By Rachel Cusk
In 2003, Rachel Cusk released A Life's Work, a provocative and infrequently startlingly humorous memoir concerning the cataclysm of motherhood. commonly acclaimed, the ebook all started hundreds and hundreds of arguments that proceed to today. Now, in her so much own and correct e-book up to now, Cusk explores divorce's large impression at the lives of women.
An unflinching chronicle of Cusk's personal contemporary separation and the upheaval that followed--"a jigsaw dismantled"--it is additionally a brilliant learn of divorce's advanced position in our society. "Aftermath" initially signified a moment harvest, and during this booklet, in contrast to the other written at the topic, Cusk discovers chance in addition to soreness. With candor as fearless because it is affecting, Rachel Cusk maps a transformative bankruptcy of her lifestyles with an acuity and wit that might aid us comprehend our own.
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Additional info for Aftermath: On Marriage and Separation
This was the dentist’s voice. ’ I moved out into the hall and saw through the partly opened door the room the voices were coming from. I could see the dentist’s back: she was wearing a red silk blouse today, tightly cinched at the waist with a belt; and, unusually, trousers over her vertiginous heels. Her yellow hair flowed in serpentine waves over her shoulders. She was bending over the dentist’s chair, in which lay the unconscious body of a man. Another woman, a nurse I suppose, was there too: through the gap in the door I saw the two women, together, stooped over the man’s body.
What I need is a wife, jokes the stressed-out feminist career woman, and everyone laughs. The joke is that the feminist’s pursuit of male values has led her to the threshold of female exploitation. This is irony. Get it? The feminist scorns that silly complicit creature the housewife. Her first feminist act may have been to try to liberate her own housewife mother, only to discover that rescue was neither wanted nor required. I hated my mother’s unwaged status, her servitude, her domesticity, undoubtedly more than she herself did, for she never said she disliked them at all.
How could I know what my mother was? How could I see her? For her attention felt like the glance of some inner eye that never looked at me straight, that took its knowledge from my own private knowledge of myself. It was only when she was with other people that, as a child, I was able to notice her objectively. Sometimes she would have a female friend round to lunch and then all at once there it would be, my mother’s face. Suddenly I could see her, could compare her to this other woman and find her better or worse, could see her being liked or envied or provoked, could know her particular habits and her atmosphere, which were not those of this other.
Aftermath: On Marriage and Separation by Rachel Cusk