I have very little patience for Jennifer Weiner. I have never read a novel by her; I have no plans to. Nothing about her books is appealing to me-- the covers (legs and shoes, mostly), the titles (“Good in Bed”? Blech!), the blurbs (“Allison Weiss got her happy ending—a handsome husband, an adorable little girl, a job she loves, and a big house in the suburbs. But when she’s in the pediatrician’s office with her daughter and a magazine flips open to a quiz about addiction, she starts to wonder whether her use of prescription pills is becoming a problem.” Yes, that is real), the genre (chick lit, “slumber party fiction”). But that said, I was perfectly content to leave her be; obviously someone buys her books, because she’s one of the best-selling authors in the English language, and you can’t visit an airport without seeing dozens of those leg-and-shoe covers staring back at you. It’s not for me, but I don’t mind if it exists.
But apparently that was not enough for Weiner-- a peaceful coexistence between herself and the world of literary fiction was not possible for her, and her millions of paperbacks sold did nothing to placate her apparent rage at being left out of a genre that she does not work in. As much as her own novels fail to interest me, I’m greatly enjoying my seat on the sidelines as a spectator to this conflict that is playing out in the arenas of elite think-piece journalism. Additionally, Jennifer Weiner has become this strange beacon around which some of the best writing on women and literature is oriented, so at the very least, regardless of your personal feelings about her, take the time to enjoy and appreciate the following journalism she has inspired.
It all began when Claire Messud reacted against an interviewer’s question regarding the protagonist of The Woman Upstairs and her "likability." Messud felt it was an inherently gendered question, and rightly so, because no one has ever in the history of literary fiction worried about whether or not a male author’s characters are likable. You may be asking yourself at this point: What does this have to do with Jennifer Weiner? Well dear reader, the answer is NOTHING. And yet, Weiner decided to write a lil think piece of her own for Slate, in which she yields sophomoric rhetorical language to create a conflict where none exists. The most obvious response one would expect from a fellow female author would be words of support for Messud, who is fighting against the misogyny of literary world (something Weiner herself is constantly railing against), but instead Weiner chose to draw first blood by defending likable protagonists, as if that was at stake. She also calls out Meg Wolitzer, for her comments on genre fiction. To be fair, Wolitzer’s comments are definitely more incendiary and are probably more directly intended for Weiner and her ilk.
Weiner has a long and storied history of turning conversation with other authors (and most noteworthy, authors of literary fiction) into conversations about herself. Daniel D’Addario has made a convenient timeline of this for Salon. Of particular interest to me is her Talk of the Town rejection by the New Yorker, because in January 2014 the lovely and amazing Rebecca Mead wrote a profile of Weiner for the very same publication.
She’s also taken time out of her busy schedule to stage take-downs of Lena Dunham, Jennifer Egan, Jeffrey Eugenides and the New York Times. Most recently she’s attempted to turn a national literary conversation about blurbs and Gary Shteyngart into a conversation about herself, natch.
What bothers me most about all of this is that Weiner is correct about 50% of the time-- when she’s putting literary institutions on blast for ignoring female writers. However, one would think that in the fight for women authors, the likes of Lena Dunham, Jennifer Egan, Meg Wolitzer, and Claire Messud would be advocates, not enemies. Why does Weiner waste so much time and energy attacking successful and talented writers who are fighting for the same things that she claims to want? Weiner made a huge and controversial splash with her Jeffrey Eugenides parody ad, and meanwhile Meg Wolitzer gave The Marriage Plot a close and critical reading, arguing that a novel with the same plot, characters, and title would have been received very differently if it had been by a female author. In other words, Wolitzer and Weiner are on the same page, united against a common enemy (a necessary aside- Jeffrey Eugenides is a fantastic author, one of my favorites, and deserves every accolade he has received. I agree with Wolitzer’s thesis, but I am really against literary fiction in-fighting, as it serves no one. Also, Eugenides has the right to publish whatever he wants, regardless of gender, as everyone should). And yet, Weiner has to alienate herself even further from a community of female authors that would be better served by aligning themselves with their shared cause, rather than fighting among themselves.
The way this is all playing out reminds me very much of the way discussions about feminism have been playing out lately in the media, with one feminist announcing that another woman is not, in fact, a real feminist. In the literary fiction world, Weiner is trying to play both sides of the conflict, attacking other women authors for things like being too serious or penning ambiguous endings to their novels (really, Jennifer Weiner?), while simultaneously waving her misogyny flag every time her books aren’t taken as seriously as Claire Messud’s.
Laura Miller at Salon recently tried to rectify this by giving Weiner’s books the close reading that the author demanded, and I tip my hat to Miller for her efforts. I would not have the stomach for it, but she genuinely applied herself to the task. As much as this review and the Rebecca Mead profile seem to offer a thoughtful conclusion to the Jennifer Weiner saga, I have a feeling that it will continue. If you enjoy watching car crashes, go check out Weiner’s Twitter feed, where she inflates her own ego and characterizes herself as some kind of heroine taking on the literary establishment on an hourly basis.