Book review

Year: 2019

Authors: Chanel Miller

Rating: Informative 4/5 | Inspiring 4/5

Content warning: This article contains mentions of sexual assault.

When I picked up this book on recommendation from a friend, I assumed that I was unfamiliar with the case in question because the name ‘Chanel Miller’ did not ring a bell. After Googling the specifics of the case, the face of her rapist, Brock Turner, appeared on my screen and I immediately recognised him. He was a swimmer, he went to Stanford, he was convicted. The details came flooding back to me—all except the name of the woman he raped. Initially referred to in court proceedings as ‘Emily Doe’ for privacy reasons, Chanel was later allowed to read her victim impact statement at Turner’s sentencing. The piece went viral after it was published by Buzzfeed, gaining over 8 million views in three days and providing the impetus for the book.

Know My Name is a memoir by Chanel Miller that details her sexual assault, the legal proceedings that followed, and the mental, physical, and emotional aftershocks of this in her own life. Its commitment to portraying the details of her experience in their complete mundanity is profound. The book is not a salacious tell-all; it recounts an unflinching story of the realities of the American justice system and the endemic abuse that women who tell their stories of sexual assault face.

From the opening pages, Chanel makes it clear that she is not seeking retribution nor an opportunity to land punches against various players in her narrative. Rather, it seems that she wants to give her own experience the space to exist in its fullness—a stark opposition to the way her character was dulled, pared down, and recontextualised by the media, court testimonies, and defence attorneys throughout the trial. Yes, the genesis of the story is her sexual assault, but it quickly fades into the background as she, in her characteristically resolute style, details the waves of depression and omnipresent anxiety, the evolution and devolution of her personal relationships, and her inability to show up to daily life and hold down a full-time job. It is in equal parts grounding and terrifying to realise that she is just a normal person—that her reactions, thoughts, and instincts would mirror your own, were you to ever find yourself in that situation.

Know My Name is a poignant reminder of the value in redirecting stories towards the multidimensionality of individuals. This book serves as an indictment of many issues at the institutional level, but for me, it wove a bridge between the enormity of the tasks before us (as health professionals and humans) and the people we are trying to serve. It is a bridge I tread often and one I hope to inhabit fully someday. Reading Chanel’s story has made me aware of all the names I do not know—those lost to war, lost to disease, lost to marginalisation—and has given me a new tenderness with which to approach the world and my work. And what is that if not the point of reading?