DEAR DICKHEAD

A provocative French writer and filmmaker explores #MeToo, the fate of aging actresses, and addiction.

“Dude, screw your apologies, screw your monologue, screw everything: there’s nothing about you that interests me.” This is the opening line of Rebecca Latté’s email response to Oscar Jayack, a novelist who’s trying to apologize for a (since deleted) post in which he excoriated her for no longer being the same person—the same body—that boys like him once fantasized about. Despite her claim that Oscar is boring, Rebecca continues to reply to his emails, and the two develop a relationship that is vital to both of them and shaped not just by their shared working-class childhood, but also by the fact that Oscar’s older sister was Rebecca’s best friend back in the 1980s. There is a third party in this story: Zoé Katana, a feminist blogger who has publicly accused Oscar of sexually harassing her while she was assigned by his publisher to work as his publicist. This is an epistolary novel shaped by contemporary modes of communication, but it’s still an epistolary novel, which is not a forgiving form—or even a believable form, much of the time. Opinions about whether or not Despentes pulls this off depend largely on how much the reader enjoys listening to three hyperverbal, theory-inclined people talk to and at and over each other. That said, Despentes gives readers plenty of reason to stick around, beginning with Rebecca’s refusal to put up with Oscar’s shit. His response to being canceled after he’s outed as a sex pest is predictably self-serving, and his new confidante will have none of it. At the same time, Rebecca comes to see Oscar as a role model in sobriety. Meanwhile, she serendipitously connects with Zoé while Paris is locked down because of Covid-19, which complicates her relationship with Oscar. What makes this novel work as a novel—rather than a collection of rants presented as a novel—is that Rebecca, Oscar, and Zoé come across as real people and their interactions with each other manifestly change them.

Confrontational and often abstract, but grounded in real human emotion and experience.