motherhood

The Price of Motherhood: Why the Most Important Job in the World is Still the Least Valued

tina — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Like many of my generation, I am a child of divorce. I watched as my newly single mother struggled to work, find and pay for childcare, and afford lawyers that could compete with my father’s during endless days of court. I watched as we plummeted into poverty while my wealthy father’s lifestyle barely changed. I am the daughter of a woman who chose to sacrifice her career to raise me, and who was subsequently penalized by a system that encouraged her to do precisely that. As such, I am profoundly grateful for the tenth anniversary edition of The Price of Motherhood, a book where former New York Times reporter Ann Crittenden reminds us that despite the incessant rhetoric about “family values,” America has yet to put its money where its mouth is and motherhood is still dangerously undervalued.

Crittenden seeks to demonstrate that it is motherhood and not being female that is the primary source of women’s inequality. Mothering, she claims, is dismissed by American culture as something menial, and the housewife’s work is neither politically nor economically recognized as labor. Despite this; however, inflexible workplaces almost guarantee that women will have to cut back or quit their job when they have children, resulting in a “mommy tax” of approximately $1 million in lost income for an educated mother. Moreover, when women sacrifice their careers to raise children, their unpaid labor does not entitle them to the breadwinner’s income during marriage or after a divorce. Women often have to ask their husbands for money to cover basic expenses or they’re put on an allowance that is only a fraction of the husband’s income. During divorces, many states are reluctant to give women half the assets or the highest child support payment. They also rarely go after dads who refuse to pay even the smallest sums. It is because of all of these reasons that Crittenden argues that motherhood is the single biggest risk factor for poverty, and women—who have fought to earn respect for their work in the workplace—need to keep fighting to win respect for their work in the home.

By design, Crittenden’s book promotes an intersectional approach to examining the “price of motherhood,” utilizing gender analysis, the law, public policy, and economics. Each chapter features an in-depth analysis of one of the problems facing mothers and multiple sources, including personal stories of Crittenden’s life as a mother and interviews with other women. Crittenden’s decision to use such a wide variety of sources, coupled with the structure of the book, ultimately facilitates her argument that “the price of motherhood” is derived and perpetuated from multiple locations. The book’s conclusion features a list of concrete suggestions and policy changes that should be made to “bring children up without putting women down,” a list that could be helpful to a wide array of readers, from mothers and feminist organizations to politicians.

Crittenden chooses not to rely heavily on theory, possibly in an attempt to make her book accessible to a wider audience and to better showcase her breezy, witty writing. Unfortunately; however, a lack of theory allows her to ignore feminist theorists who fear a focus on motherhood produces the idea that women are “naturally” suited for the family. She never addresses theorists, such as Wendy Brown, who argue that women should be wary of relying on the state—a patriarchal institution—for protection, or who argue that welfare regimes only swap a woman’s dependency on a husband’s paycheck for a (patriarchal) government’s check. Indeed, Crittenden seems slightly wary of taking a position on the “naturalness” of women’s mothering, hinting at times that there is something innately caring in women. I also felt she stressed the importance of having a mother at home too much, which could lead to a backlash.

Overall, I think The Price of Motherhood is a tremendously important book. It is perfect for an introductory women’s studies class, or any economics, law, and public policy class with a feminist focus. It is also a book I think every woman should read. We’re told repeatedly that we can “have it all,” but The Price of Motherhood reminds us that mothers don’t have it all—yet.

Written by: Shannon Hill, March 1st 2011

The Last Pretence

payal — Sat, 05 Feb 2011 00:00:00 +0000

By Sarayu Srivatsa

Harper Collins

In the South Indian town of Machilipatnam, Mallika gives birth to twins, Tara and Siva. Emotionally and psychologically damaged when her daughter dies during childbirth, Mallika finds herself unable to love Siva who is a constant reminder of Tara’s death. Pretending that Siva is Tara, both Mallika and Siva embark on a downward spiral of self-destruction that ends in tragedy. Sarayu Srivatsa’s The Last Pretence tells Mallika and Siva’s stories, their learning and unlearning of love and loss, and attempts to question, through stories of childhood, marriage, and motherhood, how identities and experiences of gender are shaped.

Its book jacket advertises The Last Pretence as a "novel that takes nothing for granted", and that "grapples with notions of love, gender and sexuality", a description that probably attracted readers who were intrigued by the idea that modern Indian-English writing was taking on gender stereotypes, particularly in the specific context of South India, where this theme has been relatively under-explored in contemporary Indian fiction. Alas, The Last Pretence falls far short of being revolutionary, both in craft and in plot.

Unimpressed by the writing, I asked myself if the author’s intentions had any merit. The principal character upon whom Srivatsa’s gender-play is enacted is Siva, who struggles with his gender identity because of his mother’s desperate inability to cope with her daughter’s death. But in what sense are we supposed to find Mallika’s behavior towards Siva troubling? Clearly, some combination of her delusion that her son is her daughter, but also that she sees her son as a girl, and that she treats him as such. Mallika’s ‘disturbing’ behavior includes dressing Siva up in girls' clothes; piercing his ears, and breast-feeding him for longer than necessary, which we are led to believe confuses his self-identity and his notions of what it would mean to be a girl (to be loved by his mother). Ultimately this leads him away from home, fuels his exploration of his own sexuality through his quick and sometimes brutal sexual encounters, and finally leads to his inability to negotiate his personal peace in Srivatsa’s fictionalized world.

