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Las madres no
Madrid. 20 cm. 202 páginas. Encuadernación en tapa blanda de editorial ilustrada. Aguirre, Katixa 1981-. Amek ez dute. Versión de la autora .. Este libro es de segunda mano y tiene o puede tener marcas y señales de su anterior propietario. 9788494909597; 9788494909559
208 pages, Paperback
First published October 22, 2018
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4573 people want to read
About the author
Katixa Agirre
24 books76 followersKatixa Agirre (Vitoria, 1981) has a PhD in Audiovisual Communication and lectures at Universidad del País Vasco. She previously published the short story collections Sua falta zaigu and Habitat, and is the author of numerous children's books: Paularen seigarren atzamarra, Ez naiz sirena bat, eta zer?, and Patzikuren problemak. She was also a columnist for Diario de Noticias de Álava, Deia, Aizu! and Argia.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 437 reviews
September 24, 2022
Mothers Don't is making a bit of a splash, with two new English-language translations published this summer by 3TimesRebel Press and Open Letter Books. The 3TimesRebel edition is translated by Kristin Addis directly from the Basque original, published in 2018 as Amek ez dute by Katixa Agirre. I read the Open Letter edition, translated by the excellent Katie Whittemore, who I believe was working from a Spanish edition. On one level, the book is an exploration of the psychology behind a mother's decision to kill her two young children, with a quite interesting examination of the public reaction to the crime. The mother accused of the crime was an acquaintance of the narrator, who is herself a young mother and journalist determined to get to the bottom of the murders. Because this is framed from the perspective of the narrator, the book is primarily focused on the narrator's journey to understand what happened. In that respect, the novel works as a type of meta-detective fiction where the detective/narrator/journalist is the focus. This in turn opens avenues to explore another psychological layer as we see a variety of reactions to the female narrator stepping out from her maternity leave to research a crime. Ultimately, there are more questions raised than answered, making this a provocative book ripe for discussion.
October 5, 2022
I hesitate to call this a novel because it feels almost like an extended essay, or at the very least, auto-fiction. But, there's a fictional narrative that goes through these pages. That narrative is the story of Alice, a woman who one day drowns her ten month old twins in the bathtub. The narrator, a writer who knew Alice slightly in the past, becomes obsessed with following the story and understanding how... why... a woman could do such a thing.
The narrator is also a new mother, which adds context to her interest. She admits to conflicting feelings regarding her own motherhood. A reluctance to relinquish self. The need to continue as she had before - to write, and create, and be, outside of her identity as a mother.
It's an interesting subject, no? Plus, the writing is wholly engaging (bravo, Katixa Agirre and bravo, translator Katie Whittemore), conversational, intelligent.
Oddly enough, it brought to mind my reading experience of U and I by Nicholson Baker. I know, the subject matter is totally different, so bear with me. I mention it because the form of the two novels are similar. I picked U and I off the shelf because I was interested in John Updike. However, I soon learned that Updike was the jumping off point for Nicholson Baker to riff about himself. Ah, sadly, I wasn't all that interested in Nicholson Baker.
Same with this novel - the subject of the woman who commits infanticide is very interesting, but it's just the jumping off point for the narrator to riff on and on about her own conflicting emotions about being a mother. And my interest in that was limited.
Maybe because I felt the narrator was reaching a bit. Her own maternal ambivalence seems as far from infanticide as Earth is from one of Jupiter's moons. While I did find some of her exploration about the subject interesting (such as Doris Lessing's and Muriel Spark's decisions to leave their children behind with their fathers, and the history of women leaving their unwanted newborns to die in the woods or other such designated places), it seemed a little off-mark. The mother who killed her twins clearly was in a place of psychosis. To suggest she's an evil woman who simply decided she changed her mind about motherhood is... wrong. It's the gaping hole in the novel. For me, to suggest anything other than mental illness as an explanation for Alice's actions is where the fiction in these pages really begins.
That said, I do appreciate how Mothers Don't explores some honest truths about motherhood, and particularly what it takes to be a mother and a writer. This is a provocative jumping off place for honest, empathetic discussion about something many women experience, and I applaud Agirre for that.
The narrator is also a new mother, which adds context to her interest. She admits to conflicting feelings regarding her own motherhood. A reluctance to relinquish self. The need to continue as she had before - to write, and create, and be, outside of her identity as a mother.
It's an interesting subject, no? Plus, the writing is wholly engaging (bravo, Katixa Agirre and bravo, translator Katie Whittemore), conversational, intelligent.
Oddly enough, it brought to mind my reading experience of U and I by Nicholson Baker. I know, the subject matter is totally different, so bear with me. I mention it because the form of the two novels are similar. I picked U and I off the shelf because I was interested in John Updike. However, I soon learned that Updike was the jumping off point for Nicholson Baker to riff about himself. Ah, sadly, I wasn't all that interested in Nicholson Baker.
Same with this novel - the subject of the woman who commits infanticide is very interesting, but it's just the jumping off point for the narrator to riff on and on about her own conflicting emotions about being a mother. And my interest in that was limited.
Maybe because I felt the narrator was reaching a bit. Her own maternal ambivalence seems as far from infanticide as Earth is from one of Jupiter's moons. While I did find some of her exploration about the subject interesting (such as Doris Lessing's and Muriel Spark's decisions to leave their children behind with their fathers, and the history of women leaving their unwanted newborns to die in the woods or other such designated places), it seemed a little off-mark. The mother who killed her twins clearly was in a place of psychosis. To suggest she's an evil woman who simply decided she changed her mind about motherhood is... wrong. It's the gaping hole in the novel. For me, to suggest anything other than mental illness as an explanation for Alice's actions is where the fiction in these pages really begins.
That said, I do appreciate how Mothers Don't explores some honest truths about motherhood, and particularly what it takes to be a mother and a writer. This is a provocative jumping off place for honest, empathetic discussion about something many women experience, and I applaud Agirre for that.
August 11, 2022
In 2001 Rachel Cusk’s A Life’s Work, a “warts and all” memoir exposing her uncertainties about living as a mother, raised an outcry, with Cusk briefly vying for the title of most hated mother in England. But since then, a spate of memoirs and novels about the challenges of motherhood have surfaced, carving out a distinct, literary space for writings on the experience of motherhood which dare to question or overturn longstanding, cultural assumptions. Many of these recent offerings dwell on what’s absent from the glut of glamourised, social media posts featuring blissful mothers and smiling babies: all those airbrushed, sanitised images in which motherhood is painted as a desirable lifestyle choice, an unmissable stage in the cycle of consumption. Although, as critics have noted, as a subgenre the contemporary “mother novel” is also one that’s remained overwhelmingly focused on heterosexual, middle-class, white women.
This bestselling, critically-acclaimed novel by Basque writer Katixa Agirre is no exception. Billed as part essay, part novel, it builds on her background as author and academic. It features two women, a nameless narrator and Alice who has inexplicably killed her twin babies. The narrator learns of Alice’s actions not long before giving birth to her own child Erik. Like Agirre, the narrator’s a Basque novelist, gradually growing in reputation, in demand for her lectures and talks on Basque literature. Her story grows out of a growing fascination with Alice’s actions and motives, partly spurred by the memory of briefly encountering Alice through a mutual friend. Their experiences are compared and contrasted throughout, Alice whose twins were the outcome of IVF after a long struggle with infertility, the narrator whose pregnancy was the result of contraceptive failure.
As the narrator sets out to research and write a novel dealing with Alice’s apparent crime, their experiences are woven together in a narrative that’s part detective story, part meditation on writing, part series of reflections on motherhood and infanticide. Although there are times when this can seem more like a container or vehicle for Agirre’s wider preoccupations with the ways in which women are perceived and framed by a patriarchal society: Alice whose glacial, good looks have made her attractive to men but ostracised by other women, thwarted in her desire to be an artist; the narrator whose writing award is accompanied by snide, online comments about her shabby appearance, and doubts that her work would have succeeded if she weren’t a woman.
