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Double Lives by Helen McCarthy – a history of working mothers [01 May 2020|06:30am]

Three quarters of British mothers are now in paid employment – a huge change over the past century – but, as this impressive study suggests, women still do more at home

Three generations of working mothers. My grandmother, at home with 10 children between the wars, took in sailors’ washing to make ends meet. She had no schooling after the age of 12 and remained a “housewife”, dependent on my grandfather. In the 1950s my mother, a school-leaver at 14, worked part-time while her three kids were small, then full-time in the accounts office of a big department store. In the 1970s my older sister left home, trained as a teacher, married and also had three children. She retired a headteacher on a professional pension; her life was poles apart from my grandmother’s.

Yet all three women led “double lives”, fitting their paid jobs around housework and childcare. Their labour was also typically female. Laundry work such as charing or cleaning has been a perennial standby for the poorest women in society. Girls like my mother, with some schooling, turned to the factory, shop or office work; those with more qualifications have been ushered into the “caring” professions such as nursing and, above all, teaching. “There are no typical lives,” Helen McCarthy writes in her impressive and nuanced study. Each is unique. But the best history writing, like hers, shows how representative the individual life is.

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The Romance of American Communism by Vivian Gornick review – a flawed masterpiece [01 May 2020|08:00am]

Gornick admits that her 1977 oral history, now reissued, has faults. But it’s a brilliant evocation of the exhilaration of conversion and of finding a cause

Given how many times Vivian Gornick has elaborated on the faults of her 1977 oral history, The Romance of American Communism, I feel a little unsophisticated for finding it so compelling. The things she has said of the book – that it is “strangely over-written” and that there is a tendency to romanticise – are true. Everyone should have someone in their lives who looks at them the way Gornick looks at her former communists. “I have dark eyes, longish grey hair, and my face even unfurrowed looks anxious,” one tells her before they meet. His “dark eyes are beautiful”, she corrects, “his grey hair poetic, and his unfurrowed indeed anxious face is the face of a man rich with inner life”. This isn’t a book about dangerous revolutionaries or what a communist America might actually have looked like – it isn’t even exactly about politics. Instead it is about people whom Gornick regards as “honest dissenters”, and how communism made them feel. As such, it is far from complete as a history of American communism but it is a fascinating and enlightening contribution to one.

Gornick’s personal investment is upfront and always palpable. These are her people: her parents – Jewish, working class – were fellow travellers, and her memories are of grownups crowded into the kitchen of their tenement apartment in the Bronx, debating long into the night. The rallies, the May Day parades, the canvassing and hawking The Daily Worker: it is a community and a culture that she knows intimately. This familiarity gives her an authority about the lives and the psychology of her subjects; it also makes her instinctively protective towards them.

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