Like Mother, Like Mother

“You can finish your dinner on the floor like the vermin you are.”

After Lila asks Aldo if he killed Zelda, he smacks her so hard that she falls to the ground, and he compares her to vermin via metaphor. Lines like this help to characterize Aldo as a brutal, cruel abuser, and they help readers to understand what Lila’s childhood was like. This is the man to whom Zelda abandoned her children, helping to explain why Lila had to believe Zelda was dead in order to carry on with her own life. The metaphor of vermin dehumanizes Lila, reinforcing Aldo’s belief that he has absolute power over his children. This moment also connects to the theme of The Impact of Unresolved Trauma, as Lila internalizes the notion that standing up for herself results in violence. The novel repeatedly highlights how language is used as a weapon, and this line is one of the earliest instances of verbal abuse shaping Lila’s worldview.

“‘You’re almost motherly, watching movies with them,’ he said. ‘Curatorial. More Miss Jean Brodie. “Putting old heads on young shoulders.”’”

When Joe compliments Lila’s “motherl[iness],” Lila demurs. She alludes to Muriel Spark’s 1961 novel, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, insisting that she’s more like an unconventional but caring teacher who treats her pupils like equals. Lila doesn’t treat her daughters like children, and, like the character she references, she hopes to prepare them for the real world, something her mother never did for her. This moment highlights The Inescapability of Maternal Legacies, as Lila attempts to redefine motherhood on her own terms. The literary allusion also reinforces how Lila intellectualizes and distances herself from emotional expectations, positioning herself as an educator rather than a nurturer. The pathologization of women motif is present here, as Lila’s approach to motherhood is viewed as cold or inadequate rather than a response to her own trauma.

“They saw him beat Zelda. Polo said it was like beating a newborn puppy.”

Lila describes how Polo and Clara saw their father abuse their mother, something she was too young to remember. Polo used a simile, comparing Zelda to a newborn puppy, a comparison that emphasizes her helplessness, innocence, and confusion. Her children have few memories of her because they were so young when Aldo sectioned her, but Polo’s recollection and description of her help characterize her and encourage sympathy. The comparison also evokes the motif of the pathologization of women, as Zelda’s suffering is dismissed rather than addressed. Instead of being treated as a victim of domestic abuse, Zelda is labeled unstable and hospitalized. This moment foreshadows Grace’s journey toward understanding the societal forces that deemed Zelda’s emotional distress a medical issue rather than a crisis of autonomy and survival.

“As they drove up the driveway she had burst out, ‘You grew up at Tara,’ half in jest, half in astonishment.”

Lila compares Joe’s childhood home to Tara, the O’Hara family’s fictional plantation in Margaret Mitchell’s 1936 novel, Gone with the Wind. Tara can be interpreted as a symbol of Scarlett O’Hara’s character and her determination and perseverance in an era of extreme chaos and change. This interpretation likens Scarlett to Frances, a woman who also survives many changes in her family and society. At the same time, the allusion carries darker connotations—Gone with the Wind romanticizes the antebellum South, and Lila’s astonishment at Joe’s privilege suggests her awareness of deep social inequalities. This also reinforces the contrast between Lila’s working-class, violent upbringing and Joe’s upper-class stability, highlighting the novel’s exploration of power, privilege, and gender expectations.

“Lila doesn’t get scared, she doesn’t feel sorry for herself, she doesn’t cry except at movies with pounding music. What else does she doesn’t?”

Grace’s language is particularly childlike here, as she observes her mother’s actions and attempts to understand them. She notes that her mother doesn’t do things that other mothers typically do, and her sense that Lila is deficient as a mother is defined—for a long time—by the things Lila doesn’t do rather than what she does. The fragmented structure of the last sentence mirrors a child’s attempt to make sense of the world, reinforcing Grace’s perception of Lila as an enigma. This also foreshadows Grace’s later realization that Lila’s avoidance of vulnerability is a trauma response rather than a character flaw, tying into the impact of unresolved trauma.

“‘I love all dames,’ Lila said. ‘I saw Blondes at Work when I was ten. After that, I was Lila Pereira, Girl Reporter.’”

