book talk.

I recently got into a conversation with some coworkers about the director of the Toronto International Film Festival watching three movies a day. They were enthralled by this, the idea that someone would get paid to sit and watch movies all day. I crinkled my nose at it. I’ve never been much of a movie-goer, never sought out films that weren’t fairly well known. Once in awhile I’ll put something on Netflix that I’ve never heard of before but it’s usually background noise to my other activities, of which I will find plenty.

Everyone has a thing, a creative thing that they’ve delved into in a serious way. For them, it is movies and television. For me, it is books.

I don’t remember a time when I didn’t love books and not just reading them; I love the look, the smell, the way a new spine cracks when you open it and how an old spine welcomes you like a comfortable chair. I love cover art and discovering after finishing reading (always once finished) what the hardcover looks like under the dust jacket. I love shelves of books and stacks of books and lists of books. I love books.

I must admit that I love some books more than others. Some books changed the way I saw the world or myself. Some books reached into me, to a place so deep, that it found things I didn’t know existed. I want to share some of those books with you:

1. She Came to Stay – Simone de Beauvoir

It has only been in the last few years that I have delved into both feminism and existential literature. Enter Simone de Beauvoir. While I have yet to read her ultimate text, The Second Sex, I did pick She Came to Stay up at a used bookstore before our trip to Paris and Amsterdam. The story is fictional but based on true events in which a young woman threatened to destroy the relationship de Beauvoir had with Jean-Paul Sartre. It is an emotional, raw account of what happens to a person when they feel their love is threatened by another. I recognized the feelings of jealousy, the internal dialogue attempting to rationalize what’s happening, and the conviction that you are being crazy rather than seeing something your loved one does not. It brought back moments where I knew I was not the only woman in someone’s life but ignored that sinking feeling. It made me feel proud and strong, knowing that when I stood up for myself I did the right thing. It made me feel not alone in those moments of betrayal, no matter how long ago they were. Plus, good old Simone also dedicated the novel to the woman who had tried to come between her and Sartre and I highly appreciate this quiet cattiness.

2. The Hour I First Believed – Wally Lamb

If you were ever wondering what book made me cry more than any other book in the history of the world, this is it, finally beating out The Bridge to Terabithia. Lamb is a master storyteller, an author who knows how to weave a tale from beginning to middle to end in a profound, artistic way. He grips you and takes you with him but still gives you time to yourself. I can’t even tell you exactly what about this reached me so deeply – perhaps the woman who was lost in her life, trying to make herself happy or maybe the man who was watching his wife get lost in her life and was trying to make her happy. Either way, it resonated and it resonated hard.

3. How to Be a Woman and How to Build a Girl – Caitlin Moran

I suppose I could put these in two different spots but I feel that’s not fair to the other books. I told you, I’m crazy when it comes to books. How to Be a Woman was one of my first introductions to feminism in the form that I adopt today. It is funny, insightful, approachable and intelligent. It made me think about things I had never noticed and accept things that had always angered me. It caused a lot of growth and despite not reading it until I was twenty-four, it was formative. I can say the same thing about How to Build a Girl. If you want to know if there’s a book out there that made me wish I could go back in time, give teenage me a copy and write in the front, “You see, you’re not alone”, this is it. This is a very important book. It appears light and funny but it’s really saying many things most people are too afraid to say. One of the final chapters was read three times through teary eyes before I moved on from it, it gripped me so hard.

4. 1984 – George Orwell

I love me some Orwell and I love me some 1984. I didn’t have to read this in high school so I didn’t pick it up until I was in my early twenties. I’ve read it three times since then and will probably read it again. It was one of the first times I recognized the power of governments and society, as we all know the premise may be a little over the top but not as much as we’d like to believe. It made me feel queasy when I recognized similarities between the domineering, terrifying things that were happening in this book and what was happening in the real world. It opened my eyes to things I had previously chosen not to see.

5. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius – Dave Eggers

This is on here for one very simple reason: I absolutely adore Dave Eggers and this was the first book I ever read by him. I will forever be grateful for this introduction into his weird, intelligent world.

6. Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte

I always had a problem with the Jane Austen camp praising her novels for their feminist qualities. I read Pride and Prejudice and I finished it disappointed, feeling that it turned out to be another love story about some insolent girl who really just wanted to get married. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it really didn’t make me feel like I had learned anything new. One day I picked up my first foray into the Brontes, Jane Eyre, and I found what I had been looking for. Jane is a hero of mine. She almost killed herself to avoid abandoning her principles when it came to a marriage proposal. I’m serious. She might be a little high and mighty for some but I love her. She taught me that love isn’t everything if you don’t have love for yourself.

7. Chrysanthemums – John Steinbeck

This is actually a short story but it’s a fantastic one. I had chosen it for a project in my grade twelve literature class and therefore had to read it multiple times. Short stories generally say things without saying them and the entire point can be missed on the first go-around. These multiple readings gave me so much insight and I am grateful for them. It’s a story about missed chances, love, and accepting a life that you possibly didn’t want. Elisa is a woman I think many of us would recognize in some way. I remember during my presentation I asked the class if they thought she was a pathetic or heroic character and it was nearly split down the middle. I’m still not sure which one I would pick but maybe that’s because I saw some of myself in there and didn’t want to think I was pathetic.

There are many other books that made me feel things, that made me think, but these are the ones I recognized myself most in. They vary in style, length, and plot, but the common thread between them all is an accessible, at times unwanted, link between my world and the characters. I, obviously, recommend them all.

becoming happy.

I mentioned a few days ago when I decided to reignite this blog that I had spent a lot of time in the last year making myself happy. It might sound odd to you, which is fine, because it sounds a little odd to me too. It’s not that I spent every day of my life miserable prior to this last year but I certainly did not do myself any favours when it came to my own happiness.

I have learned a lot about myself. I have progressed, I have had triumphs and failures. I have attempted to figure out what works and what doesn’t when it comes to improving my overall health and mindset. I would like to share what I have learned with you. Please keep in mind that I am by no means a health professional, mental or physical, and these are simply things that I have found effective to my emotional state.

1. I chose myself.

For a very long time, I chose the happiness of others over my own even if it came at great expense to my mental health. I would actually get incredibly anxious and worried if I felt that someone was upset with me. I would do anything possible to make sure I fixed the situation, go out of my way to prove I was worthy of them, even if they were never mad at me in the first place. I allowed myself to stay involved with people that were detrimental to my health, who used me and manipulated me for their benefit. It wasn’t until recently that I began to realize how much this was harming me but also the relationships and friendships I was involved in.

You see, when you are in a completely one-sided situation, the relationship just isn’t healthy. No one is being honest. You’re not showing your true self and they’re not being quite kosher about the whole thing. It wears you down. So you have to make a choice: you or them. If you find yourself having to choose, choose yourself. Every time.

2. I changed my thought process.

I stopped drinking awhile back because I didn’t like what alcohol did to me. I didn’t enjoy the feeling of being under the influence at any level, I became quite emotional, I felt the physical effects quite strongly, and it just generally began to suck. Around this time I also started to change my eating habits, recognizing what was good and bad for me and making a stronger effort to enjoy a cleaner, healthier diet.

The problem I had with this was that I kept focusing on the “can’t” of the situation. I would see a great craft beer and think, “It’s too bad I can’t have that.” I would see a sugary, fattening pastry treat and think, “I can’t have that, I’m not one of those people who can just eat whatever they want.” These aren’t untrue statements, but it’s the negativity of them that made it difficult. What I realized a couple of months ago that while it was true that alcohol and high-sugar, high-fat, processed foods might be delicious, it was almost never worth it for what came after I consumed them. So I stopped focusing on the “can’t” and starting focusing on my health.

It was a simple alteration of thought where I went from “I can’t” to “If I have that, I will feel really crappy later and I choose my health over that instant satisfaction.” It might sound incredibly lame and a little preachy, but it has truly worked for me.

3. I found what moves me.

I mean this physically, mentally, and emotionally. You might not want to hear it but I promise you with everything I believe in that exercise has done more for me mentally than any other thing that I have tried. Of course it helps to look in the mirror and see a smaller, fitter version of myself – higher self-esteem goes a long way – but it’s so much more than that. I think clearer, I have guaranteed time to myself every day as I move and sweat, and I’m discovering a strength in myself I never knew I had. Not long ago I ran five miles for the first time in my life and the high I got from that was unlike any other. Remember in school when you would get a good grade or a gold star or any other sort of recognition of hard work? It’s like that, but you’ve given it to yourself, and that is actually way better.

