdę zmusza do myślenia (nie, to nie przeklejony frazes).
Myśląc o tej książce łapie się na tym, że wpadłam trochę w konwencję narracyjną autorki. Chciałabym napisać, że to ciekawy projekt literaki, ale potem dyskredytuję się, ze przecież, jak mogę określać gwałt i jego konsekwencje jako 'ciekawe', to dość zdystansowane i uprzywilejowane podejście. Jestem jednak zafascynowana tym projektem i jego realizacją. Nie uważam, by była to ciężka i trudna emocjonalnie książka - być może dlatego, że Vanasco podchodzi do tej sprawy właśnie jak do projektu i mimo że emocji jest tam cała masa to nie są to emocje, przez które traci się kontrolę.
Bardzo bardzo Wam tę książkę polecam, a ja utwierdziłam się w przekonaniu, że chce czytać więcej wspomnień, więcej książek, które opierają się na pierwszoosobowej perspektywie.
Wiele pytań pojawiło się w mojej głowie w trakcie lektury tej książki. I chyba udzieliło mi się stosowane przez Vanasco racjonalizowanie, analizowanie i rozkładanie na czynniki każdej myśli, każdej niepewności, każdego słowa, każdego zdania, bo mam lekki problem nie tyle z ubraniem moich myśli w słowa, ale w zdecydowaniu się na ostateczny ich kształt. Bo najchętniej o tej książce rozmawiałabym godzinami - najchętniej z kimś, kto czytałby ją równolegle, z kim mogłabym na bieżąco odnosić się do poszczególnych fragmentów (mam masę znaczników!), poszczególnych działań i myśli autorki. To bardzo nieoczywista książka, mimo tego, że pewnie spodziewacie się lektury trudnej emocjonalnie. Nie do końca tak bym ją nazwała. W każdym razie, jest to idealna lektura do klubu dyskusyjnego.
Vanasco zajmuje się pisaniem, specjalizuje się w pamiętnikarstwie. Podjęła się projektu literackiego, w ramach którego chce skonfrontować swoje odczucia, swoją traumę, swoje przemyślenia ze wspomnieniami przyjaciela z młodości, który ją zgwałcił. Jest bardzo ostrożna w tym, jak konstruuje tę książkę, jak rozbudza ciekawość czytelniczki (do czytelniczek głównie się też zwraca), jest 100% obecna w swoim tekście, tzn. mamy do czynienia z książką, której treść jest równoczesnym komentarzem do niej. Vanasco strofuje sama siebie, by nie popełnić jakiegokolwiek błędu, by nie przeinaczyć pewnych szczegółów, które pamięta, po to, by nikt nie był w stanie zdyskredytować jej wspomnień w związku z gwałtem i tym, co go poprzedzało. A poprzedzały go lata bliskiej przyjaźni - którą zresztą Vanasco poddaje w wątpliwość w trakcie pisania, zastanawiając się, na ile jej odbiór tej znajomości był zgodny z odbiorem przyjaciela. Vanasco ciągle też rozprawia się w swojej głowie, a może przed swoimi czytelniczkami, z tym, co powinna czuć, a co faktycznie czuje, trochę się usprawiedliwiając, ale wszystko skrzętnie dokumentując, przez co jej wspomnienia stają się maksymalnie rzeczywiste i maksymalnie nam bliskie. Nie jesteśmy w stanie Vanesco oceniać - zresztą, mam wrażenie, że ona przyjęłaby krytykę czy to swojego zachowania, czy też myśli, jakie od lat kotłują się w jej głowie, za część tego projektu. Bo ona sama pełna jest wątpliwości. Wątpliwości, czy to nadużycie można nazwać gwałtem (porównuje różne definicje gwałtu, jakie obowiązywały w różnych latach w USA), czy ma prawo czuć się tak jak się czuje, czy nie powinna się wstydzić tego, że chce skontaktować się z byłym przyjacielem, czy nie powinna czegoś powiedzieć inaczej, czy powinna czuć większą złość. Vanasco otwiera się na siebie, na byłego przyjaciela, na to, co inni sądzą o zdarzeniu i o projekcie, bo to wszystko dostarcza jej pewnych informacji. To wszystko wywołuje lawinę przemyśleń, również u czytelniczki.
Czy od definicji gwałtu zależy powaga i intensywność tego, co się wydarzyło? Jakby dopiero potwierdzenie z góry, że "tak, to był gwałt", daje nam pole do zatwierdzenia w głowie, że "tak, to było poważne" i "tak, mam prawo się tak czuć". Vanasco zadaje sobie pytania, czy jej trauma może być (i czy jest) równa traumie innej dziewczyny, której gwałt był na przykład brutalniejszy.
To też każe mi myśleć o innej kwestii: o tym, jak łatwo oceniamy innych, nawet w sytuacjach, gdy mówimy, że nie wolno usprawiedliwiać sprawców (np. przemocowych partnerów), a jednak wydaje mi się, że zdarzają się sytuacje, kiedy usprawiedliwiamy osoby z naszego najbliższego otoczenia, próbując w jakiś sposób wytłumaczyć pewne zachowania (niekoniecznie brutalne i niekoniecznie związane z tą sferą życia). Vanasco pisze: "Takie próby usprawiedliwiania agresorów frustrują mnie, a przecież rozumiem te dziewczyny."
Zdaje mi się, że łatwiej jest mówić z dystansu i retrospektywy, bo wiemy, czego ON się dopuścił, ale musimy pamiętać, że dla wielu kobiet ten ON to był ktoś tak bliski czy znany jak dla nas mąż, ojciec, przyjaciel. To znowu pokazuje, że dopóki nie mamy tej wiedzy PO czasem trudno jest nam ocenić, czy my faktycznie pewne zdarzenia 'usprawiedliwiamy' czy to są zdarzenia mieszczące się w granicach normalności. I kto ma o tym zadecydować, gdzie te granice są. My? Kobiety? Bo trudno jest określić np. po 5/10/15 latach związku, czy to dane zachowanie przekreśla wszystko? Czy to ten moment, kiedy powinno się wszystko zakończyć? I Vanasco decyduje się napisać tę książkę też trochę po to, by to ON potwierdził, ze dopuścił się nadużycia, że ją zgwałcił. Czyli to oni muszą to potwierdzać? Czyli to ich potwierdzenie jest kluczowe? Lub potwierdzenie w formie odgórnej definicji?
