Claire D. Simone moved to the UK from her native Paris at the age of 25. She was sad to leave behind the French cuisine and way of life she loved.
But she has never regretted escaping the public transport strikes and sexism of French society.
By day she works as an accountant. At night, she is a writer.
Her first literary offering, ‘That’s What Women Do’, is shot through with the anecdotes about family life she has been jotting down ever since she was a teenager.
I am a Feminist. Early on in life, I set off on a crusade against bullshit in general and misogyny in particular.
Having to fight a constant battle wherever I go to carve my rightful place in the world, when the same place just falls onto men’s laps at birth, riles me beyond words.
But it has to be done. This is about my clumsy, lifelong attempt at tackling the thorny issue of my rights as a woman.
From the perils of peeing like a boy, the absurdity of sweeping the patio with a hairless broom, to standing up for the right to not use my reproductive apparatus out of a sense of duty, you name it, I’ve done it (and it’s a work in progress).
‘THAT’S WHAT WOMEN DO’, by Clare D. Simone
This is a funny, insightful, well-written book.
It has an edge that holds interest and an ease of writing that makes for a speedy, pleasant read.
The author thinks we men have it good and know it – we’re not the kind, generous, handsome princes we lead women to believe we are in the first flush of a relationship.
As she tells it, the woman eventually realises in horror that her man is selfish, self-indulgent and only looking for a live-in servant to give him male offspring.
His purpose, she opines, is to indoctrinate his sons in the ways of male superiority to perpetuate the iniquity.
Naturally, he is after all the sex he can get, preferably involving exotic lingerie and high heels. And, Claire believes, he expects it whenever he wants it and to always get it on his own terms.
She feels this man regards his vast porno library as a birthright and sees nothing wrong in mentally dining out when he should be eating at home . . . as it were.