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Why men can't write about divorce any more

Why men can't write about divorce any more

Telegraph03-04-2025

'Couples keep their secrets. Divorces have no such commitments,' writes Haley Mlotek in her critically acclaimed book, No Fault: A Memoir of Romance and Divorce. As the daughter of a divorce counsellor, the 39-year-old Canadian (who ended her own marriage one year after saying I do and after 12 years with her ex partner) has learned that 'After a marriage ends there is sometimes what feels like a flood of information: there is no bottom to what a recently divorced person can remember and put into words… They could be speaking to assuage their guilt, or because they need somebody else to also condemn their former partner.'
Unpicking an author's motivation to publish is part of the voyeuristic allure of the divorce memoir: a genre that's been on the rise in recent years. In 2023 poet Maggie Smith unboxed the emotional fallout of her ex-husband's infidelity and inability to cope with her literary fame in You Could Make This Place Beautiful: A Memoir. Last year, Lyz Lenz pulled no punches in This American Ex-Wife: How I Ended My Marriage and Started My Life, which hit the shelves on the same day as essayist Leslie Jamison's Splinters, her account of leaving her novelist husband while their daughter was still an infant.
Sarah Manguso's 2024 novel Liars read like a memoir and, she has said, was fuelled by the rage she felt after her own marriage ended. As did Miranda July's All Fours (2024), in which July (who separated from her husband in 2022) described a 45-year-old woman swapping life's 'should do's' for her 'wants'. Spotting a trend Faber republished Ursula Parrott's then-scandalous 1929 memoir, Ex-Wife (in which she wrote with jazz age panache of feeling 'cold and dry like a Martini'), while Nora Ephron's 1989 novel Heartburn (routinely described as a 'thinly disguised' account of her divorce from journalist Carl Berstein) was rebooted as Virago Classic with a foreword from Stanley Tucci.
All these books are written by women. Early in This American Ex-Wife, Lenz points out that 70 per cent of divorces in the US are now initiated by women. In a recent interview she argued that 'there is an untapped vein of female anger in America that is roiling to the surface.' Mlotek tells me the trigger was the cultural shift brought on by MeToo movement in 2017, when women not only spoke up about sexual assault but laid bere the unequal emotional and physical labour that many women felt they were experiencing within their marriages.
The writer-heroine of Manguso's Liars is constantly listing all the household jobs she's ticked off while her man-child of a husband has achieved nothing more than a trip to the toilet, or taken the weekend off to focus on his unprofitable photographic art. In You Could Make This Place Beautiful, Maggie Smith writes: 'It's too late to do anything about the inequity in my now-kaput marriage. But I made the list of tasks anyway. I wanted to see in black and white what I'd been doing in the marriage. Reader, I was going to show you the list, but I decided against it. You don't need the list. Looking at it, I thought, No wonder so many divorced men get remarried right away and so many divorced women stay on their own.'
Although I never married the father of my two children, I was still very shocked when he suddenly walked out on me after living together for a decade. Our children were just one and four at the time so I wasn't able to get out for the usual drinks with friends that follow a break up. It was a lonely and confusing time in which – having to support my children by writing through the night – I had little time to collect and process my thoughts. I'd have appreciated the written companionship and analysis of these insightful, articulate women. My ex didn't explain his departure and I found myself asking a therapist what the men who visited her said about their own decisions to leave families. 'I'd love to tell you that!' she said. 'But those men don't seem to come to therapy. They don't really want to look back at what they've done.'
So what about the men writing divorce memoirs? Quite simply, there don't seem to be any. Novelist Amanda Craig suggests that's because 'they're either the guilty party or because they maintain the stuff upper lip.' Mlotek suspects they're also less inclined to want to work through the minutiae of relationships on the page. But she points to Daniel Oppenheimer's excellent essay in the New York Times earlier this month ('How I learned That The Problem in My Marriage Was Me') as an indication that we may be about to hear more from men on the subject. 'Maybe they're not writing books yet but the ideas are hanging out there…'
