"[T]he relationship at the very center of the story [is] a marriage between a neurotic perfectionist and a formidably patient man with much to criticize about him..."

"... from an annoyingly 'phlegmy' throat to a similarity to 'a heap of laundry: smelly, inert, useless, almost sentient but not quite.' And these are just his physical faults — or at least a sampling of them. Bill’s putative mental and emotional shortcomings could themselves fill a book. And they very nearly do. That the author has made her particular disgusts (and her generous way of occasionally overlooking them) the basis for a general treatise on matrimony is the abiding problem of 'Foreverland.' How well can an institution be explained by a single instance of it, and especially by one beset with problems that aren’t necessarily widely shared? Quite well, Havrilesky seems to feel, or else she wouldn’t start so many sentences with sweeping prefaces such as 'Marriage is' or 'Having a baby means' or 'The suburbs are' followed by blanket statements of what they are.... 'The suburbs are a place where people go to embrace the dominant paradigm, because the dominant paradigm makes them feel safe and comfortable.' A dominant paradigm? In today’s America?"

Writes Walter Kirn, in "Heather Havrilesky Compares Her Husband to a Heap of Laundry" (NYT)(reviewing "FOREVERLAND/On the Divine Tedium of Marriage").

I'm reading between the lines that Havrilesky is going for humor of the sort once purveyed by Erma Bombeck.

"My husband and I are not energetic human beings. Not only that, but we have trouble locating a good 'reason' for doing most things."

"We can talk ourselves out of any activity. We associate a lot of worthwhile pursuits with 'hassles' and associate living like hermits with comfort and safety. These are the baked-in traits of anxious, emotional people, though. Doing new things makes us nervous, so we try to avoid that. Encountering unforeseen hassles makes us anxious, so we try to anticipate roadblocks ahead of time. We are also very self-pitying. We often talk to each other about how difficult very basic, easy things are for us, as a means of admitting just how pathetic we can be sometimes. We make fun of ourselves. We like to say, 'I don’t want to do anything, ever,' in whiny voices, as we lie face down on the carpet. This feels good, for some reason. But honestly, a lot of people are like us. Sometimes you have to be really, really loved by another person to admit just what a tired, anxious sack of shit you are at heart.... Consider giving up. My husband and I do this all of the time now, as a means of understanding exactly what we want from our lives.... Most humans are tired and overwhelmed and dream of quitting their jobs regularly. The ones who are happiest are the ones who honor these feelings and take them seriously instead of telling an elaborate story about how these feelings mean that they suck...."

Writes Heather Havrilesky (in an advice column answering a woman who feels that what she can do is never enough).

"Shame is the opposite of art. When you live inside of your shame, everything you see is inadequate and embarrassing."

"A lifetime of traveling and having adventures and not being tethered to long-term commitments looks empty and pathetic and foolish, through the lens of shame. You haven’t found a partner. Your face is aging. Your body will only grow weaker. Your mind is less elastic. Your time is running out. Shame turns every emotion into the manifestation of some personality flaw, every casual choice into a giant mistake, every small blunder into a moral failure. Shame means that you’re damned and you’ve accomplished nothing and it’s all downhill from here. You need to discard some of this shame you’re carrying around all the time. But even if you can’t cast off your shame that quickly, through the lens of art, shame becomes valuable. When you’re curious about your shame instead of afraid of it, you can see the true texture of the day and the richness of the moment, with all of its flaws.... Shame creates imaginary worlds inside your head. This haunted house you’re creating is forged from your shame. No one else can see it, so you keep trying to describe it to them. You find ways to say, 'You don’t want any part of this mess. I’m mediocre, aging rapidly, and poor. Do yourself a favor and leave me behind.' You want to be left behind, though. That way, no one bears witness to what you’ve become. It’s time to come out of hiding. It’s time to step into the light and be seen, shame and wrinkles and failures and fears and all.... What if you simply experimented with being who you are, out in the open, even as that feels difficult and awkward and sad? What if you just decided that you’re an artist, today, right now? You’re sensitive and erratic, maybe. You’re maudlin and also expansive. What would it look like to own that identity, as a means of making art, sure, but also as a means of owning your FULL SELF? You wouldn’t feel as angry at other artists. You would recognize them as kindred spirits...."

Heather Havrilesky gives a great answer to a great question at The Cut. Really, the question is also very well written and interesting. I was going to quote the question for this post, because I predicted the answer would be much less interesting than the question. But when I got to "Shame is the opposite of art," I changed my mind.