My favorite books about brainy women who are ambivalent about pregnancy and motherhood

Heti’s heady, meditative, heavily autobiographical novel documents its narrator’s personal ambivalence about the idea of motherhood.

While this is not a conventional novel with a linear plot, it is a gorgeously written reflection on what motherhood means, or could mean, in general and to our narrator in particular. With unflinching honesty, she explores not only the question of whether or not she wants a child of her own, but also her identity as her mother’s child and her position as a descendant of Holocaust survivors.

I found so much to relate to in these pages; I often set out to underline a sentence and ended up underlining an entire page, feeling like Heti had put her finger on something I’d experienced but had never articulated so well.

Kristen is a friend of mine, and I felt a strong sense of kinship to her work not only because I admire her personally but also because it deals with so many of my novel’s own themes—grief, family, unplanned pregnancy.

Motherest’s main character, Agnes, is a college student who describes her life on campus, her pregnancy, and the loss of her beloved brother through a combination of traditional narration and a series of letters written with increasing urgency to her absent mom. Agnes’s voice and letters are both hilarious and heartbreaking. Every once in a while, you meet a character who you miss when their story ends—for me, Agnes is one of them.

This 1965 novel by English author Margaret Drabble follows protagonist and PhD student Rosamund as she becomes a single mother.

Educated, upper-middle-class Rosamund narrates with a quintessentially British and—for me—highly enjoyable blend of primness and humor. Fascinatingly and somewhat frustratingly, Rosamund keeps her pregnancy a secret from her daughter Octavia’s father, even after Octavia is born. She’s like a strange English Virgin Mary who studies Elizabethan sonnets and really doesn’t want to “put anyone out”.

Her story also offers an interesting glimpse into class issues in 1960s London and the way that experiences of pregnancy and motherhood can both transcend and accentuate class divisions.

I loved this novel for its savage intelligence and frank exploration of the problems of inhabiting a body while trying to live a “life of the mind.”

Protagonist Dorothy is an adjunct English professor whose ectopic pregnancy and miscarriage are not so much the subject of this book as a metaphor for Dorothy’s life in general: her hopes have not materialized, and her nonstop thoughts rarely lead to action. Readers who have struggled to claw their way up the academic ladder (particularly those who’ve spent a lot of time at the bottom of that ladder) will especially enjoy this book.

Be prepared for visceral descriptions of Dorothy’s body—of all that it produces, and all that it fails to produce.

This blunt and surprising short novel is translated from Italian by Ann Goldstein and narrated by Leda, a middle-aged divorcee, professor of comparative literature, and self-identified “unnatural mother” who becomes infatuated with a younger mother she meets at the beach while vacationing alone. It’s an engrossing yet uncomfortable read; Leda’s descriptions of her maternal ambivalence are unnervingly yet refreshingly candid and often dark.

Readers who are prone to categorizing characters as “likable” or “unlikeable” will probably put Leda in the latter category, but one of the things I love most about Ferrante’s work is the way she explodes those categories, not focusing on the rightness or wrongness of her characters but rather honoring their complexity with brutal honesty.