At the end of last year, Netflix released 'Too Much' – a sickly, indie-sleaze romcom about an American transplant who falls for a troubled British muso. Created by Lena Dunham and her musician husband Luis Felber, it was loosely based on the couple's backstory. Critics saw it as second-screen fare, decidedly Lena Dunham-lite. Was this really the same person who gave us the spiky, self-absorbed world of 'Girls', the millennial 'Sex and the City' complete with brutal situationships, toxic besties, and a main character accidentally smoking crack?
'Famesick' sheds almost all the Richard Curtis-isms to find that old, controversy-courting Dunham alive and – if not exactly well – then learning to cope. Her second memoir (after 2014's 'Not That Kind of Girl') charts the chronic illness and unending stress that defined her 20s and 30s after she snagged her own HBO series at age 24. The afflictions across 400 pages include OCD, colitis, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, endometriosis, early menopause, PTSD, and addiction to opioids and benzodiazepines. At one point, Dunham accidentally sets herself on fire; at another, she panics about how Vogue will cover the impetigo on her face, 'a waterfall of golden blisters, turning a sickly green as they dried'. The book is scattergun and sometimes lacking in self-awareness, but undeniably frank and exhaustive.
Health Takes Center Stage
Dunham's health slowly becomes the focus, described in unvarnished terror. She details treating her digestive tract 'like a clogged drain I was snaking', surviving on energy drinks and diet supplements on the set of 'Girls', and her dependence on Klonopin 'on and off, for years, like a lover I wasn't particularly attached to'. There's a horrifying episode where she punctures her eardrum with a cotton bud, later inspiring a 'Girls' plotline. As 'Famesick' continues, that injury feels trivial compared to constant gynaecological issues or a run-in with a doctor that brings back memories of sexual abuse by a babysitter. The darkness creeps into the celebrity world, as with the 2018 Met Gala she attended while on release from rehab, 'wan and haunted... champagne I couldn't drink circulating like a joke I wasn't in on'.
Relationships and Fallout
Many inappropriate men walk in and out of Dunham's life. Former partner Jack Antonoff lavishes her with tchotchkes and promises before tiring of her medical issues. 'Girls' co-star Adam Driver appears as an unpredictable, angry man: 'I remember doing a fight scene with Adam... when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a stammer – until finally, Adam screamed, 'FUCKING SAY SOMETHING' and hurled a chair at the wall next to me.' They never spoke after the show wrapped. The female friendship with producer Jenni Konner morphs from best friend to stranger. Dunham addresses the 2017 statement defending writer Murray Miller against sexual assault allegations, expressing shame: 'I did not decide to kill myself, but I did think it was time to die.' She also apologizes for her childhood description in 'Not That Kind of Girl' of touching her sibling's genitals, though she believes some used it to take her down.
Honesty Amid Flaws
Dunham doesn't always make it easy to feel sorry for her. Her decision-making seems questionable – moving house continually, passing up career opportunities, carrying a blind dog in a tote on a TV set. Weighty names like Oprah and Nora Ephron are dropped, sucking oxygen from the page. Yet her prose is honest and fluent. Illness, she writes, 'wasn't just a town I was passing through, but a city that I was going to pay taxes in'. On parenthood and failed IVF: 'The irony is that knowing I cannot have a child – my ability to accept that and move on – may be the only reason I deserve to be anyone's parent at all.'
Towards the end, Dunham meets Felber, and the London era begins. 'Famesick' shows that no amount of fame or money can keep you safe once illness strikes. The memoir is a testament to survival and the ability to write about painful life parts with intimacy and universality.
