We’re living in what might be deemed a golden era of Hollywood literature. Female comedians from Mindy Kaling to Amy Poehler have been producing funny memoirs that transcend the celeb tell-all genre, and several notable male celebs have recently tried their hand at serious fiction and poetry — with mixed results. B.J. Novak’s short story collection, One More Thing, received plaudits; James Franco’s Palo Alto and more recent poetry collection were received with more bemusement than admiration. Surprising everyone, America’s beau Tom Hanks published a short story in The New Yorker late last year, and though the quality left much to be desired, it was far from a catastrophe.
Perhaps even more surprising, however, is the entry of David Duchovny, known to most red-blooded Americans as Mulder from “The X-Files,” into the ranks of writer-actors. His debut novel, Holy Cow, is out Feb. 3.
Coverage of the book has repeatedly cited Duchovny’s “master’s degree in English literature from Yale,” though of course, non-celebrities who receive degrees in English are not generally considered likely to turn out high-quality works of fiction, especially on their first try. Still, could Mulder Duchovny have been the novelist we were waiting for this whole time? Is his new book more Novak or Franco, or, like Hanks, somewhere oddly in between?
Though it was published by the prestigious Farrar, Straus and Giroux, and not, notably, by Farrar, Straus and Giroux Books for Younger Readers, early coverage billed it as a children’s book. Kirkus described it as more of a “pseudo-children’s book that smart adults should greatly enjoy.” Okay.
Appropriately, the book seems to have no real idea who its audience is or what it’s actually about (vegetarianism? religion? peace in the Middle East? the foibles of Hollywood?). Something of a mash-up between Animal Farm and “Chicken Run,” Holy Cow is the story of Elsie Bovary (yep), a milk cow on an upstate New York farm whose life changes when she learns about industrial meat farming. She hatches a plan to flee to India (where cows are sacred), and is joined by a pig headed for Israel (where pork is unclean) and a turkey headed for Turkey (he, well, hasn’t thought it through fully).
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“I like me a feisty bitch,” the dog growled comically. “Well, all right now. Look at you standing tall on your hindies — you go, girl. Can I holla at ya? Can I holla? Can I holla?”
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My editor says, “Sugar, there’s no way Hollywood will make a movie about a Jewish pig in Israel being stoned by Muslims. Too many hot buttons. Too niche. Too indie. We have to think tent pole. Not Sony Classics. Can’t the pig go to New York, you know, and meet a girl? Kind of like “Babe” meets “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”?”
