My chief problem with this piece was just waiting for the story to start. There was a lot of atmosphere for not really enough payoff.
Nothing wrong with the atmosphere or the setting or our main character (who's in a tragic situation), it just… didn't move.
Maybe I'm just immune to ghost stories.
I can see that. A once upon a time me would have agreed with you. But like I said, I think it's about coming out of The Closet, and I've done a bit of that.
I could feel for the protagonist, and I saw a lot of internal conflict which she had to resolve, and a
huge personal journey being made.
I could happily repeat everything I already said, but I'll try to control myself.
This is a story about a woman who has suppressed her sexual identity in order to fit in with her society, but during her husband's absence she has begun to come to the conclusion that she doesn't want to live the lie any more.
That's an easy decision to make, but believe me, knowing it could hurt the people you care about makes it a hard one to act upon.
Bit by bit she tears herself away from her obligation to everyone else and begins to live the life which makes her happy.
As I said before, I saw The Baby as representing that obligation, and when she finally decides to come right out and live openly as a Lesbian, The Baby vanishes.
At least, I
think that cutting out her womb and becoming the spirit of the river was about that. It is pretty hard to ignore a river, after all.
I could really understand what she was going through and how she was feeling, and there is a time of inertia with coming out where you are torn between doing what is easy, conforming with everyone's expectations and hurting yourself, and making the next step towards revealing your true self to the world, and maybe hurting your friends and family. It might only happen once, or many times, it might be a brief moment of indecision or a long period of soul searching, but if you have a closet to come out of, you will go through it. I thought this story showed that beautifully.
There was a story there, but it does seem like not everyone could really
feel it.
Still, if literature never challenged us, what use would it be?