If Time Magazine declared 2011 the year of the protester, then it seems quite fitting that, in a public vote, the Galaxy Book Awards crowned Caitlin Moran’s How to Be a Woman their book of the year. Touted as a modern day feminist call-to-arms, it is also the memoirs of a former music journalist turned Times commentator professional tweeter (hashtag commentweeter).
It’s sort of a roughed up version of Mémoires d’une jeune fille rangée but funnier and relocated to the messy days of the late seventies, as if S de B had dumped her drain of a boyfriend and had plonked herself next to you at a party, triple shot of gin and (full fat) tonic in hand. Less Parisian and more Wolverhampton, mind you.
Of course, if we’re going to be po-faced, it all seems rather trivial compared to Beauvoir’s political radicalism or recent news that women are being stripped and beaten by policemen in Tahrir Square, and that Afghan women are routinely coerced into marrying their rapist. And as the sort of educated young woman that the book is being targeted at, I can safely say I didn’t learn anything new. You end up feeling as pleased with yourself, and your opinions, as Moran can sometimes come across herself. It also doesn’t help that she writes like a child who’s eaten too many sweets: the barriers of exclamation marks and hordes of capitals make lowercase letters and the modest full stop a rarity
But How to Be a Woman is an infectious, easy, funny read which tries to make a serious point without labouring over it. It’s the only book of 2011 which inspired evening recitals by my flatmate. For a few nights we sat in the kitchen while the particularly resonant passages were read out including Moran’s analogies between empty blocks of flat vulnerable to squatting and our womanhood, should it be neglected. Cue stamps of approval and whoops.
Reading doesn’t make you do that often, does it? Of course, it’s always nice to read a book which confirms what you already think. All young educated women who were rounded up to review it (plus a splenetic Germaine Greer) thought so too.
But that kind of women doesn’t need to be told that the media is horribly misogynistic. Or that the pubic landing strip does have feminist implications. Those, however, that would consider spending twenty grand on a wedding dress do need to be told. And all the young women paying to get their PIP breast implants removed should read it as part of their convalescence. That’s why the Galaxy Book
Award sticker is good news — it might get a few more of them to pick it up.
Moran is great when it comes to questioning gender roles and all the things we try and live up to. It’s a clever ‘youff’ take that anyone who despairs about modern culture from the safety of their ivory tower might do well to flick through. But funnily enough, it’s really young men that should be forced to read How To Be A Woman. An easy introduction to feminism-lite, the book dissects the horrible standards set up by the porn industry and — what is becoming increasingly indissociable from it — the mainstream media. It’s a welcome reminder for inexperienced young men that when they’re lucky enough to undress a young woman she won’t necessarily look like a young Katie Price. And apart from having smaller tits (or floppier ones) she might even be a feminist. And even weirder, she might have a sense of humour too.
Popular culture issues boys with parameters on how to behave as narrow as those set forth for girls. Young men can be just as confused about their feelings and as unsure of their role in society as women. And they can be (pro) feminists and support gender equality too. Thus, in the absence of How To Be A Man, How to be a Woman isn’t a bad unisex fit. It’s also needed. According to reported crime statistics held by the police for 2009, 42 per cent of all domestic violence victims in England are male. When it comes to both sexes, we might all do well to remember
Moran’s simple, yet deceptively difficult — and peculiarly British — solution that we should all just be more polite to each other.
Fleur Macdonald is editor of the Omnivore.
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