Rachel Cusk's A Life's Work becomes a visceral stage adaptation in Vienna

A bold stage adaptation of Rachel Cusk's memoir A Life's Work has premiered at Vienna's Nestroyhof Hamakom. Directed by Ruth Mensah and co-created with Sara Ostertag, the 70-minute performance strips back narrative to focus on the raw, exhausting reality of motherhood. The production uses striking visuals and fragmented storytelling to bring Cusk's unflinching account to life.

Rachel Cusk's 2001 memoir recounts her gruelling experiences of pregnancy, childbirth, and early motherhood. The book's themes—isolation, physical strain, and the radical shift in identity—form the core of this stage version. Instead of a linear plot, the adaptation breaks the story into sharp, disjointed scenes performed by three actresses. Each embodies different facets of maternal exhaustion, delivering Cusk's incisive lines with breathless urgency.

The set, designed by Nanna Neudeck, dominates the space with a towering, translucent amniotic sac. Its iridescent surface shimmers with air and possibility, a stark contrast to the suffocating pressure depicted onstage. The actresses, dressed in pink sneakers, sprint frantically between scenes, gasping for breath as if drowning in the relentless demands of caregiving. Fathers are barely present—mentioned only once, briefly, after a daughter's birth—reinforcing the production's focus on women's unseen labour.

At the premiere, director Ruth Mensah took her bow while cradling her own baby. The gesture underscored the production's raw intimacy and its roots in lived experience. Cusk's original work argues that childbirth is not just the arrival of a child but the violent rebirth of the mother herself. Here, that transformation is laid bare, without sentimentality or easy resolution.

The performance leaves little room for comfort, mirroring the memoir's refusal to soften its edges. Some women adjust to motherhood with relative ease, but the production lingers on those who don't—the ones crushed by its weight. By rejecting a neat narrative, A Life's Work forces its audience to sit with the discomfort, long after the lights go up.