Author: lilagoehring

By Lila Goehring

“As the shops and their signs were an insult, and the noise of the cars with their stops and starts. Everywhere the proclaiming, this is life. As if we needed it, more of life” (Munro 248).

Anyone who has ever experienced heartbreak, sadness, jealousy, or serious anger can understand the feeling that cheeriness and signs of life as normal are insulting, even a sign of betrayal. The fact that the world may not match our emotions can feel isolating and lonely, and it is clear that our main character is experiencing this during her brief escape from her own life. 

In this moment, the narrator has fled her own life (perhaps for good) after some unsettling and upsetting events surrounding a visitor, Gwen, and her husband, Franklin. For a brief time in which she considers never coming back, the narrator’s life is flipped upside down. In the world of her own mind, nothing is okay, and nothing is ordinary. So, it is completely understandable that even after escaping to a different town, the world is not acting as if there’s anything wrong. It reminds me of the chorus of a Louvin Brothers song, “My Baby’s Gone”: 

The milkman whistles softly as he comes up to my door

The mailman brings the letters by just like he did before

They seem so busy all day long as though there’s nothing wrong

Don’t they know the world has ended, my baby’s gone

This scene is not the first time that cheeriness/positivity have had a negative effect on our narrator: when Gwen first appears in her life and needs a place to stay, the narrator is worried that Franklin will be quiet as Gwen talks all evening or retreat to another room (which would also be her fault, as she worries). Instead, Franklin is talkative and cheery, which disheartens our narrator. Like in the highlighted passage, this cheer feels like betrayal; it is not the same cheer he shows his wife. 

Lastly, the idea of too much “life” is relevant to this story: early on, when thinking about death, the narrator wishes for liveliness in her life, even if that means in the form of an argument (which she calls “too polite” to be exciting). It is true that this strange turn of events involving Gwen has given the narrator’s life excitement, but it is so much that she feels the need to get away. Therefore, the “life” she witnesses in this place surely does not bring her joy.

By Lila Goehring

“I stop the ironing. What in me demanded that goodness in her? And what was the cost, the cost to her of such goodness?” (Olsen 2)

To me, this passage highlights so much about the complex relationship the narrator has to her daughter, Emily. Particularly, I see this complexity as a contrast between distance and closeness, and about the confusion of roles of power.

 It is clear that the narrator did not trust her instincts as a mother, saying “[Emily] was a child of anxious, not proud, love” (Olsen 7). Yes, she loved her, but her lack of control in her mothering led to an unmendable distance between them: rather than listening to her instincts, for example, she fed Emily by the clock, teaching her that her mother would not come to her rescue in moments of pain; she was forced to soothe herself and mature early on. As the narrator says, “My wisdom came too late,” meaning that she now understands that her actions could have been harmful, and her wisdom is no good to Emily, who was damaged. (Olsen, 7)

In my highlighted passage, the narrator reflects on Emily’s “goodness” but is not too sure where it came from: though she appreciates it, she is conscious that as a young mother, she did not know how to ask (or “demand”) such a thing. It almost seems that she viewed Emily’s goodness as a result of her flawed mothering. In fact, Emily’s actions suggest that she was taking care of her mother from a young age; she sensed that her mother was not able to mother her in a mature, conscious way. One example is the behavior (or, lack of) that this passage refers to: the fact that Emily did not throw tantrums suggests that she was protecting her mother, who she knew would not be able to discipline her properly. One could view Emily’s constant asking to stay home as acting out, yet her motives seemed to be unselfish and protective. Using the excuse “Momma, you look sick” to stay home suggests that Emily is needed to take care of her mother. Additionally, this desire to stay home seems to come from Emily’s need to spend time with her mother, who she has been separated from many times and is desperate to be close to. (Olsen 2)

The highlighted passage also reveals how distant and disconnected Emily’s mother feels from her, something repeatedly seen throughout the story. In the beginning, she is puzzled by the person who comes to her seeking information about Emily, explaining that her nineteen years alive “is all that life that has happened outside of me, beyond me” (Olsen 1). This statement implies that the older Emily gets, the less her mother will know and understand her, rather than the opposite (in which the time would be spent getting to know her). There are many reasons for this, and it does not suggest that she is a “bad mother,” though she certainly feels like one: she had other children and was fighting to keep them above water. Incidentally, she grew apart from Emily and was unable to mother her in the way that she needed. “We were poor and could not afford for her the soil of easy growth,” her mother says. (Olsen 7)

Lastly, the idea of “anxious love” explains a lot about Emily’s life. As her mother’s first child, she had the unique experience of her mother learning to be a mother in raising her; this could explain why “Her younger sister was all that she was not,” among other similar details. (Olsen 7). Emily was forced to grow up quickly and was subject to bouts of separation and painful learning moments, and it is clear that her mother — in her latent wisdom — has a hard time forgiving herself for this.

