There’s only so long one can play on the internet - Think I’ve reached the max. It’s gotten to the point that I can’t find anything to do on the interwebs. This job I started last summer has me doing a whol...
Friday, June 06, 2008
...is the title of a novel by Meg Wolizter -- one of my Husband-Free gal pals loaned it to me, and I have been enjoying it immensely. I am struck, however, by the inherent stupidity and pointlessness of this statement about the author from the back cover: "She lives in New York City with her husband and two sons." Who cares? It may as well tell us that she has a mortgage instead of a lease, makes her calls from a landline instead of a cell phone, and goes to a doctor who is out-of-network for her insurance plan -- really, who cares? And the irony of this, on the jacket of a book that calls into question much of what is traditionally valued about marriage. Regardless, I love this passage:
[My husband] once told me he felt a little sorry for women, who only got husbands. Hubands tried to help by giving answers, being logical, stubbornly applying force as though it were a glue gun. Or else they didn't try to help at all, for they were somewhere else entirely, out walking in the world by themselves. But wives, oh wives, when they weren't being bitter or melancholy or counting the beads on their abacus of disappointment, they could take care of you with delicate and effortless ease.