This is a fictionalized modern diary, which according to one reviewer, is based on the artist's own artist friends in Toronto. All I can say is 'TMI'. It is a book with no frontal lobe inhibitions what so ever. It is probably the way a diary would read if you were still grappling with growing up in your early 20's and being completely honest, meaning you do not filter all your thoughts and behaviors through a mirror of how you want it to look.
There is no attempt to look good here. The women in the book are so far from feminism it is scary. They perform a prodigious number of blow jobs, and they really do not appear to enjoy them. They are doing what they think men want rather than what they want. They may be right about what is desired, but it is not good sex. It is sad sex. And for me, it was painful sex to read about. Yuck. When you are young you should really adhere to what you enjoy and what makes you happy. Then you should stay that way as you grow older. Compromising so significantly so early in life just seems gloomy. But it is very well written gloom, which gets into the head of women.
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