Arts

“I am a bad mother, but I am 
learning to be good.”
Jessamine Chan’s dystopian novel 
“The School for Good Mothers” is 
not perfect by any means — neither 
is its heroine, Frida. However, Chan 
has constructed both a novel and 
a character that demonstrate the 
desperate yearning and burnout of 
motherhood with a level of depth that 
few other works of literature have 
achieved.
“The School for Good Mothers” 
focuses on Frida Liu, a Chinese 
American mother living in a near-
future, seemingly normal version 
of Philadelphia, who is exhausted 
from fighting her ex-husband over 
custody of their baby, Harriet. 
Frida’s 
postpartum 
depression, 
Zoloft withdrawals and exhaustion 
produce a state of fatigue that leads 
her to leave the house and Harriet 
for a few hours. Upon returning 
home, she is confronted by the police 
and her ex-husband who send her 
to a rehabilitation camp for a year, 
where she will learn how to be a good 
mother. The middle portion of the 
novel is set in the “school,” located in 
an abandoned college campus, where 
mothers are subjected to strange, 
unspeakable horrors. If Frida doesn’t 
succeed, she will lose her ability to see 
Harriet. 
Motherhood is often talked about 
in art but until recently, has rarely 

been contextualized in the limitations 
of humans. Maternal mental health, 
especially, is overlooked; more than 
one in ten mothers struggle with 
postpartum depression, but the topic 
has long been considered taboo. 
Frida Liu, Chan’s protagonist in 
the “School for Good Mothers,” is 
deeply depressed. She’s also a single 
mother fighting for custody. As 
Frida flounders, the novelist displays 
a tension between the needs of a 
drained mother and her baby. 
In demonstrating this tension, 
Chan undertakes a hefty task: to 
persuade the reader to see the 
humanity in a mother who did, in fact, 
neglect her daughter. The novel is an 
excellent, compelling commentary 
on what it means to deal with mental 
illness as a mother. Frida struggles 
against herself, attempting to change; 
however, a lack of support stemming 
from society’s refusal to see mothers 
as people sends her character further 
into heartsickness.
“The School for Good Mothers” 
not only highlights the challenge all 
mothers face of being “good” in the 
eyes of society, but also makes room 
for the compounded pressure placed 
upon women and mothers of color 
to assimilate to the status quo. One 
specific way Chan accomplishes this 
is through the character of Frida’s 
ex-husband’s 
mistress 
and 
new 
girlfriend, Susanna. While Frida is 
away learning how to be a “good” 
mother, Susanna parents Harriet with 
methods that seem to be taken straight 

from Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop: 
she is the epitome of white “woke” 
motherhood 
and 
pseudoscience, 
laden with essential oils and organic 
foods in lieu of medical necessities.
Additionally, women of different 
races are treated differently by the 
“school”: white and Asian women 
are offered easier chores, while 
Black and Hispanic women are 
regularly forced to do taxing manual 
labor. Additionally, these mothers 
are offered less forgiveness by the 
government, as well as the camp’s 
administration. Frida is relatively 
privileged, yet she is constantly singled 
out by others for being “alien” — as the 
only Asian American person in the 
camp, Frida is judged as a function of 
her “otherness.” Chan demonstrates 
different levels of a specific racial 
hierarchy in “The School for Good 
Mothers” in a way that feels like a 
microcosm of American tensions as 
well as a perfect portrayal of how 
strict socioeconomic expectations 
of motherhood harm marginalized 
communities of color most.
Throughout Frida’s time at the 
“school,” she is consistently corrected 
by her supervisors for being too 
cold and apathetic in her parenting 
style, while she feels she is simply 
mirroring 
her 
own 
more-than-
adequate upbringing. “The School 
for Good Mothers” highlights the 
difficulties mothers face, especially 
those with intersectional identities: 
are styles of parenting normalized in 
marginalized communities simply 

