{"id":136516,"date":"2019-05-20T13:44:02","date_gmt":"2019-05-20T17:44:02","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=136516"},"modified":"2019-05-21T11:19:21","modified_gmt":"2019-05-21T15:19:21","slug":"literary-paper-dolls-franny","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/05\/20\/literary-paper-dolls-franny\/","title":{"rendered":"Literary Paper Dolls: Franny"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

\u00a9 Original illustrations by Jenny Kroik<\/p><\/div>\n

Before I was a tomboy or a clotheshorse or a loser or a teenager, I was a bookworm. <\/span>In that happy valley before puberty, my greatest bliss was to be given both a book and the permission to play dress-up all at once. I had <\/span>a plain white trunk for my robes and silks, my wings (several kinds), my swords and my purses. Dressing up as my favorite characters was a bit of magic, and, even today, <\/span>I still read novels like a costume designer. <\/span>I can tell you that the best part of Kate Chopin\u2019s <\/span>The Awakening<\/span><\/i> is Edna <\/span>Pontellier<\/span>\u2019s peignoir. <\/span>I think a lot about Moriah\u2019s underwear in <\/span>Play It As It Lays<\/span><\/i> (blue silk from a hotel shop) and Hana\u2019s sneakers in <\/span>The English Patient <\/span><\/i>(slightly too big). How could I not? They are the only shoes she wears. <\/span>C<\/span>lothing means something about our destination, our origins, our field, our desires. Everyone in a novel is dressed with intention by their author. <\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019ve paired with the illustrator Jenny Kroik to bring you what us bookworm-clotheshorse child-adults have always wanted: literary paper dolls. We\u2019ve begun with J.D. Salinger\u2019s Franny, but stay tuned for more. Print them, share them, dress them, and please, please play with them. There\u2019s a link to your own printable paper doll at the bottom of this post. You, too, can take Franny from one edge of her breakdown to the other by taking off her smart traveling outfit and fitting her with a pale blue cashmere afghan. We who shop late nights in marketplaces online might find satisfaction in printing out a robe and pinning it literally onto not just a figurine but to a character, an author, a time period. At the very least, this will look great on your desk.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Reopening <\/span>Franny and Zooey<\/span><\/i> in your thirties is just like opening the diary your mother <\/span>thoughtfully<\/span> mailed to you after she found it in the box she\u2019s been trying to get out of the basement. You almost can\u2019t bear to look, but you can\u2019t bear not to look, either. My most love-worn of J.D. Salinger\u2019s novels, <\/span>Franny and Zooey<\/span><\/i>,<\/span> is a story in two chapters. The first chronicles Franny\u2019s emotional breakdown as she visits her boyfriend, Lane Coutell, during the \u201cbig Yale game.\u201d The second follows the efforts of one of Franny\u2019s older brothers to bring her out of her depression, which, he believes, was brought on by the overly precious environment of the Glass household: seven children of two vaudeville actors who have spent their lives winning fame on a radio show and pursuing enlightenment. As fables for the twenty-fir<\/span>st<\/span> century go, <\/span>Franny and Zooey<\/span><\/i> has aged just fine. All over New York, San Francisco, Chicago, and L.A., children are downing turmeric milk and meditation apps, buying salt lamps by the cave-full. But the difference is that <\/span>Franny and Zooey<\/span><\/i> was written in a moment when questioning the pursuit of the American dream was still novel and risqu\u00e9, and there was no Buddhist mantra emanating from every set of AirPods. Salinger\u2019s characters have died for their want of salvation and everyone\u2019s apartment is prewar. Franny exists in the painful, beautiful first blush of adolescence.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Sociologists will tell you teenagers were invented in the late forties. They were created partly by postwar economic security and they questioned the excess from which they were hatched. Even as they were molded by advertisers and magazines, their skepticism remained an essential posture. When Salinger wrote <\/span>Franny and Zooey <\/span><\/i>in the mid-\u201950s, young people ages thirteen to nineteen, with disposable income, time, access to cars, phones, and the freedom to roam without chaperones, were only just beginning to be spoken about as a group whose fickle tastes and desires were distinct from those of adults. Salinger was one of the first bards of the teenage saga and Franny is one of his finest heroines. Last year, when Sally Rooney\u2019s books began to appear to critical acclaim, comparisons to Salinger were inevitable. Like any good perpetual teenager, I was acutely skeptical. What could \u201cSalinger for the snapchat generation\u201d possibly mean? But both authors write so accurately of adolescence and its discontents. After rereading and rethinking <\/span>Franny and Zooey<\/span><\/i>, the meaning settled right in. <\/span>The<\/span><\/i> New Yorker<\/span><\/i>\u2019<\/span>s Lauren Collins writes, \u201cOne of the unusual pleasures of Rooney\u2019s novels is watching young women engage in a casual intellectual hooliganism, demolishing every mediocrity that crosses their paths, just for the fun of it,\u201d which could describe Salinger\u2019s Franny as much as Rooney\u2019s Frances. Collins also concludes that Rooney\u2019s postrecession identity might figure more prominently than her millennial identity, but rereading Salinger argues differently. Defending your island against the very tides that created it is as old as the teen herself. In Rooney\u2019s first book, <\/span>Conversations with Friends<\/span><\/i>, Frances tries on the expensive coat of her older lover and admires how vulnerable she looks in it, all the while rejecting both the expense and the vulnerability. Franny, too, tries on adulthood hoping to find a home there, despite despising those who embody it. I\u2019m officially in my thirties, but the frustration feels familiar to me. Perhaps you never fully put away childish things.<\/span>\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Franny is in pieces about what people wear. All the Glasses are\u2014they\u2019re New Yorkers, after all. Franny\u2019s observations of other women are canny and knowing: \u201cThe Bennington-Sarah Lawrence type looked like she\u2019d spent the whole train ride in the john, sculpting or painting or something, or as though she had a leotard on under her dress.\u201d But about Franny herself we know only that she\u2019s got a sheared raccoon coat with a wrinkled silk liner. Raccoon coats were just coming back into style in the late fifties as a retro nod to flapper exuberance. That\u2019s our girl, a wrinkled liner but it\u2019s silk. It\u2019s the wrinkles that first frustrate Lane, her boyfriend, and it\u2019s one of the ways we know he\u2019s no good. <\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Lane thinks of Franny as \u201cnot too categorically cashmere sweater and flannel skirt,\u201d but in truth Franny isn\u2019t categorically anything. Dear Franny\u2014she can\u2019t stand to be. We\u2019ve put her in a slightly modern sweater set based on knits Jackie Kennedy wore in <\/span>Vogue <\/span><\/i>with her sister in 1955.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

