HOW TO BUILD A GIRL- Review (Mild spoilers)

I have a lot of time for Caitlin Moran. I like the way she speaks about the realities of being a woman- the body issues, the physical and emotional truths we face on a daily basis, plus she isn't shy to share about bodily functions! So a fictional novel by her was never going to be about a pretty little ladylike princess, no!

Moran has said HOW TO BUILD A GIRL is entirely fictional but admits that she has drawn inspiration from her past to tell the tale of Johanna Morrigan, a plump and witty girl from a struggling family with five kids in 90's Wolverhampton. Johanna is dissatisfied with her station in life, very much an outcast and desperately horny to boot. Her Mum is plodding through the darkness of post-natal depression, to the point where she hasn't even bothered to name her newborn twins. (Who the siblings have hilariously dubbed David and Mavid.) Her Dad is an aspiring rock star on benefits, wheeling and dealing to stay afloat, and drinking most of what he does earn away down the local boozer.

Johanna has a smart mouth, loves her family and is a witty observer of the human condition. As much as she feels like a square peg, the love for her family is evident, and there is an infectiously warm sense of pride, but her desperation to be kissed, to have sex, to be truly seen is overwhelming. She masturbates furiously and often, pouring all her need into unnatural attachments to hairbrushes and deoderant cannisters. So, in a desperate bid to achieve her sexual goals she creates a new identity called Dolly Wilde, trying to eke out a sexy, grown-up self. After a few fits and starts, she becomes a music critic, using this adventurous, sarcastic and raucous Dolly to write scathing and witty reviews that give her a notorious reputation. (If you know anything about the author this will sound familiar...!) She dresses in black, with heavy boots and a top hat, and the result causes her Mum to label her a 'Fat Crow.' Johanna finally loses her virginity and as well as embarking on various sexual escapades, falls in love with John Kite, a Shane McGowan-esque music star 7 years her senior. But as her new persona takes her on all sorts of debauched and crazy adventures, she realises the truth about growing up- in that, it never really ends.

This was an enjoyable read, packed with down-to-earth humour, and much of the narrative on being a teenage girl, of developing sexuality and identity hit me right in the gut. I identified massively with the awkward, chubby bookworm. But, BUT I think a big part of that was the author's actual personality bursting through, not Johanna Morrigan the character. Even if you hadn't told me this was written by Caitlin Moran, I would have guessed quite quickly. I actually feel she has been more than inspired by her past, that actually Johanna is pretty much a young Moran. That's not a bad thing however! Having read her autobiography HOW TO BE A WOMAN and also following her on Twitter, I am well used to her shouty, often sweary beauty and I love it. Johanna's narrative voice was therefore very familiar so I couldn't help but picture a young Caitlin Moran raving it up in London, and er... dousing her poor cystitis-ridden self in the bath. Johanna was also incredibly articulate for a teenager and although I thoroughly enjoyed her zany, self deprecating and often beautiful philosophical wonderings, it felt a little too sophisticated for a teenager, even a very clever one. Maybe this says more about me than anything else, but at times I just didn't buy that such a girl could exist. (I'm not saying she wouldn't, I just wasn't convinced.) Also, I kind of felt like the resolution of her journey came all too quickly. Dolly falls hard for a posh fittie called Rich, and in a bid to impress him, suggests a threesome with the ex-girlfriend he's still madly in love with. It's at that moment she realises she has built her sexual identity all on a male narrative and not her own, i.e. on how men see her, on how she gives them pleasure. And with that breakthrough, she embarks on deconstucting Dolly Wilde and starting over. But then we don't really get a thorough account of that process, it's almost like 'AndshelivedhappilyeverafterOKBye.' But putting those niggles aside, this is a pleasurable read that can be almost brutal in its account of adolescence. The characters are very real, and funny. The situations described are clearly depicted and accessible. It's just a lot of fun.

