I CAN’T POSSIBLY BE objective about Not Becoming My Mother: And Other Things She Taught Me Along the Way, the latest book by Gourmet editor Ruth Reichl. I am privileged to call the author my friend, and equally privileged to have known her through the process of conceiving and writing this slender but deeply affecting and ultimately provocative book. Now that I’ve ‘fessed up to my bias, I must encourage you to run, not walk, to your nearest independent bookstore to buy this book, and, if you’re so inclined, the audio version as well.

If you’ve ever read any of Ruth’s other memoirs (Tender at the Bone, Comfort Me With Apples, Garlic and Sapphires) you know that she has mined a lot of comedy from her mother’s culinary shortcomings. This book opens by acknowledging her liberal use of the “Mim stories,” the tales of her mother’s near- and complete poisonings of dinner guests, her utterly incomprehensible knack for not only serving food gone bad, but for concocting truly bad food. On that score alone, it’s clear that Reichl, an accomplished cook, critic, writer, editor and food activist, has definitely NOT become her mother.

But this book is about her mother’s efforts to carve a different life for Ruth, rather than the life of polite, forced indolence that was Miriam Reichl’s eventual lot. Miriam was an extremely intelligent, unconventional-looking woman who wanted to be a doctor. Her parents wanted her to be first a musician, and then a wife. Miriam tried to please them, and her attempt to be a “good girl” may well have been her undoing. By the middle of her life, Miriam had been diagnosed as bipolar, and home life for Ruth, her brother and father seems to have been largely defined by Miriam’s rage at never being able to pursue her own dreams or to realize her true potential.

The moral that Ruth draws from this examination of her mother’s life, via a close reading of her mother’s letters, is that satisfying work is the key to personal fulfillment. For Ruth’s mother, and legions of women in her generation (coming of age in the early part of the 20th century) who had no option to pursue a career, Reichl powerfully asserts, the at-home life was devastating. “My mother, like most of her friends, literally had nothing to do,” Ruth says. “I have never known so many unhappy people. They were smart, they were educated, and they were bored. Some of them did charitable work, but it wasn’t fulfilling. Their misery was an ugly thing, and it was hard on their families.”

Ultimately, Ruth’s journey into her mother’s misery produces an extremely loving and kind portrait, as she comes to realize how fiercely Miriam worked to ensure that Ruth would remain independent, would have the opportunity to be intellectually fulfilled. Even so, the book left me feeling discomfited, not only at Miriam’s plight, but at its similarity to the feelings I hear expressed by so many women of my generation, women who had the opportunity to pursue careers, and often did, but then left those careers behind in order to spend more time managing their homes and caring for their kids.

The difference, a good friend said to me as we discussed this issue, and the book, last weekend, is that our generation had a choice. We were encouraged to pursue our careers, and as a result, many of us came to motherhood later than our mothers’ generation. But reading this book, my vicarious experience of Miriam’s despair felt too familiar. I made a choice, as did many of my friends, and we are beyond lucky to have had the option to have a career, and the freedom to leave it behind.

That said, our choices often felt desperate: we found ourselves shouldering most of the burden of home and children, even as we worked full-time, leaving us feeling like no part of our life was actually receiving a fair share of our attention. In that context, “staying home” becomes appealing. Even so–I know very few women raising young children as their primary occupation who do not feel some measure of, “Is this all there is? Is this all I am?” and who wish, desperately, that our culture gave women some third path, one which respected the real needs of families, and acknowledged the out-of-home contributions we are able to make.

Reichl came of age in the 1960s, and the attitude of the book is (and this is not a put-down) pure second-wave feminist; her book doesn’t touch on the issues facing women who are now in their 30s and 40s. But I am curious to see how my generation will respond to Not Becoming My Mother, and the questions it raises not just about poor Miriam, but about us and the society that still doesn’t really give women much leeway in juggling the demands of home and family.

Have you read Not Becoming My Mother? Chime in. And be sure to catch Ruth on her book tour in a city near you, or order the book now.

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Photo by mókusom

OUR LOVELY SISTER Anastasia isn’t the only woman who wants to draw our attention to sexist depictions of women in advertising. To the contrary, she’s in excellent company–and has been for nearly 40 years.

I loved Anastasia‘s dive into the murky depths of nasty images of women in advertising. I share her nauseated fascination with misogynistic salesmanship, and it’s all my mother’s fault.

My mom married her high school sweetheart at 19 and was known somewhat derisively among my schoolmates as “Susie Homemaker,” thanks to her tendency to send elaborate and frequent care packages (thanks, Mom!). She was also an ardent feminist, and a charter subscriber to Ms. Magazine.

I have fond memories of her taking me to ERA (that’s the Equal Rights Amendment, for those of you too young to remember) marches in Chicago when I was a girl. I was raised to believe that Gloria Steinem and Letty Cottin Pogrebin, along with Betty Friedan (who was not part of Ms., but whose 1963 book The Feminine Mystique is often credited with launching second wave feminism), were some kind of holy trinity. But even more vivid are the memories of reading her monthly issue of Ms. A lot of it went over my head, but not a small section in the back of the book every month called “No Comment.”

“No Comment” ran every single issue, always presenting one or more ads that degraded women in some way. They ranged from simple objectification to overt exhortations to violence. Ms. is now a quarterly, published by the Feminist Majority Foundation, and the section, still runs, a sad commentary on how women continue to be portrayed. Pukey depictions of women in the media, unfortunately, aren’t just the stuff of collectors. For more, check out the Flickr group ‘No Comment–A Salute to Ms. Magazine” , or the excellent Bitch Magazine, which goes way beyond parsing advertising, and bills itself as a “feminist response to pop culture.”

What do you think? Are we being too sensitive? Or is this stuff really as awful as it seems to me? Tell us what you see when you look at these ads.

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