By Shafak, Elif; Zapsu Watt, Hande Gaye; Shafak, Elif
The writer recounts her attempt to stability her writing profession and her parenting obligations, describing her conflict with postpartum melancholy, her perspectives on favorite ladies authors, and the various roles she embraced all through her journey.
summary: the writer recounts her attempt to stability her writing profession and her parenting duties, describing her conflict with postpartum melancholy, her perspectives on in demand ladies authors, and the various roles she embraced all through her trip
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Additional info for Black milk : on writing, motherhood, and the harem within
Agaoglu opens the door. Her skin is slightly pale, her smile cautious and her short hair the style of a woman who doesn’t want to spend too much time with her hair. “Here you are! Come on in,” she says, her voice brimming with energy. I follow her into the large sitting room. The place is spacious, immaculate and tastefully decorated. Every object seems to have fallen into its niche in seamless harmony. Though we are still deep in the heart of summer, it is a gusty day, with Istanbul’s infamous northeast poyraz wind pounding on the windowpanes, penetrating the cracks in the doors.
I smile with relief. ” Back in the sitting room, as I wait for my host to return, a fact I have always known but never really faced plants itself in front of me: I have always clung, or maybe I wanted to cling, to bits and pieces of existence here and there, with no coherence, no center, no continuity in my life. There is a shorter way of saying this: I am a mess. I see, in that precise moment, that however settled Ms. Agaoglu is, I am peripatetic to the same degree. However disciplined she is, I am disordered to the same extent.
It happens to all women,” Firuze repeats incredulously. 3 4 E L I F S H A FA K “That is right, and it means you are not a girl anymore. From now on you have to watch how you behave. You cannot run around or skip rope. You cannot talk loudly or giggle. ” When? Why? How did she switch from girlhood to womanhood? She had always thought becoming a woman was like walking a long, winding road with trees on each side, learning your way step by step. Why had no one told her that it was, in fact, a trapdoor you stepped on and tumbled into without knowing it was there?