Books

Whenever I travel, I always make it a point to pop into a bookstore — hopefully a used bookstore — and buy a paperback. It’s the perfect souvenir: they’re light (hence paperback versus hardcover) so you don’t have to worry about it taking too much space or weight, and I always remember when and where I buy a book. Simply looking at the cover will cause me to reminisce. I also have the added bonus of …well, a new-to-me book. Sometime it’s even signed!

Cookie Boyle’s debut novel ENTITLED encapsulates the feeling of discovering the world through books and travel. At first blush it reads like ‘Toy Story for book nerds’ and, well, yes, that’s a succinct pitch, but ENTITLED is so much more than that.

ENTITLED does anthropomorphize books. They can talk to each — taking on the affect and disposition of authorial intent — and they even have very limited mobility. They can toss themselves off of shelves and unfurl their pages. When read, they actively impart their words upon their Reader. (Please note: I’ll be using ENTITLED’s use of capitalizing labels from here on, including: Book, Reader, Writer, and Author.)

There’s also a sex scene between two books. That’s a sentence I never expected to write, but the scene is pretty fantastic, as is the emotional fallout.

The protagonist of ENTITLED is a book entitled THE SERENDIPITY OF SNOW (SNOW from here on out), penned by Tessa MacDonald. It’s about a 19th century Minnesotan woman who escapes her abusive husband and embarks on a new independent life.

As you might imagine, this copy of SNOW that seems to go by she/her — it seems the books go by the pronouns of their author or protagonist, although that part is left rather nebulous — traverses the world. She first starts in a bookstore in San Francisco, then is purchased by a Parisian woman who wants to improve her English language skills because she’s fallen for an American while visiting California for a few months. Then SNOW ends up in the hands of as Londoner — trust me, these locales are on the cover so I’m not spoiling anything — who is an aspiring writer, and then is inspired by SNOW (and other circumstances) to push SNOW forward.

I’ll refrain from describing the rest, but I will note that as someone who absolutely loves overanalyzing adaptations, this book hit every one of my quadrants.

ENTITLED easily could have coasted along on its premise alone — just books talking to other books through a myriad of locales, hoping to find a home or, better yet, to finally meet their Author (yes, their God/Goddess) but instead it’s an endearing work to all of those who literally feel for books. Instead, it’s a surprisingly uplifting epic that, while certainly indulges the literary nerds out there, is also emotionally resonant for those who aren’t as fond of physically handling or cracking open books.

As the hoary adage goes: do not judge a book by its cover. Give each book a chance.

Addendum

I’ll note that my wife bought this for me, rightfully thinking that it seemed like it fit in my wheelhouse. She also bought me a used copy, without realizing the significance of that, of how SNOW travels from hand-to-hand, shelf-to-shelf, as we as people all often do with relationships.

The books in this world fear being scarred, either by dog drool or teeth, by coffee stains, by wine or water. They feel bruised when tossed into a satchel or when dropped from a table. Given that I was reading a used copy, this affectation made me hurt a bit, as I’ve always taken pride in having well-worn books. To me, a well-worn book means a well-appreciated work. A paperback with a pristine spine essentially declares that it’s a book unread, but yet in this world, the action of breaking the spine to read further is painful to them, and not in a pleasant way.

The dichotomy of wanting to be read, but not being damaged by being read, is a fascinating facet of this novel to me, and one that I don’t feel it quite reconciles. Perhaps upon re-reading it, I’ll discover more. (Although that’d require more bending of the spine, sadly.)

https://bookshop.org/p/books/entitled-life-isn-t-easy-when-you-re-a-book/16082399

My wife and I have a running joke — or as she puts it: a running conversation — that we’ve maintained for years. To set up the joke: I’m a 6’ 2” male-presenting person, which is practically the perfect height for someone like me. It’s tall enough that most people will refer to you as ‘tall’. People often have to look up at you to hold a conversation. On the other hand, you aren’t so tall that you’re bumping your head on lighting fixtures or doorways. Like I said: the perfect height.

My wife, while taller than average, is shorter than I am. However, she mock-refuses to embrace the fact, even when I have to reach for something on her behalf. She insists that she is so tall, taller than I am. Truth be told, in many ways she is, just not physically.

It’s not a good joke, but like with many relationships, it’s part of our history and something we find to be cute (even if no one else does).

The protagonist in Fay Weldon’s THE LIFE AND LOVES OF A SHE-DEVIL (SHE-DEVIL going forward) is Ruth, a 6’ 2” woman who, given the nature of a world built around men, does not fit because the world expects women to adhere to a specific mould. She is deemed too tall, too gangly, too plain — she has four moles on her face, three of which sprout hairs — and is simply too much for society to bear. She is married to an accountant named Bobbo, to whom she births two children — Nicola and Andy — after which Bobbo quickly loses interest in Ruth, ultimately leaving her for one of his clients: Anne Fisher, a romance novelist, who literally is a beacon of light for Bobbo, living in a repurposed lighthouse.

Upon being scorned, Ruth sheds her house, her children, and begins a new life that includes ruining the people and systems that brought her misery, all while literally reshaping herself into the physical shape that society will embrace.

While it’s tempting to consider SHE-DEVIL as a vengeance tale — and yes, there’s definitely a lot of vengeance being sown here — Weldon noted that it’s more of a tale of envy. That much is undeniable, as Ruth uses her wiles and smarts and coercive abilities to shine a light on male oppressors, corrupting them while also using them to turn herself into the visage of someone who will be embraced by a patriarchal society, even if it means enduring endless indignities, pain, and suffering to become the image of someone the world accepts.

Yes, there’s that undercurrent of envy, of wanting to be the perfect woman who can get by without friction in a man’s world, but it’s executed in a way that subverts each-and-every column of said world; from religion to science to the medicinal. Ruth considers herself a she-devil — a fallen woman — and while men would consider her to be a villain, she’s doing a hero’s work, even as she castigates herself to do so, to an extent that becomes body horror.

SHE-DEVIL is a very complex work, and I’m somewhat shocked that it’s mostly been forgotten. (I’ll note that there was a BBC mini-series adaptation of it in the mid-80s, and there was a late-80s film version starring Roseanne Barr — both of which I’ll address in future posts.)

Sadly, Weldon passed away earlier this year at the age of 91, leaving behind a great number of feminist novels, so if you want to remember her in the best way possible, pick up a few and start turning those pages.