In this allusion, Lila refers to the 1938 film, Blondes at Work, in which a female reporter called Torchy Blane devotes herself to her job and achieves success in her field. She also defies convention and social expectations in the name of the job, making her an apt character to influence Lila’s ambitions and identity. The allusion highlights The Importance of Women’s Personal and Professional Fulfillment, as Lila sees herself reflected in a fictional woman who refuses to be sidelined. However, the film’s portrayal of a female journalist as exceptional rather than typical reinforces the societal expectation that women must be extraordinary to be taken seriously. Lila’s success in journalism comes at the cost of fulfilling traditional maternal roles, demonstrating the tension between ambition and social expectations for women.

“The men in the room, gropers and nongropers alike, were caught off guard. They counted on women not making scenes in public.”

When Lila called out Josh Morgan for touching her inappropriately during a work meeting, her choice shocked the men in her office because of the social expectation that a woman would endure and, at most, say something later and in private. Instead, Lila refuses to be embarrassed by Josh’s actions and chooses to embarrass him, putting the other men in the office on their guard. This choice ends up impressing Doug Marshall when he takes over as publisher, and he applauds Lila’s response. This moment connects to the motif of the pathologization of women, as Lila’s boldness in confronting sexual harassment is seen as disruptive rather than justified. Her refusal to abide by unspoken gender norms makes her both admired and feared, reinforcing the novel’s critique of the professional double standard for women.

“‘He wanted to die,’ Clara said to Lila a day [after Polo died]. ‘Always, every time, he was saving you.’”

The abuse Polo sustains in his childhood makes him feel tremendously guilty for not protecting Lila from their father. He then spends his adult life as a firefighter, attempting to save children from fires because he couldn’t save his baby sister from Aldo, though Polo was just a child himself then. Clara believes he wanted to die, perhaps thinking that it would somehow absolve him, demonstrating the impact of unresolved trauma. His self-sacrificial behavior can be seen as a subconscious attempt to atone for a perceived failure, illustrating how childhood trauma manifests in lifelong patterns of guilt and recklessness. The phrase “he was saving you” is almost ironic, as Polo ultimately couldn't save himself, highlighting the tragic cycle of trauma within the family.

“Without bidding, she remembered a baffling line in The Secret Garden, a book she’d never returned to the library, loving it too much. The ‘two worst things that can happen to a child, is never to have his own way—or always to have it.”

When Joe tells Lila that he wants a divorce, she recalls a line that used to confuse her from The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett. The line advocates for a balance in child-rearing, suggesting that it can be equally detrimental for a child to have too much agency as it is to have too little. She used to believe that never getting her way would be far worse than always getting it. However, Lila recalls this line now because she has long gotten her way with Joe, their kids, and her work, and she may realize that she has taken Joe for granted as a result. The allusion underscores the inescapability of maternal legacies as Lila subconsciously relates to the novel’s exploration of parental influence and neglect. It also serves as a moment of self-awareness, where Lila recognizes the consequences of unchecked independence and control in her relationships.

“Grace is a lot like me, I’m nothing like her.”

Lila makes this paradoxical statement, which helps to demonstrate the inescapability of maternal legacies. Grace has a lot in common with Lila, but there are many ways in which they are different: Grace is more emotional, especially where Lila is concerned, and Grace needs to process her experience by writing her novel, whereas Lila notoriously disavows anything like an internal life. Grace also experiences regret, something Lila never allows herself to feel. The contradiction in Lila’s statement reflects her emotional detachment—she can intellectually recognize their similarities but refuses to internalize them. It also explores the pathologization of women, as Lila’s avoidance of self-reflection stems from a survival mechanism that society might otherwise label as cold or “unnatural” for a mother. Grace may have some qualities that are similar to Lila’s, but Lila credits Grace for being more emotionally evolved than she is.

“Calling a book fiction didn’t make it fiction.”

Everyone in Grace’s circle understands that her novel is neither purely fact nor fiction. It blurs the line between truth and fabrication, combining this amalgam with her wish to believe Zelda survived. However, people who aren’t close to the family believe the novel is truthful. As several characters point out, calling it fiction doesn’t convince anyone that it is, and Grace doesn’t take particular care with people’s reputations—or her father’s feelings—when she authors an affair between Lila and Doug’s characters. She cares more about advancing this story about Zelda’s character than she does about appreciating Lila’s strength and perseverance. It’s unkind and selfish of her, a combination made worse because people will believe what she wrote is true. This line also emphasizes the novel’s metafictional elements, questioning the nature of storytelling and who controls narratives about women’s lives. It ties into the pathologization of women, as Zelda’s story is manipulated and rewritten, just as her real-life fate was determined by others labeling her mentally ill.

