The Argonauts

by Maggie Nelson

Is there something inherently queer about pregnancy itself, insofar as it profoundly alters one’s “normal” state, and occasions a radical intimacy with—and radical alienation from—one’s body?

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The Argo’s parts may get replaced, but it’s still called the Argo.

I think about this line a lot .

It is unnerving, though, this melting. This pizza-dough-like flesh hanging down in folds where there used to be a pregnant tautness.

Maggie Nelson is just *so* good.