Książka przez cały czas trzyma poziom, choć w drugiej połowie trochę traci napięcie. Mam lekkie wrażenie, że to on rozproszył autorkę, że za bardzo skupiła się na nim, że on zdominował drugą część książki, a przecież jak sama redaktorka powiedziała: tu chodzi o jej refleksje.
To nie jest książka, która odpowiada na jakieś pytania. To książka, który wychodzi od pytań i w trakcie powstawania generuje całą masę kolejnych. To książka, która naprawdę zmusza do myślenia (nie, to nie przeklejony frazes).
Myśląc o tej książce łapie się na tym, że wpadłam trochę w konwencję narracyjną autorki. Chciałabym napisać, że to ciekawy projekt literaki, ale potem dyskredytuję się, ze przecież, jak mogę określać gwałt i jego konsekwencje jako 'ciekawe', to dość zdystansowane i uprzywilejowane podejście. Jestem jednak zafascynowana tym projektem i jego realizacją. Nie uważam, by była to ciężka i trudna emocjonalnie książka - być może dlatego, że Vanasco podchodzi do tej sprawy właśnie jak do projektu i mimo że emocji jest tam cała masa to nie są to emocje, przez które traci się kontrolę.
Bardzo bardzo Wam tę książkę polecam, a ja utwierdziłam się w przekonaniu, że chce czytać więcej wspomnień, więcej książek, które opierają się na pierwszoosobowej perspektywie.
December 29, 2019
The premise of this memoir was very original, and for me, that's what made it a compelling read. How the story was related to the reader didn't totally work for me and seemed very repetitive, but I still really appreciated what the author was trying to do.
Jeannie was sexually assaulted (by some legal definitions she was raped) by a good friend of hers, aka Mark, when she was 19 years old. 14 years later, she tracks him down, and basically attempts to get his side of the story, and to process the event in her own mind.
There's a lot of things about the book that surprised me.
In the end, I'm not completely sure what conclusion the reader was supposed to draw, and I liked that the author allowed for that. Personally, I think this book would be amazing for a book club just because there's a lot to discuss and unpack, but I'm sure some people might find it too distressing. I don't know. I think these things need to be discussed more openly. Kudos to the author for taking on the challenge.
Jeannie was sexually assaulted (by some legal definitions she was raped) by a good friend of hers, aka Mark, when she was 19 years old. 14 years later, she tracks him down, and basically attempts to get his side of the story, and to process the event in her own mind.
There's a lot of things about the book that surprised me.
In the end, I'm not completely sure what conclusion the reader was supposed to draw, and I liked that the author allowed for that. Personally, I think this book would be amazing for a book club just because there's a lot to discuss and unpack, but I'm sure some people might find it too distressing. I don't know. I think these things need to be discussed more openly. Kudos to the author for taking on the challenge.
February 10, 2020
Obvious trigger warnings for rape, sexual assault, trauma, and all that horrible stuff.
I had to take a few days to process this book before writing my review. It wasn't an easy read and it certainly isn't easy to review in any sense. Here we go.
I want to start by saying that the simple act of writing this book was brave. Jeannie Vanasco took on a project that not very many could do. She faced her trauma head on, faced her rapist head on, interviewed him in phone calls and even in person to put together this book. She notes in the beginning that she is ashamed that she even feels the need to use his voice in this narrative to make the book "work," and reading that kind of broke my heart, because I really believe that even if she had decided to write a book about what happened to her without her rapist's involvement, I would think it was worth reading.
Vanasco doesn't hate her rapist, in fact, she repeats this many times throughout the book. This is what makes it all the more complicated. Her rapist is a former friend of hers, which makes it difficult for her to process. In fact, throughout the book, she struggles to even call what her assailant did, "rape," because of the nature of the actual act. She thinks that writing this book will help her feel less ashamed about her nightmares and flashbacks. And so begins the journey.
I want to begin with positives, because that's what I usually do. I thought this book said a lot of great stuff about how victims are often not believed and in fact, sometimes investigators will look more for evidence of you lying than evidence that the crime actually did occur, which I can relate to on a personal level (even though I really wish I couldn't).
I also thought that Vanasco's thoughts on how we are basically trained, as women, not to embarrass men were interesting and heartbreaking. You can believe in setting boundaries, but "doing so might embarrass a man." This made me legitimately want to scream.
This is going to sound like a negative, but really, I think of it as a positive in this incoherent review. I absolutely loathed, LOATHED this man who assaulted Vanasco, I mean - obviously. It's not like we're meant to love him or something, but every word out of his mouth just seemed so garbage and disingenuous to me. Vanasco's friend mentions that he keeps trying to find ways to equalize himself and Vanasco throughout the conversations, and I found this to be undoubtedly true. For example, "we were both drunk" and also comparing their mental health issues. I really wanted to just scream at him to shut up. You are not the same as her. One of you raped someone, and one of you didn't! That's a huge difference! I was relieved that Vanasco realized this as well, because I was so worried that he could manipulate her. I kept wanting to literally take this author's hand and take her away from these conversations, which I think speaks to the effectiveness of the book in general. He also talks a lot about stealing to see what he could get away with, and if that doesn't speak volumes about the kind of person this is, I don't know what does.
I found that this book often made me uncomfortable because, well, of course it did, but what I was specifically uncomfortable with was how Vanasco consistently validates this man who hurt her in her interviews with him. She seems angry in the beginning of the book, but the anger slowly just goes away, and that left me frustrated. She contemplates helping him find a therapist, tells him she doesn't believe he's a bad person (he is), and even hugs him towards the end when they finally meet up. It just made me feel so icky. I understand though that Vanasco is human, and these were her real feelings, and the impulse to make a man feel better is so deeply ingrained in us as women that I didn't have trouble believing that her saying these things were simply out of habit, but God, did it upset me? Yes, absolutely.