In dabbling with issues of gender and sexuality Srivatsa appears like a young child with a stick—gently prodding some fascinating multi-legged creature under a rock. Curious, not intentionally cruel, but ultimately uncomprehending, she speaks as an outsider to the experiences of her characters, making them less believable and more allegorical in order to make broader didactic (but again, superficial) points about gender, culture and the nature of patriarchy.

Perhaps Srivatsa’s biggest failing is the superficiality with which she writes; for example, the historical context of Machilipatnam, a town "where the British first landed to trade in dyes" on the Coromandel coast of southern India – is more or less absent from the book, with limited interweaving of even its fictionalized history through the cursory mythology of George Gibbs and his incestuous relationship with his sister. It also includes a peek into the eunuch sub-culture in India (the stock shining symbols of gender subversion) where half-yawning, half horrified, the reader is dragged into a short (but seemingly necessary) scene of castration involving a sharp knife, hot oil and a grinding stone, cheaply highlighting the cruel repercussions of gender deviance in a straight world.

Marred by poor characterization, predictability, and unproductive diversions (inexplicable inter-religious riots seem to randomly pepper this slim novel) from an otherwise heavy-handed plot driven by unnecessary brutality and an unconvincing lack of detail, I found the long-listing of The Last Pretence for the Man Asian Literary prize undeserving. Lacking in originality and failing to deliver but the most prosaic of prose, The Last Pretence most damningly shrivels before a feminist gaze where it is slowly sucked into the quicksand of the hetero-normative aphorism that any deviations to established gender norms will be ruthlessly punished by society, and ultimately (spoiler alert!) cannot survive.

Written by: Kaavya Asoka, February 4th 2011

Twenty-first Century Motherhood: Experience, Identity, Policy, Agency

barbara — Sun, 30 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Edited by Andrea O'Reilly

Columbia University Press

Motherhood is often a topic of confusion or contention among feminists. The process of birthing demonstrates just how awesome and powerful women’s bodies are. However, the institution of motherhood is constructed in ways that oppress women and privilege certain classes, races, and sexualities. In Of Woman Born Adrienne Rich writes, “We do not think of the power stolen from us and the power withheld from us in the name of the institution of motherhood.”

Taking their cue from Rich, writers of the new volume Twenty-first Century Motherhood: Experience, Identity, Policy, Agency look to reclaim some of this stolen and withheld power. This volume, which explores current issues in the burgeoning field of motherhood studies, shows how women have begun deconstructing motherhood through the practice of “empowered mothering” that has transformed this institution. Editor Andrea O’Reilly’s introduction to the volume gives readers a clear and succinct foundation of feminist theories surrounding motherhood studies including Sara Ruddick’s revolutionary idea that mothering is a practice and therefore a verb as opposed to a noun.

While O’Reilly’s introduction is much needed for motherhood studies amateurs such as myself, the essays in Twenty-first Century Motherhood range much further than a mere introduction to this exciting field. This volume, true to its title, explores how recent changes have altered forever the experience of mothering for women everywhere. The essays are divided into four sections— experience, identity, policy, and agency—and cover a huge range of topics which seem to particularly affect mothers in the Global North. The articles range, quite incredibly, from Chicana mothering and GBLTQ parenting to the role that the internet and biotechnology play in familial relations.

I was pleasantly caught off guard by Ana Villalobos’ thought-provoking essay, “Mothering in Fear: How Living in an Insecure-Feeling World Affects Parenting.” Villalobos does an excellent job exploring the question: what mothering strategies do parents use in reaction to today’s perceived fear and risk-abundant environment? Villalobos shows that while some mothers have become overly protective, others have developed inoculating parenting behaviors—exposing their children to the risks of the world. While these parents have often been criticized as lacking an intense love and care for their children, Villalobos shows that just the opposite is true. These inoculating parents believe that by exposing their children to moderate, but manageable, risks they are better caring for their children by allowing them to learn how to navigate such a complex and dangerous world.

In “Brown Bodies, White Eggs,” Harrison touches on some very pertinent issues surrounding race and labor in matters of cross-racial gestational surrogacy, when the surrogate female giving birth is of a different race than the child she is carrying. In her essay, Harrison proposes that while the inter-relations of people of different races in this process of birthing may seem to efface racialized gender hierarchies they actually do much more to enforce them.

Lastly, I was quite impressed with Rachel Epstien’s essay, “Queer Parenting in the New Millennium.” Toward the end of her essay, Epstien poignantly comes to the difficult question: how do queer parents obtain both the public recognition they desire as lovers and parents while at the same time persist in resisting the norm and questioning that which society sees as recognizable? In answer to this question, Epstien writes, “let our children learn that “sexuality and gender are varied, fluid, complex, messy, exciting, scary, fun and always changing.” Epstien here makes an excellent point. At the end of Twenty-first Century Motherhood however, it is easy to see that along with sexuality and gender, motherhood should also be taught as “varied, fluid, complex, messy, exciting, scary, fun, and always changing.”

