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WHEN our family moved from the West Village to the Upper East Side in 2004, seeking proximity to Central Park, my in-laws and a good public school, I thought it unlikely that the neighborhood would hold any big surprises. For many years I had immersed myself — through interviews, reviews of the anthropological literature and participant-observation — in the lives of women from the Amazon basin to sororities at a Big Ten school. I thought I knew from foreign.
Then I met the women I came to call the Glam SAHMs, for glamorous stay-at-home-moms, of my new habitat. My culture shock was immediate and comprehensive. In a country where women now outpace men in college completion, continue to increase their participation in the labor force and make gains toward equal pay, it was a shock to discover that the most elite stratum of all is a glittering, moneyed backwater.
A social researcher works where she lands and resists the notion that any group is inherently more or less worthy of study than another. I stuck to the facts. The women I met, mainly at playgrounds, play groups and the nursery schools where I took my sons, were mostly 30-somethings with advanced degrees from prestigious universities and business schools. They were married to rich, powerful men, many of whom ran hedge or private equity funds; they often had three or four children under the age of 10; they lived west of Lexington Avenue, north of 63rd Street and south of 94th Street; and they did not work outside the home.
Instead they toiled in what the sociologist Sharon Hays calls “intensive mothering,” exhaustively enriching their children’s lives by virtually every measure, then advocating for them anxiously and sometimes ruthlessly in the linked high-stakes games of social jockeying and school admissions.
Their self-care was no less zealous or competitive. No ponytails or mom jeans here: they exercised themselves to a razor’s edge, wore expensive and exquisite outfits to school drop-off and looked a decade younger than they were. Many ran their homes (plural) like C.E.O.s.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that my background in anthropology might help me figure it all out, and that this elite tribe and its practices made for a fascinating story.
I was never undercover; I told the women I spent time with that I was writing a book about being a mother on the Upper East Side, and many of them were eager to share their perspectives on what one described as “our in many ways very weird world.”
It was easy for me to fall into the belief, as I lived and lunched and mothered with more than 100 of them for the better part of six years, that all these wealthy, competent and beautiful women, many with irony, intelligence and a sense of humor about their tribalism (“We are freaks for Flywheel,” one told me, referring to the indoor cycling gym), were powerful as well. But as my inner anthropologist quickly realized, there was the undeniable fact of their cloistering from men. There were alcohol-fueled girls’ nights out, and women-only luncheons and trunk shows and “shopping for a cause” events. There were mommy coffees, and women-only dinners in lavish homes. There were even some girlfriend-only flyaway parties on private planes, where everyone packed and wore outfits the same color.
“It’s easier and more fun,” the women insisted when I asked about the sex segregation that defined their lives.
“We prefer it,” the men told me at a dinner party where husbands and wives sat at entirely different tables in entirely different rooms.
Sex segregation, I was told, was a “choice.” But like “choosing” not to work, or a Dogon woman in Mali’s “choosing” to go into a menstrual hut, it struck me as a state of affairs possibly giving clue to some deeper, meaningful reality while masquerading, like a reveler at the Save Venice ball the women attended every spring, as a simple preference.
And then there were the wife bonuses.
I was thunderstruck when I heard mention of a “bonus” over coffee. Later I overheard someone who didn’t work say she would buy a table at an event once her bonus was set. A woman with a business degree but no job mentioned waiting for her “year-end” to shop for clothing. Further probing revealed that the annual wife bonus was not an uncommon practice in this tribe.
A wife bonus, I was told, might be hammered out in a pre-nup or post-nup, and distributed on the basis of not only how well her husband’s fund had done but her own performance — how well she managed the home budget, whether the kids got into a “good” school — the same way their husbands were rewarded at investment banks. In turn these bonuses were a ticket to a modicum of financial independence and participation in a social sphere where you don’t just go to lunch, you buy a $10,000 table at the benefit luncheon a friend is hosting.
But what exactly did the wife bonus mean? It made sense only in the context of the rigidly gendered social lives of the women I studied. The worldwide ethnographic data is clear: The more stratified and hierarchical the society, and the more sex segregated, the lower the status of women.
Financially successful men in Manhattan sit on major boards — of hospitals, universities and high-profile diseases, boards whose members must raise or give $150,000 and more. The wives I observed are usually on lesser boards, women’s committees and museums in the outer boroughs with annual expectations of $5,000 or $10,000. Husbands are trustees of prestigious private schools, where they accrue the cultural capital that comes with being able to vouch for others in the admissions game; their wives are “class moms,” the unremunerated social and communications hub for all the other mothers.
