Basically, “Not That Kind of Girl” by Lena Dunham is a series of alleged anecdotes from Lena Dunham’s life. I use the term alleged because the publisher now acknowledges that the name “Barry” (her so-called Republican rapist) is not true but claims the name is a pseudonym. If you read Dunham’s “rape” account, you will come to the conclusion that the sex was consensual. However, in Dunham’s mind, it becomes rape. Perhaps one of the things that Dunham has learned not to throw around the word rape.
In the end, I came away feeling sorry for Lena Dunham. She plays the victim’s card, even-though she is not a victim, in a desperate cry for attention. The story of the body cavity exploration of her sister is simply — creepy.
Dysfunctional, boring, trite, superficial on a scale of 1 to 5 stars, I have to give this book a pitiful 1 star. Hopefully, we can recycle this book into something useful. Sadly, it has failed at it’s original purpose.