misunderstood by a majority-white 
society? Or are they harmful? Frida 
turns this dichotomy over her mind, 
eventually believing in the inferiority 
of her parenting the longer she stays 
in “school.” Frida’s own parents, 
however, truly love and care for 
her; they support Frida while she 
struggles, and cry when they see 
her mistreated. Chan illustrates the 
difficulties and insecurities of child-
raising vividly: the competition, 
the 
enforced 
heterogeneity, 
the 
suppression. When mothers exist in 
an echo chamber of opinions of what 
is “best” for their child, they feel it is 
necessary to hide their complexities. 
Frida is consistently forced to hide 
multiple parts of her identity in order 
to be a “good mother,” which is a 
realistic depiction of the way many 
today are expected to parent.
One of the story’s weaker aspects 
was its lack of commitment to other 
main ideas outside of or overlapping 
with the struggles of motherhood. At 
times, it seemed that Chan wanted 
to make a point regarding the issues 
that less economically advantaged 
mothers face, yet nearly all of her main 
characters were well-off. Chan also 
seemed to want to use the opposing 
“School for Good Fathers” to highlight 
the special pressure placed on mothers 
as opposed to fathers, but failed to 
make any deep cutting remarks on 
the subject, nor did the introduction 
of the counterpart “school” for fathers 
allow for any meaningful character 
development for the mothers. Other 

thematic 
discrepancies, 
such 
as 
inconsistent characterization and the 
unclear explanation of the dystopian 
setting, left this novel feeling more like 
a first draft than a final and complete 
piece of work. The real triumph 
comes from the personal and intimate 
portrayal of Frida’s struggles trying to 
be “good.” 
Make no mistake — parts of the 
story feel too on-the-nose. A hallmark 
of good dystopian fiction is its 
plausibility and hypothetical history; 
however, aspects of “The School for 
Good Mothers” feel heavy-handed 
and unexplained, so much so that it 
was hard to accept as believable. The 
entire premise of Frida being cast off 
to a parental rehabilitation camp for 
leaving her baby alone for a few hours 
feels like overkill for a governmental 
system so vaguely addressed within 
the novel. Additionally, the lack 
of motivation provided for most 
characters in the novel made them feel 
like caricatures. “School” facilitators 
such as Ms. Khoury and Ms. Russo 
felt like one-note villains who were 
unsympathetic in their actions and 
words; it felt hard to believe that while 
torturing and separating troubled 
mothers from their children, they 
offered fake sympathies because they 
“get it” — they have a niece! However, 
if you strip these parts away, what’s 
left is the intense story of a complex 
character who is struggling against 
mental illness while trying her 
hardest to be a good mother. 
The middle section of the novel, 

in which Frida is sent to the actual 
“School for Good Mothers”, drags. 
This isn’t necessarily a mistake — in 
fact, the novel’s form vividly portrays 
the deep depression into which Frida 
sinks. However, the unnecessary 
abundance of detail weighs the book 
down. This novel would be best read 
in chunks, because it can sometimes 
read as though the deeply flawed 
Frida is pulling the reader down with 
her. Still, in its redeeming parts, Frida’s 
emotions are so exhaustively detailed 
that they feel tangible: whenever 
Frida 
interacts 
with 
Harriet, 
whether it is through a phone call, 
a social worker or even through her 
thoughts, the stressful desperation is 
overwhelming. The most rousing part 
of the novel is the conclusion, which is 
a wild, vague reversal of the beginning 
that leaves the reader reeling in shock. 
While there were definite flaws 
within 
“The 
School 
for 
Good 
Mothers,” the book offers raw emotion 
from a complex antihero in a rare 
fashion. The quick bursts of feeling are 
enough to keep the reader going (but 
not fully satisfied) while slogging their 
way through the novel. Additionally, 
the small mentions of Frida’s parents 
trying their best to take care of her are 
incredibly grounding. The book isn’t 
perfect, but Jessamine Chan’s novel 
is nothing if not an intense, messy 
and sometimes beautiful portrait of 
motherhood that will make readers 
question their perception of what 
being a “good mother” really means.

Jessamine Chan’s ‘The School for Good Mothers’ is complex, messy and honest 

— like its main character

MEERA KUMAR
Book Beat Editor

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Wednesday, Jaunary 12, 2022 — 7