Through her research into Alice’s life, the narrator indirectly confronts her own ambivalence about motherhood, and its impact on her creativity. She’s lucid and plain-speaking, ostensibly detached, but her observations can also be wry, questioning, bordering on angry. This is particularly evident when she’s contemplating the policing of women’s bodies, her outrage at how pregnant women and mothers are forced into sacrificing their autonomy - other people endlessly commenting on their bodies, touching their "bulge", judging their behaviour, their every decision. She also reflects on reactions to the death of a child, uniformly interpreted as devastating – unless of course that child is one of the routinely overlooked or easily expendable, perhaps one of those working in a clothing factory or living somewhere we in the West would rather not think about.
The narrator brings in other stories, from real to mythical, of neglectful, vengeful or vilified mothers from Medea, to Lindy Chamberlain and La Llorona; Doris Lessing who abandoned two of her children, as well as Sylvia Plath and Assia Wevill. These are represented fairly informally, slid into frame as the narrator’s thoughts spin out from considering Alice’s case to wider, cultural stereotypes of the dangerous or malevolent mother. Overall, it’s an incredibly absorbing piece, although the ideas expressed can seem a little superficial, and dry, in places, and aspects – particularly during the trial section – feel a little shoehorned in. And I wasn’t always convinced that Agirre’s approach was up to dealing with the complexities of the inescapably, weighty material she’s dealing with here. She throws in numerous facts and arguments, details on childbirth, a potted history of infanticide, post-partum psychosis, but they can seem more like outtakes from a reference work rather than integral to her plot. This made the book feel like a work-in-progress or an outline at various points, although this may have been deliberate, a way of mirroring the narrator’s journey as a writer. But if the territory appeals then this is definitely worth reading even if the outcome may not be entirely satisfying. Translated from the original Basque by Kristin Addis.
This bestselling, critically-acclaimed novel by Basque writer Katixa Agirre is no exception. Billed as part essay, part novel, it builds on her background as author and academic. It features two women, a nameless narrator and Alice who has inexplicably killed her twin babies. The narrator learns of Alice’s actions not long before giving birth to her own child Erik. Like Agirre, the narrator’s a Basque novelist, gradually growing in reputation, in demand for her lectures and talks on Basque literature. Her story grows out of a growing fascination with Alice’s actions and motives, partly spurred by the memory of briefly encountering Alice through a mutual friend. Their experiences are compared and contrasted throughout, Alice whose twins were the outcome of IVF after a long struggle with infertility, the narrator whose pregnancy was the result of contraceptive failure.
As the narrator sets out to research and write a novel dealing with Alice’s apparent crime, their experiences are woven together in a narrative that’s part detective story, part meditation on writing, part series of reflections on motherhood and infanticide. Although there are times when this can seem more like a container or vehicle for Agirre’s wider preoccupations with the ways in which women are perceived and framed by a patriarchal society: Alice whose glacial, good looks have made her attractive to men but ostracised by other women, thwarted in her desire to be an artist; the narrator whose writing award is accompanied by snide, online comments about her shabby appearance, and doubts that her work would have succeeded if she weren’t a woman.
Through her research into Alice’s life, the narrator indirectly confronts her own ambivalence about motherhood, and its impact on her creativity. She’s lucid and plain-speaking, ostensibly detached, but her observations can also be wry, questioning, bordering on angry. This is particularly evident when she’s contemplating the policing of women’s bodies, her outrage at how pregnant women and mothers are forced into sacrificing their autonomy - other people endlessly commenting on their bodies, touching their "bulge", judging their behaviour, their every decision. She also reflects on reactions to the death of a child, uniformly interpreted as devastating – unless of course that child is one of the routinely overlooked or easily expendable, perhaps one of those working in a clothing factory or living somewhere we in the West would rather not think about.
The narrator brings in other stories, from real to mythical, of neglectful, vengeful or vilified mothers from Medea, to Lindy Chamberlain and La Llorona; Doris Lessing who abandoned two of her children, as well as Sylvia Plath and Assia Wevill. These are represented fairly informally, slid into frame as the narrator’s thoughts spin out from considering Alice’s case to wider, cultural stereotypes of the dangerous or malevolent mother. Overall, it’s an incredibly absorbing piece, although the ideas expressed can seem a little superficial, and dry, in places, and aspects – particularly during the trial section – feel a little shoehorned in. And I wasn’t always convinced that Agirre’s approach was up to dealing with the complexities of the inescapably, weighty material she’s dealing with here. She throws in numerous facts and arguments, details on childbirth, a potted history of infanticide, post-partum psychosis, but they can seem more like outtakes from a reference work rather than integral to her plot. This made the book feel like a work-in-progress or an outline at various points, although this may have been deliberate, a way of mirroring the narrator’s journey as a writer. But if the territory appeals then this is definitely worth reading even if the outcome may not be entirely satisfying. Translated from the original Basque by Kristin Addis.
July 19, 2024
Katixa Agirre aborda neste livro todas as coisas que as mães supostamente não fazem: não abandonam os filhos, não se matam deixando os filhos, não traem enquanto estão grávidas e, acima de tudo, não matam os filhos. Sabemos que não é verdade e em epígrafe surge uma fala de “Medeia” de Eurípedes para o comprovar.
A protagonista de “Mothers Don’t” é uma escritora que acabou de receber um prémio do governo basco e de ser mãe, na altura em que ocorre um crime chocante: Alice Espanet, uma mulher da classe alta que teve de se submeter a um tratamento de fertilidade para conceber, aproveitara a ausência da ama para afogar os seus dois bebés, dizendo simplesmente: "Agora eles estão bem".
“The acts,” words that serve as a euphemism for the incident at the heart of a trial, or allow us to avoid naming the incident altogether, given that until the trial is over, the incident itself isn’t quite made of solid stuff. (…)I’ll also use the term. The acts. Frankly, homicide, infanticide, murder, double drowning prove unbearable to write: they cling to my fingertips, they hang, suspended, over the keyboard. They don’t dare make the jump.
Levada pela curiosidade, porque se lembra de ter conhecido Alice como amiga de uma amiga nos tempos de faculdade, e pela incredulidade, sendo mãe de primeira viagem, decide investigar e escrever um livro sobre o assunto, tirando para isso uma licença sem vencimento, usando o dinheiro do prémio, e pondo o bebé no infantário, consciente de que, também supostamente, as mães que trabalham em casa não põem outros a cuidar dos filhos.
Isolated, confined, and absorbed twenty-four hours a day by a job that confers a social status similar to cleaning toilets (and I say this with firsthand knowledge, because there was a time during which I worked cleaning toilets). Hours that drag by, gazes lost somewhere in the distance. Always given over to the other. In a hypo-critical society that tells you that there’s nothing more desirable, nothing more revolutionary, than devoting yourself to the other, a silent riot in the heart of the cost-benefit paradigm. Okay, sure. If it were really so beautiful, desirable, and revolutionary, then by now men would have taken it upon themselves to stay home and send women out to work.
Enquanto se tenta perceber se Alice é uma sociopata ou se sofre de depressão pós-parto durante a fase do julgamento, a protagonista segue com o seu livro recorrendo a referências históricas da prática de infanticídio e mencionando escritoras com fama de não serem boas mães, como Sylvia Plath, Muriel Spark e Doris Lessing.
Doris Lessing wrote: “There is nothing more boring for an intelligent woman than to spend endless amounts of time with small children.” I like this quote because it confirms that I am an intelligent woman. Somewhere else, Doris described motherhood as the Himalaya of Tedium.
Doris Lessing que acabaria por cuidar do filho mais novo até à sua morte, aos 66 anos, quando ela própria já tinha 94.
Dividida entre ser mãe, mulher e escritora, a protagonista relata candidamente as suas falhas e questiona os instintos considerados anti-natura.
I am life, after all. And at the end of the day, I try to beat back death.
A protagonista de “Mothers Don’t” é uma escritora que acabou de receber um prémio do governo basco e de ser mãe, na altura em que ocorre um crime chocante: Alice Espanet, uma mulher da classe alta que teve de se submeter a um tratamento de fertilidade para conceber, aproveitara a ausência da ama para afogar os seus dois bebés, dizendo simplesmente: "Agora eles estão bem".
“The acts,” words that serve as a euphemism for the incident at the heart of a trial, or allow us to avoid naming the incident altogether, given that until the trial is over, the incident itself isn’t quite made of solid stuff. (…)I’ll also use the term. The acts. Frankly, homicide, infanticide, murder, double drowning prove unbearable to write: they cling to my fingertips, they hang, suspended, over the keyboard. They don’t dare make the jump.
