One thing Anna Burns, author of the prizewinning 2018 novel Milkman, does astonishingly well in the book is to portray the scary, unsettling realities of being young.

So many novels glamorize youth. One can find so many confident youngsters in books. They know how to make tough decisions, they know how to make and keep friends, and they know how to relax while alone. And they never, ever have an awkward conversation—unless of course it’s perfectly staged and thus not awkward at all.

One might argue that all of these well-adjusted kids should serve as good role models for all the less-adjusted kids of the real world. But this will only be true if those real-world kids don’t see through the farce. And this will only be true if the less-adjusted kids are not actually all that different from the well-adjusted ones. For the kid who’s mainly adjusted, but needs a few tweaks, sure. Such lucky kids might be able to see a better version of themselves in the heroic kids in books. But for the kid with big issues—and what kid has no big issues?!—even the most realistic novels can seem like farfetched fantasies.

I am probably biased in this matter, having grown up as one of those less-adjusted kids myself. Not to mention one of those less-adjusted adults. So for me, it is a relief to read a novel that keeps it real in the areas of social awareness, personal awareness, and level of mutual affinity to one’s world when one hasn’t been in it for all that long.

The protagonist of Milkman is an adult, but only barely so. I could very much identify with her social-emotional state at that age, as described in this passage:

“At eighteen I had no proper understanding of the ways that constituted encroachment. I had a feeling for them, an intuition, a sense of repugnance for some situations and some people, but I did not know intuition and repugnance counted, did not know I had a right not to like, not to have to put up with, anybody and everybody coming near.”

(Yes, she is referring to the man who appeared and drove up in one of his cars, as mentioned in my last blog post.)

Before closing today, I would like to mention that the author keeps it real in other ways, as well—most notably as regards politics. While the terms “Ireland” and “Catholic” are not used even once in the book, Burns is brilliant about making her setting clear. The protagonist, against her will, for she’d rather hide within her nineteenth-century novels, is embroiled in all the politics of her place and time. Burns does not sugarcoat the hard truths of this place and time. Additionally, she tells her story with great respect for humanity, in all its strangeness and variety.

How well adjusted were you as a kid? How well adjusted were you as an adult?

Just as the illustrator of these Parisian women of the late 1800s wearing fashionable hats did a brilliant job of capturing the nuanced variety of the attire, Émile Zola did a brilliant job of capturing nuances of the nineteenth-century female experience in his novel The Ladies’ Paradise.

Moreover, as in his descriptions of large versus small businesses, the themes he describes are universal—and astoundingly applicable to the world today. Take, for example, this description:

“She could not go downstairs to buy a candle . . . without feeling a warm breath behind her, and hearing crude, insulting remarks; and the men pursued her to the very end of the dark passage . . .”

Replace “candle” with “pizza” or another modern consumable, and . . . #MeToo, anyone?

Oddly, the description on the back of my paperback copy pretends that the male big business owner is the protagonist. The description does not mention the actual protagonist—a woman—at all! This, along with the omission of the word “Ladies'” from the title, makes me suspect that the marketer of this edition was trying to scrub it of its female-oriented qualities. Do books about men sell better than books about women? At least the photo on the cover accurately depicts the content: a young woman in a fancy dress stands behind a counter, assisting two female customers in even fancier attire.

In any case, without a doubt, this is a book about women. It’s a book about women and consumerism; women and beauty; and women and manipulation, sex, and power. It’s a book about relations between women and men and between women and women. It’s a book about intelligent women and frivolous women; about women who abide by the dictates of society and women who abide by their hearts and minds.

Somehow, through the amazing and very human powers of observation and imagination, Zola, though a man himself, has captured some important truths about womankind. I won’t give them away here. I will note, however, that the protagonist is wonderful. She has her faults, as do we all, but she also has many admirable qualities. On the whole, I think you will love her. I hope you get the opportunity to meet her one day!

What different metaphorical hats have you noticed twenty-first-century women wearing?

Hair styling. Nail painting. Clothes and accessories shopping. Laser treatments. Balancing on heels. Cosmetic surgery. Shaving. Tanning. Dermal fillers. Walking up stairs in a long skirt without tripping. Dieting. Make-up application. Botox. Walking down stairs in a short skirt without flashing anyone. The list of things people do for beauty goes on and on.

In the book Perfect Me, Heather Widdows argues that both women and men worldwide are experiencing increasing societal pressure to do more than ever for the sake of exterior appearance. She notes that women are expected to do more, more costly, and more time-consuming beauty tasks than men. But she also points out that the problem does not end with inequality:

“The problems with the increasing demands of beauty are not just that they are demanded more of one gender than another but the nature of the demands.”

In other words, keeping the beauty standards of women the same while ramping up the beauty standards of men will not result in a better world. The beauty standards are already troublingly high, Widdows says. She calculates that if a person spends 20 minutes a day on beauty between the ages of 15 and 75, that adds up to almost a solid year of beauty-related tasks over a lifetime. Furthermore, she notes, studies have shown that the average woman in the U.S. and U.K. spends about double that daily amount of time.

And then there is the monetary cost of all this beautifying, as well as the opportunity cost of all the things people could spend their time and money on instead. So we’re all on an accelerating roller coaster, unable to jump off without real-world consequences, but also struggling to hang on.

In what ways do you bend over backwards for beauty? Is it worth the time, money, and opportunity cost?