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A review by bittersweet_symphony
Selfish, Shallow, and Self-Absorbed: Sixteen Writers on The Decision Not To Have Kids by Meghan Daum
3.0
I had some high expectations for this book but found it mildly disappointing. The writing is clever and punchy. The stories grab you. They're incisive but begin to feel much the same as the volume goes on (which is a shame for the authors whose work appears toward the end).
Meghan Daum, the editor of this collection argues in her introduction, "Contrary to a lot of cultural assumptions, people who opt out of parenthood (and, to be clear, this is a book about deciding not to have children; not being able to have them when you want them is another matter entirely) are not a monolithic group."
Unfortunately, these essays seem to come from a very narrow range of backgrounds or perspectives—primarily urban, coastal, liberal-minded (and atheistic, as far as I can tell) members of the intelligentsia. This book is a compendium from "sixteen writers," whose authors skew toward this demographic, and the stories begin to feel quite repetitive as you go along. Their stories remain diverse in a way, but when it comes to the central question—the decision to not have kids—their range stays quite slim. Daum reduces the justifications for having children to "just a handful of reasons, most of them connected to old-fashioned biological imperative." I find her assessment belittling (note: I'm not a non-parent) just as I find the counter-perspective too "monolithic" in its responses. There are MANY reasons for why people decide to have children and decide not to have children. This book falls short of exploring the wider landscape of experiences. I would have enjoyed hearing more contributors from writers within religious, lower-class, "middle American," blue-collar, or rural contexts. (I'd even have welcomed the inclusion of more suburban perspectives.)
I will commend Daum for at least acknowledging, in part, this shortcoming. She recognizes that Selfish, Shallow, and Self-Absorbed "makes for a less-than-representative sample of the childless-by-choice population," pointing to the fact that they are all professional writers. "Artists," she notes, "need more alone time than regular people. They crave solitude whereas many people fear it. They resign themselves to financial uncertainty whereas most people do anything they can to avoid it. Moreover, if any artist is lucky, her work becomes her legacy, thus theoretically lessening the burden of producing a child to carry it out." This aspect of personality significantly colors how people orient in the world. Artists by nature are far less inclined toward community, tradition, and collective stability. They are agents of chaos and subversion. (Both important elements essential to having a vital society.) Creatives are more often on the fringe, or at least, less likely to further customs and the "limits" that come with the things one "inherits" culturally. Basically, it shouldn't surprise readers that artists, writers, and creatives frequently end up living childless lives. For the sake of the many others who are voluntarily childless, not of this category of human, I wish we could have heard their perspectives. I know they exist.
Secondly, many of these stories read to me less like people making a choice "not to have kids" and more like something pre-determined set their lives in motion or that an outcome just sort of happened. My experience on repeat: I'd appreciate some of the torrid and, often, heartbreaking details of a personal essay, conjure up some challenges to their diatribes, finish reading the entry, and then wonder to myself, "Wait, when did they make the decision?" I can sympathize with the view that this very same criticism can be lobbed at parents, for we all know people who didn't choose to have children—or at least, some of the children they had were unplanned or initially unwanted.
The biting social commentary regarding gender roles, inequalities, and injustices is worthwhile (though one wonders what the "non-liberal" and voluntarily childless voices also sound like).
I was hoping to have my more pro-family and pro-community leanings more effectively challenged. I wanted to encounter good reasons for them to be reconsidered. I grabbed this book hoping it might help temper my own interest in contributing to my family tree. Instead, it seemed to, ironically, reinforce some of the tired judgments we make toward the intentionally childless.
It was hyper-individualism on display. Throughout their storytelling, I kept looking for where concern for the community, family, or something larger than the self fit into their decision-making processes. Yes, these are very individual and personal decisions, but where did they factor in the needs of the community? When did they engage with the inner call of duty to ancestors or to sacrifices made to something or someone bigger than the self? Dare I say, in what ways did they consult God(s), personal deities, soothsayers, fortune-tellers, or local clergy regarding the decision? Did any of them find answers inside of psychedelics or other ecstatic experiences? These are the stories I wanted to hear. It's possible to choose childlessness because one is factoring more transcendent forces into their calculations. I just wasn't hearing them here. Those stories exist. And more of them need to be heard.
Admittedly, I may end up childless, in many ways, by choice. If that remains the case, then I, like all these fine authors, will have narratives and justifications I reach for to give meaning to the life I have lived. Parents and adults burdened by children do the same thing. We're meaning-making creatures. And we're far less rational than we like to pretend.