Fifty years ago, it was men who dominated the divorce genre, often pouring their own domestic woes in novelistic form as an act of retribution. John Updike wrote 18 short stories about a fictional couple Richard and Joan Maples (later collected and published as The Maples Stories) who divorced in mid-life. Most aspects of their lives mirrored those of Updike and his first wife, Mary Pennington (whom he divorced in 1974): they meet in college, have four children and battle on through infidelities on both sides before finally parting ways. The elegantly sardonic, suburban stories are all written from Richard Maple's perspective, so included cruel observations of Joan. 'In the morning, to my relief, you are ugly,' he notes. 'The skin between your breasts a sad yellow. I feast with the coffee on your drabness, every wrinkle and sickly tint a relief and a revenge.'
Philip Roth (who died in 2018) was famously accused of pillorying his second wife, British actress Claire Bloom in his fiction. The couple married in 1986 and divorced in 1993 and the following year Bloom gave an unflattering portrait of vain and 'emotionally unavailable' Roth in her 1996 memoir Leaving A Doll's House. He responded by creating the manipulative, anti-Semitic character of Eve in a I Married a Communist (1998).
Nora Ephron noted that while reviewers always described her 1983 divorce novel Heartburn as 'thinly disguised' autobiography, the same words were never applied to male writers converting their own experiences into novels. 'Let's face it,' she wrote, 'Philip Roth and John Updike picked away at the carcasses of their early marriages in book after book, but to the best of my knowledge they were never hit with the thinly disguised thing.' This wasn't quite fair of Ephron, considering British novelist Linda Grant did call out the parallels between Roth and his own marriage. He responded: 'I write fiction, and I'm told it's autobiography. I write autobiography and I'm told it's fiction, so since I'm so dim and they're so smart, let them decide.'
There does seem to be, however, a snobbery reserved for the memoir over the novel. Yet the great poet and memoirist Mary Karr famously said that 'Divorce writing may be the toughest thing a memoirist can do other than covering a war'. Leslie Jamison – author of the best selling essay collection The Empathy Exams who teaches memoir writing at Columbia – tells me that she often shares with her students a piece of advice she got from Karr: 'You don't evoke the pain of divorce by writing everything painful and ugly about the divorce itself, but by conjuring the depth and texture of the love that came before.'
While this divorce memoir trend seems to be fizzing away in the US, there's not been a major divorce memoir published in the UK since Rachel Cusk's 2012 book, Aftermath. That book – in which Cusk described losing respect for her husband after he quit his job as a successful lawyer to look after their children while she wrote – saw its author widely condemned as 'wilfully, selfishly naive'. Debbie Taylor – founder of Mslexia magazine which runs memoir writing courses and publishes essays by women – suspects British readers are 'a bit more relaxed about the whole issue' than our more socially conservative friends across the pond.
'What I do observe about this current round of divorce memoirs,' says Mlotek, 'is that they're less 'self-helpy' than they were [when books such as Elizabeth Gilbert's 2006 bestseller Eat Pray Love were being published]. Those were rooted in the idea of: 'What am I going to do? What does this say about me?' People making, maybe unwittingly, a spectacle of something that hurts.' She thinks that she and her peers are looking more at divorce in the context 'of culture and community'. Her own book explores the way we all 'perform' our relationships for the public – whether in the ceremonies of old or on social media where she jokes 'when I see a couple posting a lot about their relationship I do catch myself thinking: 'oh no, something's wrong there.''
What Mlotek finds funny is 'the assumption that women who write about their divorces all hate marriage when the one thing we have in common is that we all got married! ' Would she marry again? Mlotek laughs. 'Depends who's asking!'

