Saturday, June 8, 2024

Build Your House Around My Body

 

Build Your House Around My BodyBuild Your House Around My Body by Violet Kupersmith
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This just ticked all the boxes for me. It was delightfully imaginative and weird while not coming too much off the rails. It had bits and pieces that fit in other narratives and clicked satisfyingly into place. It explored issues that days later still make me ponder--I'm still not sure what it all means, but I like trying to think it out. What does it mean to have a body? How do spirit and body affect each other? How do we see others and how are we seen? Plus, karma. Also the location of Vietnam played a significant role which I enjoyed learning about. This was another book I had a hard time not just reading all day.

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Men We Reaped

Men We Reaped: A MemoirMen We Reaped: A Memoir by Jesmyn Ward
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Memoirs are hard to review and I say I don't really like them but I read a lot of them. I do think I learn a lot about how different people think and what they learn from experiences that are so different from mine and then not so different. Witnessing them work through their traumas and relationships can kind of feel like voyeurism and sometimes I don't come to the same conclusions they do and how do I judge that? This memoir of Jesmyn's early life and tribute to five young men who died young is tragic and sad. But it is so well written. You can see Ward's talent jumping off the page. My one purely editorial criticism is that I wish she would have woven in some more of the young men's lives with her own narrative a little bit better. We often only meet these persons in the pages of their tribute chapter The death of her brother which she memorializes last and does show up in her narrative passages made his death really hit you. Again,it's not a happy book but she writes with such candor and beauty that it transcends the sadness of the material.

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If energy is neither created nor destroyed, and if your brother was here with his, his humor, his kindness, his hopes, doesn't this mean that what he was still exists somewhere, even if it's not here?  Doesn't it?

We crawled through time like roaches through the linings of walls, the neglected spaces and hours, foolishly happy that we were alive even as we did everything to die.

How the privilege of my education, my eventual ascent into another class, was born in the inexorable push of my mother's hands.  How unfair it all seemed. 

The Portrait of a Lady

The Portrait of a LadyThe Portrait of a Lady by Henry James
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I read this in graduate school but couldn't remember how it ended so I read it again. The ending is ambiguous and supremely unsatisfying so no wonder I didn't recall it. But even with careful reading the first time, the second time around uncovers so much of James' genius in writing the inner life of his characters. His extended metaphors and sly foreshadowing are delightful. His characters shine--Ralph is so witty and sardonic, Henrietta so forcible and opinionated but a true friend, Lord Warburton so gallant, Caspar so laughably hopeful and earnest, and Osmond so snakily smooth and cruel. How does an American girl, educated, open, and now even unfettered by material wants, and who longs for experiences and freedom so much get herself so thoroughly and fixedly trapped? The fact that we don't really know what Isobel decides to do in the final act makes it harder to conclude the point James was making. But the compassion and depth of understanding for his protagonist makes this not just a great psychological thriller but a feminist exploration as well. I did not like the ending, but I could re-read this again, I'm sure and be stimulated by James' writing.

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Thursday, June 6, 2024

The Beast

 

The Beast: Riding the Rails and Dodging Narcos on the Migrant TrailThe Beast: Riding the Rails and Dodging Narcos on the Migrant Trail by Óscar Martínez
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Martinez follows migrants from Central America through Mexico as they try to cross the border into America. In the afterword, he points out that this treacherous journey may not even yield a better life--there will still be economic hardships coupled with violence and the fear of discovery will always haunt them and yet they still come in droves. He says he hopes his book will at least give Americans a sense of respect for what these migrants have been through. But while obviously being sympathetic to migrants, this book also helped me to understand why some people would want to tighten the borders. I don't think I realized the prevalence of gangs, violence, and drugs that permeate the whole of this migration. Migrants don't stick around, or are too scared to make a difference in the court systems and so justice does not exist. They are vulnerable and desperate and those wishing to make a profit at the expense of their fellowman is rampant. Without tighter borders those drugs, gangs, and ensuing violence will follow because migrants are in the same situation: unable to report or to prosecute. Riding the trains was surely a new aspect about migration that I didn't know about, but it was the unending violence and fear that really opened my eyes. Yes, I have respect for those who make the trip, but I also see that the problem we need to address comes way before the border.