WHILE their husbands make millions, the privileged women with kids who I met tend to give away the skills they honed in graduate school and their professions — organizing galas, editing newsletters, running the library and bake sales — free of charge. A woman’s participation in Mommynomics is a way to be helpful, even indispensable. It is also an act of extravagance, a brag: “I used to work, I can, but I don’t need to.”
Anthropology teaches us to take the long and comparative view of situations that may seem obvious. Among primates, Homo sapiens practice the most intensive food and resource sharing, and females may depend entirely on males for shelter and sustenance. Female birds and chimps never stop searching out food to provide for themselves and their young. Whether they are Hadza women who spend almost as much time as men foraging for food, Agta women of the Philippines participating in the hunt or !Kung women of southern Africa foraging for the tubers and roots that can tide a band over when there is no meat from a hunt, women who contribute to the group or family’s well-being are empowered relative to those in societies where women do not. As in the Kalahari Desert and rain forest, resources are the bottom line on the Upper East Side. If you don’t bring home tubers and roots, your power is diminished in your marriage. And in the world.
Rich, powerful men may speak the language of partnership in the absence of true economic parity in a marriage, and act like true partners, and many do. But under this arrangement women are still dependent on their men — a husband may simply ignore his commitment to an abstract idea at any time. He may give you a bonus, or not. Access to your husband’s money might feel good. But it can’t buy you the power you get by being the one who earns, hunts or gathers it.
The wives of the masters of the universe, I learned, are a lot like mistresses — dependent and comparatively disempowered. Just sensing the disequilibrium, the abyss that separates her version of power from her man’s, might keep a thinking woman up at night.
A writer and social researcher in New York and the author of the forthcoming memoir “Primates of Park Avenue.”
In January the Wallander author was diagnosed with cancer in his neck and a lung. In the first of an occasional series he describes his initial shock, and the agonising wait for the treatment to start SOURCE: THE GUARDIAN
Henning Mankell … 'Now the counterattack against my tumours will begin.' Photograph: Felix Clay for the Guardian Felix Clay/Guardian
After being diagnosed with cancer at the beginning of January, I endured a 10-day-long descent into hell. I remember that time as a fog, a shattering mental shudder that occasionally transmuted into an imagined fever. Brief, clear moments of despair. And all the resistance my willpower could muster.
Looking back, I can now think of it all as a long drawn-out nightmare that paid no attention to whether I was asleep or awake.
Then I began to clamber up out of the hole. I think that I am now back on ground level.
I am a child of the 1940s. I think that everybody of my generation automatically associates cancer with death. Even if I know, as others do, that cancer research has undergone an incredible development over the past 50 years, and that cancer no longer indicates the inevitable outcome, the old conception no doubt lingers on somewhere inside me.
I counter my lack of knowledge by reading as much about it as I can. And not least by listening to the doctors and other nursing staff I meet at the Sahlgrenska university hospital in Gothenburg.
One day Eva, my wife, says: "You ought to write about waiting. Cancer diagnoses and cancer care involve waiting. And that is difficult for all concerned."
She is right, of course. But there is one aspect of waiting that is essential. It involves doctors, pathologists and other nursing staff analysing meticulously the precise kind of tumours I am suffering from, and what treatment can be most effective.
When I talk to V, a lung specialist who was active 20 years ago, she says that compared with the cytotoxins available today, which can be more or less "tailor-made" to treat specific tumours, what patients had to put up with in those days was pure "rat-poison".
This waiting can be hard, at times unbearable: but there is nothing one can do about it. This waiting is unavoidable, provided there are no bottlenecks to hold up the diagnostic process unnecessarily. Naturally, while waiting, one feels utterly helpless.
In my own case the 10 or 12 days that passed while I was waiting were filled by a very special kind of fear: I have a metastasis in a cervical vertebra. Had it had time to spread into my brain? If so, I could well imagine that the battle was over even before it had begun.
But my thoughts are with those who may not have anybody else with whom they can share the angst associated with the waiting. People whose affliction is not clear-cut, and who may be forced to wait for an unnecessarily long time before a diagnosis is made, and treatment begun.When Eva and I sat with Dr M and she said that they had not found anything in my brain, that was a moment of great liberation. My cancer was just as serious as before, but that waiting – which at times had been horrific – had been rewarded with a piece of positive news. And I knew that doctors and other staff had been working as fast as they possibly could.
There is also unnecessary waiting within cancer care, due to understaffing, bureaucracy, political shilly-shallying. We know that.
During the last few weeks I have attended an endless number of clinics at the Sahlgrenska hospital, and only come across dedicated, competent and hard-working people. Some of them never seem to have any free time. And all of them seem to be driven by a determination to reduce people's waiting times as much as they possibly can. But you don't need to have special insight in order to realise that there are big problems with understaffing. Let us not even speak about what these people are paid.