It’s also important to figure out what you need to enrich your emotional and mental well-being. It could be a book, a movie, a song, a piece of art, it could be whatever you need. Let yourself feel what it makes you feel. Laugh, cry, scream, whatever you need to do and then try to figure out why it makes you feel that way. I have emotions flowing through me constantly and when I try to think about why I’m feeling a certain emotion, I have a greater understanding of myself and my triggers. The other night at a Butch Walker concert in Toronto, he opened the show with “Afraid of Ghosts” off his album of the same name. He got to one of the last verses and when he sang, “Love yourself for once, my dear” I very nearly cried. The rest of the song felt like it was being sung directly to me, because it was everything I’ve been trying to teach myself for the last year. And I felt renewed and it was a moment where I realized how far I’ve come, and how happy I am. I will listen to that song often, I’m sure, just as I read a single chapter from Caitlin Moran’s book How to Build a Girl over and over again, because it’s as if she wrote it about me. These things make me feel less alone, more at ease, and more in control. Find what does that for you and keep them.

These are only three very small steps but they have become important in my life. I try to take time to reflect on where I was and where I’m going. When I get stressed out about something, instead of crying or screaming or telling myself how horrible I am, I do some yoga or write in my journal or actually, you know, talk to someone. It’s important to find people who you know mean it when they say they care and that you can be yourself with.

Overall just remember that we tend to forgive others much faster than we forgive ourselves. Life can be really hard and we sometimes react to things horribly. Every day is a new day to learn and move forward, and there is a whole world waiting to welcome you.

“how to build a girl” and everything wonderful about Caitlin Moran.

I just finished Caitlin Moran’s new book, How to Build a Girl. Just finished as in I turned the last page less than two minutes ago and I’m still trying to clear the tears and mucus from my face. I haven’t done a book review in a very long time. Yes, it’s true, I haven’t even written here for a very long time, and I’m not going to do a review this time, either. There is a moment in this book where Johanna Morrigan is told that she is a critic, not a fan, and to write like one. There is no way that a review of How to Build a Girl would be anything but an overly lauding piece of work, full of insanely supportive adjectives and professions of love.

Instead I want to share here a chapter in the book that I read twice so far and will likely go back to again and again. It is the cause of the tears and mucus and is something I wish I had five, ten, fifteen years ago. It is a short chapter that contains so much wisdom, one that should be shared with every daughter, mother, aunt and grandmother.

“So what do you do when you build yourself – only to realize you built yourself with the wrong things?

You rip it up and start again. That is the work of your teenage years – to build up and tear down and build up again, over and over, endlessly, like speeded-up film of cities during boom times and wars. To be fearless, and endless, in your reinventions – to keep twisting on nineteen, going bust, and dealing in again, and again. Invent, invent, invent.

They do not tell you this when you are fourteen, because the people who would tell you – your parents – are the very ones who built the thing you’re so dissatisfied with. They made you how they want you. They made you how they need you. They built you with all they know, and love – and so they can’t see what you’re not: all the gaps you feel leave you vulnerable. All the new possibilities only imagined by your generation, and nonexistent to theirs. They have done their best, with the technology they had to hand at the time – but now it’s up to you, small, brave future, to do your best with what you have. As Rabindranath Tagore advised parents, “Don’t limit a child to your own learning, for he was born in another time.”

And so you go out into your world, and try to find the things that will be useful to you. Your weapons. Your tools. Your charms. You find a record, or a poem, or a picture of a girl that you pin to the wall and go, “Her. I’ll try and be her. I’ll try and be her – but here.” You observe the way others walk, and talk, and you steal little bits of them – you collage yourself out of whatever you can get your hands on. You are like the robot Johnny 5 in Short Circuit, crying, “More input! More input for Johnny 5!” as you rifle through books and watch films and sit in front of the television, trying to guess which of these things that you are watching – Alexis Carrington Colby walking down a marble staircase; Anne of Green Gables holding her shoddy suitcase; Cathy wailing on the moors; Courtney Love wailing in her petticoat; Dorothy Parker gunning people down; Grace Jones singing “Slave to the Rhythm” – you will need when you get out there. What will be useful. What will be, eventually, you?

