HOME IS WHERE THE HURT IS: MEDIA DEPICTIONS OF WIVES AND MOTHERS. By Sara Hosey. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2019. 224 pp. $55.00 paper.

Abstract

H ome Is Where the Hurt Is: Media Depictions of Wives and Mothers is the first of two new books by Sara Hosey, associate professor of English and women and gender studies at Nassau Community College, Garden City, New York. Hosey has written extensively on identity and power issues and co-authored a reading and writing manual for college students (see, for example, Hosey and O’Connor; Hosey, “One of Us”; Hosey, “Canaries and Coalmines”). Her newest work is the novel Iphigenia Murphy, whose teenage protagonist escapes from an abusive home and sets up a better one in a park. There, despite dangers and fallout from past traumas, Iffy and her “misfit” friends can be themselves, and Iffy finds herself. Hosey explains how the inspiration for Iffy’s story came to her as she worked on Home Is Where the Hurt Is: “Home ... is centrally concerned with the ways girls and women are often depicted in popular culture. And ... I ... found that I wanted to participate in the creation of that culture ... dramatiz[ing] some of the issues that many girls and women must grapple with ... [but also] the healing power of female friendship and support. My characters are not perfect people, but I did try to write the kinds of characters, male and female, that I’d like to see more of in popular culture” (qtd. in De Feo). While no one can predict how many adolescent fans of Iphigenia Murphy will eventually (perhaps in college) read Home Is Where the Hurt Is, Home surely deserves a thoughtful, appreciative audience. Chapters one through five focus on “hurt,” in particular, media depictions of wives and mothers that “address troubling realities at the same time as they fall back on outmoded, limited understandings of gender roles ... thus naturalizing women’s oppression” (7). Chapter one traces narratives about women who are trapped in their own homes, frustrated by their plight, and generally unable to free themselves. They include women whose doctors demand they hunker down to safeguard their pregnancies— never mind that Jules (What to Expect When You’re Expecting) is a fitness expert, or that a demonic ghost spawned one of Vivien’s “twins” (“Murder House,” American Horror Story). Whereas Jules becomes reconciled to her plight and so becomes a happier wife, Vivien and her family end up dead, yet together and content (!). The widowed Amelia in The Babadook, stifled by maternal duties, becomes demonically possessed; her son forcefully defeats—though he cannot kill—the monster and reclaims Amelia through love. In Precious, the title character is stuck at home with her villainous mother and repeatedly raped by her biological father; the film ends on a half-hopeful note as Precious, aware she can at least “make [limited] choices” (34), departs forever with her two young children. And in the Bad Moms comedies, overwhelmed middle-class mothers harmlessly blow off steam and thus become better parents. Their common theme of entrapment notwithstanding, these stories all end by affirming the rightness of traditional female roles and, with one exception, the typical goodness of home. Chapter two discusses two postfeminist character types from television: the “girly mom,” who is cute, playful, sexy, wellmeaning, and financially dependent on her own dad; and the “worldly girl,” who is either more mature than her mom (Rory in Gilmore Girls and Amber in Parenthood) or else a pregnant teenager who matures into an old-fashioned “good” mom, regretting past choices and submitting to male authority (16 and Pregnant, Teen Mom). Chapter three reveals how the Twilight and Hunger Games series depict both heroines’ mothers as useless; despite giving them grudging credit at times (Katniss appreciates her mom’s herbalist skills, Bella her “girly mom”’s good heart), both daughters prefer and follow cues from men. Katniss adopts the traditionally male roles of hunter and fighter so she can survive and protect her family; Bella risks her life to protect mom and identifies with dad, though Bella remains more old-fashioned overall than Katniss. Ironically, as Hosey observes, both heroines are “completely domesticated” (61) at the end of their respective series: Katniss is a stayat-home mom, and Bella “lives” happily with daughter Renesmee, husband Edward, and her vampire in-laws. Twilight’s conclusion, Hosey suggests, is a most telling example of postfeminist fantasy: “[w]ho needs feminism when not only are all one’s needs met by a community of attractive, tireless, and helpful family members, but one lives isolated from the larger, patriarchal world in which systemic sexism persists?” (67) Chapter four revisits the theme of toxic homes from a literal standpoint, exploring tales of women whose lives were derailed by chemical poisoning and who long for healing and justice. Hosey analyzes the halffunny, half-nightmarish Incredible Shrinking Woman and the ironically titled, unfunny Safe. These films depict homemakers who struggle to understand and heal from environmental illness; although the “shrinking woman” briefly attempts a speech and the protagonist in Safe muddles through one, “neither [woman] makes a substantial change” in her community, let alone the world (84). In contrast, the working mother in Consumed fights valiantly and publicly for the sake of endangered folks everywhere, not just her sick child. Yet, in the end, she too seems powerless, despite closing credits inviting us to follow her lead. In Chapter five, Hosey examines domestic violence as portrayed in Enough and Waitress. She notes both films present wife-battering as essentially a private problem that the woman can solve on her own—whether by beating the guy at his own violent game or getting help from a “benevolent patriarch” (104), and/ or making a fresh start (but not in a shelter) with her child(ren). With most real-life victims too isolated, too frightened, too poor, or too law abiding to consider any of these options, such films are irrelevant at best and at worst insulting. Chapters six through nine and the conclusion shift towards “hope,” as Hosey analyzes texts which “continue to identify ... contradictions and limitations surrounding gender roles, but also present women and mothers as individuals deserving of dignity and safety ... [pointing] toward a [true] feminist future” (7). Among these more nuanced, progressive texts are Madea’s Family Reunion, wherein Lisa publicly cancels her wedding to an abusive man; Tiny Furniture, whose matriarch models both self-respect and love; BOOK REVIEWS