How To Be A Woman

I toyed with the idea of reviewing books, but decided against it primarily because my book reviews generally consist of me grabbing a friend by the arm and insisting they read a book because it is delightful or difficult or all-encompassingly awesome.

That does not lend itself to bloggery.

However, I am halfway through Caitlin Moran's How To Be A Woman and as I haven't left the house this week and am woefully short of forearms to clutch, I am writing a review. Sort of. Yes, I haven't finished it yet but unless she dedicates the last half to a discussion of Simon Cowell's chest hair or the genius of boy bands I can't imagine I won't love this entire book. Because, although this is the story of Caitlin Moran's life and beliefs of what being a woman means it contains thus far everything I get ranty about when I've had a bit too much to drink: knickers and porn and pubic hair and sexism and feminism and fat and honestly I would hug this book if it weren't sharp and pointy and generally book-like. I would have finished it days ago if it weren't for this stupid cold and the siren call of sweet, syrupy Nyquil. Ahh, Nyquil.

The book is funny and honest and stupendous and human. Please do consider this a virtual (and gentle and loving) arm-assault by me and consider pre-ordering this book. Amazon informs me it is available in the US starting July 17th.