Evanna Lynch’s “The Opposite of Butterfly Hunting” Made My Heart Flutter
In 2021, Evanna Lynch published her first book, The Opposite of Butterfly Hunting. Why I waited two years to read it, I’ll never know. Probably Wrackspurts. I bought the book to indulge my fandom curiosity, and although she doesn’t disappoint in that regard, I wasn’t wholly prepared for how vividly and painfully her words would reflect my own melancholy past. Thus, a word of warning: This editorial, just like Lynch’s book, traverses sensitive topics, including disordered eating, self-harm, and sexual assault.
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Did watching Luna on-screen ever give you a sense of something far more complicated drifting beneath the surface? Well, there was. I had no idea that The Opposite of Butterfly Hunting would center around illness and recovery from anorexia. I struggled with disordered eating for years, so I was both surprised and grateful for this caring disclaimer in the opening pages:
Before reading any further, I need to highlight that this book explores a variety of sensitive topics, including eating disorders, self-harm, suicide, fat-phobia and self[-]hate […] I would advise any reader to use their personal discretion when reading […] and to step away [if triggered].
My own disordered eating has long passed, so I chose to proceed. And while I can confirm that certain portions could trigger some readers, the same portions will help others. So continue with caution. Lynch wades fully into the headspace of self-hate with vivid, cutting descriptions of those feelings. All the same, she wrote her book as carefully and responsibly as she could:
I was determined […] that this book would not become a ‘how-to’ manual for eating disorders [so I] decided to omit any specific details of weight, calorie counting, and health statistics. […] any urge to include these details […] is actually the voice of the eating disorder.
If you’re in a place that feels safe enough and you decide to venture ahead, some powerful prose will greet you.
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Lynch’s narrative begins with a description of herself at 10 years old. It’s the ’90s. The news is always blaring in her working-class home, and on this day, it mentions something called rape. She asks her parents to explain. Her mother replies, “It’s when a man forces a woman to have sex with him […] because I suppose… he wants the woman so much that he decides to just… take her.”
You could almost miss the poisonous subtext. However unintended, the explanation is harmful. Think about it. Men don’t rape women because they want them. No, they despise women and find it acceptable to harm and even kill them. Thus, the 10-year-old Lynch’s response is as predictable as it is distressing: “How flattering! Imagine being so beautiful, so attractive, so irresistibly desirable that someone can’t help themselves from having you!”
This shattering excerpt is what I admire most about the book. Lynch pinpoints these moments. She spotlights the deceptively small aggressions of a sexist culture – and shows how they set the stage for huge damage. Page after page, she artfully sketches little moments of great harm, blending them together into the heavy shadow of sexism that stalks every little girl.
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It’s not long into the book before the young Lynch develops anorexia. I’ve always heard that Lynch was a superfan who showed up to an audition and scored the part. I always imagined a typical, enthusiastic kid. So I was taken aback to read about a very small child struggling with anorexia and discovering Luna Lovegood for the first time – from a lonely hospital bed:
Every time [Luna] shows up [in the book], something deep within me seems to sigh. She makes my mind still. […] In her presence, anxiety, fear, and shame seem to dissolve. […] She makes everything seem less important, less serious. The teenage drama whirling around Hogwarts, Voldemort’s return […] and my nonstop obsessive thoughts of food, and calories, and fat. Here is somebody who will not judge me […] who will not judge herself. She is deep and wise, inalterable. She possesses this rare, wonderful, and yet simple quality of total self[-]acceptance.
With her deeply perceptive understanding of Luna Lovegood, it’s no wonder we were all so bewitched by Lynch’s on-screen performance.
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It’s a heavy journey. A less artful pen might lose its reader along the way. But as I followed Lynch’s childhood path through anorexia, self-doubt, and self-denigration, her poetic prose, witty humor, and deep empathy managed to warm my heart. Lynch’s pen is just magical. Here’s one of my favorite excerpts, which describes what women seemed like through her 10-year-old gaze:
Everywhere they went, women left traces. Blurry little lip prints on wine glasses, stained faintly in rosy hues of red or pink. Citrus-scented silk neck scarves, hanging over the backs of chairs. Delicious, brown-paper packages of food they’d made with their hands. Mysterious yellow wrappers discreetly tucked into the corners of the bathroom bins.
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With each page turn, I know that some readers will feel the loom of a familiar pattern. In one chapter, Lynch wrote, “Where my art, my friends, my dreams have faded and fallen out of my life, somehow Harry Potter remains. I read them over and over.” Throughout the years, many fans I’ve met have shared that – like me – they grew to love Harry Potter because it reflected their lonely experiences of trauma, neglect, alienation, abuse, and loss. I was therefore very moved to learn that Lynch is one of those very people. And I’m grateful that her vulnerable, complicated, beautiful book helped me process parts of my own past.
If you pick up The Opposite of Butterfly Hunting, leave a comment and tell us what you think.
