In Praise of the Pink Book

Let's Hear It for the Girls and other Anxieties

Last week, Rufi Thorpe visited the MFA program at Texas State for a Q&A session with students, followed by a reception and reading. Rufi was being awarded the Clark Fiction Prize—an award presented by Texas State to the tune of $25K—for her book Margo’s Got Money Troubles, soon to be an Apple TV series. The book is self-described as “a hilarious and poignant literary novel about a young single mother who reluctantly turns to OnlyFans—and advice from her estranged pro-wrestler father—in order to make ends meet.” Take note especially of the term “literary novel”. In other words, don’t let the cover fool you. Rufi herself called the book a Trojan horse. You lure the reader in with the pink cover, then immediately hit them with a cake shaped like a dick spewing vanilla pudding, an inappropriate relationship between a college professor and a 19-year-old, and thoughts of abortion all baked into the mind of a hilarious yet sharp narrator.

Seems like lots of books by women have to get wrapped in shades of cherry blossom, salmon pink, and blush in order to get noticed in the world. Young-woman me would have balked at books like this. Brain-washed in youth by the patriarchal narrative that female writers are trivial and secondary, I turned my nose up at anything written by women. My mother raised me to love strong, feminist men, but was still of a generation that didn’t spend much time trying to become feminists themselves.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to appreciate the various worlds of the female writer, from the highest of brows to the lowest. I am currently reading Emma Straub’s (she was my intern back in my Workman Publishing days) latest—American Fantasy—about a middle-aged woman on a pleasure cruise and her rekindled love of a certain boy band. I was never into boy bands myself (unless Duran Duran counts as one—does it?), but I can appreciate the sentiment. Actually, I can appreciate almost anything women want to cook up nowadays. Because, fuck it. Whatever makes you happy, spreads joy, or gets you through the night is OK by me.

I myself am having an angst-ridden April. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a horrible and near-continuous case of FOMO. This past week, it was raging. I didn’t get invited to moderate at the San Antonio Book Festival, my absolute favorite day of the year. It was the first time since it started in 2013 that I haven’t been involved, either working, moderating, or hosting a table at the luncheon. I was planning on going to support and see friends, but at the 11th hour had to bail because I still had 20 hours of reading to do and 30 pages of novel to edit before two weeks’ worth of workshops, so the graduate school anxiety was at an all-time high.

Then I said some cringy old white lady shit during class and started catastrophic thinking that everyone in the program hated me. This was compounded by the fact that I didn’t get into workshop for next semester, leaving me further feeling like an also-ran. Ridiculous, I know. First world bullshit if there ever was.

There is something about not being bona fide within my community anymore that is making me fret and feel like a struggling writer and graduate student. Isn’t that funny? I’m having FOMO about the very thing I ran away from.

Girl, get your head straight!

Now, back to the pink books. Rufi and Emma both give off very cool-girl (at least in the literary world sense) vibes. They both seem so confident and together and able to navigate their success with humor and goodwill toward all. I’m sure when the lights go out they both harbor a sense of self-loathing that seems to go with the territory around these parts. But still. I wish I even had a pinkie’s worth of that kind of self-confidence. Especially in my writing ability.

After hearing Rufi speak, I got it in my head that everyone in the program needs to write a pink book. And I’m not talking about fluffy, pointless girl shit. Rufi described it as not writing the John Cheever/Toni Morrison/Faulkner stuff you think you are supposed to write, and leaning into who you are and what you know to find inspiration. In Rufi’s case, when she started writing about mothers and women in Southern California, she hit her stride. Emma hit the bestseller’s list this week by writing an ode to middle age and boys we loved in our youth. (Girl was also a Guggenheim Fellow in 2024!) I have written two and a half books, and all three have a male protagonist. WTF Burgin!?! So as Rufi spoke, I started writing an outline for my own pink book and haven’t been able to stop since. New York-Texas-Dating-Bookselling-Love-Kids… Can I write more than one book at once? Is that a thing?

As I try and find my way out of FOMO (which started with getting to the gym at 7 this morning to swim hallelujah), take my prompt and ponder about what your pink book might be. I bet it’s not as girlie as you think. 🩷