Lady - My Life as a Bitch

On the right see the cover for the new Penguin edition of Lady - out in February 2003

There's been as much fuss about this one as there was about Junk. Why do people have such an hysterical attitude to teenagers? Do they really think people are so stupid they can't understand when a piece of writing is not a piece of advice, or a fashion statement that is suddenly going to make everyone between the ages of fourteen and twenty run out and start sniffing bottoms?

It's a simple enough story. Sandra Francy has been off the rails for a while. She suddenly got sick to death of GCSE's, doing as she's told, having a nice boyfriend and so on - she wants to go out and go crazy. So she does. She sleeps with too many boys, drinks too much, does too many drugs - and she loves it. To be fair to Sandra, she was beginning to get fed up with such a life style, and I think if the accident hadn't happened she would have given it all up and got back to her life. But the accident did happen: she gets turned into a dog.

At first of course, she's terrified. A dog! Oh my god - she's lost her family, who don't recognise her and chase her away, her friends, her place at school, everything. But she soon meets other dogs who were once people and they try to convince her that what's happened is a blessing. A human's life is full of worry and stress and pain, work and tests and assessments, then more stress and more work and more assessments. It had begun already - all that course work! All that worry about results! Now, a dog is different. A dog craps on the pavements, licks whatever it wants to lick, runs with the pack. Only a fool would really prefer to be a human being, if they had the choice ...

Of course there's a fair amount of sex in the book, which is what has attracted all the publicity. What is it about sex and the media? There's a certain attitude running right through British culture that regards sex as some sort of dirty dog that an only be trusted so long as it's kept nice and safe in a long term, loving relationship. As soon as it escapes from under the covers and makes off into the night, they start behaving like Irma Prunesqualer.

This attitude goes right across the spectrum, from from the likes of Eric Hester from Family and Youth Concern ("This is quite the nastiest piece of children's literature I've read") through Ian Hislop ("It leaves a nasty taste in the mouth") - don't eat it, then Ian - through to Natasha Walter in the Independent ("She's a middle aged man's fantasy of a teenage girl"). Sorry to disappoint you, Natasha - I don't fancy Sandra one little bit - not my type. She's far too young, far too aggressive and far too untrustworthy. In point of fact, in real life, I think most people would find it difficult to spend more than two hours in the same room with Sandra. She makes a far more appealing dog than she does a person.

It's surprising how little these critics have to actually say about the book, apart from the fact that they don't like it. The Daily Mail, Eric Hester and Mr Hislop (different politics, same morals) can't get beyond calling it rude names. Natasha Walter's article was more interesting. It had some good points to make and is so far the only piece of critisism that's made me sit down and think. At the end of her piece, I did regret not having one of the two dogs that make friends with Sandra female - not all the people she deserts are female, but all the ones she goes to are, and it would have been better if I'd had a bitch for her to run to. Having said that, Walter's attempt to portray Sandra as a victim, patronised by boys and men, just doesn't wash. Sandra is a taker. If she wants it, she goes for it and she usually gets it. Like so many journalists, I think Walter was a bit overtaken by that desire for an angle. You'd have to really misread the book to say that Sandra is used. On the contrary - she uses people.

I was very grateful for John Carey on Newsnight last night for pointing out what I had almost forgotten this past week myself. Lady is about a lot more than just sex. It's a fable, a fantasy, an allegory, a satire - it's been called all those things and more - that bears on such themes as what it is to be a human being, what it is to responsible, what the role of irresponsibility is in our lives. It touches on abusive relationships and genuine ones, on lust and passion, love and fear. There are no answers, no questions, even. But it's a novel of ideas, and I'd like to think it gives a glimpse of more of life than the lip-curlers are able to find in it.

Does it do it well or badly? That's up to you to say. Try a taste from the extract below.

For other information on Lady, follow these links.

Read the news story on the Today programme and listen to the transcript of the interview here.

Find the whole first chapter at Andersen Press.

Read an extract on Achuka.

