Review: The Power by Naomi Alderman

I don't even know where to start with this book. It doesn't surprise me that it won the Baileys' Women's Prize for Fiction, and I'm also not surprised that I've seen a few reviews by men that hated it. The Power is, at heart, a very female book with a very clear Message, but that in no way detracts from what is also a very compelling story.

Plot summary: All over the world women are discovering they have the power. With a flick of the fingers they can inflict terrible pain - even death. Suddenly, every man on the planet finds they've lost control. The day of the girls has arrived - but where will it end?

So we've got a very basic premise - women can suddenly create sparks from their fingertips, via a skein that has grown alongside their collarbones. A sort-of explanation is provided for why this happened, but that's not really the point of the story. It's more about the societal, militarial, religious and political repercussions of men no longer being the physically dominant race.

What I particularly appreciated about this book is that it follows a different format than it would if the same concept were played out in a sci-fi novel. There's no slow discovery, long-winded explanations or sitting around talking about how weird it all is. We start at the discovery, but then jump forward two years, then four, five, nine and finally ten years, checking in to see how the world has changed in that time. It works so beautifully. The small gaps in time allow the reader to follow developments more objectively and watch as huge consequences unravel.

We follow several different characters throughout the novel:

• Allie, a runaway teen who becomes Mother Eve, the founder of a new maternally-centered religion.
• Roxy, the daughter of a criminal overlord.
• Margot, a female politician aspiring to reach new highs in her career.
• Tunde, a male journalist who is travelling the world and documenting the chaos.

Two further characters are added roughly two thirds of the way through, but that's slightly jarring and I'm not convinced of the need for them. However, on the whole, the changing point of view allows us to watch the consequences in multiple spheres at multiple points across the globe. Whilst I found Margot's perspective the most interesting, Tunde's experiences were incredibly moving at times, as he observed women who had been oppressed for decades finally free themselves and their sisters from their shackles.

"They do not let us drive a car here," she says, "but watch what we can do."
She puts her palm flat on the bonnet. There is a click and it flicks open.
...
There are young women advancing across the centre of the screen, each of them backed by the fire, each of them walking with the lightning. They are going from car to car, setting the motors revving and the engine blocks burning into a molten heat. Some of them can do it without touching the cars; they send their lines of power outfrom their bodies and they are all laughing.
Tunde pans up to look at the people watching from the windows, to see what they are doing. There are men trying to drag their women from the glass. And there are women shrugging off their hands. Not bothering to say a word. Watching and waiting. Palms pressed against the glass. He knows then that this thing is going to take the world and everything will be different and he is so glad that he shouts for joy, whooping with the others among the flames.

I almost cried at these parts. They really affected me and I read in a sort of stupor. The other parts that really made me sick were the reaction of the men to the new state of affairs. It's actually quite well balanced, in that the male gender isn't described to be generally stupid or or evil or even whiny, but the outward reaction of a few is fascinating and sickening. Much like the real world.

The CDC is hiding things from us, Tom says, that's what they're protesting. Have you seen some of that stuff online? Things are being kept from us, resources are being channelled in the wrong direction, there's no funding for self-defence classes or armour for men, and all this money going to those NorthStar girls' training camps, for God's sake - what the hell is that about? And fuck you Kristen, we both know you've got this fucking thing, too, and it's changed you, it's made you hard; you're not even a real woman any more. Four years ago, Kristen, you knew what you were and what you had to offer this network, and what the fuck are you now?

It's not a very subtle book and at times it is very sledge-hammery with the Point it's trying to make. That said, it is indeed a very good Point, and it's not like anybody who picked up a book where one gender develops power abilities really expected a subtle agenda. 

The thing that really brought it home for me, was the fact that The Power is theoretically written many, many years into the future, where nobody can even imagine the world being any different. The concept of men wielding any sort of power is amusing to them, cute, even. Again, not subtle, but it works so, so well, as a lot of the language used echoed familiarily in my head as that usually used about women.

Surely it just makes more sense that it was women who provoked the war. I feel instinctively - and I hope you do too - that a world run by men would be more kind, more gentle, more loving and naturally nuturing. 

Please read this book. It's important. It's enjoyable and accessible, yes, but it makes a very good point about the fragility of the gender identity perpetuated by society and the sledgehammer used to emphasise the point does not detract from the importance.

Read Ellie's review of The Power at Curiosity Killed the Bookworm. 

Review: How to Be a Woman by Caitlin Moran

Regular readers of Booking In Heels will remember the domestic strife and distress caused by The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (see here) at Hanna Manor. Unfortunately, the Siege of the Dragon Tattoo may as well have been fought with sticks and stones compared to the epic War of the Woman - Sheffield government was nearly forced to evacuate the city for fear of nuclear fallout.  

1913 – Suffragette throws herself under the King’s horse.

1969 – Feminists storm Miss World.

NOW – Caitlin Moran rewrites The Female Eunuch from a bar stool and demands to know why pants are getting smaller. 

