Science... For Her!

Science...For Her! - Megan Amram

(I got an ARC through NetGalley, in exchange for an honest review.)

I was hoping this one would be funny, with pokes to some "girly" magazines and their "silly" articles, yet also real scientific data in it—like a textbook with serious information, only in the shape of articles, lists of tips, etc.

It wasn't the case. It only looked the part... until I started reading it.

Science here was reduced to a bare minimum. Nothing any high-schooler wouldn't know, nothing really interesting, nothing to learn here. So the Earth is orbiting around the sun: big news. Reproduction: I learnt more about it in the anatomy book I got when I was 7. Either you really don't know much about science and this is going to be useless, or you already know a bit, and it won't be of any use to you. If there's a middle-ground in that muddle, it's a very thin and invisible one.

The rest didn't save the book: it was just too heavy-handed to my taste. Like using plaster coating instead of foundation. Too full of fat jokes, rape jokes, wife-beating jokes, mean jokes, tasteless jokes in general, that went on for far too long, again and again and again. After the Nth iteration of "I can't get over my boyfriend" and "here's a dick" and "fat ugly bitch" and so on, I was glad I had had a few drinks in me to keep on reading. (Note: I'm only a social drinker, and a moderate one at that. When I need booze to get me through a book, it's bad, bad news.)

There's humour, satire and political incorrectness... and then there's just too heavy and thick to bear. Hey, wait. Thickium: the one element you won't find on the periodic table, because it's atomic number is so high it actually fell off said table. See? I can do science, too.

It takes real skill to properly satirise any subject. I don't think that skill was anywhere to be found here. In the end, I just wasted my time. (And probably would have wasted it much less if I had read an actual issue of Marie Claire, Elle, or whatever, instead. Unless the US versions of those magazines are really so much worse than the French ones, in which case I won't ever touch them with a ten-foot pole.