Written by: Colleen S. Kenny, January 30th 2011

The Monster Within: The Hidden Side of Motherhood

mandy — Sun, 02 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Barbara Almond

University of California Press

Psychiatrist, mother, and grandmother Barbara Almond's provocative new study makes a valuable contribution to the ongoing debate about what she terms “the dark side of motherhood.” The negative feelings a mother inevitably has toward her child, however loving she may be, and the painful conflicts these feelings can engender, is a topic still too often taboo in American culture.

In The Monster Within, Almond asserts, “Today's expectations for good mothering have become so hard to live with, the standards so draconian, that maternal ambivalence has increased and at the same time become more unacceptable to society as a whole.” This increasing idealization of mothering has provoked both a revolt by some contemporary mothers against these ideals and a shocked fascination on the part of the American public with the most spectacular cases of bad mothering, in which women abuse or even kill their children. Andrea Yates, the Texas woman who in 2001 drowned all five of her young children, is one of the murderous mothers whose situation Almond analyzes in her presentation of the wide spectrum of “maternal ambivalent feelings, thoughts, and behaviors,” from normal jitters to psychotic states.

In The Monster Within Almond uses two main kinds of evidence: clinical examples and case histories from her own and her colleagues' practices and discussions of selected literary works that she calls “case stories,” which range from the tragedy Medea by Euripides to Rosemary's Baby to Toni Morrison's Beloved. Those fictional accounts illustrate many of the same themes Almond finds in her therapeutic work, and they enable her to expand and deepen her examination of the mother-child bond. She also draws on articles in professional reviews, as well as newspapers and popular magazines, and on pioneering feminist critiques by Nancy Chodorov, Adrienne Rich, and others from the 1960s and '70s.

Almond's principal objective is to demonstrate the ubiquity and the multiple facets of maternal ambivalence and to suggest healthy ways for mothers and children to cope with their fraught relationship. Along the way, she takes on women's fears of producing monstrous offspring, tales of vampyric babies and mothers, various traumatic events that can disrupt mothering, and mothering across the life cycle, including becoming a grandmother and relating to adult children. The approach throughout is to relieve guilt and shame for negative experiences and to help mothers achieve happy motherhood and a good relation with their children, as well as helping the children themselves.

The Monster Within is a well-researched, well-written treatment of ambivalence, both its positive and its negative effects. I regret, however, that the text does not deal with the latest phenomenon of Mommy Bloggers, though I do not know how much new material Almond would have found there that is relevant to her concerns. Certainly many contemporary women are breaking their silence and dramatically confronting the issues she raises.

Mothers, prospective mothers, grown children, and anyone interested in the state of mothering at the present day will find much food for thought in this book. Interested readers would also be well advised to supplement The Monster Within with writings from the Journal of the Association for Research in Mothering, a publication devoted to exploring mothering from various radical perspectives through multidisciplinary approaches and creative writings. Almond's critique of the limiting expectations and flawed social constructions of mothering continues in a new journal from the same editors published by the Motherhood Initiative for Research and Community Involvement.

Written by: Kittye Delle Robbins-Herring, January 2nd 2011

Poverty, Charity, and Motherhood: Maternal Societies in Nineteenth-Century France

mandy — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Christine Adams

University of Illinois Press

The Society for Maternal Charity, a women-run organization, survived more than one hundred years through wars, revolutions, and changes of government. The group began because the large numbers of foundlings, abandoned due to poverty, were not only expensive for the State but had a very high mortality rate. The women’s societies were viewed as better bargains than orphanages and an extension of the women’s domestic sphere. Besides, France needed population for cannon fodder in its many wars.

The same dichotomous themes marked the Society’s growth and demise as we see today: rich/poor, government/private, national/local, stay-at-home/working mothers, male/female, and resentment by the poor/blindness of the rich. The same hot button questions existed in the nineteenth century: the worthy poor versus the lazy hordes, married women versus single tarts, breastfeeding versus wet nurses, the question of whether women were positive influences in society to “clean up” messes and women as children.

Even after the French Revolution, women remained barred from politics and civic affairs. But from participation in these organizations, they gained valuable skills and leadership training. Many of the societies had large budgets and staff giving the women executive experience. The Society raised money, lobbied politicians, and ran formidable businesses. These women from the elite classes proved that women could do hard work by going into ghettos and experiencing situations they had never imagined, let alone encountered.

These groups originated many business principles that today we consider basic: accountability by detailed financial statements, transparency by annual published reports, and maintaining minutes of meetings. They understood that often the husband’s interests didn’t align with the wife’s, and thus they gave the aid directly to the woman. Today, it is axiomatic in international aid that assistance should go to women, because they will spend it on the family while men may not.

The Society was eventually brought down by a perception that they were enforcing religious doctrine by insisting that the women have a religious marriage and enforcing morals such as that the recipients breastfeed and be “proper” women. The Society as a whole was faulted for relying on these religious precepts, though less than fifty percent of the organizations held these beliefs. Yet, the issue of the deserving versus undeserving poor is based on the impact of religion in political affairs. In reverse, the Bush Administration deliberately favored faith-based charities, as doing the job that government should not.

