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At 30, the writer Emily Witt found herself single and heartbroken, but also suddenly intent on examining the mythology around how life for women is supposed to be.
“Demographics have changed, people get married later or they don’t get married at all,” she said recently, drinking rosé at a bar in Brooklyn.
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“This is a moment when people like to take pictures of their perfect lives, and I don’t think there’s much pressure on a perfect life to be anything but old-fashioned and conventional,” he said. Stein’s observations is an animating spirit throughout Ms. at Yale in the joint program of Comparative Literature and Film and Media Studies, is an academic by training, and uses the comprehensive research and dispassionate analytic style that she has honed in school. ” only to realize with horror how absurd it was that, every inch the self-respecting, educated writer and thinker, she still craved guidance from a man on this most individual of questions.
Witt’s book: her quest to find some kind of new arrangement, even while she harbors a fierce attachment to the old ones.“Labor of Love: The Invention of Dating,” by Moira Weigel, is, like Ms. It wasn’t until the end of the process of writing her book that Ms. She includes the story in the first pages of her book; it’s one of the few explicitly personal exchanges she relays. Weigel, the entire process felt “urgent” and intensely personal, she told me, because the questions of how people relate to each other romantically were the ones she cared about.“I really wanted to take the subjects of love, sex and dating seriously and felt keenly aware of the trap that I had seen many young female writers pushed into, when they were encouraged to focus on ‘personal’ subjects.
“The thing is, I don’t feel like I massively do that,” she said. I don’t feel like I’m someone who writes about dating.”Yet the impetus for her most recent book, “The Lonely City,” came when Ms.
Laing, in her mid-30s — “an age at which female aloneness … Laing’s primary subject is not herself, but rather artists like Edward Hopper and Andy Warhol and Henry Darger, for whom, she argues, loneliness was everywhere. Laing herself appears in flashes all through the narrative, in cameos of solitude, staring into neighbors’ windows, skimming the personal ads on Craigslist, going on first dates with the men she finds there, but never any second dates.
Social mores had changed to accept a wider range of sexual practices.