![]() ![]() ![]() While reading, I thought, “I, too am tuna salad at my core.” Throughout my life, I’ve understood my desirability as in conflict with my tuna salad core. If tuna is obtrusively smelly, ethnically distinct, and unsexy, in Milk Fed, Broder gives it an overt and lively sexuality. I’m a tuna fish salad sandwich.īroder’s latest novel, Milk Fed, is a reclaiming of tuna salad identity. He’s in love with this girl Brenda who is from a nouveau-riche, more Americanized, nose-jobbed, Jewish family. ![]() Philip Roth, may he rest in peace-in Goodbye, Columbus, the narrator is from a poor, Newark, mayonaisy, tuna salady, white fish salady Jewish family. I identify at my core level as a tuna salad sandwich. In her podcast “Eating Alone in my Car,” she gives a literary framing for her conceit of tuna salad as a symbol of marginality and unassimilated Jewishness: Broder allowed me to think of this act as feminist. Let it be known that I have eaten a tuna salad sandwich on an everything bagel during rush hour on the subway. From her popular twitter account Broder tweeted, “The seventh wave of feminism is a moist tuna salad sandwich ingested on public transport.” The “salad” part, as she points out, adds to the embarrassment one feels when ordering at a deli. I’ve long related to Melissa Broder’s musings on tuna salad. ![]()
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