these unavoidable books

on literature about motherhood, and "Matrescence Reading List"

I don’t know if I would call myself a voracious reader, but I’m a devoted one. I feel a raw devotion to literature — more acolyte than student. I read good books with my jaw dropped, in awe. I regard them reverently, as if the book itself is an enchanted object. And books, are, aren’t they? Not all of them, but the ones that find us when we need them. The special books. You know the kind I mean. Small portals to pocket universes? Secret gardens? I have felt this way since childhood, have always been a reader. But, why? I think I read to find something, all my reading feels like searching somehow. In the past decade of my life, my reading has been very pointed. I don’t have time to meander, I need to get to the bottom of my most burning questions! I know of myself that I write to find out what I think. And now for the first time I am realizing that I think I read to feel my life. It feels revelatory to put that into words for myself. In the past several years, nearly all of the books I have read have been about motherhood in one way or another. This has been the big burning question, the part of my life that I need to let myself feel and process and allow to wash over me. I know for many people reading is about escapism, but that has never really been my impulse. No, I want to dig in. I want to feel my life as it is. I want to stay right here and understand what I am looking at. I want to know what I think about what I am experiencing, so I write about it (so much — this newsletter as prime example). And I want to feel it, so I read about it. As much as I possibly can.

I have read A LOT of books about motherhood. Like, pretty much as many as I can find. I read like I’m doing some sort of extensive research project — but the research is just my own mind trying to understand what it’s experiencing, to feel its way through. The research project is me mothering my children, I guess. An ongoing study! Will take a lifetime to complete! I talk about these books a lot, so much so that I’ve gained a bit of a reputation for reading and recommending motherhood books amongst friends and on social media. People ask me for book recommendations fairly often. It’s always hard for me to answer, because it feels hard for me to judge these books objectively. I use these books like mirrors — what helps me see the world and myself within it better? The books I like the best are the ones that feel like I’m reading my own mind speaking back to me from the page. But it feels funny to recommend that to someone else. Because what if their mind is different? What if it only made sense to me?

I’ve been wondering lately if I could consider myself a book critic, and if I should attempt to intentionally write book criticism more often. The answer is: I don’t know. I’m not sure my mind works that way. I am not a very critical reader. I’m an emotional reader. I very often remember very little of the books that I read — what I remember is the way that they made me feel. Did I feel accompanied, or alienated? Did I feel resonance or dissonance? That is what I take away from a book, and that is the mechanism by which I recommend books too. And I suppose that’s a very worthwhile metric, but I’m not sure that it lends itself toward helpful criticism in the literary sense, you know? But it does help me remember which books I loved, which ones felt helpful. It’s where the devotion comes from, the awe. Motherhood so often rattles me, humbles me. When I read that same humility in a book, written right there in an enchanted object, it means so much to me. It moves me to tears sometimes. Good books about motherhood have sustained my spirit in this season of my life — and that is why I can’t stop reading them or talking about them. That is why I read them like it will save my life. Because it kind of does.

ANYWAY — I’m writing about this now because through my ongoing artist-publishing project, Imaginary Lake, I’ve just published a new zine called Matrescence Reading List, and it’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever made. Many years and thousands of hours of reading in the making! In the zine, I recommend 57 books spread across a variety of topical categories (“books to read while raising babies,” “motherhood and making things”), and include a one-paragraph review for each book. Let me just say — it was so easy to come up with 57 books to recommend. And there were lots more I left off the list (for a wide variety of reasons)! All of these books have stuck with me so intensely over the years that I hardly had to scan my bookshelves or wrack my brain, they just were waiting there right on the top of my mind. But 57 is a big number! That is not a short list!

It’s so interesting because I have felt so down on myself for being “bad at reading” since I had my kids. My focus is not what it used to be, and I barely have time to shower let alone read every book I want to get through. But 57 books is a staggering number. I am so proud of myself for reading all of these books, for adding these layers of information to my mind. And also I see how much of a lifeline it has been. Reading these 57 books (and others) over the course of these intense years was not really a chill thing to do, for me at least. I know there are people who can read really quickly and it’s not a big deal to finish a book, but for me, a slow and pretty close reader, it shows a great deal of commitment. It shows how much I needed these books. It demonstrates how much reading about motherhood is essential to my life as a mother. I don’t want to do this alone. Reading is a way for me to stay in community with others. “It takes a village,” and these books are a village of their own.

