The book club was composed of six women between the ages of 68 and 82. They passed the copies around like contraband. By Friday, Martha had written Alison a letter, handwritten in looping cursive:
She laughed. It was a wet, cracked, real laugh. mutha magazine alison mutha magazine
Alison had poured her last $400 into printing 200 copies. She had written half the content under a pseudonym because she was terrified her own mother, a former debutante from Charleston, would see it. "Mutha," after all, was a family name she was reclaiming from the suffocating politeness of her upbringing. The book club was composed of six women
The cover story that issue was called "The Sacred Mess." It was about how the pressure to be a perfect mother is a form of patriarchal control. Martha read it while sipping her morning coffee. She snorted at the Lego comic. She cried at the essay about post-partum rage. She had felt that rage forty years ago, alone, with no name for it. It was a wet, cracked, real laugh