Mona Awad writes mad women like no other author, redefining magical realism for a contemporary audience. Her protagonists are a particular type of women on the verge, obsessed with some form of beauty (writing, performance, physical appearance), desperate to belong. They fall into their own madness, losing their ability to discern reality from imagination, fantasy from truth. The spectacle of their descent is something to behold.
Rouge is Awad’s latest gothic, exploring the relationship between women’s value and age, beauty as currency, and the dynamics of different female relationships. From the protagonist’s grappling with her ethnic heritage, her physical looks, and the social rules she has been taught by her mother and girl friends growing up, her mind is consumed by others’ ideas: how to be beautiful, which skin color is the most desirable, women should behave this way; men like this. Despite her desire to distance herself from her mother’s ways, as an adult, Belle’s vanity, desire to be desired, and inability to confront herself are inherited directly from mother. With horror, she realizes that she is becoming her.
A tone of desperation threads its way throughout the novel, through Belle’s encounters and responses to men, recurring memories of her mother when she was younger, her fixation on skincare and beauty, and the ever-present elements of vanity that she cannot help but be drawn to. Mirrors are one of the most effective symbols and themes of the narrative, coming in the form of physical objects (broken and unbroken), trick elements that seem to show alternate realities, and other people’s faces and words. Rouge seems to suggest that the most important mirror is the fated one between a parent and their child.
Is there any relationship like that between a mother and daughter? The tensions and tenderness of love, withholding and negotiations of affection, and imitations and jealousies that are found in this most intricate relationship are all explored in the novel. Rouge offers the lesson that childhood can leave lasting internal scars that adulthood perpetually seeks to heal. It also suggests that a more complicated response than forgiveness is required to let grief go and to begin again.
The mystical elements of this fairytale, from a sinister French spa that operates in an unusual way to the recurring characters whose costumes and looks seem to change with each encounter, are expressed in trademark Awad style, toeing the line between a nightmare and a daydream. One particularly ominous expression, “going the way of roses”, repeats itself, shading something seemingly delicate with darkness. The color red pervades each page, alternatively foreboding and beautiful. Phantom men come and go, as enigmatic as the women. Like the characters themselves, everything appears immaculate on the surface but is much more complex when examined in the interior. Having read nearly all of Awad’s works, this novel truly reflects an already gifted artist’s continual refining of their craft.
Like the renewing qualities of Belle’s many products, the novel offers a revitalization, by applying an acid to strip everything off the surface to allow what is underneath to grow, better and more beautiful. The process isn’t designed to feel comfortable, but there’s a morbid pleasure in the pain. Afterwards, you’re left with yourself, but new. The transformation and its tantalizing promise demonstrates the softness we sacrifice to grow up and to become a person we must live with. Awad holds up a mirror to her readers, inviting us to ask ourselves what darkness we find inside and whether we can bear to face its image.
(review posted on @thegirlwhoreadsonthemetro on Instagram)