As the book editor (among my many other titles) at the Marin Independent Journal, I've had a lot of anthologies that come across my desk that look at life as (pick one or all):
1. a 20-something
2. a 30-something
3. a single person
4. a "bad girl"
5. the "other" woman
6. a bitch in the house
7. a mother
8. a single mother
and so on.
Some have been good, some have been great, some have been marginal.
Among the latest is "Knowing Pains: Women on Sex, Love and Work in Our 40s," which arrives in bookstores in September and is different for three reasons:
1. everyone who worked on it volunteered his or her time, creativity and energy
2. all the proceeds go toward the San Francisco-based Breast Cancer Fund, and
3. I have an essay in it.
So, this is a bit of self-promotion.
Still, I'm wonder why we rarely see antholgies like "But I Just Wanted to See You Naked: 27 Men on Love, Sex, Marriage, Sex, Babies, Sex and BDS" (well, there was Daniel Jones' "The Bastard on the Couch," but still). How come almost all of these anthologies are by women writing about their anxieties or ambivalence about being a woman? Is it a uniquely female thing, or do men experience the same feelings but just choose not to talk about it?
And, as a woman, wouldn't you want to read it as insight into a man's mind — or would we rather not know?