what happens?
“A Manual For Cleaning Women” by Lucia Berlin is the tale of a tired, troubled cleaning woman going through her routine. Through her days, she goes between houses to clean, fights the public transport system, gossips with other cleaning women, and steals little things like sleeping pills or spices. She has a litany of rules for herself as a cleaning woman which intersperse and occur in the story: not to steal the actual valuables, always take what your missus gives you, never work for friends, etc. The narrator does not seem to fit in much with the cleaning women or have any particular drive, instead drifting through her jobs to keep her and her kids afloat, all while mourning her old life and particularly her dead husband, Ter. Yet during her drifting, her clients force her to deal with her emotions in odd ways: her old friends, who make her remember life before Ter’s death, the Blums, who are both entirely different and yet harshly similar to the narrator herself, Mrs. Jessels, the old woman with poor memory who the narrator misses working for in some strange way.
The Burkes in particular are an interesting contrast to the narrator, as they in some ways have what she might’ve; they are educated, they have several children, they are trying to do their best for them and each other. They still are full of oddities, and the narrator clashes and comments on and observes, never fully sure of what to make of it. Ter and his details always come back into her thoughts, connecting back to whatever moment the narrator is in. One day, she gets a new client, Mrs. Johansen, who is very similar to her. Mrs. Johansen is an older, somewhat eclectic woman, who abides by few rules, loves puzzles, and had just lost her husband. The narrator has only been hired for one afternoon, and does little during it, making conversation, cleaning the windows, and most importantly, finding the last piece of the puzzle Mrs. Johansen has been working on. “I found it!” Both the narrator and Mrs. Johansen exclaim. When the narrator leaves, she asks Mrs. Johansen when she’ll be needed again, but the older woman just replies “who knows?” and they laugh. Later, the narrator is back at the bus stop. The world moves around her as it always does, and, finally, she begins to cry.
The chronic tension here is the narrator’s depression and the death of her husband, while the acute is a little harder to track as the story intercedes on a seemingly long standing routine. I find the acute best described then as her continuous life as a cleaning lady and new interactions with her clients and the world around her.
what makes this story compelling
From an objective point of view, very little happens throughout “A Manual For Cleaning Women.” The narrator cleans houses of mildly interesting people, takes (again) the bus, and just seems to sink into the mundanity of it. We are left, instead, to observe her as a character and all the little ways her personhood leaks into the story despite the bare bones we are given. Sometimes this comes in the way of her literal character traits and small actions, from her smoking habit to the sleeping pills she steals. Her habits as a cleaning woman are some of the clearest moments of her character we get, setting everything out in straightforward but often unorthodox rules.
Some lady at a bridge party somewhere started the rumor that to test the honesty of a cleaning woman you leave little rosebud ashtrays around with loose change in them, here and there. My solution to this is to always add a few pennies, even a dime.
Still, though, we get little of her character from the literal. We understand the narrator is often a clever but sparse woman; she knows how to worm her way into conversation but often keeps to herself. She does a lot of little things throughout the day, and she repeats some sort of routine each week at the different houses. It’s all a kind of drudgery through life, slow and depressing and then she laughs and cries at the end; it builds her only to a certain degree. It is then the perspective of the story, her perspective of the story, as simple as it is, that brings her character into utmost focus.
It is her perspective and that perspective tone through which we understand her best. A thin gray veneer smothers most of the story, as if the world the narrator lives in is permanently in a state of dreariness, on the verge of downpour. Everything is narrated in plain, simple terms and nothing is dwelled on—except when it is. Everything reminds her of her dead husband, everything reminds her of cleaning. Nothing does. Life goes on. We are granted a simultaneous (or supposed) intimacy to her character through the close 3rd of the perspective, and yet nothing at all. Which itself is a statement on her character.
Her passing internal commentary builds her as determined to ignore herself, passively observing the world around her while glazing past her self—downplaying everything from her faith to her suicide pact with her dead husband. Time drifts from scene to mundane scene, dinner, to cleaning, to the art of travel, cut and assembled next to each other with vague chronological order as the narrator haphazardly sorts through her feelings, though only in the background of her regular life. Cleaning the top of a fridge is given equal page space as the line about identifying her husbands’ dead body, only an unrelated paragraph apart.
My masterpiece in this area was when I cleaned the top of Mrs. Burke’s refrigerator. She sees everything, but if I hadn’t left the flashlight on she would have missed the fact that I scoured and re-oiled the waffle iron, mended the geisha girl and washed the flashlight as well…I refused to identify your body, Ter, which caused a lot of hassle. I was afraid I would hit you for what you did. Died.
We find through this frequent style the narrator is perhaps avoidant of her own feelings or that she is beginning to grieve in pieces. That she is far too busy for most of her emotion; that the emotions are leaking out nonetheless. Through the story, the mentions of Terr grow longer, into fuller scenes and memories from the sprouts of heavy, off-handed mentions. She is coming, unwilling, to deal with it all, though she acknowledges this very little. Still, even as she has what we know must be a great emotional push or acknowledgement, it is kept simple, in the style of how she thinks and understands the world. Kept uncomplicated for the sake of moving on forward.
“Ter, I don’t want to die at all, actually.” She thinks near the end of the story, then walks to the bus stop. She almost never views herself as able to stop, not truly, and we’re made aware of that constantly.
There is a definitive aspect of storytelling that characterizes her: the story she tells us is framed as the titular “manual for cleaning woman” as well as a kind of letter to Ter, what with the semi consistent use of “you” in reference to him. This is heightened by the position of this story within the collection and its perspective. A Manual For Cleaning Women is vague in its line between fiction and autobiography, between stretched truth and harsh realities. Much of what populates the book is tied to Berlin’s own experiences collected across the years, and the titular story is a prime example. The narrator’s dead husband, her stint as a cleaning woman, her kids and addiction all were very prominent aspects of Berlin’s life. At a point, the “narrator” and the half-made-up half-truth details become inseparable from what we know or think of Berlin—it becomes a game of finding the person hidden between the lines.
It’s also in the complexity of that “character,” whatever you understand of it or have context for, that makes the story engaging. The steadily complicating and unraveling of the narrator’s character, of what we understand to Berlin by proxy, is what pulls the reader into the simplicity of the story. Everything is honest, or maybe intentional, or just a method of engagement. A both false and real memoir: the most interesting type to read.
What can you find to imitate or use in your own writing?
I like the stark simplicity of Berlin’s writing. There is a lot of strength in its minimalism and the amount of character and potency she’s able to establish in so few words as well as within such a simple plot. I would like to imitate her use of small details to establish very tangible characters and moments, as well as the brevity of a lot of her scenes within.
Writing prompt
Write a series of three interconnected, minimalist vignettes that have a strong focus on their central character’s perspective and the details of the world around them.
Discussion questions
How does Berlin establish the chronic tension of her narrator? How does this work with the slow pace of the story’s acute tension to create a sense of resolution?
How does Berlin’s particular use of setting build the story?