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Warlight

 

WarlightWarlight by Michael Ondaatje
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

The coming of age story of a young man whose mother was a spy during and after WWII, only he didn't really realize it at the time. His mother left him and his sister in the care of some unorthodox and unusual guardians who introduced them to some interesting lifestyles and philosophies. His mother returns when "the enemies" try to abduct him and sister, and she leaves the spy service. The second half of the book seems to be him trying to put the pieces of new knowledge with what happened back then--why his mother left, who the guardians were both during the war, and after, and what happened to everyone. It was an interesting and unusual book although I can't say I really liked any of the characters or sympathized much with them which is why it is a lower rating.

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The Moth was often away, but his absence, like his presence, rarely mattered.

Is this how we discover the truth, evolve? By gathering together such unconfirmed fragments?

When you attempt a memoir, I am told, you need to be in an orphan state. So what is missing in you, and the things you have grown cautious and hesitant about, will come almost casually towards you. “A memoir is the lost inheritance,” you realize, so that during this time you must learn how and where to look. In the resulting self-portrait everything will rhyme, because everything has been reflected. If a gesture was flung away in the past, you now see it in the possession of another. So I believed something in my mother must rhyme in me. She in her small hall of mirrors and I in mine.

I felt I too had disappeared. I had lost my youth.

Only a thin line of light under the door I had just closed behind me.

I retreated from arguments as if I had those epicanthic eyelids that birds and some fish have, that allow them to separate themselves silently, almost courteously, from present company.

speaking of the mystery of chalk hills, where “whole faunas come and go, while the layers of the chalk are built from the efforts of infinitesimal creatures working in almost limitless time.”

She was once more back in a small repeating universe that included few outsiders

We never know more than the surface of any relationship after a certain stage, just as those layers of chalk, built from the efforts of infinitesimal creatures, work in almost limitless time.


Without Children

Without Children: The Long History of Not Being a MotherWithout Children: The Long History of Not Being a Mother by Peggy O'Donnell Heffington
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I thought this was a thoughtful, well-researched inquiry into why women don't have children, by choice, and not. She points out that the desire not to have children for various reasons have always existed, there have always been means and ways women have tried to take control of their bodies, their roles, and their desires. What I thought was fascinating was the social policies that seem to support the traditional family but actually work against it, especially in regards to America. We have become increasingly isolated from each other, meaning there is less support for mothers, and fewer roles for women without children (including single and those unable to have their own children) to help in the nurture of children. Policies like affordable day care and long (or any) maternity leave have been discouraged in order to entice mothers to stay home and raise children but actually make it economically difficult to raise a family. I thought Heffington did a remarkable job of being sensitive to women on both sides of this issue, validating both choices to have or not have children and encouraging us all to be kinder to each other and more supportive of those with children.

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Heti suggests the term “not not a mother”: For women without children, it could be a rejection of the negative identity, “not ‘not a mother.’” For mothers, the double negative cancels itself out and they become, simply, a mother. This, Heti writes, is a “term we can share.”

We need an elaborated vocabulary for making kin and caring beyond the ‘pro-and anti-and non-natalist,’ and that does not use the binary-implying word ‘choice.’”

Women I got graduate degrees with, drank too much whiskey in bars with, ran marathons with, have been transformed, literally overnight, into Adults, with Real Responsibilities and Meaning in Their Lives. Meanwhile, I have remained a child, failing to feed myself properly on a regular basis, killing houseplants, and indulging in wild, hedonic pleasures like going for a run every morning and having a clean living room.

But a man who produces no children is not usually identified with that lack.

Today, we benefit from the wisdom of Black, queer, and Indigenous feminist thinkers who have taught us that “mother” is best used as a verb, not a noun: mother is something that you do, not something that you are.

New York Times survey in 2021 concluded that reproductive decisions were closely tied to jobs, money, and the desperate struggle many millennials have faced to gain even a tenuous foothold in the rapidly eroding middle class.

