Enter the Aardvark

Post-Read Review

If you haven’t done so already, please read my pre-read predictions based entirely on JUST the cover of Enter the Aardvark by Jessica Anthony.

Post-Read Rating:

Cover: ★★ — no change. I still really like the letterpress look and the cream paper choice, but I certainly didn’t learn enough about what I was ultimately going to experience
Story: ★ — see below

Before I jump into what I got right, what I got wrong, and what I couldn’t have possibly predicted by looking at the cover of this book, I want to take a moment to talk about what I found on the back cover when I finished reading . . .

Top of the back cover

I had seen the first sentence of this quote on the front cover, and it promised a lot. It was a large part of why I was excited to dive in. But now — having completed the book — and seeing this quote in its entirety, I find myself completely and utterly baffled. The book I red was completely void of any heart or emotional attachment. This book is a satire, yes — but it’s also a story that centers and takes delight in shining a light on the life of a broken protagonist who justifies his racism, classism, ableism, sexism, and privilege with an internalized hated of himself and his repressed queer identity. And don’t get me started on the aardvark. . .

And now, to my readers — if that isn’t enough to entice you to keep reading, I don’t know what is.

What I got right and what I got wrong from looking at just the cover

1. This book does indeed feature an aardvark. But much to my disappointment, it can’t talk, and it doesn’t have a name — because it’s dead. This book is about a dead aardvark. It follows the unfortunate killing and (creation?) of a taxidermied aardvark and two intertwining stories of the past and present, both involving the fateful creature.
2. This book doesn’t have anything to do with Australia. Aardvarks are not native to Australia. They are found in sub-Saharan Africa. I’ve definitely heard “African” and “Aardvark” together before (probably in elementary school), but I missed this point and got this totally wrong. Whoops. I guess Australia can’t have all the cool and unusual animals. The Union Jack flag element in the cover design threw me off entirely.
3. Bethany isn’t the protagonist, nor is Veronica. Oh, how I wish there had been at least one more female character! There is no flight from Boston, no clandestine research facility for aardvarks, no talking mice — but there are aardvark hunters, and that’s the closest thing that came true from my prediction about characters and plot.
4. And finally, as I suspected (and feared), the red and blue stars and stripes did indeed foreshadow politics. And I think, maybe, just maybe, I got it correct when I surmised that the aardvark was an intentional replacement for the Republican elephant and the Democratic donkey. By the end of the book (and I can’t believe I’m writing this), the author seems to make the case that her staunchly Republican, Ronald Reagan idolizing protagonist, whose platform calls to literally “divide and separate the United States into two factions” is deserving of a new symbolic creature to (absolve? reward? punish?) him for his deep flaws and indecencies. It’s unclear exactly (metaphorically and satirically) what she is trying to say, but it feels plain rude to aardvarks.

What could I have not possibly predicted based on the cover?

Soooooo much, but I’ll try to keep it concise. . . buckle up, reader.

Where I found this book at The Dollar Tree. On the left — 14 pocket Bibles. To the right — a stack of Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys. Below — A Hansel and Gretel coloring book and “Paul Learns to Be Polite”.

1. Inciting Incident — This book starts at the beginning. . . like at the very beginning of creation. Primordial ooze and all that. . . followed by the arrival of plankton and arrow worms and then shrimp and fish and until mammals and then (you guessed it) . . . enter the aardvark! I like a good title reveal like anybody else. But, this one is very “on the nose” and was repeated (by my tally) 6 times throughout the book and inevitably flipped to become “exit the aardvark” near the end.
2. Structure — This book tells two alternating stories that are ultimately intertwined. One follows a millennial Republican congressman in present-day Washington D.C., who receives a taxidermied aardvark via FedEx from his lover, a closeted gay politician with ties to a charitable organization in Namibia. The other follows the life of a taxidermist charged with the task of preparing the carcass of a strange, previously unknown animal to display in England in the late 1800s. Oh… England! That’s probably the reason for the Union Jack flag.
3. Second Person POV — The author thrusts us into the point of view of the politician (without our consent) to witness and experience his (I mean “your”) materialistic and deeply “NOT GAY” life. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least. This book is unapologetically satirical, but for the life of me, I can’t understand what there is to gain or learn from experiencing the story through the eyes of this despicable human. He’s a guy who reads Yelp reviews for funeral parlors, says toxic things about his female competition for Congress, pokes fun at the size of a young Black boy, uses a young woman for her money and clout, and blames his repressed sexuality on others, etc. There are zero moments in which we can empathize with this person.
4. A Ghost — It turns out that the B story is about a gay relationship as well. The taxidermist is in love with the naturalist who killed the aardvark. This relationship is also hidden. When his lover dies, the taxidermist takes it upon himself to remove, embalm and wait for it — place his lover's blue eyes into the taxidermy aardvark. Read that again (or don’t). Could not have predicted that by the cover! Naturally (pun intended), the naturalist comes back as a ghost to haunt his wife (maybe the only sympathetic character in the book ) and appears to the taxidermist about halfway through. This part of the story feels like a loose end. It’s mirrored later in the present-day story, but I didn’t quite get it. Was he actually a ghost? Or was it just the fumes of formaldehyde?
5. Nazis— didn’t count on that either! Yup — the stuffed aardvark is emblazoned with a swastika and purchased by a German collector intent on amassing anthropological oddities as part of the German colonization of Namibia. The aardvark changes hands through the years and becomes the property of the man who is connected to the Namibian relief organization in the present-day storyline. The moment where the German discovers the aardvark has blue eyes with “perverse delight” is not lost on me (or probably any other reader) either. Hard pass.
6. Taxidermy — I learned a lot about preparing, stuffing, mounting, and posing animals for the $1.25 that I spent on this book. Fun fact: did you know that the word “taxidermy” comes from “skin arranger”? Yup . . . didn’t need to know that. I wish I had learned more about aardvarks instead. All I really took away is that “aardvark” means “earth pig” and initially, they were regarded as “indecent” for seeming like a weird combination of many animals. If you need me, I’ll be reading up on them here on the site of the African Wildlife Foundation, the closest thing I can find that comes close to the kind of organization I had hoped would appear as part of the plot.
7. And finally, and maybe it’s just because I found this book tucked among the children’s activity books, but I could NOT have predicted how aggressive, almost violent, and decidedly unromantic this book felt in places. I don’t even want to type some of the words I encountered. Blunt anatomical descriptions and offensive slang popped up out of nowhere. Look, I live in a queer and sex-positive home. There is nothing about the way these relationships were described and nothing about the words Jessica Anthony uses to describe the men’s relationships with each other (or the other people they are having sex with) that does anything but reinforce negative stereotypes of queer love, even if she is trying to tell a cautionary of repressed sexuality. It’s not productive. It’s harmful. Full stop.

So…. that’s where I am with this one. The only other thing to add is that on the inside title page, there is a beautifully rendered black and white watercolor of a field, presumably in Africa. It’s lovely.

For a moment, when I began this journey, I felt hopeful about what the pages ahead contained. Having not looked at anything but the cover, I still hoped that I would be transported to a new place that I knew nothing about. I wish I could go back to that moment, or even further back, when I thought this book was about something else entirely.

I guess my point is this: judge a book by its cover and then by all of the other parts too. Especially the parts that don’t sit well with you. I wasn’t expecting to be so riled up by this one, but I am, and it felt important to put it out there.

Welcome back to my book cover project. Can’t wait to see what I pick up next!