Peel me a Book
Let's Peel
In the Dream House
Inventive. Harrowing. Intimate.
Perfect if you want a memoir that refuses to obey, one that turns pain into form and ghosts into footnotes.
Synopsis
“Sometimes the proof of abuse is simply that it ever happened.” This is a memoir of a queer abusive relationship—told in fragments, tropes, flashcards, and fairy tales. Each chapter reframes the trauma with a different lens. It's not just a story. It’s a structure you walk through.
Mood:
experimental · haunting · deeply personal
Tone:
Lyrical · Cerebral · Haunting · Brave.
It Feels Like
Body:
felt in the jaw, the gut, and the places you’ve buried your own story
Tempo:
breathy and broken, then suddenly direct
Texture:
kaleidoscopic, disorienting, razor-sharp
A Little Taste
“Some people write books because they fought wars, survived disasters, lost everything. Some people write books because they have something to say. I wrote a book because I vanished.”
“You are not wrong, but you are not right.”
“The truth is, abuse is not always loud. Sometimes it is silent.”
The Aftertaste
You’ll end understanding it’s about survival — and what story is allowed to mean when the world would rather you stayed quiet
A memoir that slips through forms the way trauma slips through time.
It feels like walking barefoot across a beautiful floor you know will splinter.
Peel With a Drink
To Be Read With A small glass of Fernet-Branca — intense, medicinal, almost punishing. The kind of bitterness you choose, because it mirrors something in you.
This isn’t for forgetting.
It’s for naming things.
For tasting what you survived — and still standing.
Peel With a Reel
Persona (1966, dir. Ingmar Bergman) Two women. One voice. Boundaries blur, touch turns existential.
Heavenly Creatures (1994, dir. Peter Jackson) Love, fantasy, and obsession spiral into violence. The line between play and danger disappears.
Peel with a Beat
Peel me a Book
Or Try:
Lidia Yuknavitch
She doesn’t just tell stories; she ruptures form to make space for lives that have been denied shape.
Let's Peel
In the Dream House
Inventive. Harrowing. Intimate.
Perfect if you want a memoir that refuses to obey, one that turns pain into form and ghosts into footnotes.
Synopsis
“Sometimes the proof of abuse is simply that it ever happened.” This is a memoir of a queer abusive relationship—told in fragments, tropes, flashcards, and fairy tales. Each chapter reframes the trauma with a different lens. It's not just a story. It’s a structure you walk through.
Mood:
experimental · haunting · deeply personal
Tone:
Lyrical · Cerebral · Haunting · Brave.
It Feels Like
Body:
felt in the jaw, the gut, and the places you’ve buried your own story
Tempo:
breathy and broken, then suddenly direct
Texture:
kaleidoscopic, disorienting, razor-sharp
A Little Taste
“Some people write books because they fought wars, survived disasters, lost everything. Some people write books because they have something to say. I wrote a book because I vanished.”
“You are not wrong, but you are not right.”
“The truth is, abuse is not always loud. Sometimes it is silent.”
The Aftertaste
You’ll end understanding it’s about survival — and what story is allowed to mean when the world would rather you stayed quiet
A memoir that slips through forms the way trauma slips through time.
It feels like walking barefoot across a beautiful floor you know will splinter.
Peel With a Drink
To Be Read With A small glass of Fernet-Branca — intense, medicinal, almost punishing. The kind of bitterness you choose, because it mirrors something in you.
This isn’t for forgetting.
It’s for naming things.
For tasting what you survived — and still standing.
Peel With a Reel
Persona (1966, dir. Ingmar Bergman) Two women. One voice. Boundaries blur, touch turns existential.
Heavenly Creatures (1994, dir. Peter Jackson) Love, fantasy, and obsession spiral into violence. The line between play and danger disappears.