Sarah Moss is one of my favourite living writers—top three easily. Her memoir about surviving an emotionally neglectful childhood and navigating a lifelong eating disorder is, I think, leaps ahead of what she's been doing in fiction for the last few years. Summerwater and The Fell, her previous two novels, were as skilful as ever but felt a bit like Moss was treading water; My Good Bright Wolf is a huge push forward, sharp and smart and relentlessly self-interrogative. The voice she's landed on for this is mostly second-person (except for a brief period of hospitalisation, which is told in limited third: "you" becomes "she") and constantly intercut with a bullying, belittling voice that accuses her of lying and attention-seeking, demands to see corroborating evidence for her family stories, and generally undermines the narrative at every turn. The voice is never embodied: at various points it seems to ventriloquise her father, her mother, her own negative self-talk, the sound of generalised societal pressures, or all of the above. It's a brilliant device, showing how profoundly a person's—specifically a girl's, then woman's—sense of self and reality can be sabotaged, and how that sabotage comes not just from one ill-equipped parent but from the whole world. I also loved—though some may not—her readings of beloved children's literature and 19th-century fiction: Swallows and Amazons, Little Women, Jane Eyre, the Little House on the Prairie books, Beatrix Potter, and more are evaluated with a loving but un-indulgent eye, revealing their foundations and investments in a white European cult of thinness and female self-control. It's stunning stuff. Apart from the fact that I have the added bonus of Type I diabetes, which complicates my relationship to food considerably, it's a perfect model for what I want my most recent nonfiction project (temporarily shelved while PhD-writing) to do.

My Good Bright Wolf by Sarah Moss.
This was a difficult read. I did like the cover. That's what drew me to this book. I really did not like her parents at all. I did feel for Sarah. I just wanted to jump in and hug her and slap her parents. This was a unique and moving book. It took me a few days to read.

Definitely one of the best books I've read this year. I could NOT put it down; I basically read it in two sittings. Oh my God, I'm so glad that in my early 30's I read Marion Woodman's <i>Addiction to Perfection</i> (thank you Tori Amos!!) - it 100% saved my brain (not that my brain is, like, perfectly healthy, but whose is?).

I thought as a memoir this was absolutely fantastic, truly exceptional - the use of surreal techniques, the switch between second and third person, the use of academic close readings (most memorably <i>Little House on the Prairie, Little Women, Jane Eyre, Swallows and Amazon,</i>, Dorothy Wordsworth's diaries). I would LOVE to read her PhD thesis on representations of food and eating in early modern literature. I'm fascinated by her recent comments on the use of the 'choral voice'. I also thought the theme of balancing the life of the mind (art, writing) and a life of caretaking was really fascinating, as were her observations about the white woman obsession with thinness/health/wellness (see Naomi Klein's <i>Doppelganger</i> for a similar discussion) and how that ties into a discourse of control/power/superiority over others. <i>"You don't think you find other people's fatness repellant, you don't think you believe that your thinness is superior to other people's larger bodies, but you certainly act as if you do. You can see exactly how the moralizing of health and strength and thinness complies with supermacist thinking; you just can't stop behaving as if you agree."</i> Really interesting to see Gen Xers reaching the point in their lives where they're writing memoirs that examine the beliefs they were raised with (looking forward to my fellow millennials hitting their mid-40s and doing likewise!).

Overall, my heart went out for the narrator of this book so, so much when reading this. I underlined like ten billion passages. Truly the best thing that Generation Z has given us (besides their love of Kafka and worship of the dark under eye circle) is the idea that all bodies are beautiful and acceptable. Hope that Gen X-ers and my fellow geriatric millennials take note! Moss is truly one of great UK writers at work right now.

Thanks to Netgalley and the publishers for the ARC.

