Children at Weddings - a very modern debate

Be it Royal or Big Fat Gypsy, wedding fever appears to have struck the country more than usual this summer and with it has some a great deal of commentary and articles about wedding etiquette.  One popular and controversial topic of discussion is whether or not children are welcome at weddings.

Once upon a time, a boy and girl would meet, fall in love and the girl’s parents would stump up the cash for a church service, nice frock and then a jolly good knees up at a local hotel or pub function room for all the family and friends of the parents.  Then came the wedding revolution.  The happy couple wanted the happiest day of their life to be just that and businesses sprang to their aid – memorable, fairytale, personal and bespoke became the buzzwords and we were given choices aplenty of how best to represent our individual personalities through ivory lace, reportage photography, the release of doves and tiers of cupcakes amongst other things.  Despite this, many fathers’ of the bride still pay up with pride whilst other couples take on some or all of the cost themselves to ensure they experience the day of a lifetime.  Yet, whist few people now bat an eyelid at the decision to have Maori drummers in the church or a bright orange wedding dress, stating that the wedding is to be an adults-only affair will cause the all hell to break loose – it’s just not wedding-like!  A quick google search however will throw up evidence that this is becoming a dilemma faced by more and more couples with impassioned pleas made on both sides. 

S and I always wanted a low-key wedding.  We had definite ideas about the style of the day and as it was to be the most important day of our lives, we wanted to ensure that it was done properly with no regrets.  For this reason we paid every last penny ourselves.  Our engagement lasted five years whilst we saved up and in that time we saw friends meet their partners, get engaged and hold lavish weddings with the help of their parents.  Each time we went to another wedding, we picked up hints and tips about our own big day but were always left with the feeling that “it was a lovely day….apart from all the screaming children”.  The thing is, I love the romance of weddings.  I still think that standing up in front of friends and family and declaring your undying love to another person and committing to spend the rest of your live with that person is the biggest and most important moment of many people’s lives.  I have been incensed by kids screaming and crying through the service so that nobody can hear the bride and groom say these words or understand the readings and vows over which they have probably agonised for months to find the exact words…  Then there are the parents – friends and family of the happy couple who miss the important event because they are distracted by said child.  Nope, we didn’t want that during our wedding.  S too, was very nervous about his speech and did not want any disruptive shrieking (whether in pleasure or pain) to put him off.  Then there were the obligatory photos of the little treasures with the bride, provoking comments about what it will be like in the future, not to mention the time taken to take each photo whilst the children are either persuaded to smile/look at the camera or coaxed out of the photo in which they are not supposed to be.  The thing is, children are used to the world revolving around them and for one day, we wanted it to revolve around us and were not prepared to fight for attention with a yowling, chocolate smeared baby.

May be it is because both S and I were frequently left at home by our own parents who went to such events as weddings without us in order to enjoy themselves, that we didn’t anticipate how badly this would go down.  We both thought of weddings as being adult affairs whereas apparently, they are “all about children”.  Maybe so, if the bride and groom have made no secret of wanting to get started on their own family but in our case, we had no intention of this and therefore did not want to spend what we hoped would be the happiest day of our lives, grimacing at the little darlings playing on the dancefloor whilst we are trying to cut the cake.  I’m sure you have all seen the Peter Kay sequence about little boys at weddings…  Funny yes, but when we first saw it we both turned to each other and said, “If we are paying for a decent band to provide the music, there’s no way that that will be getting in the way of the dancing!  We also spoke to the Registrar (we are atheists and didn’t want a church wedding) to ensure that there would be none of the typical speeches about the marriage being blessed with children during her service and she was only too happy to comply, taking the time to get to know us so that she could pepper the service with personal anecdotes and lots of laughter. 

And then there was the cost.  Our plans for a small wedding quickly disappeared when we counted up the people we desperately wanted to be there and found we were already at over 100.  I have a very large family and I love most of them to bits.  I am fortunate to have great relationships with many of my cousins around the same age and couldn’t imagine them not being at the wedding.  So hard decisions had to be made: we had saved for five years and could afford a maximum of 100 guests in our chosen venue (which was a low-key local hotel – not a castle or boutique location).  Using the criteria that guests had to know both of us and not just one or the other we cut work colleagues, my book group, peripheral friends on both sides… and children!  Even on the shorter list, our 100 guests had over 50 children between them and our finances could not cope.  Apart from anything else, we would have had to look for a bigger venue, which would have charged more per head etc…  then there were the extras which we were told we had to have if we didn’t want to children to get bored – clowns, magicians, hire of a wii and dvds in a separate room…  Again it came back to the fact that if anyone, no matter what their age, needed a distraction away from the actual wedding and would not be interested in the festivities of the day then they should not be there.

