I first came across this novel when I was an undergrad. It was an introduction to lit course and the reading list was divided up into thematic sections. Sexing the Cherry was in one of those sections and it inspired a great deal of discussion. There were students who were shocked and appalled. Students who were charmed, but disturbed. Students who didn't know what to think. What I like about this novel is its obvious lack of intimidation when it comes to the 'big' questions of love, time, reality, and meaning. How Jeanette Winterson manages the disparate voices of Dog-Woman and Jordan, the shifts in time and perspective, the revealing 'take' on 17th century politics and religion, is nothing short of brilliant.

A non-linear narrative, fairy-tale inclusions, questions of theology and physics, as well as gardening . . . I really can't think of any other adjective that will do as well as 'brilliant' to describe this tale.

Dog-Woman is a huge individual who reeks of things unimaginable. She discovers the seemingly abandoned Jordan in the Thames and raises him as her own. Along with a pack of dogs. She is a Royalist, a believer in a non-Puritan God, and a murderess who never seems to find love, being rather oversized and overlooked. Dog-Woman is a fascinating character. Following along on her adventures was indescribably diverting and often disturbing (especially the events surrounding the hypocrisy of the Roundheads).

I also found the reinterpreted fairy tales (The Twelve Dancing Princesses, Rapunzel, The Frog Prince) interesting. Gender expectations are challenged, and the twelve princesses have a very different version of their tale to tell. The differences are humourous, sometimes shocking, fantastical (as is the narrative itself), but revealing. Society (historical and contemporary) is under examination here. And it's worth thinking about.

A few excerpts . . . from Jordan (the theorist, as opposed to Dog-Woman's more action-oriented approach to life):

Did my childhood happen? I must believe it did, but I don't have any proof. My Mother says it did, but she is a fantasist, a liar and a murderer, though none of that would stop me loving her. I remember things, but I too am a fantasist and a liar, though I have not killed anyone yet.

There are others whom I could ask, but I would not count their word in a court of law. Can I count it in a more serious matter? I will have to assume that I had a childhood, but I cannot assume to have had the one I remember.

Everyone remembers things which never happened. And it is common knowledge that people often forget things which did. Either we are all fantasists and liars or the past has nothing definite in it. I have heard people say we are shaped by our childhood. But which one?

And this (also Jordan):

The self is not contained in any moment or any place, but it is only in the intersection of moment and place that the self might, for a moment, be seen vanishing through a door, which disappears at once.