And you will be quite on your own when you do all this. There is no academy where you can learn to be yourself; there is no line manager slowly urging you toward the correct answer. You are midwife to yourself, and will give birth to yourself, over and over, in dark rooms, alone.

And some versions of you will end in dismal failure – many prototypes won’t even get out of the front door, as you suddenly realize that no, you can’t style-out an all-in-one gold bodysuit and a massive attitude problem in Wolverhampton. Others will achieve temporary success – hitting new land-speed records, and amazing all around you, and then suddenly, unexpectedly exploding, like the Bluebird on Coniston Water.

But one day you’ll find a version of you that will get you kissed, or befriended, or inspired, and you will make your notes accordingly, staying up all night to hone and improvise upon a tiny snatch of melody that worked.

Until – slowly, slowly – you make a viable version of you, one you can hum every day. You’ll find the tiny, right piece of grit you can pearl around, until nature kicks in, and your shell will just quietly fill with magic, even while you’re busy doing other things. What your nurture began, nature will take over, and start completing, until you stop having to think about who you’ll be entirely – as you’re too busy doing, now. And ten years will pass without you even noticing.

And later, over a glass of wine – because you drink wine now, because you are grown – you will marvel over what you did. Marvel that, at the time, you kept so many secrets. Tried to keep the secret of yourself. Tried to metamorphose in the dark. The loud, drunken, fucking, eyeliner-smeared, laughing, cutting, panicking, unbearably present secret of yourself. When really you were about as secret as the moon. And as luminous, under all those clothes.”

I suppose that what I’m trying to say is a huge, warm, and absolutely heartfelt thank you to Caitlin Moran. Thank you for writing what you do, how you do, and without shying away from what needs to be said. Thank you for making girls and women everywhere see worth, beauty, and independence in every single one of us. And thank you for making me love you too much to properly review anything you write.

the feminist fight.

I find myself defending feminism on a semi-regular basis. I defend it to men and women, mostly because people don’t realize that at the heart of feminism lies one goal: equality. It is not about overtaking or removing rights from men, it is about equality and empowerment among men and women. Women like Caitlin Moran for her humourous, feminist essays, Lena Dunham for her brilliance and confidence, Kate Winslet for her lessons on body image, Ellen Degeneres for her love and respect for all people, Tina Fey for breaking down barriers for women in humour, Zooey Deschanel for proudly stating she is a feminist from an early age, and Mindy Kaling for being seemingly effortlessly hilarious, intelligent, and saying what many women think but don’t have the guts to say are just a few of the feminism idols I look up to on a daily basis. And these are just the famous people – I come from a line of pretty strong women who are forward-thinking and don’t shy away from standing up for themselves, other women, and equality in this world.

Tonight, I may or may not (definitely did) get myself in a little tiff over this picture that my mom posted on her Facebook page:

My mom basically said that she found it offensive and degrading to fathers, daughters, and boys. Also, it “smacks of misogyny”. You don’t have to know me very well to know that I agree with everything she said.

It ended up becoming a little bit of an argument between myself and a friend of my mom’s who basically said that we were picking apart something to make it no longer humourous, that we didn’t get it, that we couldn’t get it because you can never fully understand the opposite sex, so on and so forth. I found his comments condescending in tone and entirely lacking in understanding of why this sort of list is problematic for both girls and boys.

I was a little snarky back, I admit but I had a hard time seeing how anyone would fail to see what my mom was saying when she posted the photo. After I had replied, mentioning how I did not enjoy being condescended to and that we clearly don’t agree on this issue seeing as I am a feminist who comes from a father who would completely disagree with this list, the man’s next comment was suddenly about my cover photo:

He said: “Interesting post of yours about not getting married and giving up because of an aversion to praying. Perhaps some people may find it funny, but I think it trivializes the importance of male female relationships, not to mention the importance of religion in seeking balance and happiness in life. Its a terrible example to set for young women as it implies that they should simply lie about, incapable and passive, waiting to see what other people make happen to them.”

