"Class: A Memoir of Motherhood, Hunger, and Higher Education" by Stephanie Land

I was watching the Netflix show “Maid” a while back and thought it was such a great series. I was recommending it to everyone everywhere. The main character was a woman, a writer, a mother, a victim of domestic violence, and a maid studying the people who were her clients. I loved how she wrote about her clients and gave the houses names. I loved how she navigated the difficulty of friendship between classes and whether it is utility or true affection that drives the bond. I loved how she overcame her attachment to this violent partner, the father of her child, and eventually escaped to Colorado.

Bearing all of this in mind, there was no question as to whether I would enjoy the effective sequel to the story. Class was found in a clearance bin and scooped up as a Christmas gift to me. I was excited. The memoir picks up where the show left off. The story is now told in Stephanie Land’s own voice. I’m obviously going to love it.

Right?

For most of the book, this memoir was a three-star read for me. I had to undo the tethering of the voice in this volume to the actress in the show, first of all. Frequently I would flip the book over to inspect this woman’s professional headshot and place the actions, perspectives, and thought processes with this person who was not Margaret Qualley. It’s not that I don’t think any personality can take up residence in any countenance. Qualley does a great job portraying Land’s relentless anxiety, her reserve and quiet thoughtfulness, her tendency not to say what she’s thinking and just navigate on her initial assumptions without communicating. But when I look at Land, I don’t see Qualley’s willow tree: sad, graceful, could break pretty easily. I see a face that’s learned to genuinely smile after offering customer service smiles for a long time. It’s not the Qualley doesn’t demonstrate strength. Land just carries it in her body differently, and I think we are just as much bodies as we are minds.

But that is not why it was a three-star read for me. That’s just what made it hard to rewrite the picture in my head. And the picture had to be rewritten because Qualley’s performance could never account for some of the raw, confessional work Land pours into this book. Qualley’s performance does not allow for a mother who cares deeply for her child but chooses her own education over quality meals. Qualley’s performance does not allow the onscreen character to be a real-life woman who writes in a memoir later down the line “I didn’t want to be a mom and still don’t most of the time” (paraphrased). Qualley’s performance is romanticized. If you read this book, you either need to do so before watching the show, or you need to forget about the show altogether. Because Land and Qualley are not the same person.

I’ll be honest, I found myself annoyed with this book most of the time. It felt whiney to me. Why would you do this to yourself? Why would you prioritize your own freedom, your own education, your own friendships over your daughter? And she acknowledges those questions, recognizes that a lot of people had the same reactions. But there weren’t really answers to those questions, just burned bridges. I also could not help but wonder what Emilia, Land’s daughter, might feel about how Land described motherhood.

Easy three stars, no further explanation needed, right?

Wrong.

As I read, as I flirted with judging the book by that frame of mind, the responding question I had to ask myself was, “Is that a classist question or an ethical one?” This book is very cleverly titled: class. Class, because she was in school. But class, because she was a member of the lower class, working hard to lift herself out of poverty and in the long run provide a better life for her child (and eventually children). At the end of the day, education is a key that unlocks one of many doors between the lower and middle classes. So when I judge her from the safety of my middle-class family and my upper middle-class education, what ground am I standing on? What would I have done in her shoes? Is my perspective classist in that only those who are financially solvent should access higher education? Or is it ethical in that only those who can keep their own house and provide well for their families should access higher education?

I do not have a good answer to this question.

Land states later in the book that she wrote this with her daughter fully aware and in a way consenting to its tone. I think that is something I would have liked to have known earlier on. I also was deeply moved by her birthing story at the very end. Overall, Land seemed to grow so much by the end of that year in her life, the book deserved more than just a mediocre three-star rating. Her relentlessness lifted it to four.