216. Elizabeth Garver Jordan — The Case of Lizzie Borden & Other Writings with Jane Carr and Lori Harrison-Kahan

KIM ASKEW: Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off forgotten women writers. I’m Kim Askew, here with my co-host, AMY Helmes, and AMY, I can see by the look on your face that you are excited for this episode.

AMY HELMES: You’re right! I’m going to be geeking out a little more than usual in this episode, because today’s “lost lady” was involved in the murder trial of the century (the 19th century, that is). You know I like my true crime, Kim.

KIM: More than like, but yeah! And although the name Elizabeth Garver Jordan didn’t initially ring any bells for us, when our guests today explained that she famously reported on the trial of Lizzie Borden, we knew — beyond all reasonable doubt — that we needed to know more.

AMY: Jordan was a regular Lois Lane in petticoats while working for Joseph Pulitzer’s The New York World, but she also wrote popular fiction inspired by her job at the city desk, including stories that would set a precedent for the #MeToo movement that erupted a century later. 

KIM: Two of Jordan’s novels were adapted for film, and she later transitioned to a career in editing where she helping shape and steward the works of literary greats like Sinclair Lewis, my thesis buddy Henry James and several “lost ladies” we’ve discussed previously on this podcast: Dorothy Canfield Fisher and Zona Gale.

AMY: That’s cool and all, but I want to talk about Lizzie Borden.

KIM: Okay, it’s time to raid the “cold case” file and get started!

[intro music plays]

KIM: Our first guest today, Lori Harrison Kahan, joined us back in 2022, for our episode on Miriam Michelson. (That’s Episode #104 if you want to go back and have a listen). A professor at Boston College, Lori edited a book of Michelson’s work called The Superwoman and Other Writings. She’s also edited a 2020 edition of Heirs of Yesterday by Emma Wolf (another “lost lady” we’ve covered on this show!)  Lori is also the author of The White Negress: Literature, Minstrelsy, and the Black Jewish Imaginary. Lori, good to see you again!

LORI HARRISON KAHAN: It’s so great to be back!

AMY: Our second guest, Jane Greenway Carr, is a former senior opinion editor at CNN digital where she oversaw social and cultural commentary. An adjunct faculty member at Manhattanville University, her writing has also appeared in outlets including Slate, The Atlantic, and American Quarterly. She is also a former Mellon/ACLS Public Fellow and lecturer at New York University and was the co-founding editor of The Brooklyn Quarterly. Jane, welcome to the show, we’re excited to have you!

JANE GREENWAY CARR: Thank you for having me. I'm thrilled to be here.

AMY: Together, Jane and Lori edited a collection of Elizabeth Garver Jordan’s work called The Case of Lizzie Borden and Other Writings. It was published by Penguin Classics earlier this year, and while the Lizzie Borden material in and of itself is incredible, this selection of her work shows the interconnectedness between Jordan’s life and writing, between her factual reporting and her fiction. 

KIM: That’s right. So, to kick things off, Elizabeth Garver Jordan was born in Milwaukee in 1865. As a young woman she actually had another vocation in mind before launching into journalism. Lori, can you tell us about that and maybe a little more about her early life?

LORI: Sure. So one thing that's important to know about Jordan is that she was raised Catholic, and she attended a convent school called St. Mary's High School in Milwaukee. And that experience was really influential on her entire career. You see it as a thread all the way through all of her writings. She was so influenced by her teachers who were nuns that she decided she, herself, wanted to become a nun. Her parents weren't so thrilled about that, and they ultimately struck a deal with her. She was very talented in so many areas: She was valedictorian of her class (so academically successful), she was a talented writer from a young age, and she was also a talented pianist. and her parents encouraged her to take some time to pursue her secular interests first. And after a year of doing that, if she decided she still wanted to become a nun, they were okay with it. But she ends up beginning to work in journalism after she graduates from high school and really gets the writing and reporting bug, um, and sticks with writing and editing throughout her career.

AMY: It’s like that Amish Ring-sprungah.. Ringsprung…what’s that word?

JANE: Rumspringa.

AMY: Rumspringa, thank you! Like, take a year, check out some other things before you fully commit to a life with God. Okay. So Jane, do we know anything about how she landed at The New York World? Because that's a pretty big deal.

JANE: Absolutely. So Jordan's entry into The New York World, interestingly, does come just a couple of years after Nellie Bly talked her way in and made the world take note. So while Jordan's approach was a little less stunt and spectacle based then Bly’s, you know, the higher-ups of The World were at least acquainted with what women could do in journalism and in the newsroom. So Jordan, as Lori indicated, had experience. She'd been working for papers in the Midwest. She had some clips from The Chicago Tribune. But, uh, she wants (and this gives me an opportunity to describe her memoir, which is not in our book, but is a great read.

It's called Three Rousing Cheers, and it was published in 1938. I highly recommend it.) So she describes both the foresight and the chutzpah that it took to really get in at The New York World. She takes the train to New York, and as her memoir describes it, she goes right to The World office. She asks for the editor, and the way she recalls it later is she says he was impressed by her combination of ambition and ignorance, but she does also say that she talked about the lessons that she learned coming up through her convent school and all of the various challenges, and negotiations that were involved in her education. And she said that looking back, she was probably amusing to him, but he did offer her a tryout. And she really made the most of it. That's something that's really a theme in her career is capitalizing on opportunities. Initially, she gets this tryout. She's kind of shunted off to the Brooklyn office of the paper. She doesn't really like it. She is kind of confined to writing style pieces and things about travel and resorts, but one of those resorts is a place in Cape May where the president's wife and child, who everyone is super curious about, happened to be vacationing. And she talks her way into the first interview where we see access both to the first lady, but also to “Baby McKee,” with whom everyone was obsessed at the time. And the result is a front-page feature that really gets her noticed. And shortly thereafter, she gets a lot of really interesting assignments that she really makes the most of.

AMY: So it’s like getting Meghan Markle or somebody to talk.

JANE: Pretty much, yeah.

AMY: Um, and also, I mean, The New York World, they were one of the few newspapers that really were like, “Hey, there's something to this female journalist. This is going to help us,” right?

JANE: It's gonna help them connect specifically with all of the women readers that they were really trying to get in their orbit.

LORI: And women's subjects, right? Because a man probably couldn't get access to the first lady on the beach in this way that Jordan did.

AMY: Okay, so I can't wait anymore. We have to jump into the Lizzie Borden trial now. It’s time… I’ve read a lot about this case over the years, and I’ve actually visited the Fall River, Mass. home where the crime took place in 1893. The trial was held almost a year later… so relatively early in Jordan’s time at the newspaper. Let me channel my best Keith Morrison voice from “Dateline” to set up the story, but I’m going to use the actual reporting from Elizabeth Garver Jordan’s reporting on the case:

Lizzie D. Borden is a young woman thirty-one years of age who has heretofore led a respected life, who has identified with numerous religious movements, who, according to the testimony of her friends, was kind of heart and thoughtful for the comfort and feelings of others. Did this young woman split open her aged father’s head with a hatchet as he lay sleeping on the sofa, and afterwards go back and batter his face and head with the same weapon that even the doctors who looked upon the hideous sight could hardly command their nerves? Did this same young woman, just before or just after this deed, strike down her stepmother and chop and hack her head and face until it was beaten almost out of human resemblance? Did she do at least one of these horrible deeds within twenty minutes’ time, and was she at the end of that interval able to appear before neighbors she summoned without a spot of blood on her clothing, without a sign of derangement or hasty adjustment of her dress, with the weapon concealed beyond discovery, and not even a scrap of direct evidence to connect her with the deed left undisposed of?

KIM: Good job, Amy. 

AMY: Not quite Keith Morrison, but … 

KIM: It was pretty good. I'm, yeah, I've got the chills.

AMY: I mean, the gore! I mean, that shocking to read!

KIM: It's not demure by any means. 

JANE: No, it is chock full of those details and we see that throughout her reportage on the subject.

KIM: Wow, that is incredible.

LORI: That use of questions is so interesting, too, right? She's formulating it as questions rather than reporting it as fact. And I think that's part of and the imagery there of how she's immersing her audience and getting them to be engaged in the story.

AMY: And I joked about Keith Morrison, but that question-asking is how they still do these kind of crime shows today, right?

LORI: Absolutely.

AMY: So, Jane, every reporter on staff must have been wanting to get to cover this trial. So why did they choose Jordan?

JANE: Well, it was definitely a deliberate choice. One of the things that really stood out to me after reading Cara Robertson's book on the Lizzie Borden trial is how initially it was really only Massachusetts papers who were even granted access to cover it. And The New York World and other New York outlets had to go to court to get special permission.

And so, not only did they assign this to her, but they had to jump through some fairly extensive hoops to get the opportunity. And so what Jordan really, I think, offers to them is a unique perspective as a woman on not only Borden herself, but some of the female witnesses and certainly some of the women who were so interested in seeing the proceedings firsthand that they queue up around the courthouse every day. She offers up her skill as a crafter of narrative. We hear it in all of that robust detail, and we see it in some of her other writings that are included in the collection. And also as a reporter who did already have experience covering high profile murder cases and telling stories in a unique way. The year before the Borden case, she covers the trial of medical student Carlisle Harris in New York, who was tried and convicted and later executed for the murder of his wife. So both her skill, but then also the reader interest of placing a woman in this kind of titillating true crime context… Those in charge of The World really understood and really thought that her insights as a true crime reporter with some experience would be incredibly valuable in this context. And you can really see it when you read some of her coverage.

KIM: So Amy set the stage a little by reading Jordan’s first dispatch from the trial. Can you guys tell us a little bit about her coverage that followed. What’s most remarkable about it in your opinion?

JANE: I think what's most remarkable about it is it's future fiction writer's eye for detail. She notes everything from the curl of the defendant's bangs, she talks about the audible gasp that goes through the courtroom at particularly traumatic moments, notably, when they see the jaw of Andrew Borden's skull, you know. You feel like you're in an episode of “Criminal Minds.” And so she's really only one of the few women assigned to that trial, but she really brings a literary mind to her understanding of the public's obsession. These are also the years where she starts to develop her own voice as a fiction writer, which she then goes on to use in any number of contexts later in her career. So this is kind of, you know, a crucible for a lot of what we see from her later. 

AMY: I know everybody's heard of the Lizzie Borden case, but it really was the OJ Simpson trial of the 19th century, right? Everyone in the country was following it. And her voice is like having a camera in that room, and a microphone, and you hear it all and you can see it, like you said, the curl of her bangs…

LORI: And it's important to keep in mind that this is before photography was included in the daily newspaper, right? So maybe there were some sketches. So she is literally doing the work of the camera and capturing those details. An aspect of the details that stands out to me is her attention to dress. I learned so much about late 19th century fashion from working on this book because I was researching for all the footnotes and there are constant references to calico and cambric, um, Bedford cord, different styles of dress, the cut of the skirt. And you could see (she goes on later to edit a woman's magazine, which involves a lot of fashion writing) and you could see that trajectory from covering the Lizzie Borden trial until that later moment in her career.

KIM: Fascinating. You wouldn't think necessarily that fashion would play a huge part in it. And then you're reading it and you're like, “Whoa.”

AMY: And I think it even plays a little bit in Jordan's opinion about Lizzie Borden's guilt or innocence, because there is a key witness, Miss Alice Russell, that takes the stand, and Jordan describes what she's wearing, and the quote is, “Over her blouse she wears a short jacket, which it would be an excellent idea for to discard. It adds to her height and thinness.” So, we'll talk about what Jordan thought of Lizzie's guilt or innocence in a little bit, but she's casting a little bit of shade on this extremely damning witness against Lizzie Borden. I thought that was fascinating.

LORI: Yes. And there's actually a moment where she's talking about Alice Russell. I'll just read this one sentence because she says as she, Russell, “took the witness stand today, it seemed as though one of the strange women characters with which Wilkie Collins delights and which flit like ominous specters through deep shadows through his mysteries, had walked out of the pages of one of the dead novelist's books and into real life and real participation in a tragedy more awful and more wrapped in obscurity than any he ever evolved.” So she's referencing Wilkie Collins — his most famous novel is The Woman in White. And here, she's kind of saying, like, “this Borden is even stranger and more sensational than that fiction.”

JANE: Yeah. And the drama that she projects there is so, at least to my reading, is so directly correlated to making women readers feel spoken to and seen in relation to the coverage of, you know, this case and particularly considering how gender was such a central factor to how other coverage of Lizzie Borden, you know, how it was constructed. And she speaks to this directly later when she says there are two Lizzie Bordens and one of them was created by the press and the other one is the one I'm looking at. 

KIM: Yeah, I can't even imagine how it must have compared to some of the other reportage because hers is so dramatic and engaging and just fascinating. In fact, I think we should read some more excerpts!

JANE: Okay. This actually is about the women who are watching the proceedings: 

Interest in the trial here in New Bedford has reached such a pitch that elaborate measures are necessary to keep it within bounds in the vicinity of the courtroom. Day by day, the crowds seeking admission have steadily grown until the deputies and policemen who line the stonewalk down from the courthouse through the courthouse yard to the sidewalk have had to be increased in numbers. But even this was found insufficient to restrain the mad fury of the rush for the door when it is announced that so many as can be accommodated will be omitted. There is no fence around the courthouse yard. It is divided from the sidewalk by a low stone wall, the top of which is on a level with the lawn of the yard. The gateway is a mere break in this wall. This is the only access to the front entrance of the building, for along the top of the wall a rope had been strung to keep people from trampling over the lawn.The pressure of the crowd around the gateway at critical hours is something fearful. The worst of it is the crowd is almost entirely composed of women and young girls. Rough handling or shoving or even harsh language is out of the question with such as these.

So here, you know, you really get that sense of who it is who's wanting to see Lizzie. And I just wanted to read just a bit of the introduction to the piece that I was alluding to before about how she says there are two Lizzie Bordens:

There are two Lizzie Bordens. One of them is the very real and very wretched woman who is now on trial for her life in the little courthouse at New Bedford, Mass. The other is a journalistic creation skillfully built up by correspondence and persistently dangled before the eyes of the American people until it has come to be regarded as a genuine personality. This last creature is a human sphinx, a thing without heart or soul. It is large and coarse and heavy. It committed a ghastly double murder in Fall River last August, and it is now stolidly awaiting the result of a trial for that crime. It deserves no sympathy, and receives none. This is the Lizzie Borden of the press. As the Commonwealth of Massachusetts has already spent two weeks in an earnest, but abortive, effort to convict the accused woman of this crime, and as at this time her acquittal seems to be a foregone conclusion, it may be interesting to take a look at the real Lizzie Borden. She will be shown here exactly as she appeared to this writer, who spent two days of the past week in a close study of her face, manner, and character, sitting within touch of her while her trial was going on.

AMY: Yeah, she really does humanize Lizzie a lot. 

KIM: Yeah, whether you think she is guilty or innocent, her descriptions of Lizzie at the trial do give you pause. She describes her face, her hair, her mouth, (even her feet!) — all in such eloquent detail. It’s riveting.

AMY: Yeah, I think that was one of my favorite passages actually from the trial, even though of course you're all into evidence and the witnesses and everything, but it was something as simple as her shoes that was captivating. I'm just going to read this little passage. Garver Jordan sets it up by describing how as soon as Lizzy takes her seat in the courtroom she hooks the heel of one foot over the other. Then she writes:

When the proceedings grow interesting, she changes the position of her feet for several others, each of which indicates exactly her mental attitude at the time it is made. When the prosecution is demonstrating with skulls and hatchets just how the murders were committed, the prisoner sits forward in her chair, and rests on the extreme tips of her toes. When Mr. Adams or ex-Gov. Robinson [those are her lawyers] ties a witness up into a hard knot, she crosses her feet in a comfortable position and rests. Later on she returns to the first position. All this friction is rather hard on the buttons of the boots, but it will be noticed that the button which hangs on its head in a dejected manner during the morning session is proudly and firmly in its place in the afternoon. These movements of Miss Borden’s eloquent feet have scraped almost all the paint from the rungs of the chair which she occupies.

I mean, the detail of that, the micro within the macro of this legal circus and juxtaposing something as banal as the button on her shoes with the gore and the shock value of the murders. It's brilliant to me. And I also can picture her hearing from her editor, like, “Write as much copy as you can,” so maybe that's a day when it's kind of boring and she's like, “What am I going to write?” And she's like, “Okay, let me do this description of her starting from her hair to her mouth to her dress all the way down to her shoes.”

LORI: That detail of the button… I mean, part of it is that she's using the button as kind of a symbol for Borden's psychological state, or what you would imagine her psychological state to be, and how it's shifting. But the other thing that's interesting about that is that because the button's falling off in the morning and sewn on in the afternoon, so she's kind of filling in what might be happening when Borden's not in the courtroom, right? She doesn't have access as a journalist to her outside the courtroom, but this is a way to kind of suggest what might be going on.

KIM: And that she takes care of her things, too. 

AMY: She’s an upper class, fastidious woman, know, how can you possibly believe that she's capable of committing these crimes?

JANE: And it almost gives her a layer of femininity that other representations of Borden were trying to strip away. You know, she's written about as being devoid of emotion or somehow strange or “other” or not even a real woman, and we see how that plays out in some of the interpretations of Borden as a character that transpire after this and well into the 20th century. But even just at the micro level of the way she treats her shoes, you get that sense of Borden's femininity in a very real, direct and detailed way.

AMY: One of the notes I put while reading all of this trial stuff was: I wish she was still around to cover trials today. I mean, I would love to read her coverage of the E. Jean Carroll case, or something like that. 

JANE: Yeah! 

KIM: Yeah. For sure.

KIM: So in this writing, Jordan seemed to come down on the side of Lizzie’s innocence, don’t you think?

JANE: I mean, she writes so assertively about her humanity, and she's most critical not of how she's framed in terms of being guilty or innocent but just, I think she has her harshest criticisms for how other coverage portrays Borden. And her main focus is in humanizing her rather than giving some kind of definitive statement on her innocence or guilt, but she does write in pretty open terms about the lack of evidence and some of the main problems in how the prosecution presents its case. 

LORI: She does, in her autobiography… I'm pretty sure that there, she maintains that she thought Borden was innocent.

JANE: Another reason to read Three Rousing Cheers. 

KIM: For sure. For sure.

AMY: Like I said at the beginning, I have done a lot of deep diving into this case, and I was not expecting to learn anything new. I really did! I got new stuff out of this that I had not heard of before even. And I'm sure you guys also kind of went down the internet rabbit hole a little bit. I read her whole interrogation interview. I sat down and read that whole thing because I was just like, “I need to know. I need to solve this crime!” So what are your guys thoughts? Should I go first on whether we think she really did it or not?

KIM: Do it, Amy.

JANE: Go for it.

AMY: I think the evidence is non-existent, right? There's nothing they can pin on her. I absolutely think she did it. I absolutely think she did it. And I think Bridget, the housemaid, cannot be believed. If you believe Bridget, then you have to believe the timeline of the murder. I didn't believe Bridget, therefore I didn't believe the timeline, therefore I think that she could have cleaned up everything and gotten away with it. And it's a crime of passion to stab somebody like that. I think there was some serious rage that came out. She burned that dress! Why'd you burn the dress two days later or whenever that was? Okay.

KIM: Yeah, those are some compelling reasons.

AMY: Anybody else can disagree with me…I'm curious to hear what you think. 

LORI: I agree with you. That's the experience I have from reading the details of the reporting, but also the kind of absence of there being any other possible suspect in the case. I think it's so interesting, right, that you read her reporting and you come away thinking she's probably guilty, and yet Jordan herself, who did the reporting, is saying she's innocent.

AMY: Yeah, that's interesting. That's a good point.

KIM: Yeah, but it feels like almost what you were saying earlier, Jane. It's maybe not so much guilt or innocence, but that she didn't think she should have been convicted of it. 

JANE: It's so impossible for me to separate what I think about the case from what I know and what I've studied about the various ways that she's been interpreted in every format, from experimental film and theater to there was a ballet adaptation that was performed in the mid-20th century by some very well known and dancers. And so that sense of obsession with “did she or didn't she,” coupled with the difficulty with the case and with, you know, how it was covered. I almost can't even get there to “did she or didn't she,” because it's just, you know, the view of her and what she means culturally is so fraught and so crowded with other concerns that my mind can’t get there.

KIM: Yeah. 

JANE: I mean, I absolutely recognize the logic… as it happens, my partner is a lawyer, so I recognize the logic and the legal reasoning behind, Amy and Lori, what you're saying. But for me, it's hard even to get there. I mean, not only did she not really, in some ways, have a fair trial in the court of public opinion, she hasn't had a fair trial in the court of public culture or discourse for, you know, the last century and more. So it's really hard for me to get there.

AMY: Whether you think she did it or not, There was no evidence to convict her on. I think the decision was the right one, based on what was available. So Elizabeth Garver Jordan's published fiction later led readers to wonder if this reporter had more scoop than she was actually telling at times with regard to the Lizzie Borden case. So let's talk about her story, “Ruth Herrick's Assignment.” It's fascinating.

JANE: So this is a story that she publishes in Cosmopolitan, and she says later that it's a story she began before her coverage of the Lizzie Borden trial. But essentially the story, and it's a wonderful read (it's quite short) essentially is about a reporter who has a conversation with a woman accused of murder. She's a sympathetic figure to the reporter. She confesses her guilt, and the reporter keeps her secret. And so this comes out both in a moment after the Lizzie Borden trial with which Jordan's name was associated and it also comes out at a moment when Jordan’s star is really on the rise as a fiction writer. So the double contributions of those things really kind of set a fire underneath this story, and the reader interest, of course, was immense. 

LORI: It's a work of fiction, right? And people were reading this and saying, “Borden confessed to Elizabeth Jordan and Jordan suppressed it?” The other, I think, important piece of this is that the reason the reporter in the story doesn't print the confession is because she finds out that the woman killed her husband, after years of abuse, of abusing her and her mother. It's also a story about female solidarity, which is a thread through much of. Jordan's work.

JANE: And also the knowledge that other women know that women who tell stories of that nature often aren't believed, particularly by institutions of power, be they the criminal justice system or, you know, other institutions of power in society.

 KIM: So let's talk about the story “The Cry of the Pack.” It was written in 1914, preceding, obviously, the #MeToo movement by almost a century, but it's pretty incredible that she was writing in this way about sexual predation. So do you want to talk a little bit about that? 

LORI: This was actually the story that made me want to work on this collection. I was teaching a course on American women writers in 2017 Right as the #MeToo movement was beginning, and I was teaching actually another work by Jordan. It's called The Sturdy Oak, which is a composite novel that she created and edited. So each chapter is written by a different person. But Jordan writes the preface to that book. And in that book, there's kind of #MeToo throughline where a character is being sexually harassed throughout the narrative. And my students and I were just fascinated by this book published in 1917. And then I started to investigate more of Jordan's writings and discovered that she has these, what we would call now #MeToo moments throughout all her writings, including “The Cry of the Pack.” I know you had pulled a passage. Does someone want to read from it?

AMY: Yeah, I think we have to read a little bit from this, and I think our listeners are going to realize that this does not seem like an early 20th century piece of writing at all. This is Mae Iverson talking about the type of men that she encounters at work, and she admits to the reader: 

I was becoming afraid — not of work, but of men…The worst of my fear now was that I didn’t know exactly why I felt it, and there was no one I could go and ask about it. All the men I met seemed to be divided into two classes. In the first class were those who were not kind at all — men like Mr. Hurd, who treated me as if I were a machine, and ignored me altogether or looked over my head or past the side of my face when they spoke to me. They seemed rude at first, and I did not like them; but I liked them better and better as time went on. In the second class were the men who were too kind — who sprawled over my desk and wasted my time and grinned at me and said things I didn’t understand and wanted to take me to Coney Island. Most of them were merely silly, but two or three of them were horrible. When they came near me they made me feel queer and sick. After they had left I wanted to throw open all the doors and windows and air the room.

KIM: She gets the “ick factor” just right in this! So as this story proceeds Miss Iverson gets put on an assignment that will test her ability to deal with a man like this second type she described. It’s pretty gross and chilling… and unexpected.

JANE: It does not sound like 1914. I think for anyone who has read these stories, lived these stories, known people who have lived these stories, it feels incredibly immediate. 

LORI: This is really how Jane and I connected on this collection. So when the Miriam Michaelson book came out, Miriam Michaelson's work… (I think I spoke about it with you guys on the episode)... also has these #MeToo moments in it. And she also was a journalist who used fiction as a means of exploring what happened to women in the newsroom, something she couldn't address in her journalism. And I pitched to Jane — we knew each other a little bit before —I pitched her at CNN, an op-ed piece about Michelson, Jordan and some other writers who I was reading as the precedents or the seeds of #MeToo. Jane ended up editing my piece, and we discovered through that that Jane had written a dissertation chapter on Jordan. And so we really connected over our love of Jordan, and that became the seeds of this project. 

AMY: I love that. 

KIM: Let’s touch on the next phase of her career, because she transitioned from writing into editing, both magazine and literary publishing. What should we know?

JANE Well, two things that I think are really important. These are the parts of her career where we see her most visibly engaged in activism, particularly suffrage activism, and we also see her most involved in some brightest and boldest literary names of the time. So she goes from working at The World to editing Harper's Bazaar for the first decade of the 20th century at just such a key moment when expectations around gender are changing the New Woman. And as Lori had alluded in some of her Borden coverage, an opportunity to really think in different ways about the form and function of fashion for sure. But we also see her involved in a kind of literary innovation. She's involved with William Dean Howells in creating another composite novel that precedes The Sturdy Oak called The Whole Family, and we see Elizabeth Stewart Phelps, we see Mary Wilkins Freeman, we see Henry James, and we also see in her correspondence from the time, a real understanding of what it meant to develop relationships with those writers as a collaborator, but also as an editor. It's not always fun. There's a lot of cat-herding that goes into it, but we also see her awareness of editorial work as something with a great deal of power, but also a great deal less visibility than what she was accustomed to as a fiction writer and a journalist. And that's something that Lori and I also confronted in our own scholarly understanding of what it is to make editorial labor visible. The critic Sarah Blackwood has a fantastic essay, which I highly recommend from, I believe, Avidly, on editing as “care work.” And that can mean behind the scenes unacknowledged labor, but also the curating labor of really investing both a nurturing sense in, you know, more of a traditionally gendered way, but also, you know, there's a real power in determining how something is presented and the conversation that it intervenes in. And so we see that happening in a literary way, with The Whole Family in 1908, but we certainly see it happening in a political sense, with The Sturdy Oak, during the late suffrage movement a decade later. She also is very involved, when Harper's Bazaar sold to Hearst in 1913. She stays on with Harper and Brothers as a literary editor.

She helps launch the careers of writers, including Sinclair Lewis. She signs his first novel in the 19-teens, which is pretty amazing. And she's also involved as both an editor and ghostwriter for suffrage legend, the Reverend. Anna Howard Shaw's book about her life, The Story of a Pioneer. And that of course is happening at a moment in 1915 when there are a lot of conversations going on about how the suffrage movement understands itself and how it helped shape women's political identities in the 19-teens. And Jordan really has kind of a front-row seat to that. You can see her really negotiating both the politics of women's lives and how that relates to her, but you can also really see her negotiating the politics of visibility, both as an editor and as an activist.

LORI: And this was one of the challenges for us as editors of this volume — to make editorial work visible, right? Because it is invisible labor, right? The name of the author goes on, but not the name of the editor necessarily. And so the final section of the book contains excerpts from Anna Howard Shaw's autobiography. It's called The Story of a Pioneer. It may seem like an odd move, right? Because it's written by Shaw. But even the title page says this is written in collaboration with Elizabeth Garver Jordan, because Jordan was the one who went to her and commissioned it and said, you need to write this and ended up basically, kind of ghost writing it in many ways, right? She had Shaw dictate it to her. But you see Jordan's fingerprints all over it, and so that was why we've included it. And also because we think it's one way that in a volume like this, you can make editorial labor visible.

JANE: Absolutely, and I'll just add to that as a fun tidbit. If you look on the cover of our book, there is little “OK EJ” in blue, and that is taken from one of the final pass pages of the title page of The Sturdy Oak. Jordan has initialed it as, you know, “I've looked this over and this is okay.” So for us, it was just a very small way to celebrate that element of her career. Leaving it to invisibility is not, you know, something that we're comfortable with.

AMY: Yeah, and actually, this part of your book made me think about another “lost lady” of lit that we'll be featuring on the show in early 2025. Katharine White who was one of the…

JANE: Yes!

AMY: … first editors at The New Yorker and that whole idea … she was married to E. B. White, but of course nobody knows her name even though she was a huge deal and she was the steward of all these amazing writers like Dorothy Parker, um, she helped usher them through The New Yorker and into being amazing artists in their own right. But that idea of being a caretaker really resonated with the biography by Amy Reading that I'm reading about her because she's very much like a mother figure in a lot of ways in helping to guide authors. That was part of the skill that made her so good, you know?

JANE: Yeah. We've been in conversation with Amy and are doing an event with her at the Grolier Club.

AMY: Oh, perfect, because yes, there is such a good nexus there. I instantly thought of Katharine when I was reading your book, so that's perfect.

JANE: And I'm reading Amy's book right now, too. We can compare notes.

AMY: Yeah. It’s good! 

 KIM: So with Garver Jordan's novels, do you have recommendations for other ones? Have you read all of them? Or some of them?

LORI: So I will just say The Sturdy Oak, I really think it's a must read, in addition to our volumes. The Sturdy Oak is in print. It's pretty easy to get. Technically, she edited it, but she only really wrote one page, which is the preface. But in that one page, her voice and her humor and her passion for suffrage just all comes across. It makes all my students who read it want to go on and read more Jordan. so I recommend that. And then she became a golden age mystery novelist, so drawing on her background in true crime. And she's incredibly prolific. So there are a lot of novels. There's a scholar right now working on her biography named Sharon Harris. Sharon has read all these mystery novels, and she recommended one to me, which is called The Lady of Pentlands. So that's the one that I've read. It's not easy to get a hold of. It took, like, multiple months of inter-library loan back and forth, but what's fascinating about it is that the heroine is a single woman. That's something that we haven't emphasized about Jordan's own biography; that she was single throughout her life. She didn't have children. She made a family with other working women, and I think that's a really important part, not just of her career, but also of her fiction. That we get all these possibilities for women of how they can lead their lives outside of traditional heterosexuality and domesticity.

KIM: That’s a great point in her story. I'm glad you brought that up.

JANE: Definitely. So am I. And I just have to quickly add in that Sharon Harris co edited with Ellen Gruber Garvey, a book called Blue Pencils and Hidden Hands about the invisible work of women editors, which was one of the inspiring texts that made me want to write my entire dissertation about women editors. So I just want to give a shout out both to Sharon for her work on Jordan, but also that book given, um, given why we’re all here. 

KIM: Oh, great. We'll link to that in our show notes. 

AMY: That’s a perfect segue to us giving you two some accolades for this book. And listeners, just to remind you, the book is called The Case of Lizzie Borden and Other Writings. I came to your book for the Lizzie Borden content, and I thought to myself, “Let me just be polite and read the other works.” No, it is all really good! I enjoyed all of Elizabeth Garver Jordan's stories, and I didn't expect to. I thought I would just enjoy the Lizzie Borden dirt but not have as much interest in the other stuff, but I'm just as interested in all of the other things she wrote. It really does not disappoint. So thank you for coming today and helping to put it all into context. 

JANE: Thank you for having us. This was a blast.

LORI: It was so great to be back with you.

AMY: If you are a paid subscriber to this podcast, which you can do through Apple Podcasts or Patreon to receive two extra episodes a month, then join me back next week for our bonus episode. I've got a fun little movie recommendation and review for you all, and I'm going to also talk about the true story that inspired it. 

KIM: And Amy and I will both be back in two weeks to discuss Margaret Drabble's The Millstone with guest Carrie Mullins. Goodbye for now and keep those five-star reviews coming our way. We love to see them.

AMY: Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Amy Helmes and Kim Askew.

214. Sanora Babb — Whose Names Are Unknown with Iris Jamahl Dunkle

KIM ASKEW: Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off forgotten women writers. I'm Kim Askew, here with my co-host, Amy Helmes.

AMY HELMES: The word "wrath" may pop up at times throughout this episode. We'll be talking a little bit about John Steinbeck's Pulitzer-Prize-winning novel The Grapes of Wrath, but we'll also be talking about the wrath we felt upon learning how Steinbeck's novel edged out today's “lost lady,” Sanora Babb.

KIM: No American writer was more uniquely qualified than Babb to tell the story of the Dust Bowl and the plight of the migrant farmers who journeyed to California. Whose Names Are Unknown, the novel on this subject she spent years working on, was slated for publication in 1939. But Steinbeck's novel, written hastily in less than six months, beat hers to publication and became an instant bestseller.

AMY: Did we mention he used Babb's notes and research to write The Grapes of Wrath? In a devastating about-face, Babb's publisher shelved her manuscript. "Rotten luck," he told her, acknowledging that Steinbeck had already written the definitive “Dust Bowl” novel, so hers wasn't needed.

KIM: But did Steinbeck really get the story right? Our guest today, the author of a brand new biography on Sanora Babb, wants to set the record straight and introduce you to Babb’s masterpiece, which was finally and rightfully published in 2004 (that's 70 years after she started writing it) mere months before her death at age 98.

AMY: Better late than never, I'll say, because this book packs quite an emotional punch. I feel like I already knew all of the Dust Bowl history, especially having read The Grapes of Wrath, but no. You don't really know everything until you've read this book.

KIM: Exactly, and I can't wait to talk about it all, so let's rate the stacks and get started!

[intro music plays]

KIM: Today's guest, Iris Jamahl Dunkle, is a three-time returning guest to this program, having first joined us to discuss the subject of her fantastic 2020 biography, Charmian Kittredge London: Trailblazer, Author, Adventurer.

AMY: Iris joined us again last year to discuss “lost lady” Janet Lewis's novel, The Wife of Martin Guerre. We had a fun time pretending we were in an episode of “Law & Order” in that one, which is episode No. 152, if you want to go back and have a listen. A former poet laureate of Sonoma County, Iris also published a 2021 poetry collection called West: Fire: Archive, and we're delighted to be helping her celebrate the release of her latest biography out today from University of California Press. It's called Riding Like the Wind: The Life of Sanora Babb.

KIM: And listeners, we actually have an in-person event scheduled for tonight, October 15th. Amy and I will be joining Iris at Vroman's Bookstore in Pasadena at 7 p. m. for a conversation on Sanora Babb and her connection to Los Angeles. So if you live in the area, come hang out with the three of us and pick up a signed copy of Iris's book. We would absolutely love to meet some listeners out there. So don't be shy, swing by. And Iris, congratulations on the book. We're so happy it's finally here. Yay!

IRIS JAMAHL DUNKLE: Thank you so much. It's such a pleasure to be back with you guys!

AMY: Okay, so the facts that we just spelled out in our introduction are enough to make me want to close my eyes and count to 10 to just calm myself. I don't want to paint John Steinbeck as a villain in this episode; he's not. And I loved The Grapes of Wrath when I originally read it. I think his intentions in writing that novel were really noble. But, the fact remains, the world knows The Grapes of Wrath, and almost no one knows Sanora Babb's Whose Names Are Unknown. So Iris, tell us, when did you first learn that there was an alternative story out there?

IRIS: Well, I first learned about, Sanora Babb's book through Ken Burns's documentary, The Dust Bowl. So he does a really good job of incorporating the story of Sanora Babb and her version of the Dust Bowl in that documentary. But I also read The Grapes of Wrath in high school, and my family came over from the Dust Bowl. My grandmother came from Oklahoma. And I was really excited when I read it, and I ran home to call my grandmother and tell her and I was like, "Grandma, they wrote a book about us.!" And she was like, "That is not what it was like. Don't ever talk to me about Steinbeck again." And I couldn't understand why she was so mad. It had a lot to do with the way that Steinbeck had depicted the people of the Dust Bowl, you know, as victims. And she didn't like someone else telling her story, especially in that way, which gave her no agency.

KIM: Listeners, we're going to give you a fuller picture of how Babb's novel was almost resigned to oblivion as a result of Steinbeck's success. And we're going to talk about some similarities and differences between the two novels. But first, Iris, why don't you go ahead and describe Babb's book and the significance of the title, Whose Names Are Unknown.

IRIS: So the name, Whose Names Are Unknown, was based on an eviction notice that Babb saw on a decrepit workers' shack when she was working with the migrant workers. And it was on a corporate farm, she noticed that it said: "To John Doe and Mary Doe, whose true names are unknown." And she thought that really kind of embodied the way that the Okies were thought about during this time period, you know. All the corporate farmers, all of the political leaders, no one saw these people as human beings. And it was really important to her and her work to show not only who these people were during their time of tragedy, right after the Dust Bowl has happened and they've had to escape to California, but she also wanted to show them before. Before the disaster happened. I mean, if any of you have known someone that something terrible has happened to (you know, I come from Sonoma County, so we've had some horrible wildfires) and if you met someone the day that they lost everything, they would be a different person than if you knew them six months before. And so the brilliance of Babb's novel is it's in two parts. The first part is set in the Oklahoma panhandle, and we get to know Milt and his family. And we see them living with Konkie, Milt's father, in a dugout. And they're struggling, but they love the land. They're putting in new crops. And then you see slowly, as the weather starts to change, as the Dust Bowl starts to come, and everyone around them starts to suffer, and you see how it's affecting the entire community, so that when they actually have to leave for California, you know they have no other choice. And so your compassion is with them every step of the way.

AMY: Absolutely. The emotional investment. When I started reading this novel, I think I messaged you right away, and I was like, I'm like, "I'm gonna need a moment to recover." It is so intense. It's so staggeringly good. But it's really big emotion, right?

IRIS: Yeah, definitely. And you can really feel how connected Babb is to the characters. Like, she not only knew the people living in the camps, but she knew the people that they were before. Her mother was living in Garden City at the time that some of the biggest Dust Bowl weather events came through. And she kept a diary, and so Chapter 17 is actually these diary entries edited. And we see the Dust Bowl as it's slowly progressing in a single month, like how it's affecting Milt and Julia and their family.

AMY: Can we read some of that, maybe?

IRIS: I would love to. So this is from the point of view of Julia and this is about halfway through the first half of the book. Previous to this chapter, Julia said, "We're never leaving. We're never going to leave."

And then this is when it starts to change:

April 4. A fierce, dirty day. Just able to get here and there for things we have to do. It is awful to live in a dark house with the windows boarded up and no air coming in everywhere. Everything is covered and filled with dust. April 5th, today is a terror. 

April 6th, let up a little.

We can see the fence but can't see any of the neighbors' houses yet. No trip to town today. Funny how we learn to get along even in this dust. 

April 7, a beautiful morning. Everyone's spoiling the happiness of a clear day by digging dust. Sunday afternoon, we walk for miles to see other places. It was a sight.

It looks like the desert you read about in books. Desolation itself. The day began and ended as a real sunshiny western day. 

April 8th morning, bright and skies clear. 10 o'clock dirt began to show up around the edges by noon, the sky and air full. We try to do our work as usual, thinking rain may fall and end our troubles for a while.

We don't speak much of the wheat anymore. Going to bed. Dirt still blowing.

AMY: Okay, this whole section with the diary... we never learned this! I knew the Dust Bowl, the dust came… I just thought it was storms. I had no idea. I didn't understand the ramifications and how literally, they're drowning! It's getting in their lungs. It's seeping through every crack in the house. It's getting in their food. It's killing their animals. It's like a horror movie!

KIM: I know. Amy, I had no idea either! I lived in Texas for eight years when I was a kid and there were some dust storms. Nothing like this. Like, until I read this, I had no idea either. And with the diary format too, it takes you right into it. You can actually feel what that must have been like. And it is horrifying. 

IRIS: Yeah. It is. It's, you know, it was really visceral. When I was at the Harry Ransom Center researching this book, they have a lot of her physical belongings, including one of the dust masks that people wore during that time period. And this is like during COVID, so I'm wearing a mask, looking at her mask and it's just, it felt so visceral because we had already been through so many disasters as a society. Like, I think that's why this really speaks to people right now is because it's what's called “disaster lit,” right?  It's about how human beings survive something like this. 

AMY: And yeah, brief momentary pauses of sunshine when the storm has settled and you're like, "Okay, maybe it's done," and you get a little excited and a little happy, and then it's like, "Nope." Four hours later, it's back again. Terror is the only word I can think of to describe what they were going through.

KIM: So my grandparents, both of them, were impacted by the Dust Bowl and I didn't even know. And I loved my grandparents, I just didn't really connect it and they didn't talk about it. 

IRIS: I mean, they were traumatized. 

KIM: Exactly. Like, to be able to say, "Oh, wow, you went through this," and be able to, you know, talk about with them and hear their experiences. I just wish so badly that I could have. And I feel proud, actually, that I came from that. It's like, oh, some of the strong things I've been able to do in life, I look at, well, I came from very strong stock. And reading this book has made me just have a different feeling about my ancestors.

IRIS: I love that. That really makes me happy. I mean, that's part of the reason why it's so important to have a book like this as part of the educational system. So growing up when I read in high school, The Grapes of Wrath, that's how I was to think of my ancestors,

KIM: I didn't wanna be Okie! Yeah. I didn't wanna be called an Okie. I wanted to be associated with something completely different, and I think that's why I probably didn't ask them to, you know, it was a negative and you didn't want to be called that or thought of that.

IRIS: Oh yeah. We couldn't say that word in our house. 

KIM: Totally. Totally. Yeah.

AMY: When you said your grandmother, she didn't want to be seen as a victim... you see that in this novel really clearly, that these people don't want to ask for help. They're not looking for a handout. They're not looking for anything extra. They're just trying to survive. 

KIM: Yeah. Hard working people, so to take a handout for them is completely antithetical to what they would want.

AMY: And speaking of grandparents, I love the character of the grandfather in this book. His nickname is Konkie, and he's actually based on Babb's own grandfather. She draws from a lot of her own family life in this novel, right?

IRIS: Yes. so Babb was born in Kansas because her grandmother didn't want her to be born in Oklahoma, which was still not a state in 1907. But soon thereafter, they moved to Eastern Colorado because Konkie, her grandpa, had gotten a land grant and built a dugout. And they all lived in this little dugout, farming broom corn. And so she lived in a very small space with lots of people, living from crop to crop. Uh, they were very poor. And, Konkie was just this character that really helped Sanora Babb become who she was in her life. Like he was somebody that didn't really follow the rules. He had been a drinker when he was younger. He had lost his wife when she died in childbirth, and he turned to drinking. And then when he moved to Eastern Colorado, he gave up drinking and would just go on these long walkabouts eating hardtack. And she would go with him. And he was really close to the land, and even though he couldn't really leave his surroundings very much, he taught her how to leave. And that was really the gift that he gave her. 