Another thing I had a major problem with were Vanasco's views on punishing perpetrators of sexual assault. At one point she says that there should be more focus on rehabilitation, and near the end of the book, this quote particularly made me feel...horrible:
"I'm not saying we shouldn't punish men-again, they're usually men-for sexual assault. I'm worried that a strain of conservative thinking is entering modern feminism. This zero-tolerance policy; No matter what, he's banished. Away with him."
When women are being assaulted at the rate they are, you better believe that I think that every rapist needs to be put away. I'm not sorry for thinking that, and if that's "conservative," then let it be, I don't think that the person who hurt me when I was only a child should have been allowed to walk the streets, and yet he did. Her rapist replies to her saying the quote above with, "I'm not, in general, interested in zero-tolerance policies" Like, of course you're not? You're literally a rapist who never got turned in. Of course you don't believe in zero tolerance for sexual abuse. Did I mention I've never hated a person as much as I hate this guy?
At the end of the book, she does say this directly to victims:
"Don't worry about protecting the guy who assaulted you. Don't worry about the feelings of the guy's family or friends. Your job is not to protect them. He screwed up. He messed up those relationships, not you." This is absolutely true, but what I don't understand is why you low-key contradicted this when you said that you don't believe in the zero-tolerance for abusers? Am I missing something?
To sum up, I in general, liked this book, and I think that it's worth a read, however, it infuriated me and I needed to process it for days, annotate, highlight, and tear it apart to figure out how I truly felt, so here it is. I think that it was brave and important for Jeannie Vanasco to do this, and I respect her regardless of our disagreements. I think she is a brilliant memoirist, I think this is worth a read, but I'm beyond frustrated and tired after reading this, so please keep that in mind if you're thinking of picking it up.
I had to take a few days to process this book before writing my review. It wasn't an easy read and it certainly isn't easy to review in any sense. Here we go.
I want to start by saying that the simple act of writing this book was brave. Jeannie Vanasco took on a project that not very many could do. She faced her trauma head on, faced her rapist head on, interviewed him in phone calls and even in person to put together this book. She notes in the beginning that she is ashamed that she even feels the need to use his voice in this narrative to make the book "work," and reading that kind of broke my heart, because I really believe that even if she had decided to write a book about what happened to her without her rapist's involvement, I would think it was worth reading.
Vanasco doesn't hate her rapist, in fact, she repeats this many times throughout the book. This is what makes it all the more complicated. Her rapist is a former friend of hers, which makes it difficult for her to process. In fact, throughout the book, she struggles to even call what her assailant did, "rape," because of the nature of the actual act. She thinks that writing this book will help her feel less ashamed about her nightmares and flashbacks. And so begins the journey.
I want to begin with positives, because that's what I usually do. I thought this book said a lot of great stuff about how victims are often not believed and in fact, sometimes investigators will look more for evidence of you lying than evidence that the crime actually did occur, which I can relate to on a personal level (even though I really wish I couldn't).
I also thought that Vanasco's thoughts on how we are basically trained, as women, not to embarrass men were interesting and heartbreaking. You can believe in setting boundaries, but "doing so might embarrass a man." This made me legitimately want to scream.
This is going to sound like a negative, but really, I think of it as a positive in this incoherent review. I absolutely loathed, LOATHED this man who assaulted Vanasco, I mean - obviously. It's not like we're meant to love him or something, but every word out of his mouth just seemed so garbage and disingenuous to me. Vanasco's friend mentions that he keeps trying to find ways to equalize himself and Vanasco throughout the conversations, and I found this to be undoubtedly true. For example, "we were both drunk" and also comparing their mental health issues. I really wanted to just scream at him to shut up. You are not the same as her. One of you raped someone, and one of you didn't! That's a huge difference! I was relieved that Vanasco realized this as well, because I was so worried that he could manipulate her. I kept wanting to literally take this author's hand and take her away from these conversations, which I think speaks to the effectiveness of the book in general. He also talks a lot about stealing to see what he could get away with, and if that doesn't speak volumes about the kind of person this is, I don't know what does.
I found that this book often made me uncomfortable because, well, of course it did, but what I was specifically uncomfortable with was how Vanasco consistently validates this man who hurt her in her interviews with him. She seems angry in the beginning of the book, but the anger slowly just goes away, and that left me frustrated. She contemplates helping him find a therapist, tells him she doesn't believe he's a bad person (he is), and even hugs him towards the end when they finally meet up. It just made me feel so icky. I understand though that Vanasco is human, and these were her real feelings, and the impulse to make a man feel better is so deeply ingrained in us as women that I didn't have trouble believing that her saying these things were simply out of habit, but God, did it upset me? Yes, absolutely.
Another thing I had a major problem with were Vanasco's views on punishing perpetrators of sexual assault. At one point she says that there should be more focus on rehabilitation, and near the end of the book, this quote particularly made me feel...horrible:
"I'm not saying we shouldn't punish men-again, they're usually men-for sexual assault. I'm worried that a strain of conservative thinking is entering modern feminism. This zero-tolerance policy; No matter what, he's banished. Away with him."
When women are being assaulted at the rate they are, you better believe that I think that every rapist needs to be put away. I'm not sorry for thinking that, and if that's "conservative," then let it be, I don't think that the person who hurt me when I was only a child should have been allowed to walk the streets, and yet he did. Her rapist replies to her saying the quote above with, "I'm not, in general, interested in zero-tolerance policies" Like, of course you're not? You're literally a rapist who never got turned in. Of course you don't believe in zero tolerance for sexual abuse. Did I mention I've never hated a person as much as I hate this guy?
At the end of the book, she does say this directly to victims:
"Don't worry about protecting the guy who assaulted you. Don't worry about the feelings of the guy's family or friends. Your job is not to protect them. He screwed up. He messed up those relationships, not you." This is absolutely true, but what I don't understand is why you low-key contradicted this when you said that you don't believe in the zero-tolerance for abusers? Am I missing something?
