While the premise of this book (outright deception for the sake of sociological research) was somewhat unsettling, Vincent is forthcoming about her own hesitations, and is ultimately convincing that in order for a woman to have genuine experiences as a man, deception is the only available recourse.

During the course of this year-and-a-half-long memoir, Vincent adopts the alter-ego “Ned”, and proceeds to join a bowling league, date women, find a job, and even infiltrate a monastery and a men’s self-help group. Her observations about life as and among men oscillate between humorous and piognant, and are unfailingly articulate. Her narrative is strong and sharp; I found myself hearing what I imagined to be her voice. There is graphic language throughout, but it does not detract from the clarity or sensitivity of her insight.

I loved this book for the very reason which surprised me most about it: it is fair. Books about gender typically have a bias (in varying degrees of intensity) against men. Vincent’s project, however, accomplished the unpredictable: it actually had me feeling sorry for men, though not in any condescending sort of way. Though no one could ever convince me that men and women struggle equally, this memoir did foster in me a genuine sense of compassion for the struggles that men are compelled to face. The fact that we inhabit what is (clearly!) a man’s world, does not mean that men’s lives are easy in all respects. In fact, in light of Vincent’s memoir, whatever advantages men do have over women, now seem to be more marginal.

—katherine