KIM: My grandfather is Konkie, or rather, was Konkie. Like, he was the sweetest guy, but also didn't talk much. I remember I used to pretend to be asleep so he would carry me to bed. I loved him so much. And reading Konkie, I actually felt a connection to my grandfather again. I loved that character. 

AMY: He was really sweet in the book. 

IRIS: I love that.

KIM: Yeah. 

AMY: So at a very young age, Babb starts writing. Working for her little local newspapers and kind of interning there, learning the ropes, learning how to write from mentors. She's writing poetry also, and she's submitting it out to literary magazines, things like that. And she starts gaining national attention, actually, and winds up earning the nickname “The Poet of the Prairies.” Iris, you're a poet yourself. Do you see that poetic influence in this work?

IRIS: Oh, definitely. I mean, she was able to use the idea of the lyric sense as a way to describe things like hunger. So in the second part of the book, when Milt's family finally gets into one of the government camps and is, um, you know, slowly getting help — it takes a little while for the help to kick in, you know. — they're starving in their tents. And so she writes this passage in the second half of the book where Milt is, wandering around. He's just witnessed this horrible birth. Um, a woman goes into labor in a tent on a dirt floor, and so he's just wandering around after this and she writes this passage about what he felt like. 

Suddenly he heard the small picks and tings of an orchestra tuning up, then a burst of gay music. Unbelieving, he looked towards the tent the sound came from and through the wide flaps pinned back, he saw a boy about 11 standing by a huge bass fiddle, seeming to pound the strings with a small right hand, bringing forth grave and wonderful notes.

Below him on the bed sat another boy, about nine, strumming a mandolin. A young girl with her back to the door was playing a violin. Deep in the dusk of the tent, a man played a banjo. Over and through it all, the heavy somber strings throbbed like a great heart. They finished the piece and played another, and toward the last they sang, faint, childish voices, blending in delicate harmony.

They played on, not resting, and Milt watched the small boy's pliant hand rising and falling on the responsive strings. He felt the dizziness again, swinging across his eyes and through his ears in time with the music. He walked across the square, hearing the flag on the tall pole flapping in the wind. He thought of the woman lying on the ground with her tense face, looking up at him through the dimness.

He thought of Lonnie, sleeping all day to forget her hunger. He thought of Julia and Mrs. Starwood forgetting theirs. He thought of the carrots tomorrow, the weeds in the carrots. He thought of Friday and surplus commodities. His mind was clear and light like air. Music wafted through it like a feather. He felt very tall.

His broken shoes whispered in the soft dirt far below. Lonnie sleeping Friday. Weeds. Carrots. Three feet wide. A woman screaming. Quarter of a mile tomorrow. Surplus commodities. Walking. Music. Water. Running. Forgetting. Forty cents a day. Sleeping, forgetting, forty cents, floating like air, clear water running, sparkling through the brain, surplus brain, commodities, sleeping, a feather of music tickling.

This is my tent, sitting down like a cloud, floating, music, faces, fluffy sound in my ears, flying away.

KIM: Absolutely stunning,

AMY: His thoughts are swirling. The responsibility is all on him, and it's all encircling him like what the hell is my life right now? 

IRIS: Yes.

KIM: And can I just say something, like, you talked about it being “disaster lit?” And it's relevant, not just in the fact that we have gone through a pandemic, but to me thinking about immigration and camps globally, and what it's like for people to live in that kind of experience. There are people who are living like that right now, and we can impact their lives by some of the choices we make. That was right there with me while I was reading that, especially that second half of the book about California. 

IRIS: I think that's because it's so humanized. There's so much written about people who are going through the worst parts of their lives which makes them look like victims, and you don't feel compassion in the same way for someone when you don't know their backstory.

KIM: Exactly. Exactly. 

AMY: The music, the kids playing the instruments, it's like they're still trying to find ways to make life normal. They're still trying to find community in this harrowing, awful setup that they're in. 

KIM: Yeah. It makes Milt feel human again, almost.

IRIS: Yeah. And that's based on an actual band that was at one of the camps she was working at. There's photographs of it in the Harry Ransom Center. 

KIM: Okay. 

AMY: That's another thing I wanted to point out too. I'm reluctant when we do books like this that we're recommending that we're like, "It's this awful time, and so many hideous, heinous things happen to them, and you're going to be crying." And then it's like, well, I don't know that I really want to read that book that I just described. But it's a hopeful story for humanity, I think, by the end of the book.

KIM: That's exactly right, Amy. I'm glad you said that. As they're dealing with all these things, there's still joy in there and hope.

AMY: But yeah, there is a lot of heartache too, and so many indelible moments that are just kind of seared on your brain after reading it. So without giving away any major spoilers, let's talk about a few of the things that kind of spring to mind for us. The one thing that I always think back on in this book is the little detail of the pepper tea or the pepper soup. These little girls are starving, and the mom, Julia, has nothing to offer them, but she's like, "Okay, I'm going to boil some water, and I'm going to put pepper (I don't know if it's black pepper, or pepper plant, or what it is) I'm going to try to flavor this water, and we're going to call it soup, or tea, or whatever." It just shows you the extent of their starvation.

IRIS: It's actually red pepper. So if you've ever done a fast, people have you drink like water with red pepper and I don't know what else is in it. Cause I don't, fast, but..

AMY: So cayenne pepper, basically.

IRIS: Yeah. Cayenne pepper. Yeah. Yeah. So it kind of makes your body feel like it's doing something, but it's not. That's based on Babb's own experience. They went over a week without food one time, and her mom was so desperate to keep them alive, she kept feeding them pepper tea. And so she was writing from experience on that.

KIM: That's incredible. Wow.

AMY: What about you, Kim? What moments from the book?

KIM: There's so many. Um, I think, the way Julia works so hard to clean the house in between the dust storms, and the layers of dust that she's dealing with, but that she doesn't give up. Uh, I think that really stayed with me. 

AMY: The futility of it…

KIM: The futility, but it's like, she just won't give up. With that and the pepper tea, I think they're similar in that she's trying to keep that feeling of a home and care in the only way she can. There's so little that they're able to do for their children, you know, they can't go to school. They send them home from school because of the storms. They don't have enough food, but she's trying to clean the house and feed them in the only way she can. And to me that is just so emotional.

IRIS: Yeah. I think that's part of what Babb gets right so well in this book is she brings in the point of view of women and children. You know, for me, one of the moments that really sticks with me is when the kids are talking about what it feels like to be called an “Okie,” when they're living in California and they're just sitting there kind of talking about it, And then there's a chapter later, the kids are looking at a bug and the point of view has changed and they have power over the bug and, it's just really an interesting way for us to experience the helplessness that the children are feeling, in inner imagery. Again, it's our poetic devices that are just thrilling in this book.

AMY: Yeah. I'm also thinking of the meeting that the men hold when they're trying to figure out what are we gonna do, and she funnels so many different national issues into this conversation that help explain where things went wrong for them and how they were failed. I thought it was brilliantly done because they're kind of arguing, in the midst of trying to come up with a solution for what they're going to do for their families, but it made me realize, okay, it's not just Nature that has turned on these poor farmers, right? It's all these institutions that have betrayed them too, and that's what that conversation reveals. So, you know, the big banks, the farming conglomerates, the government, I think Babb even has critiques of organized religion throughout this book. Um, there was one line that really struck me like a sarcastic line. I don't know if one of the characters says it or Babb just writes it, but it's "the meek shall inherit the dearth." She's really weighing in on a lot of the root causes for the problem.

KIM: Yeah. The scene where the woman goes to the bank, and the face-off with the bank manager. It was an incredible scene. You're just cheering for the woman trying to stand up for herself with nothing, coming in there and standing up to the banks. And it circles back to your point about realizing all the other people that were involved in the problem that happened there, you know. It wasn't just Nature. It was what was going on that caused Nature to react like that. I mean, climate change, but also the way, um, institutions serve or don't serve solutions for this.

IRIS: Totally. And going back to that chapter with all the farmers meeting, they're at a funeral, right? And it feels like a Greek Chorus almost, because it's kind of like filtering through all of the information. She is kind of setting up what's going to happen later in the text. I really love how she has that element. Actually, when Ralph Ellison read this book (he was a reader for her) he loved that aspect of it. And he loved the way that she included this idea of childbirth and stillbirth and all of these like metaphoric things that were happening to them. 

KIM: Yes. 

IRIS: The craft in that.

KIM: Yeah. Women have such a huge role to play in this novel. And there are, like you said, the scenes of childbirth. Milk plays a huge symbolic role. And you could draw similarities between that and the ending of The Grapes of Wrath. But it also made me think of our discussion last fall on Meridel Le Seuer's The Girl.

AMY: Yeah, milk factors into that novel as well. Babb and Le Seuer knew each other, right? 

IRIS: Oh, yeah. Meridel Le Seuer really loved how Babb always gave women agency, no matter what situation they were in. And she famously told her "You should write shamelessly about women." Like you should always write about women. She's like, "Oh, and by the way, you should read Margery Latimer," who you guys have done an episode on!

KIM: Yeah. Totally, yep!

AMY: It's all coming together. That's great. 

KIM: And that actually takes me back to the conversation about the bank, because she doesn't have a man go into the bank and deal with the bank manager. She has a woman go in, and it makes the scene even stronger. 

IRIS: Totally.

KIM: So, Babb could deeply relate to people living in the migrant camps because she was actually there among them. Can you talk a little bit, Iris, about her involvement in these migrant camps?

IRIS: Sure. So she had just returned, uh, she went on a trip through Russia, being led by Intourist,, who were like giving her a propaganda view, right? Like, "Stalin's great!" She couldn't see what was actually going on. 

AMY: Disneyland Stalin. Yeah. 

KIM: Yeah.

IRIS: “Look at our beautiful model farms!” Right? And everybody's starving in the background. But it gave her the idea that maybe there would be a possible way to save American farmers. And so when she came back, she was really adamant about finishing this novel she'd started, which is about the plight of what was happening in the Dust Bowl. She would visit her mother. She'd go to these towns that she grew up in, and just see them devastated. And she just couldn't believe that there was no solution out there. So she reached out to Tom Collins, who was the one who established all of the migrant camps up and down California, and offered to work for him, and started writing articles about all of the migrants living in the camps, but also going around trying to encourage them. So during her time there, she worked with 472 families. And as Tom Collins added it up, that was, 2,175 men, women, and children that she met with to try to, you know, help them. So she really knew the people that she was working with. She spent her days helping the refugees do, you know, the menial tasks that they needed to do in the camps. Like she helped them figure out how to get clean water, how to get government help, but she also helped organize them into, you know, writing a newsletter, or self governing, and helped them feel their sense of worth again. And so they really connected with her, and any photograph you see of her in the camps, they're all circled around her and she's like one of them. And so it's in that environment that she wrote this book. She would go into her tent late at night and type pages. And you can feel that essence in it, that sense of community that she feels. 

AMY: And that she's listened to all their stories, and she's kind of collating them into this book. And this is kind of where John Steinbeck enters the picture, so let's get into that now. How did he get involved in sort of borrowing her research?

IRIS: So Steinbeck was friends with Tom Collins, and he had visited the camp several times before. Every time he visited, none of the migrants would know that he was John Steinbeck. He went under a false name, which is really interesting. But it was during one of his visits in May, 1938, when he was struggling to write this Dust Bowl novel, like he had already written two versions of The Grapes of Wrath and thrown them out. And he was just about to begin the final version that would become The Grapes of Wrath, and it was a sunny day, and he and Tom Collins and Babb went to a cafe. You know, they had conversations about what was going on and then she handed him her field notes, which, you know, she didn't think anything of. And those really inspired him. When you look at both of their books, you can see where those field notes inspired what he wrote. And she didn't realize when she handed those notes that it would make it so that her own novel would not get published. Um, even though it was at the time it was under contract with Random House.

KIM: In the film, if there were a film about this, this is a big moment. You just see her handing over those notes, it's like, "Aaaaaghhh!"

IRIS: Yeah, I mean, in, in her own words, she said (this is like a later reflection) she said, "Tom Collins had asked me to keep detailed notes of our work every day of the people, things they said, did, suffered, worked. I thought it was our work, for him, but it was for Steinbeck. And Tom asked me to give him my notes. I did. Naive me.”

KIM: Et tu, Brute, oh my god, whoa.

IRIS: I know. 

KIM: So, let's talk a little bit about what Steinbeck got wrong, corresponding with what Babb got right.

IRIS: So, I mean, what Steinbeck got wrong is the fact that he did not approach these people as people. He had met some of these people, he made composite characters, but The Grapes of Wrath is really more of an epic story. It's like a myth of a story, whereas Sanora Babb's story is about real people, you know, it's about the people that are actually struggling. And that difference, really, is exactly what we've been talking about in this conversation, right? That book is used to represent the Dust Bowl in our country and in classrooms across the United States. Everyone experiences the Dust Bowl through The Grapes of Wrath. I'm only saying that if we just brought in Babb’s version of the Dust Bowl, then we would actually see another fictional version that kind of opens it up to look at it more at the human level.

KIM: And closer to factual maybe because she  did more research than he did.

IRIS: Exactly. I mean, Steinbeck had never even really been to Oklahoma. He'd driven through once in his roadster with his wife. But he'd never really gone there and done the research. And even his research in the camps was secondary, right? It was through other people. He didn't really have much of a stomach for what he was seeing when he was there. I mean, he felt deeply about it, but he was so disturbed by seeing these people suffering so much that he just kind of popped in and out. Whereas Babb was in it every single day, and I think you see that at the sentence level in this book.

AMY: And it just makes me think again of that eviction notice, "John and Mary Doe." It's like his book is John and Mary Doe, whereas she goes in and says what their real names are, you know, and she actually explores who they really were. And weren't the migrants, um, when his book came out, didn't they feel a little betrayed by Tom Collins and the fact that they had been used in a way?

IRIS: Yes. And not to mention the people in the Dust Bowl area were like, "Oh, uh-uh!" They hated The Grapes of Wrath when it came out. There was a huge pushback against it. That's forgotten in history, but yes, a lot of people, including my grandmother, did not like the book. 

KIM: Yeah, yeah. Oh, I wish I could ask my grandma now. My grandma was spicy, so I'm sure she would have something to say about that.

IRIS: I think you had to be spicy to survive that time.

KIM: Exactly.

AMY: I know I'm just like bringing up another random thing from the book, there's so much I want to say about it. But there's an old man that's literally dying in the tent. He's not gonna make it. And the camp, the farm, um, decides to evict him. And they literally lay this almost-dead guy out on the ground with his belongings. Just the cruelty of that. And the game was rigged! " We're only gonna pay you if you make the certain quota," which was impossible to make, like 900 pounds of whatever the crop was that they were supposed to pick. And it was literally, you could not do that in a day. And they were still trying. 

KIM: And they were charging them. They made the store very expensive. So they were negative at the end of the week. I mean, it just makes you think about migrant workers today.

AMY: Yeah, it's still happening. 

KIM: Yeah, exactly, 

IRIS: It’s happening today. And I think the people running those corporate farms did not see these people as human in the same way that, still, migrant workers are treated in that way. And, you know, I was writing this book at the same time that all of the border issues were escalating, and I teach this book a lot, you know, when I teach. My students were just like, "Oh my God, this is still happening," and I think that's what's so haunting about Babb's book is that when you read it, especially, you know, reading it in California, and a lot of my students come from families that are impacted or somehow related to migration or people who have come to work in the fields in California and they see themselves in this book. They see their families in this book, and they see how little we've learned from the time this book was written.

AMY: And Babb didn't just focus on the people coming from the Dust Bowl area as well, right? She acknowledges migrants coming from Mexico or Black workers there. Like she kind of spreads it to include more groups of people, right?

IRIS: Right. I mean, California has always been a multicultural place, and what she depicts in this book reflects that, you know? She's got Filipinos working in the fields, Japanese working in the fields, there's Indigenous people. And also the issue of segregated camps, like, coming together for a strike, like what that means to both of them, right? What's on the line for both of them? These issues come up, and you can see the influence of, you know, when, like I said, Ralph Ellison, when he read this, he was like, "Thank you. And lean into that more."

KIM: Yeah, and the way that she weaves what's happening politically and in capitalism throughout the book, it's not like you're being lectured at. It seems very real. Um, and the little farmers being taken over by these corporations, and they just have someone out there managing it who's not connected to the people or the land. 

AMY: That's still happening, too. 

KIM: It's even more so that way now, So getting back to Babb's story, you know, John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath comes out. It's an instant success. And like we said, her publisher, who she had had a contract with, they were fully planning to put her book out. She was done writing hers, she was ready for it to go, pretty much, um, tells her, "Nevermind, we're not gonna publish it." But lest we think that was her one shot and she missed it, she was very esteemed as a writer. She was very well connected in the literary world and she did have other books that were published, right?

IRIS: Yeah. So after not getting this published, after having the contract taken away by Random House, she was devastated. She spent like a year where she couldn't even write. But then she got right back at it. Um, she got another contract from Random House and started writing her next novel, which is called The Lost Traveler, which is an amazing novel, um, with a strong female character named Robin. It's a coming of age novel, um, she's growing up in a small town based on Garden City, Kansas, and it's like coming into sexuality, coming into being something other than a part of a really dysfunctional family. She also published a great deal of short fiction. She was most known for her short fiction in her lifetime, and they're brilliant short stories. But her, um, memoir An Owl On Every Post is about growing up in Eastern Colorado, and Konkie plays a huge role in that book. I really urge listeners to, to read that book or listen to the audio book. It's just a beautiful book about what it was like growing up in the early 1900s in Eastern Colorado. I wanted to mention too, that she was in a writing group with Ray Bradbury for 40 years, and he thought she was one of the best writers that he'd ever read. And she had, you know, amazingly close literary friendships with Carlos Bulosan, John Fante, William Soroyan, who was in love with her. She had a relationship with Ralph Ellison, like I said. She drove cross country with Tillie Olsen and was good friends, like I said, with Meridel Le Seuer.

AMY: That cross-country road trip is a really great part of your book. I had fun reading that. There were a lot of tensions.

KIM: So let's talk a little bit about why Sanora got so forgotten over time, and what sparked her recovery?

IRIS: You know, this is a story you've heard a lot before on this podcast, right? Women who were writing and publishing in the 1930s, after World War II and the Red Scare, guess who got erased from the story of American literature? The women. And even from biographies, if you look at biographies about William Saroyan, for example, she's not in his biographies at all. There's copious letters between the two. Same thing with Ralph Ellison. Like when you look at the relationship that they had, only one set of letters was available at the time, and so the version of their relationship is really a one sided male perspective of looking at the story, whereas they had a really equal relationship. They respected one another. I mean, she actually read a draft of Invisible Man before it was published. Even when you read biographies about Ray Bradbury, you don't see as much about her. And it's just the way that we look through history through this past century because of the way it was disrupted so many times. It's actually one of the things that scares me the most about the future is if things continue the way they are, with books being banned, with things happening in this way, not to get political, but –

KIM: Get political. I've been thinking about it all through this conversation, to be honest. 

IRIS: Yeah, I'm so worried about what that means for the, you know… A, the story we're just beginning to open back up... that both of us have, you know, come from families that survived the Dust Bowl and did not know the details of what happened tells you a lot about this country.

AMY: And can we just real quick give a Ken Burns shout out, because when it came out, I watched that documentary and it's phenomenal. But Ken Burns and Dayton Duncan the fact that they use Sanora for their research for that documentary is pretty amazing. 

IRIS: Do you want to know why? Let me tell you. I think it's a really important part of the story. So they are amazing. I was really lucky to get to talk to Dayton Duncan and he played a huge role in the epilogue that I wrote for this book. But the reason why her story is there has everything to do with Pauline Hodges. Now, Pauline Hodges is somebody that my friend, Joanne Dearcopp, who was Sanora Babb's very good friend, who is the reason why Sanora Babb's books are in print, because she made a vow to her over glasses of wine, "I'll keep your books in print, I promise." And then kept her promise, so Joanne was giving me all these names of people I should visit to write this book. And so I'm driving around Eastern Colorado and the panhandle of Oklahoma. She's like, "You got to go to this nursing home and talk to Pauline Hodges." And I'm like, "Okay, all right, I'll do it." So I go and I meet Pauline, and she's a firecracker. And she's just like, knows everybody in town, is hooking me up with everything. I take her back to her nursing home at the end of the day, and I'm like, "Thank you so much," and she's like, "Hey, does Ken Burns know about this project?" And I was like, "No, of course not." (Right? Like, why would he?) And she's like, "Oh, well I'll give him a call." And I'm like, "Okay." You know, and I'm driving back to my hotel in Colorado, and by the time I get back, there's a call from Pauline and she's like, "I talked to Ken's people and they're going to be in contact." What I didn't know at that time is that she was on the set. She's one of the people interviewed in The Dust Bowl documentary. So if you go back, you can see her. And they were all having these meetings, and she's just not somebody that sits on her hands. She was like, "Um, I really think, Ken, that you should look at this woman, Sanora Babb. She went to my high school." So she is the one that introduced Sanora Babb to Ken Burns and Dayton Duncan, and of course they did a deep dive into her and made that editorial decision, but the way that Ken Burns and his team do that work, and the thing that Dayton Duncan told me in the interview is like, they know that history is something that is constantly needing to be rewritten and better understood. I think that's why we love their documentaries so much. It's because they're willing to open up and change as they tell a story. 

KIM: That's a great point. It's not a regurgitation. They're looking at how they can see it in a new way. And they're willing to listen. 

IRIS: It's so important.

KIM: That's huge.

AMY: I always said working for Ken Burns would be my dream job. 

KIM: Oh my god, you would be great at that. I could totally see that. 

AMY: I just want to work for Ken Burns.

KIM: Yeah. 

IRIS: Call Pauline. She'll get you hooked up. 

AMY: Pauline, give me the hook up! Okay, so, Sanora Babb, thankfully, she did live long enough to see Whose Names Are Unknown get published. She died in 2005, and there are really so many more stories about her that we haven't… we've run out of time. We can't touch on here. So listeners, you'll just have to pick up a copy of Iris's book. It's called Riding Like the Wind. Um, but Iris, if you had one more thing that you could tell our listeners about Sanora Babb, what would you want it to be?

IRIS: I would say one of the things that struck me most about Sanora Babb was her fortitude. So the idea that she grew up really poor, raised by a man who was a gambler and abusive. And she fought like hell until she got what she wanted and kept her eye on the prize. Like no matter what got in her way, she believed that she could be something. It wasn't like a self-centered desire to become a writer. It was because she knew people needed to have their stories told. I feel so lucky that I've gotten to spend the last five years with her and that she's now in my brain, and hopefully that I've recreated her close to what she was, but her fortitude is something that I'll always carry with me. And I hope other women and men will be inspired by her.

AMY: She spent her writing career making sure people's stories were told, and now finally she gets her story told, thanks to you and your biography, the first biography about Sanora, right? 

IRIS: Yeah. It's the first biography about her.

KIM: And we are so lucky that we got to have this discussion with you, and we are so excited to continue it tonight in person at Vroman's Bookstore, which we love Vroman's Bookstore. Thank you for the work you've done to bring Babb's life story and her published works to light. This has been fantastic.

IRIS: Thank you guys so much. It's always such a pleasure to talk with you guys.

AMY: So that's all for today's episode. Angelinos, we hope to see you tonight at Vroman's bookstore to learn more about Sanora Babb. I'll be back with the show next week for all of our paid subscribers. I'm going to be discussing the calamitous, disastrous, apocalyptic effects of bobbing one's hair in that episode. 

KIM: Yeah! All right!

AMY: If you think the dust storms were bad, wait till you hear what a bunch of flappers did to society. And then Kim and I will both be back in two weeks to discuss another Lost Lady of Lit. Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Amy Helmes and Kim Askew.

212. Eliza Haywood — The Female Spectator and Betsy Thoughtless with Kelly J. Plante

KIM ASKEW: Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast that revives forgotten female writers and celebrates their contributions to literature. I'm Kim Askew. 

AMY HELMES: And I'm Amy Helmes. A quick heads up for Southern California listeners: Kim and I will be participating in an event at Vroman's Bookstore in Pasadena on the evening of Tuesday, October 15th. We'll be in discussion with Iris Jamahl Dunkle to celebrate the launch of her new biography on the writer Sanora Babb.So if you're in the area, we'd love for you to join us. If you're not nearby, stay tuned for our upcoming podcast episode on Sanora Babb two weeks from now. Having said that, let's now turn our focus to today's lost lady, an incredibly prolific 18th century writer whose life is still, frankly, a little bit of a mystery.

KIM: Despite Eliza Haywood's extensive body of work, we hardly know anything about her. We don't even know the exact year she was born. 

AMY: What we do know is that she was a woman of many talents — novelist, playwright, actress, and later, a pioneering editor of political periodicals. 

KIM: Her early works were wildly popular, and then she broke new ground, albeit anonymously, as the editor of The Female Spectator, the first periodical written by women for women.

AMY: Her resume is also reminding me a little bit of Aphra Behn, whom we've done a previous episode on. We have a special guest to help us learn a little bit more about Eliza Haywood and her significance in the literary landscape of the 18th century. 

KIM: I am so excited for this, so let's raid the stacks and get started!

[intro music plays]

AMY: Okay, joining us today is Dr. Kelly J. Plante, an essayist, editor, and scholar specializing in transatlantic 18th century literature. Her research focuses on the evolution of fiction and nonfiction during this period, and she's written extensively about Eliza Haywood's contributions to literature and journalism. Welcome, Kelly. So glad to have you! 

KELLY: Hi, Amy and Kim. Thank you so much for having me. This is such important work that you do on this podcast and I'm honored and delighted to be here. 

KIM: We're so glad you're here. So Kelly, what can you tell us about Haywood's beginnings and how she became this prolific writer?

KELLY: Well, we don't know exactly as you alluded… her birthday or birthplace. We don't know who her parents were or what she was like growing up. But we do know that in her early adulthood, she set out to become an actress, which was one of the few professions if you were a woman and interested in literature and ideas that you could do to fulfill yourself. And so she moved from England to Dublin and she was apparently quite a raucous act on the Dublin stage. She also was involved in the same theater circles as the famous. Henry Fielding, he wrote Tom Jones, and, like Haywood, he wrote novels and plays, and so she hung out and associated with him. She was then involved in manuscript coteries or poetry circles that are described by her biographer, Katherine King, as “psychosexual.”

KIM: Ooh, intriguing. 

AMY: I'm already getting a very saucy vibe from this lady, like hanging out with Henry Fielding… 

KIM: Yep. Actress. 

KELLY: Mm-hmm. “Saucy” is the perfect word. It's a very 18th-century word that Richardson used a lot in Pamela, and um, she wrote in his circle and against him as well. So then when the stage was kind of shut down and no longer reasonable or profitable for her to pursue, she then began writing novels, or what were called fictions. They weren't called novels yet, or they were called “the novel kind of writing.” Her first novel was Love in Excess. 

KIM: Her novels were pretty big in their day, right? 

KELLY: Yeah, the two most popular 18th century novels were Robinson Crusoe and Love in Excess, and they were released at the same time.

KIM: Wow! 

Amy: Who would have known? Oh my gosh, we all know Daniel Defoe. What the heck?! Yeah. Oh, I'm almost like, don't tell me that, Kelly. Like, I don't even want to know that because it's just so irritating. 

KELLY: Well, it gets worse and it gets more irritating once you know the history between her and Defoe and Richardson. But yeah, it may have even sold more copies than Robinson Crusoe. Although we know which one stood the test of time, not because it was better, but because of power dynamics of the historical record. Who gets to tell the stories we pass down? 

AMY: If I'm looking at these two, which one am I going to choose? A man sitting by himself on an island, basically, or this other one called Love in Excess, which has all kinds of crazy, racy, entertaining, interpersonal dynamics.

KIM: Which one would you choose if you were stranded on a desert isle? 

KELLY: Exactly. Yeah. 

AMY: So it sounds like Haywood and her racy novels were quite the sensation early on, clearly. But today's scholars seem to be even more interested in her journalism, and that includes you, Kelly. 

KELLY: Yeah, most of her works that get taught in literature classrooms, especially undergraduate just because they're shorter is, you know, Love in Excess, but even more so Fantomina, which is even shorter. And it's really a whirlwind. Um, I highly recommend reading it. It's crazy. Um, but since, um, “Haywood studies” is rounding its quarter century of age, you know, there's definitely been a critical turn to focus on her later in life periodicals, which she wrote when she was older. So The Female Spectator and The Parrot. And then Epistles for the Ladies, but more so the first two that I mentioned, they've been kind of examined as wartime periodicals. A scholar named Catherine Ingrassia has done a really great chapter in the first book ever to be dedicated or published on 18th century women periodicalists. And that was published just a few years ago. (It's crazy to me as someone interested in the history of journalism and in women writers that that's the first edition.) It's really great. But so she has an essay in there about Haywood as a wartime writer. And while The Female Spectator is talking about “domestic issues” like the marriage plots and things like that, it's done so in this juxtaposition with current events. So one of the major issues going on in England at that time was the Jacobite Revolution, and she's really challenging the energy and the air of England at that time, which was really tense for a time. Really anti-Catholic, depending on whose side you are on, and really fearful of this coming invasion that ultimately we know now ended up failing, but they didn't know that at the time. And so she's really writing for women and men, but she's telling women how to kind of survive in this crazy world. 

AMY: So rather than try to cover the entire output of The Female Spectator for this episode, you helpfully pointed us to one particular book. And it includes a letter by a quote unquote reader named “Clarabella,” but we're kind of assuming that it's Haywood. This story is then followed by a response from The Female Spectator editor. And listeners, we'll share a link to this in our show notes so that you can read it too. It kind of marries what you were saying, the sort of wartime writing with issues relating to women. Why does it have special significance to you to focus on?

KELLY: What I really love about this book is the context that it appears in, but also It is a depiction of a woman, “Clarabella,” this person who's writing in for a friend. So I'm really interested in creative nonfiction and how do fiction and nonfiction play together. She's deconstructing that. She's also deconstructing another binary, which is man and woman. She depicts a woman, Aliena, who, “equips herself in the habit of a man.” She follows her lover, who is a captain of the British Royal Navy, who got orders to deploy to the West Indies. Everybody thought he was going to propose to her and he didn't. So it's kind of embarrassing. She thought she was going to marry this man. So she dresses as a cabin boy and goes to the port town. So she says to his buddy, the lieutenant, “I want to join your regiment.” And he says, “Okay, you can join, you can come on the ship with us.” He puts her in this group of other young boys of her entry level rank. And Clarabella writes: “They start pinching each other on the ribs, as young boys often do, and they found that she had breasts.” So, there's a lot of like, queer and trans overtones. Not even just overtones, just straight up, cross-dressing, all that, going on in this narrative. 

KIM: Very Shakespearean. 

KELLY: Yes. Anyway, so her family is like, “Where did she go?” They launched this public investigation. They come and find her and they confront him thinking that they were eloping. They were not eloping. She just was going to join the military and they don't know that. So they get in this awkward confrontation with him. It doesn't end up good for Aliena. So he gets off the hook. He goes to the West Indies, he deploys. And her family really takes it out on her. She's then somewhat imprisoned in her house, and she's really ostracized in her community and punished for it. So this is why Clarabella is trying to write in as a helpful friend to say, “Hey, Female Spectator, please redress this situation for her.” What we get is a really interesting nuanced judgment from the female spectator on what should happen next. 

Amy: As you mentioned, it's a blurry line between fact and fiction because it's purported to be a true story, right? She's like, “I swear to God, this is my friend, and this is gonna sound crazy, but this shit really happened, and I'm gonna tell you.” And of course it's fake. I mean, it's so over the top. It's like that song, [sings] “The things you do for love!” And you think based on similar stories, like Shakespeare's plays, it would all end up good. And this goes horribly awry. It's awful! 

KELLY: Yeah, yeah, exactly. And I love that you point out it's so clearly fiction, but for 18th-century readers, it might not have been so clearly fiction as we think now, because a little bit before this is written, so many women were joining the army that the king had to issue a decree that women were not allowed to wear military clothing.

AMY: This is context I needed. I have no idea about this! Okay. 

KELLY: And so the most famous historical figure is Christian Davies, or Mother Ross, and she is a real life “female soldier” who dressed in military garb and joined the military. And she was successful for several years. There were real life examples in the news and in Broadside Ballads at the time, which, this is another reason this book piqued my interest so much because I was working on a project at Wayne State University about warrior women. And the story is an old tale from, you know, Joan of Arc or Mulan, and it's a really ancient trope, but it was very popular in the 18th century. So there's a lot going on that Haywood's playing with culturally. That's why periodicals are so cool to study because they're blending fact and fiction, and she's really got her finger on the pulse of her culture.

AMY: The reaction to Clarabella's letter, so the editorial response, was not at all what I was expecting. Because I'm reading Clarabella's telling of it, and I'm like, “I can't believe this happened to her; she didn't deserve this.” And then suddenly we get the response, and I'm like, “huh?” 

KELLY: Right. It's so weird reading it from our time, looking back at her time, because like, again, we have to think about the context she's writing it in. And while I just told you like, oh, it really could have happened, you know, there were these real life women who dressed as men and joined the military, It also could be read symbolically because as we talked about before. Because she had a romanticization of the lost cause of Jacobitism or, um, “Bonnie Prince Charlie” who was Charles Edward Stewart, who was known as a pretender to the throne. You could also read Aliena as a symbolic characterization of him, because of when this is taking place in 1745, which is when he dressed as Bonnie [Betty] Burke to invade England. 

KIM: It's all coming together. Yes. 

KELLY: Yeah, it's really complicated. It's really hard when you find an artifact like this, trying to figure out, well, what was she intending as the author to portray and how would people have taken it? So, it could have been taken as she's writing about a political situation, about the Jacobite cause. 

KIM: It totally makes sense when you're saying that. It's like you can't just look at it as a piece on its own. There's so much you need to understand about what's going on at the time, and then there can be more than one reading based on that even.

AMY: Yeah. Yeah, I just took it on the very surface level. The editorial response being, “Ladies, that was stupid. Don't do that.” 

KELLY: Right. 

AMY: “You're going to ruin your life if you go run off and try to join the Navy.” 

KELLY: That's certainly a legitimate way to read it. And maybe it's how she got away with political commentary, you know?

AMY: Interesting. 

KELLY: They could have been like, “Oh, this is seditious libel. This is treason. You're advocating for the Stuarts.” And she could say, “No, it's a true story. It's, you know, this woman really tried doing this.” 

KIM: Ooh, I love this. Do you want to actually read from her rebuttal so we can hear?

KELLY: Sure, and I love her tone in her rebuttal. She starts off very thankful to the correspondent. She is an editor in chief, so she starts, “Of all the letters with which The Female Spectator has been favored, none gave us a greater mixture of pain and pleasure than this. It is difficult to say whether the unhappy story it contains, or the agreeable manner in which it is related, most engages our attention. But while we do justice to the historian and pity the unfortunate lady in whose cause she has employed her pen, we must be wary how we excuse her faults so far as to hinder others from being upon their guard, not to fall into the same.” So at first we think, okay, she's going to take a conservative view. “Ladies don't do what Aliena has done.” So then she says, “Neither is it possible to comply with the request of this agreeable correspondent in passing too severe a judgment on the captain's behavior.” So it seems like she's going to let him off the hook, but further down, she says, “Instances of young people who, after the first wound given to their reputation, have thought themselves under no manner of restraint and abandoned to all sense of shame are so flagrant that I wonder any parent or relation should not tremble at publishing a fault which, If concealed, might possibly be the last, but if divulged is for the most part but the beginning or prelude to a continued series of vice.”

I really love what she's doing here because she's really taking us on a logical trip of: Here's what you think I'm going to say, and this is what I'm going to say. And it's not a problem that Aliena did this. It's a problem that her parents publicized it. 

KIM: Interesting. 

KELLY: Basically, young people are going to do stupid shit, and parents should just expect that. 

AMY: And Clarabella, by extension, like, “Why'd you need to write in?” Do we know that “Clarabella,” was actually Haywood just writing this story? We don't know, do we? 

KELLY: Yeah, she could be replying to herself. We don't have anything to go off of to see what was truly written in. We don't have her letters. We don't have her diaries. We just don't know. And readers at the time didn't necessarily all know that it was Haywood. Like The Female Spectator was a persona. 

KIM: Okay, so it was an entity or collective in their minds, maybe, as opposed to her specifically. Right. So let's shift gears for a minute. Haywood, she wasn't just a periodical editor. You know, we talked about how she wrote novels. She also wrote plays. She was an actress. Do you want to talk a little bit about how these different aspects of her career might have influenced her writing overall? 

KELLY: Yeah, I think that her experience as an actress definitely infuses life and vivacity into her writing. And she's able to convey power dynamics between men and women in such a theatrical way. Her attempt at character development really shines through in her last novel, Betsy Thoughtless, where she critiques John Locke's (the philosopher's) idea of the tabula rasa, or the blank slate, with the idea of a thoughtless female protagonist. It reminds me of The Sound of Music, where, what is Rolf saying about like the I'm totally off the cuff here, but a woman is “a page to write on” or something and… well, I am not going to start singing now, but I just thought that…

AMY: “You are 16 going on 17.” It’s like: “Your mind little girl is an empty page that men will want to write on.” (To write on!!)

KIM: Yeah. And we watched this all through our childhood. Nice. 

AMY: Okay. So Betsy Thoughtless is basically Liesel from The Sound of Music. 

KELLY: Oh my God. Yes. Liesel of 1751. So Betsy Thoughtless, the blank slate, she starts off as a coquette at the beginning of her life, you know, as she's depicted in her 20s. And she meets a man named Trueworth at Oxford or Cambridge when she's visiting her brother. And he's the perfect guy. His name says it all: Trueworth. She doesn't stay with him. She ends up marrying a man named Mr. Munden. Even his name just sounds bland. So this book is so interesting because It shows her growth because unlike Aliena, she doesn't have parents that publicize all her faults. And so she's allowed to make these mistakes, and she doesn't maintain her innocence, but she's this complex woman that… she is able to have happiness after making mistakes. And her major mistake is marrying this man. So this is just a snapshot of their domestic life that she is able to escape:

[reads a passage from Betsy Thoughtless]

Amy: Theatrical! 

KIM: Yeah. Yeah. 

AMY: I knew where that was going. And I was like, “No! Not the squirrel! Don't hurt the squirrel! Oh my God.” 

KELLY: She's constantly depicting power dynamics between men and women. And she's constantly showing women who go against sexual social norms and who are rebelling against it. And she's showing how to be subversive and also how to survive in this really competitive marriage market that we've seen later in Jane Austen novels of women's survival really depending on marriage and what does that do for the core female self?

AMY: That's what I kind of took away from the “Aliena” tale. She was saying, “Girls don't do this. If you want things to work out for you, don't do this.”

KIM: Yeah, it's a pragmatic approach. Yeah, yeah, yep. 

KELLY: Or if you're gonna do it, do it right and have that be who you truly are, like Christian Davies. You know, be tough and be able to withstand all of what's going to happen.

AMY: Yeah, if you make that choice then the boys are going to grab your boobs on the boat and you better be prepared for it, sort of thing. There was so much attempted rape in that story, too! 

KELLY: Yeah, and you guys touched on that in your episode on Aphra Behn as well. The culture at the time, you know rape and consent were different. I'm not saying she's condoning it, but she is showing you how to stay safe.

KIM: Yeah, and she's working within the framework of society. 

AMY: Did Eliza Haywood ever face any backlash or controversy surrounding her writings, or was she always able to kind of couch it in a way that it was accepted? 

KELLY: Well, she was under arrest in 1750 because it was suspected that she produced a seditious pamphlet. And she said she “never wrote anything in a political way.” That was a lie, as we've seen. She did write about politics. She was never jailed or anything like that, but there was definitely a risk. So she was able to really successfully tread those waters as a female writer and as a political writer at a time where everything you wrote was under suspect. She definitely had controversy and we talked about Defoe earlier. Defoe and Samuel Richardson, those two men, as far as I'm concerned, they appropriated her amateur fiction methods in Pamela and Roxanna. And while they publicly wrote against writers like Haywood, they really benefited off of her method. There's also the famous case of Jonathan Swift calling her a “stupid, infamous, scribbling woman.” And Alexander Pope who mocked her in his [Dunciad] poem, a satire against Grub Street. I don't even want to repeat the misogynistic tropes that he used, but he talked about her breasts and her two “illegitimate” children. So she definitely had some misogyny that was attacking her at the time. 

AMY: You're giving the examples of all these other male writers that said insulting things about her. It's taking me back to Aliena's story. She did put herself on the boat in a way. She was in this field that is with all the men.

KIM: That's a good point, Amy. 

AMY: She's a lone female figure, relatively speaking, in that world. In that sense, if you compare what she was doing with the parable that she wrote for us, you can see what she was trying to get at. Like, if you're going to get on the boat, it's not for the faint of heart, and it's not for the delicate.

KELLY: Mm-hmm. Exactly. She was doing that in The Female Spectator. She was positing herself as a model for how to be a woman writer and how to withstand society at the time. 

KIM: Um, we talked about Aphra Behn, you know, the other writers of her time, or Frances Burney, for example. Why now does she not have as much recognition as some of those names?

KELLY: Haywood is definitely more often compared to Aphra Behn because their life and career spans seem to be closer to overlapping, but it's really interesting and appropriate that you picked these three. Because their lifespans take us from the beginning to the end of really the long 18th century from kind of the raunchy Restoration of Charles II to the throne and his crazy court life with prostitution and debauchery and ultimately into Jane Austen, who is necessarily influenced by all three, whether she wanted to be or not. And the publishing culture was really built on their legacy — for men as well as women. And so Behn, she lives about 1640 to 1689, and she writes until her death at about age 49. And Haywood was probably born four years after she died in 1693 to 1756. And she also wrote until she died when she was about 63 years old. And Burney, we know so much more about biographically. And her birth date, she was about four years after Haywood died. Burney played with a lot of different genres too, but she's mostly known for the novel, which was a more, by that time, respectable form. You can't have Jane Austen or Frances Burney without having Haywood before them.

KIM: So, we talked about Love in Excess a little bit and Fantomina. Do you think one of her novels is her greatest novel and why? What should we go out and read? 

KELLY: Well, my answer to what you should go out and read first, probably not her greatest in my opinion, but Fantomina is very easy to finish and very, very mind blowing. So that's a really great first read. But in terms of her greatest novel, really, Betsy Thoughtless, it's a really great novel if you can get through it. Broadview Press makes a really great annotated edition of it. 

KIM: We love Broadview. 

KELLY: Yeah, they have a great Introduction. 

AMY: You're holding it up right now to the screen and I'm like, “Wow, that's a fat book.” I'm still not through my Samuel Richardson's Clarissa.

KIM: Amy's been on a journey. 

AMY: That was my pandemic novel and I never finished it because it's so fat. 

