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Despojos: Sobre el matrimonio y la separación
Mi marido y yo nos separamos recientemente y, en cuestión de unas semanas, la vida que habíamos construido juntos se desarmó, como un puzle convertido en un montón de piezas con los bordes recortados.
En 2009, el matrimonio de Rachel Cusk llegó a su fin y su mundo se fracturó «como un puzle convertido en un montón de piezas con los bordes recortados». Despojos es el relato de esa ruptura, en el que una escritora y madre de dos niñas observa sus propias reacciones ante la destrucción de la vida tal y como la había entendido hasta entonces. Una mujer que, mientras crea una nueva individualidad para ella y un nuevo modelo de familia para sus hijas –en una sociedad que sitúa el amor conyugal como centro sagrado e inquebrantable de una familia–, descubre una inesperada vulnerabilidad, pero también libertades y fortalezas desconocidas.
Rachel Cusk, una de las voces más aclamadas y más originales de la literatura actual, utiliza su talento narrativo para crear una obra profundamente turbadora por su singularidad, cuya arrolladora franqueza y feroz autoconocimiento ha deleitado y conmocionado a partes iguales.
En 2009, el matrimonio de Rachel Cusk llegó a su fin y su mundo se fracturó «como un puzle convertido en un montón de piezas con los bordes recortados». Despojos es el relato de esa ruptura, en el que una escritora y madre de dos niñas observa sus propias reacciones ante la destrucción de la vida tal y como la había entendido hasta entonces. Una mujer que, mientras crea una nueva individualidad para ella y un nuevo modelo de familia para sus hijas –en una sociedad que sitúa el amor conyugal como centro sagrado e inquebrantable de una familia–, descubre una inesperada vulnerabilidad, pero también libertades y fortalezas desconocidas.
Rachel Cusk, una de las voces más aclamadas y más originales de la literatura actual, utiliza su talento narrativo para crear una obra profundamente turbadora por su singularidad, cuya arrolladora franqueza y feroz autoconocimiento ha deleitado y conmocionado a partes iguales.
176 pages, Paperback
First published August 1, 2012
285 people are currently reading
8655 people want to read
About the author
Rachel Cusk
60 books4,985 followersRachel Cusk was born in Canada, and spent some of her childhood in Los Angeles, before her family returned to England, in 1974, when Cusk was 8 years old. She read English at New College, Oxford.
Cusk is the Whitbread Award–winning author of two memoirs, including The Last Supper, and seven novels, including Arlington Park, Saving Agnes, The Temporary, The Country Life, and The Lucky Ones.
She has won and been shortlisted for numerous prizes: her most recent novel, Outline (2014), was shortlisted for the Folio Prize, the Goldsmith's Prize and the Bailey's prize, and longlisted for Canada's Giller Prize. In 2003, Rachel Cusk was nominated by Granta magazine as one of 20 'Best of Young British Novelists'
She lives in Brighton, England.
Cusk is the Whitbread Award–winning author of two memoirs, including The Last Supper, and seven novels, including Arlington Park, Saving Agnes, The Temporary, The Country Life, and The Lucky Ones.
She has won and been shortlisted for numerous prizes: her most recent novel, Outline (2014), was shortlisted for the Folio Prize, the Goldsmith's Prize and the Bailey's prize, and longlisted for Canada's Giller Prize. In 2003, Rachel Cusk was nominated by Granta magazine as one of 20 'Best of Young British Novelists'
She lives in Brighton, England.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 561 reviews
August 13, 2018
It used to be rare for me to read through a writer’s oeuvre at once. I was afraid I would show an author I admired to disadvantage. With Rachel Cusk, each book is another, deeper aspect of the same theme so one may move from one to another, gorging intemperately on the ideas there and stagger out like a bee drunk on honey.
Honesty, she says, is critical. If one is going to pay any attention to an author, honesty about the human experience, however coruscating, is key. Men write about war which tears the heart from the body. Women write about domestic issues which tear the soul from the heart. One day this may change. To date, thousands of years since the Greeks, it hasn’t yet.
Clytemnestra took over her husband’s work while he was away fighting the wars in Troy. Cusk calls her unisex, that she seeks equality, now that she’s seen men’s work and can handle it herself. But the ‘pure peace of equality’ does not engender children, or border expansion, or empires.
She doesn’t eat. In the chapter entitled “Aren’t You Having Any?” her children essentially beg their mother not to disappear, but “it is impossible to eat and stay vigilant.” Her daughter is invited to the party of a close friend, but when the time comes to pick her up, the narrator realizes the friend invited other people for a sleep-over, but not her daughter. She immediately attributes this to her divorce and considers it a calculated cruelty, but someone less involved would certainly make a different assessment. The daughter, perhaps ten years old, is the more adult in this case, urging her mother to drop it:
She has a larger capacity for love than she ordinarily shares. It is clear in the narrator's story about the witch’s house: how she and her daughters rented a set of rooms in an old house but were kicked out by the proprietor before the agreed-upon time was up. She felt the wrong keenly and when she complained, she was deserted in a distant location by the proprietor. Cusk told her friends how she bravely got her own back, but she admits to us that a greater achievement would have been to acknowledge the lack of love and attention the place and the people needed. She sought safety for herself and her children, but sometimes safety is best found by opening up and letting go, rather than by holding on.
This astonishing end to a trilogy of memoirs only makes her writing all the more precious, knowing it was first written in blood, by her fingernails. It always amazes me that voices of such extraordinary power are not immediately recognized, nourished, protected. We need writers with skills and sensibilities like this, without which we’d have no standard to set the bar. Many thanks to this brave woman willing to share her innermost agonies in exquisite prose for our improvement.
Review of Outline
Review of Transit
Review of Kudos
Honesty, she says, is critical. If one is going to pay any attention to an author, honesty about the human experience, however coruscating, is key. Men write about war which tears the heart from the body. Women write about domestic issues which tear the soul from the heart. One day this may change. To date, thousands of years since the Greeks, it hasn’t yet.
Clytemnestra took over her husband’s work while he was away fighting the wars in Troy. Cusk calls her unisex, that she seeks equality, now that she’s seen men’s work and can handle it herself. But the ‘pure peace of equality’ does not engender children, or border expansion, or empires.
“It is all aftermath, predicated on the death of what was before…Clytemnestra wants no more begetting. She wants the peace of equality but to get it she will have to use violence. To reach the aftermath, first there has to be the event itself.”Reading backwards through Cusk’s work, I realize this book is the third piece of a memoir in acts. It begs to read through in a sitting, her writing is so clear, so inescapable, so sharp, so quivering and naked. Her husband barely appears and yet we hear her silent wail, like reverberations impacting eardrums. The children are her Iphegenia, “the sacrifice that lies at the heart of all marriages.”
“Grief is not love but it is like love. This is romance’s estranged cousin, a cruel character, all sleeplessness and adrenalin unsweetened by hope.”“I blame Christianity,” she says, lashing out. “The holy family, that pious unit…has a lot to answer for….The day feeble Joseph agreed to marry pregnant Mary the old passionate template was destroyed.” Honesty. Where was it then? Where is it now?
She doesn’t eat. In the chapter entitled “Aren’t You Having Any?” her children essentially beg their mother not to disappear, but “it is impossible to eat and stay vigilant.” Her daughter is invited to the party of a close friend, but when the time comes to pick her up, the narrator realizes the friend invited other people for a sleep-over, but not her daughter. She immediately attributes this to her divorce and considers it a calculated cruelty, but someone less involved would certainly make a different assessment. The daughter, perhaps ten years old, is the more adult in this case, urging her mother to drop it:
“They probably didn’t even think about it. That’s just how people are.”Indeed they are. The chapter called “The Razor’s Edge” reminds us of Antigone, where sacred law meets state law. Creon is Antigone’s uncle who has ordered her not to bury her slain brother because of his alleged crimes against the state, of which Creon is in charge. Creon eventually retracts his threats, but too late. When Teiresias, the blind soothsayer, tells Creon to relent and forgive Antigone lest he perpetuate perversity, Creon first insults Teiresias, and then admits that he is frightened. This, Cusk tells us, is
“aftermath, the second harvest: life with knowledge of what has gone before…true responsibility is an act of self-destruction.”Am I wrong in suggesting that the narrator is right? We will all go through these stages in our life. Cusk is so close to it here, and so invested in her own version of it, that she does not realize this is natural, normal, perhaps even healthy. None of us was ever perfect, so perhaps a little self-destruction (read: ego-destruction) is called for. It’s the rebuilding that makes true love, true generosity possible. It happens regularly in good marriages: the breaking and restitching. Doesn’t it?
She has a larger capacity for love than she ordinarily shares. It is clear in the narrator's story about the witch’s house: how she and her daughters rented a set of rooms in an old house but were kicked out by the proprietor before the agreed-upon time was up. She felt the wrong keenly and when she complained, she was deserted in a distant location by the proprietor. Cusk told her friends how she bravely got her own back, but she admits to us that a greater achievement would have been to acknowledge the lack of love and attention the place and the people needed. She sought safety for herself and her children, but sometimes safety is best found by opening up and letting go, rather than by holding on.
This astonishing end to a trilogy of memoirs only makes her writing all the more precious, knowing it was first written in blood, by her fingernails. It always amazes me that voices of such extraordinary power are not immediately recognized, nourished, protected. We need writers with skills and sensibilities like this, without which we’d have no standard to set the bar. Many thanks to this brave woman willing to share her innermost agonies in exquisite prose for our improvement.
Review of Outline
Review of Transit
Review of Kudos
October 25, 2021
Loved this, the first book I read by Rachel Cusk. I will definitely be reading more of her. More than a description of a break up, it is what happens inside her, which is much better than the anecdote of break up itself. A meditation on relationships taken to another level.
July 19, 2017
Why was Cusk so reviled for writing this book? I honestly don't understand. I came to read this late - after reading Outline and Transit. I recognize that there is something oddly repellant (as in: distancing) about the persona who writes this account - but she/"Rachel" is not trying to be approachable nor is she catering to her reader. This is instead of a very literary, metaphor-laden, and deeply self-referential meditation on the aftermath of a marriage.
I saw a clear resemblance to the voice and themes of Outline and Transit - even to the extent of metaphors and images that appear in those books. Although I've heard those two novels will be part of a triptych, it was almost as if THIS were the first book and could be seen as essential reading to understand the cipher-like female character of those novels.
I saw a clear resemblance to the voice and themes of Outline and Transit - even to the extent of metaphors and images that appear in those books. Although I've heard those two novels will be part of a triptych, it was almost as if THIS were the first book and could be seen as essential reading to understand the cipher-like female character of those novels.
