From one of our most daring writers comes this intimate and seductive book: a working journal of pregnancy that was both a Lambda Literary Awards finalist and a Village Voice pick for Best Books of 2000. Maso chronicles with great tenderness and awe the months of her pregnancy, from its charmed conception through the auspicious arrival of Rose.
Carole Maso is a contemporary American novelist and essayist, known for her experimental, poetic and fragmentary narratives often labeled as postmodern. She received a bachelor’s degree in English from Vassar College in 1977. Her first published novel was Ghost Dance, which appeared in 1986. Her best known novel is probably Defiance, which was published in 1998. Currently (2006) she is a professor of English at Brown University. She has previously held positions as a writer-in-residence at Illinois State and George Washington University, as well as teaching writing at Columbia University.
Because it's been a little over thirteen years since I gave birth to my own daughter, I wasn't sure 178 pages of Carole Maso journaling about her own pregnancy, delivery of her daughter, and transformation of self, would, could possibly keep my attention--but I was wrong. I was wrong partly because the book is not just about creating a child, but about being a writer, and writing. I was also wrong to think I'm that far removed from my own pregnancy and seemingly miraculous birth of my daughter.
Maso completely captured the dream-like quality of pregnancy, birth and new motherhood, and because she did, I remembered everything of my own experience as I read about her's. Her prose cast a spell on the muscle memory of my uterus just as much as it transfixed my psyche and took me back in time. I related to Maso not because our experiences were alike, but because she was honest--because the text is nothing but the self-absorption of pregnancy (as it should be)--as is the very process of being a writer, and writing.
The prose is not only exquisite, it's straight-forward; there is no fluff, just the words which need to be, and while Maso is indeed utterly self-absorbed, she is never pretentious. Her use of quotes, poetry, and references to Beckett, Stein, Woolf, and others are all appropriate whereas another author's attempt as this easily could have appeared as flashy or downright arrogant. Maso is an intelligent woman and she simply recorded her thoughts, as well as the slips between her thoughts.
As I read the book, I truly believed I was going about day-to-day with this pregnant writer, and while I was worried I couldn't continue to suspend my disbelief when it came time for the actual Petocin-induced labor and delivery of her dear, sweet Rose, I was wrong. While I'm quite sure Maso wasn't scribbling down the narrative of her birth as she was giving birth, it didn't matter because she captured the scene entirely: the detachment, the cusp between birth and death, the body, the mind--the everything about it, both universal truth and completely unique, I found I could in fact happily pretend we were in the moment together, and not the text or the memory; furthermore, the birth acted as the climax of the book, and my heart beat increased to read it, and then the last pages of a room lit by roses folded over me like a blanket, so soothing, I soon found myself waking up from the dream that was the book.
Carole Maso's AVA has been one of my favorite books since I read it in college. I've read AVA four or five times now, so I decided I should finally ready something else by Maso. I wasn't disappointed--this book is beautiful. It has some of the same lyrical language and rawness that I loved in AVA, and I liked seeing how Maso presented her own experience of pregnancy, birth, and postpartum through that lens. Her take on these experiences was unique to me--cerebral, poetic, and visceral all at once.
For anyone who's had a child or wants to, and especially for women who hope to raise children together, Room Lit By Roses is revelatory. While the rest of us plod along our high-tech journeys to motherhood, Maso's account reads like a modern-day immaculate conception. She becomes regnant at 42 after one night with a "perfect stranger" whom she met on an airplane. Even for this new Jew, the light-handed Christ metaphors were moving and surprisingly apt, but the real genius of this little book is feeling every wave of nausea, every existential question, every note of the extraordinary love Maso has with her partner of 20 years, Helen, as though we are experiencing it for ourselves. It's a tragedy that Maso doesn't write more nonfiction. Her virtuosic arabesques are most powerful to this reader when grounded in what happened, improbably, to her.
The only book *about* pregnancy that I've read while being pregnant and oh, Maso just captures the experience *perfectly.* I may not have thought my own pregnancy was as "magical" as hers, but I still felt every word about the surrealness of being two people in one body along with her. I would absolutely recommend this book to any pregnant woman and may actually inflict it upon some pregnant friends whether they like it or not.
I am 18 and reading this book just puts me in her shoes. I have fallen in love with the way she uses her words, I have never seen such perfection in writings.