I have two problems with this: One, we are not friends on Facebook and, maybe a little selfishly, feel that he had no right to go to my profile in search of something that he disagreed with to then tear me apart over. And two, I am far from a bad example for young women and he was suddenly shoving his own ideas on religion on me. I am not religious. I do not pray. I do not go to church. This cover photo, to me, is amusing simply because I hear Mindy Kaling’s voice and delivery of it and it makes me smile when I read it. Do I think I am going to die alone? No. Have I given up on finding someone? No. Have I ever lied about waiting to see what other people can do for me? No. And I am I incapable and passive? Fuck no.

I think that was the most offensive part of the entire argument to me – it was no longer about his lack of understanding of why those “rules” were an issue or his condescension from the start. I admit that I was snarky and sarcastic and he probably did not enjoy my tone, either. What he did, however, was take something that was technically private (as private as they can be on Facebook, I know, but when I haven’t added you as a friend well… You shouldn’t be creeping my profile and using it against me) and use a funny little quip from one of my favourite shows in order to paint me in a light that I have never, ever allowed myself to be.

It took everything in me to respectfully suggest that perhaps we should just agree that our senses of humour and opinions don’t match and that we should end the argument right there because let me tell you, I could have gone on.

Unfortunately one of the most difficult parts of being a feminist are moments like that – moments when suddenly you have become under attack for standing up for your gender, for equality, and for the possibility that maybe one day society will stop spewing sexist propaganda. Once this happens, you realize that the person on the other side has no idea that what they are doing is standing up for antiquated, misogynistic views because they really, often, do think that they are quite liberal and accepting of all things.

I try not to get in arguments on Facebook. I think it’s a little high school. I do share my opinions and I don’t shy away from the opportunity to spew my own feminist propaganda. I suppose you might think this is hypocritical but here is why it’s not:

Feminism is about equality. It is about successful people being successful and it not being surprising if that person is a woman. It is about having a right to your body and choices regarding it just as any person should have. It is about being paid what you deserve regardless of gender. It is about healthy images of both men and women in the media so that we can start winning the fight against body image issues, eating disorders, and diminished self worth. One day I might have a daughter. You might already have one. And I want her to see feminist propaganda from everyone – men and women, young and old. I might have a son. You might already have one. And I want him to see feminist propaganda from everyone – men and women, young and old.

Because I want them to know what equality actually means. I want them to know what it means to respect another person and to recognize a person’s worth beyond their appearance. I want them to be able to put something on their social media page about their personal hero and not have it turned against them in a misguided argument.

And I want them to be able to date without any parent feeling it necessary to intervene with threats of guns or violence of any sort, joke or not.

It was stated in the argument that my mom and I were failing to see the joke behind it because we don’t know what goes on in teenage boys’ minds so we don’t know the dangers of a daughter dating.

So I’ll leave you with this feminist propaganda: We know exactly what goes on in teenage boys’ minds because it’s exactly what goes on in teenage girls’ minds. Out of touch is what you would be if you thought for a second that teenage girls don’t think about sex or wonder what a boy looks like naked.

And I’m going to keep fighting the feminist fight until the day comes when everyone is able to comfortably and respectfully recognize sexual desire in women, young and old, without it being a revelation. Because yes, teenage boys can be oversexualized and easily stimulated but remember that raging hormones do not exist in the male body only.

i need feminism.

Feminism got a bad reputation at some point in time. I know that I’ve been guilty at scoffing at the idea, thinking it was just a bunch of women whining about being unfairly treated because they were women all because they never had the backbone to ask for more.

However, that was a few years ago and I think it takes a little growing up, a little becoming a woman, to really understand what feminism can do for you.

Since my scoffing days I have been doing a little reading. I’ve been reading books, articles, and blogs centred around feminism, trying to find out what it really is and if it pertains to me. It is safe to say that I have been humbled and had my viewpoint altered by what I read, realizing with every new fact how much I really need feminism in my life.

If you’ve been online a little bit recently (which you likely have since you’re currently reading this blog), you might have noticed some really great feminist articles and websites. There was this one on CBC’s website that completely changed how I listen to lyrics. Then there was this gem that perfectly tied sports, feminism, and humour to get the message across. If you haven’t seen this video of Dustin Hoffman explaining the importance of Tootsie, watch it now and find further understanding about women and beauty. And my always favourite people at Public Shaming posted this article about the winner of Wimbledon and the terrifying hatred spewed at her for being a “fat, ugly slut”.

