THE FARM
By Joanne Ramos
Commercial surrogacy — the birthing of another woman’s baby in exchange for cash — is an act of benevolence, or of exploitation. It celebrates life. It commodifies life. It’s a moral outrage. A blessing, a gift. It pays women fairly for their hard work and altruism. It reduces women to vessels, turning their bodies, and babies, into merchandise.
So many factors — gender, race, religion, class — may determine where you come down on the surrogacy debate. So may your media diet. Perhaps you’ve heard disturbing tales about “baby factories” in India or Ukraine. Or maybe you’ve read uplifting profiles of women who call surrogacy the most meaningful job they’ve done. Joanne Ramos plays with many of these notions in her debut novel, “The Farm,” which imagines what might happen were surrogacy taken to its high-capitalist extreme.
The titular “farm” is Golden Oaks, a “gestational retreat” in upstate New York that caters to the ultrarich. The concept: Clients pay for Hosts to carry their children; those Hosts, selected via a rigorous vetting process, move into Golden Oaks for the duration of their pregnancies. There, they are surveilled — er, pampered — 24/7, to ensure that the (very expensive) unborn children they’re incubating will reach maximum potential. In exchange for their service, Hosts receive a modest stipend and, upon successful delivery, a big ol’ bonus. It’s a win-win for everyone! What could go wrong? (continues)
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