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Eggshell Skull
EGGSHELL SKULL: A well-established legal doctrine that a defendant must 'take their victim as they find them'. If a single punch kills someone because of their thin skull, that victim's weakness cannot mitigate the seriousness of the crime.
But what if it also works the other way? What if a defendant on trial for sexual crimes has to accept his 'victim' as she comes: a strong, determined accuser who knows the legal system, who will not back down until justice is done?
Bri Lee began her first day of work at the Queensland District Court as a bright-eyed judge's associate. Two years later she was back as the complainant in her own case.
This is the story of Bri's journey through the Australian legal system; first as the daughter of a policeman, then as a law student, and finally as a judge's associate in both metropolitan and regional Queensland-where justice can look very different, especially for women. The injustice Bri witnessed, mourned and raged over every day finally forced her to confront her own personal history, one she'd vowed never to tell. And this is how, after years of struggle, she found herself on the other side of the courtroom, telling her story.
Bri Lee has written a fierce and eloquent memoir that addresses both her own reckoning with the past as well as with the stories around her, to speak the truth with wit, empathy and unflinching courage. Eggshell Skull is a haunting appraisal of modern Australia from a new and essential voice.
But what if it also works the other way? What if a defendant on trial for sexual crimes has to accept his 'victim' as she comes: a strong, determined accuser who knows the legal system, who will not back down until justice is done?
Bri Lee began her first day of work at the Queensland District Court as a bright-eyed judge's associate. Two years later she was back as the complainant in her own case.
This is the story of Bri's journey through the Australian legal system; first as the daughter of a policeman, then as a law student, and finally as a judge's associate in both metropolitan and regional Queensland-where justice can look very different, especially for women. The injustice Bri witnessed, mourned and raged over every day finally forced her to confront her own personal history, one she'd vowed never to tell. And this is how, after years of struggle, she found herself on the other side of the courtroom, telling her story.
Bri Lee has written a fierce and eloquent memoir that addresses both her own reckoning with the past as well as with the stories around her, to speak the truth with wit, empathy and unflinching courage. Eggshell Skull is a haunting appraisal of modern Australia from a new and essential voice.
358 pages, Paperback
First published May 23, 2018
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,353 reviews
July 23, 2024
I want to get this book and smush it into the face of every single male in australia. Just smush it deep, deep into their face until they get it. Pipe dream.
This book is harrowing. When I finished it, I just put it down and cried. I cried for the author and her vindication. I cried for all the other women mentioned who didn't get theirs. And I cried for the women I know, many whom have had experienced trauma in their own lives.
Bri Lee writes a gripping and yet deeply disturbing memoir of her time as a judges associate with the Queensland District Court and the period immediately following that where she decides to file a police report of her own childhood sexual assault. These two events are deeply intwined with each other. As a judge's associate Bri see's the multitudes of crimes committed against women and children and some of the evidence she deals with begins to trigger the memories of her own trauma. She doesn't shy away from describing the horrifying details, they aren't ever in the territory of graphic but they are always done in a way that you are completely aware of the hideousness of what has occurred. And she doesn't shy way from how the work effected her personally.
Occasionally I would put this book down and wonder how the author, whom I had seen in conversation with Clementine Ford, rocking a graphic print jumpsuit and luxurious hair that I envied, had felt so truely ugly in the way she described in her book. That odd disconnect between how such a beautiful and confident woman could struggle with such internal self loathing, so similar to my own at times. Until you remember that all women feel this, the price of being raised in a society that only values you on how good you look and that it's never enough.
This is a heavy novel. Not in heft but in content. Beautiful. Devastating. Stark. It's a journey through the faults of society as well as the faults within our law system.
This book is harrowing. When I finished it, I just put it down and cried. I cried for the author and her vindication. I cried for all the other women mentioned who didn't get theirs. And I cried for the women I know, many whom have had experienced trauma in their own lives.
Bri Lee writes a gripping and yet deeply disturbing memoir of her time as a judges associate with the Queensland District Court and the period immediately following that where she decides to file a police report of her own childhood sexual assault. These two events are deeply intwined with each other. As a judge's associate Bri see's the multitudes of crimes committed against women and children and some of the evidence she deals with begins to trigger the memories of her own trauma. She doesn't shy away from describing the horrifying details, they aren't ever in the territory of graphic but they are always done in a way that you are completely aware of the hideousness of what has occurred. And she doesn't shy way from how the work effected her personally.
Occasionally I would put this book down and wonder how the author, whom I had seen in conversation with Clementine Ford, rocking a graphic print jumpsuit and luxurious hair that I envied, had felt so truely ugly in the way she described in her book. That odd disconnect between how such a beautiful and confident woman could struggle with such internal self loathing, so similar to my own at times. Until you remember that all women feel this, the price of being raised in a society that only values you on how good you look and that it's never enough.
This is a heavy novel. Not in heft but in content. Beautiful. Devastating. Stark. It's a journey through the faults of society as well as the faults within our law system.
June 17, 2018
Informative, and compelling. A memoir that serves as a reminder that women have had the short end of the stick since forever, it’s mostly a massive eye opener to the limitations and inadequacies of the judicial court system.
Bri is fresh out of Uni becoming a Judges associate in Brisbane, working the Judges circuit and hearing endless sexual abuse and assault cases, it’s during this time Bri’s memories are triggered and she remembers an incidence that occurred when she was only primary school aged. We hear the many horror stories and we see the inner conflict and turmoil that Bri goes through and knowing what she knows about the system doesn’t make it any easier, it’s rare we get a glimpse at the uncensored behind the scenes of the court system, we often only get the slick and quick court cases seen in TV all wrapped up within the hour time slot. These trials usually last years and the complainants go through the absolute wringer, it’s why so many drop out before seeing their time in court. We see time and time again the unfairness of the system, the victimisation of the complainants and despite all the obstacles we see Bri take courage and decide to stand up and fight for justice against her abuser and take on the system.
Even though Bri’s own story of historical abuse is relatively unremarkable I’m so glad she still came forward to make her perpetrator accountable for their actions. We need to believe we can do something to stop the culture of men abusing women sexually, mentally and physically and Bri gives us a push in the right direction. Giving us some comfort that the justice system although severely flawed can also work to keep these opportunist men from offending in the first place. Small steps in the right direction and a brave thing to have done to fight for herself and also for all the other nameless and future victims of abuse .
I applaud all the great work Bri is doing while promoting this book and wish her all the success in bringing this topic to the public eye.
Bri is fresh out of Uni becoming a Judges associate in Brisbane, working the Judges circuit and hearing endless sexual abuse and assault cases, it’s during this time Bri’s memories are triggered and she remembers an incidence that occurred when she was only primary school aged. We hear the many horror stories and we see the inner conflict and turmoil that Bri goes through and knowing what she knows about the system doesn’t make it any easier, it’s rare we get a glimpse at the uncensored behind the scenes of the court system, we often only get the slick and quick court cases seen in TV all wrapped up within the hour time slot. These trials usually last years and the complainants go through the absolute wringer, it’s why so many drop out before seeing their time in court. We see time and time again the unfairness of the system, the victimisation of the complainants and despite all the obstacles we see Bri take courage and decide to stand up and fight for justice against her abuser and take on the system.
Even though Bri’s own story of historical abuse is relatively unremarkable I’m so glad she still came forward to make her perpetrator accountable for their actions. We need to believe we can do something to stop the culture of men abusing women sexually, mentally and physically and Bri gives us a push in the right direction. Giving us some comfort that the justice system although severely flawed can also work to keep these opportunist men from offending in the first place. Small steps in the right direction and a brave thing to have done to fight for herself and also for all the other nameless and future victims of abuse .
I applaud all the great work Bri is doing while promoting this book and wish her all the success in bringing this topic to the public eye.
October 31, 2021
Wow. Laced with heartbreak and strength, this is one of the best nonfiction books I've read all year.
February 10, 2021
"The eggshell skull rule applies in many common law jurisdictions in both civil and criminal law. The premise is that if Person A were to have a skull as thin as an eggshell, and if Person B struck them on the head, intending to only punch them, but in fact killed them, B is responsible for the damage they cause A. In criminal law the maxim was first stated by Lord Justice Lawton: a defendant must 'take their victims as they find them'."