Telling friends was the hardest as throughout our engagement a lot of them had spoken about outfits etc for their kids or assumed they would have a role in the wedding party.  We spoke personally to those to whom we were closest and put a note in with invitations to others over which we agonised for weeks to find a way on conveying that it was nothing personal but that due to lack of space and resources, we were limiting guests to those aged 18+.  Most people knew we were doing things on a budget and understood and my large family (which accounted for about 90% of the potential kids) was a saving grace when it came to friends - by doing the maths re the additional numbers and explaining that it was nothing against their kids but family members would get upset if friends’ children were present therefore we had to draw a line, most people were okay with it.  One friend was delighted as it would allow her an opportunity to kick back, let her hair down and enjoy a wedding without the stress of looking after the kids, another was disappointed but understanding… and then there was W.  W is a good friend and I have apologised to her on numerous occasions, both publicly and privately.  The truth is, it didn’t occur to me to talk to her about this as I didn’t think of her as being a mother.  Her “son” was actually the son of her boyfriend (now husband) and she had barely mentioned him in the past therefore I was not aware just how close a relationship they had.  Turns out it was very close and other mutual friends knew that.  The little boy had been at one other wedding only but in fairness – there were about 400 people at that one and I think the bride in question wanted everyone she had ever met to see her wed.  Apparently he had at least been invited to other weddings but just hadn’t been available and W and her boyfriend took his lack of invite to this one very hard indeed.  I hold my hands up.  I didn’t handle the situation well and just couldn’t understand the sense of entitlement that so many people get when it comes to weddings.  Surely being invited to witness such a special moment is a privilege, not a right and it should be down to the bride and groom (with varying amounts of input from people who may be helping with the costs) to decide with whom they wish to spend the day.  In any case, I doubted her stepson had a burning desire to spend the day at the wedding of people he didn’t know. 

Around this time, my grandmother died.  My wonderful, amazing, inspirational grandmother whom I couldn’t ever imagine not having in my life.  The wedding was arranged and would go ahead.  She would have been devastated at the thought of it being postponed on her behalf but it left my with an unbridled anger at those who were disputing our guest list.  After all, if I had the choice between grandma and any one of the other guests, I would have gladly binned every one of them – parents included – if it meant I would get the chance to bring her back to share in this day.  To have to come up with polite ways of explaining and defending my decision not to invite people I didn’t want there when in reality there was only one person in the world I wanted to be present was utterly exhausting and at times left me questioning why get married at all?

W and her partner did attend the wedding and actually seemed to enjoy themselves.  W even mentioned during the evening that she couldn’t believe how personal we had made the day and conceded that her stepson would have been bored and may have started playing up.  Not that we had an x-rated wedding, just that there were no party games or novelty songs etc.  S made a truly beautiful and emotional speech paying tribute to my grandmother and I wore her jewellery on the day.  But that is not to say that it was a sad day.  On the contrary, never have I been so filled with joy and love.  We may not have been in the picture perfect location and my dress was simple with no frills and trains but it was everything I wanted the day to be.  The areas we had splashed out on were those important to us – food and music.  Our meal was beautiful and the band had everyone on the floor throughout the night.  There was so much laughter and warmth throughout the day that even now, 3 years on, I get overwhelmed just thinking about it.   Several people (both childed and childfree) mentioned afterwards how refreshing it was to not have to deal with crying and tantrums throughout the day and on the whole (the loss of my grandmother not withstanding) I can honestly say I would not change a thing about my perfect day!

Unfortunately W is still brooding on the matter.  At subsequent friends’ wedding she has made a point of pointing out all the children enjoying themselves and how her stepson was so happy to be invited to these occasions.  When, in the company of friends, talk has turned to weddings – either planned or past – she has snubbed and snorted away any contribution to the conversation hat I might make.  I know she thinks we did not do things “properly” – whatever that may be but like it or not, we are a couple whose lives do not revolve around children and our wedding reflected this as well as other aspects of our personality. 

Yes, there is another side to this.  It can be argued that weddings are the ultimate family event and children are part of that family.  Many kids, little girls especially, are captivated by brides and the romance and ceremony of the occasion and can get greatly excited by the prospect but here are the facts:  Weddings are long, full day events; they involve a great amount of sitting around, waiting for something to happen; there are a lot of speeches which mean that little kids have to stay quiet and listen, even if they don’t understand what is being said; attention is on other people, adults for that matter; party dresses may look pretty but after a while they become itchy and uncomfortable.

Kids will get bored or irritated and they deal with these emotions by being disruptive, crying, arguing and throwing tantrums.  Their parents will get stressed dealing with it and will probably have to leave the wedding early.  Many people – men and women – understand and see the humour in these situations as being part of a wedding – even moments to be relished and memories to be treasured - but if you don’t; if you are planning a fairytale wedding and the thought of your second cousin’s red faced toddler charging up and down the aisle or screaming through the service, the exchange of rings, the speeches, the cake cutting or the first dance, is making you come out in a cold sweat then by all means make your wedding a child free zone.  It is your day and no-one else’s.  But, if you do go down this route, be prepared for criticism and be ready to explain the reasons why.  Do so in person where possible and ensure you speak to everyone who may be affected.  Do not make assumptions.  Understand that some people will not agree and this is their right, just as it is your right to make the decision in the first place.  Above all, don’t lose sight of why you are getting married in the first place.  The day is a celebration of two people and their love for each other.  Nothing more.  Nothing less. 



Childfree or Anti-kids? Can friendships survive?

It seems maintaining a personal blog requires a lot more time and discipline that I had thought.  Who knew? 

So what has been happening since my last foray into cyberworld?  Babies, that’s what.  Lots and lots of them.  I don’t know if it down to the long cold winter where we were all snowed into our houses but all of a sudden everyone I know seems to be popping out new lives and this has, in turn, had a knock-on effect to those who are affected by tiny fingers and toes as now there is a new wave of pregnancies being announced from those who escaped the winder months without a baby bump.  The result of all this being that by the start of 2012 my family and friends circles will have changed beyond recognition.

