A Little F’d Up

It’s hard to decide what I like best about A Little F’d Up: Why Feminism Is Not a Dirty Word. Is it that the author, Julie Zeilinger, wrote this when she was just 18? Is it that Seal Press had the good sense to take a chance on a teenage feminist blogger and ask her to write a book? Is it that the resulting book is a damn near perfect example of what a book explaining feminism to teenagers should be? It’s probably all three. That and the fact it’s peppered with phrases like: “And that’s when the shit hit the fan.”

Julie started her blog, The F Bomb, in response to her own interest in feminism, and it rapidly grew into a platform for others to share and contribute ideas and articles. It’s a great space, and well worth checking out. Sure it has a US focus, as does A Little F’d Up, but then Julie is American, so what did you expect?

Split into six sections, the book opens with a lengthy and excitable exploration of the feminists who came before us, and leaves no stone unturned. What comes across is Julie’s enthusiasm for our feminist foremothers, and the reasons why she wants her readers to understand why it is so important to acknowledge and celebrate what’s already been done, and how we can use that to inform what we do in our own feminist activism. An approach I wholeheartedly agree with.

After having introduced her readers to the cream of the US feminist crop, Julie marches on to explain why feminism has a PR problem (and how to get around it), why the ‘us vs them’ philosophy is never going to work, the problems (and strengths) of internet feminism, some stark facts about global misogyny (FGM, sex trafficking etc), and also why feminism is the answer to every teenage girl’s problems.

The world has been crying out for a damn fine book, written by a sassy and clued-up teenager, about feminism for teenagers. Sure, Michaels Kimmel and Kaufman authored a great book last autumn called The Guy’s Guide to Feminism (also by Seal Press) but, as the name suggests, that’s geared more to steering our brothers along a supportive path. And there are several good books introducing feminism to women in their 20s or 30s, but these can seem alienating to teenage readers. More than anything, as Julie understands, the PR problem that feminism is irrelevant can be lessened by explaining to teenage girls exactly why feminism IS relevant to them. Because, heck, are they going to need feminism to get them through university, work and life.

PS – If you’re after a more UK-focused book to introduce young girls to the joy and power of feminism, keep an eye out for my upcoming review of The Exciting Life of Being a Woman, by Feminist Webs (HammerOn Press).

Big Sex Little Death

Susie Bright has made a career promoting sex-positive feminism to women and men, and Big Sex Little Death (Seal Press) is her newly published memoir.

And boy, what a life she’s had. From an abusive childhood, Susie ricocheted from parent to parent before decamping to the International Socialist party when she wasn’t even 18. She fully immersed herself in the world of politics and free love, before she was booted out while still a teenager.

This takes more than half of the book, which leaves you wondering how Susie could condense the remaining 30ish years of her life into an equal amount of pages. She does this by whizzing through time to share the highlights of how she came to co-found the lesbian erotic magazine On Our Backs, and become a mother when she least expected it.

Written in a brash, no-holds-barred style, Big Sex Little Death is loud, proud and in your face. Interspersed with a few saucy descriptions of Susie’s own sex life, the book is a kick in the face to those who say feminists are all frumpy and frigid – neither of those claims are true of Susie!

While I don't agree with all of Susie’s achievements, such as contributing to bringing porn into the mainstream or teaching pornography at university (I'm an anti-porn feminist), it is still fascinating to read such a confident assertion of one woman’s determined track to achieve so much. Because whatever you say about Susie, she is certainly a woman who has never been shy of standing up for what she believes and going out and doing exactly what she wants.

Susie and I may come at feminism from slightly different perspectives, but nonetheless I respect almost any woman who sees what they want, and goes and gets it. Big Sex Little Death is a fun and fascinating insight into one of the noisiest women in our recent feminist history. And like her achievements or not, this is an entertaining read.

Click here for more details about the book from Seal Press. Click here to visit Susie’s webpage. 

Coming out from the corner

This post is inspired by two things. The first is Deborah Orr’s article in the Guardian in April about what not to say when your friend is diagnosed with cancer. The second is the charity Time To Change’s recent survey into mental health clichés (now closed). 

Having depression is no joke. There are many different types of depression, but each is no less serious to the person suffering with it – and those closest to them. And each is no less catastrophic and soul-sapping to the person suffering with it.

But it can be difficult for friends, colleagues, family to know the right thing to say. Hopefully, these people haven’t experienced depression themselves so they’re lucky not to have first hand experience of this living hell – the kind of hell that makes you spend hour after hour imagining the smallest possible hole in a corner of your house, and how you might crawl into it without anyone noticing and ever finding you again.

But by not having experienced it first hand, it’s hard for them to appreciate how unbearable depression is.  And I understand that. Many years ago, before I was diagnosed, a colleague was signed off for six months with stress. I laughed to another colleague, “Well, I’m stressed, too. Why can’t I be signed off work for six months? Brilliant!” He tried to explain that stress was an illness, but I didn’t get it. Looking back, I’m ashamed of myself for being so callous. That said, by having been that person, it gives me the perspective to recognise ignorance of mental health for what it often is: genuine ignorance. Blissful ignorance.