Eggshell Skull is the life of Bri Lee over a three to four-year period. During this time she completed a year as a Judge's associate in the Queensland courts. This role got her thinking about bravely bringing up a historical sex offense committed on her when she was still in school, by one of her Brother's friends. The latter part of the book takes us through the trial from start to end, but the earlier part is all about her struggles to bring it all out after many years. Bri did make a complaint to the police and she spent a harrowing two years waiting for the justice system to run its course. 3 BIG BRIGHT stars to Bri and her book for the show of bravery and the tenacity to fight the fight that is too much for many.
Unfortunately, I can't give more than 3 stars even though I enjoyed the read, mostly, and applaud her actions. The thing is, I just don't like her as a person in the way she presents herself. The whole book is filled with her generalizations about men or other groups of people, she presents herself as someone who could do better at anything than the actual person doing so. She makes snide remarks about her own boyfriend, calls the police lazy and useless, other women she meets as a Judge's associate are either common or snobs. She passes judgment on just about anyone she comes into contact with and it really took some of the shine off the book for me.
However, I will always applaud her perseverance and hope that someday soon, it will easier to make complaints, like Bri's, to see justice served.
Eggshell Skull is the life of Bri Lee over a three to four-year period. During this time she completed a year as a Judge's associate in the Queensland courts. This role got her thinking about bravely bringing up a historical sex offense committed on her when she was still in school, by one of her Brother's friends. The latter part of the book takes us through the trial from start to end, but the earlier part is all about her struggles to bring it all out after many years. Bri did make a complaint to the police and she spent a harrowing two years waiting for the justice system to run its course. 3 BIG BRIGHT stars to Bri and her book for the show of bravery and the tenacity to fight the fight that is too much for many.
Unfortunately, I can't give more than 3 stars even though I enjoyed the read, mostly, and applaud her actions. The thing is, I just don't like her as a person in the way she presents herself. The whole book is filled with her generalizations about men or other groups of people, she presents herself as someone who could do better at anything than the actual person doing so. She makes snide remarks about her own boyfriend, calls the police lazy and useless, other women she meets as a Judge's associate are either common or snobs. She passes judgment on just about anyone she comes into contact with and it really took some of the shine off the book for me.
However, I will always applaud her perseverance and hope that someday soon, it will easier to make complaints, like Bri's, to see justice served.
October 28, 2018
By the time I finished this book I was angry. Not angry for the author or at the justice system, but angry at the author for her overwhelming blindness to her privilege.
The first half of the book was interesting, where she appropriated the truly shocking experiences of marginalised and disadvantaged women and children who were victims of sexual crime. These are the true victims of the memoir - where the justice system fails them over and over again, and yet their experiences are being appropriated for the author's benefit in order to set the scene for her "fight" for justice. I truly hope a portion of her book sales are being donated to organisations supporting women and children of domestic and sexual violence, to at least give something back to them for using their stories for personal financial gain.
Towards the end of the book, it was glaringly obvious why the author was able to have success with her court case - because she is privileged. She is already fluent in the justice system through being immersed in it, she went to a private school and the State's best law school, she lived in New York for a few months prior to commencing a coveted Judge's Associate role, and she has strong and stable family and a long term supportive partner providing the important emotional and financial support. It'd make for a richer and more realistic memoir if she was more nuanced about her privilege, by comparing her success in navigating the justice system to the privileges she holds that many of the other victims do not have have.
The first half of the book was interesting, where she appropriated the truly shocking experiences of marginalised and disadvantaged women and children who were victims of sexual crime. These are the true victims of the memoir - where the justice system fails them over and over again, and yet their experiences are being appropriated for the author's benefit in order to set the scene for her "fight" for justice. I truly hope a portion of her book sales are being donated to organisations supporting women and children of domestic and sexual violence, to at least give something back to them for using their stories for personal financial gain.
Towards the end of the book, it was glaringly obvious why the author was able to have success with her court case - because she is privileged. She is already fluent in the justice system through being immersed in it, she went to a private school and the State's best law school, she lived in New York for a few months prior to commencing a coveted Judge's Associate role, and she has strong and stable family and a long term supportive partner providing the important emotional and financial support. It'd make for a richer and more realistic memoir if she was more nuanced about her privilege, by comparing her success in navigating the justice system to the privileges she holds that many of the other victims do not have have.
June 2, 2018
This book should be compulsory reading for all men, but especially those in the law.
Bri Lee’s ferociously frank and fearless memoir exhorts us to honestly appraise our accepted wisdom, examine our institutional discrimination against women, and correct our unconscious disrespect of their experience.
I can’t commend this highly enough. Read it immediately.
Bri Lee’s ferociously frank and fearless memoir exhorts us to honestly appraise our accepted wisdom, examine our institutional discrimination against women, and correct our unconscious disrespect of their experience.
I can’t commend this highly enough. Read it immediately.
September 3, 2018
I absolutely hate this book. I stopped reading when I had only 3 chapters left. I totally gave up. She is overwhelmingly privileged. I couldn't go on. I don't even want this damn book sitting on my bookshelf.
January 21, 2019
� buddy read with taryn �
Eggshell Skull is a harrowing insight into the Australian justice system, and it's many downfalls. We follow Bri Lee - first through her experiences working as a judges associate in Queensland, primarily listening to sexual assault and child sex offence cases - and then into her experience taking her own childhood abuser to court.Ìý
There is a lot of heavy subject matter so I give a content warning for: rape and sexual assault often described explicitly, unusual & cruel sex acts, description of self harm and suicide ideation, depression and anxiety, emotional distress, discussions of substance and alcohol abuse, use of slurs. Basically this book is, often, a lot
Eggshell Skull is hard to read at times. It's heavy and many of the cases Bri Lee describes in detail are hard to read about. But because of it, this memoir always felt extremely honest and authentic, and this was one of it's greatest strengths. The majority of this book focusses on the Australian legal system and examining it's many flaws. This included the extreme difficulty of complainants in sexual offence cases to secure conviction, especially if they experience multiple marginalisations. I found Bri Lee's insights extremely thoughtful and well articulated, and I could feel her own frustration with the system myself while reading this.ÌýÌý
Bri Lee has such a strong narrative voice that really carries this book. Her thoughtful and insightful commentary into the justice system, and her introspection really grabbed me from the beginning. Following her narration, I found myself easily pulled into the book and compelled to just keep on reading - a feeling I don't often get with non-fiction like I do with fiction. I also appreciated how Lee was able to balance personal sections of this book with the more informative and factual parts about the legal system. The balance of legal lingo and personal storytelling was spot on.Ìý
Eggshell Skull is emotionally harrowing and difficult to read at times, but ultimately an important and timely book. I found this so informative and interesting whilst also engaging on a personal level and it definitely gave me a lot to reflect on. Bri Lee is a fantastic writer, and if fiction writing is ever something she pursues I would love to read it. Eggshell Skull is raw, but it is one of those books I wish more people would read.Ìý
Eggshell Skull is a harrowing insight into the Australian justice system, and it's many downfalls. We follow Bri Lee - first through her experiences working as a judges associate in Queensland, primarily listening to sexual assault and child sex offence cases - and then into her experience taking her own childhood abuser to court.Ìý
There is a lot of heavy subject matter so I give a content warning for: rape and sexual assault often described explicitly, unusual & cruel sex acts, description of self harm and suicide ideation, depression and anxiety, emotional distress, discussions of substance and alcohol abuse, use of slurs. Basically this book is, often, a lot
“Judges tell juries: if a defendant lies, it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s guilty, but if a woman is crying as she dials triple zero after being raped, she might just be putting on a show.�
Eggshell Skull is hard to read at times. It's heavy and many of the cases Bri Lee describes in detail are hard to read about. But because of it, this memoir always felt extremely honest and authentic, and this was one of it's greatest strengths. The majority of this book focusses on the Australian legal system and examining it's many flaws. This included the extreme difficulty of complainants in sexual offence cases to secure conviction, especially if they experience multiple marginalisations. I found Bri Lee's insights extremely thoughtful and well articulated, and I could feel her own frustration with the system myself while reading this.ÌýÌý
Bri Lee has such a strong narrative voice that really carries this book. Her thoughtful and insightful commentary into the justice system, and her introspection really grabbed me from the beginning. Following her narration, I found myself easily pulled into the book and compelled to just keep on reading - a feeling I don't often get with non-fiction like I do with fiction. I also appreciated how Lee was able to balance personal sections of this book with the more informative and factual parts about the legal system. The balance of legal lingo and personal storytelling was spot on.Ìý
Eggshell Skull is emotionally harrowing and difficult to read at times, but ultimately an important and timely book. I found this so informative and interesting whilst also engaging on a personal level and it definitely gave me a lot to reflect on. Bri Lee is a fantastic writer, and if fiction writing is ever something she pursues I would love to read it. Eggshell Skull is raw, but it is one of those books I wish more people would read.Ìý
May 22, 2020
I went to the Holland Park arrests court further down the road from the Brisbane Supreme Court and saw so many injustices occurring left and right. An Asian man who could not understand or speak English was spoken to in loud and jarring English that he had to come back next week. He kept shaking his head saying he couldn't understand and all the Magistrate did was speak louder to him. Further, as I sat there in Court 1, I understood that people who do not have access to legal representation are constantly thrown under the judicial bus compared to those who do. There's so much to talk about. Like how 1 in 3 lawyers suffer from mental health issues (numbers from a speech by Justice Kirby on Daniel Solomon who committed suicide a few years back), or how the law school only promotes a certain kind of thinking and try to weed out those who are creative.
