So this week, I went through two books the first was The Miniaturist, and next was this fantastmiscal (yes made up but necessary) book by Lena Dunham. In fact this little gem is so good, I read it in one day. I simply couldn’t put it down, and when I did it made my head hurt so I picked it straight back up so I could finish it.
Oh Lena, well done.
I am not a fan of Lena Dunham, I have never once watched HBO’s Girls which she writes, directs, and stars in as I just thought it looked boring. I would go as far as to say that when I saw the advert, I almost felt a bit sick. I sort of stuffed Lena Dunham into the category of: she’s there but I’m not bothered by her, in fact I can’t remember what she look like. Harsh, but a reality in my life. I do tend to categorise. Well I should have listened to my mum and dad when they said never judge a book by its cover, because how hilarious is this woman. Utterly hilarious is the answer.
This book is the correct mix of; shock factor – when she discusses her rape which she herself is confused about and some odd and slightly worrying bits about her sister, humour – all the other bits, and generally giving the air that you could get to know this woman and actually, maybe even surprisingly like her. Now I’ve read it I feel bad about how I sort of judged her before I even ‘got to know her’. You feel as if you can relate to Lena if not because some her weird confessions and hilarious anecdotes remind you of your own life but, because of her language. The way a friend talks to a friend, and not just a friend but someone they feel like they can really trust. And you, the reader feel sort of special because it seems as if she is discussing things that are usually keep confined inside.
Dunham is honest, and that counts for a lot.
In a world where so many people lie about the big things and so many lie about the small things, whether that’s in their books, television, press or just their daily lives Lena Dunham seems, at least, to be epitomise honesty. From declaring that she had a weird sex dream involving her dad, yikes, to how she coped with therapy, Lena explores what it means to be a woman, the pros and the cons. Blanched with feminism, but supportive of men at the same time, she seems to have a rather quirky self awareness and she imparts the wisdom that she has ‘learned’ to all those who chose to read this.
I have never been a fan of autobiographies or any type of biographies at all, in fact I avoid them like the plague. I don’t really know why, they don’t tend to offend me or amuse me, but really I think why should I care that much about that person’s life. It’s not my business. It’s theirs, and personal life should be personal, even if you live in the public eye. You shouldn’t relive your childhood for a profit. But maybe once again, I’ve been too quick to judge. I would seriously consider reading another biography now, but I truly wonder if anyone can touch on Lena Dunham’s honest way of writing and her satirical self-deprecation which makes her, to me a person I would actually invest my time in. Any ideas for my next biography?
So bring it on, I’m off to buy Girls!
If you want to take a peek into Lena’s life you can purchase you copy of Not That Kind Of Girl here.