What Hunger: A Lush Exploration of Desperation
When I first laid eyes on the cover of What Hunger by Catherine Dang, I felt an immediate pull—the title and that tiny trickle of blood stirred a craving for something deeply unsettling yet profoundly introspective. A bit of a shameless case of judging a book by its cover? Perhaps—but I was truly hungry for a read that would take me into the dark, twisted corridors of human experience, much like Tender is the Flesh and A Certain Hunger did before it.
As I dived into What Hunger, I found myself enveloped in the world of its protagonist, grappling with her adolescent desires and the stark reality of adulthood. The narrative is steeped in introspection; it reflects that universal teenage angst, the feeling that adults are somehow faking their confidence and certainty. This sentiment rings loudly when the author writes, “The adults in our lives acted so sure of everything, but we sensed it was a lie.” These lines lingered in my mind, reminding me of my own teenage years spent questioning the world and the people who shaped it—flawed humans, desperately trying to navigate their own uncertainty.
The book presents itself as what many might expect from a thriller, but it read to me more like a dark coming-of-age drama. The pacing sometimes felt uneven, and while I craved more tension, I appreciated the stream-of-consciousness style that Dang employed. It’s a tricky perspective to master, but here, it feels authentic and raw. It captures the whirlwind of a young girl’s thoughts—her struggles with agency and her quest for identity in a world that seems intent on suffocating her spirit.
One aspect that struck me were the vivid, poignant lines that punctuate the narrative. For instance, “We never opened the front door at night. Our parents only did it for people who called us beforehand.” This quote reflects the pervasive fear that constrains the characters’ lives, serving as a stark reminder of how paranoia can inhibit genuine connection. It’s a sentiment I found not just relevant to the story but also emblematic of the discomfort that continues to shape our lives today.
Yet, it was the unexpected visceral turn at the three-quarters mark that truly captivated me. I found myself entirely unprepared for the emotional and physical intensity that Dang unleashed at that point in the narrative. It was remarkable—gruesome yet artfully done, a testament to her ability to weave tension into the fabric of the story.
However, I will admit that the ending left me with a sense of unresolved mystery, feeling as abrupt as it was meant to be. Perhaps it was a daring move, inviting readers to grapple with their interpretations, but it also fell short in leaving a lasting impression on my thoughts.
I recommend What Hunger to those who revel in dark, character-driven stories and don’t shy away from the weird aspects of human experience. Fans of stream-of-consciousness narratives will likely find a lot to love here, especially if you enjoyed Listen to Your Sister by Neena Viel. With its rich themes and haunting questions, this book is not just about hunger but hunger for identity, connection, and understanding in a world that often feels heartless.
Ultimately, What Hunger left me with a deeper reflection on my own fears and desires—an experience that teetered between the grotesque and the beautifully human. Thank you to Catherine Dang, Simon & Schuster, and NetGalley for this hauntingly memorable read. If you’re craving something that slices through the surface noise and digs into the darker, tender truths of growing up, this book just might satisfy your literary appetite.
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