Review in The Independant

Geraldine Bedell in The Guardian

What to say about ... in The Guardian

Extracts from Lady - My Life as a Bitch

We were outside Somerfield's and Michelle and Dobby had dropped back outside the baker's when he reached forward and tickled the palm of my hand. It sent little shivers up my arm. My hand closed around his and we gave one another a little squeeze, and that was it. We were holding hands. We turned and looked into each other's faces and …

I was just thrilled. You know? That moment. I just love that moment. I could do it over and over again until the end of my life. I mean, alright, he wasn't the first boy ever, or even the first boy that month. In fact, the way I was then he'd have been pretty lucky if he was the first one that week. But still - it just made me shine. There was the sunshine sparkling on the wet pavements, and the people and the shops; there was Dobbs fancying me and Michelle all jealous because she wanted what I had, and there was Wayne smiling down at me, all pleased and happy because I was holding his hand. He was gorgeous. I was gorgeous. Isn't that just about the nicest thing you can think of?

He leaned down to my ear and whispered, "Let's go."

"Where do you want to go?" I asked. I glanced back. Michelle had walked up near to us and she was standing there looking daggers.

"In your knickers," said Wayne and I said,

"Ooh, yeah." He looked surprised. He bent close to me and whispered in my ear. "You're making my head go." I grinned. He was lovely, he was mine. He put his arms round me and he sort of snuffled in my ear. I giggled. It made me tingle all over, but I was bothered about Michelle. I looked over his shoulder at her. "I'll talk to you later," I mouthed, but she pulled a face and looked away. I suppose I should've said something to her before. I was making a mess of things, really, it was a pity in some ways because I thought we might all be friends, and I mean, you can get on and off with the boys in a crowd, but if you fall out with the girls, you're out. It made me angry with myself, because I'd been through enough friends lately. But I knew I wasn't going to stop myself.

I'd been off my head lately. And it'd been great, you know? Really, really great. The best time I ever had. Only, I was getting fed up. Well, not fed up; tired. It'd been going on a long time. It'd been a lot of boys and a lot of late nights and a lot of voddies and a lot of Red Bulls and a lot of e. That crowd, Michelle, Dobby even Wayne - they weren't me. I'd even been thinking, maybe I'd give my old friends a ring. Annie. That crowd. They'd still be there. But Wayne made me forget all that. I wanted him. And I was going to have him.

***

By this time I was getting hungry again. First thing, I turned my paws in the direction of home to go and get a sandwich or something, then I thought - that's out! Then I stood on three legs and started patting my sides. If you'd seen me you'd think I was going crazy, but all I was doing was trying to pat my pockets to see if I had any money in them to buy myself a chocolate bar or something. Bonkers! I still wasn't used to being a dog yet.

I sat down in the road and all these thoughts went through my head, like gravel pouring out of the back of a lorry - go home and get a sandwich, go into a shop and buy something, go round to a friend's and beg something, go to the school canteen and get a lunch - bang bang bang! All utterly impossible! I didn't believe it at first, that those ordinary things should suddenly have become impossible, and the same thoughts came back. I had to go through them all four or five times before it really dawned on me that all the usual ways I had of getting food had stopped dead, just like that. People were tripping over me in the street, so I got up and went to sit by the wall. I felt like crying. I was useless as a person, and now I made a useless dog, too. Only a baby can't feed itself. What on earth was I going to do? Even if I had money, who'd sell anything to a dog? Once I'd found Terry - if only he'd agree to be my master! - he'd feed me until I was myself again. But in the meantime, what was I going to do?

I thought of that rabbit Fella had given me, but I was miles away from the allotments. Withington isn't exactly full of rabbits.

Then I had this great idea - a cat! Get a cat! Yeah! There's not many rabbits on the streets, but there's plenty of cats. All you can smell in town sometimes is cats. Of course, I know what you're thinking - whoever saw a dog catch a cat? They bark at them and they chase them but they never catch them. Cats're just too quick. But I was different - I was a dog with brains. I was certain I could catch a cat, if I only had the right plan.

I started to nose about and found a fresh trail soon enough - the ground was almost warm. I followed it up as quietly as I could. I remembered how cats always slide along the ground when they're hunting and I started to do the same, which made me chortle to myself - a dog hunting cats like a cat! But it was exactly that sort of thing which was going to give me the edge. I found him soon enough, sitting on a garden wall just ahead of me. I crept along, dashed in through the open gate and managed to hide myself behind some bushes next to the front door.

