‘How not to be a Boy‘ was promoted as a feminist analysis of masculinity in the UK in the 21st century, how toxic it can be, and how it can be avoided (look at the front cover “Rules for Being a Man” if in doubt – confusingly man not boy). It does indeed contain this analysis, but this goes alongside a very traditional childhood to adulthood rags to riches autobiography. The book was also marketed as unblinkingly honest, one in which Webb confront his demons, looks them in the eye and names them. Again, this is only part of the story – there’s plenty of glossing over of difficult issues here alongside the franker discussions about early homosexual experiences, or his abusive father.

I am sure life wasn’t easy growing up in the Lincolnshire Badlands in the 1970’s and 80’s, fourth son of a forester who was physically abusive towards his mother and older brothers. His parents’ divorced when he was five and his step-dad seems to have been only a minor improvement. He always had the comfort of his grandparents to fall back on, but he grew up in the shadow of the death of an older brother before he was born, and for whom he was in some way a replacement. Webb records in detail a childhood that will seem familiar to a large part of the population, apart from a determination to one day achieve fame through acting or comedy. The death of his mother just before his A levels knocks him off course, although retakes see him securing the place at Cambridge that is principally a way of getting into the Footlights and on that well-trodden road to success. Webb skips over the difficult post-Cambridge years fast forwarding to marriage, Peep Show, Mitchell and Webb, and fatherhood, where the more interesting observations about ‘The Trick’ i.e. patriarchy can be found.

Has Webb got anything original or interesting to say about feminism? Everything he says is undoubtedly valid and supported by clear arguments and evidence. It’s an authentic record of his mistakes and opinions, and as far as it goes that would probably make a worthwhile Sunday supplement article or two. But no, it’s not original. And while the patriarchy made some of his childhood unhappy, he still managed to make it to Cambridge and beyond. I’m not criticising him using his platform for making some useful arguments in favour of men looking after themselves, seeking help, cultivating their friendship group and so on. Even if just one person is helped by this then it is worth doing.

The other, larger part of the narrative, the autobiography, sits (for me) uncomfortably with these observations. He has failed to avoid many of the mistakes he so clearly outlines. Why take advice from someone so skilled at being a traditional male – bad at relationships, bad at looking after himself, bad at even passing exams! While at Cambridge he was obnoxious – his seduction technique for example seems to have been “Get your coat” – and he is horrible, unfaithful and neglectful to the women he dates, all of which he cheerfully admits. None of this makes him easy to like.

My other issue with this book is its dishonesty. For a book that takes pride is being brutally honest, it isn’t. I can completely understand why he would want to avoid giving too much detail for example about his teenage homosexual relationships – the other people or person involved in still alive, now happily married – although the implication that this is in some way shameful or to be avoided is at odds with his claimed comfort with his sexuality and masculinity. Punches are pulled and the soul-searching only goes so far. Later at Cambridge he claims to have done literally no work – not attended any seminars, lectures or supervisions, devoting himself entirely to the Footlights and his romantic affairs – but he somehow emerges with a 2.2, which Cambridge University tends not to hand out for blank pieces of paper. This section of the book is a close copy of Stephen Fry’s account of his time at Cambridge – work heroically neglected, triumphs on stage, some last minute cramming and out pops a good degree. I don’t believe it for a minute. Webb at one point admits to humblebragging – well recognising that you are boasting while pretending to be humble (a chapter about having dinner with Carrie Fisher for example) doesn’t make you any less of a bull-shitter.