Under the skin

Thoughts on Soft Tissue Damage by Anna Whitwham

I’ve now had the pleasure of interviewing Anna Whitwham twice.

Once for the podcast (Episode #23: Anna Whitwham), in which we discussed Sasha Bonét’s moving memoir The Waterbearers, and once at an event in Sheffield (last night), discussing Anna’s own book, Soft Tissue Damage.

Indeed, here we are, along with the excellent Kate Nixon, who runs Novel, the bookshop in Crookes where the event was held:

As a result of chatting to Anna twice, Soft Tissue Damage is now among the rare group of books I’ve read twice (more on those another day).

At least, I should point out it’s one of only a few books I’ve read twice properly. I dip in and out of books I’ve read all the time, for research, for reference, and for inspiration/to steal shit. But on two separate occasions now, I’ve sat down and made time to read Soft Tissue Damage cover to cover.

On both occasions, it didn’t take me long.

Not because it’s a small book. And not because it’s particularly light reading. It’s not—it covers several sombre and serious issues: grief, violence, self-harm, and motherhood among them. Yet it does so in a remarkably accessible, propulsive, and readable way.

Speaking with Anna, I discovered this is in part due to deliberate “writerly” decisions she made, but also in part as a result of her initial decision to write the book in a very personal way.

Though no work of non-fiction is entirely free of fiction (something else we discussed), Anna shares such an unadorned version of her truth in the book that the effect is extremely disarming. You come away from the book as if you know Anna intimately, as if you’ve shared in the internal isolation she navigates herself toward, through boxing, to face her grief.

Anna told me she often forgets how much she shares in the book, and that it’s weird when people recount personal details to her about her own life. Weird, but also nice in the conversations and connections it brings.

For those not familiar with the book in some capacity, in its most simple telling, Soft Tissue Damage weaves two narratives together—Anna losing her mum to cancer and Anna training for a competitive boxing match.

But I’m not here to talk you through the narrative beats or character arcs, and I’ve no interest in attempting to sum up the different ways Anna’s character in the book learns about herself, her limits, or her potential—that’s what the book is for, and Anna does it herself with a subtlety and cleverness I admire.

(Indeed, one of the many stupid things I said when talking to Anna was “I commend you” on the book. Who the fuck commends people or even uses that word? And here’s me slagging off the pretentiousness of other people!)

Sadly, I’m not even going to tell you the five authors Anna told me she’d choose to punch-up in a sparring session—to get that kind of gossip, you have to go along to live events.

Instead, I’m just here to tell you to read this book because—aside from it serving as a useful headline pun—like soft tissue damage itself, Anna’s memoir does indeed linger for a long time under your skin.

(Er… on reflection, that sounds kind of creepy and surgical and makes me think the headline wasn’t such a smart pun. Oh well. You get what I mean. Read the damn book and stop hassling me.)

My recommendation: Order a copy and read it. Simple as that. Though a word of warning: Do not attempt to read it while wearing boxing gloves. Published by Rough Trade Books in their signature smaller shape, turning the pages whilst mashing together your wrapped and padded hands is a near impossibility—I’ve tried.