This is the opening of King Kong Theory, Virginie Despentes’ honest-to badness, make-you-stand-up-and-bellow book that renders the American feminists of my lifetime – screw you Naomi Wolff, fie on you Susan Faludi, be gone Lipstick Proviso, put a sock in it Bitch Wurtzel–the anemic pretenders I have always known them to be:
“I am writing as an ugly one for the ugly ones: the old hags, the dykes, the frigid, the unfucked, the unfuckables, the neurotics, the psychos, for all those girls who don’t get a look in the universal market of the consumable chick. I’m making no excuses for myself. I’m not complaining. I would never swap places, because it seems to me that being Virginie Despentes is a more interesting business than anything else going on out there.”
I ask you, can you turn away from an opening like that? If you are a self-respecting female in the year 2010, can you honestly say you don’t know what she’s talking about? Okay maybe you don’t know if you want to be Virginie, maybe you don’t think being a rape victim, or a prostitute, or a peep show model is YOU. So why do I feel such soul ache at those lines? Read this book. Read this book. Read this book. It will say all the things you’ve known all along but have been a little scared to think, let alone say, let alone write down and publish.