What follows is my top ten of ignorant things people have said to me in an effort to help. NB: these are all genuine things that have been said to me by well-meaning people during the heights of my depressive episodes.

1               “Just cheer up.”

2               “Snap out of it.”

3               “You’ve been signed off work indefinitely? Nice one!”

4               “You should rewrite your Will.”

5               “Think of Madeline McCann’s mother. Her situation is much worse than yours.”

6               “At least you’re not dead.”

7               “At least you’re not Kerry Katona.”

8               “There’s plenty of people worse off than you. You’ve got a family who love you, a job and a house. You’re so lucky.”

9               “When will you be better?”

10           “Oh, not again.”

Someone on Twitter told me that when they were signed off for a long period with mental illness, a colleague asked who their GP was because they wanted to be signed off, too. It’s this culture of misunderstanding mental health AND of thinking it’s a good skive that means a charity like Time To Change is needed more than ever.

Time To Change is England’s biggest ever attempt to challenge the stigma and discrimination that people with mental illness face. They are doing an incredible job, and I thank them for that. I’ve seen Time To Change on the internet, Facebook, Twitter, in libraries and on TV… it is everywhere and it needs to be everywhere, because people with mental illness are everywhere. Worse, the people they encounter are also everywhere, with ignorant comments and unhelpful suggestions, coupled with behind-your-back sniggers about ‘the mad woman over there, shh, she’s coming this way’.

If you know someone with depression and you’d like to help them, here is my list of suggestions:

1               Don’t be frightened of them. This person is your friend, not a monster!

2               If you don’t know what to say, or they don’t feel up to seeing you, send them a text or email asking them how they are, or telling them something daft you’ve just seen.

3               Talk to them in exactly the same way as you did before you knew they were ill, about exactly the same things – because they’re still exactly the same person.

4               But make allowances for the fact that they’re feeling fragile, and maybe going to a loud bar or a crowded place isn’t ideal right now.

5               If you’re coming round to visit, ask if you can bring anything. They might not feel up to going out, but they still need milk, biscuits etc.

6               Let them know that you’re always there if they want to talk, but don’t be pushy.

7               Try not to be judgemental, even unintentionally.

8               Even though it can be hard work spending time with someone with depression, try. It makes such a difference knowing people don’t hate you.

9               The little things count. When I was at my most unwell, my best friend, who lived in a different part of the country, would send me postcards with a silly in-joke that only we shared. These made such an enormous difference to me – they told me that my friend didn’t judge me, that she still wanted to be my friend even though I wasn’t well, and that she was thinking about me even when she didn’t need to be. They still mean a lot to me, and the person who sent them is the best friend I will ever have.

10           Most of all – ensure your friend knows you aren’t going to break their confidences by gossiping about them. When you achieve that, you’re really getting somewhere.

It takes courage to talk to someone about their mental illness, and to talk about your own mental illness. So cut yourself some slack… you don’t need to get it spot on first time. Just being there and being open to it is a huge step in the right direction. Good luck.

'Crunch' by Gary McNair

Concluding my Mayfest triptych is Gary McNair’s solo show, Crunch, at the Brewery Theatre, Southville.

Aping an American-style motivational lecture, Glaswegian Gary appears on stage in a sharp suit, with his hair slicked back, banknotes poking out of his pockets, and to the accompaniment of Bruce Springsteen-esque power rock – reminding me of David Brent’s attempt at motivational speaking in The Office. Gary spends the first few minutes silently making eye contact with every person in the audience, before saying he has a good feeling about us, that he believes that we’ve got it in us to be winners, and that we all look lovely today.

Gary is good at what he does. And what he does is beautifully mock the motivational speaker genre, while talking absolute sense about the unhealthy relationships humans have with money… harking right back to the age of bartering.

Throughout the evening, Gary introduces us to his five-step programme to revitalise our relationship with money, and to show us that we are worth far more than any amount of money. And he does this via some really engaging audience interactions. With one woman, he tries to barter for her cardigan. With another, he offers to donate to charity a £10 note if only she’ll shred one of her own £10 notes. And the centerpiece of his show is an auction, where he asks the audience to spend three minutes bidding on an unspecified amount of money in a sealed envelope… which ultimately proves his point that winning a sum of cash generates a huge rush. And also underscores our distasteful belief in money, and our greed for money.

Gary leaves us with a closing thought, which is that next time we’re thinking of frittering £10, £20 or more away on an impulse buy… why not stop and consider donating that money to charity instead, where it will never be frittered away.

Crunch is a really interesting idea for a show, and Gary is great at delivering it. He’s funny, he knows what he’s talking about it, he has great rapport with the audience, and he leaves his audience thinking more about his ideas. A job well done.