To sum up, I in general, liked this book, and I think that it's worth a read, however, it infuriated me and I needed to process it for days, annotate, highlight, and tear it apart to figure out how I truly felt, so here it is. I think that it was brave and important for Jeannie Vanasco to do this, and I respect her regardless of our disagreements. I think she is a brilliant memoirist, I think this is worth a read, but I'm beyond frustrated and tired after reading this, so please keep that in mind if you're thinking of picking it up.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
September 4, 2019
I wish I could give this book ten stars, but even then it still wouldn’t do it justice. This is such an important book that applies to all women and girls, whether or not we have been assaulted. The need to apologize, to think about others first before ourselves, to downplay violent crime, and to continue to contact rapists after they have violated trust in the most inhumane way—she includes all of the ways girls and women have been conditioned to be nice.
October 13, 2019
Unfortunately Things We Didn’t Talk About When I Was a Girl was a DNF for me. I had high hopes for this book so I’m extremely disappointed. I found it incredibly hard to stay engaged, the writing style was just not for me. It was choppy, disjointed and very repetitive.
It was a brave topic but the execution was lacking, it read more like a Q&A with notes for a book someone plans to write, rather than an actual book.
It was a brave topic but the execution was lacking, it read more like a Q&A with notes for a book someone plans to write, rather than an actual book.
January 10, 2020
Really 4.5 stars -- also content warning for open discussion of sexual violence --
I read Jeannie Vanasco's first memoir, The Glass Eye, a few years ago and enjoyed it. And as in so many memoirs where women (and genderqueer and other folks who are often marginalized) are telling their stories, I wondered aloud about whether she had experienced sexual violence that she was not including. I have done anti-rape work for 25+ years and this is OFTEN something that I wonder. A difficult year that the author glosses over, an ongoing mental health struggle or some form of disordered eating that is mentioned, but not discussed, any of those is enough (and really, the author just being a woman or marginalized person) to make me pause and wonder about trauma responses to a form of trauma not shared with the reader.
And now, here is Jeannie Vanasco's 2nd memoir, this one focused on a rape that happened when she was in her teens by a trusted friend. And while that is the central victimization in this powerful exploration of sexual violence, forgiveness, and healing, it isn't the only one that the author experienced. She also details a teacher's inappropriate sexual behavior and a rape by another friend later in her life. Ah, I thought, those were the invisible traumas that I sensed hiding. And in this book, they are doing the opposite of hiding - the rape by her childhood friend *is* the book. Her experience of it, her need to contextualize it more thoroughly by actually talking with her former friend/rapist to try to better understand so much about the situation. She says, early in the book, “I’ll ask him: Do you still think about what happened? Is it the reason you dropped out of college? Did you ever tell anyone? A therapist, maybe? How did you feel the next morning? The next month? The next year? Today? Do you remember how I felt, or seemed to feel? Did you ever miss me? Has my contacting you upset you? Have you dated anyone? Have you done to anyone else what you did to me?” and she also says in the same list of things that she will ask him, remind him, tell him, "I'll tell him: I still have nightmares about you."
The review in the Columbia Journal says, "At multiple points in Things We Didn’t Talk About When I Was a Girl, Jeannie Vanasco says that the goal of her project — contacting the man who raped her after years of close friendship when they were both teenagers — is to “show what seemingly nice guys are capable of.” “Mark” (she gives the rapist a pseudonym) speaks with her openly about the assault which does, I suppose, seem like something a nice guy would do. His reflections on his own actions in their conversations reveal apparent remorse and indicate that the rape, 14 years in the past at that point, has had a major impact on his life. At the very least, he’s thoughtful about it. The text, however, does not actually function as the banality-of-evil accounting that her statement of intent promises. Instead, it’s an exploration of the messiness of confrontation and the possibility of forgiveness."
That is part of why I welcome this memoir, this different experience of rape and confrontation. Because for so many survivors, the script that Vanasco says she can't follow, that she describes as “boy rapes girl, girl never talks to boy again.”, is not the script at all. There is such complexity in what survivors need for healing, for closure, for a new way of thinking about the experience of rape, especially when it is at the hands of someone trusted, loved, known to us. She wonders in the book, if writing it will end the nightmares, and also says, “But that’s not why I’m writing this. I’m writing this because I want to interview Mark, interrogate Mark, confirm that Mark feels terrible—because if he does feel terrible, then our friendship mattered to him. Also, I want him to call the assault significant—because if he does, I might stop feeling ashamed about the occasional flashbacks and nightmares. Sometimes I question whether my feelings are too big for the crime. I often remind myself, He only used his fingers. Sure, I could censor my antiquated, patriarchal logic (sexual assault only matters if the man says it matters), but I want to be honest here—because I doubt I’m the only woman sexually assaulted by a friend and confused about her feelings.”
And I can say loudly and clearly that the author is definitely not the only one sexually assaulted by a friend and confused about her feelings - even 15 years or more later. That was a fairly consistent theme with the survivors of sexual violence that I have worked or spoken with - sometimes YEARS and YEARS after the assault. Confusion and uncertainty because the way they felt didn't seem like the "right" way to feel, not following the cultural script that we expect survivors to play their part in after the assault. Twenty five years after I began this work with survivors of sexual violence, I am WAY more able to articulate and embrace the complexity of responses and forms of healing that survivors have shared with me. The amazing variety of things that would feel like justice to survivors. The ways that punitive or retributive justice is not what survivors may want, yet what feels often, like their only option. I am so grateful for this book where Jeannie Vanasco is willing to dig into her own messy feelings and desires for a different form of justice, and in doing so, opens that conversation for many others. At one point in the book, as she continues to grapple with her need to be in dialogue with her rapist/ former friend and to hear directly from him about "things we didn't talk about when I was girl", as the title lays out, she says, “Kant argued that retributive harshness was a good thing—because it expresses respect for the perpetrator by holding him responsible for his act. If we hold criminals responsible and then offer ways to make reparations and reenter society, we strengthen our commitment to human dignity. This, then, can be Mark’s community service.”
Thank you, Jeannie Vanasco, for allowing Mark's community service to be shared with us through your eyes, your words, and your book.