If I'm being reductive, I'd suggest that questions surrounding procreation—or rather the thing that motivates us to have or not have children—stem from something intuitive. We either feel a compulsion or a call to have kids, or we don't. We then spend the rest of our lives elaborating to ourselves and to our social peers why our life was filled with the right choices. (This reductive analysis mostly ignores the more nihilistic and cynical folks who outright reject the value of meaning, and well, value itself.)
Personally, I'm somewhere in the middle regarding this impulse to have or not have children. Call it something primal, spiritual, biological, moral, economic, or social. Whatever works for you in your given context. Some things beyond my control will dictate the "decision." And others from within that debatable place where free will might reside will impact it as well.
These stories are firmly from the perspective of people "liberated" from social norms and expectations. They are people who contribute to society and their communities (even their families) in other ways—mostly through their artistic legacies. These are celebrations of the self over the smotherings and invasions of the collective. I can champion those. Yet, I find them lacking in parts. Perhaps this betrays my own feelings, that my decision has been made on the matter. I won't know until I'm nearer to the end of my life and can assess the justifications I've constructed about my existence and how the things I did (or didn't do) mattered.
I'll just say this: I didn't really see enough of myself in these pages. As an intentionally childless adult, so far, I expected (or hoped for?) more resonance in these essays. I wanted to hear more about people using grand narratives and less egoistic rationales for choosing the non-parenting life. I know these stories exist. But they might be an even more rare and uncommon subset of the voluntarily offspring-free adults.
Ultimately, I agree with Daum that "nobody has a monopoly on selfishness"—there are too many tragic stories of abusive and negligent parents to deny that reality—I merely wished the collection could have better challenged the notion that childless adults are not "selfish, shallow, and self-absorbed." I wonder if this collection will actually persuade parenting fundamentalists, soften their judgments or expand their empathies to the different ways we choose to human. Perhaps this book is designed more to help reassure the childless that their lifestyle is good, worthwhile, and abundant in meaning. (I hope it does. Because it absolutely can be.)
While offering nuance to these heated discussions, I'm somewhat skeptical whether Daum and her cadre of professional writers actually succeed in challenging the stigmas. On the other hand, to quote Katie Roiphe, I do hope that "the child-burdened. . . come away from this engaging collection with a rich sense of what they have missed." I mean, what's more human than to feel some regret or to have a keen awareness that you missed out on opportunities that were meaningful, cherished, and deeply central to another person's lived experience?
Meghan Daum, the editor of this collection argues in her introduction, "Contrary to a lot of cultural assumptions, people who opt out of parenthood (and, to be clear, this is a book about deciding not to have children; not being able to have them when you want them is another matter entirely) are not a monolithic group."
Unfortunately, these essays seem to come from a very narrow range of backgrounds or perspectives—primarily urban, coastal, liberal-minded (and atheistic, as far as I can tell) members of the intelligentsia. This book is a compendium from "sixteen writers," whose authors skew toward this demographic, and the stories begin to feel quite repetitive as you go along. Their stories remain diverse in a way, but when it comes to the central question—the decision to not have kids—their range stays quite slim. Daum reduces the justifications for having children to "just a handful of reasons, most of them connected to old-fashioned biological imperative." I find her assessment belittling (note: I'm not a non-parent) just as I find the counter-perspective too "monolithic" in its responses. There are MANY reasons for why people decide to have children and decide not to have children. This book falls short of exploring the wider landscape of experiences. I would have enjoyed hearing more contributors from writers within religious, lower-class, "middle American," blue-collar, or rural contexts. (I'd even have welcomed the inclusion of more suburban perspectives.)
I will commend Daum for at least acknowledging, in part, this shortcoming. She recognizes that Selfish, Shallow, and Self-Absorbed "makes for a less-than-representative sample of the childless-by-choice population," pointing to the fact that they are all professional writers. "Artists," she notes, "need more alone time than regular people. They crave solitude whereas many people fear it. They resign themselves to financial uncertainty whereas most people do anything they can to avoid it. Moreover, if any artist is lucky, her work becomes her legacy, thus theoretically lessening the burden of producing a child to carry it out." This aspect of personality significantly colors how people orient in the world. Artists by nature are far less inclined toward community, tradition, and collective stability. They are agents of chaos and subversion. (Both important elements essential to having a vital society.) Creatives are more often on the fringe, or at least, less likely to further customs and the "limits" that come with the things one "inherits" culturally. Basically, it shouldn't surprise readers that artists, writers, and creatives frequently end up living childless lives. For the sake of the many others who are voluntarily childless, not of this category of human, I wish we could have heard their perspectives. I know they exist.
