"How to be a Woman", a 'how to'.

Caitlin Moran has mastered the art that has eluded brilliant men and women for millennia. Sylvia Plath, Kurt Cobain, Alexander McQueen, Virginia Woolf and even Marc Antony are just a few of the many talented, intellectually unrivaled individuals that suffered untimely ends at their own hands due to a sincere lack of humour. This combination of genius and solemnity has often lead psychiatrists to recommend ‘gifted’ children to learn several music instruments, in the hopes that this will distract them from the onslaughts of overly analytical thoughts they will likely suffer from throughout their teen years and beyond. Moran, however, appears to have all the brilliance and original thought of a sincerely intellectual person, without the woeful angst-y impression given by so many authors before her.

In “How to be a Woman”, Moran divulges a multitude of personal misfortunes that would make most people chronically depressed; extreme poverty, emotionally abusive boyfriends, mild alcoholism, miscarriages, child obesity and even abortion. Despite this, she is one of the most enthusiastic, positive and downright hilarious authors I have ever had the pleasure of reading.

It is precisely this beautiful mixture of X-rated material and laugh out loud humor, presented in a genuinely well thought out and enviously articulated form that makes “How to be a Woman” true value for money. Her accurately described ‘part-memoir, part-rant’ presents a truly unique life story, in a relatable way, and not only to women. After our wedding, my husband wanted to read “How to be a woman”, to ‘better understand’ me. My husband went to private school, loves rugby and has a doubled-barreled surname. Even his genuine appreciation for the book, along with its raving reviews confirm to me that “how to be a woman” can reach a wide audience indeed.

There was just one part that simply didn't seem to work. Moran makes a small, rushed attempt to argue that the concept of an afterlife only serves to make humanity apathetic (pg 290). To me, this sounded a little like a regurgitated ‘opiate for the masses’ spiel often overheard amongst inexperienced and overly argumentative first year university students. It sounded whiny, rather than rightfully indignant, a stance that she masterfully pulls off for the rest of the book.

On another note, a particularly memorable point was in her chapter entitled “Role models and what we do with them”. It described a rather disheartening encounter with Katie Price; “No wonder her eyes were so blank - she had nothing to think about apart from herself. She’s like the Ouroborus - the mythical serpent, forever eating her own tail”.

If you are a woman and have ever received a comment meant to degrade you, relating entirely and explicitly to your sex, this book is for you. Translated; if you are a woman, this book is dedicated to you, and therefore, in my opinion you are gently obliged to read it.