Whip Smart: A MemoirPlot spoiler warning!
I typically do not like or trust memoir as a genre. As a writer/artist, I take issue with the memoir claim that it is "true" or more truthful than creative non fiction. I find the opposite to be true. Memoirs are often times prefaced that they are a retelling of events in a creative way, and are skewed, jumbled, out of time with the actual events, and combine people to make the story more coherent and cohesive. Well, that's creative non fiction. And, memory is faulty. Memory alone creates some of the best non published works.
Memoir is a setup for the contrived "turning point" wherein the protagonist redeems her or himself, typically finds God, and in this case like so many others, finds a good man to make her life complete. I'm not applauding, Febos, you're pandering to get published.
The start of the book was very promising but the language became very bulky/overdone and stuck to that type of writing that I find tedious - telling us, not taking us there to experience it. All those creatively worded sentences seemed to pack a punch - but when I stopped to think about them, break them down, analyze them - they really didn't have any meaning. I know all the big words, but transporting me to an experience is much more powerful. Instead, I felt turned off and I started to really dislike Melissa/Justine. Was that Febos' goal? No, I don't think I can give her that much credit as an author. It is evident that she was instead trying to control and impress us, to be righteous, to be smarter. It was cold and did not further the art.
The story was a familiar tale of the Feminine Mystique. I felt duped into being intrigued and hoping for more, but what I got was a self-victimizing control freak who was obsessed with her relationships with men, her sexuality/being perceived and valued as sexy and powerful, and a painful floundering in abject poverty of love, insight, and self acceptance in order to appear independent.
She made herself out to be a genius. That's the trouble with talking about yourself and writing a "memoir" with a turning point and all the self-discovered resolutions. Lots of women get 3.9 GPAs under extremely adverse conditions (that they did not choose) and with far less resources. I didn't care to keep hearing it over and over. I never saw her struggle with it. We only heard her take it for granted that she would do well. We never went to class with the dayshift domming Melissa. It seemed superfluous, like she was taking the opportunity to be superior, but without proof. To brag. Again, I doubt this was an artistic intention. I was actually happy to hear Melissa got turned down to those first four grad schools. Finally, it seemed, something real. That's real-life. The monotonous job with the horrid office manager and the feeling that there is no end, no way out was more interesting than the should I/shouldn't I leave well enough alone with the dungeon.
As the story neared the end, the text got denser (with less actual meaning), the shared experiences became fewer, and the self congratulatory spirit became more prominent. Melissa found her answers, she turned to a higher power, she got her dream job of teaching and published writer, she lunched with her pregnant ex domme friend, and giggled over fond memories of torturing people. But, the part that made it all terribly impossible for me to embrace was that her happiness, resolve, and purpose hinged on Barrett - that most awesomely different and loving relationship, unlike any other she'd ever had. Really? Shame on you, Febos. It isn't that I wanted Melissa to be unhappy, fail, remain a domme, relapse on cocaine and/or heroin, or divulge more lurid sex tales from the darkness - not at all...well, maybe a bit (the turn of power with Larry was really interesting and I was imagining that perhaps a near death experience as his sub would be the crux of change). I just have to say, if you're gonna contrive a turning point and "make it all worth something", I'd think that as a good writer, an Alumna of a women's college, a self-proclaimed Feminist and intellectual, you wouldn't hinge it all on a neatly-summed-up-suburban-romantic-relationship (all by the ripe age of...what, 29?).
I'd like to edit this book. I'd like to flog it a bit. I wonder if there will be a follow up in about 15 years. That, I would like to read. Perhaps it will be classified as creative non-fiction and we will get more truth, less market-driven schmaltz.
I give it three stars because I did find the opening captivating and promising. Some of the simple sentences were breathtaking. The description of panic (in the ocean) was chilling. And there were other moments when Febos "let go" - where the prose was more experimental, less rigid, fluid, and took me there.
I take two stars away for the pandering drivel, not taking us there (she was dating? she had a live-in bf? what?), heavy use of the words mesmerize/ing and vegetarianism and vestibule (we get it - dungeon/BDSM, OK, OK, OK), the many typos/syntax/improper word choices and convoluted language, and for using "oversize" instead of "oversized".
Whip Smart: A Memoir