KIM: It's almost like you can never finish it now.

AMY: I will miraculously explode or disappear or something once I get to the last page, so I just can't finish it. Yeah.

KIM: It just can't happen. 

KELLY: I read Clarissa for my pandemic novel. 

AMY: Oh, are you kidding? And you, you finished it? You finished it. The thing is, I really love it. It just got so repetitive. Like, it's so much of the same over and over. 

KELLY: You know how I got through it? Number one, it was on my qualifying exams for my PhD, so I had to. But actually, my advisor was like, “Don't put Clarissa on your qualifying exam list. It's too long.” And I was like, “I really want to read it.” But there was this group on Twitter, #Clarissa2020, that everybody started 2020 thinking we would read it in real time and we would read the letters on the dates that they were dated. And I had to use audio books to read some of it because it's…

KIM: Oh, that's a good idea. 

KELLY: Yeah, I split it up. But I also happened to be like, I had a son and whenever I was feeding him, like he was a baby, so I'd feed him and just read Clarissa on my Kindle. But I'm teaching it right now. 

AMY: You're not making them read at all, are you?

KELLY: No, no. That's how, yeah, I was looking for Betsy Thoughtless and that's when I thought, I thought, “Oh, it's not as long as Clarissa,” because Clarissa is like three times as big as them. But that's how I found it on my bookshelf because I said, look for the obnoxiously large book. So it's pretty big.

KIM: Lost Ladies of Lit Challenge, listeners. We're gonna read Betsy Thoughtless together. I like that. 

AMY: It's much thinner than Clarissa. We can do it. Yeah, definitely. 

KELLY: Yeah, and it's published about the same time as Clarissa, and I think that they're playing with similar ideas, but it's not epistolary like Clarissa; it has an omniscient narrator, so it's a little bit more accessible in that way. Um, but why I love it so much is you know what I said earlier that it's a female protagonist that is allowed to make mistakes and she's the opposite of Clarissa. Clarissa is perfect, and that's why you can sympathize with her because she's perfect yet all this horrible stuff happens to her and you can't victim blame Clarissa because she's an angel, right? He writes that she's “not of this world.” Betsy Thoughtless is very much of this world, and the reason it's so long, I think, is women would read this and they could really immerse themselves in her world and think, If I had a friend like this, what would I do? If a guy did this to me, what could I do? But what's really valuable, too, about Betsy Thoughtless and that passage that I chose, I think that she was making a point about if you see a man that is mistreating a squirrel (he killed the squirrel, right?) — if he's able to do that, and I think Haywood called it a trifle, like it seems like a trifle because it's just a squirrel, but if somebody's doing that, then what are they doing to the woman that is in their house? So she's really showing the violence that happens outside to the interior self. And I think that it's fascinating to think of Betsy Thoughtless as this way to really grow and become in this really violent world and be able to come out successfully. 

AMY: All right, so clearly we have a lot to choose from with Eliza Haywood. If you guys want to start small, listeners, we're going to link in our show notes to, um, what we read from The Female Spectator, or you could go check out some of these novels. I know I want to now. 

KIM: Yep, me too!

AMY: Kelly, thank you so much for sharing all your insights with us today. Clearly, Eliza Haywood deserves to be more widely recognized, and this was so fun.

KELLY: Thank you again so much for having me and for the work that you do on Lost Ladies of Lit. I really appreciate being here. Thank you so much. 

AMY: And thanks to all of you for listening to Lost Ladies of Lit. Be sure to subscribe and leave us a review if you enjoyed this episode. We'll be back next time with another forgotten female writer who deserves a place in the literary canon.

KIM: We also invite you to join our free Substack newsletter and subscribe to our Patreon for exclusive bonus episodes which drop twice a month. 

AMY: Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Amy Helmes and Kim Askew.

210. Mary MacLane — I Await the Devil’s Coming — with Cathryn Halverson

KIM ASKEW: Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off forgotten women writers. I’m Kim Askew, here with my co-host, Amy Helmes. And Amy, I think you probably stand in agreement with me in feeling incredibly grateful that our teenage diaries were never published for the entire world to see.

AMY HELMES: Oh my god. The angst! The misery! The unintentional comedy! There’s actually a project called Mortified that’s been around since the early 2000s where people go on stage and share excerpts from their old diaries or adolescent love letters or whatever with a live audience. Kim, have you been?

KIM: I thought we'd went together. I’ve been. I think we went together years ago. 

AMY: Yeah, it’s really funny. It usually takes decades for people to work up the courage to share these soul-exposing revelations from their past. (Sometimes humiliating!)

KIM: Yes, and that’s in sharp contrast to the lost lady we’re focusing on in this week’s episode, Mary MacLane. She willingly and eagerly published her confessional “diary” (I use that word in quotation marks — we’ll explain a bit later) soon after writing it at the age of 19. It covers a 10-month span in her life in 1901 in Butte, Montana. She originally titled the manuscript I Await the Devil’s Coming, but it was actually changed for publication to the more deceptively banal title The Story of Mary MacLane.

AMY: Mary MacLane is intense, sublime, defiant, morose, exhausting, a little bit scary, and funny as hell.

KIM: Yep. Sounds like a teenage girl, alright. But we should also mention that in terms of its literary merits, the book is beautifully written, it’s incredibly philosophic and speaks to issues that run much deeper than her own navel-gazing.

AMY: At the start of the diary, MacLane puts forth her mission statement like this: 

   I, of womankind and of nineteen years, will now begin to set down as full and frank a Portrayal as I am able of myself, Mary MacLane, for whom the world contains not a parallel. 

   I am convinced of this, for I am odd.

KIM: Great opening lines. This is already feeling like a way-way-back machine episode of “My So–Called Life.” I can’t wait to dive into it with today’s guest. So let’s raid the stacks and get started!

[intro music plays]

AMY: Our guest today, Cathryn Halverson has a special interest in women’s writing and literature of the American West. Her published monographs include Maverick Autobiographies: Women Writers and the American West; Playing House in the American West: Western Women’s Life Narratives; and Faraway Women and the Atlantic Monthly. She joins us today from Sweden where she is a senior lecturer at Södertörn University in Stockholm. Cathryn, thank you for joining us!

CATHRYN HALVERSON: Well, thank you for having me.

KIM: We want to give a special shout-out to one of our most supportive listeners and a previous guest on this show, Rosemary Kelty, for bringing Mary MacLane to our attention. Once you hear about this author and her unusual book, it’s hard not to want to pick up a copy. Cathryn, can you set the stage for us in terms of how MacLane’s debut title was received in 1902?

CATHRYN: Well, it was a mix.  Kind of looking over these collected reviews, it seems that more of the published reviews were negative than positive, but that's because the way readers responded to her was positive, and there were a lot of young women who were excited by her book. Um but also, literary people, too, were impressed by the writing and it really quickly entered the popular culture with all these parodies of it, products named after her and a lot of excitement about her and imitations too. 

KIM: Okay, so clearly love it or hate it, this book was a sensation. What did people find either so compelling in the book or so abhorrent?

CATHRYN: I mean, the biggest thing was that she wrote a book entirely about herself and was shamelessly egotistical about it. I mean, I'm sure she mentions her name virtually every page. And she doesn't really do much in the book. She just talks about herself and what she feels and what she does during the day and how she wanders around the city of Butte and the outskirts. So it was that kind of self absorption that troubled people, plus the claims she makes. She says that she's a genius, that she's brilliant, that she doesn't belong in Butte, she belongs somewhere else. And these things were probably true, but it was also rather obnoxious. But inspiring, too, to other girls and women who maybe felt the same. 

AMY: Yeah, classic teenage girl. So when I first started reading it, without knowing much about it, I took it at face value as her diary. But this isn’t exactly a diary in the way we might typically think of it, right?

CATHRYN: Right. I mean, she was inspired by other books published by women about themselves, especially Marie Bashkirtseff, this Russian woman in France who had published in around 1890  her published journals. So Bashkirtseff had actually published a real diary (it's enormous) with this account of daily life. And then MacLane. took that model and pared it down. When I was looking over the book again, it's surprising how undiary-like it is. It's more like a fable. Some of it does seem very staged, and the repetition and the focus on her emotions and thoughts, as opposed to what she was doing. And the giveaway, of course, that it's not really a diary is that she states several times that she was writing a book. She hopes this book will make her enough money to leave Butte and interestingly, she even goes back to the book after it must have been in production because she refers her readers to the frontispiece portrait and she says, you know, this is a picture of me. Note my beautiful figure, but I should say that I have handkerchiefs stuffed in the bosom of my dress to give myself a little extra padding. So, I mean, she knew that  photo would be on the book. So it's not only she was planning on writing a book, but I think she was going back and editing it and inserting things. So it was quite deliberate. 

AMY: Yeah, you can sense the calculated quality of it as you're going along and then you are sort of like, okay, this isn't her genuine day to day diary, even though it probably does include real elements of her day.

KIM: Didn't some people even think it was maybe a parody or a hoax? 

CATHRYN: Yeah, there's these statements like, maybe this is a roast on this new fad for women writing about themselves in that way, and when I first began researching I mean, this one reviewer referred to the “naked soul lady” genre, but I hadn't heard of that “naked soul lady” genre, so I was trying to figure out what they were even referencing, because now, I mean, we know about MacLane, but we don't know about these antecedents who came before her. So yeah, they wondered. And some wondered if it was a man, and, and the fact that she was from Butte, so far away, there's this feeling that, you know, we don't know what's happening there. So somebody supposedly went to Butte and asked around and figured out she was a real girl who just graduated from high school. 

AMY: You mentioned Marie Bashkirtseff. MacLane actually name-drops her in the diary, pointing out that she has some “fan-girl” portraits of her on her bedroom wall. But she also boasts that she, Mary, is far superior to Marie. She writes: “Where she is deep, I am deeper. Where she is wonderful in her intensity, I am still more wonderful in my intensity….” Listeners, in case you haven’t noticed, Mary has no shortage of ego. She repeatedly calls herself a genius. She’s audacious, and you love her for it. At one point she even has one diary entry, February 19, that just says, “Am I not intolerably conceited?” So she’s laughing about it, you know?

KIM: Totally, but at the same time, she’s also wallowing in angst, rage and despair. She’s feeling completely out of place, misunderstood and alone. Rather than beseeching God for help (a la Judy Blume’s Are You There, God, it’s Me, Margaret?) she pleads with the devil to come to her aid. (Hence her original title I Await the Devil’s Coming.) Cathryn, can you talk about her fascination with the devil?

CATHRYN: I can, yes. Um, she repeatedly asks the kind devil to “deliver me,”  and she specifically says, you know, when I think of the devil, I don't think of that red person with the tail and the or the pointy, whatever. But I think of the hyper masculine, brutal man who will, you know, embrace me and give me this intense relationship. So she says that. At the same time, you know, in a complicated way, she's associating him with the landscape, the Montana landscape. She talks about the red devil and the red line of the sun, and they're out there together, but she also associates the landscape with herself. So somehow the devil ends up potentially being her own sexuality kind of run wild. I don't know. It does seem complicated. And then there's the fact that she's actually quite racist, and her representations of Native Americans, whom she calls the “Red Indian,” are disturbing. Um, so she empties out the landscape from those Native people, and then she puts the Red Devil in instead. So it's, it really feels very multi-layered, and as you say, originally, supposedly, she had that as her title, I Await the Devil's Coming.  

AMY: So you mentioned it briefly, but there’s this passage in the book (it’s a two-page, prayer-like incantation) where she beseeches the devil to save her from a whole list of everyday dumb crap. I’ll read just some of it:

“From insipid sweet wine; from men who wear moustaches; from the sort of people that call legs “limbs”; from bedraggled white petticoats: kind Devil deliver me.” …. “From red note-paper; from a rhinestone-studded comb in my hair; from weddings: kind Devil deliver me.” …. “From pleasant old ladies who tell a great many uninteresting, obvious lies; from men with watch-chains draped across their middles; from some paintings of the old masters which I am unable to appreciate; from side-saddles: kind Devil deliver me.” Then after an exhausting list of these things she hates, she concludes “But, kind Devil, only bring me Happiness and I will more than willingly be annoyed by all these things.”

So what's her beef here? What does this all signify in terms of the bigger picture? What's she looking for?

CATHRYN:  Well, I mean, she was in a really boring situation. Uh, I mean, the reputation now, maybe, is that Butte was this wild,  raucous place, and in fact, at the time, it was. It had more millionaires due to the copper mines than any place in the country, and it had all of these immigrants and people from everywhere, and, and she has some nice chapters in her text describing scenes on the streets of Butte, but she was very middle class, so she was observing some of that, but not participating. And there wasn't much for her to do. And as that passage that you read suggests, she was in a very stuffy, conventional society. And in some ways at the time among the middle class, Butte was more conventional than Eastern societies because there was this kind of defensiveness that we're not going to be these rough Westerners. We're going to be proper. It's very funny, the passage you read, with all those details about this really oppressive conventionality, and she had nothing to do. She was super smart. She graduated from high school, which  wasn't uncommon, but nor was it standard. She had anticipated continuing her education elsewhere, but there wasn't any money for it. So she was stuck at home. She had several brothers and sisters, a stepfather she didn't like, her mother that she said she had nothing in common with. And the house is really very small. Um, when I visited it, as I recall, it's a duplex  and you can imagine these six people crammed in there. And I was thinking when she wanted to write, where would she go? There wasn't a Starbucks. She couldn't hang out at the bar. Um, maybe she  could go out into that wasteland around Butte and settle down with her pen, but she had very little privacy, and again, very little to do. 

AMY: I love that word “wasteland,” because when she does go outside and she describes it for the reader, it's just this utter stillness. And she describes the beauty and she's kind of taken with  the landscape but yeah, you just get this almost apocalyptic boredom, like you said, um, that's a great way of describing it. 

CATHRYN: I mean, this land had been mined, and then the mines had moved on, so  it was blighted. It wasn't just that it was this open undeveloped landscape. It was ruined, really.  But somehow she goes out and makes it her own, and she identifies with that, um, throughout. And then she does find these, you know, moments of beauty, especially in the sky, or in small details, like a flower. But overall, you know, she describes these mine shafts, and dark, drippy, poisonous puddles,  and all sorts of things. This wasn't like Glacier National Park. This barren nothingness of Butte has turned her in on herself. So because there's no outer stimulation or because it's so barren and desolate, then she needs to go interior, which in a way contradicts other sections of the book where she describes the streets of Butte, which are very lively and heterogeneous. And, and there's a lot going on there, but she does write about it in that way. And of course,  many of her reviewers made that conclusion too. Like this book could only come out of Butte, but it's interesting to me that at the same time, she manages to present Butte as just a very small and average and typical town that could be anywhere. So even though at the time, Butte was really distinct culturally and historically, she can make it sound more like it's middle town Indiana or anywhere in the country. So it's kind of interesting the way it goes back and forth between being very regional and just provincial.

AMY: Right, right.

KIM: Okay. So her affinity for the devil reminds me of another book we’ve covered on this podcast, Sylvia Townsend Warner’s Lolly Willowes: or The Loving Huntsman. The “loving huntsman” in that book is also Satan, and he’s a savior heartthrob kind of figure. Likewise, MacLane describes the devil as a sexy soul mate, “a man with whom to fall completely, madly in love.” She has a very sensual longing for the devil, but at the same time, there are clear indications in the book that she was attracted to women. What do we know about this, Cathryn?

CATHRYN: You know, she mentions it quite a lot. Her second book, I, Mary MacLane, which was published in 1917 after she came back to Montana, no longer quite so healthy and spent the next seven years living in that same house. And that book she says things like, “I have lightly kissed and been kissed by lesbian lips.” So she's not hinting; she's pretty open about it. And it seems like she did live with this woman, this older writer in Boston for some years. Maria Louise Pool, who in her day was famous as a regionalist writer of New England, so there are these sort of indications of these different relationships, um, that didn't really, that wasn't really what people seem to be reacting against, right? It was more the egotism. and these claims to genius and the self-absorption; they didn't really seem to mind these references. 

AMY: I know, I think as a modern reader looking back at this time period, we always think like, oh, they must have been completely shocked  by the same sex attraction, but it was kind of more accepted.

CATHRYN: Uh, yeah, she was at this transition period, I think, between this idea of, you know, these passionate friendships between women and something else. And Lillian Faderman, in her history, has written about MacLane in that context. Um, and you know, she likes her English teacher. I think that felt pretty tame maybe just to have this crush on your English teacher who now has left and she's in Boston. And apparently when MacLane went out to visit her, she wasn't very warmly received since she did make her kind of notorious, this “Fanny” about whom I've never been able to find very much. 

AMY: Yeah, let's, let's get into a little more biographical info about her. So she was born in 1881 in Winnipeg, Canada before ending up in Butte. What else do we know, Catherine, about her upbringing and family life? You said she didn’t get along with her mom?

CATHRYN: I don't know if she didn't get along with her. She just felt she didn't have much in common. I think it was more the stepfather that she had issues with. But, they were in Canada. They left. There was some, um, Native uprising the Reiss Rebellion in Winnipeg, that made it, um, untenable for them. Then they were in Fergus Falls, Minnesota for some time. And I think by the age of ten, she was in Butte. And around then her father died and he was this figure. It interests me that she doesn't really bother trying to mythologize her father. He was called “Flatboat MacLane,” and he freighted, supposedly materials all the way from Fargo, North Dakota up to the Arctic (I'm not sure exactly how) and he was a gambler and had all these big ambitions, so he seems a sort of romantic figure, but she completely doesn't want to have anything to do with him, and he died, but she doesn't want to mythologize him as part of her. She felt no connection or she claims with her brothers and sisters. She does say something like, “Do you think it would affect me in the slightest if they all died?” But instead she creates these other genealogies for herself, you know, with Marie Bashkirtseff, um, Napoleon. She claims that what she is is Highland Scotch and makes a kind of romantic portrait out of that, but she claims the rest of her family, they're not Scotch, only she is. Um, so she makes these different connections, but none of them have much to do with the immediate people around her, except when she goes out into the streets of Butte. But she claims she has these connections with these people, immigrant working women like this old Cornish woman and she get along, and there's another woman and they get along and she has a feeling of connection with this African American woman or so she imagines. And so she creates these links with people of a different class status than she is or her family.

AMY: She likes the idea of being an “other.” We get the sense that her family bonds are a bit tense from one diary entry where she rages about the toothbrushes lined up in the bathroom: “In this house where I drag out my accursed, devilishly weary existence, upstairs in the bathroom on the little ledge at the top of the wainscoting there are six tooth-brushes.” She describes them all and says which belongs to which family member. Then she says, “The sight of these tooth-brushes day after day, week after week, and always, is one of the most crushingly maddening circumstances in my fool’s life…. Never does the pitiable barren contemptible damnable narrow Nothingness of my life in this house come upon me with so intense a force as when my eyes happen upon those six toothbrushes…. I am not undergoing an Inquisition, nor am I a convict in solitary confinement. But I live in a house with people who affect me mostly through their tooth-brushes — and those I should like, above all things, to gather up and pitch out the bath-room window — and oh, damn them, damn them!”

KIM: Oh my God. I mean, on the one hand, I like totally get it. And on the other hand,  it must have been hell to live with her.

AMY: Totally!

KIM: I wonder what her family thought? Oh my god.

AMY: I read that section to my 12-year-old son. He was like off to the side playing with Legos or something while I was reading it, and he just kind of stopped and looked up at me  and said, “I think she sounds like she needs some therapy.” Yeah. How much of this Catherine is performative? 

CATHRYN: Yeah, I mean, we don't know, do we?

KIM: It seems very real, that part.  I mean, it's the little things that can really annoy you, right? 

AMY: Everybody has their thing that sets them off. Yeah. For her, it’s the toothbrushes.

CATHRYN: She also says elsewhere that she really enjoys washing the bathroom — cleaning the bathroom, and scrubbing the floor. It's quite good for her woman's body, and it's a good time to contemplate those different issues.

AMY: I can see girls all over the country reading this, living in big families and small houses, and being like, “damn straight!” You know? Like, I can feel moments like that resonating with young girls. Women everywhere, really.

CATHRYN: I mean, by the time she was writing it, she was 19, so  part of her issue was that she wasn't so young, so she'd outgrown…

AMY: … She wanted out. Yeah.

CATHRYN: And she didn't have much to do. As she says, her mother was pretty into the housekeeping. Um, she didn't need to do that. Um, so she describes all these little domestic tasks she does, but they're all about herself. She describes getting a steak and getting asparagus or cooking an egg. But she doesn't seem to be, you know, cooking for other people. So none of her work seems necessary.

AMY: Given how shocking, sexy and rebellious the book seems, I think it’s hilarious that she initially sent it to a publisher of Evangelical literature. 

CATHRYN: Yeah, that's hard to figure out. It's hard, especially because again, I mean, this was her manuscript. It wasn't just a printout. She was sending her manuscript to someplace that you presumably would just throw it away, but they passed it along to the ideal publisher as it turns out, this Herbert S. Stone and Company who, not so long ago had published Kate Chopin's The Awakening. Which is fiction, a novel, but also about a woman who rebels and doesn't fit into her society. So   I'm sure that was what encouraged them to take her book. Because the reader of her manuscript,  Lucy Monroe (sister of Harriet Monroe, the poet), she had been the reader that recommended Stone publish The Awakening, and she was also MacLane's reader. So I think that's the link.

AMY: Got it.

KIM: So after imploring the devil to come save her, it turns out that Mary rescued herself. The book’s immense success gave her the money to move away from Butte. Where did she go from there, Cathryn?

CATHRYN: She first, um, I think she took a little trip in Chicago, but then she had this publicity tour in the East and Boston and New York. They thought about sending her to Europe, but that didn't happen. Um, and so she, um, you know, had these sort of publicity events and did end up settling in Boston for some years and from there shifted to New York where she lived for a number of additional years doing some freelance work and still trying to capitalize on that name. And originally she had a lot of money. and was doing very well, but she spent it. She spent it, and supposedly she gambled and she lived well, and she quickly became broke and spent a lot of time imploring not the devil, but her publishers to pay back some of the money they still owed her from the book, like a thousand dollars. Um, so she was away in the East Coast for about seven years until finally she got scarlet fever and I believe it was her hated stepfather who came out to New York to take her back to Butte, which is where she stayed for quite a few more years. And now, whereas that first book is all about how healthy she is and so sensual and so vital, the second book is more, you know, now I'm broken in health and my hair is no longer curly. And she figures herself as a kind of a nun in the same household. But she did get that third book published while she was there, that kind of sequel that no one pays any attention to except me. 

AMY: Well, yeah, because you're rooting for the protagonist of the first book to get out. So that's kind of sad almost. She did try her hand at screenwriting too, right?

CATHRYN: Right. And she got out. I mean, she was back in Butte for some years and then got out again. And then she was in Chicago, which is where she lived for the remainder of her life. And she had published an article called “Men Who Have Made Love to Me.” And it was about being courted by these different inappropriate like, I can't remember the names, the Callow Youth was one, and I think the Successful Businessman was another. So there was this movie that she wrote and starred in, a silent film based on that article, supposedly, also called Men Who've Made Love to Me, and  it sort of had some good publicity, but that's really been lost. There are no extant reels of that film, so we don't know so much about it. And originally, they thought they'd have a few films, but it was just that one. And then things got kind of rough for her financially. 

KIM: That would be cool to see that movie though. That sounds interesting.

AMY: I know. It's so sad how many of those old films are just gone.  Um, okay, and then so speaking of sad, she died from tuberculosis in Chicago at the age of 48. Her authorial voice in this particular book is so  unforgettable. Um, Catherine, why do you think she's fallen through the cracks in terms of being more widely remembered today? 

CATHRYN: Well first, I don’t think it's established that it was tuberculosis. 

AMY: Oh, okay.

CATHRYN: It's hard to figure out what exactly happened. Um, she died either maybe of some cancer, if not TB, or if, you know, there's some hints of suicide, but, it's not clear. 

KIM: Okay. 

CATHRYN: I don't know…. I mean, I was at a conference and I mentioned to a graduate student working on MacLane that I was going to be on this podcast, The Lost Ladies of Lit. And her first response was, “She's not lost.” 

AMY: All of you, academic types! You guys know everybody, but we lay-people. We're like, “Who?!”

KIM: Yeah. Yeah. 

CATHRYN: It's true. It's true. Because like yesterday, I was going to make a case like she's not lost, and so I was doing some research and actually  there isn't so much scholarship about her.  It's periodic. Like she keeps getting rediscovered. And originally in the 70s and 80s, it was more in the context of Montana. Like one of the earlier profiles of her was in Montana

Magazine of Western History. Um, so that was the first context. And then more in the last ten years, it's definitely been about the sexuality. And you see her on these websites about bisexual writers and figures. And she's also inspired these creative people to write novels based on her life or screenplays. For a while there was someone in Australia and if you looked up Mary MacLane, everything was happening in Australia with some play or novel, I'm not sure. You know, she wouldn't fit so easily into an American literature classroom because of genre. Although she could, I mean… in like American autobiography or life narrative, but you know, who gets remembered, who gets forgotten. Well, that's what you do, right?    Every time I teach her or introduce her, everybody loves her. And I also meet people who have stories similar to my story, which is being in the stacks in the library and pulling out this red volume and wondering “What is this?” and seeing her picture and having those opening lines, you know, “I of womanhood of 19 years age, whatever, we'll now begin to make a story.”

So it's very compelling, so I'm not sure why she wouldn't be known to the general public, except  there's so many books that aren't known, 

AMY: You mentioned earlier that she had products named after her. What, what were some of those things?

CATHRYN: Yeah, there was like, supposedly, the Butte drugstore had the devilish, up to date drink, the Mary MacLane Highball with or without ice cream. Supposedly the Butte baseball team was called the Mary MacLanes.  Um, there were some things that she refers to and kind of angrily like, she refers to, like, a paper-cutting knife would be named after her and there's nothing she could do about it, that she was going to be commercialized. So she did enter the culture in that way.  And later she got criticized for not being Mary MacLane-esque. You mentioned performativity, and later she was criticized for not being enough of a “Mary MacLane,” and falling short of that image. 

AMY: It’s like when you meet Will Ferrell and you want him to be “Will Ferrell,” you know?  When you meet Mary MacLane, you want her to be like this angsty 19-year-old.  Um, my one regret from this episode is that we don't have time, there are so many passages in this book that I highlighted that were so memorable, be they serious or profound or comic. It was really maddening for me to not be able to incorporate everything we wanted to in this episode, but I'm gonna circle back next week in a bonus episode with some more of my favorite passages from the book. And I also am going to talk a little bit more about her idol that we spoke of, Marie Bashkirtseff.  I will say now that you say that Marie's book is, like, ginormous, I'm gonna have to skim it. Um, but while we have you, Cathryn, is there any other passage from MacLane’s book that you would like to share with us that you particularly love?

CATHRYN: Yeah, we can end with the passage with which she ends her book. And listening to you and reading the passages that you chose, I'd forgotten how funny she is. I mean, it's really pretty hilarious, but also the way it kind of alternates with this poignancy and this urgency. so maybe that contributed to her appeal too. So I will read this last paragraph.  And this is also where she's. reminding us that she's very deliberately writing this book \ for reasons. So she writes:

None of them, nor anyone, can know the feeling made of relief and pain and despair that comes over me at the thought of sending all this to the wise, wide world. It is bits of my wooden heart broken off and given away. It is strings of amber beads taken from the fair neck of my soul. It is shining little gold coins from out of my mind’s leather purse. It is my little old life tragedy. It means everything to me. Do you see? — it means everything to me. It will amuse you. It will arouse your interest. It will stir your curiosity. Some sorts of persons will find it ridiculous. It will puzzle you. But am I to suppose that it will also awaken compassion in cool, indifferent hearts? And will the sand and barrenness look so unspeakably gray and dreary to coldly critical eyes as to mine? And shall my bitter little story fall easily and comfortably upon undisturbed ears, and linger for an hour, and be forgotten?  Will the wise, wide world itself give me, in my outstretched hand, a stone. 

AMY: Love her. How genuine she is.

KIM: The imagery is so great too, I mean, the wooden heart and the strings of amber beads is beautiful. Listeners, let’s not forget her! Go read this book and marvel at it! And thank you, Cathryn, for spending some time with us today to help us better understand it.

CATHRYN: Well thank you. It was really enjoyable.

AMY: So that's all for today's episode. If you are a Patreon subscriber, I will meet you back next week with more  about Mary MacLane and her teenage idol, the artist Marie Bashkirtseff.  Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone, and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant.

Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Amy Helmes and Kim Askew.

201. Ann Schlee — Rhine Journey with Sam Johnson-Schlee and Lucy Scholes

KIM ASKEW: Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off the work of forgotten women writers. I'm Kim Askew, joined by my cohost, Amy Helmes. 

AMY HELMES: The novel we're discussing today, Rhine Journey by Ann Schlee, hadn't originally been on our radar. But when McNally Editions sent us a copy earlier this year (they are reissuing it this month) I found myself unable to put it down. It's giving me A Room With a View, only Germany.

KIM: Yeah, and longtime listeners of this podcast will know that anything that draws a comparison to E. M. Forster's A Room with a View, one of our favorite books and films, is an instant winner in our eyes. Rhine Journey is a work of historical fiction set in 1851, but it was actually written in 1980 and was shortlisted for the Booker Prize the following year.

AMY: Honestly, you could have told me this book was written in the mid-19th century, and I wouldn't have blinked. It feels so completely and wonderfully of that era.

KIM: Absolutely. And in the foreword to McNally Edition's republication of this novel, author Lauren Groff admits that she did a double take upon learning the publication date. She writes, “Rhine Journey is graceful, economical, and emotionally acute, but to me, the most astonishing aspect of this novel is the precision with which Schlee replicates the customs, language and atmosphere of 1851.” Yeah, that's absolutely true.

AMY: And we would have loved to have been able to ask Ann Schlee herself how she worked this literary magic, but sadly she passed away last November at the age of 89. Her grandson, author Sam Johnson Schlee, has graciously agreed to join us today to talk about Ann's life and work, and he's joined by a favorite guest of this show, Lucy Scholes. Ready to kick off this “journey,” Kim? 

KIM: Yeah, my bags — or should I say steamer trunks — are packed. Let's go!

[intro music plays]

AMY: Today's first guest, Sam Johnson Schlee, is an academic at London South Bank University and a writer of memoir and literary nonfiction about the politics and culture of everyday life. He is the author of the 2022 book Living Rooms, which examines how we choose to live in and furnish our homes, as well as the connection between place and the personal. Sam's latest book, Hot House, will be published by Faber and explores the history of central heating in homes. Sam, welcome!

SAM JOHNSON SCHLEE: Thank you very much. Yeah, really nice to meet you, and it's very exciting to come on and speak about this book because obviously I care about it a great deal.

KIM: Also joining us today in conversation is McNally Editions editor and literary critic Lucy Scholes, who has joined us on this show for prior conversations about Rosamond Lehmann, Kay Dick and both Elizabeth Taylors. In addition to reflecting on titles once shortlisted for the Booker Prize in her series, “The Booker Revisited,” she's also the editor behind a recently published collection of short stories from mid century women writers called A Different Sound. Lucy, welcome back to the show. We always love having you on.

LUCY SCHOLES: It's always such a pleasure to be here, though I fear your listeners are going to get sick of me at this rate.

KIM: No way. No way. It's always our pleasure.

AMY: Okay. So Sam, you were very close to your grandmother and she features in your first book, Living Rooms, because you actually lived with her and your grandfather (the landscape painter Nick Schlee) for part of your childhood. Did you have any awareness of Ann as a writer as a kid? 

SAM: Very much so. I mean, something that was always very important to me from a very small age was her writing shed, which is what we called it. For a while it was a shed, and then it moved into the house, and it had a very particular smell. In this wooden house, everything smelled slightly of cedar. And it was full of books and pictures of her children, but it was such an incredible place to go and find her. It was often my job to go and find her when it was time to have a drink at the end of the day. Sometimes she would be asleep, with her head in her notebook, and it felt like this kind of incredibly special world of writing and of thinking. And I'm really grateful that I had that experience of being able to be in that world with her. Sitting on the window seat in there asking her questions, sometimes about literature or sometimes about what was going on in my life, was always really important to me. So yeah, my brother and I were very lucky to grow up in the household with her, as well as my grandfather. He's still going. We give him a bit more of a hard time.

KIM: Aw. What was your first experience reading Rhine Journey?

SAM: I actually spent most of my life not reading my grandmother's books. It always made me feel, I think, a bit embarrassed, a bit anxious. I tried to read them lots of times and never quite brought myself to do it. Um, in the last sort of 10 years of her life, her health fluctuated quite a lot, and I took myself aside and said, “You've really got to read one of your grandmother's books,” because she had such a role in shaping my life, my intellectual world. So I read Rhine Journey in an afternoon, I think in the middle of lockdown or one of our lockdowns. And I very quickly forgot that it was written by my grandmother, which I think was always what I was nervous about. It was this perfect, crystalline novel, you know? It's just an unbelievable piece of literature. 

KIM: Yeah, I completely agree. And it's not surprising to me that you would say that you were just sucked into it, because it takes you into the world so quickly. We'll talk about it more as we get into the discussion of the novel, but yeah, that didn't surprise me that you said that. So let's talk a little bit about her early life. Ann Schlee was born Ann Cumming in Connecticut in 1934. Her mother was American and father was a major general with the British military. Do you want to tell us a little bit more about the early part of her life and how that might have shaped her as a writer?

SAM: Yeah, I mean, she's very much a child of empire, in a way that I probably don't want to find out too much about. But I mean, her father, Duncan, who I never met, but he was, I think, a very influential person in her life. And she was born, as you say, in Connecticut, but she spent quite a lot of time in her youth traveling with him. So she lived in the Sudan for a while, and in Egypt. There's a fantastic picture of her with an anteater. Somebody they visited had a pet anteater. She spent a lot of time, I think, being out of place and in different places, and some of her later books actually deal with that kind of legacy of empire. But Rhine Journey… 

I don't want to kind of do a literary analysis of my grandmother, but I think it has this sense of solitariness or being kind of in tense or close relationships with family, and perhaps it comes something from that childhood and that upbringing. I think something about her childhood and that feeling out of place made her a real watcher, a real observer of people. And she told stories like she writes as well, always with these acute — sometimes too acute — ability to kind of pin someone down so you know exactly who they were. 

AMY: That makes a lot of sense. I'm thinking, too, about the book and how other people could have written that story and it probably would have been 

four times as long. But she just has the ability to so succinctly nail down the characters, not needing to say too much more. You know, it's actually not

a very long book, all told. So we know also, right, that she met her husband while they were both at Oxford.

SAM: Yes. Um, I think he pretended he'd forgotten a pencil and used that as an excuse to get a conversation going with her. Although after Oxford, they went to America and he asked her to marry him. Uh, he sort of followed her out there. She was in New York with a friend teaching somewhere and um, she said “maybe,” and then went away on a trip that he says was three months long and she says was three weeks long. So she did make him, um, struggle.

AMY: Okay, so then the couple returned to England in 1957, where they eventually settled with their four children in a house in Wandsworth, which is in South London, I guess, from what I looked up. Is this the same house that you lived in?

SAM: No, that's where my mum grew up. It's a house on Wimbledon Park Road that later was used as the set for a television show about people losing weight; I can't remember what it was. It was very peculiar for everyone. Um, no, I never went there. I knew them in a house called Galvey, which was a wooden house outside of London. It's quite a remarkable place. Um, my understanding of Wimbledon Park Road was that it was similarly ramshackle. Apparently, a journalist asked her when she was shortlisted for the Booker what the prize money would go to, and she said that she would use it to mend the roof, which I don't think ever happened. So that's the tragedy of her not winning the Booker Prize.

AMY: Could never do those home renovations.

SAM: Yeah.

AMY: Okay, so Rhine Journey was the first novel that Ann wrote for adults, But Lucy, she was doing some writing prior to this. Can you tell us about it?

LUCY: Yeah, I don't know an awful lot about it, I have to say, but she did write five children's novels, which The Vandal won the 1980 Guardian Children's Fiction Prize. So that was the year before Rhine Journey. Um, I haven't read any of them. I don't think they're in print at the moment, and children's books always sort of fall off the radar slightly if you don't read them when you're at the right age, I think. But I'm interested to know, Sam, did you read these when you were growing up? Were you at all aware of them? Or was it just the adult novels you stayed away from?

SAM: I'm sure I made some attempts to read them. I remember a library copy of one called Ask Me No Questions in our school library, and, um, there were copies around the house, but we were never sort of encouraged to read them, particularly. And I know my mum and her siblings have funny relationships with them because they all sort of find themselves as children in the children's books. 

LUCY: Oh, that's such a strange thing! I think when I first got in touch with her to talk about republishing Rhine Journey, she did tell me that she used to get up very early in the mornings to write these books before she got the kids ready. And obviously her life was very busy with four children and she was always doing bits of teaching and things. So she said she got up very early to write, um, first thing in the morning while everyone was still asleep, which I thought was probably a rather wonderful calm moment of the day, I imagine. 

KIM: So, let's start talking about Rhine Journey, which was published in 1980, and she dedicates the book to “my companions on the Rhine in the summer of 1977.” Sam, do we know anything about this trip?

SAM: Yeah, um, it was my great-grandfather, Duncan Cumming, um, my grandfather, Nick Schlee, and my grandmother, Ann. And on the trip, my grandmother, as she did, spent a lot of time watching the other families on the river cruise that they were taking. And I think there was a particular family that she watched. It was definitely a trip with lots of kind of inspiration and things to observe.

AMY: So the events of this novel are set in the Rhineland in the summer of 1851. Lucy, why don't you tell us a little bit about the historical backdrop and how it relates to the kind of tense psychological plot of the book?

LUCY: Yeah, so I think what she really does here is a sort of stroke of storytelling genius, really, and it's quite a feat of narrative misdirection, because she opens the novel with this very brief historical note that looks to just be setting up this kind of broader context of the era and the setting. And then she says, but none of my characters are really interested in this. They're all too busy thinking about themselves. And so you sort of also dismiss it, too. And you're immediately drawn into their lives, into the main character's kind of interiority. We have Charlotte, who is a middle-aged spinster traveling with her brother and his family. They're in Germany, it's about three years after, um, Europe has been sort of convulsed by workers’ revolutions. And in Germany these were very harshly suppressed, and this is also the period where Karl Marx himself has fled Cologne to London. And he's sort of suspected of fomenting revolutionary plots, and people are getting very worried about revolutionaries sneaking across borders. So there's a sort of general sense of that going on in the background. but as far as we're aware to begin with, the characters themselves are not massively interested in this. 

KIM: So, the book actually opens with the Morrison family. They're about to disembark from the boat that's brought them into the town of Koblenz in Prussia. And Charlotte is being chastised by her brother because she's not keeping her eyes on the luggage. And it's really wonderful, this first chapter, because all of a sudden you're instantly grounded in this family dynamic, which is really interesting. 

AMY: Yeah, I mean, like I said earlier, within a sentence or two, you're suddenly like, “Oh, I have this guy's number already.” Her older brother, Charles, is kind of a bloviator, and you sense in Charlotte that she's kind of speaking through gritted teeth with him.

KIM: Yeah, he's paying for the trip, and so it's almost like the traveling companions we've read about in other novels of that period where she kind of has to do work almost, but she's also a family member. So that dynamic is definitely there, and it's a bit awkward and causes tension immediately.

AMY: I mean, even her brother's wife says, “Oh, there you are,” to Charlotte, and you're suddenly like, “Oh, Charlotte's like their servant.”

KIM: Exactly. Yeah. 

AMY: “Where have you been? I need you for something.”

KIM: Yeah. We have the literal baggage; she's in charge of it. And she's also like extra “baggage” for the family. It's like, how is she fitting into this trip? 

LUCY: But we also learn quite quickly that she is at this sort of a very important moment in her own life, right? That she has been, not in service, she wasn't a servant, but she was a housekeeper for somebody, an older gentleman, who's died and left her some money. And now she has to make a decision about what she's going to do in the future. And that is hugely important because in a weird way, this is her brother and his wife almost sort of auditioning her to come and live in the house with them And she's not a 20th century heroine. She is a 19th century woman who feels the draw of society's expectations. And so this is really hard for her to kind of wrestle with. 

SAM: I was reading it again today, and I think in one sense, it's very much a period piece. In another sense, I think the things that happen in the book foreshadow some of the transformations of gender in the 20th century. In that sense, it feels like a modernist book. Something that works so well about the book and gives it such significance and weight that it carries very lightly, if that makes sense — there are these huge moments of almost dreamlike imagery that really gives it the sense of modernism. Like, I'm thinking particularly, and it's not giving away too much, it's quite early in the book, the scene of her remembering going into a garden and kissing a peony. It's this breathtaking, almost surreal juxtaposition. I know that my grandmother was a great fan of modernist writers like Virginia Woolf and Katherine Mansfield, who play with interiority and the dreamlike and things in a similar way. And I think that increases throughout the book, building this incredible kind of psychological tension. 

KIM: Absolutely. Let's give our listeners an idea of what the book sounds like. It's at the beginning, while the boat's docking, Charlotte notices something that unmoors her personally. Sam, do you want to read that?

SAM: She was left on a deck, too congested with the wide dark skirts of the lady passengers for her to press on to the pile of luggage forward of the mast. But, optimistic by nature, trained in the belief that people left in charge of things were infallible, she had no fears at all that the strong young men surrounding the luggage with ropes would fail to lower it over the side, where subsequently they would find it. 

   A space occurred near her at the rail. She fitted herself into it, placed her gloved hands side by side on the polished wood of the rail, and stared down at the scene below. 

   It was at that moment — when the throb and vibration of the engine ceased, the brass bell jangled their arrival, and the steamer made its shuddering contact with the land — that Charlotte felt a sudden intense pain in what she had been taught to believe was her heart. 

   The crowd on the shore stared upwards at the passengers. At one moment their faces were no more than pale shapes among the white scarves of the peasant women and a cluster of spiked brass helmets flashing in the last of the day's sun; at the next, eyes, mouths became distinct, upturned, searching. Then pain brought tears to the eyes so that the whole scene wavered and started on a course of disintegration, as if invisible fumes of some rising conflagration had drifted between herself and the shore. All this because near the space cleared for the gangplank, she had seen, for the first time in twenty years, the face of a man called Desmond Fermer.

AMY: Well done. Thank you. Let's talk about that passage a little bit, because first of all, she appeals to every sense, you know? The glittering 

brass helmets of the soldiers; the clank of the bell; the hubbub of the crowd… you know, you feel it all, you feel like you're there. And also that line at the beginning, “She was trained in the belief that people left in charge of things were infallible.” That line is so pivotal for what's happening between her and her brother. 

KIM: Mm-hmm.