Within cancer care, the various dimensions of waiting should never be forgotten. I am convinced that so very many people suffer completely unnecessarily because they might not even know where to turn to in order to receive support.
Now, at the beginning of February, it is about a month since my cancer was discovered. In a few days' time my treatment will start, with no holds barred.
So the first waiting is now over. Now the counterattack against my tumours will begin. To expand the military image, it feels as if the cavalry will emerge from the edge of the woods and launch an all-out assault on the enemies that have invaded my body.
I am immensely grateful that this is now happening. And that it has gone so quickly.
When I look back at this month, I can see flickering images of a large number of people flashing past. Doctors, nurses and others. Without them I would not be where I am today.
Another period of waiting is now beginning. But unlike a month ago, I am now the one going on the offensive.
Henning Mankell wrote about being diagnosed with cancer in his book Quicksand: What It Means to be a Human Being. Photograph: Reuters
Henning Mankell, the Swedish writer best known for the Wallander crime novels, has died at the age of 67.
Mankell was diagnosed with cancer in January 2014 and dealt with the experience in his book Quicksand: What It Means to be a Human Being.
“He passed away quietly last night in the wake of disease,” his publisher said on its website on Monday morning.
Mankell was the author of around 40 novels – 11 of which starred his best known character, the Swedish police detective Kurt Wallander – and had sold more than 40 million copies of his books around the world, in more than 40 languages. Leopard, the publisher he founded in 2001 with Dan Israel, and which published his books, described him as “one of the great Swedish authors of our time”.
“For Henning, writing was his lifeblood,” publisher and longtime friend Dan Israel told Dagens Nyheter. “He had plans to write a new Wallander in time for the 25th anniversary next year, he had several ideas. He saw enough in front of him that he would fight a long time. He was most afraid of not being able to write... He wrote two books during their disease and I think they are brilliant books.”
He was born in Stockholm, the son of a lawyer. After his mother abandoned the family when he was a year old, his father moved the family to the small down of Sveg, where they lived above the courthouse until Mankell was 13. He dropped out of secondary school to travel first to Paris, and then to sea, where he worked on a freighter. In 1966 he returned to Paris, becoming active in the student politics, but returned to work as a stagehand in Stockholm. There he wrote his first play, about Swedish colonialism. In 1973, he published a novel about the Swedish Labour movement.
Wallander, who featured in a series of novels published between 1991 and 2009, was portrayed on screen by Rolf Lassgård in a series of Swedish films, and in Swedish and UK TV adaptations starring Krister Henriksson and Kenneth Branagh, respectively.
Mankell was a leading figure in the“Nordic noir” genre, exploring the darker side of Sweden and providing a counterpoint to the country’s image as a relatively crime-free society.
The Orwell prize-wining writer and journalist Andrew Brown wrote in a Guardian obituary: “He established almost single-handedly the global picture of Sweden as a crime writer’s ideal dystopia. He took the existing Swedish tradition of crime writing as a form of leftwing social criticism and gave it international recognition, capturing in his melancholy, drunken, bullish detective Kurt Wallander a sense of struggle in bewildered defeat that echoed round the world.”
Mankell also wrote plays, and was the artistic leader of Teatro Avenida in Maputo. He divided his time between Sweden and Mozambique, setting his young adult novel Secrets in the Fire in the country, and basing it on the true story of the land mine survivor Sofia Alface. He worked extensively with Aids charities in Africa, and, in 2010, was on board the aid flotilla bound for Gaza which was boarded by Israeli troops.
“Solidarity with those in need run through his entire work and manifested itself in action until the very end,” said Leopard in a statement this morning.
In 2008, Mankell was given an honorary degree of Doctor of Letters from the University of St Andrews “in recognition of his major contribution to literature and to the practical exercise of conscience”.
After being diagnosed with cancer in 2014, he wrote a column about his experience of the disease for the Guardian, describing the period after he was diagnosed as a “10-day-long descent into hell”.
In his final column, written in September, he pointed to a comment made by the writer Per-Olof Enquist: “’One day we shall die. But all the other days we shall be alive.’ If I add to that a quotation I read in a repair workshop when my car was in for an oil change, the picture becomes even more clear. It said: ‘Don’t take life too seriously. You won’t come out of it alive no matter what.’”
In an interview in the Göteborgs Posten late last month, Mankell told Ingrid Norrman that “I might work for two hours a day. … I use the hours I have the energy to write, but it is clear that I do not do as much now as I did before”, adding that he was working on a new book. The idea, he said, came last summer when he was admitted to Sahlgrenska hospital to be treated for a lung inflammation.