I think it’s possible for motherhood to be an objectively interesting literary setting, and for books that engage motherhood can appeal to a large audience. I want more and more books about motherhood to be published and pushed to new audiences, because I know there are the writers out there to write them. But I do have a suspicion — that books about motherhood really are mostly for mothers, and for those who see mothering in their future or have held their past experiences of motherhood close to their center. It feels a little bad to say that, because of course people who are not mothers and don’t wish to be can deeply enjoy literature about motherhood. (And because I myself actively sought out books about motherhood before I became a mother!) But I do think that the particularities of motherhood are a sort of a hidden code, a secret (but huge) holy order. It’s hidden in plain sight, but it’s hidden indeed. You don’t know really until you live it. And then you can’t look away. The motherhood books are written in this secret language. The general audience of nameless readers doesn’t know what to do with them, and the market and discourse reflects that. “Women’s lit.” This is unfortunate and tiresome, but true.

But here’s something I know — the writers writing motherhood literature aren’t writing about it because it’s going to sell (lol), because it has clout or literary heft (it doesn’t) or because motherhood is such a “great setting” for literature, or whatever other marketing-adjacent reason. No — writers are writing motherhood literature because experiencing motherhood shocked them into writing. Because the book had to be written. Because it was pouring out of them. Because they wanted to shout the story in a thousand voices, with a thousand other women. Because they felt proud, horrified, angry, joyful, sorrowful, elated, and because there was a huge story in motherhood to write. Because the book was standing in front of them, needing to be nurtured into existence. Like a child. Like their own matrescence. These unavoidable books. This humility. This joy.

This is why I can’t stop reading motherhood literature! These books, the best ones, the ones that move me and stay right there at the top of my mind, are electric with immediacy. They shimmer and crack, they are so razor sharp and almost painful to read with their resonance. They come across with stunning vigor and incredible skill. Many of them feel like the writer is truly hitting their stride, writing at the very top of their game. And that makes sense. For me, as a writer, motherhood has lead me to write so much more than I ever expected, even in the midst of the least spare time, most exhaustion, and deepest existential confusion I’ve ever felt. It’s so ripe for writing! I am of the opinion that becoming a mother for the first time is one of the most intense shifts a human can experience — and the books about this reflect that intensity. Why wouldn’t that be literary canon? How could it have taken so long to get here, to this moment in time when finally these books are beginning to be taken seriously? It’s thrilling and maddening both. But I digress — even if the books are only for other mothers, that’s still a huge audience. And an audience that is reading not to escape, but to engage, to feel their own life around them, to muster up new commitment, enter into new insight, and to feel accompanied. That’s the kind of reader a writer dreams of. The kind of reader who allows the book to help and hold them. That’s an amazing reader to write for.

So, I’m really happy to be able to recommend books that can offer to others these things they have offered to me. I feel confident that there’s something for everyone on this list. They definitely aren’t perfect books, but they all made me feel that electricity, that resonance. They all helped me to feel my life. And, because of that, my devotion to them, and to the writers who labored their unavoidable motherhood books into existence alongside their own lives, own children, own motherhood, will be eternal. These books are acts of love.

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If any of these thoughts on motherhood literature resonated with you, I hope you’ll check out the zine. It’s available in print or (more inexpensively) in digital/printable. It recommends 57 books and includes a short review for each book!

Want a very short list of recommendations? Here are five new novels, all published or translated last year, that are stunningly electric. I’d call them all postpartum psychic crisis novels in one way or another, all engaging the tension between motherhood and creative work and the wrenching experience of early matrescence, moving from not being a mother into sudden motherhood with great force and feeling. These are the books I’m super excited about these days and telling everyone about.

My Work by Olga Ravn

The Nursery by Szilvia Molnar

Soldier Sailor by Claire Kilroy (I just started this one and the first page made me literally weep in the chick-fil-a drive through line, so…!)

The Long Form by Kate Briggs

Reproduction by Louisa Hall

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This newsletter is completely free — but you can check out some of my best writing and support my work through my zines! See the catalog here! Imaginary Lake is an artist-publishing project that supports my work as a writer financially and is part of my art practice. Buying my zines and sharing my work goes a long way. I am so grateful for your readership. Thank you for being here! If you’d like to get in touch, leave a comment or send me an email. I’m often slow to respond, but I love to connect. XO!