As France became more secular and organized, they recognized the potential power of civic organizations and tried to rein them in. They created model statutes and bylaws and required the Society to adopt them. When the Society refused, the funding stopped and the Society died.

Prior to the welfare state, all assistance was charity. States still question if it is a duty to provide for the poor. By demanding money from the state, the Society made the point that the State had responsibility to care for the poor. Christine Adams, the author of Poverty, Charity, and Motherhood, claims that these societies are the reason that France, as most of the European Union, has a much better welfare state with specific provisions for pregnant women and families, more generous vacations, health care, paternity leaves, etc. The women’s Societies, women’s work, should be given due credit.

Written by: Dianne Post, December 31st 2010

Cuntastic

andrea — Sun, 12 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

By Laurel Ripple Carpenter

With the popularization of blogs and personal websites in the past decade, there has been a sharp decline in the zine phenomena. I have longed for the days when the magazine rack at independent bookstores was lined with photocopied feminist zines, daring to say the things mainstream magazines cannot. Thankfully, there are still some zinesters willing to invest the time and money needed to undertake the taxing task of putting out a zine. Radical doula Laurel Ripple Carpenter is one of these few remaining idealists (however, a blog version of her zine does exist at blog.cuntastic.org).

As the name would imply, Cuntastic deals with “all things cunt,” meaning anything related to reproductive health, pregnancy, sexuality, etc. As Carpenter is both a doula and a mother, the zine has a large focus on pregnancy and children. The premiere issue, focusing on pregnancy and placentas, delved into multiple women’s experiences of being pregnant, including Carpenter herself. Carpenter shares her own pregnancy journal, giving an honest account of the concerns, fears, and elation a new mother faces. Another new mommy also gives an account of using a midwife assisted birth as opposed to a hospital birth, noting her reasoning behind her preference. As someone who has never been pregnant, or contemplated pregnancy, it was fascinating to read multiple graphic descriptions of the experience of being pregnant and giving birth. The zine also deals with the squeamish issue of new mothers taking placenta pills or eating their placenta, offering instructions both for tablets as well as meals meant to complement the inclusion of placentas.

The second issue, the menstruation issue, deals with women’s’ experiences with their menstrual cycle and alternative menstrual products like cups (i.e The Keeper) and sea sponges. The zine explores menstrual related traditions such as “menarche parties” for girls who receive their first periods. (There is also a humorous story from a male writer on his first time having sex with woman during her menstrual cycle.)

The third issue, the radical parenting issue, deals with feminists (and other left wing folk) becoming parents. The issue asks such key questions as how to not gender condition a child, how to go without disposable diapers, and generally how to raise a child while sticking to your ideals. It is fascinating to see the issue of motherhood explored by feminists as this was often a murky issue for the movement in the past. It is inspiring to hear about women using their feminist ideologies to raise their children. Within the issue, Carpenter also details her experience going into labor while at a DNC protest.

Overall, Carpenter has created a compelling and likable feminist zine with Cuntastic, in which she answers such questions commonly discussed by feminists (menstruation) and questions that need further exploration (motherhood and pregnancy.) I hope to see future issues of Cuntastic soon and hear more about Carpenter and her new life as a feminist mother.

Written by: Adrienne Urbanski, December 12th 2010

Mothers Who Deliver: Feminist Interventions in Public and Interpersonal Discourse

gwen — Sun, 14 Nov 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Edited by Pegeen Reichert Powell, Jocelyn Fenton Stitt

SUNY Press

While the field of mothering studies is approximately thirty years old, there’s no question that the experience of motherhood and the accompanying discourse and silence that surround it has existed for far longer. In this academic anthology, Stitt and Powell cast a wide net into this interdisciplinary field, bringing back articles that speak to everything from the “mommyblogging” revolution to single mothers’ groups and how they operate on university campuses. It is a bit broad for a text that comes in under 315 pages, but then again, it seems that attempting to narrow this field of study would be counterintuitive. The message of mothering studies scholars is clear: each mother’s experience deserves exploration.

The book is divided into two parts: “Feminist Interventions in Public Discourse,” and “Feminist Interventions in Interpersonal Discourse.” That organizational style doesn’t help or hurt the book since it’s a well-curated set of articles, but it is interesting to think about the public and private spheres that mothering dually occupies. In a feminist collection like this, it is difficult to highlight certain articles over others, especially because readers know how intimate these experiences are. However, there are certain pieces in this anthology that truly do stand apart from the rest. “Cyborg Mothering” by Shelley Park offers a unique, maternal perspective on technology. This is a woman who once refused to own a cell phone because she didn’t want to be in constant contact with anyone. Upon her separation from her husband and as a result of their joint custody of their two daughters, that same woman now relies on that mobile device and various web tools to maintain a presence in her daughters’ lives when they spend time with her ex-husband. It’s fascinating to see technology in this light, as a tool that truly does keep the lines of communication open, rather than as a distraction or a way to connect with an old high school friend.

