To have children is to take a leap of faith. A wise person (who may or may not be my own mother) once told me that when you decide to have a child, you have to accept that the child might acquire the traits you hate and fear most in yourself and your partner.
You will love the child for the mysterious new individual they grow into, of course. But you will also be filled with moments of dread and terrifying recognition—you know what happens to people “like that” (like you). You will be able to do both of these things at the same time.
“How Does a Person Become A Nun?” by Blair Hurley is a story about a girl named Molly who is very different from her mother, but in a way her mother recognizes. Molly’s mother and father are Easter/Christmas Catholics—religious in the sense that these traditions are how they learned to measure out the years. But Molly is devoutly religious. She is attracted to God and the poetry of prayer. Her mother is also devout, but to her own secular, feminist beliefs—protective of the expansive pleasures of being a woman and the power of owning your future. Religion threatens her daughter’s access to these wonders. As Molly grows up, her closeness to God becomes more concrete and threatening to them both: Molly wants to become a nun.
Written entirely in the second person, “your mother” is the one who cries, “Why do you have to punish yourself to be good?” And “you” are the one who wants “to explain to your mother that you have a sensual life too: you are seeking a greater intimacy with God.” You, the reader, by way of Hurley’s lyrical prose, are lulled into identifying with Molly. But no, wait, of course, not you—you don’t want to be a nun, do you? The magic trick of this back-and-forth between recognition and alienation, is that you end up feeling, at the most intimate level, what it must be like to be Molly and also what it’s like to be her mother.
Alternating between recognition and alienation isn’t reserved for those considering “the call,” or for parents and children. It’s a fundamental part of growing up, as “you” push and pull against the influence of the world—against the influence of your peers, against your own desires. It’s a fundamental part of being human, as you pray to be recognized by those who matter most to you as an individual, as one-of-a-kind. Reading is also like that—a push and pull between enchantment and disbelief. And this is where Blair Hurley pulls off one of the miraculous feats of the short story: the more particular Molly’s world becomes, the more it begins to reflect your own.