Not Oprah’s Book Club: Learning to Drive

I feel like I’m way late to this party (or is it a roller derby match?) but nonetheless, I wanted to put my two cents in on Katha Pollitt’s Learning to Drive.
When the book initially launched in September, Pollitt got some nasty reviews claiming that the essays only amounted to undignified groaning and moaning. I smelled an anti-feminist rat then, but the stench was totally confirmed when I read this moving, hilarious, brave collection over the last week.
First of all, these are personal essays not political manifestos. There is political content, and of course Pollitt is known for her biting systemic analysis in The Nation, but why would any reader be so inflexible as to not give her room to play?
And play she does. This is a beautiful example of a brilliant woman being unafraid to be self-effacing, birthday suit honest, and still exhibit her trademark wit and sense of humor.

Some of the lines that had me laughing out loud (seriously):

“It’s the people who have a problem with porn—even a simple aesthetic revulsion at the shaved and implanted phoniness of it all—who are suspect now, and who have to prove their normality by insisting that they ‘like sex,’ as if sex were all one thing, like oatmeal. Imagine if you said, Yes, I like sex, with the right person, in the right place, in the right mood, preferably after a lovely meal cooked by someone else…�

“At fashionable restaurants, the ones with challenging menu itelms like pistachio-crusted Dover sole with grapefruit coulis and wine that costs double your phone bill, notice how many diners looks like publicity photos—polished, soft-focused yet alert, leaning in to display their best features, their expression communicating something purposeful, simple ideas like ‘manly lawyer’ or ‘upbeat stay at home mom who exercises a lot.’�

“Fortunately, I loved breast-feeding. Sure, for the first month it felt like beign bitten by foxes, but after that it was more just a fizzy feeling, like having breasts full of champagne.�

I was deeply moved by “Beautiful Screamer,” an essay on new motherhood. Unlike so much of what I’ve read concerning this wild time of life, Pollitt made it sound perfectly imperfect, tiring and thrilling, a transformative, though not definitive, experience of femaleness. How frickin’ refreshing to feel like my excitement over motherhood is not all destined to end in disappointment, exhaustion, and self-sacrifice.
We shouldn’t be chastising Pollitt, but celebrating her for being honest, authentic, and so frickin’ handy with them words. I, for one, am really grateful.
For more, check out our own Jess at TPM café.
Up next: Trappings by Two Girls Working and then Refresh, Refresh by Benjamin Percy.