I agree that Gaitskill is a wonderful writer, but I actually find her writing to have a sneaky lack of self-awareness. She has a direct bluntness when imparting unflattering things about herself that can read as self-awareness, but, upon further thought, can be fairly chilling. If you look at these statements as born of a lack of understanding that others might see them as lacking in empathy or kindness, rather than a brave willingness to depict herself at her most flawed, it can become pretty chilling. For instance, the fact that it didn’t occur to her to consider how hurt a teen girl might be if her closest friend left suddenly and stole her clothes, even long afterward—it took the ex-friend telling her for her to understand it from her point of view. It’s as though she continued, into adulthood, to believe that someone she envied couldn’t possibly have the same feelings or vulnerability that she did.
This view of other people extends to her other work, like her regrettable treatment of the young kids of color from NYC who came up to her farm in the summers through the Fresh Air Fund, both in her novel, The Mare, and her essay on a similar subject (though she seems much more concerned by her cat’s fate than the children’s), Lost Cat (Granta).
In response to criticism about The Mare, Gaitskill said in an interview for Guernica: “ I’m interested in portraying characters from their own point of view as they move through life. And for most people, describing how they are moving through life, or how they are functioning within social institutions, would be like a piece of food trying to describe the digestive system it’s caught up in. That piece of food doesn’t know. It’s just moving through the larger system.”
I think she was, as usual, being very honest there, without realizing the true implications of this view, and I think Gaitskill likely experiences much of life this way—she seems to see other people as ultimately inscrutable to a point that can serve to flatten them in her estimation. This seems to be especially true of people who are not like her. To assume that most people experiencing institutional oppression are as aware of it as food particles are aware of the digestive system through which they move assumes that everyone else receives the actions and reactions of those around them with the same mystification and self-focus.
I still loved this essay! But I think it’s important to recognize this aspect of all of Gaitskill’s work. Once I did, I started reading her for insight into this kind of mind as much as for the writing on the page. It’s often very subtle, but once you see it, you see it everywhere in her work.
I agree that Gaitskill is a wonderful writer, but I actually find her writing to have a sneaky lack of self-awareness. She has a direct bluntness when imparting unflattering things about herself that can read as self-awareness, but, upon further thought, can be fairly chilling. If you look at these statements as born of a lack of understanding that others might see them as lacking in empathy or kindness, rather than a brave willingness to depict herself at her most flawed, it can become pretty chilling. For instance, the fact that it didn’t occur to her to consider how hurt a teen girl might be if her closest friend left suddenly and stole her clothes, even long afterward—it took the ex-friend telling her for her to understand it from her point of view. It’s as though she continued, into adulthood, to believe that someone she envied couldn’t possibly have the same feelings or vulnerability that she did.
This view of other people extends to her other work, like her regrettable treatment of the young kids of color from NYC who came up to her farm in the summers through the Fresh Air Fund, both in her novel, The Mare, and her essay on a similar subject (though she seems much more concerned by her cat’s fate than the children’s), Lost Cat (Granta).
In response to criticism about The Mare, Gaitskill said in an interview for Guernica: “ I’m interested in portraying characters from their own point of view as they move through life. And for most people, describing how they are moving through life, or how they are functioning within social institutions, would be like a piece of food trying to describe the digestive system it’s caught up in. That piece of food doesn’t know. It’s just moving through the larger system.”
I think she was, as usual, being very honest there, without realizing the true implications of this view, and I think Gaitskill likely experiences much of life this way—she seems to see other people as ultimately inscrutable to a point that can serve to flatten them in her estimation. This seems to be especially true of people who are not like her. To assume that most people experiencing institutional oppression are as aware of it as food particles are aware of the digestive system through which they move assumes that everyone else receives the actions and reactions of those around them with the same mystification and self-focus.
I still loved this essay! But I think it’s important to recognize this aspect of all of Gaitskill’s work. Once I did, I started reading her for insight into this kind of mind as much as for the writing on the page. It’s often very subtle, but once you see it, you see it everywhere in her work.