Dietland

by Sarai Walker Narrated by Tara Sands

Overview

Now an AMC Original Series starring Julianna Margulies.



Plum Kettle does her best not to be noticed, because when you're fat, to be noticed is to be judged. She is biding her time at a job answering fan mail for a popular teen girls' magazine until she can afford weight-loss surgery. But lately she is being followed by a girl in outlandish clothes and combat boots. When Plum finally confronts her, she finds herself falling into the mysterious world of Callie House, where an odd collection of women orbit around Verena Baptist, daughter of a famous diet guru. Verena offers to give Plum the money for the surgery, will force her to confront her past, doubts, and the real cost of becoming "beautiful."



Dietland is a scathing and revolutionary debut that takes on the beauty industry, gender inequality, and out obsession with weight loss-from the inside out, and with fists flying.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

An Amazon Top 100 Editors' Pick of the Year  One of Entertainment Weekly's "10 Best Books of 2015"  One of Bustle's "2015’s 25 Best Books, Fiction Edition"  A New York Post “Best Novel to Read This Summer”   An Us Weekly “Hot Summer Novel”  O, The Oprah Magazine, "10 Titles to Pick Up Now"  A USA Today “New and Noteworthy” Book   One of Vulture's "8 Books You Need to Read This May"  A Kirkus "Best Fiction of 2015" Title  One of BookPage's "Best Books of 2015"  One of Kobo.com's "Must Read Fiction Debuts of 2015"  A LitReactor Staff Pick: The Best Books of 2015  One of New York Daily News's "10 Books for Your Summer Reading List"  Women's National Book Association, "Great Group Reads 2015"   An Indie Next Pick    “Dietland completely blew me away. It's audacious and gutsy and heartbreaking and I want to grab women on the street and shake them until they promise to read it—and also buy copies for their daughters.” —Jennifer Weiner, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Good In Bed, In Her Shoes, and others    “Walker’s first novel leaves chick lit in the pixie dust, treading the rougher terrain of radical critique and shadowy conspiracies — territory closer to Rachel Kushner than Helen Fielding.”—New York Magazine, One of Vulture's "8 Books You Need to Read This May"    "If Amy Schumer turned her subversive feminist sketches into a novel, dark on the inside but coated with a glossy, palatable sheen, it would probably look a lot like Dietland—a thrilling, incendiary manifesto disguised as a beach read...It’s a giddy revenge fantasy that will shake up your thinking and burrow under your skin, no matter its size."—Entertainment Weekly (Grade: A)    “I've never dropped anyone out of a helicopter. But Dietland resonated with the part of me that wants, just once, to deck a street harasser. At the very least, I wish an incurable itch upon everyone who has catcalled me on the street. I wish food poisoning and public embarrassment on everyone I've heard make a rape joke. I wish toothache and headlice and too-small shoes upon every stranger who has told me to smile. Which is to say, sometimes I forget I'm angry, but I am. Dietland is a complicated, thoughtful, and powerful expression of that same anger.”—Annalisa Quinn, NPR.org    “Plum Kettle, a ghostwriter for a popular teen mag, is lured into a subversive sisterhood in this riotous first novel. Finally, the feminist murder mystery/makeover story we’ve been waiting for.”—O, The Oprah Magazine, One of "10 Titles to Pick Up Now"    "A delightful, page-turning thriller that's also a feminist revenge fantasy. I tore through it in about two days—it is amazingly accessible while still being whip-smart, and it deals with timely issues without feeling like a lame Law & Order 'ripped from the headlines' stunt."——Jessica Grose, Lenny Letter "[Ms. Walker's] writing can spit with venom, at the rigid expectations of women’s weight and sexuality...As a social commentary, Dietland is no shrill tirade. Ms. Walker captures the misery of failing to fit in, to fit into the right clothes, to fit in with the right people and their expectations."—The Economist "At 300 lbs., Plu —

Library Journal - Audio

07/01/2015
Plum Kettle has always been a fat girl. Ridiculed for her size throughout her life, she is determined to go through with weight-loss surgery after an endless stream of diets fail her miserably. Plum works from a café, ironically writing life advice for a girls' magazine, despite barely living a life of her own. Enter a mysterious women in combat boots who follows her around the city, eventually leaving her a book that sends her down a pathway that will change her life forever. Not a diet book but an anthem for all who have ever felt the slightest inkling that their body is not good enough, this novel will hit home with most listeners. Tara Sands invigorates this audiobook with such finesse that it's easy to get lost in her performance. She ably conveys moments when characters are wry, sarcastic, mournful, and dramatic, among a wealth of other emotions. VERDICT Put this in the hands of all feminists, no matter their shape and size. ["An edgy and exciting mix of mystery, crime, and social critique of gender and beauty standards at breakneck speed": LJ 4/15/15 starred review of the Houghton Harcourt hc.]—Stephanie Charlefour, Wixom P.L., MI