Levada pela curiosidade, porque se lembra de ter conhecido Alice como amiga de uma amiga nos tempos de faculdade, e pela incredulidade, sendo mãe de primeira viagem, decide investigar e escrever um livro sobre o assunto, tirando para isso uma licença sem vencimento, usando o dinheiro do prémio, e pondo o bebé no infantário, consciente de que, também supostamente, as mães que trabalham em casa não põem outros a cuidar dos filhos.
Isolated, confined, and absorbed twenty-four hours a day by a job that confers a social status similar to cleaning toilets (and I say this with firsthand knowledge, because there was a time during which I worked cleaning toilets). Hours that drag by, gazes lost somewhere in the distance. Always given over to the other. In a hypo-critical society that tells you that there’s nothing more desirable, nothing more revolutionary, than devoting yourself to the other, a silent riot in the heart of the cost-benefit paradigm. Okay, sure. If it were really so beautiful, desirable, and revolutionary, then by now men would have taken it upon themselves to stay home and send women out to work.
Enquanto se tenta perceber se Alice é uma sociopata ou se sofre de depressão pós-parto durante a fase do julgamento, a protagonista segue com o seu livro recorrendo a referências históricas da prática de infanticídio e mencionando escritoras com fama de não serem boas mães, como Sylvia Plath, Muriel Spark e Doris Lessing.
Doris Lessing wrote: “There is nothing more boring for an intelligent woman than to spend endless amounts of time with small children.” I like this quote because it confirms that I am an intelligent woman. Somewhere else, Doris described motherhood as the Himalaya of Tedium.
Doris Lessing que acabaria por cuidar do filho mais novo até à sua morte, aos 66 anos, quando ela própria já tinha 94.
Dividida entre ser mãe, mulher e escritora, a protagonista relata candidamente as suas falhas e questiona os instintos considerados anti-natura.
I am life, after all. And at the end of the day, I try to beat back death.
May 6, 2020
De Katixa Agirre había leído "Los turistas desganados" ("Atertu arte itxaron" en el original) y puedo decir que esta novela me ha gustado más que la anterior. Y no es que la anterior estuviera mal, ni mucho menos, pero es más lenta y me costó conectar con la protagonista, que es un poco pedante.
En cambio este libro se me ha hecho muy fácil de leer. Comparte con "Los turistas desganados" una narradora con su historia personal que se mezcla con otra historia (en este caso una madre que mata a sus bebés, en el anterior la vida del compositor Benjamin Britten) y también las reflexiones que dicha narradora va hilvanando en relación con su vida personal y esa otra vida que le fascina o está estudiando.
En este caso, tal vez por hablar de un crimen, tiene cierto tinte de novela negra, en su vertiente más de análisis de la sociedad. Y deja varios comentarios muy interesantes sobre la maternidad, las relaciones de pareja, las clases sociales y en general con cómo afecta a las mujeres el tener (o no tener) hijos. La mujer que mata a sus hijos... ¿es un monstruo ajeno a cualquier compasión o una pobre víctima a la que hay que consolar porque no hay nada peor que la pérdida de un bebé?
Me ha gustado mucho y me lo leí de un tirón. En cierto sentido hace muy buena pareja con "Canción dulce" de Leila Slimani, aunque a diferencia de esta, creo que "Las madres no" es una lectura que madres primerizas pueden disfrutar, en cierto sentido ("Canción dulce" les provocará pesadillas sin remedio).
Habiendo leído dos novelas de Katixa Agirre creo que es una escritora interesante y me apetece seguir leyendo obras suyas.
En cambio este libro se me ha hecho muy fácil de leer. Comparte con "Los turistas desganados" una narradora con su historia personal que se mezcla con otra historia (en este caso una madre que mata a sus bebés, en el anterior la vida del compositor Benjamin Britten) y también las reflexiones que dicha narradora va hilvanando en relación con su vida personal y esa otra vida que le fascina o está estudiando.
En este caso, tal vez por hablar de un crimen, tiene cierto tinte de novela negra, en su vertiente más de análisis de la sociedad. Y deja varios comentarios muy interesantes sobre la maternidad, las relaciones de pareja, las clases sociales y en general con cómo afecta a las mujeres el tener (o no tener) hijos. La mujer que mata a sus hijos... ¿es un monstruo ajeno a cualquier compasión o una pobre víctima a la que hay que consolar porque no hay nada peor que la pérdida de un bebé?
Me ha gustado mucho y me lo leí de un tirón. En cierto sentido hace muy buena pareja con "Canción dulce" de Leila Slimani, aunque a diferencia de esta, creo que "Las madres no" es una lectura que madres primerizas pueden disfrutar, en cierto sentido ("Canción dulce" les provocará pesadillas sin remedio).
Habiendo leído dos novelas de Katixa Agirre creo que es una escritora interesante y me apetece seguir leyendo obras suyas.
April 6, 2025
Interesante mezcla de ensayo y ficción sobre la maternidad.
June 6, 2023
4,5*
Netikėtai gera.
Istorija prasideda nuo šiurpaus nusikaltimo: mama nuskandina vonioje savo kūdikius-dvynius. Šią žinią išgirsta besilaukianti pirmagimio naratorė-rašytoja. Susidomėjusi nusikaltimu ir pačios vaikžudės asmenybe, pasakotoja pasiima motinystės atostogas, tačiau ne tiek vaiko priežiūrai, kiek labiau intensyviam šios bylos sekimui.
It‘s a hard world for little things. – Lillian Gish, The Night of the Hunter
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, firs of all, take a breath, exhale, relax your jaw. The best thing you can do is to stop being so scandalized. Maybe what you need now is a little historical perspective. Because this, as you‘ll understand, is nothing new. On the contrary, we can say that it is as old as humanity itself: people have always done away with children, babies, newborns. Why? The reasons are varied, but – observe – it essentially comes down to one thing: it‘s easy to kill a child. They‘re small, weak, incapable of organizing, demanding their rights, rising up, sharpening the guillotine, returning the blow. [...] killing children is easy. Quite a bit easier than killing full-grown, strong, powerful men. [...]
Baskų rašytojos Katixa Agirre psichologinis romanas "Mothers Don't"- apie motinas, kurioms vaikai yra Achilo kulnas, apie pogimdyvinę depresiją, kuri vis dar savotiškas tabu.
‘We can’t ignore the societal pressure on mothers. For the majority of women, it’s very difficult to admit to themselves, to their families, to authorities (physicians are authorities, after all) that motherhood doesn’t fill them with joy, and not only that, but they actually feel ruined by it.’
Toks nedidukas ir labai gerai sustyguotas pasakojimas su mini esė inkliūzais apie motinystės ir kūrybos konfliktą (‘The good writer, actually, wishes she were a man.’), apie garsias motinas (Doris Lessing, Scot Muriel Spark, Sylvia Plath) vienaip ar kitaip palikusias savo mažamečius vaikus ir apie vaikžudystės istoriją apskritai; per italų neorealizmo filmus – apie (ne)prasmingas (suaugusio ir kūdikio) mirtis…
‘In ancient Rome, if a family wanted to adopt a baby, they knew they could go to the dumping ground: there were always newborns there, and with a bit of luck, they might find one that was still alive.’
‘Greek physician Soranus of Ephesus, now considered the father of gynecology, wrote a short guide on how to pick out children who were worth raising from those who were not. Throw it in the river, was his advice if the infant didn’t meet certain criteria.’ […]
‘[…]in 1729, another Anglican cleric by the name of Jonathan Swift found a compromise: he recommended that his poor Irish compatriots sell their children-preferably those under a year of age-as foodstuffs. The rich, he claimed, would know how to appreciate the child as a delicacy, and the little ones would go to a better place as a fricassee or ragout, which was a more decent fate than the death by starvation that awaited them. It was a practical solution for the poor of Ireland and a small luxury for rich gourmets: a win-win situation, as we say today.’
Katixa Agirre
Netikėtai gera.
Istorija prasideda nuo šiurpaus nusikaltimo: mama nuskandina vonioje savo kūdikius-dvynius. Šią žinią išgirsta besilaukianti pirmagimio naratorė-rašytoja. Susidomėjusi nusikaltimu ir pačios vaikžudės asmenybe, pasakotoja pasiima motinystės atostogas, tačiau ne tiek vaiko priežiūrai, kiek labiau intensyviam šios bylos sekimui.
