This review is going to start with an anecdote. Yes, this is an inherently self-centered way of writing, but I can’t think of a better example of what this book can mean.
I live in a metropolitan area which is relatively progressive. I was reading this book on my way home from work, while riding the subway. A man took the seat next to me and we rode in silence, me reading, him doing his own thing. As we went, I could see him taking peeks. I adjusted my position, to allow him just a bit more access to the page, hoping it inspired him to find his own copy.
The train began to slow, and he gathered his things. In a friendly voice, he said, “so, what is that, an instruction guide or something?”
I didn’t smile. “Something like that,” was my only reply. As he stood up, he tried again.
“I guess if it was, it’d be twice as thick!”
The train came to a stop and he, along with everyone else aboard, did that tiny wobble as they found their balance. I waited until he looked me in the eye.
“It’s the kind of book that, if you read it, you wouldn’t make jokes like that.”
He didn’t know what to say. His smile fell. He wouldn’t meet my gaze. The crowd began shuffling forward, and he followed the flow. A few steps later, he stopped. He looked back at me.
“I’ll… I’ll pick up a copy.”
Honestly, I don’t think I’m qualified to review this book. It’s brilliant, and clever, and funny, and heartbreaking, and personal, and honest, and bare, and complex, and… most importantly… important.
It is so, so important.
This is a book that every man (and I do mean men, specifically) should be required to read. Especially men in their formative years, and especially-especially men in their formative years living in cultures where there are disparities driven by systematic misogyny built into the fabric of their culture.
So, yeah. Every man. Everywhere.
But then, after they read it, they should shut the hell up, and do some deep, deep thinking on it.
Natalie Angier is unrelenting in her discourse on what women are, were, could be, must be, and have been. She blends and bleeds science and opinion like paints across a canvas. She is observant, more so than I thought possible, and driven in her desire to make this book the holy bible of womanhood. Most wonderfully, she does not write down. Scientific terms and processes, chemical names and compounds, they are all put into the text with no simplification or care for whether the reader is familiar with them. Don’t know that term? You’d better look it up, because she’s going to use it. A lot. And while some readers may find this to be a frustrating display of superiority, I see it as the author’s way of saying – you’re smart enough to do this. Don’t let yourself be ignorant. Be better. Learn something.
She writes with the expectations of a great mother – she will not allow us to simply slide by, digesting only the pieces we enjoy and discarding the rest, leaving our vegetables on our plate and only eating the mac n’ cheese. Which, if we do try, she shows her disappointment in us by giving us more of what she knows is good for us.
The knowledge which can be gained from this book is immeasurable because it lends itself to so many aspects of life and learning. It can teach you biology, anatomy, sociology, anthropology, politics, even religion and faith come into play at times. It is both cerebral, and deeply, deeply emotional. She includes tiny tidbits of herself, cutting away at part of her own soul, her ethereal womb, and lays them bare for us to see. She gives us people and places and times that challenge what we know and think, but also gives us hope and the directions to a new path. No, more than that, she opens paths before us we did not know existed. And not all of them lead to places of splendor, but she knows it’s not her job to hold our hands the whole way.
It was, at times, a difficult read. Her writing is dense, and could be mentally exhausting. I wanted to take in every word, to listen to everything little thing she had to say, as I knew that each bit was important. But it caused fatigue and I had to take breaks. Also, as I said, she’s clever. She’s as clever as Wilde, and just as funny, and just as sharp. And she knows it. And as delightfully tickling as that wit can be at times, at other times, it feels as though she’s making her point, then giving the handle just a bit of a twist. But maybe that’s necessary. Maybe, without that twist, the point would have been missed. I’m not sure, and I am not in a place to criticize. So I will simply state it as it was felt.
What else can I state? I know with 100 percent surety, this book changed me, the way I think, the way I feel, the way I perceive the world and those around me. It expanded me. And though expansion of this type can be uncomfortable, painful even at times, it is necessary for growth. I am a bigger person now, with more inside me, and more to give. Am I better? I hope so.
I would hate to disappoint.