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Not That Kind of Girl, Lena Dunham | The Essayist Project

11.19.2014 by Nicola Balkind //

Not That Kind of Girl by Lena Dunham

 

My hopes and expectations are so tied up with my feelings of this book that this cannot be considered a review. A response, if you will.

 

A Little Background

This book was announced to much critical whining. There were the usual attacks on Dunham’s privilege. The scales of publishing’s zero-sum game were being tipped in her favour with a $3.7 million advance. In short, the mainstream howled.

It did so in ways that it did not, may I point out, about Aziz Ansari’s similar $3.5 million advance. Fortunately, Elisabeth Donnelly of Flavorwire has outlined this so I don’t have to.

The book is no exception. Infinitely more has been written about Dunham than one could feasibly read; and almost none of it is as interesting as her work itself.

We’ve seen her try to take and respond to criticism and it has, at least in one example, failed. (I refer here to the charges of the show’s lack of diversity followed by the show’s conspicuous addition of a black boyfriend.) But has also reminded us that, as one woman, she and her work should not be burdened with the task of being all things to all women.

 

What I Expected vs What I Found

All this is to say that my hopes were that, being the writer of Girls, Lena Dunham would have powerful things to say. You know, the whole “a voice of a generation” thing.

Sure, her show portrays a microcosm of New York life. But this is the same reason why I expected more from her: something to elevate her in the current pool of celebrities writing half-assed humorous memoirs.

What happens here is that she reaches for a form and its pioneers and fails to bring it to a newer degree of relevance. To incorporate some insight into what it’s like to be a young woman today. Instead it incorporates what Lena Dunham has learned about what it’s like to be Lena Dunham today. And that should be far more engaging than it is.

As it goes, Not That Kind of Girl is not a great example of the form. Her levity and descriptions are romantic and fun, but they aren’t backed up with anything I could grasp about what she’s really “learned”. That word, “learned”, by the way? It appears just so on the cover – yes, in quotation marks – making it seem discomforting, discrediting. There’s something really foreshadowing about that.

The same feeling creeps up again in the introductory chapter, in which Dunham writes a disclaimer: “I’m not a sexpert, psychologist or dietitian.” That she has to do this, or feels she does, discredits this book which is allegedly devoted to the female experience. We ain’t here for the dietary advice, luv. Its discreditation begins here and mars what follows all the way down.

I can’t blame her for largely avoiding the topics for which she’s discussed, to an extent. Her treatise on public body shaming (Sex Scenes, Nude Scenes, and Publicly Sharing Your Body) made me throw my hands up in relief. THIS is what I’d been waiting for, hoping for, bought this book for. Yet it’s so short. It smacked of the same feeling as the black boyfriend scenario. When charged with it through art, she’s not that great at responding to criticism. But this also gets to the crux of my feelings about the book.

What draws me to this book is not the possibility of Dunham’s responses to think pieces and charges against her work. I don’t want a response, I want to hear how those actions come about. Maybe that’s unreasonable, but these are the experiences that make her stand out and which make her stories so bold and relevant to under-catered-for women in their mid-twenties.

I wanted a sniff at that honesty she has in discussing her approach to her work and her process that she brings so beautifully to interviews. Here’s a brilliant example from the New Yorker Festival. Bringing this to a book would hold enormous value for readers who’re looking for something like Girls in the literary sphere.

 

The Book On its Own Merits

Now here’s where I try to move beyond what I’ve said and judge Not That Kind of Girl on its own merit.

It fits into the celebrity non-self-help self-help genre pretty damn comfortably. Dunham writes with verve, kicking up old tales from her past that many fans will probably love. She tackles sex and sexual abuse, the pains of growing up, and warm stories about her friends and family.

While those moments in time are well represented and sometimes entertaining, the writing was still threadbare. Many of the essays fail to reach a satisfying conclusion. Kickers and big reveals were plopped into the page as a final sentence, getting out of town without coming to a pertinent point. This made for a frustrating reading experience.

