In the march issue of the Atlantic magazine, sandwiched between an article
about Chinese Internet technology and a review of modernist art criticism,
lies a seven-page essay called "Marry Him! The Case for Settling." Its
author is Lori Gottlieb, a 40-year-old Los Angeles writer and single mother
who admits that the idea of finding Mr. Right, a notion she once harbored,
was in fact a bill of goods. Young women in search of marriage and family,
she writes, should think seriously about resigning themselves to Mr. Good
Enough.

"Marriage isn't a passion-fest," Gottlieb writes. "It's more like a
partnership formed to run a very small, mundane and often boring nonprofit
business."

Gottlieb (who's an acquaintance of mine) has already adapted this essay into
a commentary on public radio's "Talk of the Nation" and discussed it on the
"Today" show. It has sparked responses, in the blogosphere and elsewhere,
whose collective word count surely exceeds that of her article by at least a
hundred-fold. Partly that's the result of the button-pushing nature of the
subject, and partly it's because of certain shrewd (or depending on your
point of view, appalling) rhetorical choices Gottlieb makes over the course
of her article. I won't attempt to capture the tone or content of the entire
treatise (it's on newsstands and the Atlantic's website); I want to quote
from one passage that seems to be inflaming people the most.

"Every woman I know -- no matter how successful and ambitious, how
financially and emotionally secure -- feels panic, occasionally coupled with
desperation, if she hits 30 and finds herself unmarried.

"Oh, I know -- I'm guessing there are single 30-year-old women ... who will
be writing letters to the editor to say that the women I know aren't widely
representative, that I've been co-opted by the cult of the feminist
backlash, and, basically, that I have no idea what I'm talking about. And
all I can say is, if you say you're not worried, either you're in denial or
you're lying."

Really? At 30, I felt panic at the thought of being married. But I'll leave
the rebuttals on this point to others (some thoughtful, some apoplectic, can
be found via a quick Internet search). Besides, I detect enough
self-deprecating drollery in the essay to persuade me it's not the crime
against humanity that many of its more vehement critics are convinced it is.

What does feel to me like a crime, however, is what "Marry Him!" assumes is
most women's relationship to motherhood -- namely that it's as necessary a
part of adult female life as breathing. Gottlieb, at 38, had a baby with
donated sperm. She could have framed her argument around the problematic
aura of "empowerment" that surrounds popular notions of single-by-choice
parenting. Instead, she echoes the conventional wisdom that women don't just
want children, we need them. We're so delirious with need, in fact, that we
should make all manner of sacrifice -- including partnering with any old
man -- in order to grab this biologically determined brass ring.

I don't really blame Gottlieb for the premise; she's merely reflecting the
values of her culture. And I don't mean the affluent, urban, progressive
culture suggested by the details she provides about her romantic quandaries.
I'm talking about the way baby hunger has become such a consumer force in
this country that some (not all, but some) women want a baby in the same way
they want a Louis Vuitton bag, because they've been told to want one. And
why not? In some ways, acquisition has never been easier.

Reproductive technology, a boon for countless people, has also created a
strange kind of tyranny. By extending the deadline and loosening the
criteria for getting pregnant, by granting no exemptions from the
unremitting pressure to procreate (Menopausal? No problem! Lesbian? No
excuse!), the ever-widening window of reproductive opportunity contributes
to the notion that not only should parenthood be available to every
individual or couple, it's a good idea for every individual or couple too.
One needn't pay a midnight visit to the diaper aisle of Walgreen's to
suspect that that might not actually be the case.

Most people do eventually want to become parents. But in the 21st century,
there is no good reason to see childbearing as an inevitable extension of a
committed partnership or even as an ordained personal ambition. Instead, we
need to view it for what it is: a profoundly important and difficult job
that should only be undertaken by those who have the will and temperament to
do it.

Because we're biologically programmed to take on that job -- or at least
fill out the application -- it's unlikely we'll run out of humans. And by
all means, if you're truly listening to yourself rather than buying
society's relentless parenthood sales pitch, have a child, find a mate or
both. But when it comes to Gottlieb's case for "settling" -- for doing that
at all costs -- I can't help but wonder if what's missing from the
prototypical unhappy single woman's life isn't a man or a baby but an
imagination. There are infinite ways to define a fulfilling life. Why
enshrine the one whose accompanying illustration shows a marriage
certificate and a baby stroller? Talk about settling.

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