February 15, 2024
What he calls cruelty I call the discipline of self-criticism. A woman who loves herself is unprotected. She will be invaded, put in chains, left there in the primordial swamp to love her heart out.
This is... intense, febrile with a kind of brittle, bitter vulnerability. Cusk takes a not unusual or unfamiliar scenario - the breakdown of a marriage - and turns it into something that is both personal and, somehow, impersonal - the latter not in an unfeeling way but its opposite, saying something about the way life is a constant struggle through suffering and survival, comfort and alienation, nostalgic past and frighteningly unknowable future.
The writing, as always, has a purity about it, a lucidity and clarity that is unforgiving. I was especially struck by the extended use of imagery and metaphor that is put to work to add depth to the personal: the toothache with its discussion of root, decay and final painful removal; the engagement with classical Athenian tragedy to add distance and weight to understandings of the family and the emotions it engenders; the tropes of mirrors, windows and divided selves that add a freighted edge to the Cuskian mythology (I wish I'd read this before the new Parade for how it figures fear and self divisions).
This isn't some kind of raw and unprocessed outpouring of spleen - it's cerebral, as Cusk is, but the very restraint speaks to the burden of this experience. This feels like writing as confession, as psychoanalysis, and as a working through of pain to reach some kind of healing - and the switched perspective of that final section 'Trains' manages to be both slightly chilling and yet immensely Cuskian to the end.
I can't imagine anyone else writing this, in precisely this way, other than Rachel Cusk.
September 12, 2024
I've wanted to read this book for a long time, and since Rachel Cusk is currently being discussed among my GR friends, I felt the time was right.
In my personal life, I've always been drawn to the world's Rachel Cusks -- hyperliterate, independent, athletic-looking, and--it must be said--sometimes astonishingly lacking in self-awareness. Up until my marriage all of these relationships were doomed, and in most cases I felt more puzzled than dejected or hurt. (Editor's note: He's lying. He was moping around for weeks after each of these failures.) So who better to explain than a prize-winning Oxford-educated author known for her incisive writing about the female mind and the female experience?
Well. Just about anybody, probably. After spending her childhood in private schools and getting that coveted Oxford degree in English literature, she has this to say:
Sonia was introduced late in the book, and was a witness to all the stuff that Cusk describes in the first 80%. So, having finished analyzing her life, Cusk then decides to present, from an outsider's point of view, what all of this looks like. It's an interesting way to end the book, as the total ordinariness of her plight is exposed. She might as well have ended with: Don't you dare feel sorry for me.
Sometimes, though, when presenting her case, Cusk sounds anything but ordinary:
Confused yet? Imagine a younger, puppylike Left Coast Justin, panting and wagging his tail while the high-cheekboned, raven-haired amor du jour dressed him down with comments like that. After which I'd say something like, "Hey, have you ever tried ice cream with powdered beef bouillon on it?" No wonder it never worked out.
Which, for me, was the primary pleasure of this book. Looking back at this earlier phase of my life, and thinking of Denise G., or Jenny D., or Grace M., I now realize that it's not that it didn't work out. No, in fact there's absolutely no way on God's green earth it could possibly have worked.
I read this book, perhaps, hoping for some form of enlightenment. And in a way, I succeeded -- I was enlightened to the fact that I'll never really understand women like this, but my goodness how I have loved them anyway.
In my personal life, I've always been drawn to the world's Rachel Cusks -- hyperliterate, independent, athletic-looking, and--it must be said--sometimes astonishingly lacking in self-awareness. Up until my marriage all of these relationships were doomed, and in most cases I felt more puzzled than dejected or hurt. (Editor's note: He's lying. He was moping around for weeks after each of these failures.) So who better to explain than a prize-winning Oxford-educated author known for her incisive writing about the female mind and the female experience?
Well. Just about anybody, probably. After spending her childhood in private schools and getting that coveted Oxford degree in English literature, she has this to say:
Kurt was working for the summer in a chicken factory. He worked nights because the pay was better. On his part of the line they took out the chicken's insides, sealed them in a little plastic bag to preserve them, and put them back in the chicken again. Like education, Sonia said.
Sonia was introduced late in the book, and was a witness to all the stuff that Cusk describes in the first 80%. So, having finished analyzing her life, Cusk then decides to present, from an outsider's point of view, what all of this looks like. It's an interesting way to end the book, as the total ordinariness of her plight is exposed. She might as well have ended with: Don't you dare feel sorry for me.
Sometimes, though, when presenting her case, Cusk sounds anything but ordinary:
They had forgotten to propitiate Artemis, the goddess whose wind it was, as men forget at their peril to propitiate the women on whose willingness their plans and projects depend, for though women don't fight wars or build civilisation, all is conditional on their willingness for it to be done.
What I lived as feminism were in fact the male values my parents, among others, well-meaningly bequeathed me -- the cross-dressing values of my father, and the anti-feminine values of my mother. So I am not a feminist. I am a self-hating transvestite.
I was frightened of dying, not because I loved life but because I couldn't distinguish myself, couldn't gather together as one entity this self whose existence posited the fact of non-existence.
Confused yet? Imagine a younger, puppylike Left Coast Justin, panting and wagging his tail while the high-cheekboned, raven-haired amor du jour dressed him down with comments like that. After which I'd say something like, "Hey, have you ever tried ice cream with powdered beef bouillon on it?" No wonder it never worked out.
Which, for me, was the primary pleasure of this book. Looking back at this earlier phase of my life, and thinking of Denise G., or Jenny D., or Grace M., I now realize that it's not that it didn't work out. No, in fact there's absolutely no way on God's green earth it could possibly have worked.
I read this book, perhaps, hoping for some form of enlightenment. And in a way, I succeeded -- I was enlightened to the fact that I'll never really understand women like this, but my goodness how I have loved them anyway.
March 24, 2024
Un libro más de la denominada autoficción, en este caso centrado en la traumática separación de la autora. La propaganda editorial nos promete ‘un relato de esa ruptura’ con ‘arrolladora franqueza’. Es lo que compras. Lo que adquieres es diferente: un largo monólogo desordenado – podrían ser entradas aleatorias de un diario – en el que hay mucho dolor, muchas fases del duelo, muchas reflexiones, mucho de todo pero poca o ninguna información sobre el matrimonio y la separación de la autora que es lo que anuncia la publicidad.
A mí me parece bien, porque soy más de reflexiones que de salseo, pero no es lo que promete ni el título ni la descripción editorial y creo que puede haber lectores que se sientan estafados. Tal cual. Me imagino a la autora hablando con los de la editorial:
- Quiero escribir sobre mi separación pero los abogados de mi marido me dicen que no se me ocurra largar.
- Es igual, habla de lo que sea, cómo te sientes, la vida en general, el feminismo, etc.
- También podría contar algunas tragedias griegas.
- Genial! Eso dará un toque muy clásico.
Y está bien, pero otra cosa es engañar al personal tipo programas telebasura: lo-voy-a-contar-todo, pero-otro-día. Las páginas se suceden y vamos saltando de un tema a otro. Muchos pensamientos feministas, que a menudo se enredan hasta resultar ininteligibles o caen en obviedades como:
La madre trabajadora, en cambio, tiene que trasladar continuamente a la vida cotidiana el papel que se le ha asignado en los mitos fundacionales de la civilización. Por eso no es de extrañar que esté un poco agobiada.
¿De verdad, Rachel? No sabía que la conciliación fuera una tarea difícil y un gran problema social, primera noticia. Y ¿‘un poco agobiada’?
En fin, no quiero ser dura con la autora, ya que indudablemente es una memoria muy bien escrita y que emana del dolor y el sentimiento, aunque no se nos explique bien en ningún momento los hechos concretos que lo han motivado. Lo que no me gusta es la explotación editorial que se hace del tema y el obvio relleno que se nos ofrece en lugar del producto anunciado.
A mí me parece bien, porque soy más de reflexiones que de salseo, pero no es lo que promete ni el título ni la descripción editorial y creo que puede haber lectores que se sientan estafados. Tal cual. Me imagino a la autora hablando con los de la editorial:
- Quiero escribir sobre mi separación pero los abogados de mi marido me dicen que no se me ocurra largar.
- Es igual, habla de lo que sea, cómo te sientes, la vida en general, el feminismo, etc.
- También podría contar algunas tragedias griegas.
- Genial! Eso dará un toque muy clásico.
Y está bien, pero otra cosa es engañar al personal tipo programas telebasura: lo-voy-a-contar-todo, pero-otro-día. Las páginas se suceden y vamos saltando de un tema a otro. Muchos pensamientos feministas, que a menudo se enredan hasta resultar ininteligibles o caen en obviedades como:
La madre trabajadora, en cambio, tiene que trasladar continuamente a la vida cotidiana el papel que se le ha asignado en los mitos fundacionales de la civilización. Por eso no es de extrañar que esté un poco agobiada.
¿De verdad, Rachel? No sabía que la conciliación fuera una tarea difícil y un gran problema social, primera noticia. Y ¿‘un poco agobiada’?
En fin, no quiero ser dura con la autora, ya que indudablemente es una memoria muy bien escrita y que emana del dolor y el sentimiento, aunque no se nos explique bien en ningún momento los hechos concretos que lo han motivado. Lo que no me gusta es la explotación editorial que se hace del tema y el obvio relleno que se nos ofrece en lugar del producto anunciado.
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April 28, 2024i love you rachel cusk
March 2, 2021
When Rachel Cusk’s marriage falls apart in the winter of 2009, her life feels like “a jigsaw dismantled into a heap of broken-edges pieces”. Her family, all of a sudden, has lost its bearings, its history and its story:
“Upstairs the children lie asleep in their beds: I imagine them there, like people sleeping in the cabin of a ship that has sailed off its course, unconscious of the danger they’re in. We have lost our bearings, lost our history, and I am the ship’s captain, standing full of dread at the helm.”
Aftermath is an excavation of that family history – its origins, evolution, politics and tensions.
Unlike Cusks’s previous memoir, A Life's Work, which was brutal in its undressing of the harsh realities of early motherhood, Cusk’s approach in Aftermath is much more guarded and elusive. None of the causative issues of her separation are addressed directly. Instead, Cusks gives us allegory, Greek mythology and anecdote. An example: A chapter devoted to the description of a dental visit and the extraction of a tooth serves as metaphor for the painful process of evicting a family member whose presence has become a toxin to the system.