It‘s a hard world for little things. – Lillian Gish, The Night of the Hunter
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, firs of all, take a breath, exhale, relax your jaw. The best thing you can do is to stop being so scandalized. Maybe what you need now is a little historical perspective. Because this, as you‘ll understand, is nothing new. On the contrary, we can say that it is as old as humanity itself: people have always done away with children, babies, newborns. Why? The reasons are varied, but – observe – it essentially comes down to one thing: it‘s easy to kill a child. They‘re small, weak, incapable of organizing, demanding their rights, rising up, sharpening the guillotine, returning the blow. [...] killing children is easy. Quite a bit easier than killing full-grown, strong, powerful men. [...]
Baskų rašytojos Katixa Agirre psichologinis romanas "Mothers Don't"- apie motinas, kurioms vaikai yra Achilo kulnas, apie pogimdyvinę depresiją, kuri vis dar savotiškas tabu.
‘We can’t ignore the societal pressure on mothers. For the majority of women, it’s very difficult to admit to themselves, to their families, to authorities (physicians are authorities, after all) that motherhood doesn’t fill them with joy, and not only that, but they actually feel ruined by it.’
Toks nedidukas ir labai gerai sustyguotas pasakojimas su mini esė inkliūzais apie motinystės ir kūrybos konfliktą (‘The good writer, actually, wishes she were a man.’), apie garsias motinas (Doris Lessing, Scot Muriel Spark, Sylvia Plath) vienaip ar kitaip palikusias savo mažamečius vaikus ir apie vaikžudystės istoriją apskritai; per italų neorealizmo filmus – apie (ne)prasmingas (suaugusio ir kūdikio) mirtis…
‘In ancient Rome, if a family wanted to adopt a baby, they knew they could go to the dumping ground: there were always newborns there, and with a bit of luck, they might find one that was still alive.’
‘Greek physician Soranus of Ephesus, now considered the father of gynecology, wrote a short guide on how to pick out children who were worth raising from those who were not. Throw it in the river, was his advice if the infant didn’t meet certain criteria.’ […]
‘[…]in 1729, another Anglican cleric by the name of Jonathan Swift found a compromise: he recommended that his poor Irish compatriots sell their children-preferably those under a year of age-as foodstuffs. The rich, he claimed, would know how to appreciate the child as a delicacy, and the little ones would go to a better place as a fricassee or ragout, which was a more decent fate than the death by starvation that awaited them. It was a practical solution for the poor of Ireland and a small luxury for rich gourmets: a win-win situation, as we say today.’
Katixa Agirre
December 29, 2019
4,2
La prosa no és brillant, però algunes reflexions m'han semblat xocants, importants, valentes, polèmiques i estremidores.
La prosa no és brillant, però algunes reflexions m'han semblat xocants, importants, valentes, polèmiques i estremidores.
October 10, 2022
English title Mothers Don’t.
A woman who has recently given birth becomes obsessed with the story of a mother who drowned her twin babies in the bath. She extends her maternity leave to cover the trial and write what we presume to be the book we’re holding.
Agirre writes well and engagingly (I read her own Spanish translation of the Basque original), and I appreciated how this skirted around autofiction, a genre I don’t much like, without quiet being autofiction. There are dramatized depictions of the events, the trial, and scenes from the narrator’s life, interspersed with essay-like digression into the nature of the maternal bond (or its lack), the history of infanticide, the feeling of new-motherhood.
However I felt there was a vast error at the heart of this novel. I knew it going in. I knew it years ago when I flipped through chapter 1 in a bookshop. I don’t think it’s a spoiler as there are no spoilers in this novel. It is: infanticide is really not the darker face of maternal ambivalence, and trying to force it to be so strikes me as almost offensive. The mother-murderer portrayed here is clearly in the grips of psychosis, unaware of what she’s doing and not responsible for her actions. I say “clearly” but surprisingly it doesn’t seem at all clear to the author, who repeatedly questions this “fact-based” argument in favour of a range of half-baked theories on the nature of maternal evil. This perhaps could have worked, if she had chosen a less sensationalist and clear cut case of … psychosis. I mean, there’s just no other explanation for how the situation is described.
So while I welcome a cool and dispassionate look at motherhood, creativity, feelings of ambivalence, perhaps depression, and I felt the novel was well written and structured, I became increasingly irritated by Agirre’s trying to shove a square peg in a round hole.
A woman who has recently given birth becomes obsessed with the story of a mother who drowned her twin babies in the bath. She extends her maternity leave to cover the trial and write what we presume to be the book we’re holding.
Agirre writes well and engagingly (I read her own Spanish translation of the Basque original), and I appreciated how this skirted around autofiction, a genre I don’t much like, without quiet being autofiction. There are dramatized depictions of the events, the trial, and scenes from the narrator’s life, interspersed with essay-like digression into the nature of the maternal bond (or its lack), the history of infanticide, the feeling of new-motherhood.
However I felt there was a vast error at the heart of this novel. I knew it going in. I knew it years ago when I flipped through chapter 1 in a bookshop. I don’t think it’s a spoiler as there are no spoilers in this novel. It is: infanticide is really not the darker face of maternal ambivalence, and trying to force it to be so strikes me as almost offensive. The mother-murderer portrayed here is clearly in the grips of psychosis, unaware of what she’s doing and not responsible for her actions. I say “clearly” but surprisingly it doesn’t seem at all clear to the author, who repeatedly questions this “fact-based” argument in favour of a range of half-baked theories on the nature of maternal evil. This perhaps could have worked, if she had chosen a less sensationalist and clear cut case of … psychosis. I mean, there’s just no other explanation for how the situation is described.
So while I welcome a cool and dispassionate look at motherhood, creativity, feelings of ambivalence, perhaps depression, and I felt the novel was well written and structured, I became increasingly irritated by Agirre’s trying to shove a square peg in a round hole.
January 30, 2023
3.5 stars
This short, propulsive book joins its voice to a growing conversation that questions and resists the cultural equation between women and motherhood.
Agirre spreads her net fairly wide in offering up two main stories: of the narrator who is struggling to balance her creative working life with a new baby, and the story which obsesses her about a mother who kills her children: psychosis? depression? unexplainable evil? It is notable that there is no position for the woman who chooses not to have children.
Along the way the narrative gestures towards earlier iterations of this issue which is hardly new though it is getting an increased focus in accessible fiction: from real-life women who struggled with motherhood (Doris Lessing, Sylvia Plath), to cases of mothers who have been trapped in society's strictures (Lindy Chamberlain), to age-old and cross-cultural myths and fairytales that have always problematised motherhood even if the story has to shift the troubled feelings to a step-mother. If the title seems superficially to indicate the killing as something which mothers 'don't' do, there's a secondary layer of all the things that mothers also 'don't' do, or, at least, not easily: sleep well, keep their own personal, professional and sexual identity separate from that of 'mother', escape social and cultural policing of self, body and representation.
Agirre keeps this short which gives it impact as it can be read in one sitting; but that very brevity also means that it perhaps doesn't explore the issues in depth. So I don't think this is saying anything new - but it says what it says in a fluent, gripping, accessible way.
For a more nuanced and wide-ranging exploration of motherhood, I'd suggest Still Born by Guadalupe Nettel. 3.5 stars rounded up because I appreciated the paciness.
We must not forget the societal pressure placed upon mothers. For a great number of women, it's very difficult to admit that being a mother does not bring happiness
This short, propulsive book joins its voice to a growing conversation that questions and resists the cultural equation between women and motherhood.
Agirre spreads her net fairly wide in offering up two main stories: of the narrator who is struggling to balance her creative working life with a new baby, and the story which obsesses her about a mother who kills her children: psychosis? depression? unexplainable evil? It is notable that there is no position for the woman who chooses not to have children.
Along the way the narrative gestures towards earlier iterations of this issue which is hardly new though it is getting an increased focus in accessible fiction: from real-life women who struggled with motherhood (Doris Lessing, Sylvia Plath), to cases of mothers who have been trapped in society's strictures (Lindy Chamberlain), to age-old and cross-cultural myths and fairytales that have always problematised motherhood even if the story has to shift the troubled feelings to a step-mother. If the title seems superficially to indicate the killing as something which mothers 'don't' do, there's a secondary layer of all the things that mothers also 'don't' do, or, at least, not easily: sleep well, keep their own personal, professional and sexual identity separate from that of 'mother', escape social and cultural policing of self, body and representation.
