some mom read a book: Woo Woo by Ella Baxter
I read Woo Woo via Libby, so instead of a lovely hardcover, you get a picture of my phone — sorry!
Whenever I pick up a book written by a new-to-me author, I tend to read an interview or two of theirs — especially if they seem to have an interest or expertise in an area that also interests me. In the case of Ella Baxter, that realm of experience is conceptual art, but that’s not where I’m going with this first bit here:
More and more often, when I read these interviews, the author will mention that they drafted the book in question when they had a new baby. I know much of this has to be because I’m reading a lot of novels written by women in their thirties, but every time I see those words, I want to shake my fist at the sky and scream “HOW DID YOU DO THAT” — because, seriously. How?
When I had a newborn, I was barely functioning, driven insane by milk squirting from my chest at the slightest provocation.
Even once I had an older infant, I tried to start this blog, then abandoned it because I couldn’t draft a silly little blog post without digressing into a full existential meltdown.
To me, anyone who can weave together a cohesive narrative while experiencing the upheaval that is new motherhood is beyond impressive — but also, once I know this information, I sometimes start seeing bits and pieces of it in the story, shards of that insanity I felt, reflected back at me.
In this interview with Write or Die Magazine, when asked about her process, Ella states two truths about writing this novel with a new baby:
“I didn’t sleep for two years after my child was born because it was just impossible to sleep with a baby, so that affected the manuscript. That’s why it’s quite psychedelic.”
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“I had such a traumatic birth filled with so much blood and gore and horror that I had to put all that energy into something when I got home. A lot of fury and fear of birth fed back into Woo Woo. That’s why it got really visceral.”
This resonated, having experienced a traumatic birth myself. Knowing this bit of info also made for a cathartic reading experience. There is not much said here directly about motherhood (though the tone reflects much of what I felt during my own postpartum era) rather, the focus is on a woman making art in the digital age. Satirical and witty, Woo Woo is also full of the feral sort of feminine rage I love to read.
Ella Baxter is an excellent writer. Yeah, I laughed throughout this entire book, but I also found it genuinely disconcerting. And I cringed the whole way through. For the main character? For myself? (Yes.)
The story follows Sabine, a conceptual artist, in the week prior to her exhibition opening. Without too much spoiling here (there is a bit though, so avert your eyes if you wish), she descends into a manic state — subject to pressure from all sides: her art peers (both “supportive” friends, and the next gen snapping at her heels), her romantic relationship (her husband understands her better than anyone and yet not at all), the judgement of the public (Sabine is made even more broadly accessible via her constant TikTok livestreams), not to mention her own perceptions of herself and her work. The cherry on top (or the meat of the whole story, depending on how you look at it) is a menacing stalker prowling outside of her home — and a ghost (muse?) appearing within.
Woo Woo is raw, shows a woman at her most vulnerable, at times not just self-loathing but also loathsome. Simultaneously, it shows us Sabine at the height of her power, in the throes of creation, as absurd as she might be. She is completely insufferable, and I ate it up.
Woo Woo illustrates a woman on the brink, but also — a woman who made something, even if that ‘something’ is a fresh, steaming pile of shit.