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Trump administration could impact readers, from DEI to book bans

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Ben Bolt obituary, director behind Downton Abbey and Doc Martin

Times

time15 hours ago

  • Times

Ben Bolt obituary, director behind Downton Abbey and Doc Martin

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Martha Wainwright, in her own right
Martha Wainwright, in her own right

New Statesman​

time21 hours ago

  • New Statesman​

Martha Wainwright, in her own right

'Though I was a 'daughter of' twice over, doors seemed closed to me,' writes Martha Wainwright in her 2022 memoir Stories I Might Regret Telling You, recalling the difficulty she had getting her music career off the ground in the late Nineties. Wainwright – the daughter of the American songwriter Loudon Wainwright III and the Canadian folk artist Kate McGarrigle, and the younger sister of the singer and composer Rufus Wainwright – was born into a family renowned for its musicality. Yet far from the ease with which some might have expected her to glide into stardom, Wainwright found these associations worked against her. This was in 'stark contrast to the attention paid to the 'sons of' musical stars', she writes, naming 'all those boys' she hung out with in New York and Los Angeles: Teddy Thompson (son of Richard and Linda), Sean Lennon (son of John and Yoko), Chris Stills (son of Stephen), Harper Simon (son of Paul). 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Her parents were living in Woodstock at the time, but they soon separated, and Martha and Rufus moved with their mother to her native Montreal, where they grew up in a bohemian, folkish family. Wainwright is often asked if her parents 'made' her do music, she writes in her memoir, and the answer is yes. 'But I liked it and I wanted the attention and fun of performing. I was a misfit, and often unhappy, but singing and playing made me feel good.' But she doesn't consider herself 'naturally gifted. I don't hear music in my head… I get intimidated.' No wonder, given her relatives. Loudon Wainwright (now 78) is a Grammy Award-winning songwriter of tracks that have become classics of Americana, including 'The Swimming Song' and 'Motel Blues'. Meanwhile Kate and her sister Anna McGarrigle (Kate died in 2010; Anna still lives in Montreal) are Canadian folk royalty: their self-titled 1976 record was Melody Maker's 'best record of the year', while The McGarrigle Hour (1998, featuring Emmylou Harris and Linda Ronstadt) remains a stalwart of the modern folk canon. This musical prowess continued into the next generation: Rufus Wainwright signed to DreamWorks Records when he was 22, had hundreds of thousands of dollars poured into his 'artist development' and is now a household name for his baroque pop, as well as his soundtrack and opera work. 'Growing up, I never played the piano – how could I with my brother wailing away on it day and night?' Wainwright writes. Numerous aunts and cousins of the Wainwright-McGarrigle clan are musicians too. At the Union Chapel, Martha's cousin Lily Lanken (Anna's daughter) sings backing vocals. But it wasn't just that her family all wrote and played songs; they wrote and played songs about each other – and no one was more candid than Loudon. Martha Wainwright's father was absent for much of her childhood, 'almost denying my existence', she writes. She portrays a man who instead of caring for his family wrote songs about them. When she was 14 and he was 44, Martha was sent to live with Loudon in New York City for 'a year of discontent'. His song 'Hitting You' is based on that year. Over lively guitar he recalls hitting Martha in the car when she was much younger, moving on to how he felt the need to hit her again: 'These days things are awful between me and you/All we do is argue like two people who are through/I blame you, your friends, your school, your mother, and MTV/Last night I almost hit you/That blame belongs to me.' It's brutal. A decade later, Wainwright learnt that another of her father's songs, 'I'd Rather Be Lonely' – which she'd always thought was 'a bit stupid and mean-spirited', and probably about a girlfriend – was actually about that same year with her. She was in the crowd at a Loudon Wainwright concert, having opened for him, when he introduced the next song as being about his daughter, and proceeded to sing: 'You're still living here with me, I'd rather be lonely/All the time I look around/For excuses to leave town/Everybody wants somebody, but I'd rather be lonely.' It's no wonder, then, that when Wainwright came to write, her songs burst out with a wily, frenetic energy, as though charged with resentment for her father's tunes and insistent on making their own mark. Many of the tracks from Martha Wainwright use unusual guitar tunings – 'what I thought were genius tunings,' she says at the Union Chapel, 'now it turns out they're just a pain in the ass' – a lot of piano, and rickety drums. On stage she introduces 'Ball and Chain' as a song of 'desperation, about wanting to be loved and desired', before giving in to its jangling intensity, anchored by her five-piece band. On the fan favourite 'Factory' she sings, 'These are not my people/I should never have come here,' with ferocity. Yet as the song goes on, her vocals, elsewhere hard edged, morph into a beautiful sloppiness, her vowels soft around these words as her body, too, finds an elastic effect, her legs bending and slinking below her guitar. Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe If Wainwright's assertion of being withheld the full benefits of nepotism because of her gender is hard to swallow for those of us who will never have the luxury of benefiting from nepotism whatsoever, another of her declarations is undeniable: that unlike Loudon and Rufus, her career has been held back by motherhood. Wainwright is the mother of two teenage boys, their father her ex-husband and former producer Brad Albetta, who comes off particularly badly in the memoir. In London she plays an unreleased track, singing: 'I chose my children over my career/But I still have to feed them and they are dear/And that is why we are here tonight.' Further into the song, she reflects: 'I sound more like my father every day/But I can't call him on Father's Day.' She is being at least partially comedic, the song a wink to the audience who know exactly who her father is – and that he writes about her too. All of this is, of course, part of the appeal. 'She's got her father's wit,' one woman behind me whispers, approvingly. But the song's point is potent: Wainwright is one of many women whose careers have not run as ascendant a course as they might have had they not paused to have children. That hits harder for Wainwright, given her absent father continued to garner renown as a prolific songwriter. Although her family patter occasionally feels like theatrical shtick, it ultimately lends a melancholia to Wainwright's performance, reinforcing her belief that she hasn't found proper success in the context of her family name. 'In so many ways, my career is a failure,' she writes in her memoir. It's immensely sad, because these songs are fantastic. They are jagged, raucous, yet introspective things, and live, her unburdened stage presence and full-bodied guitar-playing makes them all the wilder. Martha Wainwright was acclaimed upon its release 20 years ago, but never placed higher than 63 in the UK charts, and 43 in the US. The six albums she has released since then have been similarly well received by critics without breaking through into the mainstream. But it is a feat to sell out a 900-capacity venue, in a country that is not your own, playing a record that's two decades old. Wainwright's cult listeners don't care that Rufus isn't there to join her on her rendition of her brother's song 'Dinner at Eight' (about Loudon, of course) – yet she still sounds apologetic when she tells them so. They do, however, care for the single encore track, the rambunctious 'Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole', first released on an EP in 2005, included on the debut record, and now performed by Wainwright solo on acoustic guitar. It's the song that made her name, although she doesn't play it often any more. It is typically – and wrongly – described as a song about Loudon. Wainwright admits she once told a journalist it was about her father, which probably didn't help the matter. But really it is about the industry, about 'getting the short end of the stick' in her career, she writes – being that 'daughter of' rather than 'son of'. 'I will not pretend/I will not put on a smile/I will not say I'm all right for you/When all I wanted was to be good/To do everything in truth,' she sings, boldly and then softly. Martha Wainwright will always be a Wainwright. It is up to her whether she chooses to write like one. [See also: Keir Starmer's grooming gang cowardice] Related

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