This book returns me to my questions about the difference between theory, auto-theory, and essay. The subtitle claims this to be an essay (and it's an expanded version of a piece from the London Review of Books), but I guess I nonetheless expected it to be more like a work of theory, or I guess just...more rigorous? Not rigor in the sense of hard, but rather, I wanted it to follow up on the promises it made, and develop the ideas more.
The first chapter was really compelling and laid out a bold and interesting argument about motherhood being a repository for cultural anxieties and unreasonable expectations; the idea that mothers are expected to both shield us from the horrors of the world, and also fix the world, but without every being granted power or resources. But the book doesn't really follow up on that argument. Instead, it's a sort of meandering, often personal, meditation on various ideas connected to motherhood — eros, ambivalence, how the experience is portrayed. Is this because it's an essay — is that what essays get to do? We think of auto-theory as fragmentary, but I think there is an expectation of circling back and having a clear through-line of an overall point.
Something interesting, that I think will end up really dating this book, is that there's a whole chapter on Elena Ferrante's novels, which Rose sees as the best representation of motherhood ever, it seems. It reminded me of just how much critical adulation there was for Ferrante, around that time — I think it's passed now (on to Sally Rooney, perhaps) — I enjoyed those books, but I just don't think they're quite as amazing as they were believed to be back then, or maybe, it's that I think the critical consensus on them sort of got them wrong. Anyhow, the fact that Rose devotes this much time to them (and really just says that they're fantastic because they show you the negative sides of mothering — the implication is that no one else really does, which I think is just not true, especially outside of Anglophone lit) sort of makes it seem like this book was written rather quickly, at a moment when Rose (and others) were still just SO excited about Ferrante.
Anyways. Overall, I liked it, I just wanted it to be something slightly different (in part because I read it with a student who is working on an Honors thesis with me, and thought it would be a good work of theory for her to dig into). I wonder, though, if my frustration also stems from a somewhat uneasy balance in the book between the various things it wants to do — theorize, discuss current politics, discuss literature, and do some personal reflection. These are tricky things to weave together, and I guess maybe it also requires some clear sign-posting (and marketing) about what you really intend. Or just a reader who isn't entering the text with strong expectations!
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