I get it. I too am profoundly, irrationally in love with We Could Be Rats. It’s hard to find what and where to begin my love letter to this book. I think I’ve narrowed it down to three thoughts I want to share…
1. Dear Emily Austin: This book will stay with me, forever. A main reason being it's composition. The format was one-of-a-kind and layered. It delivered heart-wrenching content in a way that did not leave me devastated, but hopeful. That ending was simultaneously poetic and real. I can only hope all people get the chance to heal relationships, truly work to understand each other, and communicate on one another's level as our sisters do. We all deserve to see pink skies. I will certainly re-read this book. I am eager to see how I interpret the letters now that I know the author is Margit. And that transitions us to...
2. Dear Margit: I am you. You are me. While I am an only child, I too had a parent with a very loud and aggressive and unreasonable swamp monster persona. I too walked on eggshells growing up. No one can tiptoe, or close a door, or cook themselves breakfast in a microwave as silently as I can. I deeply felt you, Margit. In every way. I was saved too by friends, therapists, and connections that did the brave and difficult thing of reaching out a helping hand to me. Margit, we can protect ourselves. We can take up all the space we need. We can build our own family and support system. And with that...
3. Dear Sigrid: I want dream as you do. You are what kept me hopeful in this book. How you fought to keep imagination and happiness alive. How your closing thoughts always delivered a positive outlook, against all odds. You taught me how without a connection even the most positive and bright soul can sputter. It inspires me to connect more. I am so glad your flame is getting fanned with a new relationship with your sister at the close of this book. We all can learn from Sigrid. Ultimately, she chose to imagine redemption and rebirth, not revenge, for a true villain like Kevin Fliner. Imagine a world where more people felt that way... I see pink skies when I do. I see a lot of fat and happy rats when I do.
The structure of the story did so much in building Sigrid’s character in my mind. When we finally learn that Margit has written those first letters, I had to stop myself so many times once the truth of it started to come to light. I had created a character in my head based off Margit’s perspective and it stuck. While so much of what Margit constructed was based on the real Sigrid, Margit’s perspective was inextricably woven in.
It is generally said that no one knows us like we know ourselves. And how we see ourselves is generally considered the “real” version. But this story proves just how much the perspective of those around you changes your life and changes how you think about yourself. Margit and Sigrid both struggle with what “real” means for them.
That was a struggle I could really relate to, especially when it comes to family. Strangers will always have their thoughts of me but that is a pain that I can often put aside. Well, sometimes. But family ties run deep and the concrete perspectives they often have create their own cage which I often find myself silently screaming against. Because if you scream out loud, you are being dramatic or selfish, as Sigrid was often told.
What this book didn’t do was tell me there is a happily ever after end point. Where life makes sense, we know who we are, and everyone understands our struggles and our hearts. But it did something so much more beautiful than that. The final lines of the book create such a stunning moment. A literal and figurative exhale. Those moments where maybe someone does see us, even just for a second. In that same moment, we see ourselves too, in the same way. A fleeting moment of connection and sense of self. The moment passes, but another one will come again. Truly one of the most stunning endings I have ever read.
I think tuning in to the interpretations of our self from people we love can be illuminating. Especially when it is someone who has our best interests in mind. I did notice that both Margit and Sigrid write off their parents' interpretations of each of their selves. So, I suppose it's about discerning who to allow to help you sculpt the way you see yourself.
This really makes me want to understand better the versions of myself that others have built. Your comment made me reflect on how often I've fell into the habit of "I know myself best, so what others think about me can't ever be fully right" -- normally as a defense against the bigots and jerks of the world. But I've also been quick to fall into that line of thinking even when others have seen the best in me, seen the good things in me better than I ever could. And not just the good things, but the tender or vulnerable or annoying things, too.
If I asked my friends and loved ones to write letters as if they were me (let's go with "end of a long and healthy life" letters for this hypothetical lol), what would I learn about myself from them?