“‘I’ve looked like Joe from the get-go,’ Grace said. ‘My sisters are short and curvy and blond, like Lila, with cornflower blue eyes and rosebud lips […] They’re on the Barbie-purple princess spectrum […] Physically, they’re indistinguishable, cute as buttons.’”

Grace characterizes her sisters, Stella and Ava, with an allusion to Barbie and a pair of metaphors. Barbie represents a quintessential beauty standard in the West, with unrealistically and disproportionately large breasts. She is blond and blue-eyed, as are the Starbirds, who Grace can—at times—underestimate because of their Barbie looks. Their lips are “rosebuds,” and they are “cute as buttons” overall, both objectifying and rather belittling metaphors. This moment connects to the inescapability of maternal legacies, as Grace grapples with feeling like an outsider in her own family, physically and emotionally. It also engages with societal expectations of femininity, highlighting how beauty is often equated with worth.

“You’re still longing for the mother who picks her children up from school. Isn’t it enough that you were picked up.”

Stella and Ava can tell that Grace still feels like a victim because of the mother she doesn’t have, rather than appreciating the good life she has. Ava’s second line is phrased like a question, beginning with “Isn’t it,” but it is punctuated as a declarative statement, with a period rather than a question mark. This choice indicates her speaking tone, which suggests that it should be enough that Grace was loved and cared for, regardless of the details. This moment forces Grace to confront the inescapability of maternal legacies—her inability to let go of what she lacked rather than appreciating what she had. It also suggests that perception of maternal “failure” is often subjective, shaped by a child’s expectations rather than reality.

“I’m not going to have Ruth and she’s not going to have me. Ruthless and Graceless.”

Grace laments that, after graduation, she and Ruth will be separated. She jokes, using puns on their names, that she will be “Ruthless,” and Ruth will be “Graceless.” Though Grace can be somewhat unfeeling when she lacks Ruth’s input and influence, Ruth is neither awkward nor boorish without Grace. This is another way in which Ruth serves as Grace’s foil, illuminating Grace’s initial self-centeredness and victim mentality through contrast. Their names themselves become a motif, reinforcing how much they balance and define each other.

“Spilled milk.”

This is a metaphor commonly used to refer to something that is a past inconvenience, though not insurmountable: There’s no use crying over spilled milk, one might say after making a minor mistake of some kind. Bemoaning the figurative milk doesn’t fix the mess, so it serves no purpose. Lila says this a lot whenever someone in her life expresses regret, and the metaphor emphasizes how she always looks forward and never back. This phrase encapsulates Lila’s pragmatic, almost ruthless attitude toward life, reinforcing the impact of unresolved trauma. By refusing to dwell on the past, she shields herself from pain, but in doing so, she also distances herself emotionally from those who seek acknowledgment of past wounds.

“There’s a protocol. I ask you a question about your work, then you ask me about me.”

When Grace and Xander first meet, she asks him a question about himself, and he rambles for seven minutes, going from topic to topic. She cuts him off, tapping her watch impatiently, to educate him on the way conversations are supposed to proceed. Her assertiveness in this moment mirrors Lila’s ability to command a room, highlighting the inescapability of maternal legacies. It also reflects a shift in gender expectations—Grace expects a reciprocal, balanced conversation, rather than playing the passive listener, as women are often conditioned to do. It is like the way Lila calls out Josh Morgan for groping her during a meeting. Josh and the other men are surprised when Lila draws attention to his inappropriate behavior, though Xander is less surprised—and certainly recovers more quickly—when Grace corrects his lackluster behavior publicly. This shows both how similar Lila and Grace are, even when Grace is unaware of the similarity, as well as how men’s expectations of women have begun to change.

“The end of Grace’s affair with Morgan came deus ex machina, in late June, before they’d tired of each other and said mean things.”

