LIARMOUTH
A feel-bad romance
By John Waters
240 pages. Farrar, Straus and Giroux. $26.
In a recent essay for Gawker, Alexandra Tanner wondered why there are so many contemporary novels about “generations of women.” Often sold as “sweep or astonishingthe implicit promise of these books to their readers, who are mostly women, is that by reading them they can understand what it is like to be wife of wife,” Tanner wrote, noting that the premise, when misused, is a false shortcut offers to emotion and depth.
In the wake of Tanner’s essay, it was most pleasing to discover that the first novel by John Waters – film director, essayist, artist, non-woman, known hater of emotion – is about … ‘generations of women’. A thrill of glee will sweep through a reader’s spine as she dares to imagine a team of publicists sweating to sell Waters’ sordid creation as a manual for understanding the female condition. (They haven’t tried it yet, but maybe they should.)
From oldest to youngest, these women are Adora, Marsha and Poppy. Adora Sprinkle is an unlicensed Upper East Side plastic surgeon who performs cosmetic alterations on pets. She, along with Pekingese lifts and Dachshund leg extensions, has pioneered the implantation of fake testicles that can restore a neutered dog’s stolen swagger. Adora’s company is based on a simple insight: the human fear of aging can be projected onto anything. What’s a cat without botox but a walking, purring memento mori?
Adora’s estranged daughter, Marsha, is a thief who hates snitches, patriotism, children, food, and people standing on escalators instead of walking. She is shocked by the fact that Uber drivers are allowed to rate hair. When a man asks for directions to the local mall, Marsha describes the wrong route to satisfy her hunger for random acts of sadism. Lying makes her feel “better, more intellectually advanced, yet practical and, yes, more beautiful.”