“I got the idea in midsummer when I was at the doctor to take a blood test and instead ended up in an ambulance. It turned out that I had double pneumonia, the immune system was completely beaten. I was inside for ten days at the hospital, slept pretty bad, and heard in my confused state of people talking in the corridor. … I realized that it was the night nurse they were talking about, but there was something magical about those vague voices talking about the night. So I got in touch with a night nurse, interviewed her and now I am writing a novel about a night nurse from early evening to the time she goes home in the morning. It will be a book about all these nurses walk alone around the hospital wards at night and taking care of patients,” he said.
The novelist said in the interview that when he was young, “the only thing I was afraid of was getting old and turning around and seeing that I botched my life. But I’m happy with the life that has been.”
“I have always made my choices and lived despite them, whether they were right or wrong. I have never been like a dry leaf that someone threw into the stream and which randomly ends up anywhere downstream. I dare to turn around now and looking back, because I see that I have not botched my life. The unique thing about life is that you must account for the choices you make. You can never take a step back and redo it. It does not mean that I’m finished. Death, when it comes, interferes always in the living things that are going on,” he said.
Ascending the Eiffel Tower for its breathtaking views is one of Paris's undisputed thrills—just ask the 7 million visitors who do it each year. Though a sweeping view of Paris from one of the city's emblematic sites—the Arc de Triomphe, Sacré Coeur, the towers of Notre Dame—is a must for a vast majority of tourists, oppressive crowds and ridiculously long waits can diminish the experience and squander valuable vacation hours. If you're willing to try something new, or push a little farther afield, there are spectacular views to be had with fewer (or no) crowds, and unparalleled cultural or dining experiences thrown in as well.
Who would think that a prosaic Holiday Inn would harbor such a gem? Set in the heart of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, you'll find views here to rival the best in Paris. Open from 5 pm to midnight seven days a week, 43 Up the Roof is full of locals and hotel guests on weekends, but at opening time on a weekday, you might very well have the place to yourself. Reservations are essential.
Insider Tip: Another exceptional view can be had a few minutes away: Take Rue Danton to the Quai des Augustins and walk along the Seine to the Pont Neuf. At the center of the bridge you'll find a staircase leading down to the Square du Vert-Galant, at the tip of Île de la Cité. This beautiful park offers a breathtaking perspective from the water's edge, and it's a great place for a picnic.
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PARC DES BUTTES-CHAUMONT
Complete with Elysian fields, a reflecting lake, and an Italianate temple perched atop picturesque cliffs, the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont is Paris's fifth largest park, and arguably its most dramatic. Built during the reign of Napoleon III, the park's sinuous paths, majestic trees, and numerous water features form a picture-perfect landscape, complemented by scenic views of the city. Grab a picnic lunch and sprawl out on the grassy lawn, or head to the Rosa Bonheur Guinguette—Paris's last traditional dance halls, dating from 1867—for a snack.
Insider Tip: Down narrow cobbled passageways, the charming rose-clad cottages of the Quartier de la Mouzaïa—an authentic 19th-century workers' neighborhood—have authentic Old World charm.
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Courtesy of Restaurant Les Ombres
LES OMBRES, MUSÉE DU QUAI BRANLY
Both inside and outdoors, the airy Les Ombres delivers heart-stopping, 360-degree views of Paris with the Eiffel Tower front and center. The restaurant's minimalist, glassed-in dining room and stark white linens work to stunning effect in the daytime, no matter what the weather. Although you can easily run up a tab here, you don't have to: the €32 menu de saison for lunch offers gourmet dishes, such as Carpaccio of Daurade, asparagus with a chervil vinaigrette, tender squab in an herb risotto, and sinful desserts.
Insider Tip: A spectacular building designed by star architect Jean Nouvel, the Musée du quai Branly brings together three of Paris's best collections of traditional art and artifacts from Asia, Oceana, Africa and the Americas, with acclaimed temporary exhibitions. Until Oct. 18, 2014, "Tattooists, Tattooed" returns to the sources of tattoos and takes a look at tattoo art around the world.
Standing over 170 feet high, this immaculate Gothic tower, built between 1509 and 1523, was a gift to the city from the butchers of Les Halles market. Saint-Jacques Tower was recently cleaned, refurbished, and opened to the public after many years of disuse. Now a favorite spot for view-hunters, the lookout at the top is well-worth the 16-story journey. However, take note that the tower is only open on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, and visits are limited to 136 people per day, so your best bet is to get there at opening time (9:30 am) for tickets.
