JUDY BLUME WIFEY PDF

I grew up in the fifties, with a mother whose expectations for me didn’t go beyond wanting me to be a good girl. She urged me to get a college degree in. Wifey by Judy Blume – book cover, description, publication history. Judy Blume’s novel Wifey is not her usual fare. Obviously as an adult fiction book it is automatically set apart from how we all knew her in our.

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Wifey by Judy Blume · OverDrive (Rakuten OverDrive): eBooks, audiobooks and videos for libraries

Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. Preview — Wifey by Judy Blume. Wifey by Judy Blume Goodreads Author. With more than four million copies sold, Wifey is Judy Blume’s hilarious, moving tale of a woman who trades in her conventional wifely duties for her wildest fantasies—and learns a lot about life along the way.

Sandy Pressman is a nice suburban wife whose boredom is getting the best of her. She could be making friends at the club, like her husband keeps encouraging her to With more than four million copies sold, Wifey is Judy Blume’s hilarious, moving tale of a woman who trades in her conventional wifely duties for her wildest fantasies—and learns a lot about life along the way. She could be making friends at the club, like her husband keeps encouraging her to do.

Or working on her golf game. Or getting her hair done. But for some reason, these things don’t interest her as much as the naked man on the motorcycle Paperbackpages.

Published September 6th by Berkley first published To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about Wifeyplease sign up.

Is the man on the motorcycle ever identified? The man was not identified.

Lists with This Book. Jul 24, karen rated it liked it Shelves: View all 43 comments. Jul 27, Miriam rated it it was ok. Wifey is the anti-romance. No sympathetic characters, no personal growth, no love, no happy ending. A common theme of romance novels is individuals helping one another to heal emotional wounds.

These may result from childhood trauma or abuse, oppression by family members or society in general on the basis of gender, appearance, reputation, etc, or experiences of violence, grief, or betrayal.

If this were a romance, Sandy would come to grips with her unhappiness, the shallowness of her existence, Wifey is the anti-romance. If this were a romance, Sandy would come to grips with her unhappiness, the shallowness of her existence, and falseness of her mother’s and peer group’s expectations.

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The Baggage of Blumeness: Two Rioters Do WIFEY

She would grow as a person and acknowledge her true desires. And she would have better sex. None of this happens. The book contains sex aplenty, but no sensuality and no affection.

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The characters are alienated from one another and from themselves. In fact, they are written to be incapable of growth, flat and sterile as paper dolls.

Sandy’s inability to see those around her, even her own family members, as real people who must have thoughts and needs, signs her own emotional retardation. She is not a person, she is cipher for a demographic of women whose crippled condition Blume wishes to convey. If I believed that Sandy was a real person — that people were really this blumf, this stupid and selfish and incapable of thought or growth, I would have to rethink a number of the philosophical underpinnings of my ujdy.

For instance, I might shift from believing that every individual has inherent worth and rights to agreeing with eugenicists that inferior specimens should be euthanized or sterilized Sandy and Norman don’t seem like they’d miss the kids, anyway. However, I don’t believe this. While I buy that not everyone can succeed in overcoming early childhood conditioning and free herself to find a more fulfilling life, I don’t accept that anyone is this boring.

I’ve met people who seemed this boring, but we are in Sandy’s head and there should be more there. My father used to tell me, There are no normal people, just people you don’t know very well yet. Blume doesn’t do the “normal” people justice. I was tempted to theorize about Sandy being a repressed wicey. That would explain her utter lack of emotional connection, and there are those fantasies of violence against her husband But in the end I decided that would be too interesting.

View all 16 comments. Jul 14, Eh?

Rbrs 5 Whoa, Judy Blume! This is mos-def just realized I picked this abbr.

NOT a Romance romance group, we’ve lost our way! Other than aitch-ee-double hockeysticks, I can only describe this book as a situation that would create a Romance reader. I know, there are probably well-balanced, happy women out there who gulp down the Romances Meet the main character of this book, Sandy.

Sandy’s unhappiness with a materially comfortable but lackluster marriage to a colorless husband is inarticulate. More excitement, more joy. She attempts to gain this More by having more sex with more men. But see, she has a super-hoohaa that gives her fireworks twice each time she and her husband, Lbume, have “a little something” so really, it’s not the sex that she needs.

Since the POV is Sandy’s, we don’t see what goes on in his head. I think I may know a Norman irl, someone who wants a routine and freedom to do his guy stuff and not have to say all that touchy-feely junk and is so judu why his wives have not stayed with him.

I can’t say I understand him, but I do pity the fool. To grow up with a certain system and do all the things to have that system for yourself, then find that she wants you to second her emotions and be unable to adapt? That seems to be the sad grayness of many domestic partnerships. Blume’s writing in this book is simple, often sounding like she’s writing for elementary school kids.

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I guess it’s a style that’s hard to shake. It’s especially expressed when Norman speaks. I’ll have to add some quotes when I have the book in front of me. I don’t like it. I don’t believe the reader is meant to like it. You attempt to break out of the untenable that is eating glume away by teaspoons, but the first sign of concession is so new and misinterpreted as a sign of complete change that you forget it’s freezing and throw off your clothes.

Wifeey warm after all! You never notice when you die. View all 13 comments. Nov 14, Ellen rated it did not like it Shelves: From her bedroom window, Sandy watches the man, who discards the sheet initially draped over him, masturbates, wfiey then leaves on a motorcycle. He knows she is watching, and she knows he knows. Though the scene is charged with sexual tension, it is at a remove and both inexplicable and random. While there are moments of cultural commentary, it is a not a serious novel.

Within this generic mishmash, parts of the book reminded me of other literature. Early on, Sandy daydreams that her husband has died. Here, though, there is the illusion of safety. Though the qifey has interesting elements that could have been developed further, Blume dithers. Yet she does little to make any changes, and throughout the book, is acted on rather than acting. Sex comes to her: Wufey of the blue, Sandy contemplates suicide, with a gun no less.

Then—on seeing Gordon, whom she retained as her gynecologist post-affair eww! Some sturm and drang, but the book ends on a touching note. This book is the outtakes from every David Lynch movie. Not the blooper reel, but the scenes that Lynch cut to shave some minutes or just because they were unnecessary and boring. It is, in that way, a wifye piece of all the scraps of daily life and all widey momentous decisions people make to be boring. To me, Blume got the inner life of judyy cowardly woman, Sandy, all wrong.

And I can understand why that bluje happen. I think women, especially married women, but actually most of us, learn to This book is the outtakes from every David Lynch movie. I think women, especially married women, but actually most of us, learn nlume protect ourselves from judgment and ostracism by writing so many layers of narrative about our selves, and then wrapping our real, vulnerable selves up in those narratives.

Eventually, something that we were playing at becomes who we are in an instinctive way.