There are tons of other sources out there – these are just a few of the recent ones that I’ve shared through Facebook and Twitter. You can also go further and easily find an article exemplifying the anti-feminist movement that seems to be resurfacing everywhere, like in this maddening one.

Why are these important? Why is it necessary to share these?

Because it involves everyone, that’s why.

It has to be understood across the board that feminism has to do with everyone, man or woman, no matter what your role. Don’t be that scoffing loser that I was a few years ago, read and understand how this effects everything you do. I never clued in until I started reading about it that the fact that I get paid the same as my male co-workers, that I have been noticed for my work ethic and promoted, that I am allowed to say “I don’t want children yet”, are all things that I owe to feminism. They are all things I owe to women who fought many, many years before I was born – women who weren’t allowed these things, ones who didn’t take them for granted.

And if you are a man, and you are a respectable one, you will also stand up in the fight for feminism. You will stand up for it because you want your wife to feel comfortable when she goes to work, you want your sister to be able to go back to work while her husband stays home with the kids if she wants, you want your friend to be able to, without shame, tell someone when she has been sexually assaulted. Oh, and also get immediate, responsible help.

I think it’s important for everyone to understand that women are often seen as flaky or crazy by what seem like neuroses – their need to find those exact shoes or to not ever, ever tell you that she is mad. Here is another great article about why this is just not the case. If you want to read a really great take on why women need those exact shoes or to have their makeup perfect or that they never ever have anything to wear, read Caitlin Moran. She tells it like it is.

Why do I need this resurgence in feminism, then? I need it because a man thought it appropriate to tell me the other day that “If you cut your hair to make yourself go from a really hot redhead to one that is just average so that men will stop chasing you, you succeeded.” I, interestingly, did not even read into it as an attempt at destroying my self-esteem – possibly because it didn’t. What I heard was someone assuming that I made the choice to cut my hair due to the desires of men, due to my need to apparently shoo them off in some way, and that every choice I make when it comes to my appearance has the ultimate goal of male attention.

What he didn’t seem to understand was that the choice to cut my hair was mine and the thought of what men would find attractive never was an option I weighed in the decision. But I see now that I need feminism because he probably doesn’t even realize that what he said was not remotely a joke but a blatant attempt to bring up some sort of self-conscious part of me that would succumb to a man’s desires about my appearance. Where is the equality in that?

Why else do I need feminism? Probably because a friend of mine found out that men who did not even know each other found out that they had both dated her and found it necessary to then tell other men who hardly knew her that she slept with everyone. I need feminism to make those men understand that kissing and telling, banging and bragging, and puffing out your chest in a show of ultimate sexual dominance in front of other males is not okay.

I need feminism because people still look at me in shock when I say I don’t want children until I am at least thirty, because I would rather have my own bakery than a nursery, because I think that paternity leave is one of the greatest things ever invented. I need feminism because if I am doing the same job as a man, and doing it with the same skill level, I deserve the same pay. If I am doing it better, I deserve to be paid more. I need feminism because I know too many women who are waiting to feel whole at the hands of a man, too many women who are taught that fairytales are the ultimate goal, too many women who are being shown every single day that if you were out at a party, got a little drunk, and found yourself with a stranger’s hand up your skirt, it’s your fault for mixing that sixth drink with that attire.

And you need feminism too, for all of these reasons and many of your own.

just read.

I’ve been reading a lot lately. I read in general but lately I’ve been going through a sort of literary growth spurt where one book is not enough and I need all the books, all their words, all their beauty in my brain all at once.

It’s a sort of gluttony that attaches itself to my view of the world rather than my thighs. The good kind, you know?

I’ve read things like “everything changes, but only with abandon” that have made me stop and smile and re-read the sentence five times. Then I thought about what I needed to change and what sort of abandon I needed to find to get there.

That’s the thing about books and words – sometimes you read through them and they don’t grab you much, maybe a little, but not in a way that you’ll remember five years from now. Some of them grow hands out of their pages and reach into your body and tear you to pieces, leaving you strewn on the floor to be put back together only by yourself and when you do you can never quite remember where the pieces went in the first place. So you end up with a new version of yourself, generally the same but with some subtle differences that have altered something inside you forever.

