My feed is populated by irrelevant posts; unrequested, unrequired, mostly needing a requiem. Plucking interesting, possibly relevant ones, is a dicey game of hit and miss. So when a woman talks about the complexities of her marriage publicly, it moves one of my eyebrows to arch a scintilla towards it. Sure, marital dynamics is open lather anytime, but the overwrought reaction to them, lifts the lid on things intimate which perhaps should remain anonymous, but where’s the scabrous in that? I had dismissed earlier the over-the-top reactions, bordering on vitriolic, to West’s books, Jezebel and Shrill, but her most recent memoir ADULT BRACES : DRIVING ME SANE had a well- disguised hook, in the form of a spiritual travelogue in which she discusses, in parts, how her open-ish marriage to musician Ahamefule Oluo has morphed into a throuple with their girlfriend.
Half the author’s attraction is the insulting reads on her self- awareness, let alone, platforms awash with titles like A Tombstone for Millennial Feminism that has angered cultural reactionaries with her depictions of an open marriage. But this falls into the trap of wanting to represent an idealised version of polyamory.
Her second book, Shrill, let all hell loose on the internet, about personal reckoning and the turbulence and the humanity of living as a fat woman writer in America. It was a cultural phenomenon turning Lindy West into one of the most recognisable writer of 2010s— a millennial woman who wrote about feminism and the politics of work and desirability, which in plain language as a catcall to those who eat carbs. West points to her fairy-tale marriage to a conventionally attractive, skinny man as evidence of that desirability. ADULT BRACES reveals her interracial marriage was far from a happy ending—the caveat boldly presented in the proposal on the condition that she accept an open relationship, or….he was gone. Anyone see red flags?
There’s one general point of agreement, within the soupcon of opinions, that West’s hubby doesn’t exactly seem worth all the marital manoeuvring. Much of the ick factor came down to what most agree, that it was a mutually agreed circumstances that led the couple’s transition into a polyamorous relationship, considering they’d agreed to be non-monogamous, when West found out Oluo was dating other people behind her back. Its understandable that people have negative reactions to polyamoric relationships, if you’ve ever had an experience with an open relationship, it was probably bad. There’s a plethora of reasons why people get into it: saving a marriage; one partner likes the attention or the sex; they might think themselves “more evolved” or progressive than others. Regrettably through West’s story, its all the above and throws up polyamorous red flags.
The book written in short chapters tracks West as she seeks her own sexual, romantic and familial agency. In her road trip she ties her confusion to the collective disillusionment with the great hope of America. Its an analogue trip as she is accustomed to sharing herself online. She arrives at a middling resort hotel at the farthest reach of Key West. There’s a lot of self analysing and self- -examination saddled by political context and societal noise but ultimately her story is most human, quite brutal to bear witness to.
Its a fluid narrative even the chapters about ending up in a more than non-monogamous relationship, but if you’re hanging in for answers to the “risk” that she took and “shared”… there are no dots that she put on the page, connecting them. Putting one’s life together after a difficult journey around the person who tore it apart, takes guts and writing skills. Polyamory doesn’t owe anyone perfection, nor does West’s future memoirs need to turn truth into something grandiose. Messing up is part of figuring it out. Only West knows if her entry into polyamory, led her to a life that’s right for her now. You have to wonder, why perform this kind of intimacy for such a cruel audience?
An enjoyable read.
