This starts out claiming it’s not an autobiography. I found this, for the most part, to be blatantly untrue. This is a work about judging the past self and looking at the past self through the lens of the now. The fact that it incorporates the things the past self does and reads does not make it less about the self.
I found most of this work to be incredibly dull. There is very little interesting in the upbringing of a woman so old she barely remembers her childhood except for the vivid bits she’s told her and there. The detached and practical manner she uses for discussion do much to help her believe this work is not about her but do little for the material. A child’s exploits are of little interest without those emotions.
Points of interest include:
* functions of birth control availability in Australia in the 60s. Heavily diluted by the authors privilege in receiving it from her mother.
* Being a single mother in the 60s and 70s. Also heavily diminished by her failure to even broach the topic except to posit she wasn’t there enough.
* Sexual relationships in that early period of relaxing standards and sexual freedom. Diminished by her lack of desire to talk about it and an attitude that reads of disapproval after possibly many bad experiences. This is not a topic that works well with detached practicality.
* Being Jewish. Except what’s discussed isn’t about experiences and history, is about the Palestinian-Israel conflict/clusterfuck
* Maintaining a relationship for this long. Except again, not enough of anything about it.
* Engagement in various political movements. Same story.
* Protests. Same story.
So what is here? Some.
-an autobiography of a leading woman in second wave feminism
-a lot of anecdotes about Germaine Greer
-a distaste for pop feminism and the watering down it’s received by becoming a household name
My favorite part of the book is her chapters on aging. This is something a lot of people simply avoid and here it’s been discussed with fear, trepidation, and an attempt at acceptance. At last, emotion.
While much of the content on aging tackles this subject through the change in status of her feminist peers and her own loss of relationships, it’s poignant and it strikes a nerve. Women age badly. We turn 40 and struggle to find relationships, love, sex. Men continue to find sexual partners well into their 60s but for women that’s the exception and not the norm. It’s something a lot of us don’t think about. We avoid it. That won’t happen to me. Either my current partner will last forever or I’ll be blessed with a never ending string of lovers, right? Statistically wrong. And Segal does an admirable job of explaining how incredibly intelligent and beautiful women end up spending their last decades without sexual partners. It’s not a pleasant consideration but it’s an important one. It’s also a sad one, considering the joy to be found in sex, love, sharing.
Overall, this book is a poorly organized mess with a few spots worth reading. Unless you happen to be into dry critique of a lot of things that happened in the past, with very little of the promised look at the present, this book has very little to offer. That aside, I still like Segal a lot and her humor, wit, and practical approach are very much a credit to other books.