<i>"The purpose of writing is not competitive suffering. The making of art is always both privilege and necessity, always dependent on other people doing other work in the kitchen and in the nursery and in the library, in the fields and the factories. No making of art - or love, or war, or peace, or dinner - without a body, no body without food."</i>

This memoir is powerful and brutally honest, filled with emotion and at the same time trying not to be completely subjective, trying not to "tell tales", trying to deal with the prejudice that writing is lying. Moss contemplates what being a woman means today and through history, she discusses misogyny, feminism, patriarchy, privilege, mental illness.
Why would we assume good writers are confident, happy and content with their achievements? Isn't a most common positivistic assumption that great art comes from great pain? If so, Moss had to become a great artist.
I thought not only her style was brilliant but her approach to her own life, childhood and mental illness was refreshing, different. She tries to figure out how and when it all sharted, why it came to be. Many small things in life seem insignificant but turn out to be the opposite. People make mistakes, patents make mistakes that specially affect their children. Realising and understanding it doesn't make the trauma go away. It is not a matter of blame but the need to get to the beginning, to the cause.
We can explain and understand, but the rational, the mind, cannot cure us, it is only a part of the problem.
Her battle with anorexia is constant, unrelenting, even when it seems to have faded, it comes back with a push, a neverending battle.
Her pain is constant, her struggle with food, eating, not eating, thinking about the body. The obsession with perfect female bodies isn't only a personal obsession, it is an intrusive thought imposed on us by society, history, patriarchy. It is not only a personal, intimate struggle, it is a communal one.
This is more than a memoir, this is a literary memoir and a memoir about reading, thinking, writing, being an artist and a person.
I was astonished by this remarkable piece of writing, it was ruthless, chilling, it made me feel all the hunger and the pain for the misunderstood child. An experience both sad and beautiful, a book that needed to be written.

I don't read many memoirs but I am a huge fan of Sarah Moss so thought I'd try this. It totally blew me away. Sarah is a little younger than me but grew up in an age when books were the only refuge for a non sporty child and her knowledge and analysis of the books I read as a child is spot on. Her journey with anorexia nervous hit a chord for reasons I won't go into but I wept along with her during these excruciating, bleak, lonely passages. Her experience of second wave feminism and the narrative that accompanied was also haunting.

It is moving and terrifying and yet funny and beautiful. I cannot stop thinking about this book and I will push it into the arms of anyone I can. An absolute tour de force. This has to win prizes

Author and academic Sarah Moss’s unorthodox memoir centres on the eating issues that led to a diagnosis of anorexia nervosa in her teens. Moss grew up in what she frames as a bourgeois, bohemian household during the late 1970s and 1980s. Both her parents had backgrounds in academia but having children disrupted her mother’s career prospects. Moss grew up in a shabby chic house, her father was either absent or shut away in his study, strictly off limits. Her mother, left to run the household, found children draining, desperate to fend off or, preferably, silence their demands. From her earliest years Moss recalls her mother’s awkward mix of outspoken feminism and resentful domestication; her father’s policing and vocal fat shaming of her mother’s body. His obsession with some notion of the feminine ideal meant he subjected Moss to regular weigh-ins, the results were then linked to his estimations of her worth. Her parents liberal, lefty but snobbishly-austere lifestyle made Moss the odd one out at her school: eating wholefoods, nose buried in a book, deeply envious of other girls who ate sweets and were allowed to play with Barbie dolls – plastic toys were banned in Moss’s home. All of which contributed to conflicted emotions around gender and how to navigate the world. This confusing environment was compounded by coming of age in the era of heroin chic, a society in which all that seemed to matter was that she be as thin as possible.

Moss connects her upbringing, her personal feelings about being/becoming a girl, to representations of food and femininity in favourite childhood books from the works of Arthur Ransome and Laura Ingalls Wilder to the heroines of novels like Jane Eyre: food as nurture; food as self-indulgence; food and class privilege. Examples of the meeting between the cultural and the personal that became central to her later academic research. With the aid of an unusually supportive psychiatric team, Moss herself was able to find ways to move forward and thrive. But later in her forties, during the Covid pandemic, Moss’s old concerns about food, and about the space taken up by her body, resurfaced; and she found herself locked in a Dublin hospital ward on the verge of major organ failure. This time round her treatment was far less sensitive and far more punitive.

