How To Love Your Daughter by Hila Blum
An in-depth exploration of the most intricate relationship there is.
As I pen this review, know that it’s only within the hour that I’ve finished and made peace with this novel’s ending. While open-ended, it felt complete – as though an unintentional held breath was finally let out.
Beside me, there’s a filled cup with cold vanilla caramel herbal tea & a plate of untouched wafers, both meant to be the evening snack that accompanied my reading. I’ve found that in this reading, I’ve gone through more than a few moments like this – where I’m so engrossed in dialogue & narrative intricacies, that I forget I can take that pause, that mental respite.
Whilst reading, I found myself understanding parenthood through a different lens – the sigh of relief when things fall into place, followed by moments of deep introspection, and eventually, a gradual ache for the moments lost, spent in contemplation – and that is the real essence of this book, “How To Love Your Daughter” by Hila Blum.
Released in early 2022, the book delves into the relationship between its narrator, a woman named Yeolla, and her currently estranged daughter, Leah. Admittedly, going into the reading, I had mild expectations. Considered a second choice to the currently sold-out "Stillborn" by Guadalupe Nettel (a book I plan to read eventually), the book’s synopsis was enough to scratch the itch I’d found myself having over the last few months – the one where most of my thoughts, both good and bad, explored my life as a mother.
“Before I became a mother, perhaps I didn't understand how girls are loved. I mean, how to love them. I had heard about the arcane forces that make mothers omnipotent; I had read in the papers about a woman who lifted a car with her bare hands to pull her daughter out from under it, and a woman who clutched her baby girl in her arms for two whole days as they clung to a piece of driftwood in the ocean, and a woman who killed the person who'd hurt her daughter, and I knew that a mother's love could be savage and unbridled it was the journey of everyday love that I didn't understand. And then I did.”
Chapter 11
No, I’m not a mother (yet) – but currently in my late twenties, it’s a conversation that feels something like a tightrope walk when it gets brought up. I have friends with children, friends without, friends trying, and friends who never will. Personally, the idea of becoming a mother has always had a slippery slope between complete enchantment and repulsion. Both personal and objective perspectives of the role revealed the conflicting need to balance nurturing responsibilities while still navigating the essence of womanhood.
The expectation to provide an incomprehensible level of support and guidance, even in moments of personal vulnerability, felt burdensome, almost like a secret shame that I wanted no part of. Yet, I've always had this thought that I might excel more as a grandmother than as a mother – there was just more room for error. Knowing myself, it’s a mix of complicated emotions, but above anything else, it’s really just fear.
“I fear that my kids won’t fully understand me, because there’s a chance that the most present parts of myself might unintentionally make my children feel absent…”
I fear that my collected nature could come across as indifference to my children, yet patience to my grandchildren. My interests in the mundane could inadvertently send a message to my children, suggesting they focus on the realistic aspects of life rather than their dreams, while simultaneously revealing to my grandchildren the beauty in the ordinary.
In short, I fear that my kids won’t fully understand me, because there’s a chance that the most present parts of myself might unintentionally make my children feel absent; leaving them with wounds neither of us knew existed until they became so deeply ingrained that my only way to cope would be to pretend these wounds didn't exist, and to deny that they came from me.
“I was thinking about how parents, you know, driven by emotions that they recognize to be love and by intentions that they perceive to be good and reasons that they perceive to be right - they can still sometimes arrive at doing a very wrong thing.” – Blum talking to NPR Live about the complexities of parenthood
Going into this book, I knew that I would be reading from the perspective of a mother. From the synopsis alone, you would gather that this mother is nothing above average. She works, has her personal interests, is a wife, and a mother – but as the narrative unfolds, going between past reflections and the current reality, we witness her contemplate her relationship with her only daughter, Leah.
She gushes over her recollections of Leah's first breath, initial words, the elementary school glasses she selected, reminisces about her first high school crush, first best friend, and first trip, and whispers, barely holding herself together as she recalls her [Leah’s] final departure, never to look back.
“In an instant, they discover their capability to navigate life independently; and you find yourself confronted with the transition into a supporting character, fading into the background as others take center stage in the main storyline of your life.”
It’s an interesting dynamic, because as the reader, you – as well as the narrator – understand that Leah is now a young woman, actively shaping her own world, and yet, there's a palpable absence, a lingering pain, and a sense of detachment – and it’s you.
While I’m not a parent, you can’t help but feel the weight of the writer at this loss. As a parent, your child looks at you, seeking guidance to unravel the essence of life. You become the solver of mysteries, contributing to the mystique of it all. However, in an instant, they discover their capability to navigate life independently; and you find yourself confronted with the transition into a supporting character, fading into the background as others take center stage in the main storyline of your life.
While the book maintains a slow pace, there are moments when the writing captivates you to the extent that it feels like a distant memory, detached from any connection to your own life. In these instances, you find yourself in a unique position – neither the narrator nor her child – yet, you comprehend both characters without fully understanding why.
On one hand, there's a yearning for the mother's subtle attempts at reconnection with her daughter – and you want that connection to be made, but on the other hand, you grasp the daughter's longing for independence and personal space – you recall certain parts of the reader where the mother’s thought processes or actions could be seen as overbearing, inconsistent or intrusive.
For me, this book is an 8/10. I believe that, being in a space to explore specific themes like motherhood, this book both affirmed my fears and confirmed that they could indeed happen, which is both validating and unsettling. Nevertheless, it was honest – and if you're the type of reader who finds solace in introspective narratives, you will likely enjoy this reading.
This book can be found on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other major platforms. Having started on my own journey with libraries, I encourage you to explore this avenue and consider supporting your local libraries. For NYC residents, obtaining a free library card—available in both digital and physical formats—provides access to an extensive collection of books in both print and digital forms.