As a sexual assault therapist, one of my teen clients once told me: "What gets you a slutty reputation is not what you do or how many times you do it," she replied, "but who you do it *with.*"
This, it seems to me, is a central message of Dobie's insightful memoir: When it comes to girls and sexuality, image is everything. What Dobie-a naïve 14-year-old from a "good" Catholic family-does not understand is that reputation is all-important and there are different rules for boys and girls. She thinks that she can be one of the boys, that she can be accepted into their wild and unruly democracy. She wants to live the life her father lives, "a large life filled with drama." She wants to act, while simultaneously being acted upon-both the subject and object of desire. Even though she recognizes that women's sexuality is viewed with equal parts attraction and revulsion, she holds to the belief that she can "reap the desire and dodge the loathing."
Dobie's book is about *a* sexual assault, yes, but it is about so much more than that. It is about being both insider and outsider; about the kindness and cruelty of peers; about the uniqueness of a young girl's desire; about being white and non-working-class; about "bad" boys and the contradictory expectations for men in American culture. It is about two years of one girl's life in a large family in a small town in the 1960's.
If the goal of good writing is, as Anne Lamott says, "to turn the unspeakable into words-not just into any words, but if we can, into rhythm and blues," then Dobie has done just that. Her language is lyrical and specific, laced with details that capture the mood and setting of each freshly-exposed experience.
The book does not aspire to the rough and randy humor of Mary Karr's "The Liar's Club," or the wry wittiness of Haven Kimmel's "A Girl Named Zippy" or the hardscrabble power of "Mama's Girl" by Veronica Chambers. In terms of subject matter, it is similar to Naomi Woolf's "Promiscuities," Deborah Kogan's "Shutterbabe," and Laurie Anderson's deftly-handled novel, "Speak."
This is a memoir not so much about the perils of sexuality and risk-taking as about learning the limitations of femaleness in a hyper-masculinized culture. Those who think it is all about trauma are missing the point. Dobie bears witness to the possibility of accommodating to life in a woman's body-acquainted with but uncontained by fear.