Library Journal

★ 04/15/2015
Plum Kettle likes living under the radar—pretty hard to do when you're 300 pounds or so. She lives alone, doesn't socialize, and telecommutes, answering readers' emails for the pretty, slim editor of a teen magazine. Plum dreams about her scheduled weight-loss surgery, the day she'll begin her real life; she's too distracted to pay much attention to the blooming acts of international terrorism against men who treat women like property and objects. But someone's onto her—someone who pushes back against Plum's efforts to be invisible, who anonymously leaves Plum a book that challenges all she's ever thought to be true about women and weight loss. Little does she know how close finding her voice will bring her to the enigmatic and stunning acts of revenge. This novel is like a roller coaster. Before you know it, you're racing through an edgy and exciting mix of mystery, crime, and social critique of gender and beauty standards at breakneck speed. Vivid characters and sometimes surprising acts of violence make the story pop. VERDICT Ideal for readers seeking something more socially aware and gender-conscious in their women's fiction; book groups will find lots to discuss.—Amy Brozio-Andrews, Albany P.L., NY

AUGUST 2015 - AudioFile

Tara Sands’s versatile performance captures the powerful message and feminist themes of this compelling story. Plum is fighting her weight to become Alicia—her thin, beautiful alter ego. In order to earn the money for the plastic surgery she needs, she joins the Baptiste Plan and finds herself in the midst of a different kind of war—an undercover feminist movement. Sands’s range and command of voices dramatically capture the diverse characteristics of macho misogynists, fierce feminists, bubbleheaded porn stars, and horny frat boys. Additionally, Sands’s deft control of pacing and volume conveys an air of ironic nonchalance that accentuates the story’s shocking actions against women as well as the satire of this entertaining story. M.F. Winner of AudioFile Earphones Award © AudioFile 2015, Portland, Maine

Kirkus Reviews

★ 2015-03-05
Hilarious, surreal, and bracingly original, Walker's ambitious debut avoids moralistic traps to achieve something rarer: a genuinely subversive novel that's also serious fun. At just over 300 pounds, Plum Kettle is waiting for her real life to start: she'll be a writer. She'll be loved. She'll be thin. In the meantime, she spends her days ghostwriting advice to distraught teenage girls on behalf of a popular teen magazine ("Dear Kitty, I have stretch marks on my boobs, please help"), meticulously counting calories ("turkey lasagna (230)"), and fantasizing about life after weight-loss surgery. But when a mysterious young woman in Technicolor tights starts following her, Plum finds herself drawn into an underground feminist community of radical women who refuse to bow to oppressive societal standards. Under the tutelage of Verena Baptist, anti-diet crusader and heiress to the Baptist diet fortune (a diet with which Plum is intimately familiar), Plum undertakes a far more daring—and more dangerous—five-step plan: to live as her true self now. Meanwhile, a violent guerrilla group, known only as "Jennifer," has emerged, committing acts of vigilante justice against misogynists. As her surgery date nears and Jennifer's acts grow increasingly drastic, Plum finds she's at the center of what can only be described as a literal feminist conspiracy—and she's transforming into a version of herself she never knew existed. But while it would be easy for the book to devolve into a tired parable about the virtues of loving yourself just the way you are, Walker's sharp eye and dry humor push it away from empty platitudes and toward deeper and more challenging turf. Ultimately, for all the unsettling pleasure of Walker's splashier scenarios—and there are many—it's Plum's achingly real inner life that gives the novel its arresting emotional weight. Part Fight Club, part feminist manifesto, an offbeat and genre-bending novel that aims high—and delivers.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940170081578
Publisher:	HighBridge Company
Publication date:	05/26/2015
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

