Gardens of Unfinished Motherhood

The Mother Garden by Robin Romm is a collection of 12 short stories exploring intergenerational trauma.

The Mother Garden by Robin Romm

Reading it curiously reminded me of John Updike’s short story “Morocco." The story follows a family’s trip to Morocco, full of mishaps rendered in a lighthearted, humorous tone—until, near the end, the mood shifts. Roth recalls how the four children were crammed into the back seat:

Genevieve had to sit forward, breathing on my ear. Mommy, strapped in beside me, doled out oranges and water; Caleb and Mark tirelessly debated who was "squishing" whom; Judith, by the window, tried to dream herself off.”

He then asks his children if they remember that moment:

We had achieved, in Morocco, maximum family compression, and could only henceforth disperse. Growing up, leaving home, watching your parents divorce—all, in the decade since, have happened.”

When I finished The Mother Garden, the first thought that came to mind was: the children have grown up and are grappling with the long-lasting effect of their family’s unravelling; Genevieve or Judith, most likely Judith, is the one telling their story.

In “Where Nothing Is,” Neil’s father, Geoff,  dies a lonely death. Two years earlier, Neil’s mother, Mindy, caught him in bed with one of his students and left home. Neil cannot forgive her for never visiting Geoff on his deathbed. After Geoff’s death, his belongings keep resurfacing in Neil’s home, “the ties, the watches, the collection of leftist pamphlets from the 1950s.” Meanwhile, the narrator, Neil’s girlfriend, meets Gwen, an aspiring but somewhat goofy actress who quickly takes an interest in Neil. He reciprocates, and soon the three of them spend much of their spare time together. Gwen’s seduction to Neil is unveiled. In one spontaneous road trip, they stop by a vast soy field. Gwen proposes to run naked and starts to undress herself.

Three paragraphs later, the narrator reflects:

It’s possible, people say, that the only available meaning is in the moment: the field, the sun on my dark hair, the wiggle of Gwen’s fleshy ass. Existence is its own reward. No one on earth is having a moment quite like mine. This is my prize: a boyfriend obsessed with his dead dad’s watches, hiding his erection behind the car, and a friend whom I really can’t stand.”

In the passage above, Neil’s father’s death is linked to Neil’s present obsessions. Across generations, human instinct is described plainly, almost matter-of-factly. But what choices do humans really have here? Do we simply go along with desire, or attempt to resist it? Geoff now lies underground, unable to witness his son’s awkwardness. And even if he could, why would he care? Would he have resisted sleeping with his student? If he had, what possible reward could fidelity have offered him?

Which brings about the question: Does fidelity hold any meaning for modern people? After all, “It’s possible, people say, that the only available meaning is in the moment.” If we accept the ideology of living in the moment, and "existence is its own reward," we have no reason to value fidelity, which can hardly promise us measurable, worldly rewards, which will lead us to miss out on "the moment." Perhaps this is why the author chose the Amy Hempel epigraph: “Is one of the symptoms loss of faith? Or faith in loss?” And perhaps it is also why a character is tellingly named “Satan” in “A Romance.”

In this collection, the story that moved me to tears is “Weight.” The narrator’s father is a businessman who is away from home most of the time. Her mother copes with his neglect by overeating, growing heavier and heavier, which only drives her father further away and ultimately leads to their divorce.

The narrator grows up to become a capable career woman. One morning, however, she discovers she can no longer squeeze into a skirt she has always considered her lucky charm for tough negotiations. That very day, the mediation she presides over collapses into disaster. From then on, she becomes obsessed with losing weight—and fast. After extensive online research, she finds a method the internet praises as most effective: locking oneself in a closet and asking loved ones to hurl the most humiliating insults imaginable.

She first asks her husband, who refuses. Then she thinks of her father, who, after two more failed marriages, has been trying in recent years to reconcile with her. She calls him and says, in essence: I never asked you to do anything for me. Now I want your help.

From my own parenting experience, I’ve come to a conviction: parenting is a game parents can never truly win. The Mother Garden portrays mothers who leave lasting trauma to their children in different, sometimes opposing ways. In “Weight,” the mother is fragile, her weakness consuming her until it ultimately destroys her. By contrast, the mother in “Family Epic” is strong and ambitious, yet her drive provokes criticism. Her mother-in-law scolds her: “You worked like a dog on that career of yours as if he couldn’t support you, as if his hard-earned money wasn’t good enough.” Perhaps because of overwork, the narrator’s mother dies young. Her father, left adrift, tumbles into a series of love affairs—the latest shockingly with the narrator’s former high school classmate.

The previous generation decided to pursue their freedom, and their grown children began to reveal the trauma their parents caused. Romm reflects on the life choices made by Roth’s generation, but she writes in a style distinct from theirs. Her stories fall into the realms of magical realism or speculative fiction—I’m not entirely clear on the distinction between the two. I can only note that I see magical, non-realistic, or speculative elements in works like “The Beads,” where, after a mother dies, doctors discover beads in her stomach, and in “The Mother Garden,” where the narrator recruits mothers to plant them in her garden. This highly imaginative and quirky style sets Romm apart from merely responding to the questions Roth posed. It is more than a stylish choice; it is a yearning for alternatives.

Romm, Robin. The Mother Garden. Scribner, 2007.