Same old, same old. The Daring Book for Girls acknowledges right from the beginning that the inspiration for its concept and design came from The Dangerous Book for Boys, also published by HarperCollins. Just like Genesis; a chip off the old spare rib. The differences, as ever, are telling. A list of essential items in each book is similar: Swiss Army knife, compass, bandana/handkerchief, pencil and paper, torch, safety pins/ needle and thread are common to both genders. But while boys need a box of matches, plasters, a taw and fishhooks, girls require a hair band (as well as a bandana), a deck of cards and a good book, gaffer tape, rope and string, and, God help us, patience. The last item, I presume, because somewhere along the line they’re going to come across boys.

As to “daring”, I’m not convinced that making an origami crane or learning how to play cat’s cradle is stepping very far outside the quotidian existence, but perhaps it is admirably daring of the authors to tell every girl to read Emily Dickinson’s Because I Could Not Stop for Death, and it’s certainly daring to suggest they try dying their hair purple. It’s a pity that Africa serves, as ever, as an extremely daring place to go, still the dark continent. Worthy female role models abound. The suffragettes, Marie Stopes (if you ignore the eugenics), queens of the ancient world and Mary Wollstonecraft. But instructions on how to play netball, lacrosse and jump rope are not omitted, quite rightly. The authors also demonstrate a perfect understanding of the need for practical and social competence: how to change a tyre, how to chair a meeting, how to whistle with two fingers, and the way stocks and shares work are subjects we could all do with reading up on one wet Sunday. Unlike last year’s Great Big Glorious Book for Girls (a rival publisher’s effort that featured make-up tips and advice on making nests of flower petals for fairies), the Daring Book has a strong bluestocking vibe.

What all these books have in common is nostalgia: they are a throwback to short trousers or pleated skirts with knee-high socks and school shoes, lying on your stomach on the floor, your legs scissoring aimlessly in the air, leafing though a big, thick book with something different on every page, and not a mobile phone or computer game in sight. Sundays after lunch, the whole world closed, no television and so quiet you can hear the clock in the bedroom tick. I can’t imagine not wanting to get stuck into The Daring Book for Girls, and this will be its charm for parents and grandparents. It’s a compendium. Just the word works on my nostalgia centres. Girl (the comic) and The Children’s Encyclopedia come flooding back, and parents who had just been through the war, urging their children – lucky enough to have endless, fearless hours in which to play and learn to lead constructive lives – not to waste time. Of course, we became the 1960s generation, but perhaps that’s another story.

How old are the readers of The Daring Book for Girls supposed to be? Old enough to be fascinated by the periodic table, sleepover parties and the Heimlich manoeuvre. Not so old that they will be too busy drinking alcopops to make a willow whistle or play jacks – although learning French terms of endearment and how to put your hair up with a pencil are handy at any age. Definitely under 19, up to which point, apparently, it is possible to ignore boys.

The section on Boys goes on to explain that “boys are people”, and that for those who haven’t managed to ignore them it’s essential to remember “if a boy doesn’t like you the way you are, the problem is him, not you”. Adding, for balance, “don’t try to make a boy change for you – it’s important to appreciate people for who they are”. Oh, I foresee terrible repercussions for both sexes if they are really persuaded by this; an epidemic of niceness draining whatever passion the alcopops have allowed to remain.

The authors talk about their own childhoods as a time of freedom and responsibility that has been lost: “Ride to the local shops. Babysit when we were still young enough to be babysat ourselves . . . or turning our suburban neighbourhood into the perfect setting for covert ops, impromptu games and imaginary medieval kingdoms.”

They offer their book of allsorts to lure away from their consoles those children who can no longer go out freely to play or roam. But it’s the parents who are keeping the children in and sticking iPods in their ears and Xboxes in front of their eyes, for fear of something worse. Perhaps, after all, the very aspect of the The Daring Book for Girls that will make adults buy it – its wistful cleverness – will also make them think through what children need, along with sex, drugs and rock’n’roll, in order to grow up. It’s an admirable project.

THE DARING BOOK FOR GIRLS by Andrea Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz
HarperCollins £20 pp288

Available at the Books First price of £18 (including p&p) on 0870 165 8585

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