Eggshell Skull by Bri Lee kept me emotionally invested until the end. I found the the passages about law and the legal process set out very well and insightful. They are written in a way that everyone can understand. A lot of the process and locations were familiar to me because I too live in the same city as Bri so that is how I found myself picking this up when it came out.
However, in my opinion the writer herself writes dramatically to the point of cringe. In other words, the execution is lacking. To not get me wrong: I am not belittling the horrible things she's experienced and witnessed firsthand, but the thing is, she has artificially created 'pause' in places of the book that needs none. And one of the things I hate the most in books is when people end chapters usually them going to sleep.
Everyone deserves to understand the problems that our legal systems face, and she has written about it in a way that no one else has done before. It's relevant to me as well because it is set in Brisbane and it's a recently published novel about the legal landscape now. She is very brave to tackle a giant whale sized issue, but it does not negate the fact that the entire memoir falls short on its impact. There is a certain sense of privilege permeating through her words; despite her battle with mental illness and depression and lack of self-esteem, she is still privileged.
Here's the SPOILER. Don't read on if you don't want to be spoiled.
Bri is still able to go through the legal process without a hitch and win her case when people belonging to other minorities do not. She highlights the suffering of minorities, but then never really delves deeper into their issues.
I find myself asking: What is her message here? Is it that she won because she was the right type of female that the system listens to? If that is the case, then she should identify that.
Because this is real life and the dragon is immortal and really isn't a dragon but Scylla with thousands of limbs and heads and you can't consider these issues in isolation any more. Racism exists in the legal sphere and I have experienced it myself. A lecturer told me in first year that they were amazed that I could speak and write English well (I grew up in Australia, so imagine how annoyed I felt at that) and eventually, they told me to stop going to the university if I wanted more help on how to write legally. I had no idea how to write legally, I just came out from high school!
I understand that this is her memoir, and her sexual assault is serious and she is so strong to stand up for herself, but the novel promoted itself like an amazing piece of life changing, earth shattering, never-before-seen novel, and that's what I expected it to be. So let me set it straight: it's a memoir, about a typical white female Australian who goes through the legal process and tackles issues relating only to that specific type of women. If that's your thing, then that's your thing.
I liked that she wrote a book to make people think about the legal sphere and that's really important to get the ball rolling. But I wish it could have been something more - perhaps a little bit more about her time in law school even to provide a backdrop on how someone like her could win her case when others cannot go to the police, sit there confidently and be taken seriously.
All of the above review is my opinion only.
Eggshell Skull by Bri Lee kept me emotionally invested until the end. I found the the passages about law and the legal process set out very well and insightful. They are written in a way that everyone can understand. A lot of the process and locations were familiar to me because I too live in the same city as Bri so that is how I found myself picking this up when it came out.
However, in my opinion the writer herself writes dramatically to the point of cringe. In other words, the execution is lacking. To not get me wrong: I am not belittling the horrible things she's experienced and witnessed firsthand, but the thing is, she has artificially created 'pause' in places of the book that needs none. And one of the things I hate the most in books is when people end chapters usually them going to sleep.
Everyone deserves to understand the problems that our legal systems face, and she has written about it in a way that no one else has done before. It's relevant to me as well because it is set in Brisbane and it's a recently published novel about the legal landscape now. She is very brave to tackle a giant whale sized issue, but it does not negate the fact that the entire memoir falls short on its impact. There is a certain sense of privilege permeating through her words; despite her battle with mental illness and depression and lack of self-esteem, she is still privileged.
Here's the SPOILER. Don't read on if you don't want to be spoiled.
Bri is still able to go through the legal process without a hitch and win her case when people belonging to other minorities do not. She highlights the suffering of minorities, but then never really delves deeper into their issues.
I find myself asking: What is her message here? Is it that she won because she was the right type of female that the system listens to? If that is the case, then she should identify that.
Because this is real life and the dragon is immortal and really isn't a dragon but Scylla with thousands of limbs and heads and you can't consider these issues in isolation any more. Racism exists in the legal sphere and I have experienced it myself. A lecturer told me in first year that they were amazed that I could speak and write English well (I grew up in Australia, so imagine how annoyed I felt at that) and eventually, they told me to stop going to the university if I wanted more help on how to write legally. I had no idea how to write legally, I just came out from high school!
I understand that this is her memoir, and her sexual assault is serious and she is so strong to stand up for herself, but the novel promoted itself like an amazing piece of life changing, earth shattering, never-before-seen novel, and that's what I expected it to be. So let me set it straight: it's a memoir, about a typical white female Australian who goes through the legal process and tackles issues relating only to that specific type of women. If that's your thing, then that's your thing.
I liked that she wrote a book to make people think about the legal sphere and that's really important to get the ball rolling. But I wish it could have been something more - perhaps a little bit more about her time in law school even to provide a backdrop on how someone like her could win her case when others cannot go to the police, sit there confidently and be taken seriously.
All of the above review is my opinion only.
August 28, 2018
*
4.5 stars
If there is one non fiction based memoir title you should read this year, make Eggshell Skull, by the incredibly brave Australian woman Bri Lee a priority. This is a scathing insight into the Australian justice system and the process of gaining a judicial result for a sexual assault claim. It is an incredibly raw and brave account of a young woman who finds herself on the other side of the justice system.
Bri Lee is the central figure behind Eggshell Skull. When this seething memoir opens, Bri is a bright eyed and bushy tailed young graduate, who takes up a position as a judge’s associate in the Queensland District Court system. She soon becomes disillusioned with the judicial system and Australian society. It is this sense of disillusion which leads Bri to finally seek justice for a crime that was committed against her as a young girl. Bri comes from a family with strong values, her father was a well respected and hardworking policeman. Bri was inspired to follow a career in the legal system, graduating as a successful law student. Her subsequent position as a judge’s associate opened Bri’s eyes to a litany of city and country based crimes across Queensland. What struck Lee about many of the cases she witnessed was the treatment of females, in particular the injustice that they received. This added fuel to the fire, a fire that Bri kept buried deep within her for many years. Finally, at breaking point, Bri decided to face her fears head-on and reveal her assault. This revelation sets in motion of a chain of events, as Bri first conveys her ordeal to loved ones, then the police and finally the courts, over again. This living nightmare is a testament to Bri Lee’s courage, as well as determination to seek retribution for the past. It is a past that has defined Bri’s sense of self.
Author Krissy Kneen has endorsed the back cover of Eggshell Skull with the comment, ‘a page-turner of a memoir, impossible to put down�. I am with Krissy Kneen all the way, it is unusual for me to whip through a memoir as quickly as I did with Eggshell Skull. But perhaps this is a clue to the brave and brutal story that I was confronted with in my reading of Eggshell Skull. I couldn’t turn my eyes away from this book and I continued to read just one more page, until I was done.