All this appears to have had a rather surprising effect on S and me.  We haven’t suddenly decided to join the baby brigade and still feel that this is not what we personally want out of life but I, in particular, seem to have developed a new tolerance for children and respect for those who do go down this more accepted of life’s paths.

I will admit that in times gone by, the announcement by a close friend that she is to have a baby has provoked a sadness and almost resentment in me.  Not having been particularly close to my parents, I love my friends dearly and know that the change in lifestyle brought about by a baby will change and even damage our relationship as friends and I mourn for that friendship.  I mourn also for the person that the friend once was and whom I do not believe she will be again.  Gone are the spontaneous giggly nights over bottles of wine, the concerts, weekends away, intelligent conversations and long sessions of retail therapy…  replaced instead by snatched moments when the children are otherwise occupied, dinners at Frankie & Benny’s, interruptions and tantrums, last minute cancellations and said friend always distracted and preoccupied by the children, whether they are with us or not.  Then there is the eternal wedge that comes between us; in friendships that have survived my preference of black over pink, art-house over rom-coms, museums over sunbathing, charity shops over designer labels… children (or the freedom from) become the one irretrievable difference.   Assumptions are made on both sides, I believe she is throwing her life away and she thinks I am irresponsible and hate her children.  Neither is automatically true although have the potential to be so. 

Yes, children get on my nerves.  I just don’t think I am hardwired with maternal feelings and urges.  I enjoy peace and quiet and will go out of my way to avoid sitting near families in restaurants and public transport, lest the tantrums and shrieks disturb my tranquil little bubble.   This to me is common sense and I cannot understand it when friends will automatically grab the table next to that family with the hope of striking up conversation, maybe even getting to hold the baby.  And yet, not all maternal women do this.  I have heard many mothers say that they dislike all children apart from their own and maybe I am guilty of this also.  Take my two nieces for example – ages 12 and 4 and from different parents – they are the two most gorgeous, well-behaved and smart kids I have ever met.  I genuinely do enjoy spending time with them and not just because I have the secure knowledge that I can hand them back.  Our 16 year nephew is also a credit to the family and although in many ways a typical teenager, one with whom I can have an adult conversation.  Biased perhaps?  Perhaps not, our other nephew – aged 8 – is a holy terror of a child and I do dread having to spend time with the monster.  My next niece or nephew (my money’s on the latter) will be making an appearance any day now and time will tell how he/she turns out but my hopes are high for brother and sister-in-law to be good parents.  For those friends that have kids already, some are genuinely fun to be around and others are true brats.  I guess I am just indifferent to kids until they develop a personality about which I can form an opinion. 

Perhaps due to the influx of baby bumps recently, I have been thinking a lot about being child-free.  Not in a going-back-onto-the-fence way, I am resolutely sure that S and I will not have a family but I started to believe the hype and opinions which say that holding this point of view make me a monster, unfeminine, less of a woman… and these thoughts have been upsetting me.  I yearn for a society where there is no pressure to have children, where some women do and some don’t and yet we all live in harmony with no raised eyebrows regarding unconventional choices.  In a bid to somehow validate my choices and feelings, I have been seeking out other CF blogs and forums, to ensure that although unconventional, I am not abnormal.  There I have found both vindication and further sources of confusion and anger.  It would appear that I am not childfree enough for certain forums and I have been somewhat shocked by the level of resentment and abuse directed towards parents and children alike.  A lot of the terminology was new to me and I felt very uncomfortable using or appearing to condone through my silence, terms such as “breeder” and “moo”.  In some quarters I found an uncomfortable level of hatred towards those who choose to raise children, calls for “disgusting” pregnant women to be kept in confinement, IVF to be banned and a flippancy and easiness of prescribing abortions and sterilisation.  I am pro-choice and childfree yet the disregard for others’ feelings on such emotive matters is quite disturbing to me, particularly when the very same people calling for such measures also claim to receive no respect and equality for their lifestyle choices.  Now, before any parents reading this, jump up in triumph that all their opinions about the evil childfree have been proven true and before the CF flame me as a traitor, I have to make it clear that I am talking about a small group of people whose views are not indicative of the CF community as a whole and as their own personal views, they are perfectly justified and allowed to hold and express these feelings.  There are CF forums where discussion is civil and intelligent and such retreats have been a godsend when I have needed to vent about the pressures put on me by family and friends or to mourn the aforementioned friendships.  Conversely, I have done a bit of lurking on parenting forums and blogs, just to check if the grass really is greener.  I am not a troll and do not do this to point, laugh and feel smugly satisfied when some poor woman posts about the stress and disappointments brought on by parenthood but simply to get a better understanding of why this is the default lifestyle choice.  There I have found attacks against the CF to be just as vicious and frequent as those I have mentioned from “our” side and the sense of entitlement that is a big complaint of the CF about parents certainly thrives in some factions.  It seems harmonious living is out of the question whilst we women continue to feel threatened by each others’ choices.

