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A thought as a preamble … The copy I have from the library I have has a celebratory quote from J.K.Rowling front and centre of the cover, which given the ongoing outcry about her views on Trans people I guess the publisher might now reconsider. Since finishing the book, there has also been criticism for Robert Webb, who some time ago tweeted that the charity Mermaids “sucks”, but also more recently in an interview declined to distance himself from the tweet – none of which seems to fit with the underlying message I took from the book, ie that our current gender norms are essentially destructive. But it is also interesting that in their report of this Pink News referred to him as a Cambridge Educated Millionaire – this fact seemingly deployed to de-legitimise his ability to past comment - an awkward piece of inverted snobbery, being educated at Cambridge and/or a millionaire are not qualifications to speak on Trans issues, but neither would they, in themselves, appear to be disqualifications.
I have been putting off writing up this book as it touched more than one nerve, but it also it doesn’t seem to have settled. The narrative arc is one of poor boy made good, that Webb makes it to Cambridge, and then makes it as an actor and writers, is achieved against the odds – some the odds of circumstance and some, as he admits, self-inflicted. It is a beguiling tale in which Webb includes sufficient self-flagellation to remain a sympathetic character but there is a lingering unease that I can’t quiet place. Maybe just that it appears to be written in a moment of hope and contentment, but life doesn’t end come to such a tidy state, there is ebb and flow – where will the cycle go next?
The are two key themes, one about the ways insecurity, in general, plays out in counter-productive behaviours, and the other about the special role of the dysfunctions of masculinity play in that.
It is not a new reflection that “...if you’re especially frightened and insecure… then membership of the in-group is best secured by showing the maximum contempt for an out-group...” (p54) – this can be seen on the inter-personal and the geopolitical scale – talk of Reds under the Bed spoke more about America insecurities than it ever did about a Soviet threat. But it is interesting to get this rounded account of how that truth has been playing out in an individual’s life.
There were some points of common experience, such as our hair, and a nagging jealously of those with easy to manage hair, which will causally flop into place, meanwhile it is true for us that we could both say “I’ve lost my angelic curls, thanks God, but if I try to grow my hair long it just gets frizzy and big...” (p128). And also, those that I was at University with were amazed that I could go on a “night out” before an exam, as Webb says “I’m pretty sure I’m handling this exam pressure brilliantly by pretending to feel no such thing.” (p276) before recounted various physical manifestations of the stress which were familiar to me.
In many ways these could seem insignificant but are part of a wider picture of an undercurrent of insecurity. These then move from an undercurrent to an acute issue for him as a result of specific life events, most significantly the early death of his Mother – this book appears to be a major cathartic response to that.
Then turn to the dysfunctions of masculinity. He takes issue with “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus”, and the many other books of its like, as they exist “not to question the different expectations placed on men and women: they’re there to excuse and reinforce them, usually with a truckload of hokey metaphors and dodgy-looking science.” (p295). It is sad that as a culture we continue to embed gender stereotypes on children from their earliest moments, god-awful gender reveal parties being just the tip of a destructive iceberg. Where the stereotypes are challenged at all it is generally in terms to encouraging girls to aspire to “male-dominated” work roles – commendable as that is it we are not simultaneously empowering boys to aspire to “female-dominated” work roles the task will always remain incomplete. One of the things that I dislike about Strictly Come Dancing is the constant need for them to make Ore Oduba apologise for crying on the show – it might be wrapped in a light-hearted “banter” but the message remains clear real men don’t cry...
It may be a dip dip dip but it has real consequences – be it violence against women or the rates of young male suicide – as a society we need to be actively tackling this – it causes the isolation that many men experience - “Masculine insistence on competition and one-upmanship didn’t make a genuine friendship impossible, but, to put it mildly, that really didn’t help at all.” (p 86) – the protective power of friendship, the friend that can call out destructive behaviour, is too often absent.
Webb sums this up says “I promise I am not being wilfully dense about this. I don’t know what the words ‘masculinity’ and ‘femininity’ have to offer. Avoiding them, we still have a massive language… [which can describe people without being] … pre-loaded with a steam tanker of gender manure from the last century.” (p87)
He is self-critical for his own tendency to be drawn in to social media point scoring – which probably brings us round to the preamble again - in the polarised world of social media, we are increasingly encouraged to think of them and us, you are either right or wrong, a good person or a bad, the shade of grey, the complex, the nuance is denied. Reflecting on his relationship with his Father, how far their lives and their views diverged, but the love that held them together he sees it as a “kind of forced empathy that villages, not just families, are rather good at.” (p308) – throw together you have to get along, get over the difference – you can’t retreat to the echo chamber.
He also reflects, uncomfortably, about his drinking – while I was reading this that was a mirror held up too close to home.
To end a poem written by his wife, Abbie
Wedding Day
This, they say, is the best it gets -
this glorious day, so let’s
have this glorious day and kiss Goodnight,
and wake up hungover and fight.
And make up and kiss Goodnight,
and wake up and make jokes:
some good, and make plans
and kiss Goodnight and sleep
and hold hands.
And wake up and insist and be wrong
and laugh like monkeys, without understanding, and be right.
And then let’s kiss
and kiss
and kiss
and kiss
and kiss
and kiss Goodnight,
and sleep
and keep each other warm
and wake up
and take up each other’s cause
and forsake all others, for as long as the light lasts.
And then let’s kiss our last Goodnight
And oh! Christ let me dream of your sweet face then.
