Book review: Memories through lens of the body

Katriona O’Sullivan’s knack for description and ability to hop between tragedy and humour are reminiscent of greats such as Behan and McCourt. Picture: Chani Anderson

• Hungry: A Biography of My Body
• Katriona O’Sullivan
• Hachette, £16.99

“Everyone can get lost to hunger … lost to an uncontrollable hunger for drugs, abuse, food, or harm.” 

Hungry is the second memoir in three years from Katriona O’Sullivan, the award-winning, number one bestselling author of the publishing phenomenon Poor.

Born in Coventry to Irish parents struggling with addiction, Poor told the moving story of O’Sullivan’s ascent from a childhood marred by neglect and abuse, leaving school with no qualifications, to becoming a university professor of psychology.

Hovering for years in the Irish non-fiction best-sellers chart, it was adapted into a stage show at the Gate Theatre and voted the Listeners’ Choice at the Irish Book Awards, in addition to winning Biography of the Year.

While Hungry explores similar territory, in this offering O’Sullivan, who is in her 40s, filters memories through the lens of the body.

O’Sullivan suffered prolonged hunger in childhood — we learn how often the only meal she would receive was her free school lunch. 

She resorted to hiding sugar sandwiches in a cupboard at home, subsequently crawling in to eat them secretly at night.

“We have food in our house sometimes, but it is sporadic. Drugs come first.”

Tragically, this is one of the milder horrors her younger self endures in this startlingly honest and heartbreaking account of trying to survive, with your mind and body intact, when the odds are very much stacked against you.

O’Sullivan’s favourite hour of the school day was a “special reading and writing class that has been put on for children who show potential”.

She is indeed a born storyteller, recounting her appalling experiences in such vivid detail that the reader feels as though they are hiding in that cupboard with her.

As well as encouragement from a beloved teacher, her youth was also brightened by a strong connection with her siblings: “While being poor-poor meant that we didn’t have a lot, it couldn’t steal the love we had.”

O’Sullivan recalls an admiration for her girlish form, before body issues began to eclipse that innocent approval.

“I didn’t know it was possible to lose control of my body: that the bleeding or the babies or the hormones could take over. I just knew the wind in my hair while riding on the handlebars of a robbed bike.”

O’Sullivan also details her hunger to succeed — from moving to Ireland and gaining a place at Trinity College through an access programme, to earning top grades as a pregnant young mother, to ultimately progressing to her esteemed position educating others.

Food may have been a scarce luxury to her as a child but, somewhat inevitably, she is caught in the spiral of restriction that can plague those from any background — the book opens with O’Sullivan on a family holiday in Turkey, preparing to get a gastric sleeve, following an unsuccessful experience with a gastric band.

Hunger moves from something she feared, to something she deliberately imposes, like so many others, on herself.

In a laugh-out-loud Weight Watchers scene, a teenage O’Sullivan receives encouragement from a woman leading the group: 

‘“Keep focused and you will have your first stone in no time.” My first stone? How many fucking stone does she think I need to lose?’

Hungry is a compulsive, inspiring read, from a writer who appears to have yet more to offer in terms of literary contribution. 

While the story and message take precedent here, O’Sullivan’s knack for description and ability to hop between tragedy and humour are reminiscent of greats such as Behan and McCourt.

Not only a person with an extraordinary story, she is clearly a naturally talented writer with even more to bring to the table.

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