I have nothing but admiration for Bri Lee. It takes guts to finally confront a sexual assault that occurred to this young woman when she was just a primary school aged young girl. It angered me that the perpetrator of Bri’s crime got away with his actions for so long. Her assailant also had the opportunity to commit further misappropriation towards other victims and he never acknowledged his crime, or impact of his crime. These type of stories need to be unearthed and shared. I applaud Allen and Unwin for backing this book and I hope that it paves the way for future works of this subject matter.
What amazed me about this particular case was the fact that Bri Lee is an astute and highly intelligent woman, well versed in Australian law. When Lee found herself on the other side of the law, she had difficulty getting her voice heard and accepted in the court system. Bri Lee’s case is just a drop in the ocean in a world full of unresolved sexual assault and harassment claims. These cases often do even make it as far as a report to police, let alone in court and rarely is the perpetrator apprehended for their crime. It is a sad state of affairs and I actually dread to think of how many cases along the same lines as Bri Lee’s case will never be aired.
What also shocked me about this book was the sections in the first part of Eggshell Skull. Bri Lee gives the reader a no holds back insight into her life as a first year judge’s associate. It is incredibly raw, honest and detailed. Bri reveals her personal struggles with an eating disorder, self harm attempts and her many instances of self loathing. It is hurtful to read at times, that a young woman with so much promise and a great deal to live for would feel this way. As the memoir progresses, which Bri Lee hints at before the big reveal, we begin to form a picture of why her thoughts are directed this way. I was taken aback by the nature of the cases Bri attended to with her endearing ‘judge�. Just how many sexual assault, rape, harassment, child abuse and neglect cases are dealt with on a daily basis by the Queensland district court system astounds me. It is hard to read about these cases without developing nasty taste in your mouth, along with the heartbreak of those who find themselves at the centre of these cases. Bri Lee also illuminates the day-to-day tasks of a judge, a judge’s associate, lawyers, bailiffs and jurors. It makes for a fascinating read.
The second half of Eggshell Skull is where Bri Lee really comes into her own. She has moments of elation and utter lows. All the while she is supported by her family, partner and outside agencies. Bri does the hard yards, relaying her painful story times many times over and she has to painstakingly wait for her time in court. She must be patient and determined to stick to her cause, despite many working on her case requesting that Bri walk away or take an inferior resolution to settle the case. I have all the time in the world for this courageous woman, who did beat the system and will hopefully inspire more sexual abuse victims to speak out. Eggshell Skull is an informative memoir that holds revolutionary claim.
Eggshell Skull is book #108 of the Australian Women Writers Challenge
4.5 stars
If there is one non fiction based memoir title you should read this year, make Eggshell Skull, by the incredibly brave Australian woman Bri Lee a priority. This is a scathing insight into the Australian justice system and the process of gaining a judicial result for a sexual assault claim. It is an incredibly raw and brave account of a young woman who finds herself on the other side of the justice system.
Bri Lee is the central figure behind Eggshell Skull. When this seething memoir opens, Bri is a bright eyed and bushy tailed young graduate, who takes up a position as a judge’s associate in the Queensland District Court system. She soon becomes disillusioned with the judicial system and Australian society. It is this sense of disillusion which leads Bri to finally seek justice for a crime that was committed against her as a young girl. Bri comes from a family with strong values, her father was a well respected and hardworking policeman. Bri was inspired to follow a career in the legal system, graduating as a successful law student. Her subsequent position as a judge’s associate opened Bri’s eyes to a litany of city and country based crimes across Queensland. What struck Lee about many of the cases she witnessed was the treatment of females, in particular the injustice that they received. This added fuel to the fire, a fire that Bri kept buried deep within her for many years. Finally, at breaking point, Bri decided to face her fears head-on and reveal her assault. This revelation sets in motion of a chain of events, as Bri first conveys her ordeal to loved ones, then the police and finally the courts, over again. This living nightmare is a testament to Bri Lee’s courage, as well as determination to seek retribution for the past. It is a past that has defined Bri’s sense of self.
Author Krissy Kneen has endorsed the back cover of Eggshell Skull with the comment, ‘a page-turner of a memoir, impossible to put down�. I am with Krissy Kneen all the way, it is unusual for me to whip through a memoir as quickly as I did with Eggshell Skull. But perhaps this is a clue to the brave and brutal story that I was confronted with in my reading of Eggshell Skull. I couldn’t turn my eyes away from this book and I continued to read just one more page, until I was done.
I have nothing but admiration for Bri Lee. It takes guts to finally confront a sexual assault that occurred to this young woman when she was just a primary school aged young girl. It angered me that the perpetrator of Bri’s crime got away with his actions for so long. Her assailant also had the opportunity to commit further misappropriation towards other victims and he never acknowledged his crime, or impact of his crime. These type of stories need to be unearthed and shared. I applaud Allen and Unwin for backing this book and I hope that it paves the way for future works of this subject matter.
What amazed me about this particular case was the fact that Bri Lee is an astute and highly intelligent woman, well versed in Australian law. When Lee found herself on the other side of the law, she had difficulty getting her voice heard and accepted in the court system. Bri Lee’s case is just a drop in the ocean in a world full of unresolved sexual assault and harassment claims. These cases often do even make it as far as a report to police, let alone in court and rarely is the perpetrator apprehended for their crime. It is a sad state of affairs and I actually dread to think of how many cases along the same lines as Bri Lee’s case will never be aired.
What also shocked me about this book was the sections in the first part of Eggshell Skull. Bri Lee gives the reader a no holds back insight into her life as a first year judge’s associate. It is incredibly raw, honest and detailed. Bri reveals her personal struggles with an eating disorder, self harm attempts and her many instances of self loathing. It is hurtful to read at times, that a young woman with so much promise and a great deal to live for would feel this way. As the memoir progresses, which Bri Lee hints at before the big reveal, we begin to form a picture of why her thoughts are directed this way. I was taken aback by the nature of the cases Bri attended to with her endearing ‘judge�. Just how many sexual assault, rape, harassment, child abuse and neglect cases are dealt with on a daily basis by the Queensland district court system astounds me. It is hard to read about these cases without developing nasty taste in your mouth, along with the heartbreak of those who find themselves at the centre of these cases. Bri Lee also illuminates the day-to-day tasks of a judge, a judge’s associate, lawyers, bailiffs and jurors. It makes for a fascinating read.
The second half of Eggshell Skull is where Bri Lee really comes into her own. She has moments of elation and utter lows. All the while she is supported by her family, partner and outside agencies. Bri does the hard yards, relaying her painful story times many times over and she has to painstakingly wait for her time in court. She must be patient and determined to stick to her cause, despite many working on her case requesting that Bri walk away or take an inferior resolution to settle the case. I have all the time in the world for this courageous woman, who did beat the system and will hopefully inspire more sexual abuse victims to speak out. Eggshell Skull is an informative memoir that holds revolutionary claim.
Eggshell Skull is book #108 of the Australian Women Writers Challenge
July 10, 2018
Lee’s relentless reportage of her year as a judge’s associate made me remember jury duty � a truly harrowing experience. I cannot imagine how anyone sits in court rooms every single day and hears all the vile ways humans hurt each other. How that experience triggered and inspired her to seek justice for herself was moving. Where this book was most successful was in the moments Lee interrogated the justice system as it relates to women and crimes against women. The fact it was so difficult for Lee to bring her own case to court given her understanding of the system is heart-breaking. The system is failing survivors of sexual assault. I would have liked a bit more attention paid at a sentence level and feel more polished writing would have really elevated this.
June 5, 2019
Wow ... this is an unflinchingly honest and enthralling account of an intelligent and courageous young woman's quest for justice.
As a young teenager, Bri was sexually assaulted by a friend of her older brother. She doesn't report the crime to family members or the authorities, but a decade later has moved to the other side of the justice system. Having excelled in her legal studies at university, she is appointed as associate to a judge on Queensland's District Court circuit. As part of this role, she witnesses first hand the way that society, the legal profession and the justice system deal with victims and perpetrators of sexual violence. Her descriptions of the matters she oversees is a disquieting confirmation of what many within the profession know to be the truth - victims (especially female victims) are put through a convoluted and drawn out process whereby their own behaviour and circumstances frequently come under more scrutiny and criticism than those of their attacker. The resources put into the prosecution of sex crimes pales against that boasted in the civil and commercial law. And the reality remains that very few sexual assault complaints ultimately result in guilty verdicts, let alone substantial sentences for those few who are convicted.