Lynn Kuechle offers her thoughts on the current lack of mothering scripts, and expresses her frustration as a master’s student in speech communication and a mother, which culminates in a series of monologues about mothering. When read against another article in this text, “Mommyblogging Is a Radical Act!: Weblog Communities and the Construction of Maternal Identity,” one begins to question what “lack of mothering scripts” Kuechle is referring to. According to Lisa Hammond, mommybloggers are rewriting scripts every day on the web. The issues like these that are raised by the mere combination of articles in this text are the most rewarding aspects of reading Mothers Who Deliver. The articles themselves promote introspection, but it is the act of reading them in the same space against seemingly disparate articles that fosters questioning and eventual understanding of just how personal and political a field like mothering studies can be.

Written by: Alyssa Vincent, November 13th 2010

Poverty, Charity, and Motherhood: Maternal Societies in Nineteenth-Century France

tina — Sat, 30 Oct 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Christine Adams

University of Illinois Press

The women-run organization The Society for Maternal Charity survived more than a hundred years of wars, revolutions, and government changes. Initially the group began because of the number of children being abandoned due to poverty. Not only were these foundlings expensive for the state, but they also had a very high mortality rate. Women’s societies were viewed as more ideal than orphanages and seen as an extension of the women’s domestic sphere.

In following the growth and demise of the Society, Poverty, Charity, and Motherhood: Maternal Societies in Nineteenth-Century France covers the themes of rich/poor, government/private, national/local, stay at home v. working mothers, male v. female-run, and the resentment by the poor/blindness of the rich. The author, Christine Adams, also outlines hot button issues that existed in the nineteenth century: the worthy poor versus the lazy hordes; married women versus single tarts; breast feeding versus wet nurses; and the question of whether or not women were positive influences in society, there to “clean up messes.”

Even after the French revolution women remained barred from politics and civic affairs, but through participation in these organizations they gained valuable skills and leadership training. Many of the societies had large budgets and staff, giving the women executive experience. The Society raised money, lobbied politicians, and ran formidable businesses. Women from the elite classes proved that they could make a difference by going into rough neighborhoods and aiding in situations they had never imagined, let alone encountered.

As Adams illustrates in Poverty, Charity and Motherhood, these maternal societies created many business principles, such as accountability, transparency, and sustainability. The societies understood that a husband’s interests often didn’t align with the wife’s, so aid must be given directly to women.

The Society was eventually brought down because it was believed they were enforcing religious doctrine; the Society insisted women have religious marriages and it required them to act as “proper women.” As a whole the Society was faulted for relying on these religious precepts, though less than fifty percent of the organizations held these beliefs.

Prior to the welfare state, all assistance was charity. By demanding money from the state, the Society made it clear that the State had a responsibility to care for the poor. Adams claims that these societies are the reason that France and other European countries have a much better welfare state, with specific provisions for pregnant women and families, more generous vacations, health care, paternity leave, etc. The women’s Societies should be given due credit.

While the Societies signaled many of the issues that remain today, as Adams points out, they were not strong enough to consider the implications of inequality in their own lives; a different brand of woman had to do that. As with the “club women” of today, they do offer a valuable service: they are training grounds for women’s leadership and they should be given credit for the work they do.

Written by: , October 30th 2010

The Desires of Letters

priyanka — Tue, 05 Oct 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Laynie Browne

Counterpath Press

In 1994, poet Bernadette Mayer published The Desires of Mothers to Please Others in Letters, a collection of loosely structured and un-posted letters written over a nine-month period while she was a new mother in New York in 1979.

Now Laynie Browne, in The Desires of Letters, takes Mayer’s flowing style as muse and resonates profoundly with her own ruminations on motherhood and daily life. Author of nine collections of poetry, she uses her talents to describe the experience of motherhood and desire, which I find is often like trying to nail water to a brick. But she turns the brick to water.

When does it get easier (you ask). The answer is yes and not when. Since time has nothing to do with us now. We live in a timeless realm where the effect of difficulty is cumulative, like labor, not each event taken on its own. There is no tense one could call ‘later.’ Each tantrum or disaster formally speaking is returning home to feel an outing has been successful, no matter how humble, to buy milk for instance, if everyone is still alive.

As a writer and a mother with young children, I often find it difficult to connect to voices so far removed from the disjointed and often surreal world my children and I inhabit. But in The Desires of Letters I felt at home. Taking the writing, the experience of being a writer, then wrapping it around the children and their needs, and the day to day that translates in such a different way than it did as a singular person who was not so bundled in with other human voices.

Naomi Stadlen, in her 2004 work titled What Mothers Do Especially When It Looks Like Nothing said that, “Mother’s live in a universe that has not been accurately described. The right words have not been coined. Using habitual vocabulary sends us straight down the same… footpaths. …There are whole stretches of motherhood that no one has explored.”

Laynie Browne has offered a beautiful new step toward this exploration.

Written by: Jen Wilson Lloyd, October 4th 2010

Knocked Up, Knocked Down: Postcards of Miscarriage and Misadventure from the Brink of Parenthood

admin — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Monica Murphy Lemoine

Catalyst Book Press

This book is not just for those that have experienced a miscarriage. Let’s make that clear. Yes, Knocked Up, Knocked Down: Postcards of Miscarriage and Other Misadventures from the Brink of Parenthood is all about the journey of healing from the great loss of being pregnant, physically caring for this baby within, then suddenly having parenthood ripped from beneath you. It’s a horrendous experience. However, what this book does best is open up that harsh reality to everyone who has never experienced it. Too often those that suffer through miscarriage or stillbirth feel outcast. While people generally know how to react to the death of a family member or friend, the death of an unborn child is confusing territory. The worst: some people just don’t understand how terribly painful that loss is. Reading this book will change that.

