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Read Me

My first book review!

First and foremost, I probably shouldn’t mention the fact that this post was written at my summer job.  On the back of some till roll.  In the cinema kiosk known as ‘the cave’ where I get paid to remain in solitary confinement.  So if it lacks coherence or creativity or any interesting opinion, I’m SORRY.  I was despairing.
It would have been hypocritical to write about fashion at a time like this (#todayi’mwearing: work uniform.  Yawn.)  But I’ve read some great non-fiction books of late – and non-fiction is a million times better than fiction, because it’s actually happened and was written by an actual person with an actual Twitter account you can latch onto to pretend you’re their friend.  The following books were recommended to my friends many times, and literature written by interesting people is good for your brain-smarts, so please read them.

Because I’m lazy, I’m only going to post one book review now.  I’ll do the rest…some other time.  But I’m starting with my favourite, so that it doesn’t matter if I ‘forget’ to complete this.  Honestly though, this one below is the one I really wanted to write about anyway.

 The One that Everyone Raved About:  “How to be a Woman”, Caitlin Moran

“Caitlin Moran is a messiah.”

My friend’s words, not mine.  A little background for you – my friend is incredibly well-read in Nietzsche; I am incredibly well read in Glamour magazine.  We both ADORE Caitlin Moran.

I want everyone to read this book.  It’s so FUNNY!  But, crucially, it’s another F word.  Feminist.   That dirty little word.  But please, please pick it up, boys and girls.  Vagina or no vagina, this is the book for you.

Caitlin Moran, for those who don’t know, is a columnist for The Times and all round writer for The World.  She grew up with not much money, but a lot of wit and creativity, and blagged her first journalism job before she was seventeen.  Not that I’m bitter or nowt, but she is talented.  “How to be a Woman” is her first book (for grown-ups – her other is ‘The Chronicles of Narmo’, for littler people) and is the simplest, and most sensible approach to feminism I’ve ever read.

It makes sense, and is never patronising, or preachy, or pretentious.  It doesn’t theorise grand theories about genitalia (almost every ‘academic’ text I’ve read that even mildly references gender, also references phalluses.  ENOUGH!  Nobody sees the world through their crotches!)  It’s creative and so incredibly witty.  She talks about what to call her boobs, her days as a teenage music critic, going clubbing with Lady Gaga, and projectile vomiting when you give birth.  And, AND, she loves men.  Which is where I think we all will be agreed in getting rid of the tainted word feminism in favour of equalit…ism.

I hope Caitlin writes more books.  I also hope everyone else becomes a massive fan so we can just call her by her first name, like Prince.  Buy this, and you’ll have one of those books that will always stay on your bookshelf and not get shunted to the back with last year’s phonebook.  Or borrow it from me, you cheapskate.

Buy Me.

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