Imagine Ted Bundy trapped in a MILF’s body.
Enter Dorothy Daniels, the protagonist of A Certain Hunger — a brazen debut novel by Chelsea Summers. At the golden age of 51, Dorothy is a silver-tongued, wanton psychopath who takes feminism in a direction Mary Wollstonecraft probably never intended. Throughout the book, Dorothy embarks on homicidal ventures and, in true black widow fashion, devours her victims.
In short, I loved this book. It felt almost gluttonous to read. The writing style is indulgent, bordering on poetic — even when describing Dorothy’s bloody escapades. She interjects her narrative with musings on her complex relationship with femininity, alongside sharp-witted culinary critiques.
I felt oddly liberated while reading this. Maybe because Dorothy and I are so different. Maybe because, in some ways, I aspire to be like her. No, not a murderous cannibal, but a person completely untouched by what Dorothy calls “the long, frilly arm of feminine expectations.” She is the hyperbolic representation of what could happen if women threw all societal expectations to the wind — if we no longer shaped ourselves to be palatable for others, if we embraced the dark “howling void” that Dorothy claims some of us are born with, but society refuses to acknowledge in women.
It’s easy to get lost in the book’s gore and Dorothy’s exotic appetite, but beneath her psychopathy, lies and multiple personas, there’s a thread of sad truth. Dorothy is yet another example of how misunderstood women are in psychiatry and psychology. This book reminded me of The Bell Jar, where the protagonist was similarly misinterpreted by supposed professionals. As Dorothy wryly observes, “Female psychopaths, researchers eventually realized, don’t present like the males. To which I respond: No sh*t.”
Another compelling aspect of this novel is Dorothy’s multifaceted nature. She is as much a serial killer as she is a woman in mourning. Without giving away spoilers, I’ll just say that her grief adds an unexpected depth to her character. It was amusing to realize — even murderers aren’t immune to heartbreak.
Go and read this. This book is, as Dorothy might describe, like vodka-filled dark chocolate — inebriating, decadent and sharp. You won’t want to wait to sink your teeth in.