SAM: The other thing I really noticed reading that is how long the sentences are. I think they become shorter and shorter throughout the book to a point of some really spikey bits of writing in the final chapter of the book. And I think, again, there's this transformation of the character from this very Victorian voice into something more edgy by the end.

AMY: Oh, that's fascinating. Okay, so Charlotte's standing on the edge of the boat. She has this moment, that kind of takes her breath away because she sees in the crowd on the shore this complete stranger who bears a vague resemblance to someone from her youth. But in reality, he is a man called Edward Newman, whose own family of four the Morrison family will continue to cross paths with during the course of their travels. 

KIM: Yeah. And she just continues to get distracted by him to the point of I think you would start to say obsession. She's privately freaking out, trying to hold it all together for appearance's sake. That's what is expected of her, right? She's also expected at the same time to keep this guardian-like eye on her 17 year old niece. Sam, could you talk a little bit more about Ellie, her niece, and how she contributes to Charlotte's emotional spiral?

SAM: Yeah, she's an interesting figure, isn't she? I think Charlotte has this… envy is not quite the right word, but there's this feeling of great anxiety in their relationship, which is at once loving and really difficult. Early in the book, there's this really brilliant scene, I think, with Ellie, who wants to wear her hair up to go to dinner. And it does this fantastic job of animating something about the repression of Victorian sexuality. And really, Ellie doesn't have a big role in the book, but her presence kind of brackets the whole book in a way that I think is very beautiful at the end.

LUCY: They are very close in many ways, you know — they're literally sharing a hotel room, that's the kind of way it's set up. But also, Ellie, obviously, is a reminder to her of what she hasn't lived, a life she hasn't lived, and that's complicated.

KIM: Yeah, I think that's exactly right.

AMY: As we talked about before, there's really no stray sentence. Everything written has a purpose and it feels like it cinches you, as the reader, closer and closer to Charlotte and her journey of self-discovery. And along the way, there are a lot of recurring motifs that pop up too. So we often see Charlotte looking at herself in the mirror… locks and keys are referenced a lot and the phrase “you aren't yourself” is repeated several times. “It seems like you aren't yourself today,” you know? 

LUCY: Isn't that such a fascinating idea? She's constantly being told she's not herself. And this is a book in which she's struggling to work out who she even is, right? That's the point. She doesn't know who she is, she's not trusting of herself, and she's being told by other people what she should and shouldn't do. That is what her life has been up to this point. She has still these constraints on her and it's so cleverly done, I think, with these moments of, you know, like you said, Sam, these very modern contemporary-feel kind of moments of interiority, but then she has to snap back into being this 19th century woman. Ann sort of walks this really taut and spare tightrope constantly. It's brilliant.

KIM: Yeah.

SAM: I think it would be so easy to make a wrong reading of this text and say that Charlotte is on the edge of some kind of breakdown, that there's something kind of awry, because there is this slippage between dream and reality and between fantasy and real life. But I don't think Charlotte's ever particularly frightened by that thing that's happening to her, these things happening to her. It's all just presented as part of the way that she's thinking through this knotty problem, I think.

AMY: I love the way she ties in the sightseeing to the personal journey. In the first chapter, we have this sense that something's going to break wide open, and you actually see a drawbridge. Everybody standing by is watching the drawbridge lift up. Later there's the church, and she notices that construction has stopped on a portion of it, and it's almost like construction has stopped on Charlotte. And she's stuck in her life. And then, you know, some important things happen inside the church later on. But Sam, your own book, Living Room, sort of talks a lot about place and the importance of it, and there's some moments in the book, too, where Charlotte's kind of envisioning what her future could look like, and it just made me think of your book a little bit.

SAM: Yeah. I quote part of Rhine Journey in my book, which is a piece at the end where she talks about inhabiting this cottage. Can I read it actually? Can I find the lines?

AMY: Absolutely, I would love that.

SAM: So this is from literally the last couple of pages, but I don't think it is a spoiler. Um, “She pictured to herself those whitened cottage rooms where she might quietly extend herself, and, moving from room to room, meet and recognize herself in forms unaltered by the pressures of others upon her.”

I mean, it's such a beautiful, I think, expression of what it can be to dwell somewhere and what it can mean to find a place where you can, um, where she puts it perfectly, extend yourself into it and meet yourself in it. And this is in contrast to what she's being encouraged, or you said maybe auditioned for living with her brother and sister in law, to have this space just kind of her own. It's about what it will do for her sense of self to be able to occupy space on her own terms. And you know, if you think about this moment in the 19th century, and again, this is something that I've written about a bit, it's at the height of chintziness. So the idea of white walls is sharply in contrast to what the home of her family is likely to have been like. So there's a great sense of something far more interesting than just freedom. 

LUCY: It's a sort of psychic space as well, right, isn't it? It's a physical realm in which she can exist, but it's also a realm in which her psyche is allowed to rest. Her narrative train of thought is always being interrupted by someone coming into a room or someone asking her a question and that's not what she dreams of for this space, right?

SAM: It's in contrast to the other space that really compels her, when you mentioned the cathedral in Cologne, where she's been told that she's not allowed to go by her protestant brother. She feels that she's been tricked by this space and by the glamor of the space, and I think that's again, sharply in contrast with these white walls of this cottage, that maybe what she's searching for is not some kind of heightened feeling of the cathedral, but instead something much more still, where she can kind of rest, you said, I think, Lucy, which I think is perfect.

KIM: Yeah. Without the clutter of everyone's expectations, all their history, all their knowledge of her from the past, it's just her. This will not be the only time that I read this novel. I feel like there's so much more. I was so into the story and it, in some ways, it was a quote unquote “page turner” for me, you know? Because I wanted to find out what was happening. There is a lot of tension in it as well. So you want to find out what's going to happen and you're just enthralled by it, but I feel like I need to read it again and again to really dig into the psychology. There are so many layers. We did talk in our intro about how vivid and believable the book is as historical fiction, and it's a great strength and beauty in the book. Do either of you have any thoughts on why or how Ann was so good at nailing these details? I mean, 

it feels like it was written in the time that it's set.

LUCY: I'd love to know what her research process was for it. You read so much historical fiction that sometimes the research drowns out the story and people are so desperate to put details in, you know, that they found out, but this novel wears it so lightly. I don't suppose she ever told you about any of the research?

SAM: I asked her about it, after I read the book, but she didn't tell me very much. I think she probably did a lot, but she's quite self-effacing. I mean, she's incredibly well-read. She read so much fiction, and she had a life of teaching and reading behind her. So her uncle, Walter Houghton, was a professor of English literature in America. He wrote a book called The Victorian [Frame] of Mind that I think probably, until relatively recently, is the kind of tome that English students are still asked to occasionally kind of dig out and consult. (Because I know that my grandmother still got small royalties check from the book every year, which she was quite pleased that was still coming through.) She told me when I asked her about the book, this aspect of it, she said that he did not think that this was how Victorian people spoke or conducted themselves. And she said with great glee, I think it was about an email that Lucy had sent her, or maybe it was Lauren's introduction to the book, that when they talked about how real that Victorian setting felt, it made her feel a great sense of satisfaction. I think she would have liked to have been able to show that to her uncle.

LUCY: It's one of the things that all the reviews at the time picked up on. I mean, she got a lot of very good reviews for the novel, but so many of them picked up on the fact that period detail was beautifully and kind of brilliantly done. So, I hope that when she heard it recently, it was just reiterating something that people had already been telling her.

SAM: Definitely. 

KIM: right. 

SAM: I mean, she was so thrilled to know that the book was being republished. She died in November, but I think Lucy got in touch maybe about six months before then. So she knew it was happening. She saw the cover proofs. She'd really been involved in the whole process, but she was so excited that it was finding an audience again. And she couldn't believe it. As I said, she'd had a stroke about 10 years ago, and if you were not paying attention, you might think that she was sort of not always all there, but she really was. So she was very interested in what was happening and just completely thrilled. 

KIM: I'm so glad, Lucy, that you reached out to her and this all happened and she got to have this resurgence of, you know, knowing that it was going to be back in print and everything. Because I mean, it was nominated for a Booker Prize. The other nominees included Doris Lessing, Muriel Spark, Ian McEwen, and Salman Rushdie. He won that year for Midnight's Children. So, can we infer that it was a commercial success at the time it came out, or no?

LUCY: I don't know the exact sales figures. But as I said, it got very good reviews at the time. There were quite a few of them. And I suspect that if it did sort of fall off the radar relatively quickly after that, it was not because of any other reason than I think it was maybe a very particular era of writing and a particular era when Rushdi, McEwen, you know, Ishiguro, like, there's a lot of up-and-coming, young, particularly male, writers who are really kind of appearing on the literary scene here in England. And I suspect that this didn't get the sort of fanfare that maybe they were getting. But clearly at the same time, you know, it was nominated for the Booker, and it was very, very, very worthy of its nomination as far as I'm concerned, and readers seem to enjoy it. Did she ever talk to you about what it was like to go to the award ceremony or what it felt like to her to be amongst the [other writers?] Because some of the names… I know Rushdie is kind of young at that point, but you know, Muriel Spark and Doris Lessing, these are big, big names at the time.

SAM: Yeah, I don't know. She was always quite shy of those kinds of events, but I think she was pleased that the book was received well by her peers. Jane Gardam wrote a really brilliant essay about Ann's writing and particularly Rhine Journey in Slightly Foxed, a while ago. And that, I know, was something that she really cherished, and I think she really, really wanted to be seen as a writer, you know, by her peers. Um, and I'm sure the Booker was a big thrill in that regard. By the way, if there are any screenwriters listening, I do think Rhine Journey would make the most terrific film or miniseries, I think.

AMY: Absolutely. 

SAM: I think though, um, I know that she was disappointed her last manuscript didn't get published — her last novel. And I think she had difficulty with the fact that her writing was viewed as kind of unfashionable. So I think that would have been the early 2000s was the last time she sent a book out. And the thing that she had back was that people loved it, but it was not something that could be published in that moment. I think actually now, if she was writing these books now, I think they would be being received very well. So I'm really pleased that Rhine Journey’s being republished. She was always publishing, always writing, always thinking. And when I went into her study just after she died, one of the favorite things that I saw was a box file that just said on the side of it “plots.” All of these unrealized stories and plots that haven't been found. I think there are lots of

short stories she published actually out there, but I haven't read any of them. My aunt said some of them are very weird. 

KIM: That just makes me want to read them even more!

LUCY: Yeah. Tell me more! I'm very interested. 

AMY: It's these family anecdotes that are so fantastic and why we're so glad you joined us. I mean, we learned things that we would never have known just trying to figure out on our own. You really brought her to life for us. It's been a wonderful discussion.

KIM: So, listeners, this month McNally Editions is reissuing Rhine Journey, and it's also being republished by Daunt Books in the UK. You have to put this on your summer reading list. And I already read Room with a View annually, so I'll probably be adding Rhine Journey to my annual reading list. I loved it that much. So thank you both.

LUCY: It's been my pleasure. It's been great to listen to Sam talking about Ann, and I'm looking forward to new readers discovering it and enjoying it as much as you've done. 

SAM: Thank you so much.

KIM: So that's all for today's episode. If you're listening in real time, that is July of 2024, this marks our last new episode for the summer. Amy and I are embarking on some traveling with our families, but we're also going to be hard at work getting ready to bring you new episodes and many more “lost ladies” this fall.

AMY: If you've been considering subscribing to get access to extra episodes, you can do so either through Patreon or wherever you listen to us. Now would be a really great time because we've got half a year's worth of bonus episodes archived there that you can enjoy while we're away. And of course I'll be posting new ones in the coming weeks.

KIM: Thank you as always for listening. We hope all of you have a fun rest of the summer, and please follow us or subscribe to our newsletter to keep in touch. We love to hear from you.

AMY: Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Kim Askew and Amy Helmes. 

199. Miles Franklin (My Brilliant Career)

AMY HELMES: Dear sirs, herewith a yarn which I have written entitled My Brilliant Career. I would take it very kindly if you would read it and state whether or not it is fit for publication. Nothing has been attempted, maybe a few pictures of Australian life with a little of that mythical commodity, love, thrown in for the benefit of young readers. (Always keeping in mind, should there be readers of any age). There will be no mistakes in geography, scenery, or climate, as I write from fact, not fancy. The heroine who tells the story is a study from life and illustrates the misery of being born out of one's sphere. Awaiting reply, faithfully yours, S. M. S. Miles Franklin. 

So, listeners, that's a letter written in 1894 by a budding young Australian writer. (If you couldn't tell by my incredible accent) 18 years old at the time and writing to the Australian publisher Angus and Robertson. 

KIM ASKEW: The letter's signature may initially conjure up the image of a man, but that's intentional, because like many famous women authors of her day, Stella Maria Sarah Miles Franklin thought she'd have a better shot at getting published that way. 

AMY: Alas, the publishers immediately rejected her manuscript. (Womp, womp.) But, they would later readily admit that it was, quote, “a serious mistake.”

KIM: Big mistake. Huge.

AMY: Yes, thank you, Julia Roberts. The book, My Brilliant Career, was eventually published in 1901 by the Edinburgh publisher Blackwoods. The novel earned Franklin instant fame and became a beloved 

classic of Australian literature. 

KIM: It was adapted into a beautiful film in 1979, starring Judy Davis and Sam Neill. Welcome back, everyone, to another episode of Lost Ladies of Lit. We're your hosts, Kim Askew and Amy Helmes. And Amy, I can't wait to talk more about the book, the film, and the woman behind the work.

AMY: Me too, this is going to be fun. So let's raid the stacks (and the film archives) and get started!

[intro music plays]

AMY: Before we dive into today's episode, Kim, we first have a fan of the show to thank for this. A while ago, a participant in our Lost Ladies of Lit Facebook Forum, Susan Dillon, mentioned that she loved the movie My Brilliant Career. I had never heard of it, let alone watched it. So months later I decided to queue it up on Netflix, and I think within maybe 10 minutes of the opening credits, I was frantically texting you, saying, "Oh my god, Kim, you have to watch this!"

KIM: Yeah, I can't believe I had never watched it before. I don't know how I, and we, let this one slip past our radar, but I'm glad it's fixed now.

AMY: I know, at least we've finally come to it. I had also texted my friend, Ruth, who is from Australia, and I said, "I just discovered Miles Franklin!" And she replied, "Congratulations, I'm so happy for you!" So it's one of those, um, “if you know, you know,” sort of things, I guess. This film, though, it's gorgeous. It feels a bit Merchant/Ivory, I would say, maybe because it's kind of from the same era of filmmaking. But it has the flair of the Australian bush, for sure. And it was directed by Gillian Armstrong, who also directed the Winona Ryder version of Little Women that came out in the mid-Nineties. She also directed films like Charlotte Grey and Oscar and Lucinda. Kim, do you want to first set up what the story is about? 

KIM: Yeah, sure. So, it tells the story of Sybylla Melvin. She's a real spitfire of a girl, and the character's played by Judy Davis. And it's set in this fictional locale called Possum Gully. She leads a grimy and toilsome existence on her family's dairy farm, and though she's dreaming of this bigger life, she's basically just another extra mouth to feed on the farm. So she eventually gets shipped off to live with her grandmother and single aunt on their ranch in Caddagat. (And that's not a bad thing — the grandmother's actually relatively wealthy, unlike Sybylla's immediate family.) And the hope there is that this wild child, Sybylla, can be tamed into a proper young lady. Naturally, Sybylla is considered something of a novelty when she arrives at Caddagat, and she attracts the attention of many men who are delighted by her precociousness. This includes an eligible bachelor named Harry Beecham. He's played by Sam Neill. Their relationship wavers between flirtatious and contentious (as the best ones do, right?) throughout the course of this film.

AMY: So yeah, let's start with Judy Davis, who is great casting. I mean, the hair ought to be its own complete character.

KIM: Helena Bottom Carter meshed with Anne of Green 

Gables, right? There's a little Anne of Green Gables about her where she speaks her mind and she has crazy hair and freckles.

AMY: Crazy hair, crazy freckles. She's got that kind of big giant Gibson girl hair, but it's all like falling out. It really showcases the wildness of her personality. 

KIM: Yes. And she has these high aspirations, but she comes from, you know, not the background that she aspires to be in, basically.

AMY: She's rough around the edges. And so when she gets to Caddagat, which is grandma's ranch, there is the obligatory makeover scene right off the bat. She laments the fact that she's so ugly, you know, she's like pitying herself. Like, “I'm just an ugly girl!” And Aunt Helen is like, “Not on my watch, girl!”

KIM: Love it!

AMY: And then they cue the makeover scene, and then suddenly she's a little more polished and put together for the rest of the film. Which gets us to Sam Neill, who is Harry Beachum. TIE ME KANGAROO DOWN, SPORT!!!!

KIM: Oh my god. Oh my god. 

AMY: Who knew he was so hot?

KIM: He's so cute. You know what? This reminds me of a bit… you might disagree, but I'm feeling like Richard Chamberlain and The Thorn Birds where you go back and you look at and you're like, “Oh, wow, that's why our moms loved him.” Yeah. 

AMY: He's attractive! Young Sam Neill reminds me a little bit of Matthew Goode, that British actor. Like, and was..

KIM: He's so cute!

AMY: He’s so cute! I only knew him older from Jurassic Park when he's like, running away from dinosaurs, but oh my god, I'm so sorry for not realizing how incredibly gorgeous you once were! Now let me worship at your feet and hope that Sybylla can snag you. Okay, so, before they meet up in the movie, Sybylla has no intentions of getting married, and she tells her grandmother about this, which does not make the grandmother too happy. She instead decides that she is going to have a career. So here's a bit from the movie: 

[plays clip]

All right, so she's eating an apple there casually while she's having this conversation with her grandmother. 

KIM: Apple….!

AMY: Yeah, the apple which, came from the apple orchard, which 

is where she will soon meet Harry Beecham. Hot Sam Neill. 

KIM: Ooh, I feel like maybe we did not talk about apples 

as symbolism, and the tree, and the Garden of Eden, and Eve. 

AMY: Look at you, English major! 

KIM: I’m like, connecting it. Oh, I know. Seriously. That's the whole thing. Because, talk about the meet-cute

AMY: Okay. Yeah, it's an adorable way that they meet in the film and actually a little bit racy, I think, because, um, her knickers wind up showing or her bloomers wind up showing a little bit when she climbs down out of the tree! He stumbles upon her picking apples, and it's a case of mistaken identity. Here's another clip. 

[plays clip]

Okay. So she storms off through the meadow after that. I'm going to put my foot in your face. 

KIM: Oh my gosh. It also takes me again back to Anne of Green Gables and Gilbert when they first meet. Didn't he like, pull her pigtails or hit her over the head with a slate or something? It's that same idea. 

AMY: Yeah, exactly. People like to have that little set up and then, of course, Harry Beecham comes for a fancy dinner that night and…

KIM: …and it's like,”Uh-oh!”

AMY: He is like, “Oh shit,” you know, and she plays with him over dinner, 

make him feel stupid. 

KIM: Yeah, and she's not like the other ladies. 

AMY: Yeah, she's like trying to be more of a sophisticate, but you just 

can't take the girl off the dairy farm, right? There's another fancy dinner scene, and I love the line in the movie. She's sitting with all these adults, and somebody across the table says, “Oh, Furlong's just bought himself 

a fine young bull.” And Sybylla answers, “Oh, that will make some of the cows happy.” Completely inappropriate. And all the other adults at the table are just like, “Oh, my God, this girl!”

KIM: Yeah.

AMY: But she doesn't care!

KIM: They also do love that she speaks her mind, too, at the same

time. 

AMY: She's a breath of fresh air, for sure.

KIM: She's a breath of fresh air, yeah. Oh my gosh, speaking of…we were talking about sexual tension, the pillow fight scene!

AMY: The pillow fight! Oh my gosh. It starts off in the house, they run through the fields chasing each other with pillows…

KIM: And you're like, “How is this gonna end?”

AMY: I know! Well, it ends with them both lying in the grass,

completely panting, out of breath, staring at each other. All that was missing was the cigarette, basically.

KIM: Totally. Totally. Yep. 

AMY: So then we have a dorky character, a jackaroo named Frank Hawdon. He thinks, presumptuously, that he's going to be the one who marries Sybylla, because he's such a catch. 

KIM: A la Mr. Collins. 

AMY: A la Mr. Collins, a la Cecil, from A Room with a View. He's 

dorky, but she shows him who's boss on a number of occasions. And at one point, she pushes him into a sheep corral rather than accept his attentions. And here is a clip of her grandmother admonishing her:

[plays clip]

Grandma's not happy! But actually, we like the grandma, right?

KIM: We like the grandmother. Yeah, she wants the best for Sybylla. They just have different ideas of what that means. 

AMY: Yeah. You know, she's not nice to Frank Hawdon, but she's really not nice to Harry Beecham either, to be fair. 

KIM: She isn't.

AMY: He proposes to her in a scene that's not unlike Pride and Prejudice Mr. Darcy's original proposal to Elizabeth, where it's like, “Dude, you're gonna have to do better than that.” And in this case, Sybylla literally smacks Harry across the face with a stock whip. Feisty!

KIM: I like it. 

AMY: And I have that clip as well. Let me play it. 

[plays clip]

I love that he's like “bloody woman!!” But she's not having it. And I should also mention that Miles Franklin, the author of this tale, she really liked whips. She was happy that a whip was included in the original cover art of My Brilliant Career. And she owned a couple of whips that she would walk around with. So…

KIM: Ooh, why don't you have a seat on the couch? Let's talk about that. Yeah.

AMY: Some pillow fights, some S&M…

KIM: Yeah. But on the bright side, Harry's relationship with Sybylla, it does deepen following this proposal that goes sour, but then he actually loses his family fortune. And of course, our heroine doesn't give a crap about his money, but she does ask him for time. She strikes a deal with him where he'll give her two years before they wed. She wants to find herself. But in the interim, She has to go and be a governess for a brood of rowdy children living in some backwater locale. As the viewer, you're just wondering how she will make her way back from this pit of despair, basically, to a life she truly wants. So Amy, I know you ended up reading the novel after watching the movie. Are there differences from the movie?

AMY: I would say the novel is just so much richer. I mean, if you think Sybylla has big personality in the movie, just wait till you read the book. You get a sense of how absolutely funny she really is. The things she says, the larger-than-life personality. I think the film can only give a small taste of her sassy ways, in that sense. She's really slangy in the book. You know, filthy mouth. She's kind of “Eliza Doolittle meets Anne Shirley with a 

little bit of dirty Helen Cromwell thrown in for good measure,” if you

remember that episode, because her mouth is like a sewer. And I listened to the book actually, which was great because the narrator had an Australian accent. So, um, 

KIM: I love that. I want to listen to it.

AMY: Yeah, I think it's great to listen to just because hearing all the place names said in the Australian accent and the, you know, “dingoes and wallabies and snakes and drovers and duffers and jackaroos.” And then there's, um, every place name is, um, It's like Binbin and Bruggabong and Caddagat, you know? You just feel really transported there. I would recommend to someone who's completely unfamiliar with this title, watching the film first, because you will so fall in love with the film, and then go read the book. Because my one thing that I think the film does better, (and maybe I'm still hung up on hot Sam Neill) but Harry Beecham in the book is not quite as much of a catch to me as Sam Neill is. He's got much more of a temper and is much more kind of taciturn and surly in the book, which in some ways is good because Sybylla needs a guy that can match her feistiness, right? But at some points in the book, you're like, Girl, this guy's, you know, from our modern sensibilities, you're like, “I 

don't like the way he's treating you.”

KIM: Yeah. Plus you've got Sam Neill in the flesh…

AMY: Yeah. He's just so hot. I don't even think he's meant to be attractive in the book necessarily, the way she describes him. I mean, that's all in keeping with the plot of the book. But, um, it's a very feminist text. There's so much throughout the book where she's talking about the status of women. Also, class distinctions, which is going to come into play a little bit more in Miles Franklin's life. I can totally understand this book's appeal to Australian readers. It really is showing their world, the beauty of the land, what their people are like. And you can see how Australians would have gone absolutely nuts for it when it was published. And they did. Miles Franklin was sort of an instant celebrity. She got tons of fan mail and lots of it was from young Australian girls who felt like they could really identify with Sybylla and her hopes and dreams.

KIM: So let's back up a second, though. As we said earlier, the book is based off Miles Franklin's own experiences. And she wrote it when she was 18, but the book at first was rejected. Um, so how did it come to be published by Blackwoods of all places? (Listeners, you may remember that Blackwoods published people like the Bronte sisters, George Elliott, and that one of our previous “lost ladies,” Margaret Oliphant, actually worked for Blackwoods.) How did they come across this Australian novel?

AMY: They're like hit-makers, right? So, I mean, an incredible coup for her. Um, so after she had gotten the rejection from that Australian publisher that I mentioned at the top of the show, she did a bit of revising on the manuscript and she got some helpful feedback from her former tutors and teachers. And she decided to send it to a well known Australian writer named Henry Lawson. He liked it a lot and he said, “Hey, I'm about to go to England. My agent's there. Do you want me to take the manuscript along and see if he can shop it around?” And of course she said yes. So he gave it to his agent in England who also happened to have Joseph Conrad, H. G. Wells, and Henry James for clients. And that agent loved it and persuaded Blackwoods to accept the manuscript. 

KIM: So we said earlier she didn't want people to know it was written by a woman, but it sounds like people found out pretty quickly.

AMY: Yeah, because in that Blackwoods edition, they featured an introduction written by Henry Lawson, that Australian writer. And he lets the cat out of the bag in the introduction and says it's written by a young lady. Miles Franklin would go on to write under a different pseudonym later, which is an interesting story. And we're going to get to that in a second. But yeah, from this point on in her career, she continued to go by Miles Franklin. And Miles was actually, A nod to her great great grandfather, Edward Miles, who came to Australia from England as a convict. So, 

she's hitting all the Australia buttons here that we want.

KIM: Totally. Totally. And then, so the book had a lot of immediate fans. The Glasgow Herald wrote of it, “the girl writes as the author of Jane Eyre wrote, out of heart, with a hatred of shams.” There was a Sydney newspaper, The Bulletin, that called it “a book full of sunlight” and also “the very first Australian novel to be published.” And other outlets criticized the book though, citing the heroine as unpleasant and questioning whether it was right that she depicted her own parents in such a negative light.

AMY: Right, so, in the book, I think even more so than in the film, the parents don't come across super great. The dad seems like more of a loser that can't support his family, has drinking problems, things like that. The mom is cold and, um, you know, exhausted by her family. But I think she does that on purpose to contrast Sybylla's own ambitions to kind of rise above what her mother's life was. So I think that's done on purpose. So there were locals and, you know, relatives and neighbors that knew her and knew the family that thought she had gone too far in the depiction of people she actually knew. Her uncle was especially angry and said that the book was all malicious lies. But those people that were closest to her that were depicted in the book, so her parents, her siblings, her grandmother, they all found the novel very amusing and they were pleased with it. Miles really did stress after the book came out that it was fiction. It was not the story of her life, per se. It was inspired by her own life, but she was making stuff up.

KIM: Right. It wasn't a memoir. But there were some similarities though, right?

AMY: Oh, for sure. I mean, many facets of Sybylla's life in the book line up with Miles's own life, including, you know, her family did have financial troubles. The dad went bankrupt. She did go stay with her grandmother, um, for stretches at a time, and she did later become a governess for a spell, although I don't think it was quite as, um… 

KIM: “Cold Comfort Farm…?”

AMY: Yeah, I don't think it was quite as cold as Cold Comfort Farm. 

That section of the film and book also reminds me of Jane Eyre when she goes off away from Rochester in the second half of the book and you're sort of just waiting for her to get through that section so that she can get back. 

KIM: Important though, was there a real Harry Beecham? I want to know.

AMY: Ah, yes, right. That's the big question. Apparently she had lots of suitors. You’ve got to remember that men outnumbered women in the Australian bush around this time — by a lot. Any woman was a hot commodity. Guys were falling over themselves around Miles. And she sounds like she was a total flirt. Not surprising, right. when you're reading the book and watching the film, you get that sense from Sybylla. She likes to play with boys. Um, she had several proposals in her lifetime. Maybe Harry Beecham is kind of a composite of a few different gents in her life.

KIM: Right. 

AMY: In real life though, Miles Franklin didn't get married. She makes a 

different choice with her life. 

KIM: Yeah, and we know from the book and the film that Sybylla Melvin is always glancing toward the proverbial horizons. She's not cut out for spending the rest of her life in Caddagat or Possum Gully, for that matter.

AMY: That's right. And Miles Franklin feels that same yearning. So after the success of My Brilliant Career, she decides it's time to move on, to make a real career out of writing, get out of the bush. Her destination is America. She has big plans to move to New York City, but somehow, en route, she lands in Chicago instead, that's where she settles, and that's also where 

reality sets in for her a little bit. 

KIM: Okay, so tell us more. What happened?

AMY: Okay, so she had this big, easy, kind of success with the first novel, right? In Chicago, she's doing a lot more writing and she thinks it's going to be just as easy to get the next titles banged out and they're going to sell just as well, but her writing is not necessarily landing anywhere. She's finding it difficult to get published the second time around. She gets lots of rejections. The few novels she does get published, they have tepid sales. She, of course, is never giving up, but she's got to make a living. So she ends up getting involved with work in a women's labor union movement. Fighting for change, all that kind of stuff. By the end of her stay in America, she advances to become the national secretary of this cause. And after that, she moves to London and she becomes a secretary to a housing reform organization. And then when World War I strikes. She goes to Macedonia and works as a hospital orderly. And I'm kind of rushing through all this because as fascinating as all this may be, I just want to be back in the Australian Outback. I don't want labor unions. I want jackaroos. I want wallabies. I want “Waltzing Matilda,” you know? I'm missing Sybylla Melvin and her world. And therein lies the problem for Miles Franklin. No one seems willing to let her break out as a writer from this mold that she created with My Brilliant Career. 

KIM: Right. I mean, it's basically the curse of the successful debut novel. And it's funny, because I said Cold Comfort Farm before, but that's what happened to Stella Gibbons, too. She ended up being super annoyed that people only associated her with that particular book. So same thing happened. 

AMY: People still thought of her as that young girl, you know, who wrote My Brilliant Career. And she's in her late 20s now, and she's just not getting the chance to prove she can do anything else. So let's jump back to Australia, which is where Miles finally returns permanently after 18 years living in the U. S. That whole scope that I just glossed over because it bored me (it's not boring at all — she actually did a lot of interesting things) but we want to get back to Australia. She is back with her parents. She kind of hates it at first. It feels very provincial to her after living in Chicago and London. She writes at one point, “Cannot live long in this awful atmosphere. Awful old people killing me by inches.” Which just made me laugh. Think about moving back in with your parents or whatever.

KIM: Oh, yeah. 

AMY: You're just like, “Oh, what am I doing back here?” And maybe she also feels a little bit like she's like, a bit of a letdown. Like she had this brilliant debut novel, but now she's back and she doesn't have major literary success anymore. But she feels determined. She really wants to bust free from the chains of My Brilliant Career. And she's going to do that with the help of an imaginary friend. And this is where her career takes off again.]

KIM: Oh my gosh, what happens? What happens to her?

AMY: Yeah. So right around this time, she's finishing up another book called Up the Country about the Australian Outback. So that's good. She's back in the Australian realm, right? (Some of the stuff she had been writing before was set in America or England or whatever.) So she wants to get this thing published. She approaches Blackwoods again, but this time she pretends to be a man called William Blake, who is writing under the pseudonym Brent of Bin Bin. So she just makes up a new personality for Blackwoods. It's not Miles Franklin at all. Yeah. And it works. Blacksmiths is like, “Oh, here's this new guy. And we like this manuscript.

Let's do it.” The book is published. It becomes an enormous success. He, uh, he, she would, um, you know, continue to write a critically acclaimed series of books under this name, Brent of Bin Bin. And, you know, the books sell relatively well. She's not making a fortune off of it, but it's definitely, the reviews are great, people like these books, and everyone is left wondering, who is Brent of Bin Bin? They know it's a pseudonym, but who is the real writer? And theories abound. Some people start to put clues together. And are wondering if maybe it could be Miles, but she is vigilant about not being outed. She personally handles all the correspondence with the publisher, but she pretends to be another woman who's kind of the go between. It's all confusing, and maybe I don't have that all completely straight, but I mean, imagine her trying to keep it all completely straight. Pretending to be Blake, who goes by another name when he writes, um, yeah, 

KIM: This is fascinating. And it's also reminding me… shades of Elena Ferrante, right?

AMY: Yeah.

KIM: And then the validation Miles Franklin must have felt. She's realizing, “Oh, I can write another book. I'm not a one-hit-wonder. I mean…

AMY: Yeah.

KIM: That must have been a good feeling, even though it's not under her name.

AMY: Yeah. But just knowing she still has the magic. And personally, it would have killed me to watch Brent of Bin Bin have success and have to keep quiet about it. I think if it was me, I would have come forward and been like, “Yeah, that's me!” Um, but in Miles's case, the truth never came out until after her death. She wanted it that way. (Though most people, by the time she died, it was kind of common knowledge. Like, yeah, we're all thinking it really was Miles Franklin.) But this stint as Brent of Bin Bin was a confidence-booster, because once she started having success there with these, Up the Country books, she realizes like, I'm going to start writing again under my own name, and I think I can do this, and so she released a title called Bring the Monkey, which is a sort of novel inspired by the pet monkey of a friend she knew in London. That one sold poorly, but the reviewers were complimentary. She goes on to write, um, a couple of sequels to My Brilliant Career. One of the titles is called My Career Goes Bung, which follows [Kim laughing] I know, which follows Sybylla in the literary world in Sydney. She's probably conveying like, “Here's what really happened to me. I was a one-hit-wonder for a while and I'm struggling now as a writer” is the sense that I get that Sybylla is also having in the book. Um, she wrote a memoir about her childhood called My Childhood at Brindabella. So that would be the story of her life before My Brilliant Career starts. Um, then she's got another book that's really worth checking out called All That Swagger. And it is an epic that follows a pioneering family across four generations. And this book won a literary award called the Prior Prize, which she was elated about. I mean, such validation for her. And here's the funny part: One of the judges for that prize noted “only an Australian could have written it, and there had been nothing written like it except the Brent of Bin Bin novels.” So, I mean, how crazy? She's like, you people are so stupid. Both of those are me! Um, anyway, that book, All That Swagger, actually became her most successful novel. And she began to be recognized as a really important Australian literary figure now. So, yay for Miles Franklin! She's got her mojo back!

KIM: I know, and this is so weird — I had mentioned The Thorn Birds earlier and now, that book that you're describing actually being about the generations of an Australian pioneer family, that has me thinking of the The Thorn Birds again. I wonder if it's anything like that.

AMY: I know I haven't read it, but I'm interested. It's apparently really long as epic novels are, but, um, maybe worth checking out. And also, Kim, we need another Thorn Birds watch party. I don't think we've watched it 

for like 15 years or something like that. So It's time. It's time. Um, we always get a good kick outta that one. But back to Miles Franklin, she died in 1954 at the age of 74. Her ashes were scattered within sight of the original homestead where she was born. And she decided to bequeath her estate to a literary prize endowment that would help Australian writers going forward. So it's called the Miles Franklin award and it's actually Australia's highest literary prize. It's basically Australia's version of the Booker prize, I guess. Um, it's an annual prize that is given to a book about Australian life in any of its phases. So really trying to honor and, you know, celebrate books about Australia. There's also a Stella Prize in Australia that's named after her, real first name, and that's for Australian women writers.

KIM: That's so cool that she did that, um, the, uh, literary prize. So she remains a beloved literary figure to Australians and the 1979 film obviously renewed interest in her work.

AMY: Today you can find a lot of her books available very cheaply, like 99 cents or so, on Kindle. So go check her out. There's no reason not to. I also want to give a shout out to the author Jill Rowe, whose book, Miles Franklin, A Short Biography, proved quite helpful in our putting together this episode for today. And Kim, I will see us out here by reading the last few paragraphs of My Brilliant Career because it's really a poignant passage and it's kind of an homage to Australians. I think it's really beautiful. So I'm going to do that. And I'm going to omit my Australian accent because I think once was enough. Um, and playing in the background, you are going to hear lovely music by Schumann, which is part of the soundtrack to the My Brilliant Career film that I think really makes the film. I love the music in it. So here's how she ends the book. There's a few paragraphs where she says how proud she is of all Australian men and then all Australian women.

And she says, “I love you. I love you” to them. And then she writes: 

The great sun is sinking in the west, grinning and winking knowingly as he goes, upon the starving stock and drought-smitten wastes of land. Nearer he draws to the gum-tree scrubby horizon, turns the clouds to orange, scarlet, silver flame, gold! Down, down he goes. The gorgeous, garish splendour of sunset pageantry flames out; the long shadows eagerly cover all; the kookaburras laugh their merry mocking good-night; the clouds fade to turquoise, green, and grey; the stars peep shyly out; the soft call of the mopoke arises in the gullies! With much love and good wishes to all--Good night! Good-bye!

AMEN

Our theme song was written and performed by Jenny Malone and our logo is designed by Harriet Grant.

Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by AMY Helms and Kim Askew. 

197. Helen Tracy Lowe-Porter, Lost Lady of Translation — with Jo Salas

Note: Lost Ladies of Lit transcripts may contain errors. Please check the corresponding audio before quoting in print.

AMY HELMES: Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off great women writers, or in this case, a writer whose greatest (but largely unsung) success came in the form of translating the works of a literary giant. Kim, you have been suggesting for almost a year now that we should include a lost lady of translation.

KIM ASKEW: Yes, and so it was fortuitous when the creator of the Literary Lady's Guide, Nava Atlas, tipped us off about the subject for today's show and introduced us to our guest, who happens to have family connections to today's lost lady translator. 

AMY: You may think you have never read anything by Helen Tracy Lowe-Porter , but if you've read any work by Thomas Mann, there's a good chance you've read her. She first translated Mann's monumental works from German into English.

KIM: As you can imagine, this was no small feat. Mann's novels are immense, laden with meaning, and linguistically complicated. But not only did Helen Lowe-Porter translate 22 titles from Mann's body of work, in addition to taking on other translating assignments, she did so under seemingly impossible deadlines, while also raising three children and supporting the career achievements of her celebrated paleographer husband.

AMY: Lowe-Porter's translations of Mann's works, including his debut novel Buddenbrooks, undoubtedly led to his being awarded the Nobel Prize in 1929. But did she get any high fives for the assist? Not really.

KIM: Translating the German author was typically thankless work and often frustrating, not only because of Mann's mercurial temperament, but also because what she wanted more than anything was to focus on her own writing, a dream that she never truly fulfilled.

AMY: In some ways, it's a familiar story to this podcast. The self-sacrificing woman behind the great man. In this case, Mann with two Ns. But there's so much more to the life of Helen Lowe-Porter, including that she was good friends with Albert Einstein and she's the great grandmother of former British Prime Minister Boris Johnson.

KIM: We know all their names. I'd say it's time we get to know her name. So let's raid the stacks and get started!

[intro music plays]

KIM: Our guest today, Jo Salas, originally hails from New Zealand but today calls New York home. In addition to being the cofounder of Playback Theater, an interactive form of improvisational theater now practiced worldwide, Jo is also a Pushcart-Prize nominated writer whose published work includes nonfiction books on theater, numerous short stories, as well as 2015’s Dancing With Diana, a novel about the lasting impact of a fleeting interaction between a young man and a young Princess Diana.

AMY: Jo's latest book, out from JackLeg Press earlier this year, is a work of historical fiction called Mrs. Lowe-Porter. And listeners, I loved this novel. I started it on a plane, and it's usually really hard for me to get into books on airplane flights, but I was just so absorbed in this story. It kept me guessing, I couldn't wait for my return flight so that I could finish it. And so I'm really excited that Jo's with us today to talk about the woman who inspired it. Jo, welcome to the show!

JO: Thank you, Amy and Kim. I'm really delighted to be here with you.

KIM: And we're so glad to have you. Let's start off by explaining to our listeners, Jo, about your connection to Helen Tracy Lowe-Porter and how that connection inspired this book.

JO: Yeah. There is a family connection. Helen Lowe-Porter was my husband's grandmother. I never met her, but I think I would have been inspired by her and her story even if there wasn't a family connection. But the thing is, I probably wouldn't have known about her, because she would have been just H. T. Lowe-Porter, invisible woman behind Thomas Mann's novels. And because she was a family member, I had access to not only papers, letters, and so on, that were hers, but also family stories. So I'd been hearing about her all of my married life. She just became someone in my mind that was very vivid to me, very alive, very appealing. And hidden, you know? Invisible. And I wanted to share what I understood about her and her life. So this is fiction. It's closely based on the milestones of her life, but it also brings in fictionalized elements, because the record of her inner life is quite scant. I mean, she didn't keep a diary. Other people didn't keep her letters, for the most part, and any biographer — and I'm not a biographer — would have to speculate a lot about her life. And for me, it just came much more naturally to make it a novel. So most of the milestones of her life are historically accurate, but I have made up events to give some background to things that she said or commented on in a letter, perhaps.

AMY: Her story is so remarkable, and it would have been so easy for her to get completely lost and forgotten. And really, in some ways, she was almost lost while she lived, you know? She really was a kind of hidden figure. So let's dive into her life a little bit. Helen Porter was born in 1876 in Pennsylvania. She was the niece of Charlotte Endymion Porter, a well known poet, Shakespeare scholar, and literary critic who also translated writers works for the magazine that she co founded, Poet Lore. (She sounds fascinating, too!) But anyway, like her aunt Charlotte, Helen attended Wells College in New York, and then she proceeded to Munich, Germany, which is where your novel kicks off, Jo. So was Helen already fluent in German prior to moving there? And what was important about this time in her life going abroad?

JO: She did know some German. She had studied German, I believe, in high school and certainly in college, and she had done some translations for Charlotte, for her magazine. I don't think she would claim to be fluent. Of course, part of her motivation for going to Munich was to become more fluent. She was almost 30, and she had decided that she wasn't going to get married. She was quite committed as a writer herself. But, Helen went to Munich and there she met Elias Lowe, who was another American. He was a budding paleographer, which, paleography is the study of ancient manuscripts. They became friends, and then, gradually, it was more than that. 

KIM: Right. So they married, Helen and Elias, in 1911, and in reading your wonderful account of their relationship, he seems like a really great match for her. 

JO: Yes. They were passionately in love, way into late middle age, where things didn't go so well (as readers will find out if they read the book.) They were both extremely brilliant and highly educated, and the life of the mind was very important to both of them. But It was kind of taken for granted by most people that men's lives and work was more important than women's lives and work. Helen never fully accepted that. I think she was torn about it. She identified as a feminist all her life and was involved in the suffragist movement, but she did become a wife and mother, and her work did suffer. And his did not. His work was uninterrupted, and hers wasn't. Hers was very contingent on the time that she had, both for translation and her own creative writing, which suffered the most of all. But she had to squeeze that in, you know, between looking after kids and looking after him and dealing with this giant of literature that she was translating for 36 years. 