There’s also a lot of filler here. It’s that blog style book thing they’ve done with the likes of Alexa Chung and Lauren Conrad. It has an annotated email, several listicles, and even a What’s In My Bag.

While the presentation is thoroughly and beautifully presented with chapter illustrations and tons of tiny details, that zine feel detracted more than it added for me. Rather than selling Dunham on her strong points, it creates a cutesy kitschy feel that feels infantalising.

 

Have you read Lena Dunham’s Not That Kind of Girl? I’d love to hear your thoughts in a comment below, or you can tweet me @robotnic.

 

More in The Essayist Project:

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Categories // Books Tags // 52 books 2014, Book Review, Books, essayist project, female essayists

The Essayist Project: An Introduction

10.08.2014 by Nicola Balkind //

Essayist Project TBR

As I announced a couple of weeks ago, I’m embarking upon a project to read collections of essays by women. I’m calling it The Essayist Project.

When I began this endeavour, I wasn’t sure what I’d find – or even how I’d go about it. I’m playing it by ear and building an idea about how to go about my mission as I go.

While I already gave a bit of background and some reading intentions, I wanted to elucidate the events that brought me here and give a bit of my essay-reading history.

 

On Style

First off, I intend to write about each essay collection (or occasionally single essays) in the order I read them. My intention is to make selections from various time periods and to make comparative observations as they appear. Hopefully this way I can build up a picture of the genre over time without trying to create any kind of comprehensive history. (Plus, if that was the goal? I’d never see it through.)

In terms of writing, I must credit Nick Hornby, whose Believer column inspired me to write about my reading experiences in a form beyond the capsule review. I happily swiped my way through the first edition, More Baths, Less Talking on Oyster this summer, and quickly ran out to buy the anthology, 10 Years in the Tub, as soon as I was in a shop (and a country) that stocked it. And, fittingly:

Surely we all occasionally buy books because of a daydream we’re having – a little fantasy about the people we might turn into one day, when our lives are different, quieter, more introspective, and when all the urgent reading, whatever that might be, has been done.”
– Nick Hornby, More Baths, Less Talking

 

My Reading History

So, what have I read so far? Until this year, mostly comedic memoir, to be honest. I had a Chelsea Handler binge several years ago when I was getting back into reading. I tore through Augusten Burroughs and David Sedaris’ offerings over the course of a year or two. Later, having run out, I read and quite enjoyed Tina Fey’s Bossypants at the time of release, and slogged through Mindy Kaling’s disappointing Is Everyone Hanging out Without Me? Perhaps this is unfair, but so few humour memoirists can come near Augusten Burroughs and the beloved David Sedaris. Well, all except Nora Ephron, whose two books I Remember Nothing and I Feel Bad About My Neck I devoured in under 48 hours in 2012. She is, for me, a master of the form. (Even if Wallflower at the Orgy is a bit impenetrable for philistines like me who dgaf about the 70s.)

After realising I’d only read a handful of non-fiction books in 2013 – most of them memoir – I stepped up my game a bit. Susan Orlean’s writings and Gay Talese’s Frank Sinatra Has a Cold were a formative read, and led me into a huge binge of the Longform podcast, which in turn introduced me to tons of contemporary reporters and essayists.

I picked up Meghan Daum’s My Misspent Youth through a recommendation of an internet followee of an internet followee, and raced through her collection, too. Her strength of character and deprecating brand of nostalgia puts you right into the moment. I especially related to her story of a long-distance relationship in the early AOL era of the internet. Though 10 years removed (in time and, more significantly, in technology) from my own early days online, so much was familiar. Unfortunately her LA Times column put me off – tis a far different job to be paid for your opinion than it is to be paid to have opinions, and lately she’s fallen into the latter camp. Nevertheless, I’ll keenly await her coming book The Unspeakable.

