Good in Bed by Jennifer Weiner

Good in Bed by Jennifer Weiner

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
There was a lot of things I loved about this book, and a lot of things I hated.

Pros:

- The fact that the heroine did find love, at her size, and that she had love before. Also that she had friends, and a successful life, and many of the things she wanted. She wasn’t waiting to lose weight before having a life.

- The honest body talk. Cannie talks about her body in the same way most every other person does. Even though she is on the smaller size of being “fat”, she still sees herself as this horrific creature who doesn’t deserve love or happiness because she’s fat. It was great to mention the white elephant in the room.

- Cannie was honest about why she wanted to lose weight, why she needed to lose weight. It was only because she wasn’t attractive according to the world as she saw it. She wasn’t acceptable to herself and felt unacceptable to everyone else. It wasn’t this hiding behind being healthy crap.

- The doctor was honest about the weight loss. He admitted that the medical world doesn’t know what makes a body fat or thin, yet they still push this archaic idea of calories in and calories out. He admitted that even with medicine and surgery, the ability to change a person’s body is unknown and it is very unlikely any weight lost will stay off. He also didn’t preach, mostly, about healthy related illnesses which the medical community claim to be caused by obesity.

- Cannie was smart, witty, and Jewish. I love that her mother was queer, and that the family was a little dysfunctional but still loving. I thought the characters were well fleshed out and surprising in some ways. I also liked the way that Cannie didn’t mind talking about being fat. Even though it wasn’t in a positive light, she still talked about it. And not in hushed voices like someone would say cancer, she was really willing to bust out with it.

- There was no glamorization of Cammie’s unhealthy weight loss. She wasn’t praised and the doctor specifically said she needs to eat.

- The ex-boyfriend was/is still in love with our heroine.

Cons:

- Completely unbelievable. A fat journalist just happens to find herself in a situation to become bosom buddies with a movie star that whisks her off to vacation and buys her furniture after one bonding experience. Puh-lease.

- Standard white middle class privileged problems. The lack of heterosexual marriage, having a baby out of wedlock, the whole coming to turns with that and how childbirth makes everything worthwhile. It’s the same played out story. Plus it went way off into the fantasy spotlight when Cannie’s screenplay hit big and everyone lived happily ever after.

- She is still in the lower side of the fat spectrum. I don’t consider a 14-18 being anything to bat eyelashes at.

- I also find the boldness of Cannie to talk about her fat a little off-putting as well. I think this is due to the fact she is so depressing and self-deprecating. Of course, that’s what makes her wry wit so good, however it can get old as well. This goes on both sides of the list for me.

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Racial Identity

As many people are aware, February is Black History Month. Now, I’m not down for a specific month or day which celebrates a particular minority. To me, that’s like saying the minority shouldn’t be recognized the rest of the time. It’s a sign that we still have so much work to do and that so many people are unaware of the implications of race in our society. My husband just told me that he didn’t even know racism and slavery existed before he moved to America. He was born and raised in Ukraine, coming over to the States at age 14, and never even saw a person of color before. He also likes to harp on me about how it’s more about culture, than about race, as that’s what he was taught, but we’re getting there. He’s starting to see more and more. Anyway.

For Black History Month our local university, Portland State, held a big event. There was a speaker and Soul food and some local artists. It was pretty amazing. Well, the artists were. It was during this event, or rather the three or four times I welled up with tears, that I realized I identify most with the Black culture. Don’t misunderstand me. I am not Black, that I know, and I will never understand what it is to be Black. However, we do share a lot of the same issues. Perhaps it is because I grew up in the South, and while us Southerners have a reputation for not being the most racially accepting people we still were at the forefront of Slavery. I’m not bragging about that. My point is that something good did stem from the horrific act of Slavery. The South is very well populated with Black culture. I speak of Atlanta specifically, which is where I was born, though Georgia is not the only Southern state by far to have a large Black population. This means all my life I was in the Black community. Black people were my neighbors, my friends, my lovers, my companions. And while my family is racist, despite their insistence otherwise, I never was. Instead, I saw a culture which was like home to me. The same way I feel about finding Judaism and asexuality, as though it is where I belong.

This realization is terrifying to me on so many levels. I know when people look at me they see a White woman. Though this is not how I see myself, I am not blind or stupid. And thus I wonder if this culture that I find at home in will find a home with me. Will people accept me? Will I be allowed to make friends, participate, commiserate, love? I think this is something I was trying to express in my Feminism, Privilege, Race and Other Stuff post. I have come to understand that “White People” who don’t just allow racist jokes, or racist policies, or racist whatever to pass us by without comment or assistance to change are generally not the “White People” being spoken about. I think that is what Black writers mean when they say “White People” shouldn’t feel ashamed or as though they’ve sinned. However, it becomes really hard to remind one’s self that they are not being included in a general subset like “White People” when one knows that they are seen as a “White Person”. When I read line after line about what “White People” do that is racist, or unhelpful or prejudicial, it becomes really frustrating. I am flippantly and sarcastically told that I deserve a cookie if I mention that I am not one of those “White People”.

And I understand, I do. I represent a race that has dominated, oppressed, tortured, ridiculed, shamed, murdered, raped, and so many other offenses I can’t even count, the Black race and many other races. I understand that there is a lot of emotion and tension built up on the subject. I understand that I can’t see every racial oppression and that things that affect Black people won’t affect me. However, I want to be able to stand with the people I love and feel the most connected with and fight the battles that need to be fought. When I put my fist in the air as a symbol of revolution and empowerment, I hope that the people of color around me will know I mean it with all my heart. I hope I will be able to show that I’m not just another privileged White Person trying to save the brown women from the brown men. I’m not a missionary trying to convert.

Does that make sense to anyone else? I know I will always be seen as White, because that is what my skin color says, even if my heart and soul speak differently. Is there a place in the world for someone like me?