So, back to real life.  Suddenly I am surrounded by babies and pregnant tummies and all of a sudden I see how happy my friends are.  True, there is stress and dare I say even a twinge of regret sometimes passing on their faces as the struggle to keep their charges under control but equally there is joy and peace as they immerse themselves in parenthood.  Many CF articles will point to the stressful, tear-your-hair-out, sleep-deprived moments and find it hard to reconcile these with the “it’s all worth it” mantra but you know what – for some people it is and that’s no bad thing.  Live and let live.  My job, for example, can be stressful; it can make me want to run away and cry and never set foot in the office again; at times I wish I had never entered the profession – but despite all of this, the overriding feeling is that I love it and yes, the crap is all worth it.    Some of my friends have never seemed happier now that they have a few rugrats running around and I am pleased for them that they have been brought happiness and peace.  Moreover, I am more sure than ever that this is not what I want out of life.  Their descriptions of domestic bliss seem at odds with my own ideologies and I am sure my life goals seem just as alien to them but I don’t want to see our friendships destroyed or forgotten because of this.  We simply need to move to a new level and this need not be a bad thing.  Last week I spent an enjoyable evening with five of my closest girlfriends from childhood.  Only two of us have no children and the other one is actively trying to remedy that.  I was nervous beforehand, fearing bingos aplenty but it turned out lovely.  Yes, they spoke about their kids – of course they did, they are the dominant element in their lives but equally I spoke about my work, my recent holiday, our bathroom renovations…  And I found myself actually interested in their domestic tales in the way that one would be interested in the job of a police officer (doubtlessly rewarding, lots of entertaining tales but not something I personally want to do with my life).  The evening ended early, much to S’s amusement but hey, they have kids and you know what? They made the effort to come out and spend time with old friends, as did I.  At other times in recent weeks I have been doing the rounds, visiting the new babies and mothers and simply cannot understand why a true friend would avoid or refuse to visit a chum at this important time in their life and I cannot accept that the introduction of a new child means that a friendship must end. 

Yes, these friends do occasionally still ask when S and I will be starting a family but for the most part they seem to get it and don’t make a big deal of it.  More bingos come now from family, colleagues and more casual acquaintances and I am learning to deal with this – after all, I accept that we are the minority.  Seeing our friends’ growing families emphasises why we don’t want to do this – lack of money, freedom, quality time as a couple as well as the biggie – kids just aren’t our thing!  I can see however why many people do choose this way of life and salute and respect them for doing so.  Those who blunder ahead like sheep because it is the thing to do, do still annoy me and it tends to be their kids who are the ones running around, making noise and being abusive in public places.  Maybe I am just lucky in my circle of friends but it is more clear than ever that the choice of whether or not to have children is exactly that and whichever way you jump, should not automatically assume that you love or hate all kids nor that you are any less or more of a human being because of your childed or childfree status.   

Book Reviews: The Slap by Christos Tsiolkas and Room by Emma Donoghue

I haven’t updated the blog in a while simply because I have been on holiday, which was lovely and a chance to fully relax and kick back with a good book or three.  My holidays reads this year included the above two titles, both of which have attracted their fair share of hype and publicity over the past year and which also stirred such strong emotions in me that I felt I had to share my thought and opinions here.

Both books are, at heart, about parenting although they are very different in plot, setting and execution.  As one who has chosen a child-free life, which I continually feel the need to justify, I am aware that a great deal of my reading material these days centres around the decisions to bring, or not to bring, children into the world.  I guess I am looking for some justification and understanding of my own situation and also a chance to experience the other side of the fence.  Sometimes it is hard to explain why I feel the way I do about having a family and yes, I admit, there are occasions when I wonder if I have made the right decision.  Reading other people’s views, whether books like these or fellow bloggers, helps make sense of my own swirling cloud of feelings on the subject. 

Starting with The Slap:  I was so excited to read this book, having heard so much about it and being intrigued and impressed by the beautifully simple premise; one day at a suburban barbeque, a man slaps a child who is not his own…  I was intrigued by the placing of the story within the Greek community of Melbourne and expected an intelligent and balanced exploration of this very emotive and provocative subject matter delivered through the points of view of eight members of the community present at the defining event.  What I found, was a lazily written book full of thoroughly dislikeable characters who all share the same crass voice and personality and the titular event is barely a footnote to the “story” which turns out to be a long and tedious account of unpleasant people taking drugs interspersed with gratuitous sex scenes and punctuated by banal and contrived swearing.  It is as if the author has gone so far out of his way to shock the reader that the overuse of the C word and explicit sexual content ends up having precisely the opposite effect and becomes simply boring.

Let me get things straight from the outset.  I am not in favour of hitting children under any circumstances but I do believe that child discipline (or lack of) has become a big and highly contentious issue in the western world with many parents too afraid to say no or raise voices to their offspring.  Physical chastisement has all but died out (thank goodness) but in its place is a void where many children are not taught respect to the detriment of their own happy and healthy upbringing.  Hugo is one such child and Tsiolkas makes it clear from the outset that his longstanding behavioural problems, which often result in violent tantrums which can be dangerous to those around him, are a product of his upbringing by a one dimensional alcoholic father and dippy-hippy mother.  Tsiolkas is also at pains to point out that these characters are the only white Australians in the book thus damning an entire nationality to a drink-soaked hell.  It is clear that Hugo is a victim of poor parenting and when he throws one tantrum too far, another guest at the gathering, Harry, steps in to administer some discipline.  Unfortunately, having established the controversial event, the author immediately ducks out of what could have been a superb and intelligent dissection of the fallout of this brief moment of madness by establishing Harry as a boorish thug, who engages in a spot of wife beating when he is not intimidating his employees and other minor characters.  Portraying Harry in this way denies the reader the opportunity to consider what would we have done?  With whom do we sympathise?  Instead of drawing our own conclusions we are force fed the notion that Harry is in the wrong.

