This book describes itself as “the history of Western art irreverently reimagined from a feminist perspective” and as a concept that could have been quite good. The central conceit is that all the artists have been gender-swapped, so we get Sandra Botticelli, Jane Singer Sargent, Fiona Bacon etc.
What starts as an interesting concept is made banal by repetitive use of the same devices. Oh look, there’s another monkey and some more tits. More googly eyes, please. Oh look, some old cartoon characters.
You might be impressed with the pastiches. You might find the same low level jokes amusing. You might even like the references to menstruation and breast cancer. Some people might even think this is edgy and making a point. But I just thought it was dull.
It feels very old hat, the sort of thing that might have raised an eyebrow in the early 90s but barely evokes any kind of response other than ‘meh’ in 2021. People with fine art degrees might get something out of it at a stretch.