An exhale indeed. This book does do a brilliant job showcasing how important it is for us as human beings to find a connection that can truly listen and empathize with us. It is a message that is unbelievably important in today's culture.
I really loved the central image of wanting to be rats at a fair -- eating good food with good people while comfortable in your own body. It feels like such a refreshing desire, something both simple and fantastical, in the face of influencer shams and capitalist crumbles. Something lovely about shedding perfection and the need to strive for an ideal, while learning to be satisfied with what's already abundant (stale pizza and half eaten corndogs, anyone?).
For me, it also connects to that less-than-unique-and-specialness of people. How wonderful would it be to settle in with other rats that are just as ordinary as you are, but funny or kind or caring or sharp all in their own ways.
I think the image of rats is really compelling, too. It's the thread of just being exactly who you are--without all the pretense and posturing. Enjoying exactly what is in front of you. Together. I think that to get through the current cultural turmoil, we might have to be more rat like. Take joy. Be in the moment. Be ordinary, funny, kind rats.
After reading this, my new 2025 mantra is "Let's Give 'Em RAT ENERGY." As I am a Margit, when I began my journey to crush all my egg shells and be wildly myself a big aspect of that was getting comfortable in prioritizing my needs and wants to ensure I had adequate energy to help my community. No matter the negative opinions that surfaced about me and my choices. I love the metaphor of being a fat and happy rat at a fair.
I’m embarrassingly behind on posting, but a month and a half later, a few thoughts still linger. First, I loved reading everyone’s comments—any book that inspires full-on love letters is clearly hitting something deep.
For me, the theme of “Is my perception of me or your perception of me—more real?” is one I always come back to, and this book gave me a lot to chew on in that space. That’s where it really shined for me—how it made me reflect on the slippery line between self-perception and how others see us.
That said, I’m an only child, and the deep sisterhood thread—while beautiful, and beautifully heartbreaking—kept me slightly at the edges of this one.
I get it. I too am profoundly, irrationally in love with We Could Be Rats. It’s hard to find what and where to begin my love letter to this book. I think I’ve narrowed it down to three thoughts I want to share…
1. Dear Emily Austin: This book will stay with me, forever. A main reason being it's composition. The format was one-of-a-kind and layered. It delivered heart-wrenching content in a way that did not leave me devastated, but hopeful. That ending was simultaneously poetic and real. I can only hope all people get the chance to heal relationships, truly work to understand each other, and communicate on one another's level as our sisters do. We all deserve to see pink skies. I will certainly re-read this book. I am eager to see how I interpret the letters now that I know the author is Margit. And that transitions us to...
2. Dear Margit: I am you. You are me. While I am an only child, I too had a parent with a very loud and aggressive and unreasonable swamp monster persona. I too walked on eggshells growing up. No one can tiptoe, or close a door, or cook themselves breakfast in a microwave as silently as I can. I deeply felt you, Margit. In every way. I was saved too by friends, therapists, and connections that did the brave and difficult thing of reaching out a helping hand to me. Margit, we can protect ourselves. We can take up all the space we need. We can build our own family and support system. And with that...
3. Dear Sigrid: I want dream as you do. You are what kept me hopeful in this book. How you fought to keep imagination and happiness alive. How your closing thoughts always delivered a positive outlook, against all odds. You taught me how without a connection even the most positive and bright soul can sputter. It inspires me to connect more. I am so glad your flame is getting fanned with a new relationship with your sister at the close of this book. We all can learn from Sigrid. Ultimately, she chose to imagine redemption and rebirth, not revenge, for a true villain like Kevin Fliner. Imagine a world where more people felt that way... I see pink skies when I do. I see a lot of fat and happy rats when I do.
I am in love with this response to We Could Be Rats. It feels fitting. Perfect.
The structure of the story did so much in building Sigrid’s character in my mind. When we finally learn that Margit has written those first letters, I had to stop myself so many times once the truth of it started to come to light. I had created a character in my head based off Margit’s perspective and it stuck. While so much of what Margit constructed was based on the real Sigrid, Margit’s perspective was inextricably woven in.
