DISHEVEL(L)ED, adj. Some Englishes spell this word with one L and some with two, so I’m trying to have it both ways, as usual.
An adjective meaning messy or disordered, especially regarding someone’s personal appearance, this word popped up in my recent reading of Notre-Dame de Paris. Victor Hugo used “échevelé,” though French also has the word “déchevelé. As far as I can tell they mean the same thing, though maybe a native speaker could discern some nuance between them.
Anyway, in French, the word is much more tightly connected to messy hair, as opposed to its broader English meaning of messy hair or clothing, and you can see the connection more clearly in the French spelling: “chevel” looks like “cheveu” (a hair) or “chevelure” (hair). In fact, “chevel” is the old form of “cheveu.” This is the result of a sound change that linguists call l-vocalization, meaning that the sound [l] gets easily peer-pressured by nearby vowels into becoming a vowel itself. Lots of languages have examples of this sound change, including English, where we write “talk” and “walk,” but most of us don’t pronounce the sound [l] when we say those words.
Because English spelling is chaotic, “chevel” became “shevel,” and that’s how we ended up writing this word “dishevel(l)ed.” And my guess is that because for English speakers, this word doesn’t look like it necessarily has to do with hair, the meaning stretched to include other ways a person might appear in disorder.
In Notre-Dame, for poor Quasimodo, that’s pretty much all the ways. I’m a little less than halfway through the novel and Quasimodo just got pilloried and whipped, so messy hair is the least of his problems. Hugo writes so powerfully about cruelty that sometimes I have to stop reading for a moment and think about etymology instead, hence this newsletter.
Here’s what I’ve read in small-r romance:
The Changeling (cis f/cis? m/nonbinary, all bi, fantasy, novella) by Juniper Butterworth. This is a short, lovely book about a woman discovering the truth of her history after her cruel, fae father betrothes her to the goblin king and she’s rescued by a nonbinary witch in the woods. The three of them (woman, king, and witch) set off on an adventure, fall in love, and eat the most sumptuously described meals. Content notes: abuse, sex.
Nothing Like Paris (m/m, both cis and gay, contemporary) and The Girl Next Door (het? m/bi f, both cis, contemporary) by Amy Jo Cousins. These two hot, emotional contemporary romances both have such a strong sense of place. Nothing Like Paris takes place in small-town Iowa, to which Jack returns in disgrace after being kicked out of his prestigious East Coast liberal arts college, only to find his high-school bestie/sweetheart/ex Miguel running a farm store and cafe downtown. They could never resist getting into trouble together, and it turns out that’s still true. The Girl Next Door takes place in Chicago, where Cash is coaching soccer for underprivileged kids after giving up a high-paying job in his dad’s firm and his former friend-with-benefits Steph is working at a non-profit that helps queer seniors. Steph is self-assured and committed in her politics, adventurous in bed, and extremely guarded with her feelings, and I love her. Cash is, if it’s even possible, even more lovable—a loyal and affectionate Golden Retriever of a guy. The Girl Next Door is in his point of view and he’s just so humble and down-to-earth and caring and funny. Himbo with a heart of gold who takes in runaway queer teens and who’s up for a threesome with another guy just because he loves you that much. Darling. Content notes for Nothing Like Paris: bullying, an alcoholic parent, some homophobic supporting characters, sex. Content notes for The Girl Next Door: some homophobic supporting characters, an estranged parent, sex.
The Stand-In (m/f, both cis and het, contemporary) by Lily Chu. I always immediately identify with a protagonist who makes lists, so an anxious protagonist who continuously revises and refines her list-making process is a sure thing for me. Gracie’s trapped in a terrible job with a boss who harasses her; she can’t leave because she has to pay for her mom’s Alzheimer’s care. So when she gets mistaken for famous Chinese actress Wei Fangli and then Fangli finds her and offers to pay her generously to act as a stand-in at a few publicity events, Gracie says yes. Working at these events forces Gracie into close proximity with Fangli’s co-star, dazzlingly handsome movie star Sam Yao, but he’s a jerk, so her attraction to him won’t be a problem. Except this is a romance, so he’s not and it will. This has all the fun of normal-person-thrust-into-celebrity romances: luxury, fashion, admiration, rehearsing a kiss scene, being the one person who truly knows the secret heart of a global icon. But it’s also unexpectedly serious and poignant in its approach to Gracie and her ailing mother, as well as Gracie and her friendship with Fangli. I enjoyed it a lot. Content warnings: sexual harassment, a supporting character has had a miscarriage, death of a parent (cancer), parent with Alzheimer’s, some characters make racist anti-Asian remarks.
You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty (m/f, both cis and bi, contemporary) by Akwaeke Emezi. Charlotte’s blog post made me want to read this book—the excerpted paragraph is just so stunning, and as it turns out, so is the rest of the prose. The story explores grief and love and sex and how messy it is to be alive (really messy), how much it hurts to lose a loved one, how hard it is to go on afterward, and the reasons we do: friendship, sequins, sunrises, mango and Scotch-bonnet sauce, mountains, gardens, human touch. I don’t think any other romance could have gotten me on board with a woman falling in love with her sorta-boyfriend’s father, but Feyi and Alim just feel so right for each other. They’ve both lost their spouses in traumatic accidents and they have such a palpable connection. Also, how come nobody has whisked me away to a secluded mansion in a tropical paradise and cooked me Michelin-starred meals? I’m waiting. Content warnings: grief, death of a spouse (car accident, drowning), death of a child (cancer), sex.
And in things that are romance-adjacent, I read The Priory of the Orange Tree, an epic fantasy novel by Samantha Shannon with a lesbian romance between a queen and her handmaiden, who’s a spy sent from a secret convent that trains women to become witches/assassins/dragonslayers. This has all that good epic fantasy shit: a cast of different point-of-view characters scattered throughout the world, so you get to travel around all the different made-up countries; deeply detailed history, myth, and folklore that turns out to matter for the plot; fancy dramatic banquets and murderous court intrigue; an ocean called the Abyss; swords; dragons; women who could fuck you up. I really loved how much the book’s invented myth and folklore played with Biblical stories (there’s a magic fruit tree, a man, a woman, and a serpent-like dragon, and everybody gets the woman’s role wrong), Arthurian legend (monarchs of legend, questing knights, a magic sword, a tricky sexy witch), and Greek myth. Good stuff.
See you all in September, or possibly later in August!
