This notion of fluidity is what keeps us moving forward, my mother and I, despite the dance of memories. Could it be this need to understand ourselves as multidimensional that propels us toward women authors? Perhaps there is a commonality there, a comfort in shared experience, however vague.
If such a bond has already been forged, threaded through time, an endless link of daughters, then we have no need to establish a starting point, a definition from which to we begin our scrutiny. We are free to enjoy the story, to go where it takes us, to stand back and point if we want to, to laugh with the characters, revel in their successes, and share in their misfortunes, without grounding our imaginations. We are free to shift our focus back and forth, from us to them, the past to the present, from our reality to theirs, to the future, the possible, and beyond.
So. Is your mother very much like mine after all? Do you think she might be passionate about speculative fiction, if you could find the right books for her, the right mix of tart and sweet to pique her interest. Maybe she’s looking for a fresh perspective right now, a real-world link to her past, a common thread to our future. Maybe you can help her, if you try.
Who knows? She might pass the books she really likes along to her mother, as mine did, and your grandmother will get in on the discussion, too. It can get pretty hot in our kitchens, especially around the holidays when we’re all together, our sticky fingers marking pages, mugs of tea and coffee cooling on the table. It might sound strange to you, but I promise, it’s worth the effort.
After all, you don’t really want to hear any more about Uncle Joe and Aunt Rita, do you? And if you have nothing else to talk about, you know you will!