Insider Tip: Many tourists head to Galeries Lafayette or Printemps for their one-stop shopping, but Parisians often forego the congestion and crowds in favor of Paris institution BHV (Bazar Hôtel de Ville), a two-minute walk from the tower.
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Courtesy of Monsieur Bleu
MONSIEUR BLEU
A radical expansion of the Palais de Tokyo contemporary arts center in 2012 opened up the building's spectacular Seine-side vistas and paved the way for the stylish Monsieur Bleu restaurant. On nice days between May and September, dining in al fresco elegance on the restaurant's terrace, with matchless views of the Seine and Eiffel Tower, is not to be missed. Best of all, it's open every day from noon until 2 am, so you can come for a meal, tea time, a cocktail, or to watch the lights of the Eiffel Tower twinkle every hour on the hour.
Insider Tip: One of Europe's largest and most exciting contemporary arts centers, the Palais de Tokyo celebrates all manner of creativity, from interactive installations and video art, to sculpture and fashion retrospectives, all in a spirit of delirious irreverence.
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Courtesy of Beaumarly
LE GEORGES AU CENTRE POMPIDOU
The superb view of Les Halles, the Marais, and Notre Dame is Le Georges' biggest claim to fame. This bird's-eye perch offers an unparalleled perspective of Paris's winding streets and the colorful, vivacious neighborhood that was Paris's central food market from medieval times until the early 1960s. Savoring a cappuccino or a nice glass of wine with your view is a delicious way to while away an hour or two.
Insider Tip: The Centre Pompidou needs no introduction. Spend a few hours among the stars of modern art or simply pay €3 to access the views.
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PALAIS DE CHAILLOT (TROCADERO)
This monumental structure, originally constructed for the 1878 World's Fair, houses several under-the radar museums and cultural spaces. Built on the summit of the Chaillot hill, the Palais also offers majestic views of the Eiffel Tower just across the Seine. Begin your walk at the Palais de Chaillot steps, traverse the gardens, and cross the Pont d'Iéna to the Champs-de-Mars, at the foot of the Eiffel Tower.
Insider Tip: To see Paris by water is a thrill not to be missed. With a stop just opposite the Trocadero, the Bateau Bus is one of the best ways to traverse the city by water. With a day ticket (€16) you can ride all day stopping at any of eight stops, all at major tourist sites—the Louvre, Saint-Germain, Musée d'Orsay, Champs-Élysées, and Notre-Dame.
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PARC DE BELLEVILLE
While crowds flock to Montmartre's notorious Place des Ternes for views of the city, make a beeline to the beautiful Parc de Belleville—Paris's highest park—where you'll find space to breath among lush gardens and one of the city's last remaining vineyards. In the heart of the park, the welcomingMaison de l'Air offers visitors an original take on Paris, with exhibits on that most essential of elements—the air. Learn about how native plants, insects, and birds use it, and how air transmits sound.
Insider Tip: Although cafés with a view are easily found along the Rue Piat at the top of the hill, Paris institution Le Baratin Bistro (3 rue Jouye-Rouve), within easy walking distance of the park, is a legendary foodie destination.
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Courtesy of Printemps
DELI-CIEUX AT PRINTEMPS
All of Paris unfolds before you in 360-degree panoramic splendor from the Deli-Cieux café on the ninth floor of Printemps' home store. This self-service café is the place to enjoy a snack, pose for a photo op, or play a game of "spot the monument" with the kids. With continuous service from Monday through Saturday during store hours (9:35 am to 8 pm; 10 pm on Thursdays), you can come any time of day, rain or shine.
Insider Tip: Around the corner from Printemps, the Paris Story movie offers an overview of 2,000 years of Paris history in all its cinematic glory. The movie features fascinating anecdotes (in your language of choice) of the city's most beloved monuments.
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Courtesy of Institut du Monde Arabe
RESTAURANT LE ZYRIAB, INSTITUT DU MONDE ARABE
On the ninth floor of the superb Institut du Monde Arabe—designed by Jean Nouvel—in Paris's leafy fifth arrondissement, Le Zyriab offers gourmet Lebanese fare for lunch and dinner. Stop in for a peaceful mid-afternoon cup of sweet mint tea and a plate of delectable pastries to enjoy a view stretching over Notre Dame and Ile de la Cité, the Marais, and the Seine (teatime from 3–6 pm). Admission to the ninth floor is free.
Insider Tip: Founded by Louis XIII in 1635, the lovely Jardin des Plantes botanic gardens, next to the Institut, feature beautiful flowerbeds, exotic plants, ancient trees, and foliage from all over the world.