It is not just Harry.  All of the characters in The Slap are drawn from the same self-obsessed page.  Without exception they are drug users and adulterers who all secretly hate each other.  Now I am in no way suggesting that such activities do no happen, even in middle-class suburbia, but not one person or description in the book seemed to be drawn in any reality.  I guess the author set up to make a book that would shock it’s readers but in lacking the guts to follow through on the promised big theme, decided to forgo character grounding and development for pages and pages of explicit sexual exploits and bad language.  Subtlety is not Tsiolkas forte and some of the attempts to shock are laughable in their execution – such as the letter from Connie’s bisexual father, written as he is dying from AIDS.  At best, the book is like a Pedro Almodovar film in which all tongues have been surgically removed from cheeks, at worst, a weak attempt at a character study of eight of the most vile human beings ever consigned to the printed page.  Particularly bad are the chapters devoted to the two teenage characters, Connie and Richie.  Shock alert – Connie has sex with a Muslim boy and Richie is gay!!!  I got the feeling that the author perhaps had another Skins-style novel about Australian teenagers up his sleeve but decided just to shoehorn it into this one where the chapters really don’t fit.  Annoyingly, had the author stuck to the premise of the novel, there may have been some interesting insights and arguments given by each of the characters, from the perpetrator of the titular slap to the victim’s mother, the child-free friend (who has an abortion during her chapter just to underline that she doesn’t want children) to Connie and Richie who are still just children themselves by way of the husband/father and wife/mother unit of Hector and Aisha and the older, grandparent generation.  Unfortunately the aftermath of the slap plotline is shoehorned in awkwardly, almost as an afterthought, in each chapter to a point where it is no longer relevant.  Sadly the characters from whom I was most interested to hear (Bilal and Samira) were not given chapters to voice their views.  This was one of the reasons I kept reading to the end – in the hope of finding either a purpose or redemption to the whole debacle of a book or at least a different point of view but yet again it seems Mr Tsiolkas has created an interesting premise in the characters of the Aborigine and White Australian couple who have converted to Islam but once again fails to substantiate the premise or engage with the issues he has raised.  That such big and braves themes are hinted at but not fully explored is the greatest source of frustration with this novel.  Ultimately Tsiolkas has some great ideas such as Aisha’s musing that “...the world is divided into three genders – there are men, there are women and then there are women who choose to have nothing to do with children.”  As a woman who is childfree by choice, I was intrigued by this concept and looked forward to further suggestions from the author before I could fully form my own opinion about the statement (for the record, I think I agree) but the concept is swiftly left in favour of more sex.   



In contrast, Room offered a rather dubious premise which fully exceeded my expectations on delivery.  It is difficult to talk about this book without giving away some spoilers so I will apologise now for what I am about to reveal.   Donoghue has been obviously influenced by recent high profile abduction/imprisonment cases such as those of Elizabeth Fritzl and Jacyee Lee Dugard and is narrated by five-year-old Jack, who lives in a locked room (11ft x 11ft) with his Ma.  As far as Jack is concerned, the room is the whole world and outside is outer space.  He knows he cannot leave and he doesn’t want to as Room is a safe sanctuary for him, even when the sinister Old Nick visits in the night.  Jack cannot conceive of any people or indeed any matter outside of his four walls and has never spent a moment of his life away from his mother so it comes as a shock to him when she gradually starts to reveal that there is a world outside of Room and it is filled with boys and girls and dogs and families and beaches and parks.  A world which she once loved before Old Nick abducted her at age 19, forcing her to live as his prisoner and sex slave for 8 years, during the course of which she gave birth to Jack following a previous stillbirth. 

At first I was hesitant to read this book, concerned it would be too sensationalist and would both glorify and underestimate the suffering that women like those mentioned above have experienced.  Instead I found a story which despite its bleak setting, offered a tale of maternal love and a boy trying to find his way in the world which transcends to tiny prison of Room.  In handing over the narration duties to Jack, Donoghue has avoided the temptation of long drawn out scenes of horror as this is not what Jack sees.  Hidden in the wardrobe each night he does not see Old Nick hurt his mother.  He knows they go to bed together but has no idea what this means.  The reader meanwhile reads his earnest account of counting the bed creaks until Nick makes his usual gasping sound with growing anguish for the two protagonists.  Similarly, Jack reports the fun games he plays with his Ma, such as exercising their voices by yelling at the skylight, flashing the lamp during the night or trying to guess the correct combination on the keypad entry system with a sense of glee whilst we, the reader, feel only admiration for the extremely courageous young mother who has gone to such extraordinary lengths to protect her son that he truly perceives no danger from their horrific and perilous situation.  Jack has no reason to guess that these games are a form of escape as he does not see Room as a place to be escaped from.  Tsiolkas could certainly learn a lot from Donoghue on the use of subtlety in writing. 