After her collapse, Franny rides things out on the couch at home. Apparently, \u201cMrs. Glass, who did some of her most inspired, most perpendicular thinking on the threshold of linen closets, had bedded down her youngest child between pink percale sheets, and covered her with a pale-blue cashmere afghan.\u201d It\u2019s a certain kind of logic, that the right set of sheets can set you right. It\u2019s a logic that says color and material matter, what you are wearing matters and you won\u2019t be the only one who notices, even at home on your own couch. <\/span>\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Bloomberg Glass is one of the best cats in literature. Making his star entrance midscene, Bloomberg is at first concealed under Franny\u2019s afghan, but \u201cunder the stimulus of Zooey\u2019s investigating finger,\u201d\u00a0 \u201cabruptly stretched, then began to tunnel slowly up toward the open country of Franny\u2019s lap.\u201d He is a \u201cvery large mottled-gray \u2018altered\u2019 tomcat\u201d and you can have him both ways\u2014tucked inside the collar of the afghan or out in the open country. <\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

On the couch, having been woken by her brother Zooey, she \u201csat up a bit and, with one hand, closed the lapels of her dressing gown. It was a tailored tie-silk dressing gown, beige with a pretty pattern of minute pink tea roses.\u201d Referred to as the last word in dormitory chic <\/span>fatale<\/span><\/i>, Franny\u2019s dressing gown gets caught, like Franny, in a tug-of-war between well-groomed adulthood and a sick day from childhood.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

When beaded with the perspiration of her spiritual crisis, Franny rejects Lane\u2019s handkerchief with the certainty that she has a Kleenex somewhere in her bag. \u201cHer handbag was a crowded one. To see better, she began to unload a few things and place them on the tablecloth, just to the left of her untasted sandwich. \u2018Here it is,\u2019 she said. She used a compact mirror and quickly, lightly blotted her brow with a leaf of Kleenex.\u201d Later, \u201cshe cleared everything\u2014compact, billfold, laundry bill, toothbrush, a tin of aspirins, and a gold-plated swizzle stick\u2014back into her handbag.\u201d \u00a0I knew it was down there somewhere, I say about every little thing in my bag, convincing no one.<\/span><\/p>\n


\nClick here for your very own printable Franny paper doll<\/em><\/strong>
\n<\/a><\/p>\n

Julia Berick is a writer who lives in New York. She works at\u00a0<\/i>The Paris Review.<\/p>\n

Jenny Kroik is an illustrator and painter. She has created covers for <\/em>The New Yorker, and made illustrations for <\/em>The Washington Post,<\/em> t<\/em>he<\/em> Los Angeles Times, Penguin Random House, and more.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

You too can take Franny from one edge of her breakdown to the other by taking off her smart traveling outfit and fitting her with a pale blue cashmere afghan.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1766,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[54020],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-136516","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-literary-paper-dolls"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nLiterary Paper Dolls: Franny by Julia Berick and Jenny Kroik<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"May 20, 2019 \u2013 You too can take Franny from one edge of her breakdown to the other by taking off her smart traveling outfit and fitting her with a pale blue cashmere afghan.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" 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