It is clear that Cusk’s interests lie in the patterns of the general as seen through the chronicle of the personal. She is particularly interested in the “scattering” of female identity in an age of mock equality, the “performance” of marriage, the lasting impact of old orthodoxies, the discipline of self-criticism. The precision of Cusk’s writing, combined with the clarity of her perception, gives the text the quality of a stiff drink – with a splash of ice water to the face.
I was less satisfied, however, with the structure of the memoir. The anecdotes build and build towards a promising epiphany that never arrives. The ending feels lethargic and anticlimactic. If Cusks reaches any satisfying conclusions, she does not share these with her reader. This resistance may be intentional. In the opening chapter Cusk confesses that she has come to hate stories:
“If someone were to ask me what disaster this was that had befallen my life, I might ask if they wanted the story or the truth.”
Naked, you see, the truth is ugly to behold. Overdressed, it becomes a lie. Cusk’s attempt to reconcile both necessities – the story and the truth - is perhaps why the text feels so deconstructed, and yet so true-to-life. A pile of jigsaw pieces refracted through a shattered lens.
Mood: Brittle
Rating: 8/10
Also on Instagram.
“Upstairs the children lie asleep in their beds: I imagine them there, like people sleeping in the cabin of a ship that has sailed off its course, unconscious of the danger they’re in. We have lost our bearings, lost our history, and I am the ship’s captain, standing full of dread at the helm.”
Aftermath is an excavation of that family history – its origins, evolution, politics and tensions.
Unlike Cusks’s previous memoir, A Life's Work, which was brutal in its undressing of the harsh realities of early motherhood, Cusk’s approach in Aftermath is much more guarded and elusive. None of the causative issues of her separation are addressed directly. Instead, Cusks gives us allegory, Greek mythology and anecdote. An example: A chapter devoted to the description of a dental visit and the extraction of a tooth serves as metaphor for the painful process of evicting a family member whose presence has become a toxin to the system.
It is clear that Cusk’s interests lie in the patterns of the general as seen through the chronicle of the personal. She is particularly interested in the “scattering” of female identity in an age of mock equality, the “performance” of marriage, the lasting impact of old orthodoxies, the discipline of self-criticism. The precision of Cusk’s writing, combined with the clarity of her perception, gives the text the quality of a stiff drink – with a splash of ice water to the face.
I was less satisfied, however, with the structure of the memoir. The anecdotes build and build towards a promising epiphany that never arrives. The ending feels lethargic and anticlimactic. If Cusks reaches any satisfying conclusions, she does not share these with her reader. This resistance may be intentional. In the opening chapter Cusk confesses that she has come to hate stories:
“If someone were to ask me what disaster this was that had befallen my life, I might ask if they wanted the story or the truth.”
Naked, you see, the truth is ugly to behold. Overdressed, it becomes a lie. Cusk’s attempt to reconcile both necessities – the story and the truth - is perhaps why the text feels so deconstructed, and yet so true-to-life. A pile of jigsaw pieces refracted through a shattered lens.
Mood: Brittle
Rating: 8/10
Also on Instagram.
getting-even
February 13, 2013Never marry a writer, because when the inevitable happens, they can turn their distress into “art” and send you down as the flakiest twot of all time. Unless Hatchet Job winner Camilla Long is to be believed.
August 15, 2012
I was predisposed to love this book, since I've loved all of Rachel Cusk's work (with the exception of one of her very early novels) thus far--I even pre-ordered it on Amazon, which I think I've done maybe once before. There are so many things I admire about RC's writing--many of which, oddly, are a lot easier to express negatively. Her memoirs aren't memoirs in the common sense of the word--Aftermath and her two previous memoirs, The Last Supper and A Life's Work, don't tell a story in any sort of linear way; they don't reveal a lot of details you might expect (for example, Aftermath doesn't directly answer the obvious question of why RC got divorced, though maybe it does answer it in an indirect and subtle and unexpected way). Aftermath also doesn't focus on what we might think of as "facts." RC's daughters, for example, who are central to the book, aren't named until the acknowledgments. The scenes involving both the author and her husband (the two truly main characters, or so you'd expect) comprise about .001% of the book. So if you are looking for a conventionally-written and -structured memoir, this definitely isn't it.
But I did love Aftermath precisely for all those reasons. It is deeply personal and honest and revealing, though again, not in typical or expected ways. It often reads more like a literary/philosophical treatise than a memoir. Cusk refers to Greek drama, to gender roles, as well as to everyday details like baking a failed cake (though even the failed cake assumes a sort of mythic significance). Cusk is so intelligent, and has such incredible breadth and depth of knowledge; Aftermath is a fairly slender book, but I read very slowly, partly because I was enjoying it so much, partly because I wanted to stop and think often... and partly also because it's just difficult (though in a pleasurable way). Some sections are grimly funny; all of them are provocative and ultimately very moving.
But I did love Aftermath precisely for all those reasons. It is deeply personal and honest and revealing, though again, not in typical or expected ways. It often reads more like a literary/philosophical treatise than a memoir. Cusk refers to Greek drama, to gender roles, as well as to everyday details like baking a failed cake (though even the failed cake assumes a sort of mythic significance). Cusk is so intelligent, and has such incredible breadth and depth of knowledge; Aftermath is a fairly slender book, but I read very slowly, partly because I was enjoying it so much, partly because I wanted to stop and think often... and partly also because it's just difficult (though in a pleasurable way). Some sections are grimly funny; all of them are provocative and ultimately very moving.
October 7, 2012
Underwhelming, lacking substance, and reads like a poorly edited diary; if the author insists on writing about the aftermath of her separation, it would be helpful if she gave the reader more insight as to why her marriage ended.
August 4, 2017
Oh my word, I was bored to tears, and I'm a memoir-lover. This author seemed more in love with her words than in putting them together to keep me interested. Pass.
March 13, 2012
I am not sure what all the fuss is about. Yes, it's raw and angry, but it's not exactly a 'tell-all' about her marriage or divorce. She hits on some of the major issues, but avoids the gory details--wisely, I think. Her husband doesn't come off too badly, her kids probably wouldn't even recognise themselves, so the only one who she really hangs out to dry is herself, and isn't that her prerogative? OK, maybe people take issue with her very blunt opinions on love, marriage and motherhood, but many people feel a lot of the same things a lot of the time and don't have the courage to admit it. I am not comfortable with a lot of her judgements, but clearly that is what they are and she never pretends to be someone that knows it all--quite the contrary. She is the one who has to live with her prejudices and their consequences. I found it very thought provoking and difficult to put down. I really enjoyed her cerebral writing style. I am very interested in reading some of her fiction next.
August 22, 2022
3,5
Una montaña rusa, así ha sido leer Despojos, un libro muy honesto sobre las secuelas de un divorcio reciente cuyas heridas aun sangran. Empieza y acaba muy bien, pero decae hacia el final antes de coger de nuevo impulso.
La propuesta de Rachel Cusk empieza fuerte. No tardé nada en simpatizar con la forma de escribir de la autora, muy ágil a pesar de las muchas reflexiones que traslada en las primeras páginas sobre el divorcio. Un proceso del que no sale limpia, sino con numerosas cicatrices que le obligan a cuestionar su vida. La vida que conocía y de la que ahora ha sido expulsada y esa nueva normalidad de la que debe hacerse cargo.
Soporte económico de la familia por acuerdo durante el matrimonio y madre de dos hijas, Rachel se siente en esta nueva etapa un fraude como feminista al descubrirse haciendo o pensando lo contrario a lo que tantas veces defendió. Es aquí cuando descubrimos la figura de su madre, la mujer que influyó en quién es hoy, a la que siempre ha juzgado y con la que hoy se compara para llegar a algunas de las reflexiones más importantes del libro.
"...está pidiendo que la anulen, que la devoren, está pidiendo pasar la vida perpetrando un nuevo fraude, fabricando otra nueva identidad falsa, solo que esta vez lo falso es su igualdad. O bien hace el doble de trabajo que antes, o bien sacrifica su igualdad y hace menos de lo que debería. Es dos mujeres o es media mujer. Y en cualquiera de los dos casos tendrá que decir, porque así lo ha elegido, que disfruta con lo que hace.
Así avanza el libro entre reflexiones sobre el divorcio, la maternidad o el feminismo, que Rachel a menudo relaciona con las tragedias griegas (algo que a algunos gustará mucho y a otros nada, me temo), para llegar a un último capítulo que no entendí o supe relacionar en una primera lectura, pero que me dejó un buen sabor de boca.
El victimismo de la protagonista me ha causado rechazo en momentos concretos, no os voy a mentir, y creo que al libro le sobran algunas páginas e incluso algún capítulo, pero me ha parecido interesante leerlo. Tiene, eso si, mas valor como testimonio que como historia.
Una montaña rusa, así ha sido leer Despojos, un libro muy honesto sobre las secuelas de un divorcio reciente cuyas heridas aun sangran. Empieza y acaba muy bien, pero decae hacia el final antes de coger de nuevo impulso.
La propuesta de Rachel Cusk empieza fuerte. No tardé nada en simpatizar con la forma de escribir de la autora, muy ágil a pesar de las muchas reflexiones que traslada en las primeras páginas sobre el divorcio. Un proceso del que no sale limpia, sino con numerosas cicatrices que le obligan a cuestionar su vida. La vida que conocía y de la que ahora ha sido expulsada y esa nueva normalidad de la que debe hacerse cargo.
Soporte económico de la familia por acuerdo durante el matrimonio y madre de dos hijas, Rachel se siente en esta nueva etapa un fraude como feminista al descubrirse haciendo o pensando lo contrario a lo que tantas veces defendió. Es aquí cuando descubrimos la figura de su madre, la mujer que influyó en quién es hoy, a la que siempre ha juzgado y con la que hoy se compara para llegar a algunas de las reflexiones más importantes del libro.
"...está pidiendo que la anulen, que la devoren, está pidiendo pasar la vida perpetrando un nuevo fraude, fabricando otra nueva identidad falsa, solo que esta vez lo falso es su igualdad. O bien hace el doble de trabajo que antes, o bien sacrifica su igualdad y hace menos de lo que debería. Es dos mujeres o es media mujer. Y en cualquiera de los dos casos tendrá que decir, porque así lo ha elegido, que disfruta con lo que hace.
Así avanza el libro entre reflexiones sobre el divorcio, la maternidad o el feminismo, que Rachel a menudo relaciona con las tragedias griegas (algo que a algunos gustará mucho y a otros nada, me temo), para llegar a un último capítulo que no entendí o supe relacionar en una primera lectura, pero que me dejó un buen sabor de boca.
