There seems to be a new sort of story bracing the shelves these days (hehe these days – I’m only 22), stories like Caitlin Moran’s How to be a Woman and Lena Dunham’s NOT THAT KIND OF GIRL that I sort of have a love/hate relationship with. I love them because they’re bold, shocking, and make me laugh in the kind of way I do when someone falls over (most hilarious thing in the world), and I hate them because they’re bold, shocking, and make me laugh in the kind of way I do when someone falls over (seriously, slapstick’s where it’s at).
I’ll explain. Moran’s book opens with a detailed description of her 16 year old self masturbating in the same bed that she shares with her little brother (he’s sleeping at the time), and while I admire her guts and think it’s a great way to grab a reader’s attention, I also feel it’s a little like Look at me writing about all this secret stuff that we do, but no one talks about, so I’m going to talk about it and make LOADS of money!!!!
Don’t get me wrong, these books are extremely sharp and extremely witty (I wasn’t able to put them down), but they’re basically just diaries. I wonder where the effort is. And they’re another thing that’s adding to this self-obsessed world. They’re like the book versions of selfies and they’re becoming more and more common and I’m worried that one day, OUR IMAGINATIONS WILL BE DESTROYED AND ALL THE STORIES WILL BE GONE!!!!!!!!!!!! We’ll just be watching and reading things about real people doing real masturbating and eating real icing at four in the morning and going to the toilet for real and awkward real sex stories and other real things like that.
Although, that’ll probably never happen. And besides, a lot of made-up stories spring (spring) from real life too. And I also realise that I am being a COMPLETE HYPOCRITE talking about this on my BLOG.
Sigh. Basically, I’m just jealous that these people are getting paid and I’m not.