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.