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A review by hyebitshines
Fear of Flying by Erica Jong
3.0
Reading this felt a lot like reading [b: The Scarlett Letter|7633167|The Scarlett Letter; And, the Blithedale Romance|Nathaniel Hawthorne|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1355086443s/7633167.jpg|21418509]- Beautiful writing (jealousy feels on full blast here) and thought-provoking themes about societal norms. As a story though, it was... mind-numbingly slow. All Isadora seems to do is reflect, reflect, and reflect which ended up being chapter-long musings that reiterated her unhappiness.
Isadora is supposed to be especially special from all her child-bearing, frazzled female counterparts who have embraced the roles that are expected of them. At face-value, it's easy to be repulsed by Isadora who has the most horrifying history of ex-lovers (the composer with shit-streaked sheets almost kicked up my gagging reflex) and has what comes across as a crudely prominent sex-drive that she doesn't shy away from, coining terms like the zipless fuck. For some reason though, I could never fully hate Isadora. I think it was because she was so wholly familiar in her struggles and thoughts, and also because of the very fact that she embodied this crudeness as a taboo sort of woman who stands in opposition of all that womanhood is supposed to be to society. One of the most striking, if not ambivalent conflicts that Isadora struggles with is something that I feel like inherently comes with being a woman, finally put into words:
"Oh I talk a good game, and I even think I believe it, but secretly, I'm like the girl in Story of O . I want to submit to some big brute. 'Every woman adores a fascist,' as Sylvia Plath says. I feel guilty for writing poems when I should be cooking. I feel guilty or everything. You don't have to beat a woman if you can make her feel guilty. That's Isadora Wing's first principle of the war between the sexes. Women are their own worst enemies. And guilt is the main weapon of self-torture."
This book broached on scandalous, even taboo topics beautifully... but I founds its tone of realism to be flat and at times, one pointless spewl that had no end. There wasn't a balance of plot and theme... it was one philosophical rambling that started in the middle and faded off with a question mark. While I concede that it is a book worth reading, I left the book feeling relieved. The world of Isadora Wing is bitter and servers but lacks that something, that allure to leave me flabbergasted with awe and yearning to fall back into its intoxicating hold. I'm just left scratching my head, with some quirky and enlightening life advice, and still trying to figure out if this book was genius or pretentiousness o3o
Fin.
Isadora is supposed to be especially special from all her child-bearing, frazzled female counterparts who have embraced the roles that are expected of them. At face-value, it's easy to be repulsed by Isadora who has the most horrifying history of ex-lovers (the composer with shit-streaked sheets almost kicked up my gagging reflex) and has what comes across as a crudely prominent sex-drive that she doesn't shy away from, coining terms like the zipless fuck. For some reason though, I could never fully hate Isadora. I think it was because she was so wholly familiar in her struggles and thoughts, and also because of the very fact that she embodied this crudeness as a taboo sort of woman who stands in opposition of all that womanhood is supposed to be to society. One of the most striking, if not ambivalent conflicts that Isadora struggles with is something that I feel like inherently comes with being a woman, finally put into words:
"Oh I talk a good game, and I even think I believe it, but secretly, I'm like the girl in Story of O . I want to submit to some big brute. 'Every woman adores a fascist,' as Sylvia Plath says. I feel guilty for writing poems when I should be cooking. I feel guilty or everything. You don't have to beat a woman if you can make her feel guilty. That's Isadora Wing's first principle of the war between the sexes. Women are their own worst enemies. And guilt is the main weapon of self-torture."
This book broached on scandalous, even taboo topics beautifully... but I founds its tone of realism to be flat and at times, one pointless spewl that had no end. There wasn't a balance of plot and theme... it was one philosophical rambling that started in the middle and faded off with a question mark. While I concede that it is a book worth reading, I left the book feeling relieved. The world of Isadora Wing is bitter and servers but lacks that something, that allure to leave me flabbergasted with awe and yearning to fall back into its intoxicating hold. I'm just left scratching my head, with some quirky and enlightening life advice, and still trying to figure out if this book was genius or pretentiousness o3o
Fin.