The Haiku Review

by E. Jean Carroll

Truth wrapped in sharp wit,
Laughter dances with anger—
Power speaks at last.

E. Jean Carroll’s Not My Type is bold, biting, and deeply personal—an unapologetic blend of memoir, cultural critique, and survivor narrative. From its opening lines, the book leans into humor and sharp commentary, but underneath the wit is a powerful reckoning with trauma, misogyny, and the long arc of reclaiming one’s voice. Carroll doesn’t just tell her story—she skewers the forces that tried to silence it. The result is a book that feels both timely and timeless, brimming with righteous anger and irrepressible charm.

At the heart of Not My Type is the theme of identity and voice—specifically, a woman’s right to define herself on her own terms. Carroll revisits key moments in her life, from her early days as a writer and adventurer to her high-profile legal battles, all while interweaving reflections on the culture that shaped (and tried to suppress) her. The title itself is a deliberate inversion of the dismissive language often used to delegitimize survivors. Carroll’s narrative makes it clear that the systems built to protect the powerful have long failed to serve justice to the vulnerable. And yet, she refuses to be diminished. Her story is not one of victimhood, but of resistance. With biting wit, she unpacks how society treats women who dare to speak out—and then goes further by modeling exactly how to speak loudly, fiercely, and freely.

Carroll’s vision is clear: tell the truth, but do it in your own voice. Her execution is refreshingly unconventional. This isn’t a traditional memoir or political manifesto—it’s a blend of genres that mirrors the complexity of its subject matter. One moment she’s recalling absurd encounters in her signature quirky style; the next, she’s dismantling rape culture with scalpel-sharp precision. What might feel disjointed in another writer’s hands becomes Carroll’s signature tone: unpredictable, fearless, and utterly her own. She doesn’t just confront powerful figures—she confronts the cultural myths that protect them. Still, she never sacrifices her sense of humor or her refusal to wallow in bitterness. Instead, she delivers her story like a seasoned comedian with a steel spine—pain and absurdity coexisting on the same page.

This book is for readers who appreciate memoirs that break the mold—those who admire women like Nora Ephron, Lindy West, or Joan Didion. It will resonate most with people interested in feminism, media, and justice, but it’s also just a compelling read for anyone who enjoys sharp writing with a rebellious spirit. Not My Type is best read in a setting that allows for both reflection and laughter—curled up on a rainy day, perhaps, or on a solo beach vacation where you can laugh, cry, and mutter “yes!” out loud without anyone asking why. It’s a survivor’s story, yes—but more than that, it’s a writer’s triumph, a cultural critique wrapped in rhinestones and grit.