Book 7 of 2020
I read Jeannie Vanasco's first memoir, The Glass Eye, a few years ago and enjoyed it. And as in so many memoirs where women (and genderqueer and other folks who are often marginalized) are telling their stories, I wondered aloud about whether she had experienced sexual violence that she was not including. I have done anti-rape work for 25+ years and this is OFTEN something that I wonder. A difficult year that the author glosses over, an ongoing mental health struggle or some form of disordered eating that is mentioned, but not discussed, any of those is enough (and really, the author just being a woman or marginalized person) to make me pause and wonder about trauma responses to a form of trauma not shared with the reader.
And now, here is Jeannie Vanasco's 2nd memoir, this one focused on a rape that happened when she was in her teens by a trusted friend. And while that is the central victimization in this powerful exploration of sexual violence, forgiveness, and healing, it isn't the only one that the author experienced. She also details a teacher's inappropriate sexual behavior and a rape by another friend later in her life. Ah, I thought, those were the invisible traumas that I sensed hiding. And in this book, they are doing the opposite of hiding - the rape by her childhood friend *is* the book. Her experience of it, her need to contextualize it more thoroughly by actually talking with her former friend/rapist to try to better understand so much about the situation. She says, early in the book, “I’ll ask him: Do you still think about what happened? Is it the reason you dropped out of college? Did you ever tell anyone? A therapist, maybe? How did you feel the next morning? The next month? The next year? Today? Do you remember how I felt, or seemed to feel? Did you ever miss me? Has my contacting you upset you? Have you dated anyone? Have you done to anyone else what you did to me?” and she also says in the same list of things that she will ask him, remind him, tell him, "I'll tell him: I still have nightmares about you."
The review in the Columbia Journal says, "At multiple points in Things We Didn’t Talk About When I Was a Girl, Jeannie Vanasco says that the goal of her project — contacting the man who raped her after years of close friendship when they were both teenagers — is to “show what seemingly nice guys are capable of.” “Mark” (she gives the rapist a pseudonym) speaks with her openly about the assault which does, I suppose, seem like something a nice guy would do. His reflections on his own actions in their conversations reveal apparent remorse and indicate that the rape, 14 years in the past at that point, has had a major impact on his life. At the very least, he’s thoughtful about it. The text, however, does not actually function as the banality-of-evil accounting that her statement of intent promises. Instead, it’s an exploration of the messiness of confrontation and the possibility of forgiveness."
That is part of why I welcome this memoir, this different experience of rape and confrontation. Because for so many survivors, the script that Vanasco says she can't follow, that she describes as “boy rapes girl, girl never talks to boy again.”, is not the script at all. There is such complexity in what survivors need for healing, for closure, for a new way of thinking about the experience of rape, especially when it is at the hands of someone trusted, loved, known to us. She wonders in the book, if writing it will end the nightmares, and also says, “But that’s not why I’m writing this. I’m writing this because I want to interview Mark, interrogate Mark, confirm that Mark feels terrible—because if he does feel terrible, then our friendship mattered to him. Also, I want him to call the assault significant—because if he does, I might stop feeling ashamed about the occasional flashbacks and nightmares. Sometimes I question whether my feelings are too big for the crime. I often remind myself, He only used his fingers. Sure, I could censor my antiquated, patriarchal logic (sexual assault only matters if the man says it matters), but I want to be honest here—because I doubt I’m the only woman sexually assaulted by a friend and confused about her feelings.”
And I can say loudly and clearly that the author is definitely not the only one sexually assaulted by a friend and confused about her feelings - even 15 years or more later. That was a fairly consistent theme with the survivors of sexual violence that I have worked or spoken with - sometimes YEARS and YEARS after the assault. Confusion and uncertainty because the way they felt didn't seem like the "right" way to feel, not following the cultural script that we expect survivors to play their part in after the assault. Twenty five years after I began this work with survivors of sexual violence, I am WAY more able to articulate and embrace the complexity of responses and forms of healing that survivors have shared with me. The amazing variety of things that would feel like justice to survivors. The ways that punitive or retributive justice is not what survivors may want, yet what feels often, like their only option. I am so grateful for this book where Jeannie Vanasco is willing to dig into her own messy feelings and desires for a different form of justice, and in doing so, opens that conversation for many others. At one point in the book, as she continues to grapple with her need to be in dialogue with her rapist/ former friend and to hear directly from him about "things we didn't talk about when I was girl", as the title lays out, she says, “Kant argued that retributive harshness was a good thing—because it expresses respect for the perpetrator by holding him responsible for his act. If we hold criminals responsible and then offer ways to make reparations and reenter society, we strengthen our commitment to human dignity. This, then, can be Mark’s community service.”
Thank you, Jeannie Vanasco, for allowing Mark's community service to be shared with us through your eyes, your words, and your book.
Book 7 of 2020
December 17, 2020
O książce mówię tu: https://bit.ly/JuzTlumacze51
Widziałam wiele tak zwanych "za i przeciw" tej książce. Do tego co mówię w podkaście chciałabym dodać - ja jestem taka miła. Robię to co autorka. Przepraszam. Upewniam się, że osoba, która mnie jakoś skrzywdziła (na szczęście nie mam takich doświadczeń, jak Vanasco), nie czuje się źle, a potem pluję sobie w brodę, że to robię. Teraz co prawda nie mam już takich tendencji na dużą skalę, terapia bardzo mi pomogła, ale w wielu wypowiedziach w Vanasco widziałam siebie. I z jednej strony było to dla mnie pocieszające, a z drugiej smutne, że ciągle jeszcze siedzi we mnie ta chęć "pogodzenia wszystkiego i wszystkich i jeszcze żeby było miło i nikomu nie było przykro". Wiem, że to nie jest za bardzo wpis o książce, a bardziej moja reakcja na nią, ale chyba akurat w odniesieniu do tej pozycji tak może być. Zawsze chętnie o tym porozmawiam - nie musimy być miłe, ale czasem łatwo jest o tym zapomnieć.