The second part of the book takes places outside of Room as Jack and his Ma adjust to the real world.  Donoghue has clearly done a lot of research into the physical and psychological effects of long term interment – especially in one who has never experienced an outside world to compare – and skilfully explores the difficulties encountered by Jack in the real world; from seemingly small details such as how to walk up and down stairs and problems posed by spatial awareness (how do you measure depth when you have only ever seen objects from a distance of 11ft max?) and sudden exposure to sunlight to bigger situations such as the sudden appearance of so many different people and the concept of shopping.  One thing which annoyed me about the book in the beginning was the over-emphasis on contemporary references (Jack enjoying dancing to Rihanna’s music videos on Room’s small tv set etc) but I can appreciate that this was a choice by the author to emphasise that such cruelty does happen and is probably still happening somewhere in this day and age.  Giving Jack and his Ma television was a master stroke as it allows the mother to keep up to date with the world but as a stranger looking in.  Upon release from Room, everyone seems to want to tell her about the black President but of course she already knows this.  In a sense, she has not been away from the world but the world has been kept away from her.  An of course, who in that situation would head straight to this facebook-thing they had heard about to find out exactly what happened to their friends and family members in the intervening years!

 Donoghue also uses Room to attack the notion of celebrity.  The scene where a group of sales assistants accost Jack for his autograph is particularly unsettling, as is the interview that Jack’s Ma gives to an Oprah-style host.  The whole world seems to want a piece of this pair without much consideration for the psychological effects they are experiencing.  Indeed the scrutiny and extent to which the world debates Ma’s parenting skills – was she correct to let Jack believe there was no world outside room and shield him from the dangers within? – leads her to doubt her own actions and outside of Room we see her pull away from Jack to his bewilderment as she starts to crave the life she has missed.  Again, seeing the action from Jack’s point of view means that we, re adult readers are left to draw conclusions and fill in the blanks as to what Ma may be thinking and there is a real collision of viewpoints when Jack insists on bringing items from Room into their new world as a means of familiarity and comfort whereas the same items represent to his Ma a reminder of the horror and struggles endured.

In much the same way as Roberto Begnini’s film “Life is Beautiful” is a study of fatherhood and the choices made to shield children from the ugliness of the world rather than a holocaust film, Room is not a book about abduction, imprisonment and rape.  Yes, it is disturbing in parts but never sensationalist in its approach.

Interestingly, both books rely heavily on the concept of breastfeeding beyond the normal (in the western world) child age to suggest the notion of irresponsible mothers and in both books, the act is depicted as rather sinister and inappropriate whether through Jack’s earnest discussion of which breast tastes creamier and constant lifting of his mother’s shirt to “have some” or the precocious Hugo arguing with his father over possession of Rosie’s “boobies” and Rosie herself deriving some sexual pleasure from Hugo’s suckling.  Breastfeeding in general continues to be a contentious issue even when it involves very young infants yet saying it may be distasteful is one of our society’s last taboos  (see Kathryn Blundell ‘s infamously controversial article and the vitriolic backlash on “creepy” breastfeeding) .  Indeed, I got into a heated debate with a close friend of mine (a mother) last year when I described how a woman had recently wandered around the tables of a fairly upmarket restaurant with her baby attached to her breast, much to the discomfort of other diners including my elderly father-in-law.  Now I am a supporter of breastfeeding but felt this woman was being deliberately provocative and it was not acceptable to carry out this action in this setting, in the same way as it would have been unacceptable to brush one’s hair at the table or display any normally private body part.  I certainly wouldn’t have had a problem with the breastfeeding being carried out at the mother’s own table with her party of friends.  My friend however went straight to the “you clearly hate children and mothers because you choose to be childfree” argument and proceeded to tell me how breastfeeding mothers are victimised and the baby had just as much right to have his dinner in the restaurant as the rest of us.  Yes, I countered, by the rest of us didn’t wander around tables of strangers whilst masticating.   But I digress and it is fair to say that most westerners do find the breastfeeding of a more advanced child quite distasteful.  In The Slap, Tsiolkas uses this to demonstrate Rosie’s new age approach to parenting and inability to say no to Hugo, instead pandering to his every whim and it is noted through the novel, at least when the central plot s remembered, that all characters, even Rosie’s husband, find this to be quite unsettling and unpleasant.  Without a counter argument from Rosie herself however, the reader is not given the opportunity to weigh up both sides of the issue and decide for him/herself.  Indeed the only concession to this is the aforementioned incident where Rosie seems to be enjoying the tug at her nipple just a little too much for comfort.  Again the unsubtle Tsiolkas hits us with the full force of the message that Rosie is an unfit mother who has turned Hugo into the monster he is.  By contrast Donoghue bravely dares to question the rights and wrongs of Jack’s suckling habit.  When this issue is raised during Ma’s interview she laughs in the concerned face of the sanctimonious presenter saying “In this whole story, that’s the shocking detail?”  This makes the reader question our own already formed opinions about not only the breastfeeding issue but our desensitisation to horrific ordeals such as abduction and rape through media saturation.  Instead we may choose to believe that Ma did the right thing in continuing to provide extra nutrition for her son beyond the meagre meals supplied by Old Nick or we may resolutely claim that this continued reliance on the breast may have damaged Jack’s social skills, perhaps irrevocably. 

It is obvious that I much preferred Room over The Slap but would be interested in others’ takes on the same books.  Do feel free to comment. 

