In March 2020, we published “Skin Hunger” by Melissa Goode in our New Voices section. The story focuses on Jacinta, a woman who is grieving not only the loss of her husband, but also her sense of human connection. The story uses music as a motif, packing big emotions into a small amount of space. Let’s dig into why it works so well.
Does something as innocuous as a scalding cup of tea symbolize grief… or is it just tea? In my English classes in high school, we spent a lot of time discussing symbolism and author’s intent,
which invariably led to discussions around whether or not everything in a story has to mean something.
Once you go down that rabbit hole, everything a character does, says, or sees in their environment carries a second meaning. In reality, sometimes, a cup of tea is just a cup of tea. But other times, an author’s choices can expand our understanding of a character’s world and frame of mind—and Melissa Goode’s “Skin Hunger” accomplishes this quite effectively through music.
What is “Skin Hunger” about?
“Skin Hunger” follows a woman named Jacinta who checks into the psych ward at Mercy Memorial and then checks herself out. We learn that her husband has been dead for more than a year, and not only is she wracked with grief, but she also feels deeply isolated. After a nurse, Chris, opens her car door in the parking lot, he invites her into the hospital to talk and have a cup of tea. She ultimately pushes away from him, is confronted with a patient in the hospital who looks like her husband, and runs back to where she last saw Chris and pictures being intimate with him.
“Skin Hunger” and a playlist for grief
In the beginning of the story, after Jacinta rushes out of the examination room, we get these lines:
In my car, in the Mercy Memorial parking lot, I rest my head on the steering wheel. I whisper-sing The Cars, ask who’s gonna drive me home tonight.
The rapping on the window wakes me. It is day.
Jacinta mentions a lyric from the ‘80s classic “Drive” by The Cars, which I recommend listening to in the background while we continue breaking down this story. She falls asleep right after (“The rapping on the window wakes me”). Here, we get a brief introduction to a slippery sense of time and space—the narrator falls asleep, and maybe we’re thinking about some of the themes and emotions introduced by that line, “who’s gonna drive me home tonight” (loneliness, loss, heartbreak)—but it’s quick, and the narrator brings us back to the present with “It is day.”
When Jacinta falls asleep again, she’s listening to “No Surprises” by Radiohead, which persists throughout the story. However, “Drive” is important because it cues to the reader that music is a narrative device in this piece. It’s one of the ways that Jacinta’s grief manifests and exists around her.
The way Jacinta talks about “No Surprises” is also really different from “Drive”—the latter was just briefly mentioned, while the former potentially plays in the background while she dreams about holding her husband’s dead body. In order to really appreciate this story’s use of “No Surprises,” take a second to watch the music video if you haven’t already. It’s deeply unsettling, featuring lead singer Thom Yorke singing inside of an astronaut helmet that slowly fills with water.
After Jacinta wakes up and speaks with Chris, she says:
My brain is hollow, my mouth thick, gluey. I close my eyes against the glare of the sun reflecting off the other cars. I am Thom Yorke in his astronaut helmet as it gradually fills with water until his head is submerged.
By this point, it’s clear that Jacinta is still grieving, but the visual of that astronaut helmet really complements and extends the emotions she carries—she feels like she’s literally underwater and barely holding on, a sentiment that echoes the malaise and deep-seated sorrow in “No Surprises.”
“No Surprises” and structure in “Skin Hunger”
Thom and his astronaut helmet comes in again at the end, in this frankly beautiful run-on sentence:
I start to walk and then I run and it could happen, if I say yes, and, please, if I beg—he drives me home and pulls my knees apart and runs his fingers around the edges of my underwear and drags them away and kisses the inside of my thigh and holds me down and slides his tongue over me in one long slow hot line and I push my head back to the headboard and the water recedes inside the astronaut helmet and Thom Yorke tips his face back further back bringing his mouth above the meniscus and he gasps and gasps like there will never be enough air.
So, “No Surprises” and the impactful visuals from the music video occur toward the beginning, middle, and end of the story, and the meaning of each of these callbacks shifts as Jacinta’s journey progresses. In the beginning, she has just checked herself into the psych ward, and she is as untethered and hopeless as the song implies. In the middle, when we focus in on the visual of Thom’s face submerged in the helmet, she deflects Chris’ attempts to help her because—well, she’s already underwater, already isolated, already alone in her grief and vulnerability and ability to trust others.
But by the end, after she has spoken with Chris and then seen the patient who looks like her husband, she compares herself to the ending of the music video, when the water finally recedes and Thom takes a breath. Part of the beauty of this ending is that even though she wants to connect with Chris, it’s not clear if she’ll get it—she’s picturing something that could happen. It’d be too neat of an ending to have her leave with Chris, particularly when she’s in such a mentally fragile state; instead, she realizes that she is capable of, and wants, to be touched by someone the same way her husband used to touch her.
But that final visual, of Thom gasping for air, mirrors what Jacinta wants: to finally be able to breathe. There’s still so much ambiguity in this ending, but it works because it resolves the central tension within Jacinta’s character—initially, she pushes people away because of her grief, even though she craves comfort. But then, she becomes someone who runs toward an opportunity for connection.
“Skin Hunger” is still impactful, even if you don’t listen to the songs referenced or watch the music video (in part because the author does such a great job explaining the key visuals in “No Surprises”). But I love that this piece uses music to reflect Jacinta’s journey, from the sense of loss in the beginning to the gasp of maybe-hopeful air at the end.
Intention is also important here; while the author may have just selected those songs and visuals because they were cool (and they are!), they work so well because they further our understanding of the story’s themes. Similarly, Jacinta’s actions throughout the story mirror her sense of loss and vulnerability, from the way she deflects the woman’s offer for help (she asks about her neck tattoo) to the way the tea Chris brings her scalds the roof of her mouth and burns her palm. She pushes away comfort from others—right until she realizes she finally wants to accept it.
Sometimes, a song is just a song, and a cup of tea is just a cup of tea. But other times, the choices an author makes deepen our sense of the emotions the narrative aims to evoke. That’s just good writing.
by Rebecca Paredes