Barren Bitches Book Tour

Once your done here, hop along to another stop on this blog tour by visiting the main list at Stirrup Queens. You can also sign up for the next book on this online book club: Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro.

This time we are reflecting on Elizabeth McCracken's memoir, An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination.

The first time I read this, I could not put it down. The second time I read it, I could not put it down. I think the third time I actually spent savoring certain passageways, reveling in the words. It was very powerful, very moving. The book was so strongly packed yet so open for understanding, I loved it both as the story and as the power of the words containing it.

It's hard to say,"This is a wonderful book," because it is such a sad story. Even sadder because it really happened, and not only to Elizabeth McCracken, but to many. Yet, I dare say I enjoyed this book. In this book I cried, I mourned, I sympathized, and I confirmed. Yes, indeed, "Closure is bullshit." but someday we too will be able to say, "It's a happy life-"

Okay, enough of my rambling. On with my questions to be answered... And this is my first time participating, so bear with me.

I was so moved by the writing and emotion in this book, and I wanted to pass it along to many people just because it's a great book, but I realized that a dead baby book is an awkward and probably inappropriate gift for most people. While reading, was there anybody that you wanted to give the book to? Why? Did you pass it along to anyone? If not, what held you back? Is it more appropriate for a woman who has lost a baby to give out a loss book than a woman who has not? What about a woman who has lost a baby, but the loss is unknown to the recipient -- does the gift expose her secret? Would you give the book to a woman that you know has lost a child?

Last month I ordered it on amazon and had it shipped straight to my sister's home across the country. I was unsure of how she would take it, you see she lost her daughter 10 years ago at full term. One day, healthy baby, the next day the heart had stopped.

Right after I sent it I worried, I fretted. Was she going to take it the wrong way? Would this upset her, would she even read it, would she quietly donate it to a local thrift store? I was starting to feel guilty, wondering if I'd done something wrong in sending it to her. She hadn't called me since she'd gotten it.

I finally heard from her yesterday. She thanked me for it. She was quiet, she told me that it was so strange because so much of it could have been a parallel of her own story. She told me how it was interesting to see how someone else handled it, how they survived as opposed to how she did.

Back to the original question; I think it would just depend on the situation. My sister yes, someone I barely know... I don't know what I would do. I agonized over it enough just wondering how my own sister would take it, let alone someone I barely know. I would like to say I would, but at the same time I'm afraid of making a wrong move.

I guess I, in turn, pose this question to all babylost mammas: How would you feel if someone sent you this book?

I know I would have graciously accepted it, but it would depend upon the hands it came from. My mother who said, "It could have been worse," after my miscarriage... I would wondered about her intentions. I would be critical and assume she was trying to show me just how bad it could have been. My sister, though? If she gave it to me, it would have been a nice balm. I would have known it was out of love.

Ah, and here's where we hop right back into bed with indecision. What's the situation, who's the person, what are they saying... circumstance.

McCracken views "A Figment" as her "calling card" -- the card that says, My first child was stillborn. "I want people to know about it but I don't want to say it out loud." She'll (figuratively) hand it to everyone who asks a stupid or just hard-to-answer question ("Is this your first?"), and everyone she generally just wants to know about her back story without the awkwardness of waiting for the segue and going through it. We obviously all blog -- do you view your blog as your calling card (do you have a calling card)? If you wrote a memoir, would it differ from your blog in any significant way? Do you think it would attract a different audience and would that change what you wrote?

Undoubtedly, who the audience is changes a piece. I have wrote on my blog about my loss, little pieces here and there in the privacy of my home about the entire journey, and I have wrote a short story that's still in the works.

I can honestly say that I do find myself unintentionally censoring myself in my work of the short story; this is something I am trying to work on. See, I want to tell it from a safe distance but I don't want to sugar coat it. I want to convey the pain, and the joy. I don't want to drive people away, because I want them to know and understand at a level they're comfortable with. I want it to be accessible to everyone. I also deal with accessibility with issues such as telling someone about ALI, people in the ALI community would know what that means, while people outside might think it's a weight loss drug. I try to write it in terms that everyone can understand, instead of just the people who have been in the same shoes. I want to open minds.

As far as my blog, these pieces are anonymous (mostly), and I feel more free here. I can talk about how painful my cervix was during the miscarriage on here (Okay, even here I feel a little dirty writing that) but in a short story that my English professor is helping me to edit? I think I'd feel very dirty if I threw that tidbit in there, if you know what I mean. I was afraid it would turn away certain audience members that I wanted to reach... so I editted. However, here on my blog anything, and everything, is game.

I very much admire that about Figment. I think that McCraken wrote the book in just the right tone, with just the right amount of pain, to convey the spectrum of it without turning people away. She made it real, but not so real that you couldn't come back from it.

On page 94 Elizabeth McCracken writes, "I've never gotten over my discomfort at other people's discomfort" also "I don't even know what I would have wanted someone to say", and I am wondering how you have handled that discomfort when something terrible happened to you (suicide, miscarriage, failed cycle, etc.) Is it better for another person to say something cliche that makes you feel awful or is it better for them to ignore the topic all together?

Ah, yes. I like to tell people I have a super power, the power to hush a room and drive people's of all religions, sex, race, away from me. Because... I am the elephant in the room. I am the infertile, the one in four that miscarries. I loved that statement in the book, "I've never gotten over my discomfort at other people's discomfort." Neither have I.

I was surprised how much comfort it brought after my miscarriage just to hear someone tell me, "I'm sorry for your loss." It moved me so much to have others acknowledge the baby's existence. As opposed to how much it hurt when people said things, trying to be helpful that just... well, weren't (I wanted to do some face stomping every time someone said, "It could have been worse.")

I didn't like that everyone ignored the topic, and I didn't like having to be the advocate to teach them what to say, or to have to be the bigger person and understand that they just don't know what to say or do. I didn't like it when people stopped talking, grew morose if I mentioned it, or simply walked away awkwardly.

I too wish that they had said something, even though I wasn't sure what it was I wanted. It wasn't until after a friend emailed me to say, "I'm sorry for your loss," that I grasped that it was all I needed. Just for someone to acknowledge that this beautiful little life had left the world.

But, since we can't chose the comments we get... I would rather have had silence to some of the comments I received. I really, really, would have.

My favourite line of the book comes on page 103: "Closure is bullshit." In your opinion (whether or not you have experienced pregnancy loss yourself), is this true or false?

This was also my favorite quote... and I feel it sums up the entire memoir. You never get closure, as in 'you get to say good bye and everything in your life returns to normalcy.' But you will be able go on with your life someday; someone will always be missing, but you can go on. I think this book tells that quite beautifully.

I believe closure really is bullshit. You never stop missing that person, that piece of you, that is missing. You never "get over" it. They can not be replaced. It's like a jigsaw puzzle that will always be missing a vital piece. Yes, the overall picture may come out stunning, but if you look close enough you can see that vital little piece. You can see that the picture is not whole, and never will be.