KIM: Let's talk a little bit about how Helen established herself as a translator and a translator for Thomas Mann, no less. How did this come about?

JO: Yeah, as far as I know, they were living in England, she and Elias and their children. He was a professor at Oxford. She'd been doing some translation for Heinemann, the British publisher, when the idea came up of translating Thomas Mann. And Heinemann had a relationship with Knopf, the American publisher. So it was kind of between Knopf and Heinemann that she was hired. Heinemann already knew about her, and they were looking for a translator for Thomas Mann, who was being brought into English for the first time. I think a few, you know, very brief pieces of his had been translated earlier, but the first novel to be published in English was Buddenbrooks in 1924, exactly a hundred years ago. And that was Helen's translation.

AMY: Okay, so, Buddenbrooks is sort of an epic, multi generational saga of the rise and fall of a merchant class family, and I had never read it before, but I wanted to sort have some sort of exposure to Helen, and this was one novel of his that I hadn't read yet, so I went ahead and listened to this as an audiobook with the intent of, like, really trying to pay attention to the words in English and how she would have done this. (Not that I know German at all.) I really liked the novel, so I would recommend it. And I was able to find Helen's translation on audiobook. But there were clear moments while I was listening to it where I realized the skill that she was bringing to the table. I'm thinking of some of the death scenes in particular, of which there are several, that are just very evocative. And it made me think, okay, she had to do more than just translate the words and put it down. She had to convey all of these big, huge emotions. Tell us a little bit more about what translating Mann entailed for Helen. 

JO: Well, as you were able to imagine reading, it's an enormous task. I mean, any translation requires both immense skill and linguistic knowledge and also artistic skills. And thank goodness, you know, translation as a field is becoming much more understood and respected these days. So for Helen, first of all, she was kind of in awe of him. She recognized what a genius he was as a novelist, so she felt very daunted by that. I mean, daunted and excited, to be asked to translate this huge work. And it was huge — eight hundred pages or something. She had this kind of relish for it, you know? She was kind of dying to get her teeth into it. And then she also kind of role-reversed with him. Like, what was it like for this very important man to depend on her? She had that kind of empathy always, which I think he absolutely did not have. She would just put everything into it. I mean, it would take all her time, all her energy, all her focus, all her creativity, for months and months and months. And meanwhile, Mann and Knopf are kind of breathing down her neck saying, “Hurry up! When can you get this to us?” And so on. So she was always both kind of extremely humble and also utterly committed and confident, feeling that, “I can do this. I want to do this.” And she put everything into it that she could.

KIM: It's amazing the level of research, to understand the context of everything in order to make that translation. And the way that you show that in your novel is fantastic. So, um, initially, Thomas Mann didn't want a woman to do the translation. Did he eventually come to appreciate her, and can you talk about some of the other ways she found working with him to be both frustrating and rewarding at the same time?

JO: Yeah. He seemed fine with her translating Buddenbrooks, and he was very happy with the translation. He said, “It's as though you were born to it.” "Wie geboren," he said. And as soon as it was published, I mean, he became quickly very well known to the English-speaking reading public. But the next book was The Magic Mountain, a very, very dense philosophical book. And she was very excited to do it. And that's where he put his foot down and said, “I don't want you to do it because you're a woman and women can't understand my depth of philosophy.” And she was very troubled, angry, upset, disappointed, and in the end, the Knopfs, Alfred and Blanche Knopf, they insisted. They wanted Helen to do that and any future books, and they prevailed. But he resented it for a long, long time. He resented that a woman translated that book.

AMY: Okay, so he wins the Nobel Prize in 1929, in large part because it was translated into English so well. It seems from your novel as though Helen was at times overly humble about her role as translator, and she didn't want to take credit, you know, a huge amount of credit, and then at other times she felt really hurt that she hadn't been given credit.

JO: I think both of those things are true. I have a chapter in which Helen is kind of chiding Blanche about Alfred not giving Blanche credit for work that she's done, saying, “Don't let him get away with that.” But then she was remembering her own feebleness when Alfred, in an earlier newsletter, omitted her own name as the translator of one of Mann's novels. All she could manage was a coy objection. And then there's a quote, which is a literal quote from Helen: "I was so interested as not to notice for some time that I was not mentioned as the translator of Death in Venice," she wrote to him. "I make this little comment not very seriously, yet, as sort of a protest in the name of the humble craft. People are always so ready to say that we do not get enough credit."

KIM: I mean, it's almost like a ghost writer or something. I just feel like the translator is the co-author. When you think about something that requires so much thought and work and a whole new way of writing it, when you're writing in another language, I mean, the level of work… to not be recognized for that. We still don't recognize translators as much as we should.

JO: I think that there's much more recognition of that now, that translators are seen as kind of a collaborator, in a sense, or a creative artist in their own right, and that the product that they create is not just a facsimile of the novel, it's its own work of art. But with Helen, you know, there was a fair amount of criticism of her during her lifetime, but then around the Seventies, there was a lot of quite savage criticism of her translations, pointing out mistakes that she made and so on. Which she did. I mean, all translators make mistakes. But the thing is that she also had this really beautiful English that really flows. And there are many contemporary readers who prefer her translations for that reason. But one of the things that these critics really bitterly took her to task for was because when she wrote about translation herself, she wrote about how in addition to all the research and linguistic accuracy and so on, she had to accomplish, she also brought her own artistic sensibility to it. And she said something like, I don't send a translation until I feel like I've written it myself, written the book. You can understand, right? I mean, she's not saying, I wrote this book. She's saying that I respect this book so much that I want my translation to honor it as much as I would honor my own writing. And they ripped her to shreds for that, you know? How dare you present yourself as a co-author.

AMY: There's a little section in your novel where you show if she had done a literal translation from a section of Buddenbrooks versus how she slightly tweaked it. I was wondering if you could show how she kind of put her spin on it.

JO: Okay, sure. So in my book, I quote the German passage, but then I'm, sort of in Helen's head: She wrote the exact English for Mann's phrases. The younger master of the house, when the general departure had begun, had grasped the left side of his breast, where a paper was rustling.

The social smile has suddenly vanished from his face to give way to a tense and worried expression and was playing with his temples as if his teeth a few muscles. That's the literal translation. And then Helen thinks, I need to remind readers who the younger master is, she thought. Left side of his breast? Breast pocket, surely. And let's make it clear that they're all headed to the dining room, as we know from the end of the last chapter. No need for the as if. We know he's indeed clenching his teeth, poor man. When she had the whole chapter translated, she came back to the beginning. She relished this more creative step, rendering it in English that readers would actually follow. And here's her rendition. As the party began to move toward the dining room, Consul Buddenbrooks’ hand went to his left pocket and fingered a paper that was inside. The polite smile had left his face giving way to a strained and careworn look, and the muscles stood out on his temples as he clenched his teeth. 

KIM: I love that.

AMY: Yes, I'm sure this is a controversial notion when talking about translation, but in some ways you're serving as editor right?

JO: Well, I don't know that translators would consider themselves editors. They have to edit their own English. In that sense, yes, exactly. If they didn't, it would just be this clumsy... because, you know, sentences in German are not constructed the same as sentences in English, so she has to put it into English that feels like English. And in her case, it has to be English that sounds idiomatic to both American and British readers, and she's very qualified to do that because she's an American living in England, and she's very familiar with both ways of speaking English.

AMY: Yeah, and being aware that the reader has to be enjoying this. And yeah, that whole like British English versus American English, that's something I never thought about either.

KIM: Yeah. I feel like I have even more respect for translators than I had before, which was already a lot. So there's an amazing section from your novel that sums up the process of translating, and I was wondering if you could read that passage for our listeners because it's really beautifully put.

JO: Oh, thank you. Yes. sure. I put on my metaphorical boots and my rucksack. I go exploring the world in which the story takes place. I breathe the air. I smell the vegetation. I walk the furrows. I shade my eyes and gaze at the surrounding hills. I float over farms and cities. I sit in town squares. I eavesdrop on conversations. I observe the clothes and gestures of the book's characters as they argue and conspire, as they love and hate one another. I comb the libraries for books that can tell me the history and geography I will need to know. I seek the writings of experts to fill in the gaps in my own knowledge. The mythologists, the historians, the musicologists, the scholars of archaic Bible translations or medieval German. The pile of reference books grows and grows. And then, finally, I'm ready. I pile a stack of paper on my desk. I take up my pen. Word by word, sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph, page by page, chapter by chapter, a novel in English takes form alongside its German brother. And then, inevitably, I see that this new work is hideous, clumsy, and unreadable. It makes me ill to look at it. I have snatched a living child out of its cradle and left a crude wooden doll in its place. Then comes the alchemy. I must use my dark arts, my art, to breathe life into the doll. I whisper my incantations over it. The air fills with words. German and English words, idioms, words that are obvious and surprising, beautiful and grotesque, words no longer used, words not yet born, words that fly like birds, sometimes in formation, sometimes in a crazy scatter. The words settle around the wooden doll. They warm it, caress it, clothe it. Slowly, slowly, the limbs move, the heart beats, eyes flutter open. There is new life with its own new grace. I rejoice in its birth. I send it out into the world, a gift given. 

KIM: Fantastic. 

AMY: Such a great way to explain the work that's being done there. I love it. And, also, side note, she's got … three children?

JO: Three girls. 

KIM: I feel so lazy, Amy. I'm not doing enough!

AMY: And to add to that, you know, after successfully translating The Magic Mountain in 1927, Helen goes on to translate 20 more Thomas Mann titles. Twenty! Including Death in Venice and Dr. Faustus. This work spanned the course of three and a half decades. Yet all the while, Helen lamented the fact that it was depriving her of time to do her own writing. And Jo, there's a wonderful section of your novel where you have one of Helen's characters from one of her own novels that she's working on barge in to interrupt her and say, “Hey, why aren't you paying attention to me?” I thought that was such a wonderful device. What do you actually know about her ambitions to write her own stuff?

JO: We do know for sure that she imagined herself as a writer from a young age. She wanted to be a writer. There isn't a lot of evidence of her writing, her creative writing. Tragically, it seems to have been lost. And whether she destroyed it herself or whether it was lost in some other way, we don't know. Only a few things were published. Ironically, one of the ways that we do have evidence of her writing is because she sent things to Mann to read, to get his comments. I have a letter that he wrote in 1942 in response to a short story that she wrote, which he loved, you know? He praised it very, very highly. He said "Any editor that turns it down is an idiot." But it was never published. We don't know why. We don't know where she sent it or what happened to it, the manuscript. And then when she was in her mid-70s, she said to him, "I'm going to retire as your translator." And she said, "The reason is perhaps silly, but I want to work on my own writing while I still can." So she did. She wrote a novel. And again, she sent it to Mann. And again, he praised it. (Although it was a little sort of backhand praise because he said, "I think the subject matter might be offensive to publishers," he said.) Um, it dealt with gender, actually. Two siblings switching gender. And he found that disturbing and suggested that she should not submit it to the Knopfs, which she must've been very hurt by, I think. But again, it wasn't published. It got as far as an agent, and the manuscript has disappeared. The only things that are published are a small book of poems, late in her life, and a play that was very successful. It's a sort of adaptation of the story of Edward VIII's abdication in the Thirties. He abdicated the British throne. She was very inspired by that. She wrote the play in a kind of Shakespearean blank verse, and it was very successfully produced. Once. One run of, I don't know, a few weeks. And never again.

KIM: Would you, um, maybe read something from her writing so our listeners could get a feel for it?

JO: Yeah. I mean, again, all I have that's published is this lovely little book of poems and the play. So she was someone who was very politically aware all her life. I mean, not only women's rights, but, she lived through two world wars and then the McCarthy period here in the U.S. And she was very distressed, heartbroken, by the execution of the Rosenbergs. And your listeners probably know about this, but the Rosenbergs were accused and convicted of spying. Ethel Rosenberg, it seemed like all she did was kind of support her husband. She was not a spy herself, but she was also executed. And Helen wrote a poem about it, and it's called "Waste." 

Before she sat in the chair, she turned and kissed the wardress who had led her there. Then, thus sitting, she died. Was this not fitting? Was this not fine? And was it not well done? For what is rarer under the sun than this, to save in death our humanness? Uh, I do fear we are too blind to see we can ill spare and must not waste such human love as this.

KIM: Wow.

JO: Yeah. I find it very moving.

KIM: Very moving. That's exactly what I was going to use. Wow.

AMY: And it is sad that she didn't have as much time to work on her own writing as she would have wanted to. But at the same time, what she did is so remarkable and such an incredible feat that she should be so proud of.

JO: Absolutely. Yeah, yeah, she was very accomplished.

 KIM: In our intro, we had pointed out that Helen had a friendship with Albert Einstein. 

JO: Yeah, they were neighbors. He was friends with both her husband and Helen. They wrote funny little poems for each other, and she would help him sometimes if he was giving a talk. She would kind of go over it and smooth it out for him. And they would give each other presents, and he thought highly of her, it seems like. He was kind of a family friend. My mother in law and her first husband, he was a witness at their wedding. So we have this lovely photo of him standing there looking very benign with the happy couple beside him. My husband, you know, would play in his garden when he was a little kid. His brother would play the piano for him. He was kind of a benign presence somehow both in Helen's life and in the family's life.

AMY: I love that. I'm sure he felt a kinship just having somebody that knew German he could just converse freely with. 

JO: Right, and they saw eye to eye politically, and she was very politically aware, as I think I said. And you know, he was someone who was very concerned about what was happening in Germany. He was very concerned about McCarthyism, and so on. And they shared a point of view about those things.

AMY: We also mentioned earlier that Helen was the great grandmother of former British prime minister Boris Johnson. And you note in the forward to your book that his politics would have appalled her. But I'm also wondering, what do you think she might have thought of your novel? She definitely had opinions.

JO: She definitely did. I think it was in the afterword that I mentioned Boris Johnson, rather than the forward, because I don't want people to have that in the front of their minds as they're reading, necessarily. I know she would have been distressed by someone like him. There are plenty of other members of the family that she would have been very proud of, I think. Um, what would she have thought about my novel? I can't feel the least bit confident that she would have been pleased. I mean, she was such a self-effacing person. And of course, I've made all kinds of things up. I just don't know. I mean, I worry about it sometimes. Have I done her an injustice or not? Or is it the opposite? I mean, my intention, and it comes from a sense of enormous respect and affection for her, is to bring her out of the shadows, to bring her into the light. I hope she would have felt some gratification about that. But she might also have felt that this was her life and no one else had a right to write about it. I'm not sure. I hope, at least, there would have been parts of it that she would have been pleased with. I wish I had met her. I wish I had been able to ask her lots of questions. And in the absence of that, I have to rely on imagination, empathy and fellow feeling in some way.

AMY: Well, we wouldn't be discussing her today had you not written this, and I wouldn't have had a clue about who she was. I mean, I had read Thomas Mann before, and I probably had read her translations. You see “H. T. Lowe-Porter,” and you don't think twice about it, but to now hear her entire story, It's wonderful. I felt like I had a very naive understanding of what a translator does, and I just have a new appreciation for her. And getting to read your novel was like getting your cake and eating it too, because it's such a fun book to read. So thank you, and thanks for joining us today. 

KIM: This was wonderful. 

JO: Thank you so much, Amy and Kim. It's been really a pleasure to have a conversation with you.

AMY: And before we sign off here, I also want to let our listeners know about a wonderful translator and librarian from Melbourne, Australia, named Marie Lebert. She has extensively documented women translators throughout history and has even compiled an online dictionary of 150 different translators, from ancient times through to the 20th century. And we're going to include a link to that in our show notes. Marie reached out to me, and she wrote an article for this podcast, which highlights more than a dozen other important lost lady translators of literature across the centuries. We're going to be sharing that article in our show notes, as well as our Facebook and Patreon pages. It'll be available there to everyone without a subscription. So please go check it out. And Marie, thank you so much for all the work you're doing to recognize these tremendously important women.

KIM: Yes. Thank you, Marie. And listeners, do you have a favorite novel translated from another language? Use the new “fan mail” feature of this podcast to text us directly and let us know. It's in the show notes, wherever you listen to our podcast.

AMY: And don't forget, also, to give us a rating and review wherever you listen. Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone, and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Amy Helmes and Kim Askew. 

195. Elaine May — Miss May Does Not Exist with Carrie Courogen

Note: Lost Ladies of Lit transcripts may contain errors. Please check the corresponding audio before quoting in print.

KIM ASKEW: Hi, everyone, welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off great books (and in this case films) by forgotten women writers. I’m Kim Askew...

AMY HELMES: And I’m Amy Helmes. Today we’re going to be discussing a comedian, screenwriter, director and actor who got her start in the legendary Eisenhower-era comedy team known as Nichols and May. 

KIM: As in Mike Nichols and Elaine May. Some of you may be thinking… “Elaine May isn’t exactly lost,” and you’d be right. Sort of. Because if you do know her name, it’s in spite of Elaine May herself. She adamantly refused to be credited on many of the huge, critically-acclaimed, award-winning films she helped write, including Tootsie and The Birdcage. 

AMY: She’s a fascinating woman whom many have dubbed a genius. Yet I should probably confess: Before prepping for this episode, I knew her name only relative to Mike Nichols. And I certainly didn’t realize what a big deal she was (and is! She’s still alive).

KIM: Same, Amy. I’d heard her name and seen and loved some of her films, oftentimes without even knowing she had anything to do with them! 

AMY: I guess we shouldn’t feel too badly, Kim. Maybe she wanted it that way.

KIM: True. I mean, in the liner notes for her first comedy LP with Nichols, her bio reads, “Miss May does not exist.” 

KIM: Which also happens to be the title of our guest Carrie Courogen’s fantastic new bio on Elaine May, out today from St. Martin’s Press. 

AMY: I’m so excited. Let’s raid the film archives and get started! 

[Intro music plays] 

AMY: Carrie Courogen’s writing has appeared in publications like Bright Wall/Dark Room (where she is an associate editor), Glamour Magazine, NPR, PAPER, Vanity Fair, Vice, and many more, in addition to her Substack, bed crumbs. She is currently the associate director of creative development, digital video, for Pitchfork and the culture collection (that’s Vanity Fair, Teen Vogue, and Tatler) at Condé Nast. 

KIM: Miss May Does Not Exist is already garnering rave reviews. Critic Claire Dederer wrote of it: “Carrie Courogen has written the biography Elaine May deserves. Shimmering with insight and grounded in deep research, this book is as iconoclastic, engaging, and challenging as Miss May herself.” Happy pub day, Carrie, and welcome to the show! 

CARRIE COUROGEN: Thank you so much for having me. 

AMY: All right, so let's jump right into Elaine's story. She was born in 1932 in Philadelphia. Her parents were Yiddish vaudevillians, so she had a really interesting childhood, to say the least. Carrie, is there any defining moment or influences that sort of led to her becoming this comic genius?

CARRIE: I think there were two really formative experiences for Elaine. First, I think she grew up in a vaudeville environment where everything was heightened, and all of the realities of the day in the 1930s, all of the horrors of the world were twisted into melodrama or comedy or heightened into some fantasized version of reality. I think that really shaped her notion that everything can become a story. And then the second thing that I think really shaped who she is was the sudden death of her father when she was 10 years old. He traveled a lot as a vaudeville actor, and sometimes Elaine and her mother went with him, sometimes they didn't. And sometimes when they didn't, he would be gone for months at a time. And so she has this father figure who is so built up in her mind, and she's so kind of worshipful of, because she doesn't really know him all that well. And when she's 10 years old, he dies very suddenly, and it really shakes her world. Her family is incredibly poor at the time and really left with nothing and scrambling to figure out how are they going to survive his absence. And I think that gave her this sudden idea of the world as a really cruel and hostile place, a place that cannot be trusted. Full of people you can't depend on to take care of you. Full of people who will leave you at any moment. And especially if you're a woman, stuff's gonna happen to you and you don't have any control over it. And that's reflected in a lot of her work that would come, especially a lot of her early work. And I think she dealt with that view by turning it into stories, by escaping into these worlds that she could create to leave all of the pain of her real life. And I think later that became comedy, but at first it wasn't. At first I think it was a lot of drama that was just really reflecting her ideas of society that had been shaped by that one single instance.

KIM: So she had this really difficult childhood that you've just shared with us. They didn't have any money, they're moving all the time, her father dies. How is this impacting her education?

CARRIE: So, it's funny that Elaine May is such a genius because she really only has formally an 8th grade education. She was always bouncing around schools, never really staying long enough to go through all of the lessons or to even do a year at a school. And this whole time, she's deeply curious about things, and she's a voracious reader, and she loves to write. And she just keeps thinking, as she gets older, "This is pointless, and I don't know why I'm learning the same rote memorization bullshit. It's not gonna serve me in my life. I'd rather learn what I want to learn." And so by the time she's 14 and living in L. A, she's like, “I'm just gonna drop out. I'm not gonna go to school.” And so she drops out, and she does really teach herself. She spends so much time reading literature, and like at 14, 15 years old, reading Dostoevsky and reading Chekhov and writing all of these short stories and plays in her own sort of way. And I think she learned from it what she was interested in and learned to become an expert in it without actually learning it from a set sort of standard method.

KIM: Right. So then, um, she does drop out. She gets married at the age of 16. She has her only child, Jeannie Berlin, at age 18. 

AMY: Can I interrupt there? Because that sounds shocking to me. She got married at the age of 16. Was that normal for the time?

CARRIE: Not really. I mean, it wasn't as taboo as it is now, but it was still like, you know, you'd wait till you were 18 maybe or 19. It's hard to tell exactly why she got married. I would suspect that it was to get out of her mother's house. They had a difficult relationship, and I think she probably was like, "All right, see ya." Um, but yeah, I mean, she's 16 and he was, I think, 18. So it's not set up for success. By the time they're newly parents, it takes maybe six months for them to separate and for her to go back to her mom's house.

AMY: All right, so she's now a very young single mother. So what happens next?

CARRIE: So she's floundering, trying to figure out, you know, what is her purpose in life? How is she going to make money? How is she going to express her creative side? She goes to acting classes in LA and things start to click for her, but then she's a little bit like, "I think I'll go to college and I'll become extremely educated." But you know, she doesn't have a high school degree, and at the time, certain schools would take you if you didn't have one; not many, but some. And she had friends who were going to Chicago, just kind of like going to hitchhike there and do theater there, and she found out that the University of Chicago would take her without a high school degree. So she joins them. She has like $7 and hits the road and leaves Jeannie with her mother and really goes off to discover herself.

AMY: So this is where her life is going to intersect with a very pivotal person. And as I said in the introduction, I always associate Elaine May with Mike Nichols. Their collaboration is legendary. But how did this partnership come about, Carrie?

CARRIE: Their partnership really came about at the University of Chicago where Mike was studying and Elaine was not really enrolled; she kind of just dropped in on classes and fell in with a theater scene there that Mike had fallen in with. Their first meeting was really like, "I hate you and you hate me." But not long after they were in a subway station, an El station together, and started improvising. They started pretending they were spies and carried this whole routine home. And after that, it was really inseparable. And they started working together, and Mike knew that he could perform best with Elaine. And Elaine could perform with anybody. And they start doing these improvisations that are funny. At the time, improv was solely a theater exercise, but it wasn't the performance itself. And the son of the woman, Viola Spolin, who invented this sort of theater exercise, was part of this troupe that Elaine and Mike were part of and thought, "Well, wait a second. Why don't we try that as the entertainment?" And Elaine just was like a natural at it.

KIM: I just love that part of the story, because it's like she's finally getting to be herself, and it's amazing.

AMY: We think of, like, oh, The Groundlings. We know what that is. But imagine being an audience member and seeing that for the first time and getting to see these people that are thinking so quickly on their feet and making you laugh, and inventing that form, basically. It's amazing.

KIM: It's so cool. 

AMY: It's almost like they're a precursor to “Saturday Night Live,” right? 

CARRIE: Totally. The theater that they were part of became Second City, which is a feeding ground for SNL. They were the ones who started it. And Elaine was one of the ones who created the rules of improv, you know, "Yes, and…" and, you know, "Make a choice, don't deny." All of those things she came up with. She came up with the standard that went and informed everything up through SNL.

AMY: I want to play a quick clip from one of Elaine May and Mike Nichols' sketches. 

[plays sketch]

Okay, so I'll stop it there. It goes on and on 

KIM: I mean, I was laughing aloud while you were playing that. I had to mute myself because it's hilarious. Listeners, you have to go watch it. Um, We'll link to it in our show notes. But basically, she's gorgeous, um, these gestures play into it too. There's a physical comedy. They have incredible chemistry. Carrie, do you want to talk a little bit about the hallmarks of a Nichols and May sketch? What do you think were the key elements of her style in particular that made them basically a sensation?

CARRIE: Obviously, like you pointed out, their chemistry. There was so much like, "Are they a couple? Are they not a couple? Did they? Didn't they?" And they did, um, very briefly when they were back in Chicago and then very quickly were like, "No, no, no, we can't do this. We're just very good friends." But I think obviously that informed their strong connection and sort of, I wouldn't say their "shtick," because they could be all over the place. The thing that I love about Nichols and May is they were unpredictable. They didn't fall into the hallmark funny man, straight man bit. They would trade off. Sometimes Elaine's the straight man, sometimes Elaine's the one who's pulling the gag. They tap into these neuroses of young people at the time — young educated people at the time. They're really making fun of that. And they're making fun of themselves. So many of their sketches were about sex or about romance and how funny that could be. And this is in the Fifties. This is in the super chaste era of entertainment. And people were not used to that. People were shocked by it, but also, the people who started to see them when they were in New York then in the downtown scene are young people, and they want to see something that isn't boring and family friendly, the USO sort of “Bob Hope” of it all. They want to see something that's thrilling and exciting, and they want to see things that are about themselves. And Nichols and May, I think, they could really capture this anxiety and concern of urban young professionals, in a way. People would say they have "snob and mob" appeal.

AMY: All right, so they're doing something kind of radical here, challenging societal norms. Are there any other risks that Elaine was taking at the time that would have been different or unusual? 

CARRIE: Well, I mean, being a woman in comedy at the time was super unusual, especially in sketch comedy, which was still a very young form. It's before Joan Rivers. It's before or right around actually the same time as Phyllis Diller. And it's really like the three of them who are in this club circuit doing variations on stand-up or sketch comedy. I don't want to say that Elaine was doing stand-up, but it was similar in form in the sense that it was really just her and Mike on a set of stools without any props, without anything to aid their storytelling. It's just they were making things up. I was so expecting to see some, like, sexism in the press coverage of her. Like, "Well, she's hot and he's funny." And it was really like, no, she's the funny one outta the two of them. And it was like, "She's so good. She's so talented. And also she's gorgeous." The thing too, is she was gorgeous, but she didn't try to be. She was so unkempt and did not care about her appearance. People would have to make sure she looked suitable for some of the swanky clubs that they performed in because she just didn't care. She was like an absent-minded professor. She was so laser-focused on the work she was doing. She could have two different pairs of socks on or hadn't brushed her hair and didn't even realize it. 

KIM: So all this is happening, but I really want our listeners to understand how hugely famous Nichols and May were during this time. So can you give our listeners a quick sketch of what her life was like at this time? It was pretty amazing. 

CARRIE: She really did have instant fame and it was not for 15 minutes. And that, I think, was really jarring to her. She and Mike come to New York to try and pitch themselves as an act. They're broke. They have nothing. And within like two weeks, they're performing in a club downtown, and within a few days of doing that, they start to get a huge audience that's coming for them and not for Mort Sahl, who they were opening for. A few weeks later, they're Uptown and there are lines out the door. There are people waiting till like midnight to see them. They're New York's hottest ticket. And then they appear on television, and suddenly, you know, it's nationwide fame. Television appearance after television appearance after television appearance. Everyone knows who they are all of a sudden, and they're getting so much press coverage and they're 24 and 25 years old. I think it was really incredibly jarring for them. They take their act to Broadway and it's enormous. That's like the apex of Nichols and May, and all of these incredibly famous people are coming to see them and coming to, befriend them. I mean, Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton are new friends of theirs. And Julie Andrews is performing across the street and she comes over and, you know, all these writers are there to see them and talking about how much they love them. And Elaine is such an intensely shy person that this is like, "Whoa, I don't like this. And I don't like that now we are so famous, we can't experiment and we can't do things that are new. We're just giving people what they want.” And I think that started to wear at them and wear at their relationship, because Mike was so good at pleasing people and playing the game, and Elaine is like, "It's not interesting to me if it's not fresh." After several months on Broadway, she's like, "I'm out. I don't want to do this anymore."

AMY: I mean, think about walking away from something like that. I'm raking in the money. I'm just doing the formulaic thing that people like. I can almost do it in my sleep at this point. A lot of people would have been like, This is a good gig. But no, she needed to do something new and different. So she, you know, transitions from performing with Mike Nichols to embarking on her own solo career. In your book, Carrie, you cover that period from 1961 to 1967 under the chapter heading, “What the Hell Happened to Elaine May?” She's kind of struggling, while Mike Nichols is off being completely successful. He directs the Broadway production of “Barefoot in the Park.” He does the Elizabeth Taylor Richard Burton film, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? followed by The Graduate in 1967. So he's doing A-okay. But Elaine is... where is she? What's she doing? Flash forward to 1968. Seemingly out of the blue, Elaine May is tapped to write, direct, and star in a feature film called A New Leaf.

CARRIE: Yeah, she really was struggling for a long time. And she finds this story in Alfred Hitchcock's Omnibus magazine, and it's about a man who decides he's gonna marry this woman, and then kill her, and she's like, "Oh, this is the perfect idea for a screenplay." And at the time Hollywood's going through this huge shift where the system is struggling. It feels unhip. And Paramount, in particular, they decide, “Alright, here's the new plan going forward. Our new stars now are writers and directors and filmmakers and young people doing cool things.” And there's some uproar, a little bit, in Hollywood where there hadn't been many women behind the camera at all. And when Elaine's agent went to sell this script to Paramount, he really spun it and was like, "You know, you could get her to direct too. It would look really good. She's a woman!" And she's like, "Wait, wait a second. I wanted director approval, but I don't want to direct it." And they're like, "Well, we can't do it unless you agree to direct. it." And she's like, "Uh, okay, I guess I'll do that." And then she wants star approval. They want to cast Carol Channing in this role, and she's like, "No, no, no, she's all wrong for it. The woman has to sort of fade into the background." And they're like, "Well, then, why don't you play it?" And again, she's like, "What?" And really is thrown into this situation where she's a complete novice and has never directed anything, knows nothing about a film set. Now all of a sudden she's in charge of an entire film production, also at the same time only making like 50, 000 to do all of it. Meanwhile her co-star Walter Matthau and the producer on the film are getting a ton more money. And they're really selling her on this like, "We can't make this movie unless you agree to do all of this." And I think they kind of set her up to fail in a way, and that sparked this underdog mentality in her of like, "Well, I'll show them."

KIM: Yeah. So she's in this crazy situation and she's under all this pressure, you know. What happens?

CARRIE: On the first day they ask her where she wants to put the camera. And she doesn't know what the camera even looks like. She looks at the lighting and is like, Oh, I think that's maybe the camera. And she just says, "I don't know." I remember she described it as like a hush fell over everybody. So, you know, she doesn't know what she's doing. 

KIM: Yeah. I mean, how would you? She had no experience in that. It's like, all three of us are writers, but it's like, if somebody just said, Okay, direct a movie now, you know, we didn't go to film school! How would we know?!

CARRIE: Exactly! And no one is mentoring her, you know? Like when Mike went to make Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, Billy Wilder was helping him. He had him as a mentor, and Elaine May didn't have that. So she doesn't know that you can't just shoot a wide master shot as if you're filming a play. You have to do another setup where you're shooting close up of the one person, and then you do another shot where you're shooting the close up of the second person. And suddenly she's like, "Oh, I have to go back and redo all of this to get this coverage." And she's a perfectionist. I think as a writer, she could see in her mind every single version or permutation of a scene, and on stage, that's very easy. You have rehearsal time. It doesn't cost you really anything. And on film, it's extremely costly. And she's shooting an enormous amount of material and falls way behind schedule. Producers come out and try to control the situation. And then they're frazzled and they go back to Paramount and they're like, "She's insane. She cannot be controlled. What is going on here? We're gonna have to take over the picture," and they're like, "Yeah, it's gonna be fine. " And then it's time to edit. So then editing goes on way too long. She has a version that she really likes. It's three hours long. It's full of murder. It's way darker than anyone had really expected when they read the script. And Paramount is like, "No way lady! What are you doing?! What is this?!" And immediately try to recut the film, and so she's like, "Well now this isn't my movie. You've completely defanged it. You've completely ruined it. It's not the thing I wrote. It's not the thing I directed. It's your movie. I don't want to be associated with it. You either let me recut it my way or you take my name off the picture." And they're like, "No, we're not doing that." They're threatening to sue her for breach of contract. She's threatening to sue them for breach of contract. And finally they take it all the way to a judge who tried the Rosenberg case. And they played Paramount's version of the movie, and the judge is howling with laughter and he's like, "Her version could be funny, but this is great. Put it out. I don't see what's wrong with this. Put it out." And I think she had this big feeling of betrayal, which is, you know, a common theme throughout her work. It goes back to the childhood thing again, like people are going to betray her. So she had this big distrust in the studios, even though the film ended up being a success.

 AMY: I know, you're, hearing about this complete hot mess of a production and of course you're thinking to yourself, "This movie is going to be also a hot mess." And it actually is not at all. Carrie, uh, could you do us a favor and read from your book where you talk about the response to this film?

CARRIE: Critics for the most part loved the film and loved her both as an actor and a director. In a warm review for The Chicago Tribune, Gene Siskel wrote: “Ms. May writes and directs with uncommon grace,” and compared A New Leaf to It Happened One Night and Bringing Up Baby. “Miss May may be right,” Vincent Canby wrote for The New York Times. “Her version may be better than Paramount's. And theoretically anyway, not having seen the other version, I'm on her side. Still, the movie is so nutty and so funny, so happily reminiscent of the screwball comedies people aren't supposed to be able to make anymore, I'm quite satisfied to let things stand.”  By 1972, A New Leaf had grossed 5 million. And was nominated for two Golden Globes for Best Picture and Best Actress, and a Writers Guild of America award. Had the lawsuit not taken up most of the press coverage, and had Elaine actually participated in its promotion, it might have done even better. Not that it mattered. She had delivered great reviews and made paramount money, and that was enough. Elaine didn't just survive by the skin of her teeth, she found herself suddenly established and respected. A member of the Directors Guild of America, only the third woman, and already at work on her next film, a second chance she had predicted she somehow would get. “Will you do anything different in your next movie?” a New York Times journalist asked her. She thought for some time. “Yes,” she said. “Everything.”

AMY: I will say though, I think I would have liked her version of it.

KIM: Yeah. I wish we could see it. 

CARRIE: I agree, it would have been fascinating to see. And it's long been Hollywood lore or urban legend, you know? Where is “the May cut?” When will we see “the May cut?” And who has it? And what have they done with it? And the sad truth is, I am 90 percent sure that it's been lost. If Elaine owned it, my theory is she would have released it by now. The Paramount archives, they searched for it there, they couldn't find anything. You know, they did mention, "Sometimes, you know, things come up that we're shocked to find.We never want to say something is lost for good, but right now, we don't know where it is." Yes, the script for “the May cut” exists, and I'm going to be honest. It's kind of a mess. I can see the final version being a mess. But I still want to see it, you know? 

KIM: Yeah. Yeah. It's like almost an academic thing as someone who studied her, you know, you want to have those missing pieces filled in. 

AMY: If she had had the opportunity to really go so dark with all these murders and everything that she wanted to do, I think I would have been totally there for that film. But I did like this one. It made me laugh a lot.

KIM: I love the way it subverted the romantic comedy idea. There's so many things about it that are unusual and I feel like must be so uniquely Elaine. 

CARRIE: I think it's funny that it's her warmest film, in my opinion, and it's about murder.

KIM: Yeah. 

CARRIE: It's about blackmail. It's about a man killing his wife. And I think she's so good on screen, it makes me wish really that she had performed more in front of the camera. It's almost like she's playing a version of herself, because she really mined her own foibles and idiosyncrasies, you know, the sloppiness and the crumbs everywhere, and tripping over her own feet, and price tags still attached to her clothes, like that sort of absent mindedness.

AMY: That nightgown scene, thescene where he's helping her get into the nightgown. The gag just continued and continued, and it never stopped being funny. It was so good.

KIM: Yeah. And it's in your book. You have the behind the scenes of that, right? 

CARRIE: You know, this is her genius as a director. She wants to elicit a certain response from Matthau as he's trying to get her out of this nightgown that she has on in the wrong way, and she really did sew herself into it. So he's like pulling all these layers over and he really is confused, genuinely, like “What? How? Where are you? How do you get out of this thing?” Oh, the first time I saw it, cackling, I couldn't stop laughing. Just brilliant. Today, if you had a scene like that in a movie, an executive somewhere is going to say, "Do we really need this?" Back then, you could put a scene like this in, where it doesn't move the movie along at all. It has no narrative purpose. It doesn't tell you anything more about either character. It's just funny, and sometimes that's okay. You can have something superfluous in a movie that's just like a gag and it's amazing.

KIM: Yeah, yeah.

AMY: Although I did see tenderness from Walter Matthau's character towards Henrietta in that moment. I got a spark of like, "Oh, wait, he married her to kill her, but he's helping her right now." And there is this little spark…

KIM: Yeah. Which is why it worked. I feel like. yeah. Yeah. So, um, she filmed The Heartbreak Kid in 1972 and then Mikey and Nicky in 1976.

And I want to talk about Mikey and Nicky because I saw it a couple of years ago. I really loved it. It's my kind of movie, I guess. It's a 1970s John Cassavetes and I really just thought of it as his film. I didn't really connect that it was an Elaine May film, and I absolutely had no idea of the story behind the making of it. It is wild. It's like the craziest story! 

CARRIE: Yeah, the myth of it has become almost as big as the movie itself, I think. It was, a lot like A New Leaf, where It's a movie she wrote, and the one difference from A New Leaf is it wasn't an adaptation. It was a story that had begun as a very short play that she wrote all the way back when she was in Chicago in the 50s. It's based on people that she knew as a child growing up when her family was loosely involved with the mob in Chicago, with the Syndicate. And, you know, there are these two low-level mob guys who are buddies and one's trying to help take out a hit on the other. It's not funny. I mean, there are moments of comic levity, but I think from the start, that scares everybody. The studio really kind of thought, "Oh, it's going to be a buddy comedy." I don't think they were prepared for how dark it was going to be. But I think they were absolutely apprehensive of how long it could take to make it based on their experience with A New Leaf. And so, you know, true to form, she had shot, I forget, like a hundred thousand feet of film, something insane that was like triple or something the length of Gone With The Wind, and now she has to edit everything, and she's not sticking to the timeline, and she's replacing editors left and right. Her and Cassavetes come in after hours and undo things that the editors did during the day and put it back together. It's just chaos. It's really chaos. And Elaine is like a mad genius, you know? Her room is a pigsty, and she comes to edit every day like in last night's clothes and is so laser-focused on this as the clock is ticking. And she does a series of very clever maneuvers to buy herself more time, and finally, it's like a year or something after they've been editing and Paramount's like, "We need this film. It's ours now." They come to the edit studio in New York, seize the material, and two reels are missing. And they can't cut it unless they have those two reels. It's like a pivotal part of the film. And they sue her for breach of contract again. All of the stuff comes out in the lawsuit where they're like, “She knowingly took those rolls of film.

She knew that we were coming.” Peter Falk is involved, as like aiding and abetting a criminal thievery or something like that, and he's like, "Well, I might have, I don't know. "Uh, and it turns out that her husband at the time took the two reels of film, put them in his car, drove them across state lines to Connecticut, and hid them in the garage of a friend's house in Connecticut, so out of New York jurisdiction. And they're suing each other back and forth. And finally, the court is like, "You cannot use the court to settle your little petty interpersonal business arrangement. Like, stop this. What are you doing?" So they negotiate how to get the film back. They cut it the way they want to cut it, and they just sort of dump it in the theaters, right before Christmas. And yeah, that was a huge moment for Elaine, where she's like, “Wow, now I've been burned twice.” This film is released, and it's not a success. It's in theaters for like a week and the few reviews that it does get are bad. And she would eventually, a couple years later, buy back the rights and recut it. Although her recut is really nothing major. It's really like, you know, nothing that could have dramatically changed the film. Yet when she re-released it, then suddenly it's getting these reviews like, "Oh, how did we miss this film?" And "This is amazing." And "It's one of the best of the Seventies." And she does sort of get her pride back, but that whole experience is really where she cements this reputation of being difficult and being unpredictable and being somebody that a studio can't control. And a studio needs to control their director in a way, you know. They're spending the studio's money. And a lot of directors will say, and I agree with them, you know, the studio loves you when they're courting you and the second you sign a contract you are the enemy. And the studio is willing to do anything to bend you to their will. So, yeah, it really blacklisted her, I think, for a while. It was really hard for her to get another job directing after that because she had this reputation of being insane.

AMY: Yeah. I mean, at times she really does sound like a pain in the ass. But how much also does the fact that she was a woman factor into any of this? You know, would a male director have been able to do some of these things and they would have been like, "Oh, he's a genius. Let him have his way"?

CARRIE: Yes and no. It depends because this is, you know, the height of new Hollywood and you do have these directors who are behaving badly or are behaving, yeah, in unconventional ways and burning company money. You know, you have Francis Ford Coppola making Apocalypse Now and like selling off all of his stuff to keep financing it. And you have Peter Bogdanovich making a string of flops that become more and more ambitious. They're getting second chances, or they're figuring out how to do it with their own financing, not relying on the studio system. Elaine gets away with the same behavior in the moment, but I think she has a harder time bouncing back from them the way that men do. I think, you know, there's this idea of "director jail," and the sentences for a woman are a lot longer than they would be for a man. Also the fact that she was unpredictable and sometimes unstable really confirmed all of these ideas that male executives had about women directors, where they thought, you know, they're not tough enough to handle it. They're too emotional. How are they going to do it when they're on their period? All this so, like, incredibly cliched, sexist, and just, like, dumb hypotheses. They have Elaine now to point to, and they say, "See, we were right. "And it's the end of the 70s. The feminist movement is in a free fall, and suddenly now the tide is starting to turn and the executives are like, "Oh yeah, actually we don't have to pretend anymore. We don't have to commit to this performance of equality because no one else really cares anymore." And so, yeah, you know, “two strikes, you're out, kid.” It was a huge detriment to her own career, but it was also a huge detriment to other women in the industry and other women getting chances. And, you know, that's sexism at work again, because none of these other guys who were getting put in "director jail" or behaving badly and failing, none of them had to worry about carrying the future of their entire gender on their back. None of them had that added pressure of, “If I fail, every guy is going to be set back like a five years.” That, I think, is a pressure that she was not equipped for. And I also think it didn't concern her. I think selfishly in a way, good and bad, you know, why should she have to care about carrying an entire population of people on her back? But at the same time, that was the reality. She was. And she had no concern for that and was doing things her way. And so it really was a huge turning point, not only in her own career, but in the careers of other women who were aspiring to direct in the studio system in the late 70s and early 80s.

