Occasionally they’ll hit a pleasant stride – fondly recalling a shared nostalgia or chuckling over a mutual disgust – but most often their walks are tinged with contempt, irritation, and rages so white hot her mother will stop strangers on the street and say, ‘This is my daughter. At the age of forty-five, she regularly meets her mother for strolls along the streets of Manhattan. Vivian Gornick’s relationship with her mother is difficult. ‘Why do you pick one schlemiel after another? Do you do this to make me miserable?’ We are walking down Ninth Avenue after a noon-hour concert at Lincoln Centre. ‘Why can’t you find a nice man to be happy with?’ my mother is saying.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |