Varied in subject but tethered by their interest in prospecting the border between self and other, Robin Romm’s short stories relay the inner lives of contemporary women: the young mother who wonders if her marriage has become complacent while fantasizing about her ineffectual contractor, the expecting single mom who begins an affair with a man whose girlfriend is pregnant by the same donor’s sperm while trying to figure out how she will afford motherhood, both financially and emotionally. In the book’s eponymous story, a college student sells her “Ivy League” eggs to a celebrity, and — though she first ridicules the elitist marketing and overt capitalism of the reproductive economy — her roommate encourages her to see this act as not one defined by commerce but by “radical empathy,” “the longing for children elemental, like the desire for sight.”
A testament to her keen vision, Romm’s critique of “radical empathy” salvages authentic meaning from the self-serving banalities of therapy speak. We have children because we want them; we foist life on them, though we don’t understand our own lives, hoping their existence will provide a cipher to ours. And yet — it is radical, isn’t it, to love the future so much that we manifest new beings from nothing but our aging bodies that we imagine the next generation’s memories and collapse time into a perpetual present? Romm’s stories perch on the ledge of the moment, vibrant as photographs where “we’re all of us smeary with movement, with what is about to occur.”