El victimismo de la protagonista me ha causado rechazo en momentos concretos, no os voy a mentir, y creo que al libro le sobran algunas páginas e incluso algún capítulo, pero me ha parecido interesante leerlo. Tiene, eso si, mas valor como testimonio que como historia.
April 24, 2025
Bueno BUENO. Qué libro. Rachel Cusk habla sobre el matrimonio -concretamente, su matrimonio-, el fin del amor, la maternidad, el feminismo, la literatura. Cusk relata su divorcio sin ninguna concesión, sin intentar complacer al lector o lectora.
Me flipa cómo toma distancia para hablar de su vida, cómo relata un momento concreto durísimo como si fuese algo ajeno a ella, como un fenómeno externo que es estudiado y analizado con suma precisión en un laboratorio para intentar ser comprendido. La perspectiva que adopta Cusk para hablar de sí misma y de su vida como si no hablase de ella, con una lucidez brutal ¿Lo que menos me ha gustado del libro? No poder subrayarlo porque lo saqué de la biblioteca; de no ser así lo hubiera hecho entero.
Me flipa cómo toma distancia para hablar de su vida, cómo relata un momento concreto durísimo como si fuese algo ajeno a ella, como un fenómeno externo que es estudiado y analizado con suma precisión en un laboratorio para intentar ser comprendido. La perspectiva que adopta Cusk para hablar de sí misma y de su vida como si no hablase de ella, con una lucidez brutal ¿Lo que menos me ha gustado del libro? No poder subrayarlo porque lo saqué de la biblioteca; de no ser así lo hubiera hecho entero.
March 22, 2013
Not an unenjoyable read if you read this first: http://hatchetjoboftheyear.com/ which I kind of agree with (the review AND that the reviewer deserved "Hatchet Job of the Year"). Warning: this book is very overloaded with metaphors and similes. The prose like a soup that has been overcrowded with vegetables and meats to the point where the broth disappears altogether. And, like a once-ever-green bush now hidden under a mink coat of white snow. Or a cat with a spine riddled with tumors. And much like a drawer in a pantry that was made to be neatly ordered with flatware but instead is overflowing with crusty receipts, splintery chop sticks, and stretched-out rubber bands.
March 25, 2017
Didn't like it at all. The author was trying so hard to be "literary" that her writing was incomprehensible. Ugh!
August 13, 2012
Rachel Cusk's novel's are wonderful; they are illuminating, thoughtful and worthwhile reads. However, this so-called memoir is not in that category. It appears --at least to me--to be a series of journal entries mostly about her separation from her husband, but mysteriously, she never reveals much about the marriage. Her self-absorption is difficult to overcome.
October 16, 2023
Rachel Cusk can write about the most mundane situation and I would eat it up, she writes so evocative and beautifully and Aftermath is no exception.
A look into the marriage and separation that she went through in her personal life, this short 150 pages manages to beautifully capture what it means to find identity as a woman in a relationship and consequently out of one as well.
A look into the marriage and separation that she went through in her personal life, this short 150 pages manages to beautifully capture what it means to find identity as a woman in a relationship and consequently out of one as well.
January 9, 2016
When I read A Life's Work, I was an immediate fan. I wanted to run out and accost strangers and say "Read this! It's perfect! It says it exactly how it is!"
When I read Aftermath my reaction was similar but opposite. I wanted to accost strangers and say, "Read this. What do you make of it? I don't understand."
This may be a function of my not being divorced. But the book struck me as a wandering narrative that doesn't ever arrive.
The thing most disappointing is that the book sticks to its title. When we hear divorce, we all want to know, "why?" We expect self-pity and self-flagellation. We want cause and effect. We want to know that it could never happen that way to us.
This book has none of that. This is a book about picking up the pieces.
The only time Cusk touches on the reason for divorce is when she says that they tried to be egalitarian, and it didn't work. This is her introduction to a chapter that wanders through the sexism latent in all our interactions, and wonders if egalitarianism can truly work for anyone. (Obviously, this chapter is ripe for offending everyone.)
The following chapters also cover single thoughts and ideas related to being a single mother, being alone, and trying again.
The story at the end seemed like a cop out. Instead of putting her own life back together, she tells a bizarre allegory about an au pair who... Oh whatever. I don't even know.
I really wanted to like this book, but right now, all I can say is, "what was that?"
When I read Aftermath my reaction was similar but opposite. I wanted to accost strangers and say, "Read this. What do you make of it? I don't understand."
This may be a function of my not being divorced. But the book struck me as a wandering narrative that doesn't ever arrive.
The thing most disappointing is that the book sticks to its title. When we hear divorce, we all want to know, "why?" We expect self-pity and self-flagellation. We want cause and effect. We want to know that it could never happen that way to us.
This book has none of that. This is a book about picking up the pieces.
The only time Cusk touches on the reason for divorce is when she says that they tried to be egalitarian, and it didn't work. This is her introduction to a chapter that wanders through the sexism latent in all our interactions, and wonders if egalitarianism can truly work for anyone. (Obviously, this chapter is ripe for offending everyone.)
The following chapters also cover single thoughts and ideas related to being a single mother, being alone, and trying again.
The story at the end seemed like a cop out. Instead of putting her own life back together, she tells a bizarre allegory about an au pair who... Oh whatever. I don't even know.
I really wanted to like this book, but right now, all I can say is, "what was that?"
April 10, 2024
Cusk sounds insufferable but her writing is incredible.
August 3, 2020
«A la gente le horroriza el cáncer, tan invisible y silencioso, y la ruptura de algunas parejas que nunca se han mostrado hostilidad públicamente. Parecían muy felices, dicen, porque la idea de que la muerte pueda no dar ninguna señal de que se está acercando nos hace sospechar que ya está aquí» (Despojos, Rachel Cusk)
Despojos. Sobre el matrimonio y la separación es el título en español. En inglés es Aftermath y creo que yo lo habría traducido por Secuelas mejor que despojos. La palabra despojos da sensación de abandono, de expulsión, de desprecio. Despojos sugiere que lo que te ha quedado no vale, que hay que tirarlo a la basura, deshacerte de ellos, olvidarlos. Secuelas se ajusta más a la realidad de lo que ocurre tras un divorcio, porque divorciarse no es un proceso del que se salga limpio, impoluto y renovado. Has estado casado durante un cierto tiempo, has vivido de una determinada manera, siguiendo unas normas, unas rutinas, compartiendo una vida y cuando todo eso se acaban quedan secuelas. Divorciarte deja cicatrices al cortar con la vida que has llevado hasta ese momento y se llevan toda la vida, para bien y para mal.
El libro de Rachel Cusk habla de eso, de las secuelas y aunque, para mi gusto, ella se ve demasiado víctima creyéndose, por momentos, expulsada de lo que ella considera la "vida normal", tiene muchísimas reflexiones muy interesantes y muy ciertas sobre las secuelas que, sobre todo al principio, deja un divorcio o una separación.
«Mi marido y yo nos separamos recientemente y, en cuestión de unas semanas, la vida que habíamos construido juntos se desarmó, como un puzle convertido en un montón de piezas con los bordes recortados.»
Divorciarse es un corte limpio, una amputación de la vida que tenías antes. Al principio no te das cuenta, como al enfermo que se despierta sin pierna, te cuesta darte cuenta de que aquello a lo que has estado unido durante tanto tiempo, ya no está. Experimentas un dolor fantasma, y te descubres pensando "si siguiera casada ¿qué estaría haciendo ahora?" o "esto antes, lo hacíamos así". Incluso haciendo las cosas como antes, cuando todo era distinto... pero tú aún no te has dado cuenta. Rachel explica bien como te vas haciendo poco a poco a esa nueva vida, a esa nueva situación. Esta ruptura con tu vida anterior no es algo exclusivo de los divorcios o separaciones, ocurre lo mismo si enviudas o, por adición en vez de por sustracción, cuando tienes un hijo y te das cuenta de que tu vida de antes ya no volverá. En todos los casos la adaptación a la nueva normalidad es algo dolorosa, conlleva tiempo y el descubrimiento de nuevos aspectos de ti mismo que pueden gustarte o no. Rachel descubre por ejemplo que se niega a tener custodia compartida y repartir todo lo que tenían al 50%. Cuando sus hijas nacieron, la pareja decidió que ella trabajaría y sería el soporte económico de la familia y él cuidaría de la casa y de las niñas. Fue un acuerdo compartido porque Rachel, y en esto sí coincido con ella, se sentía atrapada y a la vez una intrusa en su papel como madre. Era algo que sabía hacer, «Fue como si hubiera aprendido a hablar ruso de golpe: lo que podía hacer -este trabajo de las mujeres- tenía una forma propia y, al mismo tiempo, no sabía de dónde me venía ese conocimiento» pero que no quería hacer o, por lo menos, no quería hacer al 100% quedándose en casa. Cuando se divorcia descubre que a pesar de eso ella quiere representar el papel de madre/mujer y que a su marido le corresponda el de hombre.
«Son mis hijas, insistí. Son mías.» Su marido le espeta «Y tú te llamas feminista» Y Rachel tiene entonces que reflexionar sobre sí misma y descubrir que es un fraude, que todo aquello que decía defender, no se aplica cuando le toca a ella. «Por tanto, no soy feminista. Soy una travestida que se odia a sí misma.» Yo no comparto con Rachel este tema porque en mi caso siempre tuvimos claro que todo iría al 50% pero ya he contado muchísimas veces como me encontré con que mucha gente me decía: pero ¿por qué no te quedas tú con las niñas, la casa y una pensión? Ni siquiera entré a discutir con esa gente, les ignoré directamente y les puse en la lista de gente de la que no fiarme.
Coincido muchísimo, sin embargo, en su visión sobre la mujer trabajadora y la que se queda en casa. Yo, como ella, nunca he dependido económicamente de un hombre desde que me casé pero, como ella, no lo considero un mérito espectacular igual que un hombre nunca presume de lo mismo. A mí me parece lo normal, lo correcto, lo que yo necesito y a lo que no estoy dispuesta a renunciar bajo ningún concepto. Rachel habla, y coincido con ella al 100%, en como las mujeres que se quedan en casa por decisión propia, suelen decir siempre que se sienten afortunadas, que es lo mejor para ellas y para todos. Consideran que es una suerte que con el dinero de sus parejas puedan vivir sin trabajar, mejor dicho sin tener un trabajo remunerado, ocupándose de las mil quinientas cosas que conlleva quedarse en casa ( y también no quedarse, pero ese es otro tema). Lo chocante de este planteamiento es que esas mujeres, cuando son madres, nunca quieren eso para sus hijas. Las madres quieren paras sus hijas que estudien, que consigan un trabajo en el que sean brillantes o en el que disfruten, un trabajo que las haga salir de casa. En nuestros tiempos no conozco a ninguna madre que diga «yo para mi hija quiero que se case, tenga hijos y se quede en casa». A nadie.
