Muttergehäuse is a powerful, punchy, angry, cynical, dark look at motherhood and the pressures of modern society. Gertraud Klemm writes in journalistic prose that becomes quickly very personal and very emotional, yet retains throughout a no-nonsense, direct style and, through the details it reveals about the process of things like fertility tests and adoption, rings of non-fiction. On the other hand, Klemm works with stereotypes and generalisations instead of facts - she puts everyone else into the same boat and creates a me against the world bubble. Even family and partner do not escape and it becomes harder and harder to believe that everyone she knows, including the person she has chosen to adopt with and her closest friends, are so superficial, shallow, self-obsessed and insensitive.
That's not denying the strength of her writing or the effectiveness of writing about such a topic with anger and vitriol. She is deliberately exagerating and generalising to increase the impact of her story, lend it an element of dark humour and emphasise the cloud of depression that falls on her. She is perhaps also commenting on the way depression alters her perspective and makes her unable to thing in a rational, positive way about the people surrounding her. The negativity of the narrative, however, becomes tiring, especially after the success of the adoption process and the joy it brings her. She describes the arrival of her child with such moving prose, and a page later is back to doom, gloom and an almost lethargic woe is me feel.
There's plenty of truth in her writing as well, and the exageration serves well to portray the superficiality of our society and the isolated, bubble-like worlds people live in, contrasted awkwardly with social norms and expectations that people try in vain to live up to. As a father, however, in contact with plenty of young parents in a middle-class, urban environment, I struggle to thing of anyone so ignorant and shallow as all of the people in this book. Exageration as a tool has its uses, but here it is overdone and becomes too cynical and petty. Muttergehäuse is an entertaining, informative and moving account of the difficult process of wanting desperately to be a mother in a world of impossible expectations, but it would perhaps have benefited from a little less spite and a little more compassion with the rest of society, a realisation that everyone else has their own story too, some harder, some easier, but mostly genuine and heartfelt as well. 6