Knocked Up, Knocked Down is a very personal account of Monica Murphy Lemoine’s experience of entering motherhood, but ending up without a baby. How do you heal from such a confusing and heartbreaking experience? While it’s different for everyone, Monica found that most of the grieving literature in regards to miscarriages and stillbirths wasn’t at all helpful. If anything, she found it to be patronizing and irritating. While she tried many of the suggestions, her journey of finding out for herself what helps and what just makes it worse is helpful for anyone in a similar circumstance or anyone wanting to understand those that are.

As far as the writing itself, with a jarring, crass beginning, and slow character development, it takes at least thirty pages before you even begin to feel like you’re truly getting to know the author. Even though she shares plenty of personal information right from the beginning, there’s not much of an introduction. The story begins forty-eight hours after her miscarriage, jumping right into the focus of this journey, but you feel like you’re playing catch up trying to get to know her.

Once you get about fifty pages into this 200 page book, it all starts to come together. All of the introductions are finally explained with sufficient back-story to feel like you personally know Monica and her husband Kevin. Once that’s in place, it’s easier to understand, relate, and feel great compassion for this couple as they try to heal from their loss. Is Knocked Up, Knocked Down a bit depressing? You bet. But will it give you new perspective? Absolutely! This book is completely worth the read.

You would think with miscarriages and stillbirth being as common as it is (as Monica points out, the International Stillbirth Alliance states that 4.5 million stillbirths occur worldwide each year), that this topic would be addressed more often. But the truth is, it’s not. Good for Monica helping others feel less alone and providing everyone else with the means to begin to comprehend. Plus, readers can continue to follow Monica through her blog. After reading her book, you are sure to wonder “What happens next?” and, fortunately, with her blog the journey continues.

Monica manages to bring you inside her world and allows you to share in her experiences, both the good and the bad, without making you feel like a voyeur. She opens up in a way that feels like family, a really close-knit and brutally honest family. No doubt you’ll walk away from reading her story a little wiser and much more empathetic.

Written by: Sarah Eve Nichols-Fulghum, July 22nd 2010

Entre Nos

admin — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Gloria La Morte, Paola Mendoza

IndiePix Studios

Mariana and her children, Gabriel and Andrea, are stranded in New York City. Two weeks after her husband Antonio asked them to leave their native Colombia and join him in Queens after a lengthy separation, he left $50 in an envelope, headed for Miami, and stopped answering his phone. A family friend tells Mariana that he isn’t coming home.

Undocumented and completely broke, Mariana tries to sell homemade empanadas on the streets while also accepting random jobs as they come. On one occasion, she’s forced to leave the kids home alone while she goes out for a few hours to take day work as a dishwasher. Kids being kids, they lay around teaching each other curse words in English until a friend comes by with a better offer, and they all sneak out to take an illicit dip in an elderly neighbor’s pool. Racing home after they’re discovered and chased away by an angry old man, they’re only seconds ahead of their mother on the subway platform, who witnesses them out alone in public. Clearly terrified for her children’s safety and of the U.S. authorities, she barges into their tiny apartment moments after her children, shouting at Gabi that in this country, they take children away from their parents.

Though their circumstances are often dire, the bond depicted between Mariana, Andrea, and Gabriel is remarkable. Overcoming a seemingly endless stream of difficulties along the way, Gabi pitches in to help the family survive, collecting cans when Mariana is too sick or exhausted to do it herself. And while the ways in which Mariana sacrifices for her children are clear, there are also lovely examples like when she pays for the kids to see a movie together. The $21 entrance fee for three is a bit steep, but she can shell out enough for the two of them and makes them swear to meet her out front the moment the film is over. They shriek in agreement as they race into the air-conditioned building as she calls after them, "Te quiero!"

Co-director Paola Mendoza is largely responsible for honoring the depictions of the struggling immigrant mother and her young children; the story is based on her own family’s struggle, a tribute to her mother. Entre Nos is very visually pleasing, expertly edited and strikingly beautiful despite the pain it depicts. Scenes of quintessential American poverty loom throughout, like neighbor women sharing at-home abortion tips on the sly or when the small family stands timidly outside the emergency room after Gabi hurt his leg until Mariana offers to “wash it at home” before they retreat back into the night. Whether they’re afraid of being deported or because they simply can’t afford the medical bills, the scene is an important reminder of how poverty and immigration are often deeply intertwined.

The film weaves themes of homelessness and the camaraderie of the streets with universal depictions of the strength and resilience of single mothers and their innocent, precocious children. It also reminds you that even if life as an undocumented immigrant seems unbearable, even if you want to go home, you may not be able to afford to turn around.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, June 20th 2010

Motherhood and Feminism

admin — Fri, 28 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Amber E. Kinser

Seal Press

I doubt any role is more judged than mother. Add sexuality, class, and race into the equation and, for some of us, we will never be a "good" mother. But what are we really comparing ourselves to?

