I’ve been trying to mind my own business and stop worrying about who’ll prevail in the Mommy Wars, but, damn, that Caitlin Flanagan and her dinner-party given writing career keep drawing me back in. Seriously, the Mommy Wars are no place for a girl like me. I’m a traitor or a turncoat or a carpetbagger or just exhausted by the sheer number of WORDS that are being spilled in the name of ENLIGHTENED MOTHERHOOD!
Yes, the Mommy Wars are not only a war on mommys, they’re also the greatest display of the women’s movement’s INSANE RELIANCE ON THE PUBLISHED WORD to fight rhetorical battles that leave all of us feeling just a little more strung out than we already are just given the fact that we are mommys.
And yes, I cop to the fact that, when I “publish” something here on prematurely grey, I am definitely part of the problem.
Take my advice: skip the books. Save your limited life essence and just read this review from yesterday’s LA Times. I promise it will not make you want to go out and kill all the mommys. Just the one named Caitlin Flanagan. (Sorry, Cailtlin, but you’ve officially crossed the line with me, you enemy of feminism, self-knowledge, and writers who don’t edit out their most controversial and famous sentences in their books just so they seem a little more palatable to the general public.)
Trackbacks & Pingbacks 1
[...] Caitlin, as part of my program of recovery, I tried to avoid the publication of your book. I chose to avoid the NY Times Book Review this week because I knew you’d be in it. OK, I fell off the wagon yesterday when I posted the link to the LA Times review, but you were lumped in with a lot of other books, so at least it wasn’t all about you and me and our tango of feminist denial. [...]
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