Book Review :: Elisa Albert’s After Birth is Brilliant, Edgy, Honest

0

After Birth

I haven’t experienced such a raw, authentic account of new motherhood since reading Sylvia Plath’s “Berck-Plage”: “I am not a smile. / These children are after something, with hooks and cries, / And my heart too small to bandage their terrible faults.” Like Plath, Elisa Albert captures the constant needling feeling we mothers have of always falling short, of knowing that our babies are weighty, high-stakes gifts from the universe, and that we’re not worthy. And we’re not only afraid of falling short — we’re crippled by guilt that we don’t love every moment of being a mom. We don’t love what it does to our careers, our identities, or our bodies. (Stretch marks? Bleeding nipples anyone?)

Through After Birth, Albert’s character Ari takes us step by step through the emotional landscape of new motherhood. As a young mom and PhD student in a small town, Ari struggles with depression marked by irrational obsession/guilt over her cesarean section. For all of her moodiness, I like Ari. She’s smart and edgy, her dark moods speckled by comic moments like worrying about smoking pot while breastfeeding or her sexual fantasies of Will the handyman.

Ari guides us through many universalities of mothering — that first moment when we’re supposed to love enormously a little parasitical stranger, right after our bodies have been torn or sliced and diced to get him here. Isolation: she tries to join mommy play groups at Starbucks, but finds them annoying and competitive. She channels every woman’s fear of repeating her own mother’s or her grandmother’s mistakes. One creepy but powerful element of After Birth is the constant imaginary conversations Ari has with her deceased mother. Also, part of Ari’s postpartum depression journey involves not only confronting the ghost of her mother, but also her traumatic family history — specifically the experiences of her Holocaust survivor grandparents. This confrontation as opposed to avoidance is Ari’s best strength.

Ari’s salvation occurs through her connections — not the superficial Starbucks playdate connections, but those with her two friends, Crispin and Jerry, who offer her food, conversation, or a joint when she feels at her lowest. The turning point relationship occurs with her new friend Mina. They are instant soulmates. I love the poignant description of their meeting scene at a party: “Mina meets my eyes. Bam. Yes. Energy transfer. We smile.” Then, without sentimentality, Albert weaves a friendship between two mothers built on vulnerability and honesty. She establishes a relationship without boundaries — literally. When Mina can’t produce enough milk for her newborn, Zev, Ari breastfeeds him herself.

mother1
Becoming a mother is a difficult and alienating experience. It’s freaking tough and not for the faint of heart.

Becoming a mother is a difficult and alienating experience. It’s freaking tough and not for the faint of heart. I still remember being a newly minted PhD in a small coastal town, struggling to maintain my sanity as I stayed at home with my two babies. Yes, I had joyful moments, but for the most part I was miserable during those years. I had difficulty making friends and connecting with other new moms. One mom was nice, but she talked constantly about her baby daughter, telling me once that motherhood was the “essence of [her] existence.” I tried to join a social group for moms, but they met on Friday evenings to plan crafts for their children. On my Friday evenings, I wanted to be sipping a glass of wine in the backyard with my husband, my children tucked in bed and out of my sight. Because no one seemed to feel the way I did about mothering, I stopped trying to join mommy groups or going to park playdates. I learned then that the beloved “cult of motherhood” is nothing but a big lie, smoke and mirrors for moms too guilty or ashamed to admit that motherhood often sucks. Truth be told, I could have used a friend like Ari as a new mom.

There’s no tidy happily-ever-after in After Birth, but Ari eventually emerges with new realizations. Through her friendship with Mina and her confrontations with her past, she works her way towards a ferocious love for her baby, Walker. But this love is located only in separation and humility by recognizing Walker as his own being and not as a pretty or painful extension of herself: “These tiny people, they’re not about you. They are not for you. They do not belong to you. They are under your care, is all, and it’s your job to work at being a decent human being…”   This humbling moment is Ari’s win.

If you’re tired (as I am) of the cult of motherhood — particularly smothering in May — I would highly recommend After Birth for its edge and honesty.

Previous articleBump Diaries :: Month 7
Next articleMore Than Just a Teacher :: 6 “Second” Jobs Teachers Have
amyreeves
Amy Carol Reeves is a mother, writer, and professor. The mother of 9-year-old, Atticus, 7-year-old, Amelia, and 3-month-old, Tennyson, Amy’s house is rarely clean or quiet. Occasionally, she can find matching pairs of socks. While earning a PhD in nineteenth-century British literature, Amy developed a morbid interest in the Jack the Ripper murders in Victorian London. Although it’s still a cold case for her, she has published a young adult trilogy based on the murders. The series includes: Ripper (Flux 2012), Renegade (Flux 2013), and Resurrection (Flux 2014). Apart from writing, she works as an Assistant Professor of English at Columbia College. When not teaching or writing, she spends time with her husband Shawn and three children. For fun, she likes to binge watch Dr. Who, jog with her lab Annie, practice yoga, and drink too much coffee. She maintains a personal website, www.amycarolreeves.com, and can be followed on Facebook (Amy Carol Reeves) and Twitter (@AmyCarolReeves ).

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here