When I arrived at the senior center, I was greeted by the kind faces of those who I befriended during the last visit, and I was heartened by how well they remembered not just my name, but small details about me that I’d forgotten even sharing. Before we got to the book, I felt that we had to catch up. I found myself thinking often of those seniors during the month we were apart, and now feel that I’ve gained a few new friends. As I’ve said before, friendships with age gaps are nothing new to me, having grown up in a multigenerational community of musicians who all feel like eccentric extensions of my family, but I come to be more and more moved by the community of seniors in Oakland who are thoughtful, deep-thinking intellectual women who inspire me. Not only that, but they are kind and fun. I can’t wait to see them again. If you’re reading this: hi Carole!

My table definitely had a meaningful discussion about the book, though some of us agreed that it was excessively long and its meaning could have been captured in far fewer pages. Others particularly enjoyed Drabble’s poetic use of language and her inclusions of humor. We talked a lot about the character of Claude, who seemed to have given up in many ways and perhaps held a “god complex” due to his career as a surgeon. And we talked about Fran’s fast pace of life–she reminded me a lot of those at my table, in fact. I pointed out passages when Fran remembers the unhappiness she felt in her youth, which is partly why her dissatisfaction later in life is not so alarming to her. I read this detail as sad, but was challenged by another in my group, who feels that an older age has brought the happiest period of her life, and thought that Fran must have felt relieved, as she does. Fran, like many other women at the time, may have married hastily or too early, and expressed the loneliness and exhaustion that came with child rearing. My group members confirmed this notion and warned me not to plan out my life too carefully, since that could limit potentially life-changing experiences I may have. 

We began discussing the characters’ attitudes towards death, and one group member noted that young people probably do not think about death much. I shared something very personal with the group, which is that it’s on my mind all the time and I feel very afraid of it. My group members assured me that it will become less frightening as I get older, which was incredibly reassuring to hear. This is something I have a hard time talking about with those closest to me, yet I was able to speak to these women so comfortably about it. I admitted that my connection with them has alleviated some of that fear, not only because of the advice they have given me, but because I have been so thrilled to see them thriving at an older age. These women are active; they are creators, writers, readers, and thoughtful thinkers. They don’t feel that they’re at the end. “Do you think of yourself as old?” one group member asked the other, who responded “No, not usually,” though they are both in their seventies. And “old” is not a bad thing, but these women reassured me that the child always lives inside of you–just as it does in Fran.

Because I am often drawn to friendships with older folks and appreciate the wisdom and perspectives they have to offer, my wonderful experience at the Senior Center was no surprise to me. The exercise at the beginning was very heartwarming because we all tried to say nice things about the generation we were not a part of, and said less kind things about our own age groups. But talking about them forced us to challenge them: the seniors wrote down words like “health problems” or “sick” to describe older people, and then questioned it, saying that young people can also be unhealthy. My group members then expressed gratitude for their own health. I, on the other hand, described young people as lazy, and the seniors challenged me by saying “no, that’s what old people are like!” We agreed that anyone can be anything, and particularly that forgetfulness was not a sign of age.

My group included a Mills alumna and a native Wisconsinite, who shared a name with a favorite song of mine. We instantly bonded over that, and I ended up giving her the CD with that song! They all seemed eager to talk to me about my life and share their experiences, and I felt that we were friends by the end. We spent most of our time discussing the book, but also had time to talk about life. One woman expressed that she wished she had waited to have children, and advised me to live my life as myself before taking that step. 

And as far as the book, we were all equally annoyed by the characters Molly and Daniel who tried to control Joy’s life without communicating well with her. Ione called them “arrogant little shits,” and I could not agree more. We talked about how sometimes, younger people (or children) feel that they know better than or more than older people, when in fact, they have more experience and wisdom.

I was happy to hear that many people identified with Joy’s character, and we agreed that having her as a main character was a highlight of the book. Hearing the story through her perspective helped to understand why the actions of her kids could seem unfair or frustrating. We also talked about the difference between being alone and being lonely. When Aaron was still alive, though he was distant due to his dementia, Joy was never really alone with him; caretaking gave her a purpose. When she lost him, she felt truly alone. But we agreed that being alone can be wonderful — one of the seniors told me she lives alone in a studio apartment nearby. She reminded me of Joy with her independence. 

I asked the seniors which dynamic was their favorite in the book, and shared that mine was the one between Ben and Joy because it reminded me of my relationship with my grandma, who I’ve also lived with.