Book Review: Eggshell Skull by Bri Lee
By: Lisa Wan
Tags: Memoir, Sexual Assault, Criminal Justice Reform, Feminism, Book Review

Eggshell Skull is as much a memoir about the resilience and bravery of a young woman’s confrontation of her own sexual assault as it is about the grim reality of the Australian criminal justice system, which repeatedly lets down victims of sexual abuse. Bri’s award-winning memoir has earned praise for being “scorching, brutal, brave and utterly compelling”, her writing is fierce, eloquent but simultaneously haunting and heartbreaking. Her experiences highlight both the triumph and futility of standing up to a system that deems sexual abuse an almost invisible crime. This is essential reading for everyone to learn about the “map of human misery” that is the criminal justice system and how one woman found the strength to speak out and fight back.

Bri’s journey begins with her first legal job as a Judge’s associate on the Queensland District Court circuit, this experience is a harrowing and timely exposé into a never-ending and cyclical procession of sexual offence cases in which the complainants, frequently women, rarely saw justice. For Bri, her own experience with sexual abuse as a child became “one tiny drop in a putrid ocean”, where the roadmap to “justice” was merely a constellation of crimes. The futility and systematic failure of our criminal legal system to adequately persecute sexual abuse cases are encapsulated in Bri’s realization that the perpetrators didn’t “exist in unfortunate isolation, they weren’t special, just results of our system and our society.”

Interesting, it is the combination of her courtroom experience, the perpetuation of disenfranchisement for complainants of sexual assault, and a strong support network that ultimately drove Bri to report her own case and initiate the torturous, brutal yet crucial road to justice. Bri is not a perfect heroine and this is not a fairytale with a perfect ending — she suffers from an eating disorder, extreme bouts of anxiety and her determination to bring her abuser to justice is interrupted frequently by her own uncertainty and guilt. However, her voice is remarkable as it is punctuated by honesty and resilience despite the many setbacks — highlighting the reasons why so many women in Australia withdraw their complaints or never speak out about their experiences, to begin with.

Bri’s ability to write so clearly and with such brutal honesty is what draws the reader’s attention, I was shaken to the core by the number of times she had to recount her sexual assault to the Police. She writes, “the single worst moment of my life, the darkest point in my past that I’d nearly died reckoning with, was officially insignificant enough to slip through the cracks”, illuminating the painful subjectivity associated with reporting sexual abuse cases. The best-case scenario is a police officer who actually cares about the case, the worst-case scenario is for the complainant to be publicly vilified and condemned as a liar. The psychological complexity of the case is highlighted by the fact that although her abuser (Samuel) admitted to the assault; however the bully was also the victim (he had been abused himself), muddying the waters for whether we should feel sympathetic or disgusted towards ‘Samuel’.

The emotional turmoil Bri undergoes in the memoir is simultaneously excruciating and gripping. Her lack of faith in the criminal justice system is justified, as she comments rightfully that “every act of sexual abuse is either deliberately or negligently cruel, each involves a terrified victim whose life experiences an abuser completely devalues”. However, the Crown’s prosecution of the criminal offense of sexual assault is an entire exercise in disempowerment. The limitations of the justice system are laid bare for us as Bri’s life compartmentalized into four-week arcs of hope, disappointment, and denial. Her anger, sadness, and frustration are embodied in a singular, crushing revelation: “the whole ugly mess was a month shy of its second birthday… Samuel still hadn’t even had to enter a plea.”

This book opened the lid on an ugly can of worms — the Australian criminal justice system is daunting, inefficient, and ill-equipped to process sexual assault cases effectively, with few resulting in prosecutions or convictions. It is refreshing to see Bri’s acceptance of her privilege — as a white, educated and articulate complainant, the police pressed charges as she fit the profile of a reliable witness. Even then, the ‘re-victimization’ process required important people to disbelieve and discredit Bri, she writes: “I knew I was honest and did my best; if he gets acquitted it won't be me who failed, it will be the system failing me.” This reflects the bleak reality of sexual assault cases in our criminal justice system, only 15 percent of women (fewer than one in five) reported their sexual assault to police and this is before taking into consideration the numerous hurdles of awaiting court mentions, committal hearings and trial dates — the stress and humiliation resulting in many victims withdrawing their case completely.

Ultimately, what makes Bri’s memoir so compelling is her unbelievable determination and conviction to seek justice despite the huge personal and psychological costs. She takes the legal principle of “eggshell skull” (to take the victim as one finds them) and flips it on its head — what if it’s about taking the complainant as they come: extremely well educated, with a supportive network and an angry feminist who was not willing to back down. Bri took the risk and rode out the waves, resulting in Samuel’s conviction of 9 months imprisonment although the sentence was wholly suspended (no jail time). Bri reinvigorated the conversation to send a strong message to the justice system to put more resources into prosecuting sexual abuse offences so that perpetrators won’t have the expectation that they can get away with it.

This book is powerful and heartbreaking but an essential read, Bri’s experience is remarkable and shines a light on the fractured criminal legal system whilst remaining poignant and optimistic, in her own words; “when winning the battle has only opened your eyes to the breadth of the war… you cry and cry, when you’re done crying, you get angry and you get to work.”