Tough Book/Happy Ending

Despite all of its sadness and frustration, Rachel in the World, I thought, had a happy ending. It is clear that Bernstein is not a bad mother, and that Rachel was unable to fully give thanks to her mother for protecting her and loving her; intruding on her and overshadowing her with the motherly annoyance which was so oppressive. But by the end, Bernstein has finally found the “perfect place” for Rachel to live apart from her and yet close enough to hear her “flapping wings, look up and think of me” (263). She has triumphed in her quest which was so unlikely. She may attribute it to sheer luck or the kindness of strangers, but I believe, in the end, it was in fact Bernstein’s love which made the ending so triumphant.

Of course, Bernstein is not sugar-coating all that she had been through. Even in this perfect place she insists that “‘happy’ is a land with peaks and valleys, and ‘perfect’ a place with uncertain terrain, never free of hazards” (261). Rather, she is able to fully appreciate the burden she truly bore in the name of loving her daughter who was sometimes impossible to love. She remembered her battle with guilt and shame—recalls being rendered “useless as a mother,” but always from a distance (261). She is hesitant to place blame on herself for too much because she realizes that situations such as hers are special situations in which individuals like her daughter have slipped through the cracks of society. Sure, she reproaches herself, deems herself a bad mother now and then throughout the book, but by the end she is hopeful and even comfortable with how she has navigated this turbulent road. She is finally able to reflect on the true nature of her struggle: “That was hard, I thought, as if for the first time. That was really hard” (261). I found this passage so affecting because it was as if she was waiting until she had finally been victorious to allow herself any real understanding of the difficulty she’d been through.

Rachel’s father, Paul, sick and distant was not around during the times when Bernstein was forced to hide from Rachel’s needle-like cries. Charlotte had the protection of college when the time came. Her social workers and staff were paid by the hour to endure Rachel’s tyranny, and then they were allowed to go home to their families and their quiet, normal lives. In the end, Bernstein took the brunt of it; had to live in a world filled with overwhelming ambivalence. On the one side, she was trying to give all of the love she had to her mysterious daughter, and on the other, she was trapped and isolated by an inscrutable, unaffectionate sponge which was endless with need.

I may be a victim of optimism. At one time in my life I may have agreed with Amanda’s post—the idea that “love is not enough.” I understand that when it comes to a special needs child, neglected by society, skipped over or cut by those responsible for social funding, there is a limit which must necessarily outdistance that love. But in this case, Bernstein and Rachel’s case, all the help in the world and all the luck was really only part of it. What ensured that it all came together the very way it should have was the author, the mother, Jane Bernstein and her love. This was a success story in my eyes.