Agirre keeps this short which gives it impact as it can be read in one sitting; but that very brevity also means that it perhaps doesn't explore the issues in depth. So I don't think this is saying anything new - but it says what it says in a fluent, gripping, accessible way.
For a more nuanced and wide-ranging exploration of motherhood, I'd suggest Still Born by Guadalupe Nettel. 3.5 stars rounded up because I appreciated the paciness.
March 24, 2024
Qué bárbara, qué librazo!
No pude soltarlo desde que lo comencé, no me dejaba dormir.
Tiene una pluma que a mí me resulta adictiva.
Toma un tema super interesante que abre muchas posibilidades de debate, de reflexión, y al entretejerlo con su propia maternidad (la de la narradora) resulta perturbador, desgarrador, maléfico, y tierno y urgente a la vez.
Infanticidio, hormonas, cesáreas, oxitocina, miedo, aburrimiento, amor absoluto y total.
La parte de ficción me gusta mucho, me atrapa, me la creo, pero la parte del ensayo me gusta aun más. Hace una buena investigación que resulta interesantísima y estremecedora sobre los niños que mueren en las manos de sus madres, sobre los niños que mueren en las manos de otros, sobre la cantidad de niños que matan.
Creo que sólo hay un dato que no me gusta, uno sobre judíos que matan niños, me incomoda por falso.
Todo el libro es incómodo, te enfrenta, de una forma u otra, a tu propia concepción sobre la maternidad, a esa obligada sensación de amar a los niños que puedan sentir algunos, a la prohibición de mencionar algunos temas tabúes que puedan experimentar y callar otros, al engaño, al cansancio reprimido, al amor desbordado.
El cierre me parece perfecto. Justo se necesitaba de ese tinte de acontecimiento que cuando sucede, sacude, y te devuelve a la realidad. Todos tenemos el nuestro. Ella tuvo el suyo. En el momento preciso. Y por eso cierra el libro dejándote con un suspiro, con una esperanza.
Con una ofrenda.
Hacia todos los niños asesinados.
La merecen.
No pude soltarlo desde que lo comencé, no me dejaba dormir.
Tiene una pluma que a mí me resulta adictiva.
Toma un tema super interesante que abre muchas posibilidades de debate, de reflexión, y al entretejerlo con su propia maternidad (la de la narradora) resulta perturbador, desgarrador, maléfico, y tierno y urgente a la vez.
Infanticidio, hormonas, cesáreas, oxitocina, miedo, aburrimiento, amor absoluto y total.
La parte de ficción me gusta mucho, me atrapa, me la creo, pero la parte del ensayo me gusta aun más. Hace una buena investigación que resulta interesantísima y estremecedora sobre los niños que mueren en las manos de sus madres, sobre los niños que mueren en las manos de otros, sobre la cantidad de niños que matan.
Creo que sólo hay un dato que no me gusta, uno sobre judíos que matan niños, me incomoda por falso.
Todo el libro es incómodo, te enfrenta, de una forma u otra, a tu propia concepción sobre la maternidad, a esa obligada sensación de amar a los niños que puedan sentir algunos, a la prohibición de mencionar algunos temas tabúes que puedan experimentar y callar otros, al engaño, al cansancio reprimido, al amor desbordado.
El cierre me parece perfecto. Justo se necesitaba de ese tinte de acontecimiento que cuando sucede, sacude, y te devuelve a la realidad. Todos tenemos el nuestro. Ella tuvo el suyo. En el momento preciso. Y por eso cierra el libro dejándote con un suspiro, con una esperanza.
Con una ofrenda.
Hacia todos los niños asesinados.
La merecen.
October 22, 2022
I interrupted my reading of two other books because this one caught my eye. So, I have to ask myself, now that I've read it, was it so much better than the other two? Maybe I have the Internet tic - that thing where your focus can only be sustained for about 3 minutes before something else comes along . . .
I think I was corrupted by the cover - a naked, pregnant woman with a distraught face and her umbilical cord still attached as if she herself had not yet been born. And the summary, the book is about a woman who drowns her twin babies. Katixa Agirre's narrator is a woman who has written an award-winning best-seller and needs a new topic if she wants to keep her name visible.
That's a neat little strategy that Agirre uses; the character who writes the story is also a mother struggling with the responsibilities of a new baby, and trying to revive her career as a writer. So we also hear the narrator's story; which I think is intended as a positive or counter-balance to the mother on trial.
The second purpose of the narrator-character is that we forget about the author - Agirre. Our focus on the female struggling to tell this story creates a useful distance from the actual writer. It allows Agirre to create the illusion that the story has been written by a researcher, a sort of journalist, and most importantly someone with first-hand knowledge, and in fact direct experience of the accused - she observes the murderer at the trial. Agirre has, like all good novelists contrived the 'reality' necessary for this sort of story.
It's fiction pretending to not be fiction. Agirre's narrator happens to have a personal connection with the murderer, a friend of hers knew Jade/Alice whilst in school and college. Another construct to convince us this is a real story; to keep us close to the horror, as if we were reading a newspaper, sorry, tabloid. Or perhaps a TV series.
So, did I like the book? The first half is so sarcastic and so patronizing towards the reader that no, I did not, but then when we accompany our narrator to the trial and sit there with her as she intends us to - the story comes alive.
In the trial section Agirre describes, or rather her narrator describes how the accused behaves in a completely neutral manner, except for one moment of distraction when she starts to doodle, her lawyer gives her a gentle nudge and she remembers her role. But, this image rings true; if you have committed this atrocity against your children and against yourself, then there is nothing any other person can do to you. There is no torture, abuse, neglect, punishment that will ever meet what she, the mother has already done. All that remains for her audience is to ascertain, 'Does she know what she has done'? This I would guess is the real purpose of the trial.
Towards the end of Agirre's story she talks about the fears of motherhood. She has already spoken at length about the lack of sleep, exhaustion and boredom, but I think quite accurately she touches on this other element - fear. Yes, new mothers, just as people who are in-love or someone suffering a bereavement, we come close to that place where we feel how delicate and precious is life. Our life, the lives of the ones we love.
Agirre gives us a list of all the possible motivations she can think of for what drove the mother/murderer to commit her crime. She lists, A,B,C, thru to E; 5 different possible scenarios, but I like A:
HYPOTHESIS A
When you are overwhelmed by your fears to such an extent that you manifest them thinking that you'll regain control of the situation that way. Shock therapy, taken to the extreme. Obsessed with the fragility of the twins' lives, the only way for Alice to free herself of that obsession was to do what frightened her the most: look her fear right in the eye and go for it.
The statement of the Belgian psychologist who treats and evaluates Alice for a year plus after 'the act' is what comes across most strongly in the trial and together with the above it creates a very cogent analysis of why. For me anyway it's what felt to be the most relevant and real.
So my final summation: Did I or didn't I like/appreciate Agirre's book. I think it's clever, that distancing, that way of creating another story within the story of the murder; our un-named narrator's story. She investigates; and writes her book/report and the whole time she is balancing her new baby, her career, her financial situation and her relationships with her partner and others. We get to see first-hand how difficult it is for a female with dependents to dedicate herself to her work and to produce a piece of writing. One of Agirre's chapter titles is:
Mothers don't write, they are written.
Susan Suleiman
It's an arrow to the book's title. All the things that Mothers don't . . . do?
I think Agirre has handled her material extremely well. She is innovative in structure and style. I like her lists, I even accept the horrible, aggressive voice of our narrator in the first part. Do I agree with her sensationalist subject matter? I was diverted and caught. I saw the book in one of my groups - Newest Literary Fiction. I think that Agirre's book is an accurate reflection of Western civilisation in the past and in the here and now. Women have it twice as hard. My only reservation is that: I know this and I'm looking for something new. I would like to see a happy success. Hilary Mantel's rewriting of Thomas Cromwell's history in her trilogy Wolf Hall - now that is a female success story.
I think I was corrupted by the cover - a naked, pregnant woman with a distraught face and her umbilical cord still attached as if she herself had not yet been born. And the summary, the book is about a woman who drowns her twin babies. Katixa Agirre's narrator is a woman who has written an award-winning best-seller and needs a new topic if she wants to keep her name visible.