KIM: Okay, so after all this, she basically becomes a script doctor on numerous films. So she's not directing anymore because all this happened and she's basically in “director jail.” But she ends up working on things like Tootsie and The Birdcage. And those things are often overlooked, but they actually had a really big impact on Hollywood. What do you think her contribution was to these films that she worked on?

CARRIE: Well, with films that she really did script doctor or work behind the scenes on like Reds or Tootsie, they really should have a "written by Elaine May" credit. She did incredible, substantial work on both of them. I mean, especially on Tootsie. She created the Bill Murray character. She fleshed out Terri Garr's character. She fleshes out Jessica Lange's character. Gives her the backstory, gives her, you know, the monologue that hands Lange the supporting actress Oscar that year. It really is incredible the amount of work she did on Tootsie. And she wouldn't take credit for things like that because she cared so much about the other writer. And in that situation, at least, she had been told that he knew she was going to come in and fix the script. And then it turned out he didn't, and she really felt like “I betrayed another writer, and so I really don't want credit on this and I don't wanna ever do this again for credit because I feel like that's a betrayal to other writers. They should still get the credit, even if I'm doing work.” And at the same time, you know, it lets her off the hook a little bit too, because if she's a script doctor and she's not having outward-facing credit, if a movie is a huge success, word is going to go around behind the scenes in the industry. “Elaine May saved it.” And that's going to get her more work. But, you know, if it's a flop, she's not associated with it. The few films she wrote with credit, The Birdcage and Primary Colors, they were directed by Mike, the one person where she knows "If I give him my movie, he's not going to mess it up." I think she kind of reached this point in her career where she knew what method of working suited her style best and suited her need for control, but also her need for privacy. 

KIM: She comes across, um, and I think even in your talking about the work she did with Mike Nichols later on, she comes across in your book as incredibly loyal. But she's also been described as "a prickly genius" at the same time. Do you think this prickly genius idea, did it influence her relationship with some of her collaborators? And did it also play into how people received her work?

CARRIE: I think that reputation played out more with executives and non-creative people and their interpretation of how she was to work with. With her collaborators, they were always people who had similar sensibilities as her. You know, Warren Beatty is somebody who you could also call a prickly genius, and they worked so well together because they both were kind of crazy, and really perfectionists, and really like, "We like to fight. We like to argue about the script, and if we're not arguing about the script, maybe it's not good enough." Same thing with Mike. Mike knew how to work with her. He knew how to rein in the prickly side and also, you know, let her loose, but hold on to her with a foot on the ground, be the person who anchors her while she goes off on these flights of fancy. Um, John Cassavetes, another prickly genius. She worked a lot behind the scenes with Bill Murray — also somebody who I just think was on the same wavelength as her. Yeah, everyone that she really collaborated closely with she was extremely loyal to and they were extremely loyal to her. But yeah, I think if you were good to Elaine, then she was going to be good to you, and she would be very loyal in that sense then. But if you were a studio executive who was going to come in and screw with her film, the prickly side could turn on.

AMY: One of my favorite quotes from your book, I don't remember who said it, but, uh, it was the quote, "She seemed like a woman who would murder you." 

CARRIE: Yeah. 

AMY: I think what you did was very daunting in writing this biography of her. I mean, I know that you would have loved to have her involvement in the writing of this book, and you did not. It's almost like that, um, "Frank Sinatra Has a Cold" kind of article, that you had to speak to all of the people around her to get this story. And in the beginning of your book, you actually talk about the fact that you live not too far from where she lives in New York and you would harbor these fantasies of running into her, but I'm sure there's a little bit of trepidation there too. What do you think she would say about this book?

CARRIE: Oh my God. I've had so many stress dreams about it! I've had so many stress dreams, not with what she would say, but, um, I have these stress dreams where Jeannie Berlin is yelling at me, where I'm just like being completely verbally eviscerated by Jeannie (who by all accounts is a very nice woman actually. I would love to be friends with Jeannie.)

AMY: Just to remind listeners, Jeannie Berlin is Elaine May's daughter.

CARRIE: Elaine, I think, would just play dumb. I think she would play dumb. I think that's kind of her go-to response when she's backed into a corner or when she doesn't want to comment on something or doesn't want to be recognized or when she doesn't want praise for anything. She sort of is like, "Well, I don't know what you're talking about." She'd be like, "Oh, there's a book about me? I didn't know." I have a friend who did see her on the street one time and said something like, "Excuse me, are you Elaine May?" (And like, it's unmistakably Elaine.) And she said she looked at her for like a beat and said, "No. But I know her very well." And, like, that's the sort of, like, reaction that I think I would get from her. I mean, at the same time, I'm totally terrified. I'm totally terrified of what I would…

AMY: I'm having stress dreams for you! I literally am having stress dreams for you, but at the same time, I'm so happy that you wrote this book. 

KIM: Yeah. It's really, really good.

CARRIE: Thank you.

KIM: Carrie, it was a delight to have you on the show, and I'm excited to actually see Ishtar for the first time. I haven't seen it yet, and after reading your book, I'm like, “I'm going to watch it, for May.”

CARRIE: Oh my god, you must! It's on Criterion Channel right now.

KIM: Great. I will watch.

AMY: I just watched it yesterday for the first time. The only thing I had ever known about it was the fact that it's like the world's biggest Hollywood bomb ever, right? So of course, why, why would I watch it? I wouldn't watch it. So it's like "Steer clear of Ishtar." And then so I started watching it yesterday and I'm like, “What the heck?” This is like all those sort of “Ben Stiller, Owen Wilson” buddy movies. Dumb and Dumber. It was a precursor to all of those films in the Nineties where you're totally laughing out loud. I didn't have any concept of what this film was about. I thought it was like Lawrence of Arabia or something. I don't even think I knew it was a comedy. 

KIM: Totally.

AMY: Do not just fall for the "Ishtar is the worst movie ever." You have to judge for yourself. 

KIM: Yeah.​

AMY: So that's all for today's episode. Patreon members, I'd love for you to join me, Amy, next week for a discussion on 7 Middaugh, a very special house in Brooklyn Heights once upon a time, whose tenants happened to be some of the 20th century's most talented young creatives. Think a literary version of the sitcom “Friends.” The rest of you can join us back here in two weeks. Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Amy Helmes and Kim Askew. 

193. Kim and Amy Catch Their Book Breath

KIM ASKEW: Hey, everyone. Welcome to another Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to forgotten women writers. I'm Kim Askew, here with my co host, Amy Helmes.

AMY HELMES: We're actually dropping in today for just a quick episode. We've got a few great Lost Ladies lined up in the coming weeks, but due to the demands of scheduling those interviews, and also wanting to make sure we air our episodes to time with specific publication dates of the books we're featuring, we ended up with a rare hole in our schedule for this week.

KIM: Yeah. Somehow we're almost halfway through the year. So consider this the episode where Amy and I pause doubled over with our hands on our knees to catch our podcasting breath.

AMY: I love how we have to work in a jogging reference. As if we actually do that.

KIM: Yeah.

AMY: Can you even get shin splints from reading too much?

KIM: I have no idea. I've never had one. I don't know.

AMY: Like, I don't even know that concept.

KIM: I don't even know what that is. Yeah, exactly. Um, but one thing we know is that there can never be enough books. And it's funny because people always ask you and I, Amy, how we managed to find time to read all the books we cover on this show. The funny thing is we actually read a lot more books than the ones we feature on the podcast. So yeah, we're reading all the time.

AMY: So today we thought we'd have a little quick-hits update for you guys on some of the other books we've been reading on the side, not for the podcast. You'll definitely get some more Lost Lady recommendations in this episode, so do stick around for that. But before we dive into it, Kim, I have a little new business venture idea for us.

KIM: Are you sure you want to tell me? Because I might make us do it. 

AMY: Oh, my God. That's right. you're the "let's go" lady.

KIM: All right. Well, let's hear it. I'm sure it'll be good. 

AMY: So remember about a month ago, we went to see a one man production of Hamlet?

KIM: I do remember that. Yes. 

AMY: It was amazing. David Melville, he is from the Independent Shakespeare company here in L.A…

KIM: We love him. 

AMY: He's so good. He did a somewhat abridged, but not very abridged, version of Hamlet, and he literally took every single role.

KIM: We were enthralled the entire time. 

AMY: Well, we were, and we weren't, because the woman sitting to my left, you were on my right, the woman sitting to my left felt the need, every 30 seconds throughout this performance… I don't want to be a hater, but every 30 seconds or so I would hear a “Hmm.” “To be or not to be. That is the question…” “Hmm.”

KIM: Yeah. It's like “thinking in progress over here.” 

AMY: Yeah, it was annoying me. Have you ever heard of “silent disco” or “silent dance party?”

KIM: Yes.

AMY: Okay, so in a silent disco, everybody gets headphones and they get to hear the music, but they don't hear anything else.

KIM: Mm-hmm. The sound cancels everything else out. 

AMY: I think this is the solution to do Silent Shakespeare . 

KIM: I love it. Ooh, that could work for movies too, cause people annoy me in the movie theater too. I like this business idea. Some of you will remember this, but I think the timing is perfect to dust off our list of “Five Things you Can Always Expect at any Shakespeare in the Park Performance,” it’s totally related to this conversation.

AMY: Yeah, I mean, summer's basically staring us in the face, and we're about to be venturing back into these outdoor performances. So yeah.

KIM: Be prepared, folks. 

AMY: Our longtime listeners will probably remember this. It might be new to a few though. Here it goes. 

[audio plays/ends]

KIM: Oh my gosh. Classic. And it still holds true. 

AMY: Listeners, if you have anything that you would like to add to that conversation, give us a text. You can now text us with feedback.

KIM: Oh, no, I'm scared.

AMY: What hath we wrought? No, it's a new feature offered by our podcasting platform, and we thought it would be fun to try it out. So if you want to message us, all you have to do is go to the link that's in our show notes. So basically that homepage, wherever you listen to the podcast, there should be a link there that will just take you to how to text us. And we're going to try to start asking a question at the end of each episode that might prompt you to reach out or comment. And of course, you can always join us on our Facebook page too.

KIM: Oh my gosh, I love this texting idea! This is fun. I can't wait. Please text us! Let us know you're out there. We really love to hear from you. Don't hesitate. If you're thinking of texting, do it.

AMY: You're not bugging us. You're actually making our day. We have the nicest listeners on the planet also. We got a review, Kim, from someone with the handle “Paris Bookseller.” I mean, come on, I'm dying already from that. I'm imagining a modern day Sylvia Beach listening to our show. But anyway, she (or he, I don't know which) writes: “I've been a bookseller for years and owned a bookshop in Paris. With each episode of Lost Ladies, I learned something new and fascinating. Their guests are always top notch.Thanks to them, my book knowledge and collection are expanding.”

KIM: Oh my gosh. That gives me all the feels. Our guests are so great.

AMY: Yeah, she's right, totally. And then one more, I'll share just an email from one of our subscribers named Simon.

KIM: Our Patreon subscribers are superheroes. Thank you.

AMY: Yes, we love them. Here's what he had to say when I reached out to thank him for subscribing. He said: “I came back to fiction only a few years ago after years of non fiction only. I'd been a big genre fan before that and had got very bored with it. My wife nudged me back to more mainstream fiction and then challenged me on why I hadn't read any women authors. I dipped a toe in and haven't looked back. I read almost exclusively women authors now and it has been a total joy. It's given me such insight and empathy. I love that you've done Monica Dickens and Stella Gibbons episodes. Would love one day to hear your thoughts on Margery Sharp, particularly Cluny Brown, which is one of my absolute top reads.”

KIM: Done. We are absolutely adding Cluny Brown to our list, Simon. Thank you for the recommendation. And I loved that message. It's just wonderful.

AMY: And way to tak your wife's challenge and run with it. 

KIM: Yep. 

AMY: Okay. So now back as promised, we mentioned at the top of the show, wanting to fill listeners in on some of the other books we've been reading. So, Kim, we've discussed a little bit. You know, off air… 

KIM: Yeah. Exactly. Um, so I'm going to say up front. These are all New York Review Books, because Eric got me a subscription for my birthday last year. And every single month I received something amazing. So these are just three recent ones that I absolutely loved. Um, I've been raving about, um, A Chance Meeting: American Encounters by Rachel Cohen. This initially came out in 2004, but they've re-released it this year. and what it is, it's basically fictional accounts of real world meetings between historical figures in the art and the art. Literary world. So, like Mark Twain, Henry and William James, Sarah Orne Jewett, um, Willa Cather, Carl Van Vechten, Gertrude Stein, James Baldwin, but it's all woven together. And the cool thing that she does is basically she takes the things that these amazing, brilliant people were thinking and weaves it through her fictionalized version of their actual real life meeting. It's like a perfect combination of fiction and nonfiction for me. I absolutely loved the entire book. I learned a little bit more about some figures. I didn't know as much about, um, and it also made me want to read Sarah Orne Jewett. I can't remember. I think something, Juniper Tree or “tree” something. Oh, the Pine Trees. Yeah. I'm confusing it … juniper trees is another author's book, but yeah, it's something about trees. [ed: The Country of the Pointed Firs.] Um, everyone raved about that book at the time and it makes me want to read that for sure.

AMY: That book is on our database, I remember.

KIM: Yeah. Hopefully I'm going to read her anyway, but so maybe we can move her up on our list anyway. Um, the second book I want to talk about is not, by a lost lady, but, it is A Strange and Sublime Address by Amit Chaudhuri and it's so wonderful, Amy. It's fiction. It's a story about a young boy who goes from where he lives in Bombay to his mom's family's house in Calcutta. And it's just the day-to-day life. And in the beginning I kept waiting for something kind of awful to happen, you know, that would drive the plot. It doesn't. Um, I don't think it's a spoiler alert to say this is just a wonderful slice of life, a memory of a child, and it's just transcendent. It's wonderful. And then my third book that I just finished last night is Summer Will Show by Sylvia Townsend Warner. We just did an episode on her this year. It's Episode 158, if you want to go back and give that one a listen, if you haven't heard it, on the novel Lolly Willowes. This one is a historical novel. It's set during the French Revolution of 1848. 

AMY: Ah, Les Mis! 

KIM: Yes, I was gonna say. So, it starts out in England, and I'd say the first part is very almost Henry James in some ways because there's this aristocrat, Sophia. She's a heroine, um, it's very psychological, I would say, that's what makes me think of it as Henry James-esque, like, just trying to figure out what she thinks, what she's doing, why she's reacting to things the way she is. But then she heads over to Paris because she has a philandering husband there. And then that's when it turns into Les Mis slash A Tale of Two Cities, and so that's a whole other section, like living in Paris and, you know, lots of adventures happened to her there. And I just thought this was a wonderful historical novel. I absolutely loved it. And I texted you as I just started getting into it, I'm like, this book is amazing. So you would love it, I think. 

AMY: Not at all like Lolly Willowes.

KIM: No, totally different.

AMY: Um, and this is also making me think because we have an upcoming book that we're going to be doing an episode on that is also sort of about the years after the 1848 revolution, but in Germany. That's coming up in early July. So I'm into that 1848 revolution all over Europe. 

KIM: Oh, that's perfect. So yeah, you should read this. It's very interesting. 

AMY: I remember when Les Mis first came out, I thought it was about like the French Revolution with Marie Antoinette. I didn't even put together that there was another one.

KIM: Totally. I think a lot of people do that, and that's why I mentioned the year, because it's a huge time and a lot of stuff happened in that. Speaking of the original French Revolution, when I was in France for three weeks, one time I brought Hilary Mantel's A Place of Greater Safety with me, which is set during that initial French Revolution, and it's really amazing. Have you read that one?

AMY: No, I've only ever read her Henry VIII, like the Tudor stuff.

KIM: Yeah. It's very different, I would say, than Wolf Hall, I guess, but I loved it. Yeah. She's so amazing. 

Anyway, what about you? 

What have you been reading? 

AMY: So you mentioned Sylvia Townsend Warner, diving into somebody we've already done an episode on. I just recently did the same. Well, first of all, a little backstory here. I decided, and we've talked about this, Kim, I want to not be doing stuff on my phone that's making me feel gross. I don't like getting my news that way anymore. And I'm trying to limit social media.So I need something else for when I'm going to pick up the phone. So I put Kindle on there. Um, even though it's like a small way to read it. So I was looking for another Rosamond Lehmann title.

KIM: Oooh, we did Dusty Answer. I loved that book!

AMY: Yeah. And I've been wanting to check out some of the other titles and I found The Weather in the Streets. So I'm only about 10 percent of the way through that. But It almost reminds me a little bit of that Angela Milne book One Year's Time. 

KIM: One Year's Time. Yeah, okay. 

AMY: She's on the train going home and across the seat from her she realizes it's the brother of her best friend growing up, and so they kind of reconnect and they're having on the train this very flirty kind of conversation. The dialogue reminded me a little bit of One Year's Time. I don't know where it's going. I think it's going to get more messy and complicated because he's married. But that's my little, like, have my phone and I have 15 minutes here and there. 

KIM: Yeah. By the way, I have to say that you inspired me ever since we talked about that. I've been doing the limit too. And it's just, it's making a huge difference. So I'm so glad that you brought that up. It's been great for me too. 

AMY: Okay, I've also this spring, I've read a couple of books by Sigrid Nunez, um, The Vulnerables, which is her COVID book. about being in lockdown. She wound up getting asked to pet-sit a parrot in New York City, and then she kind of got stuck with this bird a little bit because it's like the owners couldn't get back. It's interesting and funny. But then I also read her book, I think it's from 1998, it's a very short little book called Mitz. And it's about Virginia Woolf and Leonard Woolf's pet marmoset who was named Mitz. And, um, if you are a Patreon member and you listened to last week's episode, then you will know that Mitz features into this.

KIM: I have to say my dad's brother and his wife before I was born, and I think maybe this was back in the 60s or something, they had a pet monkey and I guess, you know, it was kind of a thing. He had been in the Navy and so, I don't know, but anyway…

AMY: It was a thing! I call them like the golden doodles of a century ago. Everybody had one. Um, I also finished the new biography of Carson McCullers by Mary V. Dearborn. Very interesting book. Carson sounds like quite a handful. I don't know if I could deal with her for more than like 20 minutes at a time. Um, but I am going to be talking about her in an upcoming bonus episode as well for Patreon, so look out for that. Another book that I'm reading slowly is by a Swedish lost lady of lit who happens to be the first woman to ever win a Nobel Prize in literature. That was 1909. The author is Selma Lagerlof, and the book, which was written in 1891, is called The Saga of Gosta Berling.

KIM: Wait, are we going to do an episode on this?

AMY: Maybe. So I want to give a shout out to one of our listeners, Carolyn Poselthwaite, for recommending this to me. And I kind of want to do an upcoming episode just because my mother in law, Pooky, is of Swedish descent, so I know she would…

KIM: Hi, Pooky!

AMY: Yes, I know she's listening. She would be fascinated by a Swedish author. But also, I know a few people here from Sweden, like, born in Sweden. And they were both like, “Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Everybody reads that in school.”

KIM: So it's not lost in Sweden. It's only lost here.

AMY: No, it's not lost at all. It's taught in schools. But here's what's funny. It starts off with a priest who is a raging alcoholic.

KIM: Okay. Oh!

AMY: And drinking too much. I don't know if he's a clergyman of some sort. So the people in his community get him, ousted from their community and he goes on to become a cavalier, with a group of other, uh, men at the estate of this very wealthy woman. The woman's kind of a badass, but these men are conspiring. They make a pact with the devil to sort of take her down. It just seems like a very funny topic for children to be reading about. It's kind of allegorical.

KIM: Uh-huh. I feel like if we do an episode, we need a guest of Swedish descent who read it in school so we can get that insight. 

AMY: It was made into a movie starring Greta Garbo i, I haven't gotten far enough in to really get to the story yet, but, um, we'll see. I'm gonna throw out a few lost ladies here that I'm reading, and I kinda want feedback from listeners, like, what do you guys want to hear about? So that leads to my next book, which I read earlier this year, The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall. Written in 1928. The only thing I knew about this going into it was it was one of the first quote unquote “lesbian” novels because the main character is you know coming to terms with the fact that she's attracted to women, and what does that mean and struggling with it. And it was shocking at the time, obviously. I don't think the word gay is even used. The main character, Stephen Gordon (they named her Stephen because they thought she was going to be a boy) but she calls herself an invert, which would have been the term at the time. It's such a good book, Kim! You will love it so much. She's an amazing character. It's so poignant, because of all the conflicting emotions she's going through. Her mom is awful, but her father is perhaps the greatest father I've ever read in a book. I mean, just, he's my favorite father I've ever read in a piece of literature. Yeah, please read it and then let me know if we can do it for an episode because I just loved it so much and also I listened to the audio book. So sometimes when you get a really good reader, it just makes all the difference. And the woman reading this one just was fabulous. So, um, Then the last one I'll mention is The Copenhagen Trilogy by Tove Ditlevsen. So this trilogy has always daunted me because you hear trilogy and you're like, “I don't have time for this.”

KIM: It’s a big commitment.

AMY: Yeah. It's not though. 

KIM: Mm hmm. 

AMY: The trilogy is about the size of one novel.

KIM: I've been wanting to read this actually, for a long time. I need to do this.

AMY: The three books are divided into titles called Childhood, Youth, and Dependency. And it's set like right in the build up to World War Two and it's about her wanting to become a writer and just life and you know all the stuff she's going through. And then Dependency, though, that third book, is crazy because she delves into her drug dependency, and it's probably the most grueling portrayal of drug addiction that I've ever read. Like Trainspotting-ly intense. 

KIM: Have you read the Patrick Melrose novels?

AMY: I read some of those and it's, it's that, like, yikes. But this is, I mean, her life. It's based on her life. And Ditlevsen did eventually take her own life because she just couldn't beat this battle. But, um, yeah, not as long as you might expect. So don't be daunted by The Copenhagen Trilogy. So if any of these have piqued your interest and you want us to focus a full episode on them, please let us know. And if you want to give us any recommendations for Lost Ladies or books that you love, reach out to us. We keep a database for future episodes. So when we hear titles that you guys throw out, we are writing them down. 

KIM: Yeah. Yeah. Yep. We're keeping track of them. Yep. And we could even maybe do a poll or something. when this episode goes live. Um, yeah. Anyway, there's never enough time to read all the books we want to read. There's too many great women writers. But that's all for today's catch up episode. We're going to be back in two more weeks with another full episode. And in this one, we'll be discussing a famous female screenwriter who is often preferred to remain in the shadows. We're talking about the elusive comic genius, Elaine May.

AMY: Yes, super interesting episode and a little bit of a departure for us since she is more in the movie arena. Next week I'll also be offering up another bonus episode to our Patreon members. And remember, you can get two extra episodes each month. It breaks down to just $3 an episode. I'm thinking, Kim, that I would like to discuss next week something we learned recently from Anne Boyd Rioux, our past guest, about Marcel Duchamp's famous urinal sculpture. There's a debate over whether a woman actually deserves credit for that piece. So I'm going to be diving into that. And I also will be talking about Judy Chicago's art installation, The Dinner Party.

KIM: Ooh, I can't wait to listen. Thanks for tuning in everyone. Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Amy Helmes and Kim Askew.

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191. Barbara Comyns — Our Spoons Came From Woolworths and The Vet’s Daughter with Avril Horner

KIM ASKEW: Hi everyone. Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to preserving the legacies of forgotten women writers. I'm Kim Askew here with my cohost, Amy Helmes.

AMY HELMES: While preparing to discuss this week's lost lady, the British novelist, Barbara Comyns, I found myself feeling fascinated but also mildly unsettled at the same time. Does that register at all with you, Kim?

 KIM: Well, yes, um, I'm thinking about two of her novels, which we're focusing on for this episode: Our Spoons Came from Woolworths and The Vet's Daughter. I think fascinating slash unnerving can apply to them both. Almost all of Barbara Comyns’s books feature vulnerable young women enduring traumatic ordeals, be it crushing poverty, abandonment, or abuse. Yet wit and woe sit side by side in her books, which were published between 1947 and 1989. They're dark, yes, but at the same time, there's also something almost effervescent about them.

AMY: Yeah, there's a remarkable quality about them where imaginative power and humor seem to effortlessly emerge, almost as if they're capable of levitating from within, sort of catching you by surprise.

KIM: Levitate. Now that's a term we'll be returning to later on in this episode. But let's start things off with our feet firmly on the ground, because there's a lot to discuss in the life of Barbara Comyns, who counted surrealists, spies, and a one-time romantic rival among her close friends.

AMY: Her life was not without its complications, messiness, and yes, stress, but with a sort of naïve pluck she powered through. As she once wrote in her novel, Mr. Fox, “In the back of my mind I was always sure that wonderful things were waiting for me, but I'd got to get through a lot of horrors first.”

KIM: And that line is actually an epigraph from a terrific new biography on Barbara Comyns by Avril Horner, who's joining us today for this discussion. So let's raid the stacks and get started. 

[intro music plays]

KIM: Our guest today, Avril Horner, is an emeritus professor of English at Kingston University in Southwest London. With a particular interest in women writers and Gothic fiction, Avril has coauthored and or edited numerous books, including Women and the Gothic, Living on Paper: Letters from Iris Murdoch, and Edith Wharton: Sex, Satire, and the Older Woman.

AMY: Avril's most recent book is Barbara Comyns: A Savage Innocence, published in March by Manchester University Press. British news outlet The Independent included this book in its list of the best nonfiction books to read in 2024 — amazing — and also declared that Avril's book is, quote, “an important intervention, ensuring Barbara Comyns’s name is not forgotten. But it's also a reminder that writers' legacies need careful stewarding and are never guaranteed.”

KIM: Hear, hear! Don't we know it? Avril, welcome to the show and congratulations on this book. It's so great.

AVRIL HORNER: Thank you very much. I'm very pleased to be here.

AMY: So, Barbara Comyns wrote 11 novels, which were published across five decades. And the reception toward most of her books was initially mixed at best. It seems like sales were often underwhelming, and that's a fact that left Comyns discouraged until much later in her life when her work was given new consideration and began earning high praise.So Avril, when did you first discover Barbara Comyns, and what made you want to write her biography?

AVRIL: About 20 years ago my good friend Sue Zlosnik who worked on the gothic a lot, we were asked to write an essay on female gothic for a special issue of a journal. So we hemmed and hawed and thought about the usual suspects like Mary Shelley and Daphne du Maurier and Angela Carter. And then Sue said, “Ah, why don't we look at Barbara Comyns?” And I had not heard of Barbara Comyns 20 years ago, so I read The Vet's Daughter, and I was completely hooked. Absolutely mesmerized by this book. So we wrote the article, which was published, and then I went on to read everything else and got hold of the stuff that was difficult to get hold of through the British Library. And then I begin to think, you know, what an interesting life she led, how extraordinary that no one's written a biography. But I was very, very busy leading a research team and doing all sorts of things at university, so it had to wait until I retired. And then I decided I really did want to write her biography because I've always thought she's been left out of all those reclamations of women in the 20th century, like Elizabeth Jane Howard and Barbara Pym. She's not been reclaimed in the same way. So I thought, it's time to reclaim her. She is an extraordinary writer. Her work is like nothing else being written at the time. And I just thought, “Right, I'm going to get in there and write the first biography.” So that's what I did!

KIM: I love that it stayed with you over that time period and you came back to it. I think that probably doesn't happen so much. It's meant to be, right?

AVRIL: Yes.

KIM: So I love the subtitle, A Savage Innocence. It's so great. Um, can you talk about that description a little bit with regard to her work?

AVRIL: Yes, okay. It took me a long time to find the right subtitle. I played around with several. And then of course I read this introduction by Ursula Holden to the novel Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead, which was republished by Virago in 1987. And Ursula Holden described her In this way: “Barbara Comyns deftly balances savagery with innocence.” and I thought, that's it! That's what it is, that peculiar mixture of savagery and innocence in her work. There's an extraordinary range of mood and emotions in Barbara Comyns’s novels, but they're often focused through a very innocent young woman, or even a girl in some cases. And the experiences are presented very, very well, directly by this innocent person.  And also these young women who are so innocent and naive do actually harbor sometimes quite savage instincts. In Our Spoons Came From Woolworths, Sophia, the main character, when she sees her lover's wife, she thinks to herself, “I'd like to smash that beastly woman's face to a pulp.” So, behind these innocent women, there are these savage feelings. That peculiar contrast between innocence, naivety, and savage emotion is there in the books. It's also there in the main female characters, I think.

AMY: Yeah, I think it's that paradoxical way that she presents her world. It almost knocks you off balance a little bit reading it. So let's dive into her life a little bit. Barbara Comyns was born Barbara Bailey in 1907 in Bidford-on-Avon. She was one of six children in an upper-middle-class family whose home was Bell Court, a large country house on the River Avon. This all sounds pretty idyllic, but Avril, tell us a little bit more about the realities of her youth and how that would go on to shape her.

AVRIL: Um, it does sound idyllic on the surface. I've been to Bidford-on-Avon a couple of times. It's a beautiful village, and the house itself is really lovely. And it's still there, although it's lost a lot of the out houses. And at the back of the garden, there was the River Avon, so it was an idyllic setting. The children were also always well-dressed and well-fed, and they had lots of freedom in the garden. They played with each other endlessly. There were lots of pets. There were loads of dogs. A peacock that followed her father around. And her mother even had a pet monkey. So, it was an extraordinary household, but — and there are buts — she was never properly educated. The only one sent away to school for any length of time was the boy. So the girls suffered a series of governesses who were not very well-educated themselves. And she didn't have a secure emotional upbringing either, although, you know, materially it seemed very comfortable. Her mother had six children quite quickly and resented being a mother. You get the feeling she would like to have lived a more bohemian life and become an artist, but she didn't. So she tended to sort of send them off to the governesses and never really played with them and didn't really listen to them and was often short-tempered with them. So when Barbara was unhappy as a child, she would be more likely to turn to her sisters or her grandmother for emotional comfort than her own mother. And you can see echoes of that in the fiction, that often the relationships between mothers and daughters are very strained. For example, in The Juniper Tree, her late novel. Also, her father had a terrible temper. He could be very generous and kind, and he took the children out more than the mother did and paid more attention to them, but he had a terrible temper and did occasionally beat his wife and beat the children. He would explode. And that marks her fiction too. In The Vet's Daughter, there's a father who quickly becomes very angry and is a bit of a tyrant. So, um, it wasn't quite as idyllic as it might have seemed on the surface, her childhood.

KIM: So she was 15 when her formal education ended, and then at that point, I guess her father's finances were more precarious and she basically was expected to go off and support herself. She knew she wanted to be an artist, and she worked briefly, I guess, as a kennel maid in Amsterdam, but then she moved to London, enrolled in art school, and she ended up living this classic bohemian lifestyle that her mom may have wished that she had, right, Avril?

AVRIL: Yeah, that's absolutely right. In 1929, she signed up at an art school called Heatherley’s in London, which is a private art school, which still exists. Barbara was very serious about wanting to be an artist. She had in her head she wanted to be a sculptor. Her father had left her a bond which matured, so she could pay for the first two terms, and she loved being there, but the money quickly ran out. She shared a bedsit when she was at Heatherley's with her sister, Chloe. A very, very small apartment, and they didn't have much money between them. Chloe moved out to become a lady's companion, which is what many young middle class women did, and Barbara was left in this flat she couldn't really afford. So she moved to a smaller flat. But in 1930, uh, John Pembrton, who both she and her sister knew vaguely from childhood, he came to London too, and he signed up as an art student. And perhaps because they were both a bit lonely, they became good companions, and then they became lovers. And they moved into a flat in Hampstead before they got married, although they kept their [respective] flats on to preserve respectability until the marriage day. They were very much in love and they enjoyed the bohemian life of London. John's uncle by marriage was a man called Rupert Lee, and he introduced them to all sorts of famous people in Fitzrovia, an area where artists and writers mixed. So they met people like Dylan Thomas, the poet, Paul Nash, who's famous for his woodwork, uh, Nina Hamnett and Victor Pasmore and Augustus John, who was lauded as a great painter. So she enjoyed that milieu for a while, even though they were poor, and in fact it became a badge of honor, you know? If you were a really serious artist, you didn't mind poverty. You embraced it as part of your outward struggle to become an artist. They were very young. John was 21 and Barbara was 23, and they intended to embark on this wonderful life of being artists, but it didn't quite work out that way.

AMY: Right. And so all of this, you know, romantic but sort of miserable poverty coincides with Barbara's highly autobiographical second novel, Our Spoons Came from Woolworths, which she wrote actually when she was in her 40s and looking back at this earlier time, and it was published in 1950. The novel begins with 21-year-old Sophia Fairclough marrying an artist. As in the novel, Barbara really did have a pet newt in the pocket of her tweed suit at her wedding, which is such an unforgettable detail of that book.

KIM: I love that. Yeah.

AMY: Also in the novel, Sophia and her husband began their married life very poor, but happy. And I thought, based on the book's title, that this was going to be some sort of cheery, you know, maybe slightly quirky story about domestic life. But it's really not that. Avril, why don't you sketch out some of the ways that Barbara's, and ergo, the fictional Sophia's, life soon falls into chaos.

AVRIL: Well, one of the first things that happens is that Sophia becomes pregnant, much to her husband's horror, just as Barbara became pregnant only a few months after marriage. And in the novel, Sophia thinks to herself, “I had a kind of idea that if you controlled your mind and said, I won't have any babies,’ very hard, they most likely wouldn't come. I thought that was what was meant by birth control. I mean, this always makes me laugh.

AMY: Oh my god.

KIM: That's the naive part right there!

AVRIL: I suspect that that was the case with Barbara, too. Um, in those days, you know, sex education was not a thing, and women often found out by bleak experience how things worked. So Barbara became pregnant a few months after they married. John was horrified because he wanted to be a great artist and didn't really want to be a father. He was only 21 or so. But their son, Julian, was born in March 1932. Now John was so insistent on his own career as an artist that he refused to go out and find work to support his wife and their little boy. He just insisted on painting all the time, hoping for more commissions. But this, if you remember, is the beginning of the Depression: 1932. So people weren't buying paintings, and they got poorer and poorer. So it fell to Barbara, really, to try to make some money. And she managed to get work as an artist model. She remained beautiful all her life, so it wasn't difficult. But she was rapidly becoming disillusioned with John, her husband, because he wasn't helping. And she was frustrated that she was unable to fulfill her own talent and she didn't have time to paint or sculpt because they didn't have money. He took all the money for his paints, and she was out trying to earn some money to feed the three of them. And she became pregnant again in 1934, and they had a discussion, and in fact, she and John borrowed some money and Barbara had an abortion because they felt they simply couldn't afford to feed another small mouth. And that abortion episode goes into a couple of novels, and it was clearly something I think that haunted Barbara. you know. 

AMY: We talk about her innocence, but then weigh that against the fact that she's being the adult in this relationship. She's the breadwinner. She's the one that's saying, I’ve got to abandon my own artistic pursuits and make sure we have food on the table. And that's kind of interesting because she is in some ways like a little girl, and yet she's the one that's holding it all together.

AVRIL: Yes. I think it was a process of rapidly growing up, you know, those first few years of our marriage.

KIM: Yeah. So she does such a great job of portraying that in the novel and giving you a feeling for what that was really like. So when we get to the maternity ward scenes in the novel, (because then Sophia has two children in the novel, a son and a daughter) and the maternity ward scenes are very intense. Avril, would you be willing to read a short passage from the book so listeners can hear some of it?

AVRIL: Yes, of course. Just to contextualize it, Sophia goes into labor and her husband takes her to a hospital, but in those days the husbands were shooed away, you know, once the woman arrived at the door. This is before the National Health Service kicked in in 1948. So she describes in the book how Sophia is whisked away by various people and then taken by a nurse to have a bath. But because she's actually in labor by now, she feels she really can't climb into that bath. So she splashes the water about to make herself wet, to pretend she's had a bath, and then a nurse comes back and works out that she hasn't actually got in the bath and calls her “a dirty, dirty woman.” This is the beginning of lots of horrible scenes. And she's carrying a suitcase all the time, so she's taken off to another room, and the pains keep coming, and it's very difficult to keep still while they're asking her all these questions, and then, of course, she's shaved, and she has disinfectant put on her pubic area which makes her jump with pain but she says in a way it was a relief because it was a different sort of pain from the labor pain. It distracts her for a while. And I'll read from there:

I lay in bed for about an hour and kept shivering. The pain did not seem quite so bad now I wasn't being disturbed all the time. Unfortunately, a maid came with some tea and bread and butter on a tray. I took one look and was sick all over the bed. The nurse in charge of the ward came and looked at me disgustedly and asked why I hadn't asked for a bowl to be sick in. I was taken out of the labour ward and put in another room, all by myself. I carried my horrid case, which appeared every time I was moved, although it disappeared every time I got into bed. Two nurses came and examined me. I heard one say it would be about two hours before the baby came. Two more hours seemed an awful long time. The pains got much worse again, and I tried saying “Lord Marmion” [the poem], but they told me to be quiet. I longed to cry out, but knew they would be angry, so I bit my hands. There are still the scars on them now. My hands seemed to smell of Grapenuts, and I remembered a white dog we used to have when we were children and she kept having puppies all the time — I felt very sorry for her now. They gave me a bowl to be sick in and I managed not to get any on the bed, but without any warning the wicked castor oil [they'd given me] acted and I was completely disgraced. The nurse was so angry. She said I should set a good example and that I had disgusting habits. I just felt a great longing to die and escape, but instead, I walked behind the disgusted nurse, all doubled up with shame and pain. 

Then she's taken to yet another ward. 

Suddenly it changed, and I was on a kind of trolley. The next place I found myself was a brilliantly lighted room, with two doctors and a nurse. As soon as I arrived in the room I could tell they were going to be kind. I was lifted off the trolley on to a very high kind of bed-table arrangement…. I explained to the nurse that I kept being sick all the time, but she didn't seem to mind. Every time I had a great pain she made me pull a twisted sheet that was fixed to the head of the bed in some way, and she would say, “Bear down, Mother.” I tried to explain that I wasn't a mother, but couldn't get it out. In between the pains they asked me questions, so they could fill in even more forms….

There was one dreadful thing — they made me put my legs in kind of slings that must have been attached to the ceiling; besides being very uncomfortable, it made me feel dreadfully shamed and exposed. People wouldn't dream of doing such a thing to an animal. I think the ideal way to have a baby would be in a dark, quiet room, all alone and not hurried. Perhaps your husband would be just outside the door in case you felt lonely… One of the doctors stood by my bed and said he would give me something to put me to sleep in a minute, and the nurse kept urging me to bear down and I could feel everyone trying to hurry me up. Then I was enveloped in a terrific sea of pain and I heard myself shouting out in an awful, snoring kind of voice. Then they gave me something to smell and the pain dimmed a little. The pain started to grow again, but I didn't seem to mind. I suddenly felt so interested in what was happening. The baby was really coming now and there it was between my legs. I could feel it moving, and there was a great tugging in my tummy where it was still attached to me.Then I heard it cry, so I knew it was alive and was able to relax. Perhaps I went to sleep. The next thing I knew was the doctor pressing my tummy, but although it hurt, it didn't seem to matter. 

I asked the nurse what kind of baby it was and if it was perfect. She said, of course it was, but I asked her to make sure it had all its fingers and toes. She laughed, and said it was a lovely little boy, rather small, but quite healthy. 

I couldn't help crying when I heard it was a boy, because I knew there wasn't much chance of Charles liking it, now it was a boy. He particularly disliked little boys. I longed to see the baby, but they said I couldn't yet. It has stopped crying, and I was worried in case it was dead. So I cried about that too.

KIM: Unforgettable.

AVRIL: Yeah. 

AMY: The first time I read it, I felt physically ill. Listening to it again, tears kind of welled up in my eyes again. And I realized things have not changed that much. Because I went through some of those same things, of knowing I was going to get sick and I was holding my baby and there was no one to get me a bowl and, um, I remember at one point, after I had my daughter, like an hour or so after the delivery, my doctor came back into the room and she was the first person that had been kind to me, I would say. And I just started crying and she said, “Why are you crying?” And I said, “Thank you for being nice to me.” Those descriptions of like the rough and hurried nurses, that was very familiar to me. It's a shame that the medical system hasn't changed that much.

AVRIL: Yes, yes. Yes, I remember my second son was taken away immediately. I had just had a C-section and I was out of it. Um, but he was taken away because he was jaundiced, but I didn't see him for about two days. Other people saw him. And I was in a, you know, a knot of anxiety and sadness, you know? The third time around it was much better, but, uh, I think we've all had those experiences and the scars remain. 

KIM: Yeah. 

AMY: And the fact that she is so honest in her depiction, I mean, at the time that must have been unusual.

AVRIL: It was. It was extraordinary for 1950 to write in that way. Such frankness, I don't think I've come across it anywhere else, at that period. Having a child was often sentimentalized in magazines, you know, it was presented as the most fulfilling thing a woman would experience, having a child. The baby was a little treasure, you know, there was none of this stuff about postnatal depression or the difficulty of actually dealing with a little baby when you're deprived to sleep yourself. So, no, there wasn't much that was negative about childbirth or, you know, women becoming mothers at that time at all. And even today I think it's actually quite difficult for women to talk frankly about traumatic experiences in childbirth. They do occasionally, and women do publish things, but there is this, I think, conspiracy. I do it myself. You don't say to a young pregnant woman, “Oh my God, you're going to feel some pain.” You know, you wouldn't, because you wouldn't want anyone to be frightened. So there is a sort of benign conspiracy. But also I think there's a sort of social conspiracy of silence that some of the more difficult aspects of childbirth aren't explored fully.

KIM: I've been saying ever since I had my child that I wish there was a therapist right there, immediately after you gave birth, to talk you through what you've been through. But you're just expected to be thrilled at that moment and there's a lot going on. 

AVRIL: It's very common for me to have very conflicting emotions and be depressed or tearful after childbirth.  

AMY: So Comyns’s depiction of her own childbirth scene is… hard, but wonderfully written. There is some comedy too. I'm thinking about the moment where she thinks that cups of lemonade are being served in the clinic, not realizing it's a urine sample. Um, and then also when she winds up getting pregnant accidentally for the third time, Comyns writes that Sophia thinks, “Why should all these babies pick on me?” I laughed out loud at that moment in the book. So there is humor, but it derives from Sophia's misery, almost. And the writer Maggie O'Farrell describes it as, quote, “the disparity between tone and content,” which we sort of have talked a little bit about already. What do you think makes this formula so successful for her though, Avril? How does she pull this off? 