I would recommend this book to anyone who likes YA Fiction, but it reads at an older age so adults and older teens alike will very much appreciate this, most likely women. If you had a difficult adolescence, if you struggled with your identity or even had problems getting laid, you will read this book and wince as Moran reaches into the depth of her history and qualifies in exacting, filthy language just what the struggle meant to her (I mean, Johanna!) For those still undergoing the trauma of the teenage years, she offers hope. She doesn't dress it up to be idyllic, but when I finished reading it, I had no doubt that Johanna Morrigan was going to be just fine.

The Future Won't Always Be There.

So last week, on August 6th 2014, my grandmother died. She was 91. She was of sound mind but sadly very frail and had been battling numerous ailments for many years.

My phone rang at around 7:30 in the morning just as I was getting ready to leave to get my passport renewed. It was my mother. I knew straightaway with a horrible bluntness what she was calling to tell me and for a few precious seconds I refused to answer, holding on to the reality that I still lived in a world where my grandma was still with me. When I picked up, Mum spoke and that was that. I don't remember sitting down, I don't remember what I said in reply, I just remember that at some point I started crying and then my husband was holding me as I cried in a way I haven't cried since I was little.

You see, Grandma didn't WANT to die. When elderly people die, we speak of the 'relief' or 'it was time' or 'it's for the best.' Despite her pain, none of that really applied to Grandma. She emphatically wanted to hang around and Have Adventures. Whenever I spoke about holidays, or my life in London, or my work, she would talk like she fancied having a go, as if tomorrow, I'd find her on my doorstep ready to come along for the ride. She wanted to squeeze so much out of this life, despite her health problems. She flirted. Watched movies. Read bodice-ripper novels. Loved to reminisce about her travels all over the world. Drank bottles of wine all to herself. (She didn't have a problem with alcohol, but towards the end I think she just kind of thought... sod it!) Basically, she was like any other woman on the inside, but old and ailing on the outside and I think her refusal to accept that, the way she gripped life by the scruff of the neck and told death to bugger off, is what gave us more time with her.

On her 90th birthday, aware that her time was rapidly running out, we hit the races in Thirsk to celebrate. We had a private box with a delicious buffet and the wine/gin/beer was flowing. There was a betting kiosk right outside our box so we were all running back and forth to lay bets. Grandma had a good start, and I remember one horse won her a decent chunk of change- I think about £30- so of course she wanted to claim her money and get the next bet placed. She cheered and laughed along with the rest of us and fairly skipped to the kiosk to lay the bet. But, of course, thanks to her fraility she couldn't ACTUALLY skip and it was only thanks to the helping hand of my Dad that she didn't going flying over the step that led to the Kiosk. She was so full of joy, and fun, and yet her body nearly stopped play. If she had tripped that would have been a hospital trip, for sure. I later made a joke about how she'd become a drunken gambler and that she'd be chatting up the jockeys if we didn't keep an eye on her. She fixed me with a cheeky stare and told me she loved me. (Her words were something like, it's a good job I love you.)

She really did love me. And how. I honestly think that Grandma believed I could do anything I wanted. If I'd said to her that I wanted to be a supermodel, a doctor, Prime Minister, she would have 100% supported me and probably genuinely believed I'd do it. How amazing is it to be loved that way? And what do you do when that gets taken away from you? She gave me the answer in Christmas 2013, when her husband, my Granddad, was in the last weeks of his life. He was very ill with dementia, and for the past year had been a shadow of his former self, with very little awareness and sadly increasingly less dignity. She spoke of how cruel old age can be and then she grabbed my arm (she had quite a grip...!) and said 'That's why, in this life, you've just got to go for it!' And she really meant it. I think found it all a bit intense for Christmas Day, so I sort of laughed and shrugged, and went 'yeah, yeah.' Then carried on as normal.

I could write forever about my favourite memories of Margaret Harrison, but there are too many moments to mention. But I want to reassure her (and I know she's watching) that I have taken her words to heart, that I will definitely 'Go For It', because one day, when I'm facing the end of my days, I don't want to fret about all the things I haven't done, I just want to remember the ride I took to get me there.