Imagine waking up to find that your face has been plastered onto a sex tape that's currently burning through the internet. You didn't film it, you didn't consent to it, but here it is—the latest weapon in a digital war designed to humiliate you. This is the reality Amy Chaturvedi faces in Meena Kandasamy’s latest work, Fieldwork As a Sex Object.
Amy is a student activist living the London life, but the attack she suffers is rooted thousands of miles away in the brutal, messy world of Indian online politics. It’s a space where algorithms, misogyny, and extreme nationalist fervour collide to create something far more toxic than your average Twitter pile-on. Meena Kandasamy, the acclaimed novelist and poet, doesn't just describe this world; she drags it into the light. She shows how easily a woman’s reputation can be torn to shreds for the sake of an agenda.
"The main aggressors are a disparate bunch of Nazi-loving, Islamophobic vegetarian dicks with profile pictures that are either the Joker or V for Vendetta."
Kandasamy knows exactly who she's dealing with. Her writing peels back the thin veneer of these trolls. It exposes the sad truth that many of them are just insecure men who think they're doing the Lord’s work by tagging Prime Minister Narendra Modi in their vitriol. This isn't just about the sex tape; it’s about a political machine that relies on fear and the silencing of anyone who dares to speak up. This is especially true for women who are unapologetic about their bodies and their beliefs.
Amy isn't a perfect victim, and that’s precisely why she’s so interesting. She’s messy, occasionally entitled, and definitely not the person you’d cast in a saintly tragedy. But she is human. The way the mob treats her—accusing her of being a foreign agent or a member of a subversive group—reminds us that in the eyes of the digital mob, truth is entirely optional. When you're a woman in the public eye, or even just an activist with a voice, you're a target.
The anatomy of an internet hitjob
What makes this story hit home for any of us living in the digital age is how easily these smears spread. The book, published by Brazen for £16.99, is a masterclass in showing how personal vendettas are scaled up into political hit jobs. It’s a common tactic across the globe. You take a woman’s identity, strip away her humanity, and feed her to the wolves to see if she survives the night.
The author previously gained recognition for When I Hit You, a powerful exploration of an abusive relationship that was shortlisted for the Women’s prize. Here, she shifts her focus to the collective abuse of the internet. She shows how the lines between the physical world and the digital netherworld are completely gone. The book captures that specific, nauseating feeling of being watched, judged, and condemned by millions of people who don't know the first thing about you.
While the story leans heavily into the specific realities of India’s far-right internet landscape, the feeling of vulnerability is universal. Whether you're in London, Lagos, or Mumbai, the experience of having your privacy violated for a political point-scoring exercise is the same flavour of horror. Kandasamy reminds us that the internet isn't just a place for memes and arguments. It’s a site of constant struggle where your survival often depends on how thick your skin is.
This book is a fierce, funny, and deeply uncomfortable read. It doesn't offer a clean resolution, because in the real world, the smear campaigns don't just disappear overnight. The trolls keep scrolling, and the algorithms keep feeding them fresh meat. If you want to understand the terrifying speed at which a person's life can be derailed by a few clicks, this is essential reading.