AVRIL: It’s interesting, isn't it? I think O'Farrell's phrase is absolutely right, that disparity between tone and content. You've got these naive young women, and so you laugh at them when they make these mistakes because it's comical. And we've all been caught out like that ourselves. But behind those young women is this author who's been through a lot herself. You know, she's been through abortions, suicide attempts and all sorts of things. So you have this knowing person behind the young woman. And she doesn't damn the characters who are cruel or insensitive. Or give lectures about them or preach to the reader about how one should behave. A lot of that taking people down a peg is done through humor.

KIM: Definitely. So, in Our Spoons came from Woolworths, Sophia takes a lover. He's a man named Peregrine. His real life equivalent in Barbara's life was an artist and critic named Rupert Lee. But the more fascinating relationship, which we learned about in your biography, is between Barbara and Rupert's other mistress, Diana Brinton. She and Barbara were what we'd say today as frenemies, right?

AVRIL: I think that's a very good term. It didn't occur to me to use that when I was writing the biography, but I think it sums up their very, very complicated relationship very well. Yes, her marriage was falling apart. This husband who wasn't providing anything for her was also having affairs himself. The marriage was falling apart and, uh, she was lonely. In 1934, she was seduced by Rupert Lee, John's uncle by marriage, who was 20 years older than her, and quite eminent in artistic circles in London. By November that year, Diana Brinton, who was Rupert Lee's partner, knew that he was having an affair with Barbara, of whom she was quite fond actually. They'd met socially many times, they had quite a lot in common, similar sense of humor, both liked art, discussing art. Now, Rupert had had several affairs, and Diana Brinton was used to sorting out his messy love life because he never really wanted to marry these women. But he had persuaded Barbara to believe that he would leave Diana for her. In 1935, Barbara became pregnant by Rupert Lee, and later that year in November, she had a little girl whom she called Caroline. For various reasons, she was absolutely sure it was Rupert's child. And Rupert had always said he'd wanted a child. He and Diana had no children. So she thought he would be delighted and that would put the seal on their relationship and he would leave Diana. But like many, many in that situation, Rupert suddenly became very evasive and Barbara fell into despair. She gradually realized that Rupert Lee would never leave Diana. And in 1936, Rupert confessed to Diana that he was the father of Caroline, Barbara's little girl. So by this time, Barbara was very frightened. Her marriage was falling apart. John was hardly around. Rupert wasn't going to support her. She now had two children. So she actually wrote to Diana saying how glad she was that she knew because she'd had to lie about things and it was better that things were in the open. Now, amazingly, Diana Brinton took this all very calmly. She, you know, she'd sorted out several affairs before. And she actually helped Barbara financially, quite a lot. But what she didn't want was Rupert to leave her, nor did she want a scandal to break onto the London art scene where they were very prominent. So in a sense, she bought Barbara off. She set her up as a landlady in a building, and she gave her money, gave her an allowance. So it was a peculiar relationship of helping Barbara, but keeping her within bounds. And she could be very calculating, Diana. She actually got her family doctor to sign a statement saying that Barbara was mentally unstable and would probably stay mentally unstable for the rest of her life. She also, through her lawyer, in exchange for money, got Barbara to give up the love letters Rupert Lee had sent to her, which proved that he was the father. And Diana burnt them, so that in the court of law, Barbara would have no evidence. Also the jury would be presented with this note that she was a mentally unstable woman. Diana was a very sophisticated woman, more sophisticated than Barbara in many ways. And it was a love hate relationship, because they were actually quite fond of each other. There were lots of rows, lots of very tearful scenes, but eventually their relationship settled down and they became friends again. And indeed it was Diana Brinton who introduced Barbara to her second husband, Richard Comyns Carr. If you look at the letters, there was, as well as emotional blackmail (and there's plenty of that between the two women) there was also a genuine affection and respect for each other. So I think frenemies is exactly the right word to conjure up that relationship. I've never come across anything quite like it before.

AMY: No, and so many of her relationships that you write about in the book are fascinating, but this was the one that fascinated me the most, and it is the stuff that truly soap operas are made of, right? And interestingly, Diana is not depicted anywhere in Our Spoons Came From Woolworths. But it was really eye opening for me to read that novel, as well as The Vet’s Daughter, to read those both alongside your biography, Avril. It's almost like having the reference book next to you, which is fun. Um, you know, Speaking of The Vet's Daughter, that one seems like it veers a little bit from her own experiences. It was her most critically acclaimed novel, and we were originally going to focus on Our Spoons Came From Woolworths for this episode and just leave it at that, but you suggested that we give The Vet's Daughter a look, and I'm so glad you did, because I actually liked this book even more than Our Spoons Came From Woolworths. 

KIM: I loved it too. It was great.

AVRIL: I wanted us to look at both novels, because she wrote 11 books and you can divide her fiction into what we would call realism (and I think I would put Our Spoons Came From Woolworths in that sort of realist category, as well as other books like, Sisters by a River and A Touch of Mistletoe.) But there are four of her books that make use of extraordinary effects we might describe as magical realist, or gothic, or uncanny. And those four books are Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead, The Vet's Daughter, The Skin Chairs, and The Juniper Tree. So I wanted us to look at both sides of her writing style, because they are very different. The Vet's Daughter isn't autofiction, if you want to use that word, the same way that Our Spoons came from Woolworths, or some of the others are. Shall I just summarize The Vet’s Daughter?

KIM: Yeah, that would be perfect. Yep.

AVRIL: Um, the plot centers on a 17-year-old girl called Alice Rowlands, who lives at home with her mother, who is dying, it seems, of cancer and her bullying father. Her father is a vet, but he's a very unpleasant vet who doesn't actually like animals. He sends a lot of them off to be, um, taken to bits and he gets paid for it. He's not a nice man at all. He's very bullying. And one of the awful first things that happens in the novel is that the mother who is dying is put down, you know. In the UK, we talk about “putting down” animals when they're old and ill, you know, the vet kindly puts them down. Well, her father “puts down” his wife with an injection, just as he would have put down a sick animal. And quite soon after he takes a mistress, Rosa Fisher, who works in the local pub. And she's a very brash woman, very loud-mouthed. And Rosa takes Alice under her wings and decides that she ought to see a bit more of life, and takes her to meet a young waiter she knows. This young waiter tries to rape Alice. It was a rape attempt, but she's absolutely traumatized by what happened. There's a nice cleaning lady called Mrs. Churchill, and she goes to Mrs. Churchill’s small house to take refuge there. And it's when she's in that house that she first levitates, and we'll look at that scene in a moment. Um, the novel turns very dark then, because the father, once he realizes his daughter can levitate, decides to make money out of it. He decides to exploit her talent. And I won't go into the details of the ending because, um, it is a very disturbing ending. Again, it takes your breath away. It's a very odd ending, but a very powerful ending. So shall we talk about levitation? Because that's something really extraordinary, isn't it?

AMY: Yes, absolutely. I mean, I just kept thinking about the idea of an out of body experience and… 

KIM: Yes. Trauma. 

AMY: It seems like she was writing this before that notion was really talked about.

AVRIL: Yes, I think that's absolutely right. You get it in Our Spoons Come From Woolworths, when Sophia falls ill with scarlet fever and she's on a bed and she feels as if she's going up in the air. That's, however, more recognizable. I mean I'm sure you've read, too, about people who are near death or seriously ill, who feel that they're rising out of their body and looking down. It's quite a common experience, which is well-documented, But in The Vet's Daughter, it's not just an imagined sense of being out of your body. She really seems to levitate. And I've talked to Barbara's son about this, and he said she insisted that levitation could happen. For her, levitation was a real phenomenon; rare, but possible. So, the first time that we see Alice levitating, it's after this rape attempt, when she's gone to Mrs. Churchill's house. And I'll just read a bit, because it's described very well.

In the night I was awake and floating. As I went up, the blankets fell to the floor. I could feel nothing below me – and nothing above until I came near the ceiling and it was hard to breathe there. I thought, ‘I mustn't break the gas globe.’ I felt it carefully with my hands, and something very light fell in them, and it was the broken mantle. I kept very still up there because I was afraid of breaking other things in that small crowded room; but quite soon, it seemed, I was gently coming down again. I folded my hands over my chest and kept very straight, and floated down to the couch where I'd been lying. I was not afraid, but very calm and peaceful. In the morning I knew it wasn't a dream because the blankets were still on the floor, and I saw the gas mantle was broken and the chalky powder was still on my hands. 

It's an extraordinary scene, and I think you can read it in whichever way you want, really. You know, if you want to believe in levitation, you can believe it really happened. But if you don't, you can read it as a metaphor for PTSD, you know, that she's rising above the horror of what she's experienced emotionally, if you like, that it's a coping device. And psychiatrists talk about some psychological dissociation often seen in abuse victims or someone who's been through trauma. And in that sense, I think she was well ahead of her time, you know? She was sort of writing about this sense of dissociation, metaphorically, if you like. I think it’s quite strange, and about nine years later, Marquez published that very famous book, One Hundred Years of Solitude, in which a priest levitates and a young woman disappears into the sky. And this was, you know, lauded as magical realism, breaking new ground in writing. But she was doing this before this book was published, in 1959. In some ways it's too crude to describe the book as magical realism or gothic or uncanny. She simply uses those effects. She weaves them in and out of a context that is realist.

KIM: Right. And there's so much cruelty in the novel. There's cruelty to animals. There's cruelty to Alice and her mother as well. 

AMY: Yeah, and I think we should point out to listeners, though, because you hear that and then you maybe think, “Oh, this isn't a book I would be able to get through. This would be too triggering or whatever.” I'm not sure why, but the experience of reading the novel is not awful, despite all the awful things that happen in the story. And I don't know how she accomplishes this. It's pretty remarkable, but I couldn't put it down. It's almost like I was able to disassociate from the horrible things and enjoy the beauty of the writing. 

AVRIL: I think that's right. I think that's my experience when I first read it too. I mean, another writer would have made this very grim, you know, it would have been dark and tragic all the way through, but she always interweaves humor into her novels. Barbara Comyns was a great fan of Dickens. You get this in Dickens, too. Dickens’s novels can be heartbreaking, but there are always these comic characters, sometimes caricatures, peppering the margins of the novel, who amuse and divert the reader. And Barbara does this, too. There are these moments of kindness and moments of humor that leaven the darkness of the story itself.

KIM: Can you talk a little bit about the kind of response the book got when it was published? Um, how did it sell in comparison to her other novels? 

AVRIL: Who was Changed and Who Was Dead really divided readers, and John Betjeman, the poet, who was quite an influential literary figure, gave it a terrible review. So, she was very worried about how this one would be received, but it did actually get a great deal of praise, from famous writers. Aldous Huxley and Graham Greene both wrote wonderful reviews, and it was generally very well-received in the press as something new and extraordinary that works, you know, against all the odds; a novel about levitation works and was convincing, both on the story level and emotionally. She was absolutely relieved. She was living in Spain at the time, but she came back to London to see her agent and to do various things shortly after it was published, and she was so relieved to find out that it had been well reviewed. And it wasn't like a bestseller today, you know. It sold reasonably well, but she never made a fortune from her novels. I think they're an acquired taste. And I do find she's a bit like Marmite in that she divides readers. 

AMY: No! We're not going to allow that metaphor! I refuse.

AVRIL: I chose this book for a book group, and I paired it with another book, it was quite different. And, uh, about two thirds of the group loved it, and the other third said, “Oh, no, we can't be doing with that,” you know. And her novels still divide readers, but for me, once you've read a Barbara Comyns book, you just don't forget it, you know? They stay with you.

KIM: Absolutely. Can we talk about how important Virago Press was to her ultimate success and her legacy?

AVRIL: Yes, Virago Press was a feminist press set up by Carmen Callil in 1973, um, its agenda was to bring back women's writing into the public eye, particularly women who'd been forgotten. And in 1978, Carmen Callil created a series called Virago Classics to do just that, to bring back forgotten women writers. And, um, she reissued The Vet's Daughter in that series in 1981. And she quickly reprinted Sisters by a River, which was Barbara Comyns's first book, Our Spoons Came from Woolworths, and The Skin Chairs, which is now out of print. Um, Graham Greene was slightly instrumental in this. Graham Greene pops up now and again in Barbara's writing career. After the war he became a part-time director at a publisher called Eyre and Spottiswoode, and he persuaded them to publish Sisters By A River. Later, Barbara's agent sent Graham Green the manuscript to The Vet's Daughter, and he thought it was terrific. It was then called The Long White Dress, but he persuaded Barbara to change the title to The Vet's Daughter, and he sent it to the chairman of Heinemann, who was his own publisher, and they published it. And in the early 1980s, he wrote to Carmen Callil and said, “I see you've got this new set of books coming out in this new series. Why don't you consider publishing Barbara Comyns?” And Carmen Callil had already been sent The Vet’s Daughter by Barbara's agent, but that persuaded her to look at the others too. So Barbara then became popular. People wrote to her saying, “Oh, I thought you were dead,” and “This is wonderful, you know, I can now get hold of this book in Virago Modern Classics.” And she had another wave of fame. She was interviewed on the radio, people wanted to see her and wrote to her, “When was her next book coming out?” You know, suddenly she was alive again. And also the royalties brought her money, and she was delighted about that, because she was never rich. I mean, Richard Comyns Carr came from a very illustrious family, but he was hopeless with money, and they were often (even though he had a career in MI6) they were often a bit hard-up. So she was very pleased that this money came in during the 1980s. So Carmen Callill did her a great favor. Um, The Skin Chairs, which was reissued by Carmen Callil in that series, is now out of print, and it's one of my missions to get it reprinted if I can. I'd really like to see it back in print because it's a very powerful novel, but with humor in it as well, like all the others. So, uh, that's one of the next things I want to do.

AMY: Yeah, I remember having my interest piqued reading your book, when I read about the premise of The Skin Chairs. And also House of Dolls. That's another one that seems like it would be up my alley.

AVRIL: Yes, Graham Greene didn't like that one, but I don't think he understood it. I mean, now it's much easier for women of our generation to understand that it's actually a novel about women and money. And it's very, very funny and irreverent, um, irreverent about men particularly. And it's worth reading. The others I would urge listeners to perhaps find if they haven't read them are (if you like the realist stuff she writes) you'll also like A Touch of Mistletoe. If you're a fan of The Vet's Daughter, then you would also enjoy The Juniper Tree, which was her last novel. After A Touch of Mistletoe, she said she'll never write again, but she did. She wrote The Juniper Tree, which was published in 1985, which is one of her best novels, I think.

KIM: I can't wait to read more of Comyns’s work. I mean, this has just been fantastic. 

AMY: I just want to say, also, we've barely scratched the surface of Barbara Comyns. I mean, you mentioned her husband was in MI6, they were hanging out with, like, infamous spies. There is so, so much, we would need another full hour to cover all the interesting facets of her life!

KIM: You’ve got to read this book.

AMY: Yeah, so run out, everyone, and get Avril's biography. It's amazing. 

KIM: Avril, we just want to thank you so much for joining us today, and congratulations on the release of your wonderful book.

AVRIL: Thank you for having me. It's been very interesting to talk to you.

AMY: So that's all for today's episode. We'll be back next week with another bonus episode exclusively for our Patreon listeners. And I actually think that Barbara Comyns may have inspired me. I want to investigate some women writers who kept unusual pets. So feel free to join me for that discussion. And the rest of us can all meet back in two weeks to explore another lost lady of lit.

KIM: Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Amy Helmes and Kim Askew. 

189. Enayat al-Zayyat — Love and Silence with Iman Mersal

AMY HELMES: Thank you for listening to Lost Ladies of Lit. For access to all of our bonus episodes and to help support the cause of recovering forgotten women writers, join our Patreon community. Visit lostladiesoflit.com and click “Become a Patron” to find out more. 

KIM ASKEW: Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to unearthing forgotten classics by women writers. I’m Kim Askew, here with my co-host, Amy Helmes. 

AMY: Hi, everyone! Today we’re going to be discussing an Egyptian writer who wrote a single novel before, tragically, dying by suicide soon after it was rejected for publication. 

KIM: Enayat al-Zayyat’s novel, Love and Silence, was eventually published in 1967, four years after her death, but then her name seemed to virtually disappear from literary history. 

AMY: Fast forward 30 years to 1993 when poet and author Iman Mersal stumbled across the book in Cairo’s oldest book market and purchased it for one Egyptian pound.  

KIM: The novel haunted Mersal so much that in 2019 she wrote a biography on al-Zayyat in which she shares her decades-long journey to unravel the mystery of the novelist’s writing, her life and death. The English translation was published by Transit Books this April. 

AMY: It’s a fascinating story, and we’re fortunate to have Mersal on the show today to tell us all about it. So let's raid the stacks and get started!

[intro music]

KIM: Our guest today, Iman Mersal, is a poet, writer, academic, and translator. Born in the northern Egyptian Delta, she emigrated to Canada in 1999. Her book, Traces of Enayat, which was first published in Arabic in 2019, won the prestigious 2021 Sheikh Zayed Book Award, making her the first woman to win its Literature category. The author of five books of Arabic poetry, her most recent poetry collection, The Threshold, won the 2023 National Translation Award and was shortlisted for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Award. 

AMY: Iman, whom the New York Times recently called “one of the most consequential Egyptian authors of her generation,” is also the author of 2018’s How to Mend: Motherhood and Its Ghosts, and her work has appeared in The Paris Review, The New York Review of Books and The Nation, among other publications. She is an Associate Professor of Arabic Literature at the University of Alberta, Canada. Welcome to the show, Iman! We’re so glad to have you here.

IMAN MERSAL: I'm so happy to be here as well.

KIM: Okay, Iman, can you take us back to the fall of 1993, that's 30 years after al-Zayyat’s death, and tell us more about how you came upon Love and Silence? Because you initially thought it was written by someone else, right?

IMAN: Yeah. I found a novel with a plain gray cover by a woman named Enayat al-Zayyat, and I never heard this name despite the fact that I studied Arabic literature. So the first thing that came to my mind was, “She must be a younger sister or a cousin of a famous Egyptian novelist named Latifa al-Zayyat.” She published her first novel in 1960, Open Door, and the novel became a film three years later. She was a very famous, iconic writer. So I actually started to read a novel thinking she is just a relative who tried her hand in writing. I was, of course, mistaken. 

AMY: Okay, so you start reading the novel, Love and Silence. What's your response?

IMAN: At the very beginning, I was taken by the whisper voice in the novel and the language. Because Latifa al-Zayyat set the formula of a good novel written by an Arab female writer in the 20th century by writing Open Door in 1960. So the formula was basically to have the "woman question" and the "nation question," and they have to be mingling together. There is no separation between “women” and “nation.” With the Enayat al-Zayyat novel, it started with the death of a brother of the narrator, so I thought, “Oh, she will take some time, you know, a meditation with grief, and then she will go on to find this formula.” But it wasn't actually. The novel was more complicated, with so many layers. The language was very strange, as if she is translating it from another language. This is what fascinated me the most. She was not trained in Arabic literature to begin with. She studied in a German school, and her father used to sit with her daily to improve her Arabic language in terms of writing. So you can see the struggle in her writing. And what I want readers to know about the novel when it's translated into English (now there is a project that it will be translated) is really the language of the novel. In this particular moment, a female writer is trying to put this internal journey in Arabic language. I don't really treat this novel as a memoir at all, but you can see that it was typical of her journey actually; anxiety, depression, feeling alienated inside her own class, inside her own body. The novel is not the best novel you would read, of course, and it's a debut novel, so it has all of the problems of a debut novel, when the young writer wants to capture and to say everything, you know. However, there is this kind of genuine voice that for me was a great gift. I really did not read in Arabic a female voice like this until I read Love and Silence in 1993. 

KIM: And I just want to go back to that moment. You're in the bookshop, you find this book, you pick it up. It's totally unknown, and yet it's this voice when you read it that is completely unlike anything you've read. It's amazing.

AMY: And unfortunately for all of us English speakers, we have to wait a little while to get a copy of this. It's good to hear that this is going to be translated at some point. But I'll go ahead and read an excerpt from Love and Silence:

Out of the still calm of sleep I pulled myself into motion, wandered across the room and, standing by the window, brushed my discontent into the street. I sat down—looked out—paged through the book of life. My heart was heavy and to my eyes everything seemed old. People were damp yellow leaves and I was unmoved by them, by their faces, by the soft covers of their clothes. I felt at once imprisoned by this life and pulled towards new horizons. I wanted to pull this self clear, gummy with the sap of its surroundings; to tear free into a wider world. The clear skies of my country bored me. I wanted others, dark and muddied and threatening, capable of stirring fear and astonishment. I wanted my feet to know a different land.

KIM: I mean, gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. 

IMAN: I really want to just comment here. So see this last sentence, to find “a land,” you know, not her homeland. This was in the time when the dominant discourse in culture was talking about the homeland, the nation, the “best land ever,” the “most brilliant nation ever,” and so on and so forth. I just want to say, when you read something like this in this age and this environment, you feel as if it's really speaking to you directly.

KIM: Yeah, I mean, it's how I felt, I still do feel sometimes, but definitely felt really strongly in my 20s and, you know, my late teens. It's a beautiful way of putting it that I never could have, but that feeling of just wanting another experience so deeply and also that ambivalent feeling of discontent, but also excited about the potential future at the same time. I thought that was lovely. And your translations throughout the book, because that's our opportunity to get to hear her voice, are just wonderful. So I'm so glad that you wove them throughout your book.

AMY: Okay, so you're realizing right away, “Wait a second, this is a whole different ball game here and probably, possibly, not what I thought, not a relative of this other very iconic writer.” What information, then, were you able to uncover on al-Zayyat in your first attempts at research? 

IMAN: Right away, actually, I started to ask old writers whom I know from the Sixties generation, and I was very close to. I started to ask them about a woman named Enayat al-Zayyat or about the novel. And I was so taken aback that people did not know her. And when someone knows her, they would tell me very interesting things, like “her mother is German” or “she had to learn the Arabic language in order to write in Arabic.” One time someone told me, “Oh, she is absolutely the younger sister of Latifa al-Zayyat,” going back to my assumption. And this actually made me ask my first question, and it wasn't “Who is Enayat al-Zayyat?” It was why this novel has been excluded from the canon of Arabic literature, from lists about Arab female writers, Sixties writing, whatever. So this was the first question actually. What makes the canon celebrate or exclude or forget something?

KIM: Right, right. So this all sparked what eventually turned out to be this decades-long quest to learn more about al-Zayyat. And I want to read from your book, Traces of Enayat. You write, “There’s a kind of intense curiosity which possesses us when we encounter an author who is truly unknown—a branch cut from the tree with no date of birth or death in evidence—or when their writing offers no clues to the wider life of their generation, to their close friends or literary influences.”  I really love the use of the word “clues” here. Because I felt like your book is just this beautifully written real life mystery. Like a detective, you're sifting through all this evidence. It's often contradictory, as you said earlier. It's incomplete. And there's also this physicality to the search. You're digging through archival material, you're reaching out to al-Zayyat's friends and family. You're meeting some of them in person multiple times throughout this search, and you're even traversing the streets of Cairo, particularly its cemeteries. And I found that part especially interesting. I was Googling to see pictures of the cemeteries and learning more about how they're part of life there. I wanted to know if you could share something about that with our listeners so they can get a feel for that as well.

IMAN: Sure. Let me tell you first about geography in the book, because I really felt when you search for someone, and this person is absent in the official public archive, and her family got rid of so many things, including the draft of her second novel, as we can talk about later… when you are searching for almost a ghost, it was, for me, geography that I can rely on. I wanted to know where did she live, die, work, and where is her cemetery? And here, a new relation emerged with Cairo, because I left Cairo in 1998. Of course, I go every year, but every year you go, places are disappearing, changing, and so on. But through the search for Enayat, I started to see the map of Cairo differently. So, for example, to find her old house in Cairo. I found out that I was living just two streets down from there, in the Dokki neighborhood. But the neighborhood was a bourgeoisie neighborhood, full of villas, trees, and very fancy during Enayat's life. But during my life, it became a middle class area, crowded, full of open markets in the streets and so on. The cemetery was very important for so many reasons.( I mean, I love what Saidiya Hartman said about visiting archives. She said to visit an archive is to go into a morgue. What do we see in the morgue? You see corpses. You see corpses that can't speak for themselves.) She was buried in what is known as the City of the Dead, right? It's more than four miles of different cemeteries and mausoleums, beautiful ones. However, with urbanization, poverty, migration from villages to big Cairo, people started to live there. So when you walk there, you are seeing people living there, children playing, you hear music, you smell food. So you can't see life and death coming that close to each other anywhere, I think, than like at this cemetery. However, I ended the book promising Enayat that I will visit her again and again. This is her place, the only place I am sure she is in. But guess what? In 2020 our government had a plan to build so many bridges and highways, and part of doing this was to demolish some of these beautiful cemeteries, which means even cemeteries are threatened to disappear.

KIM: There's just so much symbolism there. 

AMY: I was just going to say, it's so in keeping with Enayat's story. It just keeps happening time and again. And also these coincidences between her life and yours; you mentioned living in close proximity, but there's so many [coincidences] throughout the course of your book that kind of give you chills. 

KIM: Mm-hmm. 

AMY: It took you so long to work this all out that it was almost like time was giving you little morsels here and there, or Enayat was slowly dispensing the information to you. It's very interesting.

KIM: Yeah. I agree. So let's go back to Enayat’s life. What can you tell us about her early life, her childhood, her family?

IMAN: Her childhood can be seen through images, right? So, from her sister, Azim al-Zayyat, who died actually last year, it was a happy childhood. A devoted father, intellectual father, bourgeoisie family, the mother is a little bit tough, and, uh, controlling. From Nadia Lutfi, the iconic Egyptian actress who was a close friend to Enayat al-Zayyat, it wasn't that happy. Yes, the father was devoted, and Enayat was very close to her father, but she actually did not get along with her mother, because her mother was applying the bourgeoisie rules, and Enayat was struggling with depression, interested in writing and painting, not in salons and showing off. So whatever happiness and functionality of the family were there, she was struggling as a child, for sure.

KIM: So you mentioned Nadia Lutfi. Can you tell us a little bit about how you got in touch with Nadia and what she told you about their friendship? 

IMAN: So Nadia Lutfi is this kind of actress, she's an icon. I mean, think about Audrey Hepburn or something. We used to watch her movies on TV and in the cinema since I was a child. So the idea of reaching out to her was just terrifying. So I actually called the number I got from a friend who is a journalist, and I did not expect her to answer. But she answered. She has this hoarse voice because she was a heavy smoker, so I knew she was Nadia Lutfi right away. And we talked for one hour on this first phone call. And later on, I went to Egypt and I kept meeting her at least twice a year or so. And we continued talking and we would drink lots of whiskey, smoke lots of cigars together, stay up until almost the morning and she was sending me home with her driver, you know. So every time I was with her I just would feel, "I can't believe it. This is Nadia Lutfi!" 

AMY: Listeners, it's like Angelina Jolie or somebody like that and finding out that she has this childhood friend who was a lost lady of literature and she’s going to tell me all about it, and how intimidated you would be, but also how wild and crazy this must have been for you.

KIM: I mean, it's like Enayat led you to her.

AMY: Didn't Nadia say the same thing? 

IMAN: Yes, she said "She sent you to me."

AMY: Amazing. Okay, so let's move on in Enayat's story a little bit. She married an air force pilot at a very young age. She wanted to sort of get away from her childhood, and so she thought marriage was the answer. It was not, to say the least. What do you know, Iman, from your research about this marriage?

IMAN: It was a wrong decision. She was not happy. They were completely different. She felt suffocated, she wrote in her diary more than once. She asked for a divorce. And actually the whole thing was resolved after a few years, not by the court, but by her father speaking directly to the husband and convincing him to divorce her.

KIM: Okay, so she is separated from her husband, as you said. She's living in her father's house. There's an apartment on the floor above his. I believe it's an apartment. She's sharing custody of her young son with her husband. So this hasn't been resolved. What's going on there?

IMAN: In terms of custody, the father had the right to have full custody of the son when he reached the age of six. This was the law then, and the son was coming closer to this age, of course. So, Abassi al-Zayyat, al-Zayyat's father, built this beautiful villa in Dokki. And when she wanted to leave her husband and ask for a divorce, he built another apartment above the villa so she could have her independent life. And this is the space where she wrote Love and Silence. This is the space where she dreamed of obtaining an Optima [typewriter] machine so she can type. It was a very new trend, so she got one to type her novel. So what I'm trying to say is there are so many gaps to describe the three and a half years before her suicide. But we can fill these gaps by imagining her geography without really speaking for her. In the end, you are imagining. I don't want the question of why did Enayat commit suicide to be in the center of my book. Really, it wasn't. Maybe at the beginning I wanted to know, and I was fascinated with the idea that a young woman with a son, a beloved father, a friend like Nadia Lutfi, would commit suicide because her novel is rejected. I felt it's a tragedy, but it's a very interesting tragedy. It deserves to be known and researched. So I think really the rejection of the novel was the last straw. Her identity was as a writer and a mother, and both were going to be taken from her. She did not live, really, to her potential. 

AMY: The lack of archival information that was available on her did seem to impact how you thought about your own legacy as a writer and what you leave behind. You talked about that a little bit in your book.

IMAN: Yeah, I mean, you go through stages. In this case, one of them is “Oh, I want to keep my archives, my old papers and the diaries and you know drafts of books and blah blah blah.” And you go to your father's house, collect it and so on and so forth. But seriously, through my experience with Enayat, I feel now at least that the best way to protect our archive is to read other people's archives. It's to read the past. We read the past not to display it, not to talk about, for example, Enayat as a victim. No, she is not a victim. I was celebrating, all the time, the potential of Enayat as well. But it's actually to find this intersection and the connection between you and others. It could be a historical event. It could be a person. It could be a place, I don't know. But reading the past is our great way of actually reading the archive. Because if you go to the archive without a question, without a burning question, you will display it. You will talk about interesting things about Enayat, for example. It's not that way. I was actually reading my own archive while writing about Enayat. This is how I think about it.

KIM: I love the way you put that.

AMY: You also have a really interesting section towards the end of your book. It's almost an aside, where you address all these other women writers from the past. And you talk to them individually, and then you say “I want to tell a story right now. I want to light a candle for Enayat, and I want to talk about the day she decided that life was unbearable.” That was such a beautiful and poignant section of your book, and I think it kind of ties into what you just said about reading the past.

IMAN: Yeah, it's usually really the question of how to tell a story, either our story or someone else's. So, talking about this chapter, I was almost visualizing every day the last few days of Enayat's life. But how to write it is just so difficult. Am I going to write it as a prophet who saw what happened or someone who is imagining? I felt there was a heavy weight of reaching this moment of a young woman standing in front of the mirror, desperate, feeling “I don't want to be here anymore.” And then a moment happened that it's January 3rd. I'm in bed already. And then I realized it's Enayat's birthday. I went to my studio behind the house, and then something opened up. I saw all of these books, because I was searching them as well, of female writers older than Enayat, next to hers on my big desk. And this is the moment when you feel so connected to the past. It's not just Enayat. It's not just me. It's all of these women here. They existed. Lots of them are forgotten. And it's a moment to celebrate one of them, their life. So it's really finding the way to tell a story that is always the most fascinating thing in writing. 

AMY: Yeah. I love that moment of, like, it just all came together for you when you saw the books. I feel like we haven't done her writing enough justice yet on this episode. And so I want to read another passage from her journal. So there wasn't much available from her journals, right? But this passage that you included in your book just stopped me in my tracks. I'll preface it by  saying that Enayat, she would often refer to herself in the third person in her diaries. So this is her talking about her decision to get married when she was young:

She entered a marriage without love, without mutual under-

standing, without compatibility. The possibility of such things had

never occurred to her. Her only thought was to escape the discipline

and constraints of school.

So the paradise of infancy closed its gates and the doors of a

premature young adulthood swung open. Young adulthood? Just

adulthood. And she chose wrong. She went through the wrong door,

the one that opened onto a desert, onto wastelands devoid even of

mirages, and she looked back to find that the door had vanished, and

now there was no way home that she could see. Bewildered, she wept.

Wretched and lost, she wept. And then she took heart and resigned

herself. Resigned herself, and in doing so discovered an extraordinary

capacity to endure. She saw herself as a camel, ruminating on all

the happy moments of the past, chewing them over slowly, slowly in

the midst of that brutal desert. And then? Then the provisions ran

out, the past was finished, and the camel needed something new to

chew on. But there was nothing to be had except despair, yellow as

the sands, and her body wasted away and her soul thinned and she

began to call for deliverance, began to scream for help. Suddenly she

saw that her home was built on shifting sands and the harder she

worked to save it the deeper and deeper it sank, and she pleaded for

salvation, for help from God, from Fate, from everything. Caught

up in her wild inquiry, she had forgotten that no one was coming

to save her because she was the only one who could do it. The first

impulse must be hers. Then she saw the key, the key of deliverance

that hung at her neck and in her soul, in the spirit within her, and so

she rose to her feet and, opening the door, she stood on the threshold

and filled her lungs with life, with the rich fragrance of youth, the

scent of spring and freedom. There on the threshold she cast off her

old, cracked hide, gashed and knotted, saturated with fear, and took

her first steps in new skin, free and uninhibited. She was brave, she

was steadfast, she relied on herself.

I mean, I cannot wait to read this novel, Love and Silence, based on that passage alone from her diary! If this is how she was writing…I know you're saying it's not “the greatest novel ever,” but this writing right here is pretty damn good. 

IMAN: And this is really what makes literature great. I mean, you don't have to write the best novel on earth, but you can talk about it as a work that has real impact on you, that can speak to you. And this is what we should appreciate about literature, actually, more than anything else.

AMY: Absolutely. al-Zayyat died on January 3rd, 1963. And you imagine her final day in Traces of Enayat, but we'll never truly know exactly what happened. We do know that she left a note to her son and took an overdose of pills. It was four years after her death that Love and Silence was finally published. How did that happen and what was the response to the book?

IMAN: Enayat's father and Nadia tried to publish the novel more than once, and they kept waiting for this publishing house to bring his book out. When the book came out, it was March, 1967. Some of our best critics at the time wrote about the novel and how beautiful it is and how sad that the novelist is dead. And I got to know this later when I started the archival search. However, the 1967 war took place in June, like three months after the novel was published. And if you go through not just the Egyptian, but Arab newspapers, from the war and for at least a year, everything was about the defeat, was about the war, was about what's next. It was rare to even see book reviews in these newspapers and magazines. So I think there was kind of bad luck, but also the question for me was really why this novel did not impact other Arab female writers of the time? They kept using the formula of women/nation. Big issues and so on. I think it wasn't included in the literary scene. It wasn't talked about enough. It wasn't taught in schools like other novels and so on.

KIM: You discovered, as you briefly mentioned earlier, that there was a second novel in the works, and that adds really to the sense of loss there. What do you know about that novel?

IMAN: So in Enayat's diary, or to be specific, in the independent separate papers that survived from her diary, there were actually two or three pages that I didn't understand at the beginning at all. She wrote the name of “Ludwig Keimer” with another two German names. When I searched them, Ludwig Keimer was a very famous Egyptologist who was born in 1892 in Germany, and he escaped in 1928 to come and live in Egypt. And he lived in Egypt until he died in 1957. And just a year after he came to Egypt, he became involved in the culture and the Egyptology scene in Egypt with other scholars. So he was involved in cataloging the National Egyptian Museum. He got Egyptian national citizenship, and so on and so forth. So, the name was just a mystery for me, but there was also more than one address in her diaries that didn't make any sense. And in my search, I was successfully connecting the address to Keimer and to his other German friends. So when it came to my attention that she was writing a novel about Keimer, I became absolutely all over the place searching for any draft. I found, actually, some pieces of the draft of the novel. And I kept imagining that Enayat was trying to do with Ludwig Keimer exactly what I am doing with her now. So when she worked in the German Institute of Antiquities, she was bored, actually. She felt it's a useless job, but I have to take it. She used to make fun of herself as a woman who is working in bookshelves, but actually she became so fascinated with his life. Because this guy had a great collection of books, manuscripts, paintings, maps, and the Institute bought all of his materials, and his collection was just amazing. And she was working on classifying this material, since she knew German. So she became fascinated with his life. So I think this was a potential way to go out of your crisis, right? And through Keimer's life, I imagine that she was trying to reposition herself in her own life. She didn't finish the novel, of course.

AMY: Right. His story was an escape for her. Yeah. 

IMAN: Yes. The story of lonely Jewish intellectuals and scholars in Egypt is just fascinating. All of those who escaped the Nazis to come, and they became really a part of the society, an important part of the society. Every one of them needs a book. But I wish someone will write…

AMY: [interrupts] How much time do you have, Iman? How much time do you have? 

IMAN: I don't! It's not my project. But I feel like sometimes I have this feeling, especially in Cairo, because it's my city. I feel if I move a stone in the street, I will find a story. So it's not about the interesting stories, it's about which story is really part of you. Because it takes years, you are right, to tell one story. Every time you start the project, you are 60 pages into a draft and then you feel, “No, this is not what I want to do.” Like walking in a street and finding a wall in front of you and you have to reboot. And I'm actually engaged with Enayat because of poetry, because this is what touched me. In her whispering voice is this kind of poetic power. And I'm asking my questions about her, but I don't want to speak for her. So it's not a biography. It's not an academic work. It's not a history book, right? It's everything together. I wasn't able to write the book until it came to me in an enlightening second, that the story of my search for Enayat al-Zayyat is a book, not a particular genre. And I will have freedom to go with whatever genre that can express what I want to say. And this was a moment that the book really opened itself.

AMY: I think you chose perfectly in that. It's so much more interesting than just reading a cut-and-dry biography of what you could find about her life. And the missing pieces almost spurned you on to have to get creative in that way. And when you're talking about writing and hitting a wall, hitting a dead end, that literally was happening to you in Cairo! You were trying to look for her childhood home and being like, “Wait, the street's not here!” And having to talk to doormen and figure out where the street is now because it moved. So it's very fascinating to read your book. I absolutely loved it. 

KIM: Same. Definitely. It's a wonderful book. 

AMY: So we hope that there's a renewed interest in Enayat al-Zayyat, thanks to your book, Iman, and Kim and I are both so glad that through her, we've been introduced to your work. Listeners, there are so many intriguing twists and turns to Iman's journey in telling Enayat's story. It's quite a ride and well worth reading. Thank you so much for joining us on the show today. We truly appreciate your time. 

IMAN: Thank you for having me. This was fun.

KIM: Yeah, it was a real pleasure to get to talk to you and talk about this wonderful book. So that's all for today's show. Thanks for joining us and we invite you next week to listen to our Patreon episode on Ina Eloise Young. She was one of America's first female sports reporters and likely the first sports editor of a daily American newspaper.

AMY: I will also be fangirling a little over Caitlin Clark in that episode and recounting my own brief history as a sports reporter. If you want to get in on that and all of our twice-monthly bonus episodes, go to lostladiesoflit.com and click “Become a Patron.” And shout out to our newest Patreon members, Simon Sleighton and Julia Valentine. Thank you for your support. 

KIM: Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Kim Askew and Amy Helmes and made possible by listeners like you. 

187. Kay Boyle — Fifty Stories with Anne Boyd Rioux

This transcript was generated with the use of AI and may contain errors.

KIM ASKEW: Welcome to another episode of Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off forgotten women writers. I'm Kim Askew, here with my co host, Amy Helmes.

AMY: Of today's lost lady, the writer Studs Terkel once said in an interview, "Why is Kay Boyle not better known? Things are out of joint when someone like Kay Boyle is not as celebrated as she should be."

KIM: Okay, so it sounds like we are much overdue in devoting an episode to her.

AMY: Yeah, and we've been kind of talking about doing this one for a while, but I kept kicking the can down the road a little bit. I mean, the scope of her life, the scope of her writing, the circle she ran in…it's not something that you can easily distill down to a 40-minute episode. This is a woman who was hanging out with Left Bank artists and literary giants in 1920s Paris, who wrote about the buildup to and ravages of World War II a few decades later, who was blacklisted in the 1950s, and then who in the 60s and 70s was at epicenter of Haight-Ashbury protests and picket lines. And that's not to mention her personal life, which is equally storied.

KIM: Right. So it's no surprise, then, that her writing really covers the gamut too. Whether she's writing about a young girl witnessing racism in Atlantic City or from the point of view of resistance fighters in the French Alps, at the heart of Kay Boyle's prose is a yearning for human connection in the midst of darkness. Boyle wrote more than 40 books, including 14 novels, eight volumes of poetry, and 11 collections of short fiction. As you said, Amy, it's a lot to try and cover, but we're going to do our best. Luckily, we have a returning guest today who knows a lot about Kay Boyle, and she's going to help us navigate all that.

AMY: Yeah, we've got a lot to cover and a short time to do it, so let's raid the stacks and get started. 

[intro music plays]

AMY: Our guest today, Anne Boyd Rioux, is very dear to us because she is the very first guest we ever featured on this podcast. That was for episode Number 11 on Constance Fenimore Woolson. Anne, your involvement back then did so much to legitimize our podcast when we were still very fledgling. But the strength of your reputation helped us recruit other academics and authors to participate because it was like, "Oh, Anne did it. Okay, great, you know? Sure, I'll come on too." 

KIM: Yeah, I feel like you really set the tone for us, Anne. 

ANNE: I'm so glad that I was able to help you guys get started. I'm so glad you're still doing this. So thanks for having me on again.

KIM: Anne is a three time National Endowment for the Humanities award recipient. She specializes in recovering women's voices. Her published work includes Meg, Joe, Beth, Amy: The Story of Little Women and Why it Still Matters (Yay!) As well as editing The Collected Stories of Constance Fenimore Woolson.

AMY: After 23 years as an English professor, Anne left academia in 2022, sold virtually all of her belongings, and bought a one way ticket to Europe, where she's been traveling and working on her own writing ever since. You can follow her work and some of her many adventures by signing up for her Substack newsletter, which we'll include in our show notes. And Patreon members, next week we're going to be devoting a whole bonus episode talking with Anne about what her life is like now as an expat abroad.

KIM: I can't wait for that episode because that's going to be really fun. To kick things off here, can you first tell us about how your own interest in Kay Boyle was sparked?

ANNE: Yes, I was teaching in Austria for a study abroad program, and I wanted to do a unit on the literary expats who were over in Europe in the, you know, 1920s, Thirties. And I had Hemingway, I had Fitzgerald, but I wanted a woman writer. This was a short story class. So I started digging around to see if I could find one. And I found Kay Boyle. And I was amazed. Absolutely gobsmacked. She was part of that literary expat scene in Paris in the Twenties, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. There was so much there. Um, and some of the writing is actually set in Austria, so it was a wonderful addition to the class.

