Wintergirls: a Literary Review
By Stuti Jain, Trailblazer Blog Writer
Anybody who knows me knows I have a penchant for the disturbing. Not purely due to shock value, or the thrill of unadulterated horror, but because I find the substance of our fears, interesting, undiluted. They mirror the human world and nature in a way that few things can do organically.
Perhaps that’s why the first time I opened the pages of Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson, I was awestruck. Challenged and covered in warning labels from peers and parents, Wintergirls is perfectly aware that it introduces controversy, but remains unperturbed, unaffected. Rather than lean into the greater societal implications of its story (which, given the subject matter, has been done a thousand times, oversimplified and inaccurately) but remains focused on the protagonist, on the character, in a method reminiscent of literary fiction.
Wintergirls is a startling insight into the world of eating disorders, one girl dead and one alive. It seeks no other plotline, no other story, but rather leans into the mental aspect of the intrigue, the complications of anorexia are portrayed as the true characters in this story, and Lia, the protagonist, can better be considered a setting. With this definition in mind, Wintergirls could in fact be considered literary fiction.
One of the strongest aspects of this book was the strong, even masterful use of technique. In a smooth, effortless way most classics could only dream of, Lia’s voice is so strong that it draws you inside of it, you are wholly unaware of the many forces at play to give you that keen sense of drowsiness, of withdrawal, of fear. You are wholeheartedly immersed in a way that distances you from the rest of reality, the rest of humanity- the same distance that those suffering from mental illness face. Only to you, it’s physical. There’s something stopping you from thinking clearly, from seeing the full image, and you almost know that there is something lurking behind the corners.. only you cannot think about it, because past the first couple of chapters, you start to feel unmistakably sick. The book is uniquely built to create a feeling in you. (Many masterful filmmakers design experimental films not for the plot, but for the sensation, for the connection between human sight and perception.)
Cassie, a part of you must realize, was Lia’s foreshadowing. Lia always knew she was going to end up dead.
Acknowledging the limitations of our ability to imagine mental illness, Anderson materalizes it. Ice, you see, is the ongoing metaphor of the text, present from the moment you see the cover, a haunting image of a girl suspended inside ice, so much so that you can barely make out her face, can barely see through it. Lia, in the truest sense, is completely trapped, and she knows this. She is trapped in the cold, in the absence of warmth, and trapped in her body- her poor, damaged, paper thin body, that literally needs to grow fur because it can no longer trap heat.
Lia is not shown any kindness throughout the course of the book. Fear, you see, does that to a person, causes you to act abrasive and harsh. And, remaining with the metaphor, force is not what can release Lia- warmth can.
In it’s truest sense, however, Wintergirls is a piece of poetry. The use of language, experimental flavor and purpose of the work, and lack of focus on a clear or proper plotline- as well as the overt focus on the metaphor and use of figurative language- all could classify this book as an epic, an artwork of sorts.
I give this book a 5/5.
