Quotation Study: A Certain Hunger, Chelsea G.Summers

On cannibalism or not...

This is not necessarily a review—I just love analysing and unpacking quotes, sometimes even individual words within them. However, as a general rule, if I underline lots of quotes, it’s usually a highly rated book!

These are studies of quotes within certain novels—either unpacking larger themes or simply exploring how each quote makes me feel on its own. I like applying quotes to my life, using them to articulate feelings I’ve never known how to describe. So, welcome to Quotation Studies.

There’s no rhyme or reason here. Just thoughts sprawled out onto a page. It’s me enjoying language as a former literature student who misses the act of unpacking words.

This week’s focus: A Certain Hunger by Chelsea G Summers

A Certain Hunger has been on my TBR for years — and I don’t mean that I’ve been thinking about it, but rather I have been adding it to my Kindle collection for the month consistently for like a year yet always leaving it to last.

From what I’d seen, it promised a twisted female narrator and sharp writing — a little bit sinister, a little bit stylish. That’s very much my thing. And I can safely say, after finally reading it, it ticked both of those boxes. No, it wasn’t perfect. But it gave me a lot to chew on — pun maybe intended.

This is, on the surface, a novel about cannibalism. But once you look past that — and strangely, it is possible to look past it — it’s really a novel about control, about power, about how people play games with one another to gain or lose both.

Dorothy Daniels, the narrator, is a food critic and murderer, and somehow you find yourself more interested in what she means than what she’s done. It’s not gratuitous; it’s not about gore. It’s a close-up of power at play — power in relationships, in gender dynamics, in social structures, in appetites. It’s a character study in hunger, not just the culinary kind.

There were so many lines in this novel that stuck with me — ones that made me pause, reread, and think. Some were about power, others were just brilliant little snapshots of thought. So, I wanted to share a few of my favourites, along with the thoughts they sparked.

“Hotel bars smell like class privilege, desperation, and hope.”

This line is so evocative. It’s funny because it’s true — the kind of truth you feel before you can even explain why. Hotel bars are weird spaces. They’re transient and anonymous, and yet full of expectation. Everyone’s there for something: a deal, a drink, a new beginning, or just a lonely end. There’s a sense of money in the air, but also sadness. There are plenty of novels as well, particularly modernist novels like Fitzgeralds, that show just this. Hotels were a big thing in novels then and showed a lot about a certain class of people.

“From a distance an ellipsis looks solid.”

This one really made me stop. First of all, yes — when I’m editing at work, I literally have to squint to check if it’s three dots or a weird smudge. But it’s also such a metaphor. From a distance, something can look whole, resolved, unbroken. But up close, it’s fractured. It’s in pieces. I think this says so much about people — about how appearances deceive. Someone can look polished, calm, composed. And inside? They’re fraying. Or in the case of A Certain Hunger, they’re a murderer and a cannibal, but to the world, they’re just a chic, eloquent food critic.

“What can be said about cancer that hasn’t already been said? It’s a rotting death, and it reduces people with wants and drives and desires and thoughts and quirks to pulling, puking, pained animals. There is no grace in cancer. Slowly, one by one, my—”

This hit hard. Maybe too hard. As much as we like to pretend otherwise, there is no controlling cancer. It doesn’t care how kind you are, how strong you are, how many green juices you drink. It mutates and spreads and takes over. My grandad died of cancer during COVID, and because the hospitals were closed, we had to watch him deteriorate at home. It was slow and brutal. He began hallucinating, reliving old memories, saying things that made my nan cry — things she hadn’t heard before, or maybe had tried to forget. He wasn’t really him anymore. And by the time he passed, I felt like I’d already mourned him. T

My partner also works as a cancer nurse, and every day there are stories about death, decline, loss of self. There’s nothing tidy about it. It robs people of their personhood in such a visceral way. This quote, though stark, says it plainly — and there’s something honest about that.

“I knew from a young age that motherhood was a cage I never wanted to inhabit.”

I think I’ve said this before, and I’ll keep saying it: my thesis was on motherhood, especially mother–daughter relationships. So, whenever I see a quote about motherhood, I’m highlighting it. This one felt especially striking. Motherhood as a cage — something that imprisons, that limits, that traps you in a role you didn’t necessarily choose. And not just something you do, but something you inhabit, like a house you can’t leave. It’s an extreme image, but also a valid one, and I think a lot of women will read this and quietly nod in agreement.

“Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.”

I hate power.

I’ve seen this first-hand. There’s a younger colleague at work who talks down to me every chance she gets just because she’s a ‘senior’. The title has clearly gone to her head. On the flip side, there’s a manager of mine who just lets me be — she trusts me to do my thing, doesn’t micromanage, and supports me when I need it. That’s real leadership. Power doesn’t have to mean domination or ego. But for some people, it becomes an addictive drug, and once they get a taste, they always want more. And they’ll use it, often cruelly, to maintain that feeling.

“Nostalgia for knowing nothing is asinine; you can’t recapture it and you don’t want to relive it. Better to sing a song of experience with your burning tiger’s heart.”

This might be one of the most poetic lines in the book. I need to sit with it longer, but what jumps out is the idea that innocence isn’t worth longing for. Knowing nothing might feel safe in hindsight, but it’s an illusion. Growth is painful, but it’s necessary. Experience burns. But it burns bright.

“Just because I’m a psychopath doesn’t mean I’m incapable of learning and growing, or whatever.”

Honestly? Mood. I do think we’re all capable of growth — if we want to be. And that’s the key: wanting to change, to admit fault, to learn. I find it deeply frustrating when people act like they’re fully formed and flawless. The ones who think growth is for other people. It takes real courage to say, “I was wrong. I can do better.” But that’s where true growth begins.

My newsletters are all free to read (I gave up making them paid because I want everyone to read everything!) But please considering supporting a struggling 9-5 girl with just one iced latte!