A mother reveals a festering secret to her daughter after years of trying to conceal it. Since her daughter's birth, she has been suffering from a disease that causes bizarre symptoms: sudden calcification, the growth and disintegration of extra ribs, coral splinters in the heart, unrelenting depression. As the mother examines the pathology of her disease, she offers her daughter fierce and harrowing advice on everything from sex to survival to love. A mother is a recorder, a journal, an illimitable, constant aperture. We are seers, voyeurs of the worst order. Part ode, part prayer, and part manifesto, Matronalia interlaces ancestral legacies and personal tribulations to reveal what often remains unsaid from mother to daughter. The energy, intelligence and grace of the language and imagination is itself antidote to the dilemmas and shame they explore. Matronalia is, in essence, a confession that evolves into a love poem. Go to art when you are lost, my darling. Stand before something that breaks you.
This book spoke very eloquently about generational traumas and tendencies. Existing as a mother and daughter has a harrowing beauty which this book mostly captures. It resonated with me despite my not being Baltic and having a static rib count. I think readers who find Jessica Urlichs’ Beautiful Chaos a bit trite might find what they need here.