Book Review: Milk Fed by Melissa Broder
Sometimes, a book catches my eye not solely for its premise but for the discussions it invites us to partake in. Melissa Broder’s Milk Fed did just that. A novel that promises an irreverent exploration of food, body image, and sexuality, I was drawn in. However, as I turned the pages, I found myself grappling with a mix of fascination and frustration.
At its core, Milk Fed follows Rachel, a 20-something woman who is caught in the throes of an eating disorder and a toxic relationship with her body—and, of course, her mother. Broder unveils Rachel’s obsession with food, revealing a world where calories dictate happiness and familial approval is an ever-present specter. This premise initially struck me as relatable, echoing themes found in other contemporary novels like You Exist Too Much—which I found more compelling. Rachel’s blunt reflections, such as “Was it real freedom? Unlikely. But my rituals kept me skinny,” capture a truth about the warped connections we often form with our bodies.
The characters Broder crafts are a mix of whimsy and grotesqueness, creating moments that oscillate between poignant and perplexing. Rachel’s attachment to her therapist and her comically misguided stand-up comedy gig add layers to her character, though I often felt those threads could have been wielded more effectively. The dialogue sizzles with tension, but the narrative sometimes devolves into what felt like indulgent repetition—certain scenes eliciting genuine laughter, while others nudged me towards eye-roll territory.
One aspect that didn’t quite work for me was the treatment of Miriam, Rachel’s romantic interest. Although their connection sparked a momentary curiosity, it ultimately felt superficial. While Rachel’s fantasies about Miriam came across as quirky, they often veered into territories that felt more fetishistic than romantic. Lines like “Her hair was the color of cream soda, or papyrus scrolls streaked with night light” showcase Broder’s luscious descriptive capabilities but also underline how Rachel reduces Miriam to mere physical attributes.
The narrative proffers numerous outrageous moments, including absurd sexual imagery that entertained but often left me questioning the depth of seriousness in Broder’s satire. Thankfully, the book balances itself with moments of introspection, although the commentary on eating disorders at times felt frivolous rather than illuminating. This might not resonate with everyone, particularly those who have faced similar struggles; Rachel’s journey might serve as a bitter reminder of challenges faced rather than a pathway to understanding.
In conclusion, while I’m hard-pressed to give Milk Fed a resounding endorsement, its audaciousness is both its greatest strength and its Achilles’ heel. If you’re a reader who revels in satirical narratives and darkly comedic examinations of modern life, Broder’s novel could certainly pique your interest. Just tread carefully; its flippant approach to sensitive subjects may live uncomfortably with many. For me, it served as a reminder that while literature can be riotously funny, it also carries a heavy responsibility in how it portrays the human experience.
Ultimately, Milk Fed offers a caffeinated snapshot of its time, a glimpse into the complexities of self-worth linked inexorably to food and body image. While I couldn’t fully embrace it, I appreciate Broder’s audacity to delve into a uniquely chaotic and raw corner of modern womanhood.