That cat had it coming. I made my plan in the fraction of a second it took me to get in through the gate and into the bushes. I was going to call him to me. It should be easy. Pursing my lips tightly as if I was eating a lemon, and using my tongue half as lips and half as tongue, I was certain that I could still perform human speech - well enough to fool a cat, anyway.

The cat was sitting on the wall, innocent and plump. I made a few practice whispers and then ...

"Puss, puss, puss, puss, puss. Here, puss," I called. Well, it was pretty good. I thought so anyway, but puss was not impressed. He yelped and leapt to his feet, back arched, fur on end. His head turned slowly round to stare at the bushes where I was hidden as if he hardley dared imagine what was hiding there. I kept as still as if I was turned to stone - which wasn't easy. Every fibre in my body wanted to give chase, but I knew if I did that he'd be gone in a blink.

"Here, puss, here, want some fish? Have some milk, pussy-pussy," I called. Hidden in that bush I made the most outrageous promises to that cat, but the stupid thing didn't know whether to believe or not. He began to back off, still swelling up like a furry balloon, hissing and spitting. And at that moment the door opened and a woman came out.

It was pure chance, but my heart leapt in hope because she had a tin of cat food in her hand. The cat was obviously hers and she wanted it inside. Now she'd do the calling for me! I was right next to her. All I had to do was keep still and let her bring the cat to me. But keeping quiet! OH, it was so hard!

"What is it, Smokey? What's the matter? Come on puss! Oh, dear!" she said, because the cat was behaving as if it had seen Satan himself. "Come on, Smokey, dinner time," she said. And suddenly it was all just too much. I couldn't contain myself.

"Yes, yes, come and get it, Smokey, dinner time, dinner time!" I roared. The words leapt out of my lips; I sounded like something from hell. The woman screamed, jumped back and slammed the door; the cat yowled and lit off like a firework. There was no point in hiding any more, and I burst out of the bush and jumped for him. The little shit was up the pipe and on to the conservatory roof next door before I could draw breath. As I stood underneath barking at him the tin of cat food came whizzing out of the window and struck me on the shoulder. Looking back, I saw the woman shouting shoo at me. Her face was as pale as milk.

"Thanks!" I barked. I have no idea whether she understood me or not. I grabbed the tin of food in my mouth and limped off down the road into Withington. I had a sore muzzle from where my mother had hit me with the frying pan, and now I had a bruised shoulder as well from the tin. But I had food. When I was far enough away, I dropped it and spent ten minutes pushing up and down the road with my nose, trying to get at it. Fortunately, the tin was opened, but it was hard work with no spoon and no hands to hold it even if I had one. I tried holding a stick in my mouth and digging it out, but it was slow work. In the end, I had to leave half of it still inside. That little snack had just made me hungrier than ever. What a pathetic creature I was! I needed comfort and food. I had to find Terry. I needed a master as soon as possible.

***

I was never much good at being a person, me. It's so hard! It's hard, it's hard, being a person. I lay there on that bed and I thought, God, this is going to go on for another seventy years! Seventy years of people pushing you into being something you're not. Seventy years of rage and anxiety, worrying about things you don't care about, like GCSEs and if you're dressed nicely and if your face is clean and if you're making your mum or your husband or your kids unhappy and whose feelings you're going to hurt next. Seventy years of getting up in the morning when you don't want to and going somewhere you don't like. Tests and rules and skills and assessments, and then another set of tests and rules and skills and assessments. On and on and on and on and on it goes. What's the point? Why bother? I wasn't ambitious, I wasn't going to change the world. All I wanted was to have a good time. I mean!

There were things I missed. My parents, my friends. Oh, I know I moan about them but that doesn't mean I don't love them. And the dances and the music, the whole thing. Packets of crisps, clothes, money in your pocket. People! I love people. There's a hundred great things about being a human being. I thought about how I used to look, my slim legs and my smooth tummy, my round breasts with their pretty pink nipples and my smiley face, and how much I missed looking like me …. but then there was Fella sniffing under my tail and growling to himself, "Hmmm, that's good!" That made me lick my lips. I looked up and caught sight of myself in the mirror and waggled my eyebrows up and down, and the sight of a dog waggling her eyebrows was so funny I laughed, huf huf huf! I felt better then.

I curled up and tucked my nose under my tail so I could breathe in my sweet scents, and fell asleep lying there on the bed, breathing in the rich centre of my dogginess.

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