Rather than reinforce her earlier decision not to pursue justice against her attacker, Bri considers that, in light of her inside knowledge of the justice system and supportive partner and family, she has a greater moral obligation to bring the perpetrator to justice than a more vulnerable victim might.
Here we come to the meaning of the title - a longstanding legal principle is that a wrongdoer must "take their victim as they find them". In the 1901 classic case, a person who suffered from "eggshell skull" (an unusually brittle cranial skeletal structure) was killed as the result of an otherwise minor assault. Although an average victim would have suffered only minor injury from such an assault, the perpetrator was held to be responsible for his death.
Bri entertains the idea of inverting the "eggshell skull" principle in her own case. She might appear on the surface to be an average female, vulnerable to sexual assault and reluctant to put herself through the stress of a trial unlikely to result in conviction. However, her legal training and experience make her significantly more resilient and better-informed than the majority of victims. What if her attacker was forced to take her as he found her - her "eggshell skull" actually consisting of a gritty determination and a willingness to push for a trial, regardless of the likely outcome?
It takes Bri several difficult years to move through the legal process, from her initial report to police until she finally faces down her (now early middle-aged) attacker in court.
As a one-time member of the legal profession myself, I found this book incredibly insightful and inspiring. At the same time, it's deeply frustrating and disappointing that the legal profession and justice system are still doing so poorly in preventing and/or prosecuting sexual violence.
A sometimes gruelling, but ultimately uplifting read, recommended for those who have an interest in gender politics and the legal process.
As a young teenager, Bri was sexually assaulted by a friend of her older brother. She doesn't report the crime to family members or the authorities, but a decade later has moved to the other side of the justice system. Having excelled in her legal studies at university, she is appointed as associate to a judge on Queensland's District Court circuit. As part of this role, she witnesses first hand the way that society, the legal profession and the justice system deal with victims and perpetrators of sexual violence. Her descriptions of the matters she oversees is a disquieting confirmation of what many within the profession know to be the truth - victims (especially female victims) are put through a convoluted and drawn out process whereby their own behaviour and circumstances frequently come under more scrutiny and criticism than those of their attacker. The resources put into the prosecution of sex crimes pales against that boasted in the civil and commercial law. And the reality remains that very few sexual assault complaints ultimately result in guilty verdicts, let alone substantial sentences for those few who are convicted.
Rather than reinforce her earlier decision not to pursue justice against her attacker, Bri considers that, in light of her inside knowledge of the justice system and supportive partner and family, she has a greater moral obligation to bring the perpetrator to justice than a more vulnerable victim might.
Here we come to the meaning of the title - a longstanding legal principle is that a wrongdoer must "take their victim as they find them". In the 1901 classic case, a person who suffered from "eggshell skull" (an unusually brittle cranial skeletal structure) was killed as the result of an otherwise minor assault. Although an average victim would have suffered only minor injury from such an assault, the perpetrator was held to be responsible for his death.
Bri entertains the idea of inverting the "eggshell skull" principle in her own case. She might appear on the surface to be an average female, vulnerable to sexual assault and reluctant to put herself through the stress of a trial unlikely to result in conviction. However, her legal training and experience make her significantly more resilient and better-informed than the majority of victims. What if her attacker was forced to take her as he found her - her "eggshell skull" actually consisting of a gritty determination and a willingness to push for a trial, regardless of the likely outcome?
It takes Bri several difficult years to move through the legal process, from her initial report to police until she finally faces down her (now early middle-aged) attacker in court.
As a one-time member of the legal profession myself, I found this book incredibly insightful and inspiring. At the same time, it's deeply frustrating and disappointing that the legal profession and justice system are still doing so poorly in preventing and/or prosecuting sexual violence.
A sometimes gruelling, but ultimately uplifting read, recommended for those who have an interest in gender politics and the legal process.
September 24, 2018
Disappointed with this book. It really was a lot of rambling by a woman with big mental health issues. Of course every individual responds differently to trauma but in the context of all the horrific child abuse cases she describes in the book, having a boy put his hand down her pants 10 years ago didn’t seem comparable. Also, didn’t get her constant references to the type of people who voted for Trump being compared to the type of people who molest children. And her description of her friend performing a theatre show naked and pulling a tape measure out of her vagina described as epic??. Should have realised after seeing the back cover with Clementine Ford describing this book as powerful it would be a dud. One star for the insight into the legal process around child abuse.
August 24, 2020
While I truly admire Lee for her tenacity in fighting her abuser, she completely and utterly ignored her immense privilege she had during her journey through the court system. This was despite nearly 2/3s of the book taking her travelling around rural Australia where so many victims had nowhere near the resources, family support or familiarity with the justice system unlike her.
All in all - this felt totally confused. Between the eating disorder, mental health issues, self harm, relationship dynamic, and blindingly privileged critique of the justice system without offering up any sort of insight as to how we can realistically improve its accessibility and understanding of victims. This memoir lost focus, and as a result, lost mine.
All in all - this felt totally confused. Between the eating disorder, mental health issues, self harm, relationship dynamic, and blindingly privileged critique of the justice system without offering up any sort of insight as to how we can realistically improve its accessibility and understanding of victims. This memoir lost focus, and as a result, lost mine.
April 16, 2018
This is my favourite non-fiction book since the Trauma Cleaner. Bri is a compelling, articulate writer who I can imagine being friends with. The insights she provides into the Australian criminal courts is absolutely fascinating. Her personal journey is incredibly brave, and she somehow manages to tell it with balance, poise, emotion and empathy. This incredibly book can and should spark a fire in the hearts and minds of our community. All I want to do is get this book into the hands of as many people as I can, not only because I think they 'should' read it but also because it was such a fantastic read that I genuinely think they'll enjoy the experience.
June 5, 2018
One of my favourite parts of my law degree was Jurisprudence and one of the things that struck me the most at first was John Austin's idea of the speech-act. Austin's theory is fairly simple: he says that by saying something, we do something. It was just a footnote in a course largely concerned with broader ideas of the law and morality but I was reminded of it while reading this book. This book, which alternates between confessional and conversational, is a giant pink verb.
The criminal justice system in the common law world is adversarial, not inquisitorial, but in this book, we are inside the mind of a woman living a very examined life, constantly delving into her memories, second-guessing herself and monitoring her reactions. The last third of the book, which discusses the trial in which she was a complainant, is difficult to get through as the blinding certainty she had felt when finally having the courage to go to the police is complicated and crushed by the machinery of the system.
I was struck by the echoes between her life and mine: the same university, driving through the fields of Bargara in a rental car, familiar suburbs and schools. And yet this is a piece of writing that so thoroughly defines its own existence that it felt entirely new. It is a blood-letting and yet stunning in its benevolence and belief in the goodness of people.
The mix of emotions she describes reminded me of a prayer I keep pinned to my wall in my office. It speaks in contrasts: who shall rest at the end of day; who lie sleepless on a bed of pain, labels which apply to the author through various stages of the book. However, the lines I favour the most - and the ones which came to mind the most while reading - are these: who shall go forth in the quest for truth; who shall be locked in the prison of self. The author faced this fork in the road and chose the road less travelled (and indeed, a road which once travelled offers few rewards).
This book ends on a triumphant note: a declaration of independence (from the law, from the crime that plagued her, from the well-meant expectations of colleagues and mentors). As the prayer closes, To a year of great goodness.
The criminal justice system in the common law world is adversarial, not inquisitorial, but in this book, we are inside the mind of a woman living a very examined life, constantly delving into her memories, second-guessing herself and monitoring her reactions. The last third of the book, which discusses the trial in which she was a complainant, is difficult to get through as the blinding certainty she had felt when finally having the courage to go to the police is complicated and crushed by the machinery of the system.
I was struck by the echoes between her life and mine: the same university, driving through the fields of Bargara in a rental car, familiar suburbs and schools. And yet this is a piece of writing that so thoroughly defines its own existence that it felt entirely new. It is a blood-letting and yet stunning in its benevolence and belief in the goodness of people.
