The first paragraph on the book jacket of “Mother, Can You
NOT?” by Kate Siegel reads, “There is nothing more wonderful
than a mother’s love. There is also nothing more annoying. Who else can proudly
insist that you’re perfect while simultaneously making you question every
career, fashion, and relationship decision you have ever made?” This dichotomy
may not be unique to Jewish mothers and daughters, but something about Jewish
culture gives it great potential for humor.
Unfortunately, the potential for humor was not entirely
realized in this book. Written in a combination of narrative and screenshots of
text exchanges between mother and daughter, Siegel’s description of her
relationship with her mom as a child seems to be one of public humiliation and
lack of personal space and boundaries. Her mother (who refers to Siegel as
“Spawn” throughout the book) seems to revel in making her daughter cringe by revealing personal
information publicly, talking loudly about everything from menstruation to
masturbation to Kegel exercises to penis sizes, all in great detail. Had this
story been in the context of a genuinely loving and respectful relationship,
mingling in a few of these exchanges would have been funny, even hilarious. But
there were too few moments that made me feel like this was a healthy,
supportive relationship. I spent more time cringing than I did laughing.
I really wanted this book to depict a relationship with an
outgoing, larger-than life mama bear who wanted the best for her daughter but
occasionally crossed a line, but instead I got the story of an overbearing
narcissist who wanted her daughter to go to an Ivy League college, marry rich,
and have a successful career for her own bragging rights, regardless of her
daughter’s wishes. I couldn’t bring myself to like either of these women.
But the most frustrating part was that there were a few
moments that did hit the right notes. About halfway through the book,
there was a lovely scene where the college-aged daughter has just sent a male
friend a long letter declaring her undying love for him. Her mother advises
against sending the letter, but stops short of actually preventing her from
sending it. The situation goes about as you would expect, and naturally,
heartbreak ensues. But, as the author writes, “…my mother knew that letting me
suffer was the only way to help me grow up: ‘Sometimes, you have to get your
heart broken to find your way around the penis.’“ That is the kind of writing that would have redeemed this book. That is the balance between a genuine
relationship and the humor that can come from a blunt and unfiltered approach
to sexuality.
Although I found this book disappointing, Siegel displays a
clever writing style, and if she can work in more depth and fewer one-liners,
her future work could very well be worth reading.
I received
this book from Blogging for Books for this review. For additional
information on this book, please see the Penguin Random House website.
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