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rdoskocil 's review for:
The Woman in Me
by Britney Spears
I sincerely hope, after everything she’s endured, that Britney’s newfound freedom will help her truly discover the woman within. It’s amazing to see her story come across this way; her ghostwriters did a tremendous job of capturing her voice. And her voice may be one of the most tragic elements of this book.
Much of it reads like a little girl trying to explain to a grownup why she got in trouble. She uses infantilizing terms like “my little heart” frequently, and has an ongoing need to assert she’s trying to be good, or knows during some of her more chaotic times, she was being “really bad.”
That’s not a judgment. It stands to reason after a lifetime of control from record labels, handlers, and eventually her sociopathic father, she would be mired in a childlike psychological state. She needs grace now, more than anything. The grace to make mistakes, to choose for herself, and find her own lighted way to womanhood.
That said, there is a lot missing from this book. Most of the heaviest times of her life are glossed over, and often it feels like she’s eluding the truth to convince us of her innocence. Confessionals like this need to strike a balance between driving empathy and admitting culpability. I’m not saying she’s guilty of anything—the press has been ugly enough toward her on that front—but I do feel like she’s still holding back, or still distrusting of her own freedom to speak.
Much of it reads like a little girl trying to explain to a grownup why she got in trouble. She uses infantilizing terms like “my little heart” frequently, and has an ongoing need to assert she’s trying to be good, or knows during some of her more chaotic times, she was being “really bad.”
That’s not a judgment. It stands to reason after a lifetime of control from record labels, handlers, and eventually her sociopathic father, she would be mired in a childlike psychological state. She needs grace now, more than anything. The grace to make mistakes, to choose for herself, and find her own lighted way to womanhood.
That said, there is a lot missing from this book. Most of the heaviest times of her life are glossed over, and often it feels like she’s eluding the truth to convince us of her innocence. Confessionals like this need to strike a balance between driving empathy and admitting culpability. I’m not saying she’s guilty of anything—the press has been ugly enough toward her on that front—but I do feel like she’s still holding back, or still distrusting of her own freedom to speak.