Moss draws on a range of literary techniques to tell her story, from conventions taken from folklore and fairy tale to the incorporation of a hectoring inner voice who interrupts and undermines her recollections, constantly questioning her version of events. Moss writes as if examining herself from a distance, often referring to ‘she’ rather than using the first person, partly signalling her fragmented self, the ways in which narrative shapes and inevitably distorts her memories and presentation of her experiences. At first, I found Moss’s shifts in register and style slightly disorientating, even off-putting, particularly the more experimental opening segments but as this unfolded, I found it increasingly engrossing, powerful and provocative. I especially liked Moss’s use of literature from Woolf and Plath to Dorothy Wordsworth to talk about her predicament; her attempts to map relations between the social, cultural, and the individual, from pervasive forms of diet culture to the cultural myths and social control mechanisms that impact women’s relationships with their bodies. Constraints that Moss can recognise, analyse and interpret yet never entirely evade.

My Good Bright Wolf is an account of the author's virtually lifelong struggle with an eating disorder, and it is an astonishing book. Her gift for vivid and emotional prose won't be in any doubt to those (like me) who are fans of her previous work, both fiction and non-fiction alike, but this was almost on another level in its visceral depiction of mental illness and anorexia. Not an easy read, but an important and luminous one.

Adored!

Moss is the type of writer I aspire to be. Such a unique way of writing a memoir not that given her previous work I expected it to be anything but unique.

Loved the way in which she explored her life, thinking, experiences through the works of literature which have shaped her. As a fellow bookworm this was both inspired and inspiring.

Moss’ work is fairly dark in places. She is an unhinged and unreliable narrator of her own story. She plays with the idea of memory and the way we remember and reshape our lives as we grow.

I could relate with her level of self awareness and critical nature on a personal level that was both comforting and terrifying.

Her honesty regarding her struggles with anorexia were commendable in its bravery. It was intimately distance, striking a fine balance between telling her story whilst maintaining her privacy.

I hope she finds some peace in this world.

I have reviewed My Good Bright Wolf for book recommendation and sales site LoveReading.co.uk. I’ve awarded it a LoveReading Star Book and it will also sit as a Liz Pick of the Month for October. Please see the link for the full review.

Thank to NetGalley and Pan Macmillan for providing a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

"Your very bones took up too much space"

I am a big Sarah Moss fan so when I saw she had written a memoir I was thrilled. As expected it didn't disappoint. It's hard to describe how I felt about this book, it is a difficult read because a lot of it is relatable but you are also fully aware this story is uniquely the authors. Nevertheless l couldn't put it down and devoured it over a few days whenever I had a spare moment I would pick up this book. The insight into someone's illness was rare but refreshing. I found the scene in hospital particularly poignant.

This was excellent and I'm so glad I could read it ahead of publication (I will definitely be picking up a physical copy). Its one of the best memoirs I've read and I can't wait to read more from Sarah Moss!

I don’t often read memoirs but I enjoyed Sarah Moss’s novel Summerwater a few years ago so was curious to learn more about her. I found it compulsive and felt a little voyeuristic reading it, while admiring the daring required to lay bare private thoughts and experiences; as Moss herself puts it, ‘like bleeding in public’. Some parts are written in the second person, others the third, perhaps to make it bearable. In both modes she is harsh; perhaps less accusatory in the third person but still not what could be described as kind to herself.
At the heart of the book is Moss’s dealing (or not) with an eating disorder. We are near contemporaries so I am familiar with the rhetoric of bargaining food intake against exercise taken and intermittent fasting being the magic bullet to control weight but, blessedly, with support and common sense at home. It’s distressing to read in parts but that seems fitting: writing about eating disorders should be disturbing.
Throughout, there is a tension between what Moss the narrator tells us and the offstage voices of others challenging her memory, accusing her of fabrication. Larkin’s pronouncement on parents sprung to mind; the family narrative is that she is fat, that she is a liar. While in one sense her upbringing was privileged – a stable nuclear family, financially secure – in others it was shocking. In that context, what could be read as abandonment without proper funds or provisions is perceived as freedom from shame and criticism. The lack of empathy in intelligent, educated parents and some healthcare professionals seems particularly cruel; a legacy is that Moss remains distrustful of ‘home’. It’s astonishing to me given what she has dealt with, and continues to do so, how successful a life she has forged and how much she has achieved. My Good Bright Wolf might be a difficult read in places, but for the content only – the writing is as brilliant as ever.