Secondly, many of these stories read to me less like people making a choice "not to have kids" and more like something pre-determined set their lives in motion or that an outcome just sort of happened. My experience on repeat: I'd appreciate some of the torrid and, often, heartbreaking details of a personal essay, conjure up some challenges to their diatribes, finish reading the entry, and then wonder to myself, "Wait, when did they make the decision?" I can sympathize with the view that this very same criticism can be lobbed at parents, for we all know people who didn't choose to have children—or at least, some of the children they had were unplanned or initially unwanted.
The biting social commentary regarding gender roles, inequalities, and injustices is worthwhile (though one wonders what the "non-liberal" and voluntarily childless voices also sound like).
I was hoping to have my more pro-family and pro-community leanings more effectively challenged. I wanted to encounter good reasons for them to be reconsidered. I grabbed this book hoping it might help temper my own interest in contributing to my family tree. Instead, it seemed to, ironically, reinforce some of the tired judgments we make toward the intentionally childless.
It was hyper-individualism on display. Throughout their storytelling, I kept looking for where concern for the community, family, or something larger than the self fit into their decision-making processes. Yes, these are very individual and personal decisions, but where did they factor in the needs of the community? When did they engage with the inner call of duty to ancestors or to sacrifices made to something or someone bigger than the self? Dare I say, in what ways did they consult God(s), personal deities, soothsayers, fortune-tellers, or local clergy regarding the decision? Did any of them find answers inside of psychedelics or other ecstatic experiences? These are the stories I wanted to hear. It's possible to choose childlessness because one is factoring more transcendent forces into their calculations. I just wasn't hearing them here. Those stories exist. And more of them need to be heard.
Admittedly, I may end up childless, in many ways, by choice. If that remains the case, then I, like all these fine authors, will have narratives and justifications I reach for to give meaning to the life I have lived. Parents and adults burdened by children do the same thing. We're meaning-making creatures. And we're far less rational than we like to pretend.
If I'm being reductive, I'd suggest that questions surrounding procreation—or rather the thing that motivates us to have or not have children—stem from something intuitive. We either feel a compulsion or a call to have kids, or we don't. We then spend the rest of our lives elaborating to ourselves and to our social peers why our life was filled with the right choices. (This reductive analysis mostly ignores the more nihilistic and cynical folks who outright reject the value of meaning, and well, value itself.)
Personally, I'm somewhere in the middle regarding this impulse to have or not have children. Call it something primal, spiritual, biological, moral, economic, or social. Whatever works for you in your given context. Some things beyond my control will dictate the "decision." And others from within that debatable place where free will might reside will impact it as well.
These stories are firmly from the perspective of people "liberated" from social norms and expectations. They are people who contribute to society and their communities (even their families) in other ways—mostly through their artistic legacies. These are celebrations of the self over the smotherings and invasions of the collective. I can champion those. Yet, I find them lacking in parts. Perhaps this betrays my own feelings, that my decision has been made on the matter. I won't know until I'm nearer to the end of my life and can assess the justifications I've constructed about my existence and how the things I did (or didn't do) mattered.
I'll just say this: I didn't really see enough of myself in these pages. As an intentionally childless adult, so far, I expected (or hoped for?) more resonance in these essays. I wanted to hear more about people using grand narratives and less egoistic rationales for choosing the non-parenting life. I know these stories exist. But they might be an even more rare and uncommon subset of the voluntarily offspring-free adults.
Ultimately, I agree with Daum that "nobody has a monopoly on selfishness"—there are too many tragic stories of abusive and negligent parents to deny that reality—I merely wished the collection could have better challenged the notion that childless adults are not "selfish, shallow, and self-absorbed." I wonder if this collection will actually persuade parenting fundamentalists, soften their judgments or expand their empathies to the different ways we choose to human. Perhaps this book is designed more to help reassure the childless that their lifestyle is good, worthwhile, and abundant in meaning. (I hope it does. Because it absolutely can be.)
While offering nuance to these heated discussions, I'm somewhat skeptical whether Daum and her cadre of professional writers actually succeed in challenging the stigmas. On the other hand, to quote Katie Roiphe, I do hope that "the child-burdened. . . come away from this engaging collection with a rich sense of what they have missed." I mean, what's more human than to feel some regret or to have a keen awareness that you missed out on opportunities that were meaningful, cherished, and deeply central to another person's lived experience?