That's a neat little strategy that Agirre uses; the character who writes the story is also a mother struggling with the responsibilities of a new baby, and trying to revive her career as a writer. So we also hear the narrator's story; which I think is intended as a positive or counter-balance to the mother on trial.
The second purpose of the narrator-character is that we forget about the author - Agirre. Our focus on the female struggling to tell this story creates a useful distance from the actual writer. It allows Agirre to create the illusion that the story has been written by a researcher, a sort of journalist, and most importantly someone with first-hand knowledge, and in fact direct experience of the accused - she observes the murderer at the trial. Agirre has, like all good novelists contrived the 'reality' necessary for this sort of story.
It's fiction pretending to not be fiction. Agirre's narrator happens to have a personal connection with the murderer, a friend of hers knew Jade/Alice whilst in school and college. Another construct to convince us this is a real story; to keep us close to the horror, as if we were reading a newspaper, sorry, tabloid. Or perhaps a TV series.
So, did I like the book? The first half is so sarcastic and so patronizing towards the reader that no, I did not, but then when we accompany our narrator to the trial and sit there with her as she intends us to - the story comes alive.
In the trial section Agirre describes, or rather her narrator describes how the accused behaves in a completely neutral manner, except for one moment of distraction when she starts to doodle, her lawyer gives her a gentle nudge and she remembers her role. But, this image rings true; if you have committed this atrocity against your children and against yourself, then there is nothing any other person can do to you. There is no torture, abuse, neglect, punishment that will ever meet what she, the mother has already done. All that remains for her audience is to ascertain, 'Does she know what she has done'? This I would guess is the real purpose of the trial.
Towards the end of Agirre's story she talks about the fears of motherhood. She has already spoken at length about the lack of sleep, exhaustion and boredom, but I think quite accurately she touches on this other element - fear. Yes, new mothers, just as people who are in-love or someone suffering a bereavement, we come close to that place where we feel how delicate and precious is life. Our life, the lives of the ones we love.
Agirre gives us a list of all the possible motivations she can think of for what drove the mother/murderer to commit her crime. She lists, A,B,C, thru to E; 5 different possible scenarios, but I like A:
HYPOTHESIS A
When you are overwhelmed by your fears to such an extent that you manifest them thinking that you'll regain control of the situation that way. Shock therapy, taken to the extreme. Obsessed with the fragility of the twins' lives, the only way for Alice to free herself of that obsession was to do what frightened her the most: look her fear right in the eye and go for it.
The statement of the Belgian psychologist who treats and evaluates Alice for a year plus after 'the act' is what comes across most strongly in the trial and together with the above it creates a very cogent analysis of why. For me anyway it's what felt to be the most relevant and real.
So my final summation: Did I or didn't I like/appreciate Agirre's book. I think it's clever, that distancing, that way of creating another story within the story of the murder; our un-named narrator's story. She investigates; and writes her book/report and the whole time she is balancing her new baby, her career, her financial situation and her relationships with her partner and others. We get to see first-hand how difficult it is for a female with dependents to dedicate herself to her work and to produce a piece of writing. One of Agirre's chapter titles is:
Mothers don't write, they are written.
Susan Suleiman
It's an arrow to the book's title. All the things that Mothers don't . . . do?
I think Agirre has handled her material extremely well. She is innovative in structure and style. I like her lists, I even accept the horrible, aggressive voice of our narrator in the first part. Do I agree with her sensationalist subject matter? I was diverted and caught. I saw the book in one of my groups - Newest Literary Fiction. I think that Agirre's book is an accurate reflection of Western civilisation in the past and in the here and now. Women have it twice as hard. My only reservation is that: I know this and I'm looking for something new. I would like to see a happy success. Hilary Mantel's rewriting of Thomas Cromwell's history in her trilogy Wolf Hall - now that is a female success story.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 27, 2021
me interesó mucho al inicio y luego perdió un poco la fuerza o el hilo. lo que me parece más brillante son los trozos de no ficción narrativa, todo el recorrido por la historia y el imaginario del embarazo, el parto, la cesárea, etc a través de ejemplos y reflexiones. el aspecto más meta, de la escritora escribiendo una novela, no me ha interesado casi nada. los epígrafes que abren los capítulos me han encantado.
December 5, 2020
Cojo aire para escribir esta reseña.
No es una reseña cualquiera.
Es la reseña de una herida.
Este libro está narrado por una madre. Una madre primeriza, con miedos e inseguridades. La historia relata como ella, escritora -cuando no madre-, reconoce a una mujer a la que están a punto de juzgar por asesinato. Las víctimas: sus propios hijos. Bebés. Gemelos. De diez meses. A los que ha dado vida y a los que ha dado muerte. A la vez. Como si esto fuera posible.
Y entonces ocurre. La segunda madre se pregunta cómo la primera madre ha podido hacer lo que ha hecho.
Una madre que juzga a otra madre. Una escritora que se inspira en una asesina. Dos mujeres que son iguales por ser madres, pero no madres iguales. Dos vidas totalmente distintas; dos conceptos de la maternidad diferentes; dos maridos opuestos. Un caso. Un juez. Muchas preguntas.
¿Acaso una madre debe ser buena solo porque es madre? ¿Acaso una madre no es una persona humana? ¿Acaso no hay seres humanos que son crueles, perversos y malvados? ¿Acaso una madre no puede cometer también infanticidio? ¿Acaso hay que condenarla? ¿Acaso no sufre más habiendo matado a sus retoños? ¿Acaso no es una asesina igual? ¿Acaso debemos obviarlo?
Las páginas pasan solas. Están llenas de reflexiones y de experiencias literarias reales. Se habla de Plath. Se habla de Lindy Chamberlain. Se habla de Doris Lessing. Se habla de la vida. Se habla de lo que nos quitan. Se habla de lo que no vuelve.
Se habla y te emocionas.
No esperéis encontrar respuestas en este libro. Katixa Agirre no sabe la verdad, pero es sincera. Es sincera con ella misma, con sus lectores y con todas las madres del mundo.
A veces buscamos que nos expliquen cómo es posible que sucedan las cosas que suceden y no nos damos cuenta de que no hay explicación alguna; de que hay sucesos que ocurren porque sí, sin más. Y buscar una explicación es más doloroso que intentar olvidar. O que pasar página.
No es una reseña cualquiera.
Es la reseña de una herida.
Este libro está narrado por una madre. Una madre primeriza, con miedos e inseguridades. La historia relata como ella, escritora -cuando no madre-, reconoce a una mujer a la que están a punto de juzgar por asesinato. Las víctimas: sus propios hijos. Bebés. Gemelos. De diez meses. A los que ha dado vida y a los que ha dado muerte. A la vez. Como si esto fuera posible.
Y entonces ocurre. La segunda madre se pregunta cómo la primera madre ha podido hacer lo que ha hecho.
Una madre que juzga a otra madre. Una escritora que se inspira en una asesina. Dos mujeres que son iguales por ser madres, pero no madres iguales. Dos vidas totalmente distintas; dos conceptos de la maternidad diferentes; dos maridos opuestos. Un caso. Un juez. Muchas preguntas.
¿Acaso una madre debe ser buena solo porque es madre? ¿Acaso una madre no es una persona humana? ¿Acaso no hay seres humanos que son crueles, perversos y malvados? ¿Acaso una madre no puede cometer también infanticidio? ¿Acaso hay que condenarla? ¿Acaso no sufre más habiendo matado a sus retoños? ¿Acaso no es una asesina igual? ¿Acaso debemos obviarlo?
Las páginas pasan solas. Están llenas de reflexiones y de experiencias literarias reales. Se habla de Plath. Se habla de Lindy Chamberlain. Se habla de Doris Lessing. Se habla de la vida. Se habla de lo que nos quitan. Se habla de lo que no vuelve.
Se habla y te emocionas.
No esperéis encontrar respuestas en este libro. Katixa Agirre no sabe la verdad, pero es sincera. Es sincera con ella misma, con sus lectores y con todas las madres del mundo.
A veces buscamos que nos expliquen cómo es posible que sucedan las cosas que suceden y no nos damos cuenta de que no hay explicación alguna; de que hay sucesos que ocurren porque sí, sin más. Y buscar una explicación es más doloroso que intentar olvidar. O que pasar página.