Another allusion suggests that the appearance of Josh Morgan’s former girlfriend is like an appearance of the gods in ancient Greek theater, from which the phrase “deus ex machina” comes. It literally means “god from the machine” because a god could suddenly appear above the stage, apparently floating in (attached to a crane called a mechane) to provide a solution to some seemingly unsolvable problem. Grace’s relationship with the married Morgan is going nowhere, but things hadn’t turned sour yet, so how to break it off presented her with a conundrum. When she got the call from his ex, however, it showed her how to move forward. This moment underscores the novel’s metafictional elements, highlighting Grace’s tendency to view her own life through a narrative lens. It also reflects the importance of women’s personal and professional fulfillment, as Grace is ultimately uninterested in a relationship that serves no purpose beyond temporary distraction.

“‘Lila ran away too, you know,’ Clara said. ‘She left Polo and me behind.’”

Clara’s description of Lila suggests that Grace shouldn’t blame Zelda for leaving Clara and Polo behind any more than she blames Lila because Lila abandoned them in Detroit, too. Lila went off to college, married Joe, and then moved away permanently, inflicting some additional trauma on her siblings with her absence. Clara’s comparison highlights the inescapability of maternal legacies and the impact of unresolved trauma as abandonment ripples through generations. It also complicates Grace’s perception of Zelda—if she condemns Zelda for leaving, she must also grapple with Lila’s choices, forcing her to reassess what ‘abandonment’ truly means. Clara’s word choices, like “ran away” and “left […] behind” also point to the impact of unresolved trauma.

“I feel I have to be launched before I get married. I can’t be dependent.”

Ruth’s statement reflects the importance of women’s personal and professional fulfillment. She wants to marry Nico, but she also feels strongly about establishing her podcast—an ambition she’s had for a long time—before she does. Ruth has no desire to be financially dependent on her husband and feels she should achieve financial independence first. This moment contrasts with Zelda’s forced financial dependence on Aldo, reinforcing the evolution of women’s autonomy across generations. It also reflects Ruth’s self-awareness—unlike Grace, she doesn’t need to prove herself through reckless decisions but rather through careful, deliberate action.

“The wedding preparations took two months. Frances bloomed.”

Although Frances’s health was in decline before Ruth’s wedding, taking charge of the planning and hosting reanimates her. The narrator uses a metaphor, comparing her to a blooming flower, to describe the event’s effect. This metaphor emphasizes the importance of women’s personal and professional fulfillment, as Frances thrives when given a meaningful role. It also underscores the inescapability of maternal legacies, as Frances, like Bubbe and Zelda before her, finds purpose in nurturing the next generation—though on her terms.

“She took the beatings, she knew she earned them, and look what they made her.”

Aldo takes credit for Lila’s success, suggesting that his beatings paved the way for her achievements. He also eschews responsibility for his abuse, claiming that Lila knew she deserved to be hit and that this is why she “took” it. His attitudes stand in stark contrast with her own, as Lila never takes credit for her children’s successes nor associates abuse with discipline. This statement embodies the motif of the pathologization of women—Aldo frames his abuse as a necessary force shaping Lila, a twisted justification often used to control women. It also highlights the impact of unresolved trauma, as Lila’s response to Aldo’s cruelty is not to crumble but to shut down emotionally, perpetuating a cycle of detachment.

“‘What do you think of the mother, running away, leaving the children behind?’ Heidi said. ‘Fathers do it all the time,’ Frida said. ‘Why is it worse when the mother does it?’”

Heidi’s question and Frida’s response highlight one of the sexist double standards that still exist in modern American society. Although society has come a long way since Frances’s or Bubbe’s youth, women are still held to different standards than men, especially regarding parenting and child-rearing. This moment directly engages with the motif of the pathologization of women, as Frida challenges the assumption that a mother’s absence is more unnatural or damaging than a father’s. Her statement forces the reader—and Grace—to question whether Zelda’s departure was any more egregious than Aldo’s abuse.

“I was smart. I had drive. What good it did me.”

Frida talks about her youthful self, suggesting that even though she was intelligent and ambitious, these were nothing when faced with Aldo’s relative worldliness, strength, and power. She didn’t know what was happening the first time they had sex, and she was powerless to defend herself physically. Her statement highlights the importance of women’s personal and professional fulfillment even—perhaps especially—during eras in which women are marginalized and disempowered. It also connects to the motif of the pathologization of women, as Frida’s intelligence was not enough to protect her from being reduced to a “hysterical” woman in need of control. Her bitter reflection reveals the limitations imposed on women, no matter their potential.