Rachel reflexiona también, de manera dolorosísima, sobre la nueva relación con sus hijas, sobre los cambios que el divorcio establece en su manera de relacionarse con ellas pero también de verlas, quererlas y pensarlas. En esto tampoco coincido con ella en todo pero sí en algunas cosas. Ella se siente terriblemente culpable por su divorcio (en ningún caso se explican los motivos del divorcio y a mí me parece perfecto porque así las ideas tratan sobre qué pasó después y no en el qué lo provocó que es algo en lo que la gente tiene muchísima curiosidad porque nadie quiere afrontar que, a veces, las relaciones se terminan sin que un meteorito las impacte, se terminan por erosión, por desgaste, porque tenían que acabarse) y creo que proyecta esa culpabilidad en su relación con sus hijas.
«Les hice daño, y con eso aprendí a quererlas de verdad. O, mejor dicho, lo reconocí, reconocí este amor, reconocí lo grande que era. Lo exterioricé: interiorizado, habría sido un instrumento de tortura. Pero ahora estaba en el mundo y era visible y práctico. ¿Qué es una madre amorosa? Es una persona que renuncia a su interés personal por el bienestar de sus hijos. El sufrimiento de sus hijos les causa más dolor que el suyo: es María a los pies de la Cruz».
Cuando te divorcias la relación con tus hijos también sufre el embate de un nuevo oleaje y es inevitable sentirse culpable porque la sociedad, los demás, nos trasmiten la idea de que terminar una relación, de que no ser capaz de "aguantar" te convierte en una mala madre, en un mal padre, porque has preferido terminar una relación a mantenerla por ellos. Tú, eres inteligente y tienes criterio y sabes que eso es una majadería pero cuesta mucho arrancarse el velo de culpabilidad que como una teleraña te cubre de vez en cuando. Te encuentras a cada rato, manoteando delante de tu cara, diciendo "fuera, fuera" y volviendo a repensar con objetividad que eso no es verdad. Miras a tus hijos y los ves bien, tranquilos, contentos, felices y sabes que todo está bien hasta la próxima vez que la telaraña se te enrede en el pelo. Además de esto, hay que construir una relación diferente en la que tienes un papel en solitario con ellos y otro (que hay que mantener siempre por su bien) con tu expareja que sigue siendo su padre (o su madre) aunque ya no viváis todos juntos. Construir todo esto lleva tiempo, se hace a base de prueba y error y como todo lo nuevo, acojona pero se puede hacer y se puede hacer bien. Rachel escribe al principio de todo el proceso y le parece que es una tarea titánica y que no saldrá bien parada de ello. Apuesto a que sí lo consiguió y a que sus hijas están perfectamente.
Cuando te quedas embarazada o te compras un coche automáticamente empiezas a ver embarazadas por la calle y tu mismo coche en cada cruce. Cuando te divorcias lo que te ocurre es que vas escudriñando cada pareja que te cruzas por la calle tratando de saber porqué ellos siguen juntos y parecen felices y tú no.
«Desterrada del matrimonio, veo a los matrimonios con otros ojos. Felicito en silencio a las parejas con las que me cruzo por la calle, a la vez que me pregunto por qué ellos están juntos y yo estoy sola. Sé que han triunfado en lo que yo he fracasado, pero no consigo recordar por qué».
Se te olvida que de puertas afuera nadie sabe qué ocurre dentro de una pareja y caes en la autocompasión más absoluta y dudas.
«Y yo tampoco soy capaz de recordar qué me llevó a destruir la vida que tenía. Solo sé que la he perdido, que ya no existe».
Ya digo que Rachel está muy al principio del proceso y se está hurgando en la herida continuamente para ver si así consigue que deje de doler. Normalmente, uno llega al divorcio sabiendo perfectamente que aquello es inviable.
Despojos es un libro sobre lo que viene después del divorcio. Sobre como se siente un divorcio y la vida que se construye después. Rachel Cusk escribe muy bien y tiene, además de las que he contado, algunas reflexiones interesantísimas sobre relaciones y mitología, sobre grandes clásicos griegos e incluso un capítulo entero dedicado a la extracción de una muela como metáfora del fin de una relación que son espectaculares. El trabajo de auto examen que realiza es doloroso y valiente y por eso Despojos no es un libro bonito y ella no te cae bien pero lo recomiendo para todo el mundo. El que se ha divorciado se verá reflejado de la misma manera que cuando pierdes a alguien te ves reflejado en el auto examen que del luto hace Joan Didion en El año del pensamiento mágico y si no te has divorciado para saber cómo es aunque creas que a ti no te va a pasar porque como dice Cusk nunca sabes qué te va a pasar.
«Siento cierta simpatía por la historia de Edipo. Su historia expresa lo que a mi modo de ver es la principal tragedia humana: que desconocemos las cosas que nos empujan a nuestro destino. Nos somos plenamente conscientes de lo que hacemos ni de por qué lo hacemos».
Despojos. Sobre el matrimonio y la separación es el título en español. En inglés es Aftermath y creo que yo lo habría traducido por Secuelas mejor que despojos. La palabra despojos da sensación de abandono, de expulsión, de desprecio. Despojos sugiere que lo que te ha quedado no vale, que hay que tirarlo a la basura, deshacerte de ellos, olvidarlos. Secuelas se ajusta más a la realidad de lo que ocurre tras un divorcio, porque divorciarse no es un proceso del que se salga limpio, impoluto y renovado. Has estado casado durante un cierto tiempo, has vivido de una determinada manera, siguiendo unas normas, unas rutinas, compartiendo una vida y cuando todo eso se acaban quedan secuelas. Divorciarte deja cicatrices al cortar con la vida que has llevado hasta ese momento y se llevan toda la vida, para bien y para mal.
El libro de Rachel Cusk habla de eso, de las secuelas y aunque, para mi gusto, ella se ve demasiado víctima creyéndose, por momentos, expulsada de lo que ella considera la "vida normal", tiene muchísimas reflexiones muy interesantes y muy ciertas sobre las secuelas que, sobre todo al principio, deja un divorcio o una separación.
«Mi marido y yo nos separamos recientemente y, en cuestión de unas semanas, la vida que habíamos construido juntos se desarmó, como un puzle convertido en un montón de piezas con los bordes recortados.»
Divorciarse es un corte limpio, una amputación de la vida que tenías antes. Al principio no te das cuenta, como al enfermo que se despierta sin pierna, te cuesta darte cuenta de que aquello a lo que has estado unido durante tanto tiempo, ya no está. Experimentas un dolor fantasma, y te descubres pensando "si siguiera casada ¿qué estaría haciendo ahora?" o "esto antes, lo hacíamos así". Incluso haciendo las cosas como antes, cuando todo era distinto... pero tú aún no te has dado cuenta. Rachel explica bien como te vas haciendo poco a poco a esa nueva vida, a esa nueva situación. Esta ruptura con tu vida anterior no es algo exclusivo de los divorcios o separaciones, ocurre lo mismo si enviudas o, por adición en vez de por sustracción, cuando tienes un hijo y te das cuenta de que tu vida de antes ya no volverá. En todos los casos la adaptación a la nueva normalidad es algo dolorosa, conlleva tiempo y el descubrimiento de nuevos aspectos de ti mismo que pueden gustarte o no. Rachel descubre por ejemplo que se niega a tener custodia compartida y repartir todo lo que tenían al 50%. Cuando sus hijas nacieron, la pareja decidió que ella trabajaría y sería el soporte económico de la familia y él cuidaría de la casa y de las niñas. Fue un acuerdo compartido porque Rachel, y en esto sí coincido con ella, se sentía atrapada y a la vez una intrusa en su papel como madre. Era algo que sabía hacer, «Fue como si hubiera aprendido a hablar ruso de golpe: lo que podía hacer -este trabajo de las mujeres- tenía una forma propia y, al mismo tiempo, no sabía de dónde me venía ese conocimiento» pero que no quería hacer o, por lo menos, no quería hacer al 100% quedándose en casa. Cuando se divorcia descubre que a pesar de eso ella quiere representar el papel de madre/mujer y que a su marido le corresponda el de hombre.
«Son mis hijas, insistí. Son mías.» Su marido le espeta «Y tú te llamas feminista» Y Rachel tiene entonces que reflexionar sobre sí misma y descubrir que es un fraude, que todo aquello que decía defender, no se aplica cuando le toca a ella. «Por tanto, no soy feminista. Soy una travestida que se odia a sí misma.» Yo no comparto con Rachel este tema porque en mi caso siempre tuvimos claro que todo iría al 50% pero ya he contado muchísimas veces como me encontré con que mucha gente me decía: pero ¿por qué no te quedas tú con las niñas, la casa y una pensión? Ni siquiera entré a discutir con esa gente, les ignoré directamente y les puse en la lista de gente de la que no fiarme.
Coincido muchísimo, sin embargo, en su visión sobre la mujer trabajadora y la que se queda en casa. Yo, como ella, nunca he dependido económicamente de un hombre desde que me casé pero, como ella, no lo considero un mérito espectacular igual que un hombre nunca presume de lo mismo. A mí me parece lo normal, lo correcto, lo que yo necesito y a lo que no estoy dispuesta a renunciar bajo ningún concepto. Rachel habla, y coincido con ella al 100%, en como las mujeres que se quedan en casa por decisión propia, suelen decir siempre que se sienten afortunadas, que es lo mejor para ellas y para todos. Consideran que es una suerte que con el dinero de sus parejas puedan vivir sin trabajar, mejor dicho sin tener un trabajo remunerado, ocupándose de las mil quinientas cosas que conlleva quedarse en casa ( y también no quedarse, pero ese es otro tema). Lo chocante de este planteamiento es que esas mujeres, cuando son madres, nunca quieren eso para sus hijas. Las madres quieren paras sus hijas que estudien, que consigan un trabajo en el que sean brillantes o en el que disfruten, un trabajo que las haga salir de casa. En nuestros tiempos no conozco a ninguna madre que diga «yo para mi hija quiero que se case, tenga hijos y se quede en casa». A nadie.
