On Things Going South: Liars
The story begins as a recounting of the narrator’s life as she tells it to herself in her journal, centered on her relationship with her boyfriend—later husband—John, and their son. Much of it revolves around disappointments and unmet expectations. From the start, and given the title, we sense red flags and watch an unreliable relationship unfold, as though witnessing a friend trapped in a toxic partnership.
We grow frustrated, seeing the writing on the wall, yet we remain hooked in a kind of unhealthy voyeurism. We want to know: how far will this go? When will she wake up, set boundaries, do justice to herself? Our visceral discomfort is a testament to Manguso’s power as a writer. It reminds us that we’ve heard these stories before, and that we, too, carry ingrained reactions when faced with women in desperate situations: is she a victim? Is it her fault? Do we respond with outrage, contempt, or compassion?
The details of conversations read like relentless gaslighting from her husband. And yet, what unsettles us further is how often the narrator gaslights herself, clinging to the language of “love,” focusing on what is not entirely broken, comparing herself to peers in equally miserable marriages, and minimizing her own pain. The book forces us to question the authenticity of the stories we tell—whether to ourselves or others—and how bias is always present, especially in a one-sided journal. To what extent is the reader manipulated? Slowly, she drops hints about her own lies and omissions, shifting our perception and leaving us to wonder: what really happened? Were we, too, deceived?
Amid what could seem like rambling, sharp insights emerge, raising profound questions about heterosexual marriage, the nuclear family, and how women are treated at home, at work, and in society at large.
“But qualified women aren't likable; likable women aren't qualified. The only way to get the job is to be ten times better than the best man and likable, which means willing to absorb any amount of misogyny in any form from anyone with a smile on your face, forever. You must be attractive but not too attractive; men don't want to look at an unattractive woman all day long, but they won't feel comfortable working with a woman much more attractive than their own wives. If you marry a man or have children you will automatically be perceived as not committed enough to the job, while married men with children will be perceived as even more committed, with the assumption that their wives will manage all domestic responsibilities, including child-rearing. Finally, assume no allies, since the other women are competing with you for the few token positions available, and once you get the job, men will be free to harass and assault you with no risk of reprisal. Living on this knife edge will ruin your health, and once that happens they'll be able to fire you and hire a man to do the job you couldn't quite manage.”
When these insights land, they resonate deeply, leaving female readers in particular to ask: am I also lying to myself?
The narrator rewrites her story again and again, trying to process her reality, to stay sane, to decide how to move forward. It’s a striking portrayal of how we construct narratives for survival, and how these stories shape our growth. This recalls Henri Bergson’s idea that language inevitably distorts the self: every retelling changes what is lived and therefore how we will move forward.
‘I wrote down the story of my life again: Managing the household falls entirely to me, since John works full-time and travels frequently, so I teach part-time and spend my days tring to fu ten pounds of shit into the proverbial fie-pound bag. I long for a bigger bag or less shit; it's been more than six years since the child was born, and I still feel surprised and confused. [...]
Every day I had to write it all down again so I could see it all in one place, but it didn't sink in. I kept having to say the same things over and over. The story came out in shards. It sounded different each time.’
Gender inequality runs through the book: the asymmetrical burdens of parenthood, the ways success in creative fields depends on having a strong, equitable partnership, especially for women balancing roles as wives and mothers.
For those who struggled during the pandemic, this book may strike a nerve—or even feel triggering. But if nothing else, it has the power to spark essential conversations: about invisible labor, marital expectations, the isolation of nuclear family life, and, ultimately, the possibility of empathy between men and women.
