The savoury “Eat Your Words” by Valerie Stivers in The Paris Review explores famous works of fiction by recreating meals mentioned in the texts. Stivers offers insights into the domestic lives of the writers and the domesticity of their fictional worlds. Characters may be the emotional architecture of a novel, but the presentation of food is the decor.

To explore the domestic dramas of Laurie Colvin’s Happy All the Time, Stivers bakes a gingerbread cake to unpack an idealized femininity. The cake is moist, and sweet and suggests effortlessness. The finished product is polished and perfect, hiding the cracked eggs, the beating, and the baking, much like the role of domesticity – to turn messy family life into a palatable parcel – like a novel.

In “Cooking Peppermint Chiffon Pie with Flannery O’Connor”, Stivers details the writer’s favourite dessert – a meringue pie. The connotations of the name – Peppermint Chiffon – are dreamy and ethereal in a way that O’Connor’s writing certainly is not. Concrete, moral, and righteous, her fiction seems the opposite of her favourite dessert, a billowing minty meringue. Perhaps it would be the perfect treat to eat to balance O’Connor’s often acerbic stories. Could reading be enhanced or balanced by a good accompanying dessert?

This leads me to think about novels as desserts.  In the era of the Tradwife trend, I wondered what my favourite female-authored novels would be as desserts. What if when sitting down to read we could pause for bites of dessert based on our favourite novel? What dessert pairing would add an extra layer (not sorry!) to the reading experience? Do we need a sommelier type of service to match our sweet treats to our cozy readings?

I started with My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh which I recently reread. I imagined sitting down to Moshfegh’s caustic novel with a slide of something decadent and a little rebellious. A perfect pairing needs to be rich, beautiful, and boring. The novel charts a wealthy New Yorker’s extended hibernation as she sleeps her way through a particularly painful year. Perhaps a white chocolate mousse? Hold the sugar. I would use an overpriced white chocolate wrapped in decadent packaging to mirror the charmed yet empty life of her narrator. The creamy-coloured chocolate hints at the rich girl aesthetic at play in her novel. One where looking good gets you far but ultimately feels unfulfilling. The mouse should be bland to mirror the unnamed protagonist’s desire for total detachment.

Next, I imagined sitting down with a hot coffee to read Nightbitch by Rachel Yoder. A novel about the wild transformation of a mother pushed to the edge, the accompanying dessert needs to straddle the line between elegant and unhinged, domestic and animalistic, maternal and monstrous. A macaron contains many textures. Delicate meringue shells contrast violently with the bold, meaty flavour like black cherry filling—suggesting the duality of the “good mom” and the beast within. The macaron needs deep reds and marbled pinks—suggesting the primal urges coursing through the protagonist. Imagine biting in just as the narrator says that she needs ​​” Just one night. One night of violence was what she needed.” The black cherry filling is tangy, sharp, and a tad unsettling, echoing the bloodlust and bite lurking beneath domestic routine. Delicious. Perhaps served in a dog bowl?

On a roll now (sorry – couldn’t help myself) I wondered what would be best to accompany a reading of Yellowface by Rebecca Kuang. White privilege, cultural appropriation, and the darker side of the publishing industry all get satirical treatment in Kuang’s novel. This dessert needs layers, messy layers just like the protagonist June Hayward. Yellowface is a story of writerly envy gone wrong. Perhaps a Mille-feuille: gorgeous on the outside yet messy on the inside. Stacked, unstable layers belying the lies that threaten to topple at any moment. The filling could be matcha cream filling as a nod to June’s Chinese cultural identity. June tries to inhabit this identity, but it doesn’t mesh with her American values. A matcha filling sits uneasily in a classic Western dessert. A tad bitter to mirror June’s professional bitterness about her frenemy’s success. Perhaps a garnish of edible gold leaf as a nod to literary fame, awards, and the shiny facade of success hiding ethical rot. Tasty!

Is anyone up for opening a literary-themed bakery? I’m ready when you are.