(Title means both "daughter" and "girl")

This is an unfinished read. Well written, all in headings and wordplay poetry, showing off the inherent misogyny of the French language. There is a quick and hard-hitting rhythm to it. It tells the story of a girl born in the 1950s and growing up through humiliation, belittling, attacks and harassment, all due to her sex.  

Do you have any children ? the man asks.

No, my father says. I have two daughters.

We go through the usual installments: the disappointed father, everyday misogyny, the rapist uncle, the hush-hush aunts, the lack of sorority, the lowered expectations and the inner buried anger. 

Halfway through the book, it seems to be all: the story of someone born to be abused by all and everything, although some parts evoke something other than permanent oppression (she likes to read! Probably she will become a writer, and that will save her, and that's why we are reading her laments in what is probably some sort of autofiction).

It's a good thing to know what you don't want to write, and for me, that's it. I don't know why the author wrote it (maybe the usual: tell her story, tell the horror so that never again, etc. - Nothing new under the sun, although, not much resolved to this day), but I do understand why one would read it: this is a cadenced song of outrage, and every scene calls for vocal indignation and commiseration. This is a literary device delivering (every page or so) a healthy dose of righteous anger, which seems to be the drug of choice these days. It is intoxicating, but I don't want it anymore.