The mix of emotions she describes reminded me of a prayer I keep pinned to my wall in my office. It speaks in contrasts: who shall rest at the end of day; who lie sleepless on a bed of pain, labels which apply to the author through various stages of the book. However, the lines I favour the most - and the ones which came to mind the most while reading - are these: who shall go forth in the quest for truth; who shall be locked in the prison of self. The author faced this fork in the road and chose the road less travelled (and indeed, a road which once travelled offers few rewards).
This book ends on a triumphant note: a declaration of independence (from the law, from the crime that plagued her, from the well-meant expectations of colleagues and mentors). As the prayer closes, To a year of great goodness.
July 15, 2019
Read this based on recommendation from several people. While it addresses important themes such as the legal system and problems within, I didn't take to the book as much as I had hoped. There was lots of hype surrounding this one, and for me it doesn't meet the hype. I can see it is clearly an important discussion generator and I commend the author for speaking out and encouraging others to do so. However, I felt the book itself was only averagely written, it seemed repetitive at times, and to be really honest I did not engage with the voice of the author. I felt at times the book was self-indulgent and there was certainly a privileged voice presented. That's not to say what was being said was not true, but just that the voice speaking was not one that I found particularly compelling or sympathetic/empathetic. I am disappointed that I didn't take to it as strongly as others did.
May 29, 2019
I didn’t really like this book. It was such a slog to get through. Many of the cases mentioned were just plain chilling and horrible and I felt dreadful for the victims and, worse still, there was such an abundance of them and....(I’m ducking my head as I write this next bit).... when these cases were juxtaposed with the author’s own case....well, I won’t say anymore.
Honestly, I just don’t see how this ever became a book. Or how the book that it became is just so long and tedious, based on such a brief thing that happened so many years ago. As for my feelings on how the authors portrays herself throughout the book....enough said.
Honestly, I just don’t see how this ever became a book. Or how the book that it became is just so long and tedious, based on such a brief thing that happened so many years ago. As for my feelings on how the authors portrays herself throughout the book....enough said.
February 21, 2021
The term ‘eggshell skull� refers to the legal principle that a victim must be accepted for who they are individually, regardless of where their strengths and weaknesses place them on a spectrum of human normality. If you strike a person whose skull happens to be as thin as an eggshell, and they break their head open and die, you can’t claim that they were not a ‘regular� person. Full criminal liability - and responsibility - cannot be avoided because a victim is ‘weak�.This was a really drawn out read for me - almost three months have passed since I read the first chapter. Part of this snail’s pace can be put down to bad timing; I’d finished reading Louise Milligan’s less than two weeks before I started this book and it had already solidified my feelings about the way the Australian legal system chews up and spits out sexual assault survivors.
‘But what if the legal system is ³Ü²Ô´Ú²¹¾±°ù?â€�Reading about the cases that came across Bri’s desk while she was working as a judge’s associate became overwhelming at times. Some of the details were vividly described so if sexual assault is a particularly difficult topic for you, please take good care of yourself if you choose to read this book.
Bri’s experience working in the legal system offers her a different perspective than most survivors. Yet even she is not able to prepare herself for the emotional toll that her own case of historic sexual assault will have on her.
Bri is unlike so many survivors for a number of reasons.
She has the full support of her loved ones throughout the process. Many survivors do not have that luxury, having to go it alone.
She is confident that the people she tells about the sexual assault she experienced will believe her. So many survivors have not been believed when they’ve had the courage to speak out.
She reports the sexual assault to the police. “Less than one in three Australian women who are sexually assaulted ever go to the police.�
The police charge the perpetrator in Bri’s case, while “fewer than one in five sex offences reported to the police result in charges being laid and criminal proceedings being instigated.�
While I wished for less details at times when Bri was explaining the cases she worked on as a judge’s associate, I found myself wanting more details about her own court case. With such a build up throughout the book, I felt like I only managed a quick glance around the courtroom for much of the trial.
Content warnings include .
Blog -
August 5, 2018
I was lucky to win an arc copy of this book via Dymocks.
Trigger Warning: This book deals with heavy sexual assault and rape content, often with victims that are children.
we follow Lee, a judge’s associate working in the Queensland District Court. Through her position we see the many harrowing cases of sexual assault that courts hear on a daily basis and she is very honest with the realities, that very often perpetuators get away with it. As she is working, we also follow her own case as she lodges a historical sex abuse claim against a friend of her family. We see the pain and trauma she goes through in the two years that it takes for her lodgement to have its day in court.
4.5 stars
Trigger Warning: This book deals with heavy sexual assault and rape content, often with victims that are children.
we follow Lee, a judge’s associate working in the Queensland District Court. Through her position we see the many harrowing cases of sexual assault that courts hear on a daily basis and she is very honest with the realities, that very often perpetuators get away with it. As she is working, we also follow her own case as she lodges a historical sex abuse claim against a friend of her family. We see the pain and trauma she goes through in the two years that it takes for her lodgement to have its day in court.
4.5 stars
July 21, 2018
THIS book is powerful and raw. However, it's important to mention right at the start that this book is not suitable for all readers. It is the story of a woman's journey first as an associate (sitting in on many trials that feature crimes against women and children) and then as a complainant in her own child sexual assault trial. There's some harrowing descriptions (including some of self harm) and it can feel a little overwhelming at times so be warned going into it.
A lot can be said for the writing though. There were so many moments where I felt her pain and anxiety, I cried over the cruelty of the legal system and felt physical revulsion during so many of the stories she recounted (both hers and others). It's hard to read but I'm glad I read it.
It's the journey of a strong woman working her way through the kind of painful journey I can't even imagine. Definitely recommend.
A lot can be said for the writing though. There were so many moments where I felt her pain and anxiety, I cried over the cruelty of the legal system and felt physical revulsion during so many of the stories she recounted (both hers and others). It's hard to read but I'm glad I read it.
It's the journey of a strong woman working her way through the kind of painful journey I can't even imagine. Definitely recommend.
June 11, 2018
Urgent, necessary reading especially in the current climate, and beautiful prose. Big trigger warning for a lot of the content in this book, but if you can stomach that it’s absolutely worth reading � this is compelling, important and ferociously brave stuff.
June 2, 2019
I’m afraid I didn’t find the author (first year in law) sufficiently experienced to provide a reliable view of the justice system. I also struggled with opinions masquerading as truth and repeated, over and over, as well as the self-absorption.
November 19, 2018
I confess I bought Eggshell Skull ( Allen & Unwin Books 2018) way back in winter when I heard Bri Lee speak at the Maleny Celebration of Books, and then I brought it home and in the months since, it has sat on my bedside table, in my TBR pile, its very beautiful but slightly unsettling cover beckoning me, while something else � some other trepidation � held me back. I expected that the book would be confronting and raw, and it is. I knew it would be difficult to read, and in places it is. I’d heard it described as ‘self-scouring� (Helen Garner), ‘grim and intense� (Jane Caro) and ‘vulnerable� (Tracey Spicer). And it is all of those things. But it is also � as described by those same women � ‘scorching�, ‘utterly triumphant� and ‘moving and ever so wise�.
So there has been a lot of hype about this book, and since its publication, Bri has been on an almost non-stop tour, talking about her experiences, but more importantly, spearheading a conversation about abuse and the justice system. She is a smart and feisty young woman, and although this book does reveal her fear, her humiliation and her anxiety, it also demonstrates her strength, her tenacity, her persistence and her determination. Once I began reading, I couldn’t stop. This book will shatter you with its stories of lost innocence, broken families and betrayed trust, but it will also invigorate and empower you as you travel with Bri firstly on her journey through the court system as a judge’s associate, and then as a complainant in her own court case.