Rachel reflexiona también, de manera dolorosísima, sobre la nueva relación con sus hijas, sobre los cambios que el divorcio establece en su manera de relacionarse con ellas pero también de verlas, quererlas y pensarlas. En esto tampoco coincido con ella en todo pero sí en algunas cosas. Ella se siente terriblemente culpable por su divorcio (en ningún caso se explican los motivos del divorcio y a mí me parece perfecto porque así las ideas tratan sobre qué pasó después y no en el qué lo provocó que es algo en lo que la gente tiene muchísima curiosidad porque nadie quiere afrontar que, a veces, las relaciones se terminan sin que un meteorito las impacte, se terminan por erosión, por desgaste, porque tenían que acabarse) y creo que proyecta esa culpabilidad en su relación con sus hijas.
«Les hice daño, y con eso aprendí a quererlas de verdad. O, mejor dicho, lo reconocí, reconocí este amor, reconocí lo grande que era. Lo exterioricé: interiorizado, habría sido un instrumento de tortura. Pero ahora estaba en el mundo y era visible y práctico. ¿Qué es una madre amorosa? Es una persona que renuncia a su interés personal por el bienestar de sus hijos. El sufrimiento de sus hijos les causa más dolor que el suyo: es María a los pies de la Cruz».
Cuando te divorcias la relación con tus hijos también sufre el embate de un nuevo oleaje y es inevitable sentirse culpable porque la sociedad, los demás, nos trasmiten la idea de que terminar una relación, de que no ser capaz de "aguantar" te convierte en una mala madre, en un mal padre, porque has preferido terminar una relación a mantenerla por ellos. Tú, eres inteligente y tienes criterio y sabes que eso es una majadería pero cuesta mucho arrancarse el velo de culpabilidad que como una teleraña te cubre de vez en cuando. Te encuentras a cada rato, manoteando delante de tu cara, diciendo "fuera, fuera" y volviendo a repensar con objetividad que eso no es verdad. Miras a tus hijos y los ves bien, tranquilos, contentos, felices y sabes que todo está bien hasta la próxima vez que la telaraña se te enrede en el pelo. Además de esto, hay que construir una relación diferente en la que tienes un papel en solitario con ellos y otro (que hay que mantener siempre por su bien) con tu expareja que sigue siendo su padre (o su madre) aunque ya no viváis todos juntos. Construir todo esto lleva tiempo, se hace a base de prueba y error y como todo lo nuevo, acojona pero se puede hacer y se puede hacer bien. Rachel escribe al principio de todo el proceso y le parece que es una tarea titánica y que no saldrá bien parada de ello. Apuesto a que sí lo consiguió y a que sus hijas están perfectamente.
Cuando te quedas embarazada o te compras un coche automáticamente empiezas a ver embarazadas por la calle y tu mismo coche en cada cruce. Cuando te divorcias lo que te ocurre es que vas escudriñando cada pareja que te cruzas por la calle tratando de saber porqué ellos siguen juntos y parecen felices y tú no.
«Desterrada del matrimonio, veo a los matrimonios con otros ojos. Felicito en silencio a las parejas con las que me cruzo por la calle, a la vez que me pregunto por qué ellos están juntos y yo estoy sola. Sé que han triunfado en lo que yo he fracasado, pero no consigo recordar por qué».
Se te olvida que de puertas afuera nadie sabe qué ocurre dentro de una pareja y caes en la autocompasión más absoluta y dudas.
«Y yo tampoco soy capaz de recordar qué me llevó a destruir la vida que tenía. Solo sé que la he perdido, que ya no existe».
Ya digo que Rachel está muy al principio del proceso y se está hurgando en la herida continuamente para ver si así consigue que deje de doler. Normalmente, uno llega al divorcio sabiendo perfectamente que aquello es inviable.
Despojos es un libro sobre lo que viene después del divorcio. Sobre como se siente un divorcio y la vida que se construye después. Rachel Cusk escribe muy bien y tiene, además de las que he contado, algunas reflexiones interesantísimas sobre relaciones y mitología, sobre grandes clásicos griegos e incluso un capítulo entero dedicado a la extracción de una muela como metáfora del fin de una relación que son espectaculares. El trabajo de auto examen que realiza es doloroso y valiente y por eso Despojos no es un libro bonito y ella no te cae bien pero lo recomiendo para todo el mundo. El que se ha divorciado se verá reflejado de la misma manera que cuando pierdes a alguien te ves reflejado en el auto examen que del luto hace Joan Didion en El año del pensamiento mágico y si no te has divorciado para saber cómo es aunque creas que a ti no te va a pasar porque como dice Cusk nunca sabes qué te va a pasar.
«Siento cierta simpatía por la historia de Edipo. Su historia expresa lo que a mi modo de ver es la principal tragedia humana: que desconocemos las cosas que nos empujan a nuestro destino. Nos somos plenamente conscientes de lo que hacemos ni de por qué lo hacemos».
June 16, 2020
Primeras impresiones...
Quizás para un lector mas hábil en metáforas el libro se merezca las 4 estrellas, yo lo he estado dudando un buen rato.
El libro despierta en mí sentimientos encontrados durante toda su lectura, estoy de acuerdo con ella la mitad de las veces y la otra mitad, me enfado y quiero sentarla y discutirle sus afirmaciones.
Cusk atraviesa en este libro alguna de las etapas del duelo. Su mente es un barullo de mensajes contradictorios que a través de una narrativa llena de metáforas, a veces un tanto complicadas de entender, expone con más o menos acierto. He tenido la sensación todo el rato de lo que me dice ahora, me estaba diciendo lo contrario hace un rato.
La decisión unilateral de divorciarte, no siempre te lleva a la felicidad que esperas y no siempre te pone ante ti, una vida fácil. A veces, como a Cusk, te llena de contradicciones, entre unos ideales que como mujer te habías grabado a fuego y que no llegaron a ser compatibles con la vida que finalmente elegiste. La disonancia que se crea entre lo que quieres hacer y lo que finalmente haces, genera un sufrimiento que te saca de la realidad y te sacude tan fuerte que tu mundo se convierte en un caos.
Cusk en el primer capítulo discute sobre el feminismo y digo discute porque he tenido la sensación de que se discute a si misma, se enfada con unos ideales en los que creía pero que en la práctica no le han resultado válidos. Ironiza, aunque a veces no estoy tan segura de ello y creo que lo dice en serio, sobre las decisiones de las mujeres… me gustaría saber que opinan de este capítulo las mujeres que han decidido ser amas de casa… da un repaso al concepto de familia, y al concepto de matrimonio… y en esto tampoco sabe la mujer de que lado ponerse, o al menos es la sensación que tengo al leerla. Nos da su opinión sobre la familia desde el concepto del cristianismo, sobre el papel de madre en esta religión, y también hace un repaso por sus admirados griegos construyendo metáforas que hablan de su vida de sus sentimientos y de sus emociones.
Hay un capítulo XYZ que es una auténtica metáfora en el que realmente tienes que resolver la ecuación para entender que es lo que está diciendo. Una vez resuelto tienes la sensación de haber leído algo magistralmente escrito y de estar perdiéndote la mitad porque seguro que hay mucho más de lo que percibes
En realidad todos los capítulos son metáforas, el segundo, el que más parece de relleno porque da vueltas innecesarias para lo que realmente quiere contar, no muestra sino lo equivalente de un dolor emocional y el hueco casi insustituible que deja una pérdida por muy necesaria que esta sea.
Y el final... lo más fácil de leer para mi de este libro, lo más entendible pero aún así me faltaron los motivos, me sobraron metáforas y necesito una segunda relectura que estaré encantada de comentar con quien se preste….
Quizás para un lector mas hábil en metáforas el libro se merezca las 4 estrellas, yo lo he estado dudando un buen rato.
El libro despierta en mí sentimientos encontrados durante toda su lectura, estoy de acuerdo con ella la mitad de las veces y la otra mitad, me enfado y quiero sentarla y discutirle sus afirmaciones.
Cusk atraviesa en este libro alguna de las etapas del duelo. Su mente es un barullo de mensajes contradictorios que a través de una narrativa llena de metáforas, a veces un tanto complicadas de entender, expone con más o menos acierto. He tenido la sensación todo el rato de lo que me dice ahora, me estaba diciendo lo contrario hace un rato.
La decisión unilateral de divorciarte, no siempre te lleva a la felicidad que esperas y no siempre te pone ante ti, una vida fácil. A veces, como a Cusk, te llena de contradicciones, entre unos ideales que como mujer te habías grabado a fuego y que no llegaron a ser compatibles con la vida que finalmente elegiste. La disonancia que se crea entre lo que quieres hacer y lo que finalmente haces, genera un sufrimiento que te saca de la realidad y te sacude tan fuerte que tu mundo se convierte en un caos.
Cusk en el primer capítulo discute sobre el feminismo y digo discute porque he tenido la sensación de que se discute a si misma, se enfada con unos ideales en los que creía pero que en la práctica no le han resultado válidos. Ironiza, aunque a veces no estoy tan segura de ello y creo que lo dice en serio, sobre las decisiones de las mujeres… me gustaría saber que opinan de este capítulo las mujeres que han decidido ser amas de casa… da un repaso al concepto de familia, y al concepto de matrimonio… y en esto tampoco sabe la mujer de que lado ponerse, o al menos es la sensación que tengo al leerla. Nos da su opinión sobre la familia desde el concepto del cristianismo, sobre el papel de madre en esta religión, y también hace un repaso por sus admirados griegos construyendo metáforas que hablan de su vida de sus sentimientos y de sus emociones.
Hay un capítulo XYZ que es una auténtica metáfora en el que realmente tienes que resolver la ecuación para entender que es lo que está diciendo. Una vez resuelto tienes la sensación de haber leído algo magistralmente escrito y de estar perdiéndote la mitad porque seguro que hay mucho más de lo que percibes
En realidad todos los capítulos son metáforas, el segundo, el que más parece de relleno porque da vueltas innecesarias para lo que realmente quiere contar, no muestra sino lo equivalente de un dolor emocional y el hueco casi insustituible que deja una pérdida por muy necesaria que esta sea.
Y el final... lo más fácil de leer para mi de este libro, lo más entendible pero aún así me faltaron los motivos, me sobraron metáforas y necesito una segunda relectura que estaré encantada de comentar con quien se preste….
June 22, 2017
I've read a number of Cusk novels, and I'm aware of the divisiveness in response her writing elicits.
I too am alternately frustrated by her writing style and intrigued by it.
The subject of marital breakdown is always likely to have an autobiographical element, and in Cusk's case her personal travails are frequently revisited each time she produces new work.
Aftermath by name, and "aftermath" in theme; the book comprises eight separate short story reflections. Each could stand alone. This is the default Cusk style.
