[The Female Man] is not a novel—it's a scream of anger, sustained for 214 pages. It's unfair, it's maddening, it's depressing. I hated it for months after I read it.
There's no plot, just four women whose names begin with "J" (Joanna, Jeannine, Janet and Jael) free-floating through a mirror-maze of events and characters. Some of the book is set in the present, some in a recognizable future, some in alternate presents and futures. Hatred of men is the only element that holds it together….
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