When I read We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver, I was so blown away I almost couldn’t handle it. It was one of those books that grabs you from the beginning but lightly, gently, leading you down its path with its hand resting lovingly on the small of your back. By the time you realize that those hands have now wrapped themselves around your body, picked you up, and are carrying you, kidnapped and blindfolded, through its treacherous depths, it’s too late to go back. That’s what that book was like – a slow unfolding that never lost your attention leading to two hundred pages of “ohmygodicantputthisdownwhatthefuck”. It didn’t hurt that, once the self-absorbed nature and overt harshness of the main character were stripped away, many of her ideas on marriage and children mirrored my very own. Whether you like it or not (which you probably won’t), you’ll identify in some way with these people.

Follow that up with Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann, a human interest novel, one of those books that makes you realize the world is not quite as big as we thought and that everyone is a little more hurt than they might show. It was quick, slightly easy, but beautiful.

How to be a Woman by Caitlin Moran. Get it for the feminist in your life and a copy for the anti-feminist. There are ideas in that book that I never thought of, views on the feminist world that I never saw, and a sense of humour and self-deprecation throughout that makes it not at all preachy. Trust me, you want to read her ideas on buying a designer bag and waxing.

Follow all that up with You Deserve Nothing by Alexander Maksik, a novel about an English teacher in Paris who teaches at a school for well-off American students. His power over his students is breathtaking, they love him, he’s intelligent and funny and charming. He’s also missing some pieces and you don’t know what they are and really never do. It’s beautifully written (this is where the “abandon” quote is from) and picturesque. You see everything, feel it all, and you know that there is something autobiographical about this whole thing in some way. There is no way that a book like that doesn’t have some pieces of the author embedded into it.

I’m not a book reviewer. I’m not. But I’ve read such amazing things in the last month I can’t help but share them. You don’t have to read these ones (though I highly recommend them) but read something. Please.

Read Faulkner or Vonnegut or Fitzgerald or Hitchens. Read Kinsella, if that’s your bag. Fuck, read Seuss! Just read.

It really makes your world a better place if only for the little while after you finish a book and it still has its hands gripping inside you.

day twenty-one

Back in Dublin and it feels so good. I might have hated this city a little when I first got here but I think that was basically because I was new and a little terrified and didn’t really give it a chance. Back in it, I feel comfortable and missed it and I really do love it.

I went to see Caitlin Moran last night as part of the Dublin Writer’s Festival. It’s not very often that I would pay just to listen to someone speak but she’s definitely one of the strongest voices of this generation especially for women. She’s hilarious, irreverent, and witty and she uses those skills to get across a message of feminism that has gotten lost in the last couple of decades.

It was so refreshing to hear someone say the things that you always thought and to say them so fearlessly, all the while making everyone laugh. When the abortion debate was brought up (which, if you know anything about me at all, you will know is a serous bone of contention for me that it is still a debate at all), she spoke so eloquently. In the last couple of months the debate has reached new heights in Ireland when a woman needed a termination for medical reasons and, given that abortion is still illegal here, died when she was not allowed to have it. I’m paraphrasing here but what was basically said by Caitlin Moran last night was this: It’s basically an argument between someone’s feelings about something and what someone knows is right for them. When you continue to make abortion illegal, you’re basically saying that making sure you don’t upset someone is far more important than not ruining someone’s life and that no one has the right to tell you how to live. Furthermore, it is completely cruel, mean-hearted, and unjust for someone to tell women that they must, for their entire lives now, bear the responsibility of one single mistake, wanted or otherwise.

And I really don’t think it gets any more simple than that.

I was just in awe of her and so inspired. It was refreshing to listen to a woman talk about how in the end it comes down to the fact that if we as women stopped judging each other or having an opinion on ridiculous things that People Magazine wants us to have an opinion on or just plain stopped putting in so much effort in to how we look in fear that others will judge us, the world will still turn. And it will probably turn better.

Oh, and Caitlin Moran’s advice on what to do if someone ever tells you that your vagina is gross or deems it necessary to tell you how you should be maintaining it?

Sit on their face until they just can’t be bothered to care anymore.

My hero.