Cusk wraps a historical context around her personal subject matter. Agamemnon's death at hands of wife Clytamnestra; the bigger theme of feminism, intertwined with divorce. Tooth extraction analogised, with trauma, pain, the process of decay.
A number of the stories are set up in similar style: Meet up with a friend- recall the conversation- write down the best bits.
It all makes for an intense, sometimes ponderous, rather disjointed writing style, but Aftermath is far from a straight blow by blow account of marital breakdown (which seems to be how many reviewers have summarised it).
Overall Aftermath is a worthwhile read. The quality and depth of Rachel Cusk's axioms are stronger than in her subsequent work (Transit), and demonstrate her gift for acuity.
(70) "it has been my belief that the only way to know something is to experience it"
(82) "what is friendship but the expression of equality"
(88) "In marriage you go away from other people, but at the end of marriage they come out to welcome you back"
You don't generally read Rachel Cusk if you are looking for laughs; though a little humour creeps in:
when her daughter cuts her knee and has six stitches at A & E: "I saw my own bone" she says (86)
and "she was so thin you could have threaded a needle with her" (88).
Now that would be interesting- Cusk's intelligence and insight coupled with a greater focus on the funny side of life- a good way to wrap up the Outline/Transit life story with her anticipated completion of her trilogy?
I too am alternately frustrated by her writing style and intrigued by it.
The subject of marital breakdown is always likely to have an autobiographical element, and in Cusk's case her personal travails are frequently revisited each time she produces new work.
Aftermath by name, and "aftermath" in theme; the book comprises eight separate short story reflections. Each could stand alone. This is the default Cusk style.
Cusk wraps a historical context around her personal subject matter. Agamemnon's death at hands of wife Clytamnestra; the bigger theme of feminism, intertwined with divorce. Tooth extraction analogised, with trauma, pain, the process of decay.
A number of the stories are set up in similar style: Meet up with a friend- recall the conversation- write down the best bits.
It all makes for an intense, sometimes ponderous, rather disjointed writing style, but Aftermath is far from a straight blow by blow account of marital breakdown (which seems to be how many reviewers have summarised it).
Overall Aftermath is a worthwhile read. The quality and depth of Rachel Cusk's axioms are stronger than in her subsequent work (Transit), and demonstrate her gift for acuity.
(70) "it has been my belief that the only way to know something is to experience it"
(82) "what is friendship but the expression of equality"
(88) "In marriage you go away from other people, but at the end of marriage they come out to welcome you back"
You don't generally read Rachel Cusk if you are looking for laughs; though a little humour creeps in:
when her daughter cuts her knee and has six stitches at A & E: "I saw my own bone" she says (86)
and "she was so thin you could have threaded a needle with her" (88).
Now that would be interesting- Cusk's intelligence and insight coupled with a greater focus on the funny side of life- a good way to wrap up the Outline/Transit life story with her anticipated completion of her trilogy?
October 1, 2017
I read Rachel Cusk's 'Outline' a year ago, and remember rereading quite a few passages many times, for her writing was warm and intelligent at the same time. The plot was all over, but the story was still compelling. In her memoir 'Aftermath', Cusk is confused and depressed; her marriage has plummeted. Cusk does an autopsy of her marriage, of the roles that each partner played, the futility of the institutions called Marriage and Family, and in her own time explores the shadow that her failed relationship has cast on her children, her capacity in the society, and the modified aspects of her life. Her pain is sharp; it is not hard to empathise. However, I would have loved to understand the book viscerally rather than being lectured on Greek drama and Roman stories. I wanted Cusk to be more honest instead of being condescending and self-absorbed. The book worked for me in parts, especially the spots where she identified her contradictory views. She owned up to it. Otherwise, it felt like listening to a hotheaded acquaintance who loathes marriage just because it didn't work for her. That bias is an anathema to memoir-writing. I loved this line though: "I feel like a soldier come back from a war, full of experiences that have silenced me."
October 6, 2020
Excellent at times, good at others. If you enjoyed A Life's Work: On Becoming a Mother or Coventry: Essays I'd venture that you'd find something to enjoy here too.
July 18, 2019
I read this book because I'm determined to consume all of Cusk's writings. This is my third book of hers. They have a definite flavour, and I find I can't do them all in a row. I need time (a year?) in between. But I love her intelligence and her insight, I really do. It's low action, but it's high on emotion. I absolutely loved Outline. Aftermath was so emotional and so feeling, in a similar way.
I wouldn't say you have to be separated or divorced to read this book. Not at all. I read it for the experience of Cusk. Really, with her writing, the content is nearly irrelevant.
I wouldn't say you have to be separated or divorced to read this book. Not at all. I read it for the experience of Cusk. Really, with her writing, the content is nearly irrelevant.
March 29, 2025
Well, I certainly ended up happier with getting a divorce than Cusk.
“Narrative is the aftermath of violent events; it is the means of reconciling yourself with the past.”
To be fair, that doesn't seem like the only thing she and I would disagree on. Turning the potential purchase of a mask that your daughter randomly asked for into a drowning introspection about the nature of authority by arguing that one should be disinclined to give in to the request due to its randomness in order to enforce one’s authority seemed like a stretch; and not just because my mind was yelling “just buy her the mask if you have the money, when she asked nicely, and you know it'll make her happy!”; but of course it is not as simple as that, and to stand surrounded by others, forced to make an authoritative decision, whether or not you do what your child asks, is a situation familiar to every parent, and a struggle of power & balance. It is not wise to always give, but also neither to always refuse “just because”.
In general, Cusk seems to be the kind of a person to whom you might mention you went to the market and saw a funny fish, and she'd be lost in a mournful philosophical reverie on the nature of something you're not quite clear on and to which you can only reply wide-eyed: “ohhh-kay”.
It is pleasant to sometimes drift along her thoughts, especially when their meanderings turn into something akin to a certain kind of poetry which you aren't really meant to understand but feel. And then there are moments where her epiphanies crystallize and you too might find yourself wandering down similar paths, weighing these differing thoughts, asking yourself, Huh, why indeed is it so; and seeing that maybe indeed being stricken with a child's unambiguous request in an ambiguous context is reason enough to wonder what power plays are at play here, and sense the eyes of others upon you, ready to judge you on your resolving of the situation, whether you yourself feel later that you failed or succeed, in their eyes there's always something to criticise.
And with paragraphs like the previous one, can I really fault Cusk for the ephemeral wandering style that can be challenging to comprehend? I am a kettle and she is a pot, and our colour is melancholy blues.
“Marriage is a mode of manifestation - it absorbs disorder and manifest it in order, it takes different things and turns them into one thing, it receives diversity, confusion, and turns them into form.”
Which is perhaps why I persevered. Even after I noticed the difference in our experience, and her regret of the choice I do not regret, and I understood the divergences in our opinions, and saw her failure to convince me, and doubted the book’s ability to give me anything nourishing enough for my intellect or emotion to gnaw on to its heart content, and a sense of futility started creeping in, I still persevered in the reading, and not just because I prefer to finish my books, even when doing so is the dumbest choice (oh despair the time wasted on things we wish not to waste it on), but because there was something resembling meditation in floating in her philosophical melancholy reveries; even if indeed I did not expect them to take me anywhere.
Additionally, her opinions expressed here on motherhood and some kind of an inherent nature of womanhood (plus all her infatuation with conservative gender roles) also sent me down the rabbit hole of googling scared whether she is a transphobe; it doesn't seem so, or at least she has avoided taking a public stance on the subject, especially surprising as it seems like every British (and/or feminist) female writer has to have written an opinion piece on Rowling sooner or later (a positive one a rather good telltale sign of even previously well hidden transphobia peeking through). Taken as it is, it is still somewhat suspicious, but reading “the mother the mums on Mumsnet love to hate” is, if anything, a glowing recommendation (once I understood what Mumsnet was (they're pretty clear on which side they've chosen - or as clear as the rules of the site allow)).
But ultimately I feel little closeness to her experience, both as a divorcee and as a parent. Her relationship to her children seems less like a relationship and more like possession - they are hers, she literally says that, and that is why she cares for them; but what they are as people seems less important than what she can mirror of herself onto them. When her daughter is betrayed by her friends in a scene terrifying to most parents (and Cusk included), it takes only a few sentences for Cusk to make that too all about herself, my sudden empathy for Cusk gone & my anger at the daughter’s friends now directed at Cusk instead; and one cannot drift in poetry-infused meditation when overcome with anger.
And yet despite the constant navel-gazing, she refuses to go deep with any subject, touching on it briefly and already speeding on to the next reverie. We don't even know the reason for the divorce, or who asked for it. Is this unimportant? Maybe, but we cannot know what she thinks about it because the information just does not exist here. One can presume, I guess, that it hints at her disregard for it, but in a book already so ephemeral and occasionally flat-out random, the lack of context just underlines its haziness.
As for regretting the divorce, well, as I said already, not my experience (the pain is there of course, I deny not, and it was one of the hardest things I've done in my life, and I'm not sure I could stomach a repeat, but the existence of pain does not make a decision wrong), but I can certainly empathize with a person making a choice they then come to regret. It's just that my problem is that Cusk did not feel like a good guide into the idea. She may be genuine in her description, dangerously so (as this book seems to have garnered considerable hate), but her way of describing these events and her own thoughts kept putting me at a distance, endless & shallow repetition of the same meaning - the emptiness she felt post divorce, little else for 5 hours; and all her epiphanies personally flabbergasting.
“For you, the saying is a kind of working out, like doing a math exercise on a piece of paper. You can't always expect people to grasp it.”
And then there's that suddenly fictional last chapter that comes from nowhere and tells of nothing that relates to the rest of the book, besides the shared subject of divorce. Is there more connection to Cusk’s experience here than meets the eye? Or is it just Cusk grasping for more ways to spin this barely-connected meandering contemplation of her divorce into something of a book? Am I just reading the edited parts of a person dealing with their trauma by writing their way through it? That's not to say one shouldn't publish that, but it would go some way explaining its lack of focus.
You don't need to have experienced a situation to feel empathy; so to fail to feel it throughout a book so focused on the description of the aftermath of an event that became traumatic to the writer, either there is something wrong in my approach, or hers. Hell, maybe I just don't like the person these pages reveal and find myself having little interest in what that person would have to say about divorce, gender, life, child-rearing, anything really. I respect her honesty and the way she uses the language, but that may be as far as it goes, and what really is the point of reading somebody you do not trust? Especially when you just had to google whether they hate trans people.
You know, I guess I persevered only because I'm a damn fool after all; and yet, now I miss the floating.
