Posts Tagged ‘relationship advice’

Laura Munson’s memoir, which details a rocky summer in her marriage of almost 15 years, begins when her husband drops a proverbial bomb in their Montana home: he tells her that her doesn’t love her anymore, and perhaps never has.  Munson, an aspiring writer with 14 unpublished manuscripts to her name, immediately recalls the beginning of their courtship (the two met during their senior year of college) and the many challenges (debt, unemployment, Munson’s writing career) that their multi-decade relationship has had to endure.

The couple’s story does make for an interesting read: after dating for six years, the two relocate to Seattle and live the “twenty-something’s dream” of cramped apartments and coffee shops. Although Munson and her husband are considered unconventional and artsy by their W.A.S.P.-y parents, the young pair goes forward with a traditional over-the-top wedding and giggle to one another at the altar as if putting on a elaborate show.

But strains in the marriage appear shortly after the couple moves to Montana following a job offer for Munson’s husband. Always a city girl, Munson suddenly finds herself with house and baby, somewhat intimidated by Montana’s rural stretches, and for a moment experiencing a bit of The Talking Heads’ refrain, “How did I get here?” Munson’s unsuccessful literary career doesn’t help, either, and as her husband proposes moving out, Munson begins to blame herself and even her writing as the culprit in her crumbling marriage.

Unfortunately Munson’s premise carries far more weight than her narration. Although there are moments of beautiful reflection (particularly in reference to Munson’s junior year spent in Italy), overall, This Is Not The Story You Think It Is is a shoddily written memoir that relies more heavily on italics and double-talk narration than inspiring literary prose. Clearly, Munson can be a strong writer, as evidenced by certain poetic scenes (most take place on her porch), but is unable to apply this strength to the whole of the work. The book’s weaknesses flare up just as Munson’s own weakness do. As her insecurities fluctuate throughout the summer at the possibility of her husband seeing another woman, so does the caliber of her writing.

Sadly, Munson’s book can be added to the growing genre of silly, self-indulgent woman memoirs. Feel free to place This is Not The Story You Think  It Is on your bookshelf not far from Eat, Pray, Love.

To read more on Laura Munson, click here.

In completing Elizabeth Gilbert’s second nonfiction book, Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage, I am left with the startling realization that self-indulgent writing is becoming increasingly popular, particularly with women. The neurotic female protagonist perpetually on the hunt for a man and who finds solace in an array of Gucci purses has always been safely contained by the chick-lit genre, a shelf that can be ignored in a bookstore and clicked past in Amazon.

However, the success of Gilbert’s Eat, Pray Love, a book with many important and relevant themes (domestic discontent, divorce, identity, depression) reads like one long Seventeen magazine spread, the appropriate title perhaps being, “How I Traveled for an Entire Year and Still Managed to Only Obsess About Myself and My Problems.” Gilbert’s narration is charming for about twenty pages, but after seventy, a bit pitiful. How a thirty-plus-year-old woman manages to be so well-traveled and yet also so self-absorbed is surprising, but even while raising funds for a homeless Balinese woman and her child, she manages to pull it off. Gilbert’s undisciplined writing style, coupled with her self-serving search for God, trivializes divorce, depression, and the aforementioned issues, reducing them to fodder for a kitschy beach read marketed as a reflective memoir about women’s issues.

Gilbert’s second nonfiction book, Committed, also had potential to be extremely relevant to modern women. Considering a second marriage post-horrendous divorce is not only a trend but is quickly becoming the norm for many Americans. Because of the nature of her relationship with her then-fiancé and the circumstances presented in the book, Gilbert finds herself in position of having to truly analyze the concept of marriage from a modern perspective. Yet, despite assuring readers that she has been researching marriage for months on the other side of the world, she doesn’t cite many sources. As she often does in Eat, Pray, Love, Gilbert expounds and wiseacres away with only a few statistical reports here and there to back up her points. Gilbert blindly interprets biblical marriage, makes sweeping cultural generalizations, and wanders from one assumption to the next without so much as a Wikipedia link to support her claims. She often concludes by transitioning feebly into examples from her own life, asserting herself as the credible source, asserting her own superficial voice as the authority.

I find it troubling that so many American women identify with a narration that is so preoccupied with self. By adopting a folksy, chatty girlfriend-type voice, Gilbert’s nonfiction devalues her subject matter and presents a feminine stereotype much like that of Shopoholics, The Devil Wears Prada, and Sex and the City: the neurotic woman with a hip career who prides herself on being modern.

Eat, Pray, Love is obviously not revered as a work of great literary merit, but to consider that so many American women are consuming these types of narcissistic narratives and identifying with them is perhaps even more alarming. Weakly-written nonfiction books such as Gilbert’s do very little when it comes to addressing the societal problems many women face, and will continue to face in their marriages and in their homes.

What can women possibly learn from this Elizabeth Gilbert effect of narrative narcissism coupled with poor research? If Gilbert can’t even be bothered to cite a source or research her material, what are women to gain?

Read this entry on The Huffington Post.

Open: Love, Sex and Life in an Open Marriage, by Jenny Block, seeks to explore culturally taboo terrain. In writing a detailed account of her heterosexual marriage, Block attempts to explain how she and her husband decided to open their relationship and take on additional partners. Beginning with  Block’s first sexual encounter at seventeen, Open chronicles her experiences with cheating boyfriends, one-night stands, lesbian affairs, threesomes, and, finally, a supposed fairy tale marriage to “the one”—her husband Christopher. Labeled a “slut” at a young age for her unapologetic sexual desire and guilt-free galavanting, Block leads a contradictory existence; despite being raised by liberal, feminist, free-thinking parents (her Lean Cuisine-feasting mother tells her, “You can be anything you like and live however you like.”), she continually allows her self-imposed expectation to “settle down” to get the better of her desires. Block recalls being haunted at a young age by the infamous 1980 Calvin Klein ad that featured a then-fifteen-year-old Brooke Shields, receiving mixed messages about female sexuality, her own body, and sex.

Such fodder should have made for a tremendous book, brimming with societal critique and providing insight into the lives of a pioneering couple. However, Open falls flat, often relying on cheap metaphors (equating the upkeep of marriage to hair maintenance) and a very Cosmopolitan “I’m a Sexual Woman Just Like You” style of writing to convey her points.  The book is disorganized and often redundant as Block hammers away at the repetitive assertion that she is not a pervert or a bad mother. Despite being a Women’s Studies minor in college, her attempts at explaining women’s pressures often do not go beyond superficial, convenient, pop culture approaches such as “I blame Cinderella. And Barbie for that matter.” Block often supports her arguments with clichés, concluding entire paragraphs with hackneyed adages like, “…we should never forget that old saying about people who live in glass houses.”

Chapter 7, “You Can’t Run Out of Love,” does pose some interesting questions about sexual orientation, particularly bisexuality in women. Block cites some fascinating sources, quoting from quite a few authors while also implementing some of her own observations of lesbian relationships and gender roles. However, overall, I found that Block’s story and experiences vastly exceeds her capabilities as a writer.

I recommend that anyone seriously considering an open relationship seek guidance elsewhere.

To read more about Jenny Block, click here.