There’s never been a better time to be a woman: we have the vote and the Pill, and we haven’t been burnt as witches since 1727. However, a few nagging questions do remain… Why are we supposed to get Brazilians? Should you get Botox? Do men secretly hate us? What should you call your vagina? Why does your bra hurt? And why does everyone ask you when you’re going to have a baby? 

Part memoir, part rant, Caitlin Moran answers these questions and more in How To Be A Woman – following her from her terrible 13th birthday (‘I am 13 stone, have no friends, and boys throw gravel at me when they see me’) through adolescence, the workplace, strip-clubs, love, fat, abortion, TopShop, motherhood and beyond.

The word 'feminism' strikes fear into the heart of the Whitehead-Parkinson household - a brief mention of the word makes us freeze in terror and then lunge for the nearest lightsaber. Then we do battle with the dark side - cause 'dis shit just got real, yo.  Or at least until Luke Skywalker ends up crying in a corner and refusing to speak until Darth Vader brings him some cheesecake.

It all started because I mumbled something about how much I liked the book and how I saw Caitlin Moran as a 'sensible feminist.' By that, I mean she doesn't hate men or want them to change in any away, she doesn't think all porn should be banned and is happy to wear a dress and make-up. She just thinks that women should be seen as completely equal to men, and not have to bear the brunt of sexist comments and attitudes. Because that's what feminism is - just the desire for equal rights and respect.

I think that was the reasoning behind our argument. The-Boy-Whom-I-Love-When-He-Pacifies-Me-With-Cheesecake believes that feminism is now unnecessary because women already have the same rights as men, in everything. We've been able to vote for nearly a century and have access to the same educational and occupational resources. Women don't feel slighted until they read books like this one, and are then brainwashed into looking for problems that aren't there. I can kind of see his point - I wasn't overly concerned with these issues until I read this book (and a similar one last year - Female Chauvinist Pigs) and I wouldn't have called myself a feminist either. But now, after having the concept explained to me by Ms Moran, I know that feminism isn't about not shaving your legs, refusing to make dinner on an evening or over-reacting to a male flirt. I know that's the publicly accepted definition, but it's wrong - thus, we argue.

Regardless of where you stand on feminism, this book is hilarious. I laughed out loud in a number of public places. A lot of reviewers have said that, I know, but just to put it in perspective - I am not a giggler. My natural expression is somewhere between Blackadder and Queen Victoria, with a dash of Pol Pot. I just don't like... things. But God, this book is funny.

But for some women, flirting's just... how it comes out. It's not there as a defence mechanism, or as a result of years of being unwillingly sexualised by the godddamn patriarchy. It's not a consequence. It's an action. It comes from an almost demented joy in being alive, talking to someone who isn't boring you to death, and conspiring in an unspoken, momentary, twinkly, 'I like you, and you like me. Isn't it lovely that we're being total lovelies together?' conspiracy.

Some parts of this book just make perfect sense to me. I don't agree with everything she says; of course not, but paragraphs like the above (I'm a god-made flirt, through and through. Despite the scowling.) just kind of flash at me and make me smile. I admire her for not being afraid to offend people - there are a few paragraphs where I'm sure a few people reacted badly, like the abortion section or when she talks about heaven and the afterlife. Thing is, she isn't arrogant about it. She doesn't apologise for her opinions but explains the reasons behind them in a calm and rational manner. Who can ask more than that?

'It also turns out that husbands do not read Grazia, and no matter how magnificent or loving they may be, they can't help themselves from sporadically saying '£225! For a purse! JESUS CHRIST,' as if you've just stabbed them quite violently in the balls with a fork, left the fork there, and then hung your coat on it while you go and have a bath.'

Ms Moran comes across as a normal woman - not some angry, ranting feminist nor a name-dropping celebrity wannabe. She's a little confused about the conflicting roles of women and it somehow makes her more likeable. She envies the attractive celebrities in the glossy magazines and lusts after the handbags she can never afford, just like the rest of us. She's a normal person with a normal life and it shows.

Maybe Lewis is right - maybe this book has 'brainwashed' me. But so what? I think this should be recommended reading for every person (male or female) above the age of thirteen. It might do the world a favour. I'd love to see a male version though. There's quite a few books on what it's like to be a woman, maybe it's time the men told us the gritty, gross, annoying bits of manhood.

This book was featured in - 

• The Best Books I've Read During The Lifespan Of My Blog

Read my review of Caitlin Moran's later book, Moranthology, or visit her website here.

Cinderella Ate My Daughter by Peggy Orenstein

Firstly, a big thank you to Ellie of Musings of a Bookshop Girl who sent me this as a R.A.K. last week. Secondly, this book sparkles. Not in a wow-this-book-is-exceptional way, it actually, quite literally, sparkles.  Cue the necessary girly over-excitement that proves the book's entire point.

From Amazon - 'The acclaimed author  reveals the dark side of pink and pretty: the rise of the girlie-girl, she warns, is not that innocent.

