A poignant telling of the legacies of mothering Mother Shadow is a meditation on what it means to be a 'good mother' where two women – separated by continents and time but connected by blood – each find themselves enchained by social and personal forces that seek to limit them. The book blends a reimagining of the life of a 19th century unmarried peasant woman from Bologna who abandons her daughter to a foundling home – institutions known as slaughterhouses for the babies who died there – with present day reflection on the challenges of mothering with a disability. Mother Shadow opens with the uncovering of a family secret. The author's great-grandmother was not an orphan, as she'd been told, but a foundling, relinquished at birth by a mother who 'did not consent to be named'. The discovery of the abandoned baby in her maternal line triggers a passionate and indignant reaction as she what kind of a mother would relinquish her child? It also triggers a painful personal memory of the day she dropped her baby after falling backwards in her wheelchair and realised her worst fear. That her broken body, permanently injured in a plane crash in her early 30s, could not be trusted to protect her baby. Troubled by her rush to judgement of her ancestor, the author becomes fixated on uncovering the mother's identity and piecing together the fragments of her life, a quest that takes her and her family to Bologna. As she comes to understand the series of tragic events that compelled her ancestor to abandon her baby, she wonders if the compulsion to make sense of the woman's act is linked to the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that haunts her because she is unable to mother according to the standards she has set for herself. It turns out that Bologna, a city of porticoes with their smooth, flecked mortadella-like walkways, is the perfect city for a mother in a wheelchair and her scooter loving six-year-old. 'Stories about mothers and children are powerful. They are stories about love, about the gentleness (and cruelty) and resilience (and weakness) of human beings, and the enduring hope that connects generations. [Banham's] rich description of centuries-old Italian city streetscapes creates an atmosphere of mystery and suspense. The story draws you in and doesn't let go as clues about her search for her Italian great-grandmother arrive at a steady pace. I was on edge to the very end in anticipation of what was going to happen next.' —Moreno Giovannoni 'What kind of mother abandons her child? In her tireless quest to understand her great-grandmother's unfathomable act, Cynthia Banham unearths a story shaped by crushing limitations and agonising choices. Her rich and sensitive narrative wrestles with the complexities of motherhood and inheritance with immense courage, clarity and compassion.' —Nadine Davidoff 'Mother Shadow begs the what does maternal agency truly look like? The fragmented form of the book creates a structural seamlessness between times, continents, and the question of what it is both to mother and be mothered. Banham's meticulous and poetic attention to details real and imagined draw the reader into temporal scenes of nature, street and landscape, evoking a sense of timelessness across ages. Within it, the possibility of understanding, recognition and reconciliation between generations of women opens. These superbly written meditations are at times heartbreaking, always fascinating, and ultimately uplifting.' —Lee Kofman 'Extraordinary! Cynthia Banham writes with such precision and elegance. Mother Shadow is a detective thriller, a richly detailed memoir, a transnational family history and a moving account of maternal love, told with unrelenting self-scrutiny and grace. I couldn't put it down!' —Roanna Gonsalves
I responded to Mother Shadow as someone who has also excavated memory, the meaning of motherhood, and the generational consequences of shame and secrecy - in my case with a particular focus on illegitimacy and adoption as it was practised in mid-20th century. I recognise that for those whose growing up years were spent in the time when it no longer carried stigma, it is a challenge to put yourself in the shoes of a woman whose decisions were driven by state, religious and societal attitudes of their time. In her quest to understand why her ancestor did not raise Banham's g-grandmother, born late 1800s Italy, the author discovers the shocking (non) choices available for women whose men did not stand by them.
Starting out judgemental, Banham gradually grapples with the long reach of early wounds — how they echo through adulthood, relationships, and the stories we tell about ourselves. She needs to understand not just what happened, but how it shaped the woman she became - and her feelings of inadequacy around her own capacity to mother, in her comparisons with other modern mothers.
Although beautifully written, with gorgeous description, and superb sentence structure, ultimately this was a 3.5 star read for me because I was constantly confronted with Banham's assertion that her g-g-grandmother had ABANDONED her daughter. This is a highly emotive word for women who also could not raise the children they birthed, and as such, is a personal emotion that may not bother other readers. They may even agree, although, I would hope, having read to the end, and evaluated some of the discovery and assumptions made along the journey, readers would prefer to see it as reluctant relinquishment. Perhaps they would ask themselves, if they lived in that time, place and system - what would they have done?
Ultimately, by page 185 Banham forgives herself for any perceived flaws in her own mothering. I didn't quite get the feeling she also forgave g-g-grandmother (Ersilia). I would have liked to see that more clearly acknowledged.
Graceful and compelling in its execution, this is a memoir rich in human insight, from an experienced writer whose passion, literary skill and deep thinking is fully evident. Mother Shadow traces the lives of mothers past, and the author's own experiences as a mother with physical disability.
She excavates the lives of some of the least valued of Italian women of the 1800s, women whom the she is a descendent of: the poor and semi-literate mothers of illegitimate children. Compelled to learn more after discovering that her Italian great-grandmother Natalina had been relinquished to a foundling home, her research narrative is emotionally and intellectually fierce.
Banham deftly weaves in her remarkable historical findings from her research trips to Italy, with her own experience as a mother with profound physical injuries and disability navigating the cobbled streets and porticos of Bologna, accompanied by husband, son and sometimes a translator.
The story of mothering her son from her wheelchair (or using walking aids) and while making trips to Italy to investigate the history of the foundling homes and her own ancestor's experiences with them is moving, informative and frankly, impressive. One of the more light-hearted scenes she relates is whizzing along the porticoes in Bologna with her young son alongside on his push-scooter. But mothering with a disability is mostly challenging, and some of Banham's most moving passages are those in which she discusses her self-doubts as a mother or when she has questioned her right to be a mother.
That Banham is a descendent of one of these women and babies, writing through and despite her own disability all these years later, makes the memoir and history all the richer. This history of historical mothering and foundling homes, and of her own contemporary mothering and disability are remarkable for what Banham discovers, and for what she reveals.
A profoundly moving, gentle and enlightening exploration of the echoes of motherhood across generations and centuries. It’s part memoir, part detective story, part philosophy. Beautifully written and utterly inspiring.
Book of the year so far. It’s beautifully written. The author excavates enough information about her great grandmother to plausibly pose and answer eternal questions about mothering. Really stays with you.