For the rest of us, the majority without kids, our non-motherhood was arrived at slowly, indirectly, through a series of decisions that sometimes had nothing, and yet everything, to do with reproduction:

there was far more space for motherhood to be a social role, not just a biological one, more space for women who did not birth children to fully participate in loving and raising them.

Many of us have mourned the passage of what Cheryl Strayed has called “the ghost ship that didn’t carry us,” the shadowy, silent version of the life we did not choose that glides parallel to us, barely visible through the mist.

The activist and writer Jenny Brown has argued that we should understand falling births in America as a work slowdown or a strike: the people who do the labor of birthing and raising children are increasingly refusing to do it under the poor conditions they’ve been provided.

the reasons women aren’t having children look and feel less like a strike than like individual decisions to opt out, less like a shared experience and more like a personal failure to overcome modern-day stresses, real and imagined.

That the isolation of the American family would correspond to its shrinking makes sense.

“grandmother hypothesis”: the idea that older women might stop reproducing because they can do more good by caring for their communities and extended families than by having additional children of their own.

The modern nuclear family was not just a biological unit, but also, in the public imagination, a social unit bonded by a kind of love and loyalty that was both natural and unique. 55

“Assimilation” to white American culture and society demanded nothing less than the destruction of communal support networks and the isolation of nuclear families from each other.

As long as work remained in the home, it was more or less genderless; and as long as work remained genderless, women maintained a partial hold on equal household power.

The family, he writes, “was roughly torn apart each morning by the factory bell.” 42 Dad went to work, leaving Mom behind to oversee a family whose importance had been hollowed out. No longer the site of economic productivity or industrious familial labor, the family was reduced to just two functions: raising children and creating a soft, loving, comfortable environment to do it in, a “haven in a heartless world.” 43 Along the way, women lost the ability to contribute economically to their families, and the household power that comes with that contribution. 44

If a woman’s highest calling was to be a mother, then carrying out motherhood’s attendant duties should be anything but work. 47

In the context of a history that features mothers making economic contributions to their families far more often than it does not, the problem isn’t that motherhood is incompatible with work. The problem is that the way we work today is increasingly incompatible with motherhood.

Two decades later, fertility exploded during the baby boom, which also happened to coincide with the most generous social welfare programs in American history. 63

“The birth rate,” he writes, “is a barometer of despair.”

Infertility, then, may be the only medical condition that is a medical condition only if the person who has it thinks it is.

The sociologist Sally Macintyre has pointed out that there are “two visions of reality” for women. For unmarried women, “pregnancy and childbearing are abnormal and undesirable and conversely the desire to have a baby is aberrant, selfish, and in need of explanation.” For married women, the opposite has long been true: “Pregnancy and childbearing are normal and desirable, and conversely a desire not to have children”—and, I would add, the simple fact of not having them—“ is aberrant and in need of explanation.”

Though both procedures can involve the destruction of fertilized human embryos, in a 2013 Pew survey about half of Americans said they believed abortion to be morally wrong, and only 12 percent believed the same of IVF. 71

motherhood was the source of their power. “The woman’s body, which receives, hosts, and gives forth the future of the species, is inherently powerful,” they wrote.

The problem is not the children. The problem is the society parents have to parent in.

Tuesday, June 4, 2024

The Paying Guest

 

The Paying GuestsThe Paying Guests by Sarah Waters
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This was a well-written emotional thriller set in the 1930's in England. Frances and her mother have had to let out some of their rooms to make ends meet in a high-class end of town. A couple moves in and immediately impacts their day to day life. I loved how the descriptions of the noises were given throughout the book as we follow the actions as Frances would. Frances falls in love, and then there is a discovery, and a fall out that may seem rather mundane but Waters puts a new twist to it, and it changes everything. Waters lets us experience all the lust of a new paramour, the deepening love, the compromises, then the horror and endless waiting and tension. I didn't know what to expect going into it, and some people may not appreciate the twist, but I thought it was an interesting way to look at how always looking at things conventionally makes us miss things.

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