My own little labor of 23 hours, now a work in progress of thirteen and a half years, is away on a school trip for a few days, so when I'm not working long hours, I'm reading little things.
This little book makes me unreasonably happy, just looking at it, all orange joy with pink and yellow, so small and tactile and easy.
I bought this book on the basis of having read Galchen's essay in the New Yorker, The Only Thing I Envy Men.
So it's about motherhood and the creative process, and the intersection and interruption of those things, their juxtaposition, and the ambivalence of feeling in Galchen's relationship to those things.
I'm surprised by how strongly I relate to this book, being that I'm no longer the mother of a baby, that that experience is not immediate. I want to buy this book for nonmothers to say, this is what it's like, but for mothers too, to say, remember?
It's about creation, and other things. Fresh and lovely.
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