If I didn’t have any responsibilities, I would have read this memoir in one go. I was already aware of Carrie Brownstein’s talents, being an avid fan of her successful comedy show, Portlandia, but I had no idea that she could write with such a captivating voice.
In Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl, Brownstein documents her life, mapped out for the reader in three parts: Youth, Sleater-Kinney, and Aftermath. Through her recollection, she explains a lot about herself, including her famously energetic presence on stage.
The reader is engulfed in the world of eighteen-year-old Carrie, a world full of punk rock feminists and raw, basement music. A world full of realizations and revolution.
Brownstein makes all the feminist declarations that I was hoping she would. She allowed me to view the world of feminism from her eyes, from her time. While recalling her journey as a guitarist in her band Sleater-Kinney, she challenges the way women are viewed in the music industry.
Sleater-Kinney experienced countless sexist interactions that Brownstein references time and time again. Brownstein challenges these prospects. Why should her band be asked questions like: Why are you in an all-female band? Or, what does it feel like to be a woman in a band? On the matter, Brownstein says, “I doubt in the history of rock journalism and writing any man has been asked, ‘Why are you in an all-male band?’”
Brownstein also touches on the important topic of sexuality and privacy, specifically through her perspective as a bisexual twenty-two-year-old girl. She was involuntarily outed by an article in Spin magazine, only finding out herself from an awkward phone call from her dad asking if there was anything she needed to tell him. Brownstein speaks on how splintering it was to be outed this way, “If you haven’t spent any time deliberately and intentionally shaping your narrative, if you’re unprepared, like I was, then one will be written for you. And if you already feel like a fractured self, you will start to feel like a broken one.”
It’s not only her strong feminist voice that makes this memoir powerful. She also has an acute sense of vulnerability that she allows her readers to witness. Brownstein is not in the business of just telling her readers what they want to hear. There’s grit and sadness, but there’s also utter joy and triumph.
Reading Brownstein’s story through her own eyes has reminded me why I am such a big fan of hers. She is honest, inspiring, and intelligent. She pulls you in, makes you listen, and then spits you back out. I feel different; I feel like I have been given a burning torch, and I must run with it. I’ve gained the lessons from these experiences without ever actually experiencing them, and isn’t that one of the best values of writing?