In the Book Notes series, authors create and discuss a music playlist that relates in some way to their recently published book.
Danit Brown’s debut novel Television for Women is a dark and poignant exploration of postpartum depression.
Bookreporter wrote of the book:
“Startlingly honest and unsentimental, TELEVISION FOR WOMEN explores the realities of life postpartum, the demands children make on women’s identities and relationships — and the desperate lengths someone might go to in order to reclaim the person she once was.”
In her own words, here is Danit Brown’s Book Notes music playlist for her debut novel Television for Women:
I tend to write best without music—I prefer ambient library or coffeeshop noise, or silence—so for this playlist, I tried to imagine what kind of music Estie, the main character, might listen to, and what kind of music she might resent. She’s not a big music person—she’d rather watch TV—so her taste in music can be pretty basic. Like mine.
Having my Baby – Paul Anka and Odia Coates
In one corner, you have Estie, who has always assumed that she would become a mother someday, although she’s not sure that “someday” means “now.”
In the other, you have Paul Anka, who sings that having a baby is “a lovely way of saying how much you love me.”
This song, it seems to me, demands that you buy into its sentimentality whole-heartedly or else run from the room screaming. Estie would no doubt do the latter. She doesn’t believe in sentimentality.
Pro tip: Do not have a baby solely to send someone else a message, no matter how positive. Messages are best sent via email or texting. This tip will save you money and a lot of unhappiness down the line.
Isn’t She Lovely? – Stevie Wonder
This song captures the joy parents are supposed to feel when their child is born. Stevie Wonder’s daughter isn’t even one minute old, and Stevie Wonder is already singing, “Isn’t she lovely, made from love?… Boy, I’m so happy.” This is fully how Estie expected to feel when her own child was born, but instead she feels tired and overwhelmed and a little horrified at the realization that, contrary to what she’d learned in her childbirth classes, giving birth isn’t the end of the story. It’s the beginning. Cue the soft-focus shot of a mother nuzzling a swaddled newborn.
Stay Awake – Julie Andrews
You can never go wrong with a Julie Andrews lullaby, but this one is particularly great because (a) you don’t have to be a soprano in order to sing along; (b) the melody is simple enough that you can make up your own lyrics pretty much on the fly.
I’m too embarrassed to share my own lame substitute lyrics for this lullaby, and Estie, who, in the way of fictional characters, is even more prone to self-consciousness than I am, would probably never admit to this kind of improvisation in the first place. Let me assure you, though, that that Estie makes up songs for her baby. She might be tired and overwhelmed, but she’s still human.
More Than Words – Extreme
Back in high school, Estie went to prom with a big-headed kid named Joseph Van Vranken. Joseph is the kind of guy who loves this song and thinks that ultimatums like, “If you truly love me, you’ll put out,” are perfectly fine as long as you can make them sound romantic.
Spoiler alert: You can guess what Joseph’s plans are for after prom.
Dire Straits – Romeo and Juliet
The rest of my family thinks this song is pure cheese, but I can listen to it on repeat, which is how Estie would listen to it as well. She would connect with the longing in Marc Knopfler’s voice, because what could be more romantic than a Romeo pining after his Juliet long after she’s moved on?
Estie wants to be the Juliet in this song, but she’s actually the Romeo, still wondering how her college boyfriend could have loved her as deeply as he said he did and then wind up ghosting her.
Pro tip: The rhythm of this song is ideal for spinning around in circles with a baby in your arms.
Bad Friend – Rina Sawayama
This song comes up if you google “songs about bad friends,” which I may or may not have done. “I’m a bad friend,” Sawayama sings, which is already gut-wrenching enough in itself, but what really gets me is the line, “Put your hands up if you’re not good at this stuff.” Estie would definitely raise her hands here. More importantly, she would feel intense relief to learn that she isn’t the only one who isn’t good at this stuff. She would be so relieved, in fact, that she would imagine emailing Sawayama something like, “I feel you.” In this fantasy, Sawayama, touched by Estie’s email, would immediately hop on a private jet to come find Estie, her new best friend, and whisk her away from ordinary life. At least that’s what would happen in the TV movie based on Estie’s life.
Pro tip: This approach is how I became best friends with Kelly Link, Lorrie Moore, and Linda Holmes, none of whom know that we’re best friends.
Kitty – The Presidents of the United States of America
Estie and Owen have a cat, Herbert. Before they had their baby, they would have loved this song, which I think captures an essential truth about cats: cats want what they want exactly when they want it. A cat will want you to pet it until it doesn’t, at which point it’ll turn around and attack you. It is this attitude that makes Estie’s mother worry about Herbert sucking Abby’s baby’s breath.
Pro tip: It’s beneath a cat’s dignity to just walk away without comment.
Snowblind – Styx
To me, this song captures the confusion and disorientation that Estie feels as a new mother. If standing in front of a mirror studying the lines on your face isn’t an apt description of early parenthood, I don’t know what is. In “Snowblind,” we have slow, wistful verses in which James Young and Tommy Shaw bemoan their powerlessness. We also have the—which my thirteen-year-old would describe as “banging”—In which Tommy Shaw wails, “Now I’m snowblind, can’t live without you…I just can’t get away.”
Side note: In looking up the lyrics, I came upon the explanation that this song is about cocaine addiction. Should I have already known this? Probably. Does the metaphor still work? Without a doubt.
Landslide – Fleetwood Mac
Is it possible to listen to this song and not feel depressed, especially if you’re going through a period of transition and upheaval such as, well, becoming a parent? Stevie Nicks sounds not just sad, but resigned to a life full of disappointment. This is another song I imagine Estie playing on repeat. She wouldn’t cry, but she would want to. And then she’d wish Stevie Nicks were younger and, unlike Rina Sawayama, in the market for a new best friend.
Shop Vac – Jonathan Coulton
My husband loves “Shop Vac,” and Estie’s husband, Owen, would love this song as well. The couple in the song have everything they’ve dreamed of—the house in the suburbs, the basement work space for the husband, the private bathroom for the wife—and yet they’re both unexplainably miserable. The husband, at least, is practical about his misery: when the shop vac is on, he can’t hear his wife crying. Owen, who is similarly practical, probably wishes he had a shop vac too. Or maybe a very loud table saw.
Blame It on the Boogie – Jackson Five
I’m including this song in the playlist because I didn’t want to end on the image of Estie crying in the bathroom. If it’s impossible to listen to “Landslide” without feeling sad, then it’s also impossible to listen to “Blame It on the Boogie” without succumbing to its joy. I imagine that, on good days, Estie, Owen, and their baby bop around their kitchen whenever this song comes on, deliberately ignoring the heartbreak in the lyrics. And this feels like an apt metaphor for parenting as well.
Pro tip: The novel does not end with Estie crying in the bathroom.
also at Largehearted Boy:
Danit Brown’s playlist for her story collection Ask for a Convertible
Danit Brown holds an MFA in fiction from Indiana University. Her stories have appeared in numerous literary journals, including Story, Glimmer Train, StoryQuarterly, and One Story. Her short story collection, Ask for a Convertible, was published in 2008. Brown currently teaches at Albion College in Michigan.