Widziałam wiele tak zwanych "za i przeciw" tej książce. Do tego co mówię w podkaście chciałabym dodać - ja jestem taka miła. Robię to co autorka. Przepraszam. Upewniam się, że osoba, która mnie jakoś skrzywdziła (na szczęście nie mam takich doświadczeń, jak Vanasco), nie czuje się źle, a potem pluję sobie w brodę, że to robię. Teraz co prawda nie mam już takich tendencji na dużą skalę, terapia bardzo mi pomogła, ale w wielu wypowiedziach w Vanasco widziałam siebie. I z jednej strony było to dla mnie pocieszające, a z drugiej smutne, że ciągle jeszcze siedzi we mnie ta chęć "pogodzenia wszystkiego i wszystkich i jeszcze żeby było miło i nikomu nie było przykro". Wiem, że to nie jest za bardzo wpis o książce, a bardziej moja reakcja na nią, ale chyba akurat w odniesieniu do tej pozycji tak może być. Zawsze chętnie o tym porozmawiam - nie musimy być miłe, ale czasem łatwo jest o tym zapomnieć.
September 23, 2019
TW: discussions of rape and sexual assault throughout
Thanks to Netgalley for providing me with an eARC of this book. All opinions and comments made here are my own.
"Don't back down, she said. Don't let them twist what you know is true"
Oof let me start by saying that my review, is in no way going to do this book justice. I implore you to read this, incredibly thought-provoking memoir.
"I'll tell him: I still have nightmares about you"
I've never read a memoir before so really wasn't sure what to expect of the writing style going in but I absolutely loved it. It enabled us to follow Jeannie on her journey as she experienced it and it made it even more heartfelt that way in my view. Just reading the premise I knew this wasn't going to be an easy read. And boy was I right. This book really packed a punch on every page and every chapter. It's uncomfortable, but not necessarily in a bad way. I think the whole basis of the book is so interesting and it's something i've never really seen explored before. Your best friend sexually assaults you; your best friend who, up until that moment, seemed like a decent and good guy. How on earth do you reconcile the person you've spent years building a friendship with to the person who could take you apart in one night. This is a question that has haunted Jeannie since her friend "Mark" attacked her, and finally, she's decided to get answers by contacting Mark and asking him why.
"why do I need his permission, anyway? I never gave mine"
I know i've said this but i'm saying it again; the way in which Jeannie writes is incredible. I really felt like she took us on the journey with her. Jeannie decides to record her conversations with Mark so that she can have the opportunity to reflect on the conversations, and whilst doing so realises that she is offering him comfort and reassurance, and that his comments appear to be trying to equate their experiences. This brought such an interesting dynamic to the book; I loved the sections where she meets with her friends and reflects with them. Because whilst this book is undoubtedly about the assault, it is also about the power of friendship and the strength that you can find in others. I just found these sections so interesting because it was the other people who offered their opinions about his language and the way in which she was diminishing her feelings for him "we were only 19" etc. Women shouldn't be made to put their feelings aside for me. Especially rapists.
"If he says yes, I won't thank him. I won't tell him that everything is OK between us. I won't comfort him. I am assuming he'll need comforting. Politeness isn't needed. You ruined everything, I'll tell him. You realise that, right? I can say everything"
This was just such a unique and stunning memoir and perspective. Jeannie is clear throughout that she doesn't want to demonize Mark, and she doesn't. She recalls a large range of good memories that she shared with him, and in doing so, is trying to discover whether that one destroying night overpowers the rest of their friendship. Jeannie spends a large portion of the book trying to wrestle with whether she can call what happened to her 'rape' and again this is such an interesting perspective, and one you see over and over in articles and reports. I'm glad the law changed, it was about time.
"and then the way they talked about women: It could have been my daughter or my wife or my mother or my sister. It's like, you don't have to connect this to women in relation to you. A woman can be a woman"
Although this book mostly focuses on her experience with Mark she also explores the previous occasions where she has been sexually assaulted; as a child and as an adult, and explores her feelings in how she can class previous occasions as sexual assault, but struggles with the incident with Mark.
"Don't worry about protecting the guy who assaulted you. Don't worry about the feelings of the guy's family or friends. Your job is not to protect them. He screwed up. He messed up those relationships, not you. And yet, here I am, not talking to Mark's family. Part of that is fourteen years have passed. Part of that is it'd be so much work. It's so much work to come forward. And yet a lot of people blame the victims for not reporting sexual assault, as if it's entirely their responsibility to rid the world of rapists"
I highlighted so many sections of this book. It is such a powerful read overall and is really well-written by Jeannie. This is such a unique read and I would love to read her other book because I just became entranced by her writing style; there wasn't anything I didn't like about it. She takes you on the journey of her throughout processes throughout the book. I really really recommend this book, and I will be desperately seeking out a physical copy when it comes out.
It is unflinching, uncomfortable, honest, and powerful.
Thanks to Netgalley for providing me with an eARC of this book. All opinions and comments made here are my own.
"Don't back down, she said. Don't let them twist what you know is true"
Oof let me start by saying that my review, is in no way going to do this book justice. I implore you to read this, incredibly thought-provoking memoir.
"I'll tell him: I still have nightmares about you"
I've never read a memoir before so really wasn't sure what to expect of the writing style going in but I absolutely loved it. It enabled us to follow Jeannie on her journey as she experienced it and it made it even more heartfelt that way in my view. Just reading the premise I knew this wasn't going to be an easy read. And boy was I right. This book really packed a punch on every page and every chapter. It's uncomfortable, but not necessarily in a bad way. I think the whole basis of the book is so interesting and it's something i've never really seen explored before. Your best friend sexually assaults you; your best friend who, up until that moment, seemed like a decent and good guy. How on earth do you reconcile the person you've spent years building a friendship with to the person who could take you apart in one night. This is a question that has haunted Jeannie since her friend "Mark" attacked her, and finally, she's decided to get answers by contacting Mark and asking him why.
"why do I need his permission, anyway? I never gave mine"
I know i've said this but i'm saying it again; the way in which Jeannie writes is incredible. I really felt like she took us on the journey with her. Jeannie decides to record her conversations with Mark so that she can have the opportunity to reflect on the conversations, and whilst doing so realises that she is offering him comfort and reassurance, and that his comments appear to be trying to equate their experiences. This brought such an interesting dynamic to the book; I loved the sections where she meets with her friends and reflects with them. Because whilst this book is undoubtedly about the assault, it is also about the power of friendship and the strength that you can find in others. I just found these sections so interesting because it was the other people who offered their opinions about his language and the way in which she was diminishing her feelings for him "we were only 19" etc. Women shouldn't be made to put their feelings aside for me. Especially rapists.