Bri Lee spent twelve months, straight out of law school, in the coveted role as associate � or assistant � to her ‘Judge�, a man never named, but clearly somebody held in high esteem by Bri. Her respect for him is obvious as they travel the district circuit court, hearing criminal matters, mainly matters of child sexual abuse. Forced to be (and to appear to be) impartial in all matters, Bri sits through hundreds of depressingly familiar stories, unable to express her own feelings, but assisting her Judge to manage his cases and make his important judgements. But as the year goes on, memories of her own sexual assault years earlier bubble to the surface of her mind again and again, inserting themselves into her daily life, causing her to become anxious, to self-harm and to yoyo back and forth from an eating disorder. The first half of the book is mostly her experience in circuit court and what she learns; the second half is Bri discovering the inner fortitude required to press her own case, and the details of how that case against her accuser unfolds.
This is a brutally honest and unflinching account. It pulls no punches. Nothing is off-limits. Bri examines her own life � her choices, her doubts, her concerns � as intimately as she explores the decisions of others. What we see develop throughout the story is a hurt and aggrieved young woman who gradually manages to channel all her strength into fighting back against her perpetrator; a young woman who travels from insecurity and questionable self-esteem to someone who is fierce and determined, and who uses intelligence, wit, bravery, empathy, compassion and love to confront her past.
She dispassionately examines her own desires, decisions and motivations. She explores the spectrum of human behaviour and tries to understand why some people’s actions might be more explainable or understandable (even if still not condoned) than those of others. She genuinely tries to comprehend why some people act the way they do, whether victims, survivors or abusers. She offers much to think about, not only in terms of the actions of individuals, but also about the parameters of the justice system itself, and its limitations.
The term ‘eggshell skull� is an established legal doctrine that establishes that a defendant must take their victim as they find them � if a single punch, for example, kills someone because of their unusually thin skull, that victim’s weakness cannot mitigate the seriousness of the crime. In this story, justice works in the opposite direction. Bri’s abuser must face his accuser as she comes � a feisty and persistent young woman who will not back down or give up, who knows the legal system, and who is determined not to let the matter rest until justice is done. Bri Lee is a girl who becomes her own superhero, and in telling her story, she challenges us all to face abuses of power with conviction and daring.
Yes, this is a difficult book to read. The stories it contains are sad and distressing and sometimes hopeless. But it is also such an important book to read, because it counterbalances those tales with stories of empowerment, courage, justice and triumph. Towards the end, you will be turning the pages fast, eager to find out the result in Bri’s own case, desperately hoping she wins, desperately fearful that she might not. But ultimately it is the journey, not the result, that is important. I came away feeling incredibly proud of this young woman who spoke up and fought back, proud on behalf of all of those people who face discrimination, abuses of power and abusers of power. I finished the book with a renewed sense of hope, and a renewed respect for those individuals who somehow find it within themselves to stand up to the bullies of this world, to stand their ground when things get tough, and to forge a path so that it might be that little bit easier for others who must follow.
There is the sense that writing this book has been cathartic for Bri Lee, and that she has emerged from that chapter in her life renewed and strengthened, forged by fire, to be sharper and more daring; the sense that the new Bri Lee will call out wrongs when she encounters them, and put up with less of life’s bullshit.
So there has been a lot of hype about this book, and since its publication, Bri has been on an almost non-stop tour, talking about her experiences, but more importantly, spearheading a conversation about abuse and the justice system. She is a smart and feisty young woman, and although this book does reveal her fear, her humiliation and her anxiety, it also demonstrates her strength, her tenacity, her persistence and her determination. Once I began reading, I couldn’t stop. This book will shatter you with its stories of lost innocence, broken families and betrayed trust, but it will also invigorate and empower you as you travel with Bri firstly on her journey through the court system as a judge’s associate, and then as a complainant in her own court case.
Bri Lee spent twelve months, straight out of law school, in the coveted role as associate � or assistant � to her ‘Judge�, a man never named, but clearly somebody held in high esteem by Bri. Her respect for him is obvious as they travel the district circuit court, hearing criminal matters, mainly matters of child sexual abuse. Forced to be (and to appear to be) impartial in all matters, Bri sits through hundreds of depressingly familiar stories, unable to express her own feelings, but assisting her Judge to manage his cases and make his important judgements. But as the year goes on, memories of her own sexual assault years earlier bubble to the surface of her mind again and again, inserting themselves into her daily life, causing her to become anxious, to self-harm and to yoyo back and forth from an eating disorder. The first half of the book is mostly her experience in circuit court and what she learns; the second half is Bri discovering the inner fortitude required to press her own case, and the details of how that case against her accuser unfolds.
This is a brutally honest and unflinching account. It pulls no punches. Nothing is off-limits. Bri examines her own life � her choices, her doubts, her concerns � as intimately as she explores the decisions of others. What we see develop throughout the story is a hurt and aggrieved young woman who gradually manages to channel all her strength into fighting back against her perpetrator; a young woman who travels from insecurity and questionable self-esteem to someone who is fierce and determined, and who uses intelligence, wit, bravery, empathy, compassion and love to confront her past.
She dispassionately examines her own desires, decisions and motivations. She explores the spectrum of human behaviour and tries to understand why some people’s actions might be more explainable or understandable (even if still not condoned) than those of others. She genuinely tries to comprehend why some people act the way they do, whether victims, survivors or abusers. She offers much to think about, not only in terms of the actions of individuals, but also about the parameters of the justice system itself, and its limitations.
The term ‘eggshell skull� is an established legal doctrine that establishes that a defendant must take their victim as they find them � if a single punch, for example, kills someone because of their unusually thin skull, that victim’s weakness cannot mitigate the seriousness of the crime. In this story, justice works in the opposite direction. Bri’s abuser must face his accuser as she comes � a feisty and persistent young woman who will not back down or give up, who knows the legal system, and who is determined not to let the matter rest until justice is done. Bri Lee is a girl who becomes her own superhero, and in telling her story, she challenges us all to face abuses of power with conviction and daring.
Yes, this is a difficult book to read. The stories it contains are sad and distressing and sometimes hopeless. But it is also such an important book to read, because it counterbalances those tales with stories of empowerment, courage, justice and triumph. Towards the end, you will be turning the pages fast, eager to find out the result in Bri’s own case, desperately hoping she wins, desperately fearful that she might not. But ultimately it is the journey, not the result, that is important. I came away feeling incredibly proud of this young woman who spoke up and fought back, proud on behalf of all of those people who face discrimination, abuses of power and abusers of power. I finished the book with a renewed sense of hope, and a renewed respect for those individuals who somehow find it within themselves to stand up to the bullies of this world, to stand their ground when things get tough, and to forge a path so that it might be that little bit easier for others who must follow.
There is the sense that writing this book has been cathartic for Bri Lee, and that she has emerged from that chapter in her life renewed and strengthened, forged by fire, to be sharper and more daring; the sense that the new Bri Lee will call out wrongs when she encounters them, and put up with less of life’s bullshit.
June 2, 2019
A fascinating insight into the Australian justice system and how useless it can be for victims of sexual violence and assault.
I found the writing a bit weak, with lots of unnecessary tidbits included and didn't like how the book skirted around Lee's assault for so long rather than just explaining to the reader what happened. I also felt that the book couldn't decide if it wanted to be a focus on the inner workings of a criminal courtroom in Australia or if it wanted to be a sexual assault survivor's memoir. Even though they are interconnected, around 50% of the book was about Lee's work as a judge's assistant which made the overall story feel less personal than it could have been.
I found the writing a bit weak, with lots of unnecessary tidbits included and didn't like how the book skirted around Lee's assault for so long rather than just explaining to the reader what happened. I also felt that the book couldn't decide if it wanted to be a focus on the inner workings of a criminal courtroom in Australia or if it wanted to be a sexual assault survivor's memoir. Even though they are interconnected, around 50% of the book was about Lee's work as a judge's assistant which made the overall story feel less personal than it could have been.
June 5, 2018
I couldn’t put this down. It was so well written and compelling, I just had to know what happened next. The voice of the author is strong and relatable, and despite some difficult subject matter does not speak down to the reader or gloss over hard truths. I cannot recommend it highly enough
July 18, 2020
This book is hands down the most important book I have read and belongs on everyone's must read list! Exploring the legal system regarding sexual assualt cases throughout 2015 in the District Court of Queensland, and extending beyond into the author's personal experience with indecent treatment. It will make you sad, it will make you angry, but most of all it will make you think deeply about the world we live in. You will question our society, our culture, our legal system and our own inherent biases.
