Well, what about men? Caitlin Moran’s love letter to masculinity

Gender writing that’s gracious and full of hope. Krish Kandiah reviews Caitlin Moran’s What about Men? Part of the Problem with Men series.

Krish Kandiah

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

Four men stand silhoutted against a sunset, One stands apart on their phone.

Meilisa Dwi Nurdiyanti on Unsplash.

The first time I met the award-winning Times columnist Caitlin Moran, it was in her home, and she cooked me soup. She couldn’t have been more hospitable, which was particularly appreciated as we had met to talk about advocacy and hospitality for refugees. I found her personable, funny, helpful, and extremely well-connected.

Despite my deep respect and appreciation for Moran and her writing, I have to admit to being sceptical about her latest book What about Men? published by Ebury Press. It’s a brave thing for a woman to write a book about men. As a married Asian man I wouldn’t dare to even consider writing a book about what it means to be a woman, or white, or single. Yet somehow Moran has done the impossible: she has written a book that is both feminist and masculinist, both refreshing and disturbing, both gracious and frank.

For a start Moran makes no apology for being a woman, or for writing a book aimed squarely for white straight men, or for dropping the “F bomb” on almost every page, or for speaking explicitly and frequently about sex, genitalia and orgasms. She delves into thorny and controversial issues such as toxic masculinity, rape culture, false allegations, and pornography, as well as giving her opinions on men’s health, communication, loneliness, friendships and fear of death. Moran writes with unshockable candour and yet somehow does so with a lightness of touch, humility and generosity.

Moran shows us that we don’t live a zero-sum game: in order for women to win men don’t have to lose and vice-a-versa.

Here are the five main things that I appreciated about this book:

1. It is laugh out-loud funny

There’s no denying it, Caitlin Moran is a brilliant writer. Some of the chapters read like observational comedy resonating rather too accurately with my own experience. Moran has made great use of her large Twitter following and wide male friendship group to provide testimonial and anecdotal evidence for the issue in question, inserting their stories with the perfect comic touch.

2. It is uncannily resonant

Despite being born in Des Moines, Iowa, Bill Bryson has become a national treasure in the UK, writing not just one, but numerous books about the English. His outsider perspective helps us Brits to see ourselves through the eyes of those around. Similarly, Moran’s book about masculinity is so brilliant exactly because she is not a man. She cuts through what others would overlook, asking more interesting questions, and pointing to wholly different ways forward.

3. It makes peace in the gender war

Moran’s honesty and humility offers us a model of how to transcend the culture wars without avoiding the difficult conversations. Her book suggests that men and women can bring the best out of each other by celebrating our differences. Moran shows us that we don’t live a zero-sum game: in order for women to win men don’t have to lose and vice-a-versa. She offers a vision of a different way for men and women to relate to each other. As a firm believer in the power, possibility and pursuit of peace whether in the Russia-Ukraine war or the politically-driven culture war or the subtleties of gender war, I sincerely appreciated her efforts.

4. It celebrates good masculinity

Moran believes our society will be happier and healthier if men and women find ways to celebrate and appreciate one another. It was this line in her book that struck me as a vital perspective:

“There should be no shame in being a man. Being made to feel shame for how you are born is something every other progressive movement is trying to remove and trying to impose it on the one group that didn't until recently feel shame; straight white men, benefits no one.”

5. It is hopeful

It’s been a long time since I have read something about gender which was as full of hope as this book is. Sadly, many books in this field are written in a bid to fight one’s corner, including those coming from the church. Moran’s posture offers us a much-needed challenge. If an outspoken feminist, who claims to have only stepped inside a church once in her life, (apparently for Rev Richard Coles’ last service in his parish) has no fear of showing support to men and their rights, or of promoting a Christian sexual ethic of commitment before sex, or of seeking to find a peaceful resolution to the gender wars, how much more should Christians be willing to do the same?

My one and only issue with the book was when it tended to lapse into stereotypes. Being the sort of man who doesn’t like to fix things (I wish I did and I could), and who doesn’t find it hard to express emotions (have I overshared already?) and who does care about my appearance (check out my latest charity shop find!) I sometimes felt a little misunderstood. Or even worse, unintentionally pigeonholed as not really being Caitlin’s idea of what a man is. This is one of the biggest challenges of anyone writing about gender, how to do so without either reinforcing stereotypes or ignoring genuine difference.

My overall impression is that this book reads like a love letter to masculinity. Take this powerful paragraph from Moran’s last chapter:

“I wish for any man, or boy, everything I have wished for my daughters: that they can be proud of who they were born as; that this will never be a burden to them; that they can appear as they like; that they understand both their own pain, and that of others; that they can love out loud with their whole hearts, because they understand that love is a verb – a doing word; and that they never belittle or destroy what they envy, but recognise it for what it is: almost certainly, a future you wish for yourself.”

