Sloane Crosley reviews Lena Dunham’s ‘Not that Kind of Girl’ in NYT:
‘Dunham, for the most part, succeeds in doing this. Her often hilarious book is divided into five sections: “Love & Sex,” “Body,” “Friendship,” “Work” and “Big Picture.” Because we’re dealing with a person and not a food pyramid, these topics quickly bleed outside their self-prescribed boundaries. In the first and longest section, we are introduced to a neurotic, self-pitying girl who enjoys the glimpse sex gives her into her “partner’s subconscious, which was maybe the only time I actually believed anyone besides me even existed.” She feels abnormal, disconnected and friendless. As the book progresses, we learn that she harbors fears of appendicitis, leprosy, headaches, milk, tinnitus and lamp dust. That’s the short list.’
(Read the review here.)
Recently I had a long conversation with somebody who suffers from tinnitus (the driver who drove me to JFK) and tinnitus appeared to me more frightening than a terrorist attack.
But let’s put tinnitus aside for a moment, the concept of sex as a tool to acknowledge the existence of the other is worth taking seriously.