The Need to Nurture

I had an accusation thrown at me yesterday.  Not for the first time and it certainly won’t be the last.  I have been accused of a secret desire to have children.  One to which I will eventually give in.  The evidence?  I want a puppy!

Trust me when I say that our decision to remain childfree was not made on a whim nor out of an aversion to hard work, bad smells etc.  We have done a great deal of soul searching over the years and are confident that this is the correct decision for us.  I have also been accused of being selfish.  Maybe this is true but I don’t necessarily consider it to be a bad thing.  Much better to be aware of my selfishness now than after the birth of a baby whom I would resent for changing my lifestyle.  Anyway, I do not consider myself to be in any way selfish with my time, money or love for family and friends.  I just enjoy the life I have and wish it to continue without having to sacrifice long term career, travel and lifestyle goals.  Children have just never figured into the equation for me and the more I think about why we should start a family, the more I am struck by paralysing fear and hundreds of reasons why not to do it.  Luckily both our parents have been accepting and understanding of our decision.  I am aware of other women and couples who are not so fortunate in this way.  Friends and siblings however, are harder to win over and can, at times, be downright hurtful in their comments and accusations.  Especially when we mention our plan to get a dog.

Carolyn Ray, in her wonderfully eloquent essay Enlightenment: The Shame of Not Wanting Children describes perfectly the feeling of “might like someday” vs “overwhelming desire”:

“I have considered what it would be like to have a very large house. Sometimes when I have lived in cramped quarters, the idea of 20 rooms with large closets creates a quiet longing in me. But when I think about my preferred lifestyle, my preferred career, etc., it is hard for me to justify having an apartment much bigger than the one I have, let alone own a house.
On the other hand, I want a dog very badly, and the fact that I cannot currently have one is torture for me (my apartment complex doesn't allow them). I think about dogs all the time. I can't wait to have one or two or three as my constant companions. I walk other people's dogs, and have thought about working as a trainer just to be near them.
The basic difference between my feelings about a large house and my feelings about a dog boils down to: "might be nice" versus "when will the misery end?" “

It interests me that dogs too are Ray’s ward of desire and fully understand her feelings.  S and I both had dogs growing up and somehow our current life does not feel complete without a canine companion.  We often go for long walks, in the hills or along the river, and just feel there is something missing.  If someone were to come up to me today and tell me that they have seen my future and I will never have the companionship of a dog, I would fall apart, utterly devastated.  If they were to tell me that there will be no children in my life, my reaction would be at best “meh” or more honestly, a resounding, “thank f**** for that”!  I have often been heard to remark, when confronted with a new puppy, that “this must be how normal women feel about babies”.  I can’t help it, someone passes me on the street with a dog in two and my heart physically aches because I don’t have one, someone gets on the bus with a dog and I must change seats to say hello to the animal.  Replace the dog in both situations with a child, and I will edge away with no desire to make contact.

And yet, I am continually being told that my brain is doing some kind of complex transference of feelings.  That my desire to look after a pet is a reflection of my true maternal instinct.  That I should suppress no longer and join the parenting club.  What worries me is that there may even be some truth in this.

S and I have often remarked that our biggest role models in life are certain friends and family members who are a little bit older and leading the lives we hope we can in 10-20 years.  This is something about which we had discussed without too much thought but when initially having the baby debate, it suddenly occurred to us that all the folk mentioned are childfree by choice.  An aunt and uncle on my side – have a lovely home, a dog and an active social life.  S’s uncle might be single but he has travelled extensively, read copiously, has interesting friends and hobbies and is a truly interesting person – he also has dogs.  My work colleague and her husband, again have travelled a lot and gone onto further study with good careers.   Several members of my book group, whether single or in couples again follow the pattern of travel, reading, studying, culture-loving people who have nice houses, secure incomes and interesting stories to tell.  Most have dogs, some have cats.  The only exception is my work colleague – she and her husband have plants!  They look after these plants to an almost obsessive (at least to my non-green fingered outlook) level and I have seen my colleague weep true tears of despair when a plant dies.  Carolyn Ray obviously feels the same way about our canine chums and I have seen overwhelming numbers of people commenting on other childfree blogs to the same effect, mentioning their love of dogs or other animals in that place in their heart we are expected to keep for human babies. 

The point is that we all seem to need something in our life which we can look after.  Something that depends on us and allows us to satisfy the need to nurture.  Friends will point to tales of adults who travel with a family of teddy bears, or feel the need to dress up their cats, declaring this to be a way of filling an otherwise empty, meaningless and childless life.  I don’t doubt that there are people who desperately wish to conceive a child and have never gotten over the grief of infertility, who turn to pets, plants or toys as a way of filling a very real void in their lives.  I wish I can say that my desire for a puppy is not a way of filling such a void but perhaps it is?  Maybe this is a very basic component of our genetic make-up, what makes us human or what simply makes us alive?  After all, we have all seen wildlife programmes and experiments where childless animals (often chimps) are given a doll or similar which they care for and protect as if it were a baby. 

But then there are those who want both – take my friend T for example; she has two clearly defined holes in her life, one in the shape of a baby, the other is a dog.  My parents must have has similar yearnings otherwise I wouldn’t have grown up with a canine sibling!  Perhaps then the yearnings are different, I am not taking the easy way out after all and I will never know how the child desire feels?   Maybe lots of people have a desire for a family pet but it only those of us without the “family” to go with it who stand out as oddly visible thus provoking a rush of questions and examination of our feelings and motives?