"If he says yes, I won't thank him. I won't tell him that everything is OK between us. I won't comfort him. I am assuming he'll need comforting. Politeness isn't needed. You ruined everything, I'll tell him. You realise that, right? I can say everything"
This was just such a unique and stunning memoir and perspective. Jeannie is clear throughout that she doesn't want to demonize Mark, and she doesn't. She recalls a large range of good memories that she shared with him, and in doing so, is trying to discover whether that one destroying night overpowers the rest of their friendship. Jeannie spends a large portion of the book trying to wrestle with whether she can call what happened to her 'rape' and again this is such an interesting perspective, and one you see over and over in articles and reports. I'm glad the law changed, it was about time.
"and then the way they talked about women: It could have been my daughter or my wife or my mother or my sister. It's like, you don't have to connect this to women in relation to you. A woman can be a woman"
Although this book mostly focuses on her experience with Mark she also explores the previous occasions where she has been sexually assaulted; as a child and as an adult, and explores her feelings in how she can class previous occasions as sexual assault, but struggles with the incident with Mark.
"Don't worry about protecting the guy who assaulted you. Don't worry about the feelings of the guy's family or friends. Your job is not to protect them. He screwed up. He messed up those relationships, not you. And yet, here I am, not talking to Mark's family. Part of that is fourteen years have passed. Part of that is it'd be so much work. It's so much work to come forward. And yet a lot of people blame the victims for not reporting sexual assault, as if it's entirely their responsibility to rid the world of rapists"
I highlighted so many sections of this book. It is such a powerful read overall and is really well-written by Jeannie. This is such a unique read and I would love to read her other book because I just became entranced by her writing style; there wasn't anything I didn't like about it. She takes you on the journey of her throughout processes throughout the book. I really really recommend this book, and I will be desperately seeking out a physical copy when it comes out.
It is unflinching, uncomfortable, honest, and powerful.
January 7, 2020
[trigger warning: rape, suicide] Where to begin reviewing this book? When Jeannie Vanasco was a sophomore in college, grieving the recent death of her father, her close friend - who she refers to as Mark - rapes her. This book follows Jeannie 14 yr later as she decides to reach out to & begin conversation with Mark around the rape & their friendship. THINGS WE DIDN’T TALK ABOUT WHEN I WAS A GIRL hauntingly addresses redemption, rape culture, accountability, performative gender, and so much more.
What makes the book truly outstanding to me is the way Vanasco shares her process in an open & vulnerable way. It’s very meta which I love in creative nonfiction. She worries she’s not being a good feminist by wanting to speak to Mark, by giving him a voice. She records their conversations & while transcribing finds herself constantly reassuring & thanking him & then reflects on why she feels the need to center his comfort. I also loved the portrayals of female friendships, Vanasco’s many confidantes who champion her work & honor her agency.
This book is so damn complex. Why do I care for Mark when I’ve read books like MISSOULA that shows how little consequences there are for teenage boys that engage in harmful, violent behavior towards girls? I saw so much of myself in Jeannie, her impulse to be reassuring even when her thoughts & actions diverged. Her politics vs the reality of her nostalgia for a destroyed friendship. I’m sure everyone who reads this will each come away feeling differently. This book asks difficult questions about redemption, can someone be good & have done a horrible thing - and even after reading this book & finding it so valuable, I’m still unsure if those are the questions we as a society need to be asking about men who rape. Still, it’s the question Jeannie Vanasco needed to ask, and I’m so grateful she shared her inquiry with us.
The publisher sent me this book for free but all thoughts my own!
What makes the book truly outstanding to me is the way Vanasco shares her process in an open & vulnerable way. It’s very meta which I love in creative nonfiction. She worries she’s not being a good feminist by wanting to speak to Mark, by giving him a voice. She records their conversations & while transcribing finds herself constantly reassuring & thanking him & then reflects on why she feels the need to center his comfort. I also loved the portrayals of female friendships, Vanasco’s many confidantes who champion her work & honor her agency.
This book is so damn complex. Why do I care for Mark when I’ve read books like MISSOULA that shows how little consequences there are for teenage boys that engage in harmful, violent behavior towards girls? I saw so much of myself in Jeannie, her impulse to be reassuring even when her thoughts & actions diverged. Her politics vs the reality of her nostalgia for a destroyed friendship. I’m sure everyone who reads this will each come away feeling differently. This book asks difficult questions about redemption, can someone be good & have done a horrible thing - and even after reading this book & finding it so valuable, I’m still unsure if those are the questions we as a society need to be asking about men who rape. Still, it’s the question Jeannie Vanasco needed to ask, and I’m so grateful she shared her inquiry with us.
The publisher sent me this book for free but all thoughts my own!
October 8, 2019
Things We Didn't Talk about When I was a Girl by Jeannie Vanasco details her sexual assault victimization and the aftermath. The memoir is quite insightful and provides many interesting observations when it comes to victims, society and those that do wrong.
Fourteen years after a sexual assault incident, Jeannie Vanasco reestablishes contact with the perpetrator and details her life before, during and after the incident. Along the way, Jeannie Vanasco insightfully discusses the subject of sexual assault from problematic definitions, stigmatization, and how issues both follow and haunt the victim, oftentimes at the hands of the perpetrator.
In the memoir, one effective thing Jeannie Vanasco does that increases the impact of the content of her memoir is to definitively explain the event as it occurred and that what happened is not in dispute by either her or her perpetrator. This allows the reader to react more strongly to Jeannie Vanasco's writing without the encumbrance of being concerned with conflicting memories and interpretations of both of those involved.
Jeannie Vanasco's writing is open, powerfully honest, and quite revealing, which adds to the importance of her memoir.