RABBIT HOLE
 
1
 
It was late in the spring when I noticed that a girl was following me, nearly the end of May, a month that means perhaps or might be. She crept into the edges of my consciousness like something blurry coming into focus. She was an odd girl, tramping around in black boots with the laces undone, her legs covered in bright fruit-hued tights, like the colors in a roll of Life Savers. I didn’t know why she was following me. People stared at me wherever I went, but this was different. To the girl I was not an object of ridicule but a creature of interest. She would observe me and then write things in her red spiral-bound notebook.
        The first time I noticed the girl in a conscious way was at the café. On most days I did my work there, sitting at a table in the back with my laptop, answering messages from teenage girls. Dear Kitty, I have stretch marks on my boobs, please help. There was never any end to the messages and I usually sat at my table for hours, sipping cups of coffee and peppermint tea as I gave out the advice I wasn’t qualified to give. For three years the café had been my world. I couldn’t face working at home, trapped in my apartment all day with nothing to distract me from the drumbeat of Dear Kitty,Dear Kitty, please help me.
        One afternoon I looked up from a message I was typing and saw the girl sitting at a table nearby, restlessly tapping her lime green leg, her canvas bag slouched in the chair across from her. I realized that I’d seen her before. She’d been sitting on the stoop of my building that morning. She had long dark hair and I remembered how she turned to look at me. Our eyes met and it was this look that I would remember in the weeks and months to come, when her face was in the newspapers and on TV — the glance over the shoulder, the eyes peeking out from the thick black liner that framed them.
        After I noticed her at the café that day, I began to see her in other places. When I emerged from my Waist Watchers meeting, the girl was across the street, leaning against a tree. At the supermarket I spotted her reading the nutrition label on a can of navy beans. I made my way around the cramped aisles of Key Food, down the canyons of colorful cardboard and tin, and the girl trailed me, tossing random things into her shopping basket (cinnamon, lighter fluid) whenever I turned to look at her.
        I was used to being stared at, but that was by people who looked at me with disgust as I went about my business in the neighborhood. They didn’t study me closely, not like this girl did. I spent most of my time trying to blend in, which wasn’t easy, but with the girl following me it was like someone had pulled the covers off my bed, leaving me in my underpants, shivering and exposed.
        Walking home one evening, I could sense that the girl was behind me, so I turned to face her. “Are you following me?”
        She removed tiny white buds from her ears. “I’m sorry? I didn’t hear you.” I had never heard her speak before. I had expected a flimsy voice, but what I heard was a confident tone.
        “Are you following me?” I asked again, not as bold as the first time.
        “Am I following you?” The girl looked amused. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She brushed past me and continued on down the sidewalk, being careful not to trip on the tree roots that had burst through the concrete.
        As I watched the girl walk away, I didn’t yet see her for who she was: a messenger from another world, come to wake me from my sleep.
 
2
 
When I think of my life at that time, back then, I imagine looking down on it as if it were contained in a box, like a diorama — there are the neighborhood streets and I am a figurine dressed in black. My daily activities kept me within a five-block radius and had done so for years: I moved between my apartment, the café, Waist Watchers. My life had narrow parameters, which is how I preferred it. I saw myself as an outline then, waiting to be filled in.
        From the outside, to someone like the girl, I might have seemed sad, but I wasn’t. Each day I took thirty milligrams of the antidepressant Y ——. I had taken Y —— since my senior year of college. That year there had been a situation with a boy. In the weeks after the Christmas break I slipped into a dark spiral, spending most of my time in the library, pretending to study. The library was on the seventh floor and I stood at the window one afternoon and imagined jumping out of it and landing in the snow, where it wouldn’t hurt as much. A librarian saw me — later I found out I had been crying — and she called the campus doctor. Soon after that pharmaceuticals became inevitable. My mother flew to Vermont. She and Dr. Willoughby (an old gray man, with gray hair, tinted glasses, a discolored front tooth) decided it was best for me to see a therapist and take Y ——. The medication took away my sadness and replaced it with something else — not happiness, but more like a low dull hum, a weak radio frequency of feeling that couldn’t be turned up or down.
        Long after college ended, and the therapy ended, and I’d moved to New York, I continued to take Y ——. I lived in an apartment on Swann Street in Brooklyn, on the second floor of a brownstone. It was a long and skinny place that stretched from the front of the building to the back, with polished blond floorboards and a bay window that overlooked the street at the front. Such an apartment, on a coveted block, was beyond my means, but my mother’s cousin Jeremy owned it and reduced the rent for me. He would have let me live there rent-free if my mother hadn’t nosed in and demanded I pay something, but what I paid was a small amount. Jeremy worked as a reporter for the Wall Street Journal. After his wife died he was desperate to leave New York and especially Brooklyn, the borough of his unhappiness. His bosses sent him to Buenos Aires, then Cairo. There were two bedrooms in the apartment and one of them was filled with his things, but it didn’t seem as if he would ever come back for them.
        There were few visitors to the apartment on Swann Street. My mother came to see me once a year. My friend Carmen visited sometimes, but I mostly saw her at the café. In my real life I would have more friends, and dinner parties and overnight guests, but my life wasn’t real yet.

Videos