Pink and pretty or predatory and hardened, sexualized girlhood influences our daughters from infancy onward, telling them that how a girl looks matters more than who she is. But, realistically, how many times can you say no when your daughter begs for a pint-size wedding gown or the latest Hannah Montana CD? And how dangerous is pink and pretty anyway—especially given girls' successes in the classroom and on the playing field? Being a princess is just make-believe, after all; eventually they grow out of it. Or do they? Does playing Cinderella shield girls from early sexualization—or prime them for it? Could today's little princess become tomorrow's sexting teen? And what if she does? Would that make her in charge of her sexuality—or an unwitting captive to it?'

Just like Tolstoy and the Purple Chair (review here), I thoroughly enjoyed the book but just didn't agree with the author's ideas. Her theory goes that little girls who are exposed to Disney Princesses and their ilk are likely to grow up being overly obsessed with their looks and directly connect their self-worth to their appearance.

I can see her point, but surely any half-decent parent can reinforce the belief that it's what's inside that counts. Ms. Orenstein approaches the issue rather like a Glitter Nazi and is actually surprised when her daughter still wants to be read a fairy tale.

The enemy.

'I had never told Daisy the story of Snow White. I had purposefully kept it from her because, even setting aside the obvious sexism, Snow herself is such an obvious pill. She is everything I imagined my child would reject, would not, in fact, ever encounter or even understad if she did, let alone embrace... yet here was my girl, somehow having learned the plotline anyway, blissfully lying in wait for Love's First Kiss.'

I'm all for explaining to children that life is not a fairytale and there is more to it than waiting for your handsome prince. But all I can think is that my Disney-enhanced childhood never did me any harm. How can you reasonably expect to 'shield' your child from a fairytale? Aside from anything else, why would you want to? Yes, Snow White pretty much only tidies and cleans, but she does that in return for living in the dwarves' cottage rent-free. I can think of much worse alternatives for her to earn her keep.

The author constantly wavers between muttering madly about pink unicorns and remembering logically that little girls embrace pink, tea sets and princesses because they don't understand that gender is biological. They think that to be a girl, you somehow have to 'prove' it by acting like one. She comes across as very confused, like she can never quite decide which side of the unicorn to land on.

'While I was off searching for cleanser, Steven told Daisy she could have a cheesy blue Fairytopia Barbie with crappy plastic wings. I demanded that he take it away from her. She started to cry. So I gave her it back.

   "You're confusing her," Steven said.

   I did the mature thing: I blamed him.

   "Look, I'm sorry I started this," he replied. "But you need to decide where you stand on this stuff and stick to it."

   He was right, so I took the doll away again. I promised I would get her a well-made- Barbie instead, perhaps a Cleopatra Barbie I had seen on eBay, which, at the very least, was not white or blonde and had something to offer besides high-heeled feet. As if the ankh pendant and peculiar tan made it att okay.

    "Never mnd, Mama," she sobbed. "I don't need it." Then I started to cry, too, and bought her the damned Barbie.'

I wouldn't mind so much if she approached the issue objectively or admitted her confusion. Instead, she acts as if her God-given mission was to annihilate all forms of Girl (*shudders*) from the Earth. I just don't understand. Surely brainwashing your child against so-called girliness only implies that femininity is something to be pushed away and look down upon? How will that affect her daughter's future relationships with other women?

This is an understandable dislike...

I do agree with some of her points. I don't think I'd ever be happy to buy my child a Bratz doll with their obscene pouts and over-applied make-up, and I believe that Miley Cyrus needs to put some more clothes on if she wants to continue being an acceptable role model for some children. It's just that sometimes Ms. Orenstein goes a little overboard - she actually, honest-to-God, no exaggeration, thinks Twilight is a better role model for children than The Little Mermaid.

Bella Swan. The girl who throws herself off a cliff to haer Edward's voice one more time and lies in bed for three months screaming his name, then runs off with a half-naked werewolf while constantly telling a vampire that she is nothing without him. That Bella. That's the one that's the better role model.

''Think about it: what a relief that must be for girls who feel constant pressure to be physically, socially, and academically perfect! Bella does not spend two hours with a flatiron, ace her calculus test, score the winning goal in her lacrosse match, then record a hit song. Bella does not spout acidly witty dialogue. Yet Edward, the most desirable dude in the room, loves her - now, that is a fairytale.'

You must have deep-seated, psychological issues to think that Twilight is good for your children. I'm pretty sure Peggy Orenstein was molested in Disneyland as a child.

Again, I'm being argumentative and cynical. But hey, Law school does that to a girl. Besides, I  did enjoy the book. I'd half-expected dull essays peppered with long marketing figures from Mattel, but it's nothing like that. Ms. Orenstein writes very, very well with a dry sense of humour that amused me even as I half-wanted to throttle her. Her anecdotes about her daughter's desperate need for Princess fluff despite Peggy's best efforts really bring the 'problem' to life.

... this is not.

I particularly enjoyed the chapter on the rise of Barbie and I've added a biography of that particular doll to my wishlist. I hadn't realised that the creator of Bratz was sued by Mattel for designing his doll while on the Barbie payroll. It's full of other gender-related facts that I found to be genuinely interesting.

I don't mean to slate the book, as I have a problem with the author's ideas, not her writing. I'll even look into buying her previous book. But you can't read a book like this without choosing sides and, I have to say one again, Cinderella never did me any harm.