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I've always felt suspicious of parenting books. Like any flavor of self-help manual, they seem largely to cash in on our insecurities by providing glib and repetitive answers to complex or even unsolvable problems. The worst ones undermine whatever innate belief we might have in our own abilities and opinions, leaving us more confused than before. A large percentage of the reading public, however, disagrees with me. Self-help books, and specifically parenting books, are big business. And so, in picking up Peggy Orenstein's new book about raising girls, Cinderella Ate My Daughter, I hoped to learn what I'd been missing.[more ...] Read More ...
