My rating is very personal.
Man Hating Psycho gave me nostalgia for a life I haven't lived. I've always felt that my adolescence arrived late, and this book gave me a possible explanation.
Like the author (considering these stories are autobiographical), I have thrusted myself headlong into one of Europe's history-soaked capitals. Lisbon was the hole I fell into, while Iphgenia's was London.
London is a city I've always looked forward to visiting. As a friend of mine said, jokingly, "you don't visit London, you visit (pause for thought) eight Londons. yeah, eight of them". That mental calculation must be off but I've lived here at least long enough to recognise the several Londons she was thinking of: the chi-chi London, the suburbanite London, the dirty London, the touristy London, the multicultural London, the raw, art-is-in-your-face-and-all-over-the-place London, the let's-just-chill-and-look-at-the-Thames London, the serious business London...
There are several Lisbons as well, but they are extremely close together. Close enough to simply be personality traits instead of the schizophrenia London presents when you simply move from one neighbourhood to the other. There's an obvious clash happening in London. You have to be on your toes to adapt to your surroundings. While in Lisbon you just smile at the changes and treat it like someone with mild Tourette's.
So of course my adolescence was gentle, late. I'm a white male in a city that has held me softly, accepting me along the way. There were no big clashes.
The author's London seemed much rougher and uncaring - although extremely attractive -, a quick growth fertiliser.
Activism is much stronger in London because you really feel a part of the vaster world out there. In the ass of Europe, activism in Portugal (before the americanisation of our worries) was focused solely on our problems. That's also a cause for my stunted mental growth.
One thing which I believe she has in her favour is the differences time has made in our cities. A change in London may go unnoticed, or be noticed only to the people local to a certain neighbourhood that are directly affected by it. A small change in Lisbon destroys whole swats of my childhood. Tourism in London is concentrated in the usual spots, while in Lisbon it is spread out almost uniformly. Some years ago, the last time I visited Lisbon, I stood on one of its streets, with what seemed like thousands of faces around me, and the only Portuguese came from a radio somewhere that was playing Fado. I felt bellic. Spurred by the radio to launch myself at the invading horde. Instead, I left again. I can't wait to come back, but I'm now aware of the layers of foundation that have been applied to its face. I'll visit it like I visited London or other European cities in the past before I lived in them: as a stranger.
So yeah, hard to be nostalgic and grow out of my adolescence when there's nothing physical for me to reminisce about.
What a stupid rant.
About the book: nice stories that have resonated with me, maybe too much. Can't really recommend it due to this personal effect. If you feel like me and like to experience someone else's life story through a strong psychogeographical link between the author and London, go for it. If, like me, you live in the surroundings described by the author, go for it. If you live abroad and receive every bad piece of news of your home city as a cancerous growth inside you, go for it. There's a lot to like, there's a lot to hate. I, personally, liked it a lot.