“Narrative is the aftermath of violent events; it is the means of reconciling yourself with the past.”
To be fair, that doesn't seem like the only thing she and I would disagree on. Turning the potential purchase of a mask that your daughter randomly asked for into a drowning introspection about the nature of authority by arguing that one should be disinclined to give in to the request due to its randomness in order to enforce one’s authority seemed like a stretch; and not just because my mind was yelling “just buy her the mask if you have the money, when she asked nicely, and you know it'll make her happy!”; but of course it is not as simple as that, and to stand surrounded by others, forced to make an authoritative decision, whether or not you do what your child asks, is a situation familiar to every parent, and a struggle of power & balance. It is not wise to always give, but also neither to always refuse “just because”.
In general, Cusk seems to be the kind of a person to whom you might mention you went to the market and saw a funny fish, and she'd be lost in a mournful philosophical reverie on the nature of something you're not quite clear on and to which you can only reply wide-eyed: “ohhh-kay”.
It is pleasant to sometimes drift along her thoughts, especially when their meanderings turn into something akin to a certain kind of poetry which you aren't really meant to understand but feel. And then there are moments where her epiphanies crystallize and you too might find yourself wandering down similar paths, weighing these differing thoughts, asking yourself, Huh, why indeed is it so; and seeing that maybe indeed being stricken with a child's unambiguous request in an ambiguous context is reason enough to wonder what power plays are at play here, and sense the eyes of others upon you, ready to judge you on your resolving of the situation, whether you yourself feel later that you failed or succeed, in their eyes there's always something to criticise.
And with paragraphs like the previous one, can I really fault Cusk for the ephemeral wandering style that can be challenging to comprehend? I am a kettle and she is a pot, and our colour is melancholy blues.
“Marriage is a mode of manifestation - it absorbs disorder and manifest it in order, it takes different things and turns them into one thing, it receives diversity, confusion, and turns them into form.”
Which is perhaps why I persevered. Even after I noticed the difference in our experience, and her regret of the choice I do not regret, and I understood the divergences in our opinions, and saw her failure to convince me, and doubted the book’s ability to give me anything nourishing enough for my intellect or emotion to gnaw on to its heart content, and a sense of futility started creeping in, I still persevered in the reading, and not just because I prefer to finish my books, even when doing so is the dumbest choice (oh despair the time wasted on things we wish not to waste it on), but because there was something resembling meditation in floating in her philosophical melancholy reveries; even if indeed I did not expect them to take me anywhere.
Additionally, her opinions expressed here on motherhood and some kind of an inherent nature of womanhood (plus all her infatuation with conservative gender roles) also sent me down the rabbit hole of googling scared whether she is a transphobe; it doesn't seem so, or at least she has avoided taking a public stance on the subject, especially surprising as it seems like every British (and/or feminist) female writer has to have written an opinion piece on Rowling sooner or later (a positive one a rather good telltale sign of even previously well hidden transphobia peeking through). Taken as it is, it is still somewhat suspicious, but reading “the mother the mums on Mumsnet love to hate” is, if anything, a glowing recommendation (once I understood what Mumsnet was (they're pretty clear on which side they've chosen - or as clear as the rules of the site allow)).
But ultimately I feel little closeness to her experience, both as a divorcee and as a parent. Her relationship to her children seems less like a relationship and more like possession - they are hers, she literally says that, and that is why she cares for them; but what they are as people seems less important than what she can mirror of herself onto them. When her daughter is betrayed by her friends in a scene terrifying to most parents (and Cusk included), it takes only a few sentences for Cusk to make that too all about herself, my sudden empathy for Cusk gone & my anger at the daughter’s friends now directed at Cusk instead; and one cannot drift in poetry-infused meditation when overcome with anger.
And yet despite the constant navel-gazing, she refuses to go deep with any subject, touching on it briefly and already speeding on to the next reverie. We don't even know the reason for the divorce, or who asked for it. Is this unimportant? Maybe, but we cannot know what she thinks about it because the information just does not exist here. One can presume, I guess, that it hints at her disregard for it, but in a book already so ephemeral and occasionally flat-out random, the lack of context just underlines its haziness.
As for regretting the divorce, well, as I said already, not my experience (the pain is there of course, I deny not, and it was one of the hardest things I've done in my life, and I'm not sure I could stomach a repeat, but the existence of pain does not make a decision wrong), but I can certainly empathize with a person making a choice they then come to regret. It's just that my problem is that Cusk did not feel like a good guide into the idea. She may be genuine in her description, dangerously so (as this book seems to have garnered considerable hate), but her way of describing these events and her own thoughts kept putting me at a distance, endless & shallow repetition of the same meaning - the emptiness she felt post divorce, little else for 5 hours; and all her epiphanies personally flabbergasting.
“For you, the saying is a kind of working out, like doing a math exercise on a piece of paper. You can't always expect people to grasp it.”
And then there's that suddenly fictional last chapter that comes from nowhere and tells of nothing that relates to the rest of the book, besides the shared subject of divorce. Is there more connection to Cusk’s experience here than meets the eye? Or is it just Cusk grasping for more ways to spin this barely-connected meandering contemplation of her divorce into something of a book? Am I just reading the edited parts of a person dealing with their trauma by writing their way through it? That's not to say one shouldn't publish that, but it would go some way explaining its lack of focus.
You don't need to have experienced a situation to feel empathy; so to fail to feel it throughout a book so focused on the description of the aftermath of an event that became traumatic to the writer, either there is something wrong in my approach, or hers. Hell, maybe I just don't like the person these pages reveal and find myself having little interest in what that person would have to say about divorce, gender, life, child-rearing, anything really. I respect her honesty and the way she uses the language, but that may be as far as it goes, and what really is the point of reading somebody you do not trust? Especially when you just had to google whether they hate trans people.
You know, I guess I persevered only because I'm a damn fool after all; and yet, now I miss the floating.
October 18, 2022
Mirarse el drama en el espejo (Comentario, 2022)
Una vez uno ha leído a Rachel Cusk queda prendado de su poética. La trilogía de "A contraluz", "Tránsito" y "Prestigio" está entre mis novelas favoritas en términos de exploración del lenguaje. Su capacidad de observación, sumada a la capacidad de escucha, hace que cree escenas de una nitidez y una bellezas alucinantes. Aquí el oficio sigue siendo así de alto, aunque el tema y el alcance me parecieron menores.
Cusk narra las consecuencias de su divorcio. No se detiene en causas ni explicaciones (nunca, en todo el libro, explicará los motivos que desencadenan la decisión de separarse) sino que pasa directamente a narrar los momentos posteriores. Lo hace desde su experiencia, lo hace desde lo que ella vive y piensa y siente. Se observa a sí misma con una brutalidad explosiva, y desde allí crea la narración en una serie de viñetas, postales enviadas desde el después, escenas de la cotidianidad rota.
Una de ellas cuenta la visita junto a sus hijas a una casa donde una artesana del barrio vende máscaras. La intensidad narrativa de esa escena da cuenta del voltaje que Cusk es capaz de transmitir. Una niña, una máscara de ciervo, una madre. Con eso basta para contar toda la orfandad de un duelo que no se alcanza a comprender del todo. En el fondo este libro va de eso, de esa persona desconocida que habita en el centro de cada quien, y desde allí compone un canto.
Una vez uno ha leído a Rachel Cusk queda prendado de su poética. La trilogía de "A contraluz", "Tránsito" y "Prestigio" está entre mis novelas favoritas en términos de exploración del lenguaje. Su capacidad de observación, sumada a la capacidad de escucha, hace que cree escenas de una nitidez y una bellezas alucinantes. Aquí el oficio sigue siendo así de alto, aunque el tema y el alcance me parecieron menores.
Cusk narra las consecuencias de su divorcio. No se detiene en causas ni explicaciones (nunca, en todo el libro, explicará los motivos que desencadenan la decisión de separarse) sino que pasa directamente a narrar los momentos posteriores. Lo hace desde su experiencia, lo hace desde lo que ella vive y piensa y siente. Se observa a sí misma con una brutalidad explosiva, y desde allí crea la narración en una serie de viñetas, postales enviadas desde el después, escenas de la cotidianidad rota.
Una de ellas cuenta la visita junto a sus hijas a una casa donde una artesana del barrio vende máscaras. La intensidad narrativa de esa escena da cuenta del voltaje que Cusk es capaz de transmitir. Una niña, una máscara de ciervo, una madre. Con eso basta para contar toda la orfandad de un duelo que no se alcanza a comprender del todo. En el fondo este libro va de eso, de esa persona desconocida que habita en el centro de cada quien, y desde allí compone un canto.
July 31, 2023
READING VLOG
Only reaffirms that I don't want to get married!
Compelling. Came in thinking I'd get a cause-and-effect narrative, but all I got were heavy metaphors on egalitarian life. How funny for me to have read this just before my rewatch of a film I haven't seen in ages, 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘎𝘰𝘵 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘭. The two speak to each other in an odd way. It's the harvest. The bounty. The great unknown. To be so brave to leave something built on years and trust. Only to imagine the idea of an-other life.
A lot of people seem to have issues with the wandering subject matter at the meat of the book, but are we not going to talk about how she compares her and her husband to transvestites?? I understand what Cusk was going for, the deconstruction of gender-conforming roles, but did she really have to stoop so low and use such an embarrassingly poor and insensitive comparison? This could've easily been edited out, and I hope in future editions, that this bit be removed, given that this feels very much like a heavy-handed diary thoughts than a memoir.
All in all, ends brilliantly in Cusk's usual-writerly way with the last piece, tying life to fiction, and a writer's life.
Only reaffirms that I don't want to get married!
Compelling. Came in thinking I'd get a cause-and-effect narrative, but all I got were heavy metaphors on egalitarian life. How funny for me to have read this just before my rewatch of a film I haven't seen in ages, 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘎𝘰𝘵 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘭. The two speak to each other in an odd way. It's the harvest. The bounty. The great unknown. To be so brave to leave something built on years and trust. Only to imagine the idea of an-other life.
A lot of people seem to have issues with the wandering subject matter at the meat of the book, but are we not going to talk about how she compares her and her husband to transvestites?? I understand what Cusk was going for, the deconstruction of gender-conforming roles, but did she really have to stoop so low and use such an embarrassingly poor and insensitive comparison? This could've easily been edited out, and I hope in future editions, that this bit be removed, given that this feels very much like a heavy-handed diary thoughts than a memoir.
All in all, ends brilliantly in Cusk's usual-writerly way with the last piece, tying life to fiction, and a writer's life.
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