Princess Direst?

There are many battle lines drawn to divide the sexes, but the one that's worried me most in recent years is that in the toy shop.  I know I'm fairly old and quite absent minded, but was there really always such an obvious difference between toys aimed at girls and toys aimed at boys?  Just as I thought I might be seeing my own childhood through rose tinted specs, along came 'Cinderella Ate My Daughter' by American journalist, author and parent Peggy Orenstein, a book which asks the very same question.

'Cinderella Ate My Daughter' is Ms Orenstein's exploration of 'princess' culture, its origins and

'Cinderella Ate My Daughter'
by Peggy Orenstein
(Harper, 2012)

whether it's really as bad as it seems.  As a mother, she's worried by the impact of girly girl culture on her daughter's character and ambitions.  As a vocal feminist and writer, she finds her own world view and reputation are being challenged. Orenstein dives in at the deep end, going to junior beauty pageants, a Miley Cyrus concert and upmarket doll shops (complete with beauty parlour), as well as hanging out with social media obsessed preteens.  But can she get beyond the glitter and froth to the facts that matter?

I really enjoyed this book.  Admittedly, it was on a topic that interested me, but it was also written in an accessible style by someone who clearly found the apparently sudden emergence of extreme princess culture as baffling as I do.  Through the book, Orenstein muses on the topic in an open minded way, trying to draw conclusions that are both rooted in real evidence (rather than hard line reactionism) and pragmatic, recognising peer pressure and that a simple 'No' is not always the best answer.

There are probably a good proportion of parents who have had similar worries to Orenstein about whether princess culture is narrowing their daughters' futures, even condemning them to a life chasing unrealistic expectations about their looks and relationships.  This book is written from that perspective and, as such, I would recommend it to them as a good read.  It's debatable whether any firm conclusions are drawn, but at least it offers food for thought and makes you realise you're not the only one questioning the giant, pink marketing tsunami that's determined to sweep all girls into a narrow target group.

What I would really like to see next from Ms. Orenstein is a companion work about the boys.  For every pink and glittery aisle there's a blue and mechanical one which is arguably just as restrictive.  Why should shoving girls in a box be any worse than shoving boys in one?

If you're someone with female children or an interest in this topic, I recommend this book.  While it doesn't necessarily give you answers, it does give you information, and in the least will leave you feeling empowered enough to tell the princess to push off once in a while.

Now, what next...

Our House

Earlier this week, I finished reading 'The Miniaturist' by Jessie Burton.  Burton's first book has caused quite a stir, gaining many passionate fans and winning the Waterstones' Book of the Year title.  This should've reassured me, but I couldn't ignore the niggle in the pit of my stomach telling me not to get my hopes up too much...

'The Miniaturist' by Jessie Burton
(Picador, 2014)

'The Miniaturist' is set in late 1600s Amsterdam at a time when capitalism, faith and superstition are in constant conflict, building walls and expectations between people and families. Eighteen year old Nella arrives in the city eager to begin life with her new husband, the merchant Johannes Brandt. But her reception is unexpectedly cold; Johannes is absent and neither her aloof sister-in-law Marin nor the household servants Cornelia and Otto make her welcome.  Before long, Nella feels unwanted and useless, a mere bauble to demonstrate her husband's success, her hopes of children and love whithering away.  In an attempt at kindness, Johannes buys her a cabinet containing a replica of their own home, perhaps hoping to paint over the cracks in their relationship.  With little else to do, Nella decides to furnish it and begins placing orders with a miniaturist.  But when unrequested furniture and figurines start arriving which suggest more is going on in the real household than Nella realises, she determines to find out more about the elusive artisan...

I'm delighted to say that 'The Miniaturist' is an excellent book.  It's easy to identify with Nella, the stranger in a strange city, and I found it impossible to abandon her, especially once the web of secrets surrounding the Brandt household began to unravel.  Events are heartbreaking and raw, but the young bride is made of sterner stuff than even she realises and the reader roots for her to the very last page.

The story is expertly crafted, full of characters with public images often at odds with their private passions and grand designs.  Despite everything, the book manages to end with hope.  In the hands of a lesser writer, it could easily have become depressing.  Instead, it has all the tension of a thriller, the tenderness of a romance and the texture of an historical drama.

Complex, unexpected and sometimes shocking, 'The Miniaturist' is a book for people who like ideas and stories which make them think, stories which leave room for mystery and don't necessarily answer every question.  If that sounds like you, then it is highly recommended.

It's hard to believe that this is Ms Burton's first novel and I eagerly await her next.  Although I really do need to read a few more books first!

Now for a trip back to Anglo-Saxon Englaland with everyone's favourite war lord...