Let’s be real — it has been a very 
trying time. For Gen Zennials 
like myself, our situation often 
feels 
bleak 
in 
general. 
So, 
as much as I appreciate the 
intensity and social commentary 
of “Squid Game” and company, 
it’s “Penguins of Madagascar” 
that has my heart, even after all 
this time. 
We 
first 
saw 
the 
iconic 
foursome 
— 
Skipper 
(Tom 
McGrath, “The Boss Baby 2: 
Family 
Business”), 
Private 
(Christopher Knights, “Penguins 
of Madagascar: the Movie”), 
Rico (Conrad Vernon, “Donkey’s 
Caroling 
Christmas-tacular” 
and 
John 
DiMaggio, 
“Inside 
Job”) 
and 
Kowalski 
(Chris 
Miller, “Puss in Boots: The 
Last Wish”) — that inspired the 
spinoff in the Dreamworks 2005 
animated feature “Madagascar.” 
Skipper 
delivered 
what 
is 
arguably the franchise’s most 
dearly remembered line: “Just 
smile and wave boys, smile 
and wave.” From that moment 
on, 
these 
wholesome 
Seal 
Team 6 wannabes established 
themselves as No. 1 on the 
field and No. 1 in my heart, and 
certainly deserving of their own 
show — one that was written 
with 
humor 
when 
so 
many 
shows today take themselves too 
seriously.
They are, simply put, the 
perfect group. You have Skipper, 
the boss; Kowalski, the smart 
one; Private, the sensitive one, 
and naturally, Rico, the explosive 
one. Something for everyone! 
They aren’t trying to stamp out 
international terrorism, they’re 
trying to secure popcorn — and 
I like it that way. It’s nice to 
have a break from death and 
destruction while lost in penguin 
exploits, which are especially 
funny because they believe their 
missions and foes to be equally 
serious. At the first sign of 
trouble, they snap into position 
as dramatic music plays and 
raise their flippers into fighting 
positions. 
Their battles with Alice (Mary 
Scheer, “iCarly”) bring me a 
special joy. Zookeeper Alice is 
the Karen to end all Karens. She 
doesn’t just want to speak with 
the manager — she demands 
it. As the cast identifies in the 
first episode, for every Alice you 
destroy, more come in her place. 
In real life, you have to play nice 
with Zookeeper Alice. In this 
magical escape, the penguins 
play to win and outsmart her 

at every turn. She’s suspicious 
of them from day one, forcing 
the penguins to go to extreme 
lengths to divert her attention 
to ensure their secrets don’t 
become public. When Private 
accidentally becomes an internet 
star due to the zoo’s newly 
installed webcams, there are 
eyes on the penguin HQ at all 
times. Luckily, Alice becomes the 
next overnight sensation when 
the camera swings towards her 
instead as she swings her hips to 
whatever is playing on her iPod. 
The 
penguins 
aren’t 
just 
highly trained agents hardened 
by their harrowing missions 
gone wrong. The show is rife 
with softer moments, such as 
their protection over an egg that 
Marlene (Nicole Sullivan, “High 
School Musical: The Musical: 
The Series”) finds and places in 
their care, although they each 
have rather different plans for its 
development. The egg ultimately 
belongs to a mother duck, but 
they still have room in their 
family for the little duckling 
all the same. The elite force is 
deeply pure, with goodness in 
their hearts, as much as they 
attempt to highlight their status 
as “trained professionals.” 
This is to say nothing of their 
rivalry with King Julien (Danny 
Jacobs, “All Hail King Julien”) — 
semi-affectionately referred to 
as “Ringtail” — and the lemurs. 
We all see ourselves in Maurice 
(Cedric the Entertainer, “The 
Neighborhood”) these days (read: 
exhausted), and while Julien is 
annoying, the show doesn’t try to 
pass it off as acceptable — we see 
the penguins lose their minds 
over their loud, inconsiderate 
neighbors just like we do ours. 
At one point, the ambitious 
penguins literally attempt to 
vacation on the moon via what 
seems to be an oversized trash 
can armed with road flares to 
escape the lemurs — if only. 
Regardless, when Julien is in 
danger, Skipper and the boys 
still do everything they can to 
save him.
Of course, no show is without 
its 
failures. 
I 
feel 
it’s 
my 
journalistic duty to acknowledge 
the work as a whole, so I 
mention the racist nature of 
the zoo’s gorilla characters and 
Mort’s (Andy Richter, “Elf”) 
foot fetish, which are, to put it 
mildly, uncool. Still, “Penguins” 
is there for you when you most 
need it. “Bring me your tired, 
your weary,” it says. “If only for 
20 minutes, I will banish the 
darkness.”

