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fleaMs. Flanagan's book is mistitled; it should be called "To Hell With All That: Loving and Loathing MY Inner Housewife." Because what it is is a personal memoir about one slightly nutso woman's relationship with modern American upper-middle-class motherhood, not a broader sociological analysis much less a policy statement.
So while I read it (an ARC given me by RFMom who got it as a literature librarian; I didn't actually enrich Flanagan or her publishers) in an hour and 40 minutes this morning before my family woke up (it's a speedy read, and short too) I found myself enjoying it. Flanagan is a good writer, in the technical sense: she's funny, she's articulate, she writes enjoyable light magaziney prose. Anytime she started to talk about "women" or "us" I just automagically substituted "me" (me-Flanagan, not me-me, needless to say) and kept my head. Most of her general statements are offensive, risible, or both, but as me-statements thay're sometimes funny and often rather sad, sometimes simultaneously. I think much of the sadness stems from her lack of self-awareness - it's an accidentally confessional memoir, rather than anything honestly introspective. But providing me much insight nonetheless.
Maybe I'm just feeling forgiving today. I still would much rather see a woman who can seriously discuss and culturally critique American attitudes towards family, economics, and motherhood as a staff writer at the New Yorker.
I also really like the commentary on Flanagan at Friday Playdate (my current favorite blog about motherhood by someone I don't actually know): http://fridayplaydate.blogspot.com/
So while I read it (an ARC given me by RFMom who got it as a literature librarian; I didn't actually enrich Flanagan or her publishers) in an hour and 40 minutes this morning before my family woke up (it's a speedy read, and short too) I found myself enjoying it. Flanagan is a good writer, in the technical sense: she's funny, she's articulate, she writes enjoyable light magaziney prose. Anytime she started to talk about "women" or "us" I just automagically substituted "me" (me-Flanagan, not me-me, needless to say) and kept my head. Most of her general statements are offensive, risible, or both, but as me-statements thay're sometimes funny and often rather sad, sometimes simultaneously. I think much of the sadness stems from her lack of self-awareness - it's an accidentally confessional memoir, rather than anything honestly introspective. But providing me much insight nonetheless.
Maybe I'm just feeling forgiving today. I still would much rather see a woman who can seriously discuss and culturally critique American attitudes towards family, economics, and motherhood as a staff writer at the New Yorker.
I also really like the commentary on Flanagan at Friday Playdate (my current favorite blog about motherhood by someone I don't actually know): http://fridayplaydate.blogspot.com/