Trigger warnings: anxiety, eating disorder (the author works very hard to avoid triggering, even in frank discussions of her own struggles)
On Top of Glass by Karina Manta is a memoir of the author’s experiences growing up—equal parts a story about sports, queer identity, and anxiety. Manta dedicated herself to skating from a young age. As a teen, she struggled to connect for all three reasons. Her skating career separated her from her peers. Her anxiety isolated her further. And identifying and openly acknowledging her bisexuality was a long process.
Many teens struggle to understand and name their sexuality—something most readers surely know firsthand! For Manta, that struggle was deepened both by her anxiety and her publicity. She was a competitive skater at nearly the highest level. Not only was she performing publicly, she was performing amplified femininity in sequins and swirls. Manta opens up about the decision she reached regarding if and how to become the first openly queer woman to skate for Team USA—not an easy choice in the spotlight!
I’ve seen this classified as a sports memoir. In a way, it is. Manta skated competitively for years. She had a shot at the Olympics. But more than that, she writes openly how damaging the sport was. As someone utterly lacking in athletic ability, I can’t imagine participating in most sports, but that goes double for the sport where people strap knives to their feet and slip on ice! Manta acknowledges that danger and some of the injuries she sustained. And yet, that’s not the damage to which I refer. Her female body is subject to so many judgments and assumptions, and the resulting eating disorder isn’t a surprise. Yet Manta approaches the subject with absolute compassion. She acknowledges a refusal to share this piece of her story in a way that might be triggering to someone else.
That is the unifying thread of Manta’s story. Not sports: illness and healing. Her anxiety defines her youth in a way skating simply doesn’t. Her passion is clear. Her talent, too. I looked up some videos and her talent is clear, too—while reading the book, I had to see her skate.
Yet when Manta moved to Colorado to focus on her skating, her experience was more defined by her desire and struggle to connect with her housemates. Ultimately, the highlight of her story is not about ice dancing but love and self-acceptance. Reading the book, sure, I rooted for her as a dancer, but more than anything I longed to reach through those pages and tell teenage Karina that it was okay, and she mattered, and she deserved rest and a full belly and pure bisexual glory.
Here’s the good news: she gets the happy ending she deserves. It’s not the Olympics. But it’s happiness, love, an absolute artwork of a dance and the confidence to express herself with pride.
