Title & author
Mrs. Everything by Jennifer Weiner
Synopsis
Mrs. Everything spans over 70 years, Weiner writing about the lives of two sisters, Jo and Bethie Kaufman. Where Weiner’s writing especially shines is in her capturing of the authentic and often quieted thoughts of women. By taking the reader from point A (the 1950s) to point B (2022), they are brought along and forced to reflect on the progress that has been made for women’s equality, but also the progress that has not.
Who should read this book
Fans of The Female Persuasion
What we’re thinking about
How childhood experiences shape a woman
Trigger warning(s)
Sexual violence, eating disorders, sexism, mental health, racism, homophobia
Sitting outside, reading Mrs. Everything (Atria Books, 2019), my mother asked “Is that a book about me?” What a simple question, yet one that stuck with me.
My mother, of course, was joking. We do that a lot as women—we pretend we are alright, even when we aren’t. We often accept that we have to do and be it all: we must be mothers, workers, home-keepers, caretakers, beautiful, graceful, happy. And for women of color, there are extra burdens, as systemic racism comes into play. I don’t need to go into how this idea of women creates problems. I would hope it’s self explanatory, but unfortunately that’s not the case.
Jennifer Weiner’s newest novel does go into this, in a way that is both so broad that many women may find a piece of themselves within, but also so personal that the narrative is hard to put down. Mrs. Everything spans over 70 years, Weiner writing about the lives of two sisters, Jo and Bethie Kaufman. They serve as foils for one another in many ways, revealing gaps and weaknesses in the other’s identity. Yet at the same time, the two sisters are one in the same, experiencing similar feelings just in opposite ways. “When she was dressed up, Jo just felt wrong, like it was hard to breathe, like her skin no longer fit, like she’d been forced into a costume or a disguise, and her mother was always shushing her, even when she wasn’t especially loud” (9). And Bethie would hope with “her fingers exploring the contours of her torso, the rise of her ribs beneath her skin, the just of a hipbone here, the new ridge of a clavicle there,” that she would disappear (92). This coexistence as both different and the same reads like an overarching metaphor for womanhood: the experiences of women are all unique to the individual, yet at the same time, who hasn’t felt like Jo in her dismay with standards of femininity? Who hasn’t wished in a world of rigid beauty standards they’d be skinnier, as Bethie does?
Where Weiner’s writing especially shines is in her capturing of the authentic and often quieted thoughts of women. The experiences many women face, but are told not to speak about: rape, sexuality, exploration, careers, etc. By taking the reader from point A (the 1950s) to point B (2022), they are brought along and forced to reflect on the progress that has been made for women’s equality, but also the progress that has not. Her writing captures her narrators’ thoughts as if they were the reader’s own—in a way that makes the reader wonder how the author knows so much about them. Weiner breaks down and stomps upon the idea that women are equal: that there is no need for women’s movements today.
The story follows the two sisters as they grow up: college, careers, marriage, children, grandchildren, and any choice they make that deviates them from this common narrative that women are encouraged to follow. Within, there are love stories, there are moments of heartbreak, moments that the reader may have to put the book down to breathe deeply.
However, is Weiner’s text as relatable to marginalized women? Would a woman of color find herself within this story? Would a woman of a lower class? Jo speaks of their childhood caretaker fondly (“She couldn’t stand the thought of never playing with Frieda again, or never hearing Mae’s music coming from the kitchen, or eating Mae’s cornbread” (25)) and Bethie reflects on her Black husband longingly, but does the story take into account intersectionality or the plight of women of color enough, or even at all?
Similarly off-putting at times is Jo’s narration about her sexuality. “Jo was careful to sip her wine slowly. She rarely allowed herself more than a single drink at parties…it also lowered her inhibitions, and the last thing she wanted was to do anything that would arouse the suspicions of the ladies of Apple Blossom Court” (287-88). At times, Jo’s narration seems to read as if she’s afraid to be around other women because she’s attracted to every woman she sees. Is this a stereotypical depiction of the LGBTQ+ community?
None of these questions are to say the book shouldn’t be read;. however, they do remain questions that the reader should consider. Why is it that a white woman’s description of womanhood gets so much press, when a woman of color’s does not? Therese Malicott’s Heart Berries, Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, or Ingrid Rojas Contreras’s Fruit of the Drunken Tree…all of these, for example, depict womanhood in a truly shattering way (Yes, that is a compliment). They are regarded highly; literature circles have not by any means overlooked them. But still, how mainstream are they? We must ask why these do not get nearly as much widespread coverage.
“They would be better than she was: stronger and smarter, more capable and less afraid, and if the world displeased them, they would change it, cracking it open, reshaping it, instead of bending themselves to its demands.”
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How do the sisters’ contrasting personas and goals shape our reading of Weiner’s depiction of feminism?
What role does family play in the story? How does family, whether biological or chosen, shape the sisters’ understanding of gender roles?
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