Then it was on to the great Joan Didion. After being entranced by On Keeping a Notebook, Slouching Towards Bethlehem was the revelation that everyone says it is. To wit:

We were on her terrace by the sea, and we were finishing the wine left from lunch, trying to get what sun there was, a California winter sun. The woman whose husband was born the night the Titanic went down wanted to rent her house, wanted to go back to her children in Paris. I remember wishing that I could afford the house, which cost $1,000 a month. “Someday you will,” she said lazily. “Someday it all comes.”
– Joan Didion, ‘On Keeping a Notebook’

This year I’ve also taken in Rebecca Solnit’s Men Explain Things To Me – a factual, sharp and tactful take on casual, learned and performed misogyny in many aspects of life. For the original essay, she’s credited with coining the term “mansplaining” – which I’m sure we’ll all continue to use for longer than we’d wish to. It’s a fascinating, deeply angering and often chilling read. You can read the interview that led me to it here.

Finally, before beginning this quest in earnest I read Marina Keegan’s posthumous hit, The Opposite of Loneliness. Here’s my review.

 

First Up

I’ve begun reading, so now all there is to do is to start writing. As mentioned above, I’ll be tackling each one in order. Look out for my thoughts on Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay and Emily Gould’s And The Heart Says Whatever  in the coming weeks.

Do you have any particular reading challenges on the go?

Got any recommendations for me? Questions or comments about the project? Drop me a comment below or tweet me with your thoughts!

Categories // Books Tags // essayist project, female essayists, reading life, robotnic

Announcing: The Essayist Project

09.16.2014 by Nicola Balkind //

lady-essayists

 

On Reading Essays

As you’ll know if you follow my reading patterns on Goodreads or my monthly capsule reviews (or if you subscribe to Reading Week, for that matter), I’ve been reading an awful lot of essays lately.

After scouring the Essays section at the bookshop on Friday, I was struck with the urge to binge read some female essayists.

 

The Read

The majority of the essay collections I’ve read by women have been by comedians – your Bossypants and your Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?s.

While they serve as a nice diversion, I’m looking for texts that could be more comfortably described as texts. Essays that get into issues, maybe even define an era, and will inspire me to write more longform pieces myself.

Last year I binged on Nora Ephron. This year I read and got a lot out of Joan Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem (it’s as good as everyone says), Rebecca Solnit’s Men Explain Things to Me (which shouldn’t be out of print), and Marina Keegan’s The Opposite of Loneliness. I’m currently reading Roxane Gay’s Bad Feminist.

But the number of titles I’ev read is scant compared with novels or even male essayists.

 

The Unread

While I’ve made a good start on 2014, I’m in a real hurry to get around to Sontag, to more Didion, to Nellie Bly’s complete works (77p on Kindle!) and to The Empathy Exams – to name but a few.

So I’ve decided to make a project of it. I’m beginning with a few rules – expectations – for myself.

They are:

  • I will read and write about essay collections written by women.
  • Occasionally, single essays may feature.
  • Aim to read one per month.
  • Cultural criticism will feature, but likely not volumes of collected reviews.
  • Collections may be personal essays, but sub-genres like comedy memoir, diaries and letters will probably not feature.

 

The Project

As it turns out, I’ve plenty of books on my shelves to get started with.

Here are some titles to expect:

  • John Didion – Where I Was From
  • Roxane Gay – Bad Feminist
  • Leslie Jamison – The Empathy Exams
  • Mary Wollstonecraft – A Vindication of the Rights of Women
  • Virginia Woolf – A Room of One’s Own
  • Carson McCullers – The Mortgaged Heart
  • Anne Fadiman – At Large and Small

 

On my wish list, authors like:

  • Marguerite Dumas
  • Susan Sontag
  • Rebecca Solnit
  • Angela Carter
  • Zadie Smith

… all feature. They’ll get a chance once I get some cash.

 

I asked for some suggestions on Twitter, where suggestions from Janet Malcolm to Rosa Luxemburg filled my feed.

Got some suggestions? Feel free to leave a comment or tweet them to me @robotnic!

Stay tuned for the first post later this month…

Categories // Books Tags // essayist project, female essayists, non-fiction, readwomen

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