July 17, 2018
** Trigger warning: This review mentions sexual abuse and rape**
Bri Lee’s Eggshell Skull is an answer to anyone who ever asks why a woman (or less often, a man) doesn’t report sexual abuse or rape, or doesn’t pursue the matter through the legal system even if they do. Lee does not sugar coat what happens. The wheels of justice turn slowly, and the wheels of justice are not always fair.
Eggshell Skull is a personal story. Lee, a judge’s associate working in the Queensland District Court, lodged an historical sex abuse claim against a friend of her family. Her claim took more than two years to wind its way through the system, and the process � despite having a supportive family and partner � was not an easy one. Lee does not hide the emotional toll coming to terms with her abuse took on her, manifesting as anxiety, self-harm and disordered eating.
Eggshell Skull is also the story of everyone who has ever pursued what recourse is available for victims of sexual abuse and rape in the Australian legal system. And it is this story � or rather, these stories � that make Eggshell Skull so powerful.
Lee’s insights from her vantage point within the system are incisive.
We learn she ‘lost count, throughout the year, of the number of women who excused themselves from sex crime trials because they themselves were survivors� (p. 22). Ponder what this means: Lee is saying we have a justice system reliant on community, but so many of our community are victims themselves, and they end up recusing themselves from juries deliberating sex crimes because it would trigger their own pain.
We also learn how common it is for the defence to challenge (and remove) as many women as possible from a jury deliberating a sex crime, because women are more likely to believe the accuser, especially in cases when the ‘nice guy� is alleged to have committed the crime.
Most disheartening of all, we learn it is commonly accepted there needs to be at least four women on a jury in order for their voices to be heard, even behind the closed doors of jury deliberations.
This book is for all of those too afraid to speak out, fearful that they will not be believed. It is also for any woman who finds herself called to jury duty. Don’t recuse yourself: so many other women need you to hear them and speak up for them in that jury room.
I recommend you move Eggshell Skull to the top of your to be read pile. That said, Lee’s account of the way justice is so often not done comes with a trigger warning. If reading this book is not for you, this is the book to buy for your sister, daughter, mother, lover, friend, wife or partner.
And in case you are wondering, ‘eggshell skull� refers to the legal doctrine that means a defendant ‘must take their victim as they find them�, whether that is as weak as an eggshell or as strong as Bri Lee.
This review was first published on The Garret () on 26 May 2018.
Bri Lee’s Eggshell Skull is an answer to anyone who ever asks why a woman (or less often, a man) doesn’t report sexual abuse or rape, or doesn’t pursue the matter through the legal system even if they do. Lee does not sugar coat what happens. The wheels of justice turn slowly, and the wheels of justice are not always fair.
Eggshell Skull is a personal story. Lee, a judge’s associate working in the Queensland District Court, lodged an historical sex abuse claim against a friend of her family. Her claim took more than two years to wind its way through the system, and the process � despite having a supportive family and partner � was not an easy one. Lee does not hide the emotional toll coming to terms with her abuse took on her, manifesting as anxiety, self-harm and disordered eating.
Eggshell Skull is also the story of everyone who has ever pursued what recourse is available for victims of sexual abuse and rape in the Australian legal system. And it is this story � or rather, these stories � that make Eggshell Skull so powerful.
Lee’s insights from her vantage point within the system are incisive.
We learn she ‘lost count, throughout the year, of the number of women who excused themselves from sex crime trials because they themselves were survivors� (p. 22). Ponder what this means: Lee is saying we have a justice system reliant on community, but so many of our community are victims themselves, and they end up recusing themselves from juries deliberating sex crimes because it would trigger their own pain.
We also learn how common it is for the defence to challenge (and remove) as many women as possible from a jury deliberating a sex crime, because women are more likely to believe the accuser, especially in cases when the ‘nice guy� is alleged to have committed the crime.
Most disheartening of all, we learn it is commonly accepted there needs to be at least four women on a jury in order for their voices to be heard, even behind the closed doors of jury deliberations.
This book is for all of those too afraid to speak out, fearful that they will not be believed. It is also for any woman who finds herself called to jury duty. Don’t recuse yourself: so many other women need you to hear them and speak up for them in that jury room.
I recommend you move Eggshell Skull to the top of your to be read pile. That said, Lee’s account of the way justice is so often not done comes with a trigger warning. If reading this book is not for you, this is the book to buy for your sister, daughter, mother, lover, friend, wife or partner.
And in case you are wondering, ‘eggshell skull� refers to the legal doctrine that means a defendant ‘must take their victim as they find them�, whether that is as weak as an eggshell or as strong as Bri Lee.
This review was first published on The Garret () on 26 May 2018.
October 14, 2019
Trigger warnings: rape, sexual assault, rape and sexual assault of children, child pornography, domestic violence, mental health, eating disorder, self harm, misogyny, stalking.
Please please PLEASE take these trigger warnings very seriously. This book is very confronting as it deals not only with working on criminal cases but with the author reporting the sexual assault that happened to her during childhood.
When this book came out last year and everyone started raving about it, I read the blurb and almost instantly decided that I wasn't particularly interested in it. And then lo and behold, it was a Kindle monthly deal and I decided that while I may not have been $15 worth of interested, I was definitely $2 worth of interested.
And this book blew me away.
I read it cover-to-cover in 24 hours. It made me sick to my stomach and it filled me with rage. There were pieces of information in here - like the fact that rape juries often have no women on them because either the defence decides specific female jurors are too likely to assume guilt or because women recuse themselves due to past experiences with sexual violence - that make perfect sense and yet also make me want to burn the world down. But at the same time, this gives such an important insight into what victims are put through to even TRY and get something done that it should be required reading for basically everyone.
Please please PLEASE take these trigger warnings very seriously. This book is very confronting as it deals not only with working on criminal cases but with the author reporting the sexual assault that happened to her during childhood.
When this book came out last year and everyone started raving about it, I read the blurb and almost instantly decided that I wasn't particularly interested in it. And then lo and behold, it was a Kindle monthly deal and I decided that while I may not have been $15 worth of interested, I was definitely $2 worth of interested.
And this book blew me away.
I read it cover-to-cover in 24 hours. It made me sick to my stomach and it filled me with rage. There were pieces of information in here - like the fact that rape juries often have no women on them because either the defence decides specific female jurors are too likely to assume guilt or because women recuse themselves due to past experiences with sexual violence - that make perfect sense and yet also make me want to burn the world down. But at the same time, this gives such an important insight into what victims are put through to even TRY and get something done that it should be required reading for basically everyone.
June 28, 2019
First I want to say how great it is that Bri was able to share her story with us. I think we need more people speaking up about their experiences and I am grateful for that.
A lot of the book is actually other people's stories (through their court appearances)- did Bri have their permission to include them in this book? There was no acknowledgement of this in the book of in the acknowledgements so I'm unsure. It felt like their stories were just being used for the shock factor and the impact they had on the author (I understand they did have an impact I just feel this was done incorrectly).
Related to this Bri keeps bringing up how hard it would be for these victims to stay in their communities after the fact. How much worse is it for people to have their stories immortalised in book form for the whole of Australia- possibly the world to read about it. With all the information that Bri gives us in terms of dates and locations it would make it pretty easy to google and find at least some of the cases that she talks about. It just felt like there was no consideration for these women and men who have already had to battle through the legal system but now may find themselves battling the way they've been portrayed (seemingly without their permission) in this book.
I have a lot more to say but I'll leave it there.
A lot of the book is actually other people's stories (through their court appearances)- did Bri have their permission to include them in this book? There was no acknowledgement of this in the book of in the acknowledgements so I'm unsure. It felt like their stories were just being used for the shock factor and the impact they had on the author (I understand they did have an impact I just feel this was done incorrectly).
Related to this Bri keeps bringing up how hard it would be for these victims to stay in their communities after the fact. How much worse is it for people to have their stories immortalised in book form for the whole of Australia- possibly the world to read about it. With all the information that Bri gives us in terms of dates and locations it would make it pretty easy to google and find at least some of the cases that she talks about. It just felt like there was no consideration for these women and men who have already had to battle through the legal system but now may find themselves battling the way they've been portrayed (seemingly without their permission) in this book.
I have a lot more to say but I'll leave it there.
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