22 June 2021

Confessions of the Fox, Jordy Rosenberg

 I have this weird problem, which is that when a book aligns extremely closely with my particular intellectual interests or loves, it makes me uncomfortable. I am far too accustomed to being an outsider, I guess, even within particular communities that I am a part of. So this novel, which is first and foremost an engagement with the 18th century, its history and fiction, and the scholarship written about it, from a perspective that is strongly oriented to studies of sex and gender, queerness, and race, was just so firmly in my wheelhouse that I kept metaphorically looking over my shoulder as I read it, like, this is a joke right? It was super interesting to me to read this with my bookclub, none of whom are 18C lit people (but one of whom is a historian), and to hear about how it came across to them. Academics are so accustomed to thinking that nobody else finds their area interesting that it's kind of revelatory to realize that other people might also be into it.

On the other hand, I also kind of hate the whole trope of scholars working on a discovered manuscript cast as thrilling adventure. This is very much a me problem, not a problem with this book. Actually, Rosenberg's version is almost a parody of this mode, told through footnotes, with a genuinely hilarious satire of the corporate university occasionally interjecting in chirpy all-caps. But I nonetheless found myself somewhat impatient with the repeated mentions of a coded meaning available for those with eyes to see. And frustrated by the half story told in the footnotes about the narrator and his various relationships — I wanted to hear more, which is of course a nice reversal of the historical novel idea, and I also wanted him to get his shit together, which is maybe in part a send-up of the whole tormented genius male academic thing, I dunno. The post-modern footnote aspect is definitely part of the book's charm, and I truly loved seeing scholarship that I care a lot about being cited, but maybe it was just a touch too conspiratorial for me.

But the body of the novel, ostensibly Jack's memoirs, is absolutely gorgeous. So beautifully written, such lush and vivid detail. It was lyrical and warm and sexy and just wonderful. A story you could completely sink into.

Overall, I really can't wait to see what Jordy Rosenberg writes next.

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