That quote reminded me of St Paul’s defining of love in a letter to Corinthians. It sets a high bar, but I believe it is both aspirational and achievable. I would love to see sentiments like this coming out of the church too, with similar books that can transcend the cultural flashpoints and offer great hope to all who need it.

Review

Culture

Film & TV

Hospitality

7 November 2024

4 min read

The Paddington paradox

With a tip of his hat, he brings a trace of grace to every life he touches.

Krish Kandiah

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

A cartoon bear, wearing a blue duffel coat and red hat, rests his arms on a rock against a mountainous background

Paddington ponders Peru.

StudioCanal.

It appears that Paddington, the nation’s favourite unaccompanied asylum-seeking bear, has finally been issued with a British Passport, 66 years after stowing away on a boat from South America and two years after eating marmalade sandwiches with Queen Elizabeth II on her Platinum Jubilee. In the brand-new film Paddington in Peru, we discover what happens when he uses his passport to return to his country of birth to visit his old Aunt Lucy.

Will Paddington be reunited with the kind-hearted bear who brought him up after he was orphaned in an earthquake? Where will this leave the Brown family, who have been fostering him for the best part of seven decades? Indeed, where will it leave the rest of us who have embraced Paddington as one of our own? Will Paddington even return to 32 Windsor Gardens, London?

It is not only his address and passport that evidence Paddington’s Britishness. This bear, who has captured the hearts of children and adults alike, has become as quintessential a British icon as Harry Potter and James Bond. This despite his Latino heritage, his status as an unaccompanied asylum-seeking bear, as well as his vast array of cultural faux pas. His earnestness, modesty, curiosity and unfailingly polite manners more than compensate, it seems, for his frequent dramatic mishaps and his uncertain immigration status. With a tip of his hat, he brings a trace of grace to every life he touches – from refuse collectors to antique collectors, from convicted criminals to window cleaners. Everywhere he goes chaos is met by kindness, compassion and positive transformation.

Paddington seems to typify the best of what Britain stands for. Everything about his story is a celebration of the power of British hospitality. His creator, Michael Bond CBE, was inspired by the incredible hospitality of the people of wartime Britain who gave sanctuary to evacuee children in the Blitz as well as the families that provided loving homes for Jewish children fleeing the Nazis via the Kinder Transport in 1939. He once told a reporter:

“We took in some Jewish children who often sat in front of the fire every evening, quietly crying because they had no idea what had happened to their parents, and neither did we at the time. It’s the reason why Paddington arrived with the label around his neck”.

Aunt Lucy in the first Paddington movie makes this connection most clearly. She reassures Paddington who is nervous about what awaits him at the end of his dangerous journey, saying:

“Long ago, people in England sent their children by train with labels around their necks, so they could be taken care of by complete strangers in the countryside where it was safe. They will not have forgotten how to treat strangers.”

Despite the xenophobia that frequently comes across in our media, there are many Great British people who haven’t forgotten how to treat strangers.

I wish I was as confident as Aunt Lucy about our country’s memory. When I watch the news and hear the anti-immigration rhetoric from some of our politicians, I fear that too many people in Great Britain have forgotten how to treat strangers.

The Bible recognises the enormous potential for amnesia on this issue. In its first five books there are no less than 36 reminders to welcome the stranger: hospitality was always supposed to be a priority of personal and national identity. Later on in the Bible we are shown what this looks like by Jesus, who welcomed the sort of strangers nobody else had time for – the poor, the downcast, the marginalised, the vulnerable, the sick, the homeless, the forgotten, the unpopular and the ethnically suspect. Finally, towards the end of the Bible there is another reminder in the book of Hebrews:

“Don’t forget to welcome strangers.”

Despite the xenophobia that frequently comes across in our media, there are many Great British people who haven’t forgotten how to treat strangers. Tens of thousands of families have made rooms available to Ukrainians fleeing war over the past three years. Churches and charities and communities and schools and workplaces seem to have a wonderful habit of embracing those who are different, or who need a helping hand.

This is what I call the Paddington Paradox: despite all the talk of tightening our borders, and reducing immigration, despite a summer of racist riots and yet another spike in hate crime cases, despite growing pressures on limited housing supply, and cost-of-living-related struggles, we love to think of our country as a hospitable one. We celebrate the welcoming of strangers – from the Kinder Transport to the Homes For Ukraine scheme. One of our most beloved national treasures is an asylum-seeker, albeit also a fictional bear.

This week is my foster son’s birthday and so I am taking him and some of his friends to the cinema to see Paddington in Peru. To my surprise nearly all his friends’ parents have asked to come too! We are all looking forward to seeing how Paddington and the Brown family fare as they make a perilous journey on a small boat into the Amazon rainforest, and are forced to rely, once again, on the kindness of strangers.