Wetlands

You get the feeling on reading this novel that Charlotte Roche is out to shock. Shock and perhaps disgust you too. Its rather gross account of a young woman's relentless exploration of her own body, its orifices and the abject matter that exudes from them and it is rather dreadful, really. Roche tells us how she likes to wipe her genitals on the seats of public lavatories, to eat the pus she has squeezed from her zits and to, well, all manner of pretty foul stuff that I'll spare you the gory details of. Needless to say, it generated a pretty strong visceral reaction from me. YUCK!

Whats surprising about the reviews of this novel, and I have just browsed a few, is that its actually touted as a feminist project, and maybe even emblematic of gen Y's view of the body female. Once you get past the initial disgust, then yes, I can get that this kind of novel perhaps explores the dogma surrounding hygiene, and in particular the way that hygiene Nazis (the patriarchy) might cast the female anatomy/vagina as a dirty bacteria ridden landscape. So, yes, the book challenges this idea. But really, does it have to leave us with the images of some angst-ridden chick wiping her vitals on a public toilet seat? Im sorry, but I reckon there are better ways of getting the message across...