January 28, 2024
Sobre cómo no dejamos a las madres ser malas o sobre por qué algunas madres a veces acaban siendo malas. Un relato violento pero luminoso, esclarecedor, en defensa de la madre no como madre sino como persona.
November 28, 2025
Me parece interesante que la autora eligiera contar esto desde un estilo de thriller, me gustó eso.
Una mujer, que recién acaba de ser madre, se obsesiona con el caso de una ex amiga que asesinó a sus dos hijos. A partir de esto se convierte en una narradora que camina sobre la idea de maternidad y la ¿femineidad? que hay en ella. ¿Qué mueve a las mujeres a ser buenas madres?
Una mujer, que recién acaba de ser madre, se obsesiona con el caso de una ex amiga que asesinó a sus dos hijos. A partir de esto se convierte en una narradora que camina sobre la idea de maternidad y la ¿femineidad? que hay en ella. ¿Qué mueve a las mujeres a ser buenas madres?
January 30, 2022
Tengo que empezar diciendo que las páginas finales son lo que menos satisfecha me ha dejado, pero esto es más bien un indicio de lo mucho que me ha mantenido hipnotizada lo demás. Yo no quería que este libro acabase, yo hubiera querido decirle a Katixa Agirre «Sigue, sigue, cuéntame más cosas». Quizás el tema no sea ya tan novedoso, por fortuna, ya que parece que el melón de que la maternidad es algo problemático se lleva abriendo un cierto tiempo, pero sigue siendo igualmente necesario hablarlo. Cuando además le dan el tratamiento seguido por Agirre, esta mezcla de novela y ensayo ligero que además se extiende hasta la madre artista, es apasionante meterte en él. Lo que más me ha agradado es cómo aborda la maternidad desde varios puntos, la sutileza de su acercamiento pero también lo certeras que son las flechas que lanza la autora desde esa posición tan dinámica. Habla no solo de las madres sino también de la infancia, de lo qué realmente importan niñas y niños en nuestra sociedad (como hemos evidenciado durante esta pandemia de parques cerrados y bares abiertos). Y deja claro que la maternidad es similar a una maraña en la que no puedes meter el dedo inocentemente, porque vas a quedar atrapada hasta las trancas.
August 16, 2022
This is the story of one woman’s search to understand why a mother murdered her ten month old twins. The narrator, a new mother herself, questions whether her life would be better “without the absurd impulse that pushes me to find the exact adjective for an infanticidal mother?” She digs deep, but ultimately never answers her question. What remains is one’s own definition of what it means to be a mother and what it means to be evil. Read this book to learn more.
March 29, 2022
No es novela, no sé qué sea, a lo mejor ensayo, equis, es extraordinario libro. De pronto agarra truquitos narrativos y los usa con mucha elegancia (hay un momento en el que interpela, otro en el que enlista, otro en el que según ella suspente el tiempo a la manera de cliffhanger de thriller).
Es difícil encontrar, en estos tiempos de sobrepoblación del yo, una voz que se sienta realmente honesta; Katixa así se percibe, como valiente, como escudriñando en el fango... Bien.
Es difícil encontrar, en estos tiempos de sobrepoblación del yo, una voz que se sienta realmente honesta; Katixa así se percibe, como valiente, como escudriñando en el fango... Bien.
January 22, 2021
Esperaba una historia que diese pie a la reflexión, algo más elaborado y me he encontrado con una trama cuanto menos sosa y con poco gancho. La premisa pintaba medianamente bien, pero cómo se ha desarrollado ha sido bastante decepcionante.
April 11, 2022
Hacía tiempo que no disfrutaba tanto de una lectura. A caballo entre la novela y el ensayo, entre lo ficticio y lo biográfico, la prosa de Katixa Agirre entra como agüita fresca en verano. Siento que he aprendido un montón de cosas con este libro (a la cantidad de frases subrayadas me remito). Lo recomiendo muchísimo.
October 4, 2020
4,5
Un llibre valent, amb reflexions sorprenents i polèmiques. Però també necessàries. Causa impacte.
Aquí en podeu llegir la ressenya sencera:
https://especulacionsapeudepagina.blo...
Un llibre valent, amb reflexions sorprenents i polèmiques. Però també necessàries. Causa impacte.
Aquí en podeu llegir la ressenya sencera:
https://especulacionsapeudepagina.blo...
June 27, 2024
Mothers. We all have one. They give birth to us. They raise and love us. But what if they do something terrible? Medea. La Llorona. They killed their children. Why? To get back at their husbands. The ultimate pay back.
Alice Espanet married a wealthy wine owner and lived in Vitoria in Basque Country. She had it all but something went terribly wrong. Look at her, look at her past. Search for those clues.
Why do we obsess about crime stories? A spark starts and we crank our heads. We want to look. We want to know why. We can’t resist.
Like the narrator of our book. She wrote a political thriller. It sold reasonably but when it received a prominent award, her life took a different path. After the birth of her first child, the prize allowed her the ability to work on a new book, something new to focus on - this crime story.
Crossed paths. She met the woman back when she was living in England. Her friend also knew her. Maybe she could get an angle, something new, something unique. A new priority. She fell down that rabbit hole.
I can’t deny this was a tough read. The Basque writer Katixa Aguirre presents us with a crime that is hard to understand and yet fills us with lists and facts. Infanticide has been with us for millenniums. From the ancient Spartans to Nazi Germany to preferences for male children in several countries today. It’s not a great track record.
Delivering a child is no easy thing. Some women will experience postpartum depression, even psychosis. Despite all our technological advances, things can still go wrong.
Yet a bigger question arises. How far does a writer go to tell a story? In particular a woman writer who becomes a mother? How much is she willing to sacrifice to become/ maintain her career? Writers like Doris Lessing and Muriel Spark. How far would you go? Perhaps there is something more in the title of the book?
A big thanks to Paula. Your on-going reviews of women writers is a real asset to me. Muito obrigado.
3.5 stars
Alice Espanet married a wealthy wine owner and lived in Vitoria in Basque Country. She had it all but something went terribly wrong. Look at her, look at her past. Search for those clues.
Why do we obsess about crime stories? A spark starts and we crank our heads. We want to look. We want to know why. We can’t resist.
Like the narrator of our book. She wrote a political thriller. It sold reasonably but when it received a prominent award, her life took a different path. After the birth of her first child, the prize allowed her the ability to work on a new book, something new to focus on - this crime story.
Crossed paths. She met the woman back when she was living in England. Her friend also knew her. Maybe she could get an angle, something new, something unique. A new priority. She fell down that rabbit hole.
I can’t deny this was a tough read. The Basque writer Katixa Aguirre presents us with a crime that is hard to understand and yet fills us with lists and facts. Infanticide has been with us for millenniums. From the ancient Spartans to Nazi Germany to preferences for male children in several countries today. It’s not a great track record.
Delivering a child is no easy thing. Some women will experience postpartum depression, even psychosis. Despite all our technological advances, things can still go wrong.
Yet a bigger question arises. How far does a writer go to tell a story? In particular a woman writer who becomes a mother? How much is she willing to sacrifice to become/ maintain her career? Writers like Doris Lessing and Muriel Spark. How far would you go? Perhaps there is something more in the title of the book?
A big thanks to Paula. Your on-going reviews of women writers is a real asset to me. Muito obrigado.
3.5 stars
December 7, 2019
Las madres no salen de fiesta cuando sus bebés tienes días, o semanas, o meses. Las madres no se divierten, no follan, no beben. Las madres no piensan en nada más que en sus criaturas. Las madres no tienen vida más allá de los hijos. Las madres no. O eso es lo que la sociedad nos ha vendido siempre. Las niñas son listas, guapas, limpias. Ayudan a sus mamás, aprenden a cocinar, a limpiar, a poner lavadoras. Las chicas buenas se casan y tienen niños. Atienden sus casas, a sus maridos y a sus criaturas. Las mujeres son sumisas y abnegadas. Cuando una mujer pisa una baldosa fuera de esos suelos es una egoísta, una zorra, una mala mujer y a final; una mala madre. Las madres no.
