Trailer Wife

Oh man.

When my UK BFF gave me this book for my birthday last year, I was intrigued. She explained that she hadn't read the book herself, but had heard a lot about it, and knew I would be interested. She said this in the sort of shame-faced, halting, more than a little embarrassed way that one might use to notice you are a fan of strip clubs, or conservative talk radio. Because having to admit that you know what this book is about, not to mention the fact that you've actually spent the time to read it, is (it seems to me) risky business.

I was so intrigued by Amanda's description and the snippets I read on the internet, that I didn't read it. I do this sometimes with books. I save them. I don't want the delicious anticipation of what I hope will be a good book to end. I wait until the perfect moment, when I can fully appreciate the experience - - or conversely, when it can serve as a much-needed pick-me-up. Using this logic, I picked it up one day during this wretched winter sickness of mine.

Narrated by 18 year old Helen, Wetlands is a incredibly graphic novel focusing on the double bind the author finds modern women in: constantly confronted with the pervasive nature of female sexuality, while at the same time bidden to neutralize their bodies. Helen, suffering from a brutal case of hemorrhoids, is landed in the hospital, where she spends her time flirting with nurses and entertaining herself with reminiscence of her sexual exploits.

First of all, I don't recommend that anyone over the age of 45 read this book (an exception: Robert Nye - Bob I hope you read this and tell me what you think!). In fact, I'm going to extend that to anyone who has not earned a liberal arts degree in the last ten years. Because without a bit of literary perspective, this book is a bit of a horror show. Reviewers have described it as taboo-busting, disgusting, and deeply-perturbing; some have dismissed is as pornography, some credit it with the boundary-breaking chutzpah of Catcher in the Rye or The Female Eunuch.

The author, a German television personality named Charlotte Roche, explains to interviewers that she sought to "write about the ugly parts of the human body. The smelly bits. The juices of the female body. . . . I created a heroine that has a totally creative attitude towards her body — someone who has never even heard that women are supposedly smelly between their legs. A real free spirit."

With my background in the history of sexuality (my undergrad thesis was on the great first literary lecher - the Marquis de Sade) I had pretty high expectations as I began to read. And let me tell you - Wetlands is definitely a page turner. (My sweet friend Amy - of 2009 Outlander Driving Tour fame - read it in one sitting when she visited us in Scotland last year). But with each chapter, I felt the build up to some kind of meaningful conclusion slip further and further away. Yes, Roche's Helen proudly touts her sexual entrepreneurship, and I kept marveling at how different the tone would be had this main character been male. And yet, I failed to find anything to connect with in the novel. Helen seems almost like an automaton as she moved through the story, leaving me with nothing to latch on to.

To sum up - I'm really glad I read it. But I will NEVER read it again. Sallie Tisdale of the NYT has written an excellent review of the book and I agree with every word. Though I wouldn't check it out unless you don't plan to read the book.

Grade: C-