I don’t have any answers to this but am hoping to inspire debate with intelligent comments and insights from both sides of the fence (please, no haters).  There must also be someone out their who does not desire children but also has no plans for pets, cannot keep a houseplant alive and does not own a collection of ragdolls or teddy bears! 

All About Me

Well hello there and welcome to my blog.  Have a seat, get comfortable and make yourself at home.  Hopefully this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship…

Let me tell you a bit about myself…

I am a Scottish (wah-hey!) woman, living in Edinburgh.  I’m really lucky to live in such a wonderful city and am sure I would have found my way here eventually, even if I hadn’t been born here.  I spent a brief period in my early twenties living and working abroad but having met the love of my life at a much earlier age than expected, I just couldn’t stay away from him and ended up returning to Edinburgh where we set up home together and eventually married in 2007. 

Blogging has been on my mind for a while.  In truth I’ve always harboured fantasies about having regular newspaper or magazine column – you know, those women that get paid for writing about their lives, loves and opinions on the world each week.  Given that I never pursued my dream of becoming either a travel writer or a food critic, I think it’s safe to say that neither the Guardian nor even the Scotsman is going to come knocking on my door for hilarious anecdotes or worldly views any time soon.  So blogging it is then!  But what to blog about?  There are a lot of experts out there in cyberspace who tell me that a blog must have a theme and should stick to one subject only.  Food blogs should be about food only, travel blogs likewise… What to choose? Who am I?  What do I do?

Food!  I love cooking and love eating even more.  I love watching cookery programmes, reading cookery books and in the spirit of the most passionate Masterchef contestant, I think about food constantly; always considering ingredients and recipes and I just love feeding friends and family and seeing that look on their face when I know I have hit a flavour combination just right!  I don’t want to just talk about food though.  Aside from anything else, I’ve usually halfway through dinner before I remember that I meant to take a photo of the impressive looking dish.  Plus, there are so many great food blogs out there.  Can I really compete with the likes of the wonderful Kavey Eats or Bon Apetit?

Travel!  I love going places and experiencing new things.  Well, going places and eating new things mainly…  Problem is, I haven’t travelled particularly extensively despite an ever growing must-go list.  We live on a bit of a budget; both get limited holidays from work and the clincher – my parents retired abroad.  Great decision for them.  Means that my choice of holiday destination is now somewhat limited though. 

I’m a film geek!  That’s right.  I’m not ashamed to admit it.  I love film and hubby and I are regularly greeted by staff at the local cinema as if we are old friends.  Yep, if the cinema were a bar in Boston, we would be Norm.  I love most films apart from really scary ones and rom coms.  Unfortunately this makes me somewhat of a pariah amongst fellow female friends.  Knowing how many films I watch, they are constantly trying to get my opinion on the latest Katherine Heigl/Matthew MCaughney/Kate Hudson love fest with the fabulous shoes and oh so cute ickle baby…  They don’t understand when I would rather talk about Almodovar’s vintage work or the sheer awesomeness of the latest comic book adaptation/Frank Miller effort etc.  So could I use my blog to review films?  Well, I may certainly enthuse about a movie I have loved but it’s a rather restrictive topic really, and I don’t want to turn my cinema trips into a chore by feeling that I have to blog after each and every film.

What about books?  I read a lot but not always new titles so not sure if there is an audience out there.  Also, I am already in a bookgroup so have space to share opinions on most of my reading material.

Music is good.  It makes, so a wise woman once said, the people come together.  Personally I listen to anything from hard rock to jazz with a bit of classical thrown in.  My tastes are eclectic and I love discovering new bands.  Can’t really see a blog being shaped around all this though…

Families feature heavily in a lot of blogs.  Personally OH and I are child free.  This is a conscious decision and contrary to popular belief, not one that was taken lightly.  A great deal of the thoughts swirling around my head on any given day tend to revolve around this issue and it is one I am constantly being asked to defend.  Yes, the childfree stance on life may be a regular feature of my blog but I don’t want to restrict my writings to just that.  There are already great blogs out there on this topic, such as Childfree Me and I don’t necessarily want to reinvent the wheel.  Neither do I want to set this out as the very essence of my being and the most interesting thing about me.  Above all I don’t want to attract haters.  I know you can’t please all the people all of the time but I feel us childfree women (never the men) attract a lot of bad press by those who don’t understand our views and I want this blog to be, well, a nicer place than that!

Life is an ongoing struggle.  OH and I live on a tight budget.  We would like nothing better than to move to a bigger, nicer house or even have the money to make our little flat look and feel a bit more homely but with ever rising prices, we are finding things tough.  It certainly doesn’t allow us to travel to the places we want to see or even be able to feast on the food we would like but we are doing our best to get by with the hand which we have been dealt.  Living on a budget could be a good blog theme – it would certainly encompass all the above aspects of our daily life – what we eat, how we travel frugally etc but then, that just brings me back to talking about general life with a bit of all the above elements thrown in from time to time.  Yes, a bit like those magazine columnists really! 

So I guess I’m going to be telling you more about my life and habitual musings.

So, now you have gotten to know a bit about me, I hope you will continue to read and interact with my rambling streams of thought.  Perhaps you will recognise bits of your own life, thirty-something or not. 

Welcome to the world of blog!