▫️
Este libro me ha resultado extremadamente entretenido e interesante. Mezcla narrativa y ensayo de una forma muy natural; tanto es así que llegado a cierto punto la relevancia de los personajes pasa a ser secundaria y lo que tienes frente a ti son un montón de reflexiones. Reflexiones que no están impresas en el papel, que surgen en tu cabeza. Me parece asombroso crear algo así, y eso es lo que más me ha gustado del libro. Desde aquí reivindico no solo la libertad de la mujer en la maternidad, también el reconocimiento de que hay madres que son malas. Suena feo, detestáis leer algo así, pero eso no significa que deje de ser cierto. Hay madres que, como en el libro, asesinan a sus bebes. Hay madres que se arrepienten de serlo, que nunca lo han querido ser, que están deseando salir de la jaula del hogar. Las hay amantes también, claro que sí. Pero, por favor, dejemos de suponer que las madres dejan de hacer las cosas que hacemos todas, solo por ser madres. Las madres sí.
▫️
Este libro me ha resultado extremadamente entretenido e interesante. Mezcla narrativa y ensayo de una forma muy natural; tanto es así que llegado a cierto punto la relevancia de los personajes pasa a ser secundaria y lo que tienes frente a ti son un montón de reflexiones. Reflexiones que no están impresas en el papel, que surgen en tu cabeza. Me parece asombroso crear algo así, y eso es lo que más me ha gustado del libro. Desde aquí reivindico no solo la libertad de la mujer en la maternidad, también el reconocimiento de que hay madres que son malas. Suena feo, detestáis leer algo así, pero eso no significa que deje de ser cierto. Hay madres que, como en el libro, asesinan a sus bebes. Hay madres que se arrepienten de serlo, que nunca lo han querido ser, que están deseando salir de la jaula del hogar. Las hay amantes también, claro que sí. Pero, por favor, dejemos de suponer que las madres dejan de hacer las cosas que hacemos todas, solo por ser madres. Las madres sí.
August 4, 2023
3TimesRebel are a new press, just over a year old who only publish women authors in minority languages. Katixa Agirre’s novel, Mothers Don’t was originally in Basque.
Mothers Don’t is structured in an interesting way; A mother murders her twins and is taken to court. At the same time an author who has written a successful novel and is going through motherhood herself decides to write about the case.
At this juncture, the a non fiction element creeps into the novel; there are discussions about authors such as Sylvia Plath and Doris Lessing and their views on motherhood, how infanticide existed in ancient history, laws regarding infanticide, the role of the evil stepmother, postpartum depression and the nature of caesareans. Meanwhile the narrator is documenting her struggle in writing the book and the general problems authors have to face.
Mixing fact and fiction with a meta dressing Mothers Don’t is a great read. To use a cliché, I just tore through it not knowing what will surprise me, be it some information or a paragraph about the trial etc. As my first taster of 3TimesRebel it’s a strong one and I am eager to delve in some more.
Mothers Don’t is structured in an interesting way; A mother murders her twins and is taken to court. At the same time an author who has written a successful novel and is going through motherhood herself decides to write about the case.
At this juncture, the a non fiction element creeps into the novel; there are discussions about authors such as Sylvia Plath and Doris Lessing and their views on motherhood, how infanticide existed in ancient history, laws regarding infanticide, the role of the evil stepmother, postpartum depression and the nature of caesareans. Meanwhile the narrator is documenting her struggle in writing the book and the general problems authors have to face.
Mixing fact and fiction with a meta dressing Mothers Don’t is a great read. To use a cliché, I just tore through it not knowing what will surprise me, be it some information or a paragraph about the trial etc. As my first taster of 3TimesRebel it’s a strong one and I am eager to delve in some more.
November 27, 2022
Qué vivan las recomendaciones! Llegué a este libro gracias a la sugerencia de un amigo lector y aunque volví a entrar con prejuicio, este sólo duro un par de páginas. Mezcla de ensayo, de crónica, de ficción y literatura del yo, Agirre narra como los dioses. Nos cuenta el proceso de construcción de su libro; de un libro que no leeremos, porque todo está en Las madres no. La maternidad como columna vertebral principal, atravesada por los mandatos socioculturales, aires de thriller, un proceso judicial, cesáreas. Este libro tiene todo.
February 5, 2022
Les 5 estrelles són pel coratge d'atrevir-se a exposar els tabús sobre la maternitat. M'ha atrapat aquesta barreja entre novel.la i assaig. M'han agradat les reminiscències a"A sang freda"de Capote que vaig llegir l'any passat i tinc ben present. M' han semblat genials les cites que introdueixen els capítols: Medea d'Eurípides, Sylvia Plath, Virginie Despentes, Simone de Beauvoir, Adrienne Rich...
Un llibre incòmode i necessari per reflexionar.
Un llibre incòmode i necessari per reflexionar.
May 16, 2022
Atractivo libro que con gran ritmo conjuga las experiencias de la autora con respecto a la maternidad y la pesquisa acerca de un infanticidio provocado por una mujer a quien conociera tiempo atrás. Ambos aspectos están hábilmente imbricados y el resultado es una narración ágil que no decae nunca en su interés. Un par de observaciones. Parece un poco infantil o inmaduro el "descubrimiento" de las responsabilidades e implicancias que trae consigo el tener un hijo, una experiencia comprometedora y exigente como difícilmente se encuentre otra. Además el énfasis en las problemáticas asociadas a la maternidad sugiere en más de una ocasión que la paternidad es sencilla, en una simplificación que ignora, por ejemplo, que en aproximadamente la mitad de los países del mundo los papás no tienen ni siquiera un día de licencia luego del nacimiento del hijo.
December 25, 2019
Me ha parecido una escritura fascinante aunque haya un par de cosas extrañas de corrección. La estructura, el tema y el diseño, una maravilla.
January 28, 2025
Katixa Aguirre tiene el don de arrastrarte a un libro como quien te lleva a una habitación cerrada, hacerte sentir incómoda y atrapada, pero a la vez incapaz de apartar la mirada de lo que ocurre. Este libro explora los rincones oscuros de la maternidad y la culpa con una escritura quirúrgica, a ratos fría, como si la autora te estuviera diseccionando mientras te lee la cartilla.
El planteamiento, aunque envenenado de morbo (asesinatos, bebés y madres desquiciadas), no cae en el sensacionalismo barato. Te pasea por las grietas emocionales de sus personajes, como si disfrutara zarandeándote. Y funciona, porque te obliga a enfrentar lo que nadie quiere admitir: el amor por un hijo también tiene grietas, y la maternidad no siempre salva, a veces asfixia.
Como única pega, la narración se pierde a menudo en reflexiones pesadas que parecen apuntes filosóficos que no acabaron de cuajar en un ensayo y acabaron pegados aquí con cinta adhesiva. Además, la protagonista –una escritora narrando sobre madres infanticidas mientras lidia con su propia maternidad– a ratos parece más una excusa para el análisis que un personaje vivo. Aun así, se lleva las 5 estrellas porque, esto que para cualquier otro podría ser un defecto, es para mí un género híbrido que siempre me acaba convenciendo.
Las madres no es incómoda y necesaria, como meter el dedo en una herida que no sabías que tenías y que te deja cicatriz. No tiene intención de hacerte sentir bien, y ahí radica su mayor acierto.
El planteamiento, aunque envenenado de morbo (asesinatos, bebés y madres desquiciadas), no cae en el sensacionalismo barato. Te pasea por las grietas emocionales de sus personajes, como si disfrutara zarandeándote. Y funciona, porque te obliga a enfrentar lo que nadie quiere admitir: el amor por un hijo también tiene grietas, y la maternidad no siempre salva, a veces asfixia.
Como única pega, la narración se pierde a menudo en reflexiones pesadas que parecen apuntes filosóficos que no acabaron de cuajar en un ensayo y acabaron pegados aquí con cinta adhesiva. Además, la protagonista –una escritora narrando sobre madres infanticidas mientras lidia con su propia maternidad– a ratos parece más una excusa para el análisis que un personaje vivo. Aun así, se lleva las 5 estrellas porque, esto que para cualquier otro podría ser un defecto, es para mí un género híbrido que siempre me acaba convenciendo.
Las madres no es incómoda y necesaria, como meter el dedo en una herida que no sabías que tenías y que te deja cicatriz. No tiene intención de hacerte sentir bien, y ahí radica su mayor acierto.
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