Tag Archives: women

The Farm: Pregnancy Dystopia on International Women’s Day

Joanne Ramos joins a growing genre of novels imagining a near future where reproduction is fraught and bodies-with-uteruses are (more than ever) subject to surveillance and control for their reproductive possibilities. Too bad this was such a poor comparison with the truly excellent Red Clocks and not as speculative or feisty as The Power and such an obvious spin on The Handmaids Tale as to be irritating. And that the whole thing seemed to be written as though it already anticipated its movie adaptation: lots of plot, lots of surface, lots of descriptions of sleek cars and finger nails, and a disappointing lack of character development, interiority or good writing.

The hook this novel tries to make is to wed conversations about control of reproduction with class and race: the story follows a Filipino woman, Jane, as she spends nine months gestating the baby of an ultra billionaire at ‘the Farm’ a pregnancy center/spa/prison for surrogates. We are meant, I suppose, to read all the female characters as sympathetic – even the ultra rich – as they struggle to have it all, or to have some of it, or to just get by. We’re meant to appreciate the knowing nods to the Sisterhood and how women are made to compete against one another rather than to unite against Patriarchy. It’s just all so very Obvious and looking for nuance in this book is an exercise quickly abandoned in lieu of finishing it in time for book club.

So please on this International Women’s Day continue to read excellent books about the challenge and cost of pregnancy and parenting for women (the gendered wage gap is just the beginning). Just don’t read this one.

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Filed under Bestseller, Book Club, Book I'll Forget I Read, Fiction

A Thousand Splendid Suns: I Just Don’t Believe in Happy Endings

I can’t explain it. I’m an optimist. An obnoxiously optimistic optimist, like I’ve had to consciously learn how to listen to folks when they’re having a problem and just say ‘that sucks’ rather than ‘oh oh! here’s why there’s a silver lining to your total misery.’ So how can it be that I’m so irritated by happy endings? I don’t find them plausible. Sure, I appreciate that sometimes things work out, but mostly? no. Which, okay, is at odds with my claim to optimism. Maybe it’s just that my outrageously privileged life has led me to believe that things will (mostly) work out for *me*, even while they mostly do *not* work out for other people/the world.

So cue my dissatisfaction with Khaled Hosseini’s A Thousand Splendid Suns, which *spoiler* has a ‘happy’ (well happy-ish) ending. Don’t confuse the happy-ish ending with a happy story. The book is full to bursting with very difficult scenes of domestic abuse – many of which I ended up skimming over because I found the level of detail to be too much for me. And there are all kinds of moments of pain, grief, loss, disappointment, betrayal. So maybe Hosseini felt like after making the reader – and the characters – suffer through all that they do, they/we were owed a happy-ish ending? To me it just wasn’t plausible, though, that after all that had happened, that things would end out working out as they did,

Anyway – broad strokes, the book follows Mariam and Laila through thirty-odd years of Afghan history. I appreciated the historical fiction aspects, as I’ll admit to a spotty-to-non-existent understanding of pre-2000 Afghan history. Both characters are reasonably well drawn, and their particular motivations and interests thought through, though I would say that Laila is the more believable of the two. Mariam reads as a little underdeveloped, particularly in her transition from downtrodden wife to heroic sister/friend. Similarly, Rasheed, the abusive husband/father felt like a caricature to me. I’m not expecting a sympathetic portrait of a violent, abusive, volatile man. At the same time, I might have believed his character more if there was some nuance to his actions.

The effect of these somewhat underdeveloped characters was to have me doubt the reliability of the rest of the narrative. What I mean is that because I didn’t fully believe in the reality of the characters, I doubted the veracity of the rest of the narrative. Like if these characters were caricatures, maybe the depiction of Afghan life under the Taliban was being similarly reduced to its most extreme or most recognized elements. What I will say about that doubt, was that the reading prompted me to read more non-fiction to find out how closely the narrative followed ‘actual’ events and circumstances, so perhaps there’s a silver lining there…

And there we go. Full circle. A book I didn’t really like that I am – optimistically – suggesting might have some merit after all.

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Filed under Book Club, Fiction, Historical Fiction

Manhattan Beach: Sex! Intrigue! Women-who-aren’t-fierce-but-just-women!

Jennifer Egan’s Manhattan Beach is the sort of book you read while at work. Like tucked inside an important memo. (One of my memories of elementary school is our teacher discovering that Joseph had been hiding a novel behind his math textbook and the teacher went bananas and used a meter stick to hit the book across the room. Which with the benefit of age now seems an unmeasured response. I mean, I can see being annoyed if he had a porn mag tucked in there, but a novel? Oh well. I guess we must Be Respected at all times. I DIGRESS.)

It’s an excellent novel. Really. Go and get it now and start reading. Things I think make it excellent (in no particular order): Continue reading

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Filed under American literature, Bestseller, Erin's Favourite Books, Fiction, National Book Award, New York Times Notable, Prize Winner

The Witches of New York: I’d Rather Read the Bleak World News

I bought Ami McKay’s The Witches of New York for my sister-in-law, K., when she requested a ‘magic’ book about ‘witches’ for her birthday (both a specific request and an excellent one)*. The jacket promised great things: 19th century New York, three strong, independent women as protagonists, magic and ghosts and self-declared witches. I was so excited when I got it for K. that I requested it for myself at the library.

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Filed under Canadian Literature, Fiction, Mystery