Yet, it is clear that, while Gilchrist may be a bit obsessed by this question, she is building to a climax. She resolves, near the end of the journals, not to let it worry her any more. She throws out her scales, and concludes that she has put her obsession behind her. "What a metaphor the body-weight obsession of our century makes," she says, comparing this problem to some of the major social problems of the day (151). She never, however, notes that obesity is a serious and growing health problem--she is only concerned with her own difficulties with worrying about weight. There is nothing wrong with any of this, of course, and it is all appropriate to the very personal format she has chosen. Her eventual attitude is even admirable. The striking thing about it, however, is the way it illuminates a strange gap in the photographs. They tell their own story.
The reader notices Ellen Gilchrist's strong, attractive face staring out from one photograph after another. Eventually, however, in a two-page layout, Gilchrist appears in three group photographs--two at college dances and one in the high school newspaper office (116-7). Then, she effectively disappears from the photographic section. The remaining picture on these two pages shows her, in shadow, her arms around a man, in a humorous casual pose. It is impossible to make out any detail of Gilchrist's body--she is seated on a rail, half-hidden by the man, and leaning forward in a way that makes it
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