Fourteen years after a sexual assault incident, Jeannie Vanasco reestablishes contact with the perpetrator and details her life before, during and after the incident. Along the way, Jeannie Vanasco insightfully discusses the subject of sexual assault from problematic definitions, stigmatization, and how issues both follow and haunt the victim, oftentimes at the hands of the perpetrator.
In the memoir, one effective thing Jeannie Vanasco does that increases the impact of the content of her memoir is to definitively explain the event as it occurred and that what happened is not in dispute by either her or her perpetrator. This allows the reader to react more strongly to Jeannie Vanasco's writing without the encumbrance of being concerned with conflicting memories and interpretations of both of those involved.
Jeannie Vanasco's writing is open, powerfully honest, and quite revealing, which adds to the importance of her memoir.
August 28, 2020
This is a subject that is so important - it's something that needs to be spoken about more than ever. I think the MeToo movement is definitely helping voices be heard.
This book is like nothing I've read before. It's a mixed feeling read to see how Jeannie has dealt with what happened, how she is doing things her own way to help herself find closure. I don't think there's any right way, I know there's reviews saying how she seems to be asking questions a lot on how others will see her. To me it sounds more shes just putting everything down that's in her head - and I think that makes her story even more honest (if that's the right word?).
To see how 'Mark' kinda excused his actions sometimes, saying how they were both drunk and how affected he has been by what happened. Like her friends said, he really would not have any idea. I think it's so interesting to see his point of view though, I'm not sure many rapists would agree to even admit what happened.
This book basically shows how sexual assault isn't usually by strangers. It's by friends, people close that shouldn't even think about doing that to another person, never mind someone in a close relationship with them.
This book is like nothing I've read before. It's a mixed feeling read to see how Jeannie has dealt with what happened, how she is doing things her own way to help herself find closure. I don't think there's any right way, I know there's reviews saying how she seems to be asking questions a lot on how others will see her. To me it sounds more shes just putting everything down that's in her head - and I think that makes her story even more honest (if that's the right word?).
To see how 'Mark' kinda excused his actions sometimes, saying how they were both drunk and how affected he has been by what happened. Like her friends said, he really would not have any idea. I think it's so interesting to see his point of view though, I'm not sure many rapists would agree to even admit what happened.
This book basically shows how sexual assault isn't usually by strangers. It's by friends, people close that shouldn't even think about doing that to another person, never mind someone in a close relationship with them.
September 15, 2019
Wowza. I've never read anything like "Things We Didn't Talk About When I Was a Girl" before. It's a fascinating look into the mind of a "nice guy" who rapes a friend, how that particular kind of betrayal is processed by both the victim and the perpetrator, and the complications of writing about it. It's so rare to get the perspective of the perpetrator, and the result here is stunning. I was especially moved by Vanasco's wrestling with whether or not to describe what happened to her as rape; that entire thread is devastatingly relatable. I'm so happy and grateful that this book was published.
June 10, 2020
"Is it possible for a good person, a really good person to be a rapist?"
Jeannie Vanasco, the author of ' Things We Didn’t Talk About When I Was a Girl', was raped by a close friend when she was 19 years old. Ever since she has had the same nightmare and finds herself startles awake, saying his name. More than a decade after the trauma, Vanasco decides to confront her rapist to find out how that one night has affected her former friend Mark.
The idea of giving voice to a rapist is unsettling and yet critically important. Vanasco words her thoughts and feelings and explains why she didn’t report the crime, how she has been blaming herself all these years. She unravels a bitter truth that rapists are not strangers lurking in alleys. Often time rapists are usually someone the victim knows - they are friends, lovers, brothers, coworkers.
Throughout the book, Vanasco shows a sense of protection towards her perpetrator and she was unnecessarily kind to him. If anything, this shows us the depth of the problem. That how women are being taught to be likable by everyone, even by their rapist!
It was a heavy, powerful, and interesting read. The only thing that made this book less mentally exhausting and easily palatable is
Mark's honest confession "Nice guys are a total lie".
October 14, 2019
Not so much a book as a book about a book. Most of the wordcount is spent on Vanasco wrestling with questions of authorship: how to frame the story, how to portray her rapist, how to portray herself, whether she's using writing techniques to hide from the truth.
This approach will probably frustrate anyone hoping for cathartic fury, but it's the right means to her ends. Vanasco's book isn't really about rape so much as it's about living with trauma, about how we rewrite narratives when our world falls apart. A difficult but unforgettable read.
This approach will probably frustrate anyone hoping for cathartic fury, but it's the right means to her ends. Vanasco's book isn't really about rape so much as it's about living with trauma, about how we rewrite narratives when our world falls apart. A difficult but unforgettable read.
June 4, 2020
I stayed up all night to finish reading this one in a day. Overall, I didn't really like it. It made me really sad and uncomfortable. I'm very conflicted about how to feel about Jeannie Vanasco as an author and a person. My gut reaction is that I don't like her, but I know that liking her or not liking her is beside the point in understanding her message or honoring her story. I loved the back-and-forth of her interviews with Mark and her own vignettes ... that was creative. I just think I need to verbally process this book with someone. So many thoughts. Mandi? Sarah?
March 5, 2021
A gutting foil for Chanel Miller's Know My Name. Like Vanasco, the majority of rape victims are assaulted by someone they know. Things We Didn't Talk About When I Was a Girl illustrates in heart-wrenching detail what it's like to be assaulted by a friend and the ripple effects that betrayal leaves in its wake. The story urges readers to reckon with how otherwise "nice guys" can be rapists too and the protection mechanisms we use to cope with that uncomfortable reality.
September 29, 2019
TW - rape and sexual assault.
Due to the nature of this book, I don’t want to write anything negative about the subject matter.
I feel, it was a different and unique way to write life events. The only thing I struggled with was the length of the book.
Due to the nature of this book, I don’t want to write anything negative about the subject matter.
I feel, it was a different and unique way to write life events. The only thing I struggled with was the length of the book.
February 3, 2020
an uncomfortable read at times but super important in the conversation surrounding the destigmatisation of rape written from a very uncommon but interesting perspective. left feeling more connected to the female experience, highly recommend
January 9, 2025
This book was thought provoking and the subject matter was hard to get through at times; however, books like these are so necessary and important.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 491 reviews