It is generally said that no one knows us like we know ourselves. And how we see ourselves is generally considered the “real” version. But this story proves just how much the perspective of those around you changes your life and changes how you think about yourself. Margit and Sigrid both struggle with what “real” means for them.
That was a struggle I could really relate to, especially when it comes to family. Strangers will always have their thoughts of me but that is a pain that I can often put aside. Well, sometimes. But family ties run deep and the concrete perspectives they often have create their own cage which I often find myself silently screaming against. Because if you scream out loud, you are being dramatic or selfish, as Sigrid was often told.
What this book didn’t do was tell me there is a happily ever after end point. Where life makes sense, we know who we are, and everyone understands our struggles and our hearts. But it did something so much more beautiful than that. The final lines of the book create such a stunning moment. A literal and figurative exhale. Those moments where maybe someone does see us, even just for a second. In that same moment, we see ourselves too, in the same way. A fleeting moment of connection and sense of self. The moment passes, but another one will come again. Truly one of the most stunning endings I have ever read.
I think tuning in to the interpretations of our self from people we love can be illuminating. Especially when it is someone who has our best interests in mind. I did notice that both Margit and Sigrid write off their parents' interpretations of each of their selves. So, I suppose it's about discerning who to allow to help you sculpt the way you see yourself.
Also, the end: 10/10
This really makes me want to understand better the versions of myself that others have built. Your comment made me reflect on how often I've fell into the habit of "I know myself best, so what others think about me can't ever be fully right" -- normally as a defense against the bigots and jerks of the world. But I've also been quick to fall into that line of thinking even when others have seen the best in me, seen the good things in me better than I ever could. And not just the good things, but the tender or vulnerable or annoying things, too.
If I asked my friends and loved ones to write letters as if they were me (let's go with "end of a long and healthy life" letters for this hypothetical lol), what would I learn about myself from them?
An exhale indeed. This book does do a brilliant job showcasing how important it is for us as human beings to find a connection that can truly listen and empathize with us. It is a message that is unbelievably important in today's culture.
I really loved the central image of wanting to be rats at a fair -- eating good food with good people while comfortable in your own body. It feels like such a refreshing desire, something both simple and fantastical, in the face of influencer shams and capitalist crumbles. Something lovely about shedding perfection and the need to strive for an ideal, while learning to be satisfied with what's already abundant (stale pizza and half eaten corndogs, anyone?).
For me, it also connects to that less-than-unique-and-specialness of people. How wonderful would it be to settle in with other rats that are just as ordinary as you are, but funny or kind or caring or sharp all in their own ways.
I think the image of rats is really compelling, too. It's the thread of just being exactly who you are--without all the pretense and posturing. Enjoying exactly what is in front of you. Together. I think that to get through the current cultural turmoil, we might have to be more rat like. Take joy. Be in the moment. Be ordinary, funny, kind rats.
After reading this, my new 2025 mantra is "Let's Give 'Em RAT ENERGY." As I am a Margit, when I began my journey to crush all my egg shells and be wildly myself a big aspect of that was getting comfortable in prioritizing my needs and wants to ensure I had adequate energy to help my community. No matter the negative opinions that surfaced about me and my choices. I love the metaphor of being a fat and happy rat at a fair.
I’m embarrassingly behind on posting, but a month and a half later, a few thoughts still linger. First, I loved reading everyone’s comments—any book that inspires full-on love letters is clearly hitting something deep.
For me, the theme of “Is my perception of me or your perception of me—more real?” is one I always come back to, and this book gave me a lot to chew on in that space. That’s where it really shined for me—how it made me reflect on the slippery line between self-perception and how others see us.
That said, I’m an only child, and the deep sisterhood thread—while beautiful, and beautifully heartbreaking—kept me slightly at the edges of this one.