let me devour - a review of "Nightbitch" by Rachel Yoder

 

Firstly, an apology for being MIA for a literal year. Things happen, I guess! Anyway, I'm hoping to post more frequently, and do a combo of full reviews, ratings, and other bits and pieces.

TW! This work (and review) contains gore and violence, particularly directed towards animals.

“How many generations of women had delayed their greatness only to have time extinguish it completely? How many women had run out of time while the men didn’t know what to do with theirs? And what a mean trick to call such things holy or selfless. How evil to praise women for giving up each and every dream.” 

Nightbitch brilliantly blends strong feminist critique with shockingly brutal body horror. It shows motherhood as the best - and the worst - thing that can happen to a woman; something magical and horrible. Yoder reminds us - through Nightbitch and her transformations, of the animal inside us all, our connection to nature and to violence; the violence of childbirth, the violence of motherhood. The violence of living. 

She acknowledges the commodification of the process of birth; the power of capitalism; a power that devalues the work of growing and sustaining life, that minimises the importance and difficulty of domestic labour. It is noted in her husband - despite Nightbitch's assertions that he is a good, kind, supportive man - who would "love to stay at home all day", as if the constant changing, cleaning, playing, soothing is not, in itself, another kind of work.

Yoder also reminds us of the rage at the core of womanhood - the secret flame that is tended but always kept hidden. In many ways, her transformation is a manifestation of that rage; instead of becoming flame, she becomes beast; all teeth, snarls and claws, howling at the moon and eating raw meat. Because of this, the softness with which she treats her son is jarring. Despite her distaste with motherhood, and stay at home mothering, despite her pain at losing her ability to make art, and her rage for her mother who never got to become an opera singer, a significant part of Nightbitch is her unending love for her son; the life she created, has sustained and nurtured. 

However, towards the end, when Nightbitch turns her transformation into a piece of performance art, with PR, merch, and reviews, the part of her separate from the capitalist machine - her entirely animal, instinctual transformation - is consumed, made into a profitable business venture. Whether or not this was Yoder's intention, it is my understanding that this once again articulates the pervasiveness of capitalistic notions; the most personal becomes the most profitable.

In Nightbitch, womanhood is a slightly mystical, painful, mythological state of being - literally Magical Women - and one that seems to function best outside of the bounds of society; as the WereWomen in Siberia demonstrate. It seems, at least to Yoder, that the call of the wild is loud - and sometimes, we should answer it.