We are trying to live up to a myth. A myth of Biblical proportions that has been around for less than sixty years. Stephanie Koontz’s The Way We Never Were does an excellent job at debunking the myth of a Leave It to Beaver family and letting Donna Reed be our benchmark. Amber E. Kinser picks up that conversation and runs with it.

In Motherhood and Feminism Kinser outlines the evolution, both natural and government imposed, of the role of motherhood in American society. At the same time she is tracking the evolution of the feminist movement in the United States. Sometimes both areas collide; other times they complement each other. And that is what is fascinating about this book: how easily motherhood and the role of women in families can be shifted by outside economic pressures and government propaganda, as well as how the feminist movement often takes its cues from how motherhood is framed.

During the first wave of feminism, it was obvious that many of the women who were engaged in the fight for suffrage took a look at themselves and said, “Hey, women need the vote so we can be better citizens for our children and because women are just better people than men.” The theory that infusing women into politics would clean it up remains with us today. The fact that women could not ask for their own rights for their own sake, but rather used their children as the reason why they shouldn’t be left penniless after her husband dies, also remains with us. Consider how many mothers' organizations fight for rights on behalf of children rather than for women themselves.

In many ways the fight for women’s rights has and continues to be fought in the home. The so-called Mommy Wars are a proxy for where a woman should be in society and not about the well-being of children. It is also a proxy for who is worthy of support. (How dare that woman take government money to stay home with her children when my husband works hard and I budget so I can be home?) The backlash against mom bloggers earning money, directly or indirectly through free samples, is yet another battle over where a woman’s priorities should be: her career or her children.

Kinser makes the point over and over again that not all mothers movements are feminist, nor do they want to be. It is honestly easier to get a thousand women to rally for children’s health care than to rally for their own health care that includes access to full reproductive health services. And that’s where the gruff lives.

I've talked with feminists who wished that mothers organizations would just claim the damn label, but I get it. And yes, it usually falls to the abortion question. Kinser has one of the best rationales on why feminism must include a pro-choice stance—no ifs, ands, or buts. She also does a good job at tackling moms of color, queer moms, and low-income moms. This is not a history of white middle class feminist motherhood, although she correctly states that much of mainstream feminism and motherhood expectations are modeled on white middle class norms, and then she rips it apart.

Motherhood and Feminism is well written and documents a shared history that many moms and feminists often forget or aren't even aware of. Without moms, we wouldn't have won the right to vote. Without feminism, moms wouldn't have the rights they have today. We're like peanut butter and chocolate—and some us are peanut butter cups.

Cross-posted from Viva La Feminista

Written by: Veronica I. Arreola, May 28th 2010

Kill Your Darlings: Issue One

admin — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 16:01:00 +0000

Edited by Rebecca Starford

Kill Your Darlings has a lot to live up to. In its inaugural issue its editor, Affirm Press’ Rebecca Starford, says the journal’s mission is to "reinvigorate and re-energise" Australia’s literary scene. She quotes editor Rob Spillman as saying that most journals are "good for you, but they taste awful." Kill Your Darlings intends to redress this—to shake up the medium and "publish literature that bites back." A big, bold statement.

First let me say that I love the title of this attractive new journal. It is an apt reference to the advice that writers are so often given. The bit you love the most is the bit that has to go. Editing your own work is a ruthless business, and cutting your ‘baby’ up can feel like murder. So, Kill Your Darlings is a perfect choice of title that is edgy and attention grabbing, and therefore sure to help with marketing. Moreover, the cover design is striking, the layout clean and readable, and the standard of editing (so often lacking these days) is high. In short, it’s a pleasure to curl up on the couch with.

The journal opens with Gideon Haigh’s biting (yes, they’ve succeeded there) assessment of the current state of reviewing. I suspect some may view this essay as deliberately provocative, but he makes some valid points about what he describes as the generally "lacklustre" fare on offer characterised by "its sheer dullness and inexpertise." He attributes much of the problem to timid reviewers who fear future retribution when their own work comes up for review, but also to newspapers and magazines who pay poorly (if at all) for reviews and begrudge the space they occupy. The critique has already sparked debate, which can only be a good thing.

On finishing reading this essay I, of course, turned straight to the review section at the back to see how Kill Your Darlings' measured up. There are two brief reviews, which surely for their length alone would paradoxically be lambasted under Haigh’s criteria (he quotes George Orwell’s opinion that 1000 words should be the "bare minimum" for any worthwhile review). Nevertheless, snappy reviews do serve a purpose and it’s good to see them included here alongside two much longer reviews. Starford’s consideration of Mary Gaitskill’s Don’t Cry certainly falls within Orwell’s ballpark, and makes a serious attempt to examine this latest offering within the broader context of her body of work. And there’s a lengthy review of The Wire, which Anthony Morris claims is "the best television drama series ever made." (I’m not convinced.)

But back to the ‘commentary’ section. I found Tracy Crisp’s reflective story about the elusive nature of inspiration and the difficulty in trying to write and mother simultaneously compelling. How to be the kind of writer she wants to be and the kind of mother is a conundrum to which I can relate. Then there’s Clementine Ford’s wryly amusing article on internet dating, and Paul Mitchell’s moving and funny account of guiltily bonding with his tweenage daughter over shopping despite his anti-consumerist principles.