My Good Bright Wolf is an incredibly lyrical and powerful memoir from Sarah Moss. It is far from an easy read, detailing as it does her in some ways unorthodox childhood, her complicated relationship with food which began in those years and re- emerged with a vengeance during the Covid-19 pandemic and her continuing struggle to deal with the issues and baggage she carries with her. It did take me a little while to get into the style of the book, but even then I could see and appreciate the skill and beauty of the writing and by the second half I was fully captivated by not only the author's journey but also the unique way she chose to share it. As a book lover and avid reader I also loved the choice to discuss several books that had an impact on her, for good or ill , and this was a nice unexpected bonus.
There are many issues within this book which will resonate with readers , the relationships we have with our bodies and our minds are unique and constantly evolving and that is something that is really explored in this compelling and memorable book.
I read and reviewed an ARC courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher, all opinions are my own.

I love Sarah Moss’s writing and although this memoir was a challenging read, the beauty and skill of the writing shone through. My Good Bright Wolf tackles some really harrowing subjects and delves deeply into Moss’s struggles with her mental health. This is not a comfortable read, but it is moving and thought provoking and the reader becomes fully invested in wanting things to turn out well for her.

I have previously read 2 of Sarah Moss’ books, The Fell and Summerwater. So when the Publishers offered me a chance to read My Good Bright Wolf, I was excited to start it. It is a memoir, not my usual genre. It took me a quite few pages to become acquainted with the style of the book, it was not what I was expecting. It isn’t an easy book to read, there were some emotionally very difficult parts in it, almost harrowing, of Sarah’s childhood and lack of parental love. How the family would set off for a long day’s hiking with plenty of water, but little food. Her parents, Owl and the Jumblie Girl, showed a marked lack of understanding bringing up their children. Sarah was frequently told by them that she was fat, this in turn led to her eating disorder. She mentions many occasions when she deprived herself of food, over exercised and tried to control her body. To survive, she lost herself in books, such as Jane Eyre and Little House on the Prairie.
This is not an easy read, but I couldn’t put it down. My thanks go to Piccador, NetGalley and Sarah Moss for an arc of this book.

Honest, raw, intellectual, intelligent and searingly human. A book I needed to read in short bursts, but I found the truth in the exploration of memory and the shaping of a mind and body profoundly illuminating. I especially enjoyed the ‘readings’ of the literature that fed this brilliant author.
Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the opportunity to review this book.

My Good Bright Wolf by Sarah Moss

Oh my goodness , what a book . Such an honest insight on Sarahs life .
She lays it all bare , her parents , her struggle with an eating disorder and her mental health it's all there.
Brilliant.

This is not an easy read. It's a story of how Sarah Moss grew up and developed anorexia, showing how the voices in our heads can have so much influence over our lives, even when they're twisted and slowly destroying. It shows how her parents' attitudes to what was of value, and their own prejudices, were internalised by her and how she sought reward for having willpower, being good and not eating. It also shows how things which she loved, like hiking, were part of this cycle and could be used.

The writing is beautiful, the style makes it slightly removed as it isn't first person, which contributes to the way she sometimes questions her memory of events. Is the ending hopeful or not - I couldn't really tell. It was a compelling read, despite being difficult.

An interesting conceit, the narrative voice, which I wasn't at first sure about. But the propulsive narrative thrust that makes the fiction such an addictive joy eventually kicked in. Would definitely recommend -- with a brief warning.

I love Sarah Moss’s novels and her memoir was just as good.
To say it’s raw and honest is something of an understatement.
We move from her childhood - written like a devastating fairytale - to her battles with food and hunger. This aspect of her memoir is unflinching, sad and hard to read.
And of course this is also about books and being a reader and feminism and is beautifully, beautifully written.
This powerful and painful life story will stay stay with me for a long time.

An extraordinarily powerful and moving read. This memoir by Sarah Moss was compelling from start to finish.

The author is the first to admit that she had many advantages growing up but with self esteem issues that led to illness much of her life has been a battle that had her waging war on herself. Raw, real and very brave, this isn't an easy read its journey telling of the good, the bad, how it was, how she thought it was and what was lacking.

This memoir gave me much to reflect on, the books that meant something to Sarah growing up were the same ones I read but our upbringings couldn't have been more different. Read it and weep - this is one you won't forget reading.