MEERA S. KUMAR
Daily Arts Writer

Why ‘Penguins 
of Madagascar’ is 
unironically my favorite 
show

Prestige pictures, movies that are 
made to garner critical acclaim and 
win awards, are often more subtle and 
intellectual than their blockbuster and 
more commercial peers —or at least they 
pretend to be. They are usually helmed 
by a more singular voice and make 
attempts to respect their audiences by 
not spelling things out. Some movie-
goers appreciate a movie that behaves 
almost like a puzzle, and they take 
pride in their success in solving it. But 
some prestige pictures can at times 
leave so few clues that the experience 
can become frustrating, and this is the 
case with Jane Campion’s (“The Piano”) 
“Power of the Dog.” 
That being said, the three central 
performances 
are 
all 
forceful 
and 
appropriate. 
Kirsten 
Dunst 
(“Melancholia”) as Rose is reserved 
and clearly full of opinions that she 
holds back to remain civil with her 
domineering brother-in-law Phil, who 
does not hide his distaste for her. As 
the movie goes on, her discomfort with 
his presence is communicated through 
looks and movement alone. Kodi Smit-
McPhee (“ParaNorman”) plays her son 
Peter and is centered and seems very 
astute to the audience. The standout 
performance is the much advertised 
Benedict Cumberbatch (“Spider-Man: 
No Way Home”) as the previously-
mentioned brother-in-law Phil Burbank. 
He is the most expressive and dynamic 
character, and his malice and desire for 

control is visible from everything from 
the way he walks to the slightest facial 
twitches. 
This film is visually gorgeous and 
crafted with a precise understanding 
of movement and blocking. The way its 
atmosphere is built with meticulous and 
specific editing is comparable to other 
perfectionist auteurs such as David 
Fincher (“Gone Girl”). But Jane Campion 
has a style of her own, and it shows 
here: She uses every tool at her disposal 
to create a mood that is unique to this 
story and to her directorial approach. 
Cinematographer Ari Wegner’s (“Zola” ) 
use of light and shadows helps establish 
the power dynamics that are necessary 
for this film to function, and wide, 
landscape shots help construct the 
Western setting. Jonny Greenwood’s 
score elevates this, evoking memories 
of his past work — the orchestration 
resembles “There Will Be Blood” — and 
is equally important in building a tense, 
hostile atmosphere. 
All these factors combined make for a 
relentless, but slow and deliberate two 
hours of the characters (mostly Phil) 
doing what they can to assert their will 
and control people. In the first half or so, 
this works wonders, creating an intensity 
that is difficult to pull away from — 
watching Phil slowly and indirectly 
impose his will on Rose is hypnotizing. 
But during the second half, when the 
film focuses on the interactions between 
Peter and Phil, some of the major twists 
and turns of the plot are so subtle and 
glossed over that the ending comes 
across as weak at best, and incoherent 

at worst. Subtlety and understatement 
are almost necessities in modern award-
season films, but there is a point where 
not spelling out every mystery can 
cease to be intelligent and rewarding 
and instead become obnoxious and 
unpleasant for the viewer. 
There are a lot of impressive techniques 
and skills expressed in “The Power of the 
Dog,” but the true story is too shrouded 
behind layers of pseudo-intellectualism, 
which keeps the viewing experience 
from being fruitful and fulfilling. It’s 
obvious that Campion and company 
wanted to create a masterpiece, but 
ironically they would have likely been 
successful if they weren’t so focused on 
making one artificially. 
Instead, I believe the song is meant 
to empower women to speak out when 
things don’t feel right and to claim 
the space they need to talk about what 
happened, without the fear of being 
slighted.
Although “All Too Well” is specific 
to Swift’s personal experiences, her 
attention to detail is what makes the 
song all the more relatable to any 
listener; Swift’s story is powerful, but 
the real punch behind the song is the 
suggestion that the small moments 
matter and shouldn’t be ignored. “All 
Too Well” made me feel seen in ways 
that I’ve never experienced with a song 
before: There’s a special kind of magic 
that exists when you realize that you’re 
not alone in the pains you’ve suffered, 
and that it’s OK to feel even the small 
things deeply.

‘The Power of the Dog’ is stunning and wonderfully acted, 

yet understateed to a fault

ALVIN ANAND
Daily Arts Writer

This image is from the official trailer for “The Power of the Dog,” distributed by Netflix.