It’s great to see an article by former Canberran Justin Heazlewood (aka The Bedroom Philosopher) featured. His commentary on the death of the album and his dad-like resistance to it makes for entertaining reading. The desire for musos to hold their own album in their hands (and not just on their iPod) is surely one to which many authors can relate (the desire for a beautiful object not just a file on an eReader). Ultimately, though, resistance will surely prove futile.

The only disappointment was Georgia Gowing’s commentary on the derby phenomenon. As a regular roller derby-goer I wanted more. For me, it didn’t entirely capture the electric energy and drama of a derby match and, other than a few interesting soundbites from the girls themselves, it failed to offer any fresh insights. Perhaps delving into links to punk culture and third wave feminism might have afforded it greater depth.

The fiction section includes seven short stories of which Patrick Cullen’s is the standout. "Carver’s Unkempt Lawn" imagines a meeting between four famous American writers in the home of Tess Gallagher and Raymond Carver, who is dying. The subtle elegance of this beautifully crafted story had me captivated. I also admired "Clinching" by Emmett Stinson, which throws us into the futile struggle of an emotionally disconnected couple—characters who leap boldly and vividly from the page. And then there’s Chris Womersley’s "Theories of Relativity," which opens with an arresting first line and just gets better from there. It is an unsettling tale of a dysfunctional family seen through the eyes of its youngest child who doesn’t discover the shocking inner world of his family until his twenty-first year. Womersley reveals the story in layers, masterfully leading us towards the final brutal punch. I haven’t read his first novel, The Low Road, which won the 2008 Ned Kelly Award for Best First Fiction, but I’ll certainly be seeking it out now.

I must confess that I was initially skeptical about whether Kill Your Darlings could live up to its own hype. Well, dear Reader, I was wrong to have doubted. Issue one is a damn fine read. I look forward to seeing what the next one brings.

Cross-posted from Overland

Written by: Irma Gold, April 26th 2010

The Blue Orchard

admin — Wed, 21 Apr 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Jackson Taylor

Touchstone

I can't remember the last time a tale of fiction grabbed me and wouldn't let me go. I finished The Blue Orchard by Jackson Taylor over a week ago and it still haunts me during those quiet moments of my day. What drew me in to say 'yes' to reviewing this book was that it is a tale of a nurse in pre-Roe America who is arrested for performing illegal abortions. On top of that, The Blue Orchard is a fictionalized tale of Taylor's own grandmother.

But I have to tell you that I forgot that last fact while reading. I was so consumed by the ups and far too many downs of Verna Krone that I simply forgot she really did walk this earth. The Blue Orchard is a painful tale of a young girl's hope to find her place in the world, only to have too many decisions made for her that ultimately result in heartbreak. The story is far too delicate than I could ever express.

I will certainly be suggesting The Blue Orchard the next time my book group needs to pick a title. Not only is the issue of abortion discussed, but also gender roles, race, class, motherhood, and even a great dose of local politics. Oh, did I love the local politics angle!

Cross-posted from Viva La Feminista

Written by: Veronica I. Arreola, April 20th 2010

Creating a Life: The Memoir of a Writer and Mom in the Making

admin — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 01:00:00 +0000

By Corbin Lewars

Catalyst Book Press

Some books are pure pleasure, an escape, and others give us more to ponder. Some books allow us to reach down deep to the hidden place of our most private thoughts. Creating a Life is the latter kind.

Creating a Life is not just a memoir about giving birth to both a child and a life; it is a stunning tribute to the audacity it takes to reclaim one’s self. Corbin Lewars has given a voice to each and every woman who has experienced sexual abuse. One out of four girls has suffered childhood sexual abuse, a statistic provided in the introduction to warn the reader of the immensity of the author’s story.

In the beginning of the book, Lewars is honest about her obsession with having a baby. But her husband Jason is still deciding whether he wants a baby or not. In an attempt to satisfy her whirling emotions, she decides to get a Master’s degree while also remodeling her house. Her efforts do not quench her needs, and the reader is given glimpse after glimpse into her personal hell.

Jason finally agrees to procreate, and Lewars goes full steam into conception. The couple becomes pregnant in no time, only to lose the baby in the first trimester. Lewars enters an intense mourning period. Every memorable book has an instance when the reader experiences a point of light, and it was here that I began to engage with the author’s "real" story.

Lewars remembers a rape that occurred when she was twelve, a rape she had repressed since it happened. She comes to realize much of her dissatisfaction with her life is a byproduct of this denial. The memory of the rape sends her into therapy, where she promises to resolve her own issues before becoming a mother. With this clear plan, Lewars sets about fulfilling her quest to become whole. But the best made plans can change. She becomes pregnant again.

Creating a Life is one of the most exquisite and brave memoirs I have read in years. The message of hope and dedication is universal and steps outside the confines of the story itself, reaching women of all ages. As a writer, woman, and mother, I’m humbled by this beautiful, courageous book. Many life lessons are here for the learning.

Written by: Ann Hite, March 10th 2010