AMY: So Boyle was born in 1902 in St. Paul, Minnesota, but as a child she lived in multiple cities, including Philadelphia, Atlantic City, and my own hometown of Cincinnati.

KIM: Shout out to Cincinnati. 

AMY: Yes! Um, there seems to have been a stark difference between her mother's outlook on life and that of her father and grandfather. What do you know about that and how it may have impacted her?

ANNE: Well, there was a stark difference. Her father and her grandfather were very business oriented, very focused on wealth. Her grandfather in particular, was very focused on accumulating wealth, um, and had very conventional ideas about what was important in life compared to her mother. Her mother had an understated but strong personality, and she managed to hold her own against these two men, the grandfather in particular. And, I think what probably had the biggest impact on Kay was that she was just enamored with artists and writers and musicians, philosophers. She loved ideas. She loved art, and she exposed her children to all of that and encouraged them to create their own. I mean, she was reading Gertrude Stein at the dining room table, to guests. Tender Buttons, I think it was. Yeah. And then, you know, in the next breath, she's reading some of Kay's work, some of her juvenilia, as if it deserved as much attention as the published writers of the day. And so it's hard to, I think, overstate her significance in Kay's life. 

KIM: That's pretty amazing.

AMY: Yeah, and in terms of the writing and the artist she liked, it was very cutting edge. She likes people that were doing new and different experimental things, right?

ANNE: Oh, well, she took the girls to the 1913 Armory show, so she would have been 10, 11 years old when her mom took her to see that exhibit. And that was the one that blew everybody's minds. It was the first major exhibit of modern art in the US, and people were throwing tomatoes at the art, and people were horrified. And here her mom was elated. She loved the innovation, um, she loved the daring of it. And so those kinds of aesthetic principles imbued Kay's childhood.

KIM: Her mom sounds amazing. 

AMY: So yeah, so this is taking me back to, I mean, one of her short stories is called "Security" and it's sort of going back to her own childhood. And it's about her grandfather saying that he's going to help her fund this little amateur newspaper, and he's like, "Okay, I'll fund this, but certain political subject matters are off the table." 

KIM: Oh, I totally remember this. Yes. Yes. Yes. 

AMY: It might have even been like shares of a stock or something like that, that he was going to give her. And, um, and that ultimatum, she was like, "Nope, this is a newspaper and we're going to be writing about controversial topics and social justice," and she was basically like, "I can't be bought and you can keep your money." Um, it was a sweet little story, but…

ANNE: My understanding is that it's very autobiographical. She and her sister did have a little paper, and her grandfather did fund it. He had it printed in color, even, which you can imagine in the 1920s. Teens, I guess it would have been. Yeah, that's remarkable.

KIM: Yeah. That's pretty cool. So with her father and grandfather, when she moved to New York at the age of 20, she never, apparently, she never saw them again, which is interesting. When she was there, she was joined by her beau Richard Brault, a French exchange student she'd met in Cincinnati. I can see a French exchange student being interesting in Cincinnati. In Cincinnati. 

AMY: Yeah, yeah. He was an electrical engineer at the University of Cincinnati, I think. Of course, I wanted to find out all the Cincinnati connections. So yeah, they were dating in Cincinnati. She decides to move to New York. I think her sister was already in New York, working for a magazine. So she's like, "I'm going to go." The boyfriend tags along. So in New York, Kay right away gets a job assisting the poet Lola Ridge, who, listeners, you might remember Lola Ridge. We did a previous episode on her with Therese Svoboda. That's episode Number 108 if you want to go back and have a listen. So she joins Lola helping edit the literary magazine Broom. And I remember from our Lola Ridge episode that she was complicated. 

KIM: Yeah, to say the least. 

AMY: Yeah. But Kay Boyle really loved her. They remained close over the decades. I presume, Anne, that kind of like her mother, Lola Ridge also had a huge influence on her and the kind of writer she'd become. 

ANNE: Yes. So she was definitely a mentor to Kay, and she reminded her of her mother a lot in her frailty. Both of them were rather slight and, um, prone to illness. And so Kay had this kind of protective feeling from them both, but also admired their strengths so much. But Lola introduced her to so many writers. And at the gatherings that they would have, she's meeting William Carlos Williams and Marianne Moore, um, Jean Toomer, you know, lots of the writers of the day. And some of those associations, certainly with William Carlos Williams, would last for many, many years. But it was through Lola Ridge that she sort of had her entree into the world of literature, although she wasn't writing a lot yet. Um, she was, I think, a secretary for the magazine. Yeah.

KIM: So eventually Kay and Richard, the French exchange student, married, and they took a trip to France to meet his family. That was supposed to be a three month trip, but Boyle ended up remaining in France for 18 years, as one might do if they got the chance to get over to France.

AMY: Yeah, so she stuck around France, but we should note that she did not stick with her husband. Instead, she fell madly in love with magazine editor, Ernest Walsh, and she became pregnant. But by the time the child was born, Walsh sadly had died from tuberculosis. So Kay finds herself now a single mother living in France. Anne, tell us a little bit more about what you know of this time for Kate, both personally and professionally.

ANNE: Well, it's a very difficult time for Kay. I would hazard to say those were the darkest days of her life. She fell madly, helplessly in love with Walsh. She was enamored not just with him as a person, but with him as a poet and as an editor. He gave everything to literature.And there was a kind of religiosity to this, a sort of worship of the word. And this became her religion, I think, for the rest of her life. And I meant to say earlier that with Lola Ridge, she was introduced to writing as a form of politics, political conscience being such a big part of Lola Ridge's writing. I mean, her mom was very politically active as well. So both of those kind of influenced her, but with Ernest Walsh, she was introduced to the world of modernism and this kind of religion of the, the Revolution of the Word, and this desire to create something totally new. And so her passion, it wasn't just romantic, it wasn't just sexual, but it was literary too. And so she had this child, and she could not support herself. And she ended up in a commune, actually, that was run by Raymond Duncan, who was one of the brothers of Isadora Duncan. And this was a solution to this problem, this question of how to live as a woman writer, who's also a single mother. And so the commune was very avant garde and, you know, they walked around in togas all the time, and they're, they're making sandals , rugs and various things and selling them in the shop. And it's very back to nature. And they watched her child, and she worked in the shop and, you know, James Joyce is coming in.

She'd met Joyce and Stein and Samuel Beckett and lots of writers. Robert McAlmon was a huge influence on her. She met him through Ernest Walsh, and Robert McAlmon was a poet who was also a publisher, and he published the magazine Contacts with William Carlos Williams. He was Hemingway's first publisher. And so they became quite close and ended up, you know, there's this really interesting sort of double autobiography called Being Geniuses Together that she published after his death. It's quite fascinating, about Paris in the 20s. If you want another perspective on it, Kay Boyle's experience as an expat in the late 1920s Paris is completely different from anything you've ever read, you know, in the context of Hemingway and Fitzgerald, and, you know, the grand times, the big parties that everyone was having. Um, Kay Boyle was, struggling, and what ended up happening, actually, is that they had to essentially kidnap her daughter away from the commune with the help of Lawrence Vail, who I'm sure we'll talk about it. Um, so it's a very dramatic episode of her life. 

AMY: Yeah, so it got a little bit culty there. Kim, it's reminding me a little bit of the episode we did on Hotbed and how at that time period, they were trying to figure out solutions for childcare and all these other Left Bank artists weren't having to deal with that, you know?

ANNE: Yeah. Well, they had wives to take care of the kids!

AMY: Exactly, 

KIM: Yeah, exactly. Yep. 

ANNE: Yeah.Yeah. 

AMY: Okay, so for this episode, Kim and I read Boyle's Fifty Stories, which is a 1980 collection of her short fiction starting from the late 20s through the mid 60s. So let's talk a little more about her writing style during the early time period, because she is very determined at this point to be on the cusp of something new and different. You know, she's hanging out with all these "Gertrude Stein" types. And of course, they think they're changing the face of the literary world. In fact, her name is listed first on a proclamation that was published in Transition literary magazine in 1929. It was a manifesto calling for the Revolution of the Word. So Boyle, along with 15 other expat writers, including Lawrence Vail and Hart Crane, they stated their intentions to, quote, "emancipate the creative elements from the present ideology." And here's the opening line of this proclamation that they all signed. "Tired of the spectacle of short stories, novels, poems, and plays still under the hegemony of the banal word, monotonous syntax,static psychology, descriptive naturalism, and desiring of crystallizing a viewpoint, we hereby declare that..." And then it goes on to state, I don't know, 13, 20, I can't remember how many declarations about what they intended to do as these new writers, and it ends with the declaration, "The plain reader be damned." So basically, they have no interest in boring writing. They have no interest in boring, pedestrian readers. They are wanting to break out of the box. 

KIM: I love that they had a manifesto published, like, what is bad about current writing and what they're going to do to fix it. 

 AMY: Okay, so I want to read a passage from her short story "Wedding Day." I think this story sort of, um, exemplifies her writing style in terms of trying to do this more experimental work. This story begins, it's a young girl's wedding day. She is home with her mom and brother, getting the house ready for the big event. And she and her brother are both mourning the end of their sibling relationship as they have known it.

Meanwhile, the mother is kind of oblivious to the bittersweetness of the day, and she's more worried about appearances and superficial things, you know, and she's unaware right in front of her eyes that her son and daughter are having this grieving process, basically. This is when the brother and sister just decide to go outside for the afternoon right before the wedding. [reads from “Wedding Day”]

Out they went to face the spring before the wedding, and their mother stood at the window praying that this occasion at least pass off with dignity, her heart not in her mouth, but beating away in peace in its own bosom. Here then was April holding them up, stabbing their hearts with hawthorn, scalping them with a flexible blade of wind.

Here went their yellow manes up in the air. Turning them shaggy as lions. The Sen had turned around in the wind, and in tufts and scallops was leaping directly away from St. Cloud. The clouds were cracking and splitting up like a glacier. Down the sky they were shifting and sliding, and the two, with their heads bare, were walking straight into the heart of the flow.

It isn't too late, he said. I mean, It isn't too late. The sun was an imposition, an imposition, for they were another race stamping an easy trail through the wilderness of Paris, possessed of the same people, but of themselves like another race. No one else could, by lifting of the head, only be starting life over again.

And it was a wonder the whole city of Paris did not hold its breath for them. For if anyone could have begun a new race, it was these two. Therefore, in their young days, they should have been saddled and strapped with necessity so that they could not have escaped. Paris was their responsibility. No one else had the same delight.

No one else put a foot to pavement in such a way. With their yellow heads back, they were stamping a new trail, but in such ignorance, for they had no idea of it.

KIM: Wow, I'm so glad you read that. 

AMY: She's describing this as almost like a tragic natural disaster, you know? The glacier is splitting in two. 

KIM: And it feels Greek. 

AMY: Yeah! 

KIM: Almost a little maybe incestuous, too, with the idea of them starting the new race and kind of escaping together. There's so many things going on that you can even just see in that passage.

AMY: Yeah, and I think the very opening sentence of this story, I have to paraphrase because I don't have it right in front of me, but they're throwing down the red carpet runner that the bride is going to walk down. And it said that the red carpet unfurled like a spurt of blood or something like that, you know? So… 

KIM: Yeah. It's very violent. 

AMY: Yeah. And I do think not so much anymore but back then, weddings were like a death in a certain way. It's an ending of childhood, and I think also the very ending of the passage I read, "They were stamping a new trail," you know, "Paris was their responsibility." That to me goes back to Kay Boyle trying to chart this new literary course, you know, putting her own stamp on a new type of writing.

KIM: I didn't even think about Amy. I love that.

ANNE: Yes, I think her early writing really shows her ambitions too, right? To create something new, with language. That is what she got from that circle, right? From Ernest Walsh, from Robert McAlmon. And of course she was already hearing that from her mother, that that's what a writer does. A writer reinvents language. And so you see this kind of really intense description and imagery in a lot of her early works that, like you said, that could be violent, right? Describing something as simple as a rug can take on these sort of intense emotional qualities. She's really digging deep in a lot of these early stories and you sense how passionate she was as a person, I think, through these stories too. That's a lot of her personality coming through as well.

AMY: And the poet. The poet within her. We haven't mentioned that she also wrote poetry. Yeah.

ANNE: Yeah. Yeah. A lot of poetry. 

KIM: Yeah. I feel like it's Fifty Stories… This is like, I think the second story, but it's unforgettable. Like, it doesn't get lost in the fact that you've read a whole book. 

ANNE: It is an incredible collection of stories and…

KIM: It is. 

ANNE: …if people ask me, What should I read by Kay Boyle? I say, get the collection, Fifty Stories, and just start dipping in because you'll be amazed. Certainly this collection shows the breadth and depth of her achievements, particularly as a short story writer. She also wrote novels. She also wrote poetry. I think that she particularly excelled as a short story writer and, you know, a number of these stories were published in The New Yorker and Harper's and other magazines. I really feel like she should be credited with helping create the modern short story in America. but she, you know, for various reasons, hasn't been. And one of them, I think, is because she lived overseas for so long. You said 18 years. And sometimes in her stories, there aren't even American expat characters as you will typically see in writers from that period. She's just writing about French people, you know, dealing with the war. She's writing about the Austrians and, and the rise of the Nazis of Germany. And it's like, wow, it's not what we expect from an American writer. But I think the stories speak for themselves. They're so high quality.

KIM: Yeah, definitely. So, uh, let's circle back to her personal life a little bit. Next, she's taking up with an artist and intellectual you had mentioned before Lawrence Vail. He was also called the King of Bohemia. He'd been married to Peggy Guggenheim. Boyle and Vail were together for 13 years and they had three children together. So she's writing so much, it seems like, but yet she has a lot going on in her personal life as well, which is interesting. 

AMY: So during this time of her life, Boyle won her first of two O. Henry Awards for a short story called “The White Horses of Vienna.” And side note, this summer, I'm going to be going to Vienna, so I hope to maybe get a glimpse of these white horses that are still there , at the Imperial Spanish Riding School. It's very symbolic of Vienna, those white horses. So in this story, Boyle talks about one of these horses being crippled. It's a symbol of Austria's grandeur being struck down by the Nazis. And it's such an interesting story because it includes a somewhat sympathetic portrait of Nazi sympathizers. It's almost as if somebody had written a story that is sympathetic to a MAGA person, you know what I mean? And then for that to win an O' Henry award seemed like, surprising to me. 

ANNE: Let me give this some context here, okay?

AMY: Okay.

ANNE: So that story, which is one of her best stories, but it's very difficult for modern readers to understand because of subsequent history, it was written in 1934-35. So before the Anschluss. Before, I mean, Hitler had only been in power since 1933. And so the sort of crippled horse that represents Austria is actually the crippling came from the First World War. Um, Hitler hadn't had anything to do with them yet. Okay. So, so that. She also wrote some really interesting stories about the effects of World War I on Austria. It was an incredibly impoverished country. They had left Vienna, in fact, the family, uh, She, Vail and the kids had been living in Vienna and the poverty was so bleak. And so they went to the Alps and lived in this little town called Kitzbuhel, and it's beautiful there. Oh my God, it's so gorgeous. But, they're noticing this political unrest happening and they're seeing swastikas burning and fire swastikas burning on the mountain sides at night. Nazis were outlawed in Germany at that time. And there were Nazi agitators coming in over the border and this area of Tirol, where she was living, which was close to Bavaria. And so there were, there were Nazis coming over and stirring up, you know, the locals who were going on these sort of terror campaigns and blowing up train tracks and different things. So this is the context in which she's writing the story. She's trying to understand why so many of the locals are sympathetic to the Nazis. The hotel they were staying in in this little town, it was the only anti Nazi or non Nazi hotel in town. They discovered that actually the governess, the girl who was taking care of their children, was a Nazi and was helping her boyfriend light those fires on the mountain sides.

And so this was like incredible material, right? She wants to understand what is it about Hitler that, that seems to magnetize them? So that's what she's writing about. She's trying to understand it, long before people knew how totally dangerous he was. She wrote a novel about that period as well, that expands on all of this, you know, why are the locals so enamored with Hitler? And in this story and in that novel, she hints at the devastation that's going to come. 

 She sensed how fanatical he was and how dangerous he was. And that comes through a bit, but it's not as overt. So we look back at it now and think, Oh my God, she was a Nazi sympathizer. But she wasn't. 

AMY: I knew in reading it that she wasn't a Nazi sympathizer, but it was just her ability to kind of showcase both, like, like you said, exactly what's going on here, and…

ANNE: Right, well I, I felt the need to say this because there are still people writing today who describe her as a Nazi sympathizer because of that story. 

AMY: What?! That is crazy.

ANNE: There is a book about American writers in Austria somebody showed to me not too long ago and I thought, “Oh my gosh, this person doesn't understand the context”. Because she's not overt enough. She's writing from the perspective of these characters. She's so immersed in the characters’ point of view.

KIM: Yeah.

AMY: She's pointing out the anti-Semitism 

ANNE: Exactly, exactly. That character of the doctor who comes to stay. He's a very sympathetic character, the Jewish doctor from Vienna who comes to help out. And then the Nazi characters, who I think are less sympathetic. Um, but you know, at the same time, the doctor even understands why they're doing this. Because of what they endured in the First World War and with all of the economic deprivation that they've suffered since. I mean, people were basically starving. I'm sorry. That was a very long winded explanation of the story. 

KIM: No, I think it was good to bring that up. Yeah, we don't need anything to further inhibit her, um,

ANNE: Her recovery. Yeah. 

KIM: Exactly. 

AMY: But no, there's so many wartime stories in Fifty Stories. I mean, whether during the war, the prelude to the war, or post war, for like the decade or two post, and it was so enlightening, I think. As an American, we have an idea of what World War II was, and it just really gives you an entirely immersive, um, different view of what it was like to be there. What it was like to be French in Vichy France, what it was like trying to rebuild after. How messy it really, really was, even after we won. 

ANNE: Yes. Yes. She had this remarkable ability to get inside of the experiences of French people, of German people, of Austrian people, not just Americans always looking on from the outside. And that's something she worked really hard at. And she does have a lot of works that do include an American character, but two of her best stories from the war "Defeat" and "Men" are written totally about the men who experienced the war. On the one hand, in "Defeat," she's portraying two French soldiers who are coming back after the fall of France to Germany. And in the other story, "Men," she's describing refugees of the Nazis who were rounded up in France as soon as the war started. In September, 1939, France rounded up people who had passports from Austria, Germany, Poland, Czechoslovakia, what was then considered greater Germany. Most of these people had fled the Nazis, but nonetheless, they were classified as enemy aliens and they were rounded up and put in concentration camps. And the story of "Men" depicts some of those men, and it's really beautiful. And it is actually based on someone she knew, which I think we're going to get to.

AMY: Yeah, for sure, and I can't wait to talk about him. But while we're talking about the wartime literature, it felt like she really felt an obligation to tell these stories and to write about the world that she was living in and speak for the people that didn't necessarily have the voice or the megaphone. So I got curious and read one of her more commercial novels, which sort of ties into this idea of... 

KIM: Extra credit! 

AMY: Yeah, some extra credit points for Amy. But, um, so this book is called Avalanche, and it's set in a village in the French Alps. It's much more, uh, you know, "plain readers be damned," when she said that earlier, this book is more for the plain reader, I think. It's a more commercial novel. It's a thriller. It's about a young girl who's on a mission to find her lover who's working in the French resistance. I loved it. I read it in like two days. It was a page turner. It kind of reminded me of Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls, and I'm sure she would hate that comparison because I don't think she loved Hemingway that much.

ANNE: So much more readable though. Her book is.

AMY: Oh, oh, 100%. Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, 

ANNE: than his. Yes. Yes.

AMY: But my point being, this book was a critical flop, which surprised me. It's beautifully written. 

ANNE: But it's a romance, and it's political, you know, so that's why she was criticized. Not because it wasn't good. It was because she was writing a different kind of novel than what she'd written before. She was writing less as an artist. I mean, there's still art in it, but she knew, she knew, she was writing a different novel for a commercial, wider audience because she had something important to say about France. Because when she came back to the US in 1941, she was horrified at how Americans talked about the French. "Oh, they just laid down for the Germans," you know, "they deserve it. " And so she wanted to show that, no, look, there's a resistance happening. And a friend of hers, Mary Reynolds, who was Marcel Duchamp's partner, actually, when Marcel Duchamp left France, Mary Reynolds wouldn't leave. And she and Kay were friends. And she worked for the resistance, and she had to escape over the Pyrenees, ultimately, because she'd been found out. She had a really rough escape.  But anyway, Avalanche is dedicated to Marcel and Mary, because Mary's stories helped inform that book. So it isn't fantasy. It isn't made up. It's very real in a lot of ways. And it's a fascinating book. I think it might be the first fictional attempt at describing the French Resistance. It was written during the war still, um, when the French Resistance was still getting going. So it's a fascinating book.

AMY: Yeah, and it has that sort of ticking clock. It's set over just a couple of days, like, For Whom the Bell Tolls, and there's this urgency of, the Resistance has this, um, tactical, you know, thing that they need to carry out. So, that's where I saw the similarities. But she was like, Not only am I going to write this for everyone, I can't do the experimental stuff here, because I have a message and I want this message to get out. So I think that's interesting that she kind of backtracked a little bit from that manifesto. 

ANNE: It was wartime, you know? Manifestos didn't count. They didn't matter when people's lives were at stake. And she felt so guilty for having left France. Um, you know, she was able to get out, but a lot of people she knew didn't. And some of them didn't survive. So Avalanche features a strapping, Adonis-like mountain man who is the love interest. He is an incredible skier, he is noble in every way, like, 

KIM: [laughing] He's an incredible skier!

AMY: Um, he's like an action hero, you know, who you'd cast with some Hollywood hunk. We encounter a lot of these heroic mountain men in the short stories that are Tyrolean, right, including, um, the short story, "Maiden, Maiden" and "Diplomat's Wife."

KIM: Can I say I loved "Maiden Maiden," by the way? I just have to like give a shout out to that story. That one's one that really stayed with me. It's all so beautiful and tragic. 

ANNE: It was made into a movie starring Sean Connery, actually.

KIM: Wait, 

AMY: my gosh! 

KIM: It played like a movie in my head. I had no idea. Sean Connery. Oh Yes. We'll have to see if I can get my hands on it somehow. If it's streaming or 

AMY: So Anne, tell us about this fascination with the mountain man, that archetypal character. 

ANNE: Everybody assumed it was the man that she ended up marrying her third husband, uh, Joseph von Franckenstein was his name. 

KIM: What a literary name! 

ANNE: I know. Yes. It seems that Mary Shelley got her name actually from this family. She'd seen the castle that belonged to the family in Germany. So he has this interesting name, but Joseph was not the model for some of the early characters, the ski instructors, the guides. There was another Austrian man. So she was living with Lawrence and the children in Negev France, and there were these Austrian refugees living around there. And one of them was a ski instructor named Kurt Vick, and he was a ladies man. Flirted with all the women who came to visit, young or old, and taught them how to ski. And yeah, Kay kind of fell for him and they had a fling. So Kurt and Joseph knew each other. So Kurt went off to Africa, and in the meantime, Joseph comes back to Negev, and he meets Kay. And they truly fell in love. Okay, the thing with Kurt was a fling and she in a letter describes why this happened with Kurt and what had happened. She tells Joseph the whole story, and those letters between Kay and Joseph are the most amazing documents. There are hundreds of them, and they were embargoed until I believe 20 years after her death. So they've only been available to researchers for a decade or so. I've read a very large portion of them. And I know that in the letter where she tells him about Kurt, and this is something that does not show up in the biography of her, people didn't understand why she'd had this relationship. Uh, Lawrence Vail was violent and he was, um, an alcoholic and he beat her and he called her a whore in front of their friends. He was jealous all the time. He was suspicious and she was desperate, desperate to get out of it, out of this marriage in some way. And so what do you do when you're desperate to get out of a marriage? You flee into the arms of another man. Kurt wasn't the right one. Joseph turned out to be the right one. She helped save him. So the Nazis were closing in, and in the summer of 1941, she got him out of France, out of the only port that was still open in Marseilles. Her efforts were heroic. I mean, she probably saved his life. But he saved hers too, I'm quite certain of that. And he was a remarkable, remarkable person. A biography needs to be written about the two of them. I really hoped to do it, and I've done a ton of research on it. I hope still to do it someday. I'm not in a position to at the moment. But while their story is incredible, because he came back to the U S and they got married, um, he joined the Army, became a U S citizen and ended up getting recruited into the OSS, which became the CIA. And he was a spy for the U S, and he was parachuted into Europe and made his way to Innsbruck, Austria, his hometown, and helped liberate it from the Nazis.It's an incredible story. Yeah, 

KIM: Wow.

AMY: This is what I'm talking about when I was like, I'm just so overwhelmed by her story because there's so many components to it. It goes on and on and it's all so fascinating. 

KIM: Yeah. 

ANNE: This is why I knew I couldn't write a biography of her entire life. That just wasn't going to happen. But basically from when she wrote that. story about the Nazis and their influence in Austria, then in the mid 1930s, from that up through the war, and we can talk about after the war too, her life and the stories that she wrote during that period are just monumental, um, and so, so important. And I hope to still do that work someday, and I encourage other people to do it too.

KIM: Yeah. And speaking of like, there's so many things. She was pretty, it seems, unequivocal about good versus evil during the war years, but then she was later accused of being a Communist. And there was a McCarthy style loyalty panel. She and her husband were eventually cleared, but she lost her accreditation with The New Yorker, and she was, basically blacklisted by the literary community, 

ANNE: Yes So after the war Joseph worked for the State Department and was stationed in Occupied Germany. And she's going back and forth from France to Germany to see him. The New Yorker ended up getting her a foreign correspondence pass to be in Germany, and she had it for many years, from, I want to say 46 or 47 up through 50 or 51 when she had to come back after they were accused of being Communists and The New Yorker did not renew her accreditation. People haven't really questioned it very much, but when they have been questioned, they said that, Well, we didn't revoke it, our permission. We just didn't renew it. But she was writing. They sent her to write about Occupied Germany, but they wanted fiction from her. They had journalists over there, but they wanted fiction about what life was really like, telling the stories that journalists couldn't tell, they didn't have access to. And so she's writing all these incredible stories about what life is like in those very first years after the war. And some of these stories are still so powerful. "Adam's Death" is an incredible story about a Jewish man, a dentist, who comes to this small town, very prejudicial town in Germany, who had been in one of the camps. And came there after the war and is just trying to start over.  Think about what it was like for a Jewish person to come out of the camps and try to start their life over in Germany. That's a story we don't know. And there's another fascinating story called "The Lost" that is about the orphans who were picked up by the American GIs as they swept through Europe. There were all these young boys, and they would take them in and they were called mascots. She's writing the story about what it was like for them after the war. You know, they speak English now. They have Brooklyn accents, you know, or Southern accents, and they're trying to get to the U S, to be with these GIs that they've become very close to, and they're being told that they can't, they have to stay. And she sent this story to The New Yorker, and they turned it down because they said it wasn't believable. She fired off this livid response to them that said Every word of this is true. I have pictures of the boys who are in the story. I spoke to the woman at the detention camp who had to tell that boy that he couldn't go to America because the soldier that he had become very close to, who was like a surrogate father to him, was Black. And this little boy, I think he was from Czechoslovakia, so he was white. And she was trying to explain to this little boy, the woman who works at the detention center, that you can't live with this man who's become your father because he's Black and you're white. There's this thing in America called the race question. And so a week later, the boy comes back to her and says, Hey, have they solved that race question yet? And she's No, I'm sorry. They haven't. And The New Yorker said this didn't happen. It's not real. They didn't publish it. She said it was absolutely real, every single word of it. And she did end up publishing it later. So she's writing stories that are pointing out how hypocritical America was, you know, coming over there and saving Europe when they're still so hateful and racist and segregated at home, right? She was in Germany, where there was a lot of fear that there were Communists, um, infiltrating, like the Iron Curtain was very close. And so I think a lot of it had to do with her criticism of America. And she wanted to bring Richard Wright, of all people, to come and speak in Occupied Germany and they refused to allow him to come.

AMY: Yeah, this whole time period, like, post war Germany, rebuilding, I had never before read any, anything about this time period. 

ANNE: Yeah, me neither.

AMY: Like fiction or nonfiction. It was all new to me. So my favorite stories were the alpine stories, but these were a close second because I had no idea how it all worked, you know, with the Americans being stationed there. And there's just so much I learned about that, what the world was like. 

ANNE: Me too! Yes. 

AMY: Like the, uh, during the war, like the, the situation in France and, anyway, I, I don't want to get into it all, cause we're, we could just go on and on… 

ANNE: Sorry. I've already spoken way too long. Yes.

KIM: No, not at all. This has been really good.

AMY: So Kay Boyle died in California in 1992. Um, up until that point, she was busy both as a writer, a teacher, and an activist. She lived in the Haight Ashbury heart of San Francisco in the 1960s protesting the Vietnam War. She was twice arrested, briefly imprisoned for this activism. She worked in support of Amnesty International and the NAACP. Um, I love that literally from her childhood and from that little newspaper story through the later years of her life, she was always speaking out against injustice. It's just such a clear throughline for her entire life.

KIM: Yeah. Yeah. And as we've said we are only scratching the surface. Anne, thank you so much for joining us today to discuss Boyle's incredible life and writing. This has been really wonderful. Um, I'm excited that we got to have a reunion episode with you. 

ANNE: Thank you so much for having me. This was a blast. Thanks.

AMY: And as we mentioned, Anne has something in common with Kay Boyle in that she's currently living the expat life in Europe. Before we sign off here, I wanted to just switch gears a little bit and find out, Anne, what are you working on?

ANNE: Well, as you mentioned at the outset, I have left academia. And although I was writing this book about Kay Boyle, I've set that aside for the moment, because of this huge transition in my life. I'm writing full time now. Um, I'm working on a memoir about my year of travel after my daughter went off to college. So I sold my house and I left my career, ended my marriage and started traveling when my daughter went off to college. And it's been an incredible journey. It's been kind of a second coming of age for me. So I've been writing about that. I'm also planning, I'm not working on it yet, but I'm planning to write a novel in the future. So these are some of the things that I've been kinda dabbling in. But, a lot of my energies right now are going into my Substack. As you mentioned, it's called Audacious Women, Creative Lives. And I profile a lot of women writers who are quite bold and audacious and do inspiring things, and talk about why so many of them have been forgotten. So very much in line with the themes of your podcast, which I just love.

KIM: Yeah. your Substack is a must read for sure. 

AMY: I'm going to be talking to Anne a little bit more about her whole experience abroad next week in our bonus episode exclusively available for all our Patreon members. I know you've learned a lot about yourself over these past couple of years, so I can't wait to hear more about that.

KIM: For everyone else, we'll meet you back in two weeks to discuss another lost lady of lit. And in the meantime, consider giving us a rating and review wherever you listen to this podcast to help spread the word.

AMY: Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone, and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Kim Askew and Amy Helmes. 

185. Speranza, a.k.a. Oscar Wilde’s Mother

AMY: Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off forgotten women writers. I’m Amy Helmes, here with my co-host, Kim Askew.

KIM: We’re so happy to have you joining us today to discuss a lost lady of lit who also birthed a literary genius.

AMY: He had nothing to declare except his genius, in fact. I think we all know who Oscar Wilde is. Not only did he write “The Ballad of Reading Gaol,” novels like The Picture of Dorian Gray, and popular plays (both comedies and dramas) but he was also a media sensation in more ways than one. The Irish writer was caught up in a public scandal, yes, but he was also heralded for his sharp wit and bon mots. Zingers like “I can resist anything except temptation…”

KIM: And my personal favorite: “Everything in moderation, including moderation.” He would be a social media darling if he were alive today.

AMY: True. But Kim, I’d like to point to another line he wrote, in “The Importance of Being Earnest,” which factors into our subject today: “Every woman becomes their mother. That’s their tragedy. And no man becomes his. That’s his tragedy.”

KIM: Oh, interesting. Because I’m thinking about how clever and talented Oscar Wilde was, and surely that did not materialize in him from out of nowhere. Does the woman who raised him deserve any credit in shaping one of the greatest literary talents in the English language?

AMY: Considering she was a successful writer herself, I’m thinking the answer is yes! In fact, despite that line I just read from “The Importance of Being Earnest,” I think Oscar was very much like his mother. I’d go so far as to say she made him the man he was. 

KIM: Okay! So I’m excited to talk about her and (given that she’s a lost lady of lit) her own writing career.

AMY: Me, too. So let’s raid the stacks and get started! 

[intro music]

AMY: Before we dive in on today’s lost lady, I’ll admit: I didn’t even know Oscar Wilde’s mother was a famous writer until I was listening to the Rest is History podcast’s episode on Oscar Wilde last year. They mentioned it in passing, and I was like, “Wait, what?”

AMY: Honestly, I didn’t even realize his mom was a writer until I was listening to The Rest is History podcast’s episode on Oscar Wilde last year. They mentioned it in passing, and I was like, “Wait, what?”

KIM: Yeah, I was totally clueless about this, too. So many lost ladies. So who was she, Amy?  

AMY: Well, her name was Lady Jane Wilde. But she wrote under the pen name Speranza.  

KIM: Ooooh.

AMY: I know I love saying that Speranza  in her lifetime. She earned the nicknames, the national poetess of Ireland, as well as Speranza of the nation.  So kind of a big deal. 

KIM: Yeah, sounds like it. 

AMY: Yeah, but that name was probably both because her writing spoke to her fellow country members and also because her work was very prevalent in an Irish newspaper that was called the nation.

Oh, okay. There you go. All right. So it was like a double entendre. Okay.  When you say Lady Jane Wilde, that sounds like she was some sort of  blue blood or nobility. Is that the case?

AMY: Not really. Her husband was knighted for his work in the medical field, which is how she gets the title. And she certainly leaned into being the lady, you know…

KIM:

As one would.

AMY: Yeah, if you give me that title, I'm going to live up to it. So,  um, the couple, they were definitely a celebrated couple in Dublin and upwardly mobile, but her Irish ancestors were pretty much working class, although her father was educated and an archdeacon and a solicitor, so fairly middle-class. He died when Jane was 3, and she was largely self-educated, impressively so. It is speculated that she probably knew around 10 languages, and she translated works from German and French in her 20s. But get this: Her uncle by marriage was Charles Robert Maturin who wrote Melmoth: The Wanderer. I know you would love that connection.

KIM: Totally. I absolutely love that. That's great. Oh my gosh.  Also in her 20s, she began to contribute prose and poetry to The Nation, as you mentioned, Amy. This was a weekly nationalist publication associated with the Young Ireland political movement for Irish Independence. It was basically THE go-to source for Irish radicals.

AMY: Right, and this is where we see that Jane (or Speranza as she was known by readers of this periodical) was a rebel at heart. She once said, “I should like to rage through life….ah, this wild rebellious ambitious nature of mine. I wish I could satiate it with Empires though a St. Helena were the end.” (a reference to Napoleon). She even briefly served as co-editor of The Nation alongside another female contributor after the male founders of the newspaper were jailed for treason.) 

KIM: So needless to say, she wasn’t writing “pretty ladies’ poetry” was she?

AMY: Not at all. Her writing was very political in nature — she wanted an armed revolution against the British. (It’s probably very good that she wrote under a pen name, let’s just say that.) Her words are quite stirring, if you’ll allow me to read a bit?

KIM: Yes, sure!

AMY: This is from a piece called “Jacta Alea Est” (or The Die is Cast)

Courage! Need I preach to Irishmen of courage?  Is it so hard a thing then to die Alas! do we not all die daily of broken hearts and shattered hopes …No! it cannot be death you fear; for you have braved the plague in the exile ship of the Atlantic, and the plague in the exile’s home beyond it; and famine and ruin, and a slave’s life and a dog’s death ; and hundreds, thousands, a MILLION of you have perished thus. Courage! you will not now belie those old traditions of humanity that tell of this divine God gift within us … Now is the moment to strike, and by striking save, and the day after the victory it will be time enough to count our dead …

KIM: Wow, that’s very “give me liberty or give me death!” Or St. Crispin’s Day speech.

AMY: Yes, very inflammatory, and this piece (written anonymously) resulted in The Nation getting suppressed by authorities. (The story goes that the editor of the Nation, Charles Gavan Duffy was arrested for writing the incendiary piece but that she stood up during his trial to admit that she’d written it. She was never prosecuted; maybe because she was a woman?)  But you can see why she’d have a massive following, too, right?  You can also see in the passage I read that she is also an advocate for the poor. She wrote a lot about famine and starvation, which would have been an unusual topic for verse. One of the poems she’s most well known for was printed in The Nation in 1847 as “The Stricken Land” (although it was later renamed “The Famine Year.” I’ll just read it here, and know that when she is speaking of “the stranger” she is referring to Britain.

WEARY men, what reap ye?–Golden corn for the stranger.
What sow ye?–Human corses that wait for the avenger.
Fainting forms, hunger-stricken, what see you in the offing?
Stately ships to bear our food away, amid the stranger’s scoffing …
From the cabins and the ditches, in their charred, uncoffin’d masses,
For the Angel of the Trumpet will know them as he passes.
A ghastly, spectral army, before the great God we’ll stand,
And arraign ye as our murderers, the spoilers of our land.

KIM: So no love for the Brits.

AMY: You can say that again. Although interestingly, she would later go live in London, later in life.

KIM: Okay. So she's writing this political poetry for the nation and advocating for the poor. Where does family life and Oscar's birth fit into all of this?

AMY: Well, The Nation eventually met its demise after being repeatedly shut down by authorities. When she was 29 she married William Wilde, who was a well-respected eye and ear surgeon (he, too, wrote books… nonfiction works on subjects including travel and archaeology). They were both considered to be brilliant, if unconventional. Jane was almost six feet tall, so quite statuesque, and her husband was a bit shorter, so they earned the nicknames “The Giantess” and “The Dwarf.”

KIM: People are so nice, aren't they?

AMY: If you Google her, you will see clear resemblance to Oscar; he takes after her, physically, for sure. So the couple had a son named William, the firstborn (he also grew up to be a writer… he was a journalist and poet, but also an alcoholic who ended up penniless), then Oscar was born and then their last child was a daughter who died at the age of 9. (Oscar carried a lock of her hair with him until he died.)

KIM: Heartbreaking.

AMY: From what I could tell, Jane adored her children and doted on them, AND, most importantly, she included them in this extremely intellectual household. They were allowed to converse with adults at the dinner table. She hosted these fantastic salons with all sorts of famous writers and artists and politicians;  the children were present at those. In fact, Oscar carried on his mother’s tradition by creating a similar salon-like atmosphere when he was attending Oxford University. Another thing I think we should remember, because he started getting published while still at Oscar (he won Oxford’s Newdigate prize): when starting out, he was invariably going to be compared to his mother, the great Speranza. He had to prove himself in his own right. And she was SO PROUD of him when he started having literary success. She collected newspaper clippings of his eventual tour of America. So she was a proud mama.

KIM: Awww, that’s so sweet! And we know that Oscar was an aesthete and had quite a flamboyant personality, and so, too, was his mother. Her favorite color to dress in was scarlet which scandalized the other ladies in her social circles.

AMY: Yes, she loved drama and spectacle and was a sort of larger than life persona by all accounts, and it seems like she could make up pithy comments at the drop of her hat just like her son. Also at a certain point in her life she started saying that her ancestors were from Tuscany and she could trace her lineage back to Dante Aligheri. And it was all a bunch of b.s., basically.

KIM: Ooh, fun! Good for her! I'm gonna start doing that.

AMY: She was also described at one point as making a habit of wearing a bunch of miniature portraits of her ancestors pinned to her chest, making her look like a walking family mausoleum.

KIM: As if I couldn’t love her more already.

AMY: She’d just be fun to be around.

KIM: I feel like she would. Well, speaking of drama, we know that Oscar would go on to be embroiled in a world-famous libel trial springing from his homosexual relationship, which led to the writer’s two-year imprisonment. At the time of his arrest, JAne reportedly said to her son: “"If you stay, even if you go to prison, you will always be my son, it will make no difference to my affection, but if you go, I will never speak to you again." 

AMY: Yeah, so this is in regards to he kind of had the option, he could have Just avoided all of this by fleeing to France or somewhere and just gotten the heck outta Dodge.  and they probably wouldn't have pursued the case.   But yeah, she wanted him to be defiant and perhaps she was recollecting back to her own  public scandal and libel court case from her own past. They have that in common too.

KIM: Oh, do tell! I want to hear. What happened?

AMY: Okay, so it’s a bit of a soap opera but I’ll try to sum things up in a nutshell. A young family friend of the Wilde’s, 19-year-old Mary Travers, was a frequent guest at their home and was a patient of William Wilde. Jane and William Wilde claim she developed an obsessive attraction to William. Mary herself claimed that during an examination by William sometime in 1862 she lost consciousness (possibly chloroformed) and when she came to she realized he had raped her. (Two years later is when he would be knighted, remember). This young woman continued to associate with the Wildes, but her behavior became increasingly erratic. She tried to kill herself by drinking poison, she extorted money from William and later wrote a damning pamphlet which gave a fictionalized account of her version of events, making it clear that it was the famous “Speranza” whose husband had victimized her. She printed up a thousand copies and had them printed all over Dublin. This is just a small account of her campaign against the Wildes. Jane did not believe Mary’s story and was exasperated by the ongoing harassment from what she believed to be a clearly troubled young woman. She wrote to Mary’s father saying Mary was crazy and needed to knock it off, and to make a very long story short, Mary used this letter to sue Jane for libel. The six-day court case was a complete spectacle. Everyone was following it. Mary won the case, but she was only awarded one farthing plus the cost of court expenses. One thing I discovered was that the case actually bolstered Jane’s public reputation as most people following the case sided with her. I think post #metoo we might think differently. [True crime fans: This is an interesting Internet rabbit hole to go down.]

KIM: Wow. Fascinating and disturbing.  Later in her life, Jane was living in poverty because after her husband's death, 1876, she and her sons discovered that he was basically bankrupt.  It's like a Jane Austen novel, right? And she moved to London where Oscar was living and tried to support herself writing for magazines. So when Oscar Wilde was imprisoned in Reading Gaol, his mother tried to visit him there. She was suffering from bronchitis and near death. Her request was refused.

AMY: Everything about this is awful. Everything about This is awful. Oscar Wilde in jail is just horrible to read about. He actually claimed that he knew the moment his mother died because her apparition appeared in his jail cell. This was 1896. He was able to pay for her burial, but not for her headstone.So she was buried anonymously.   

KIM: It wasn’t until 1996 that she received a plaque honoring her on the gravestone of her husband, William Wilde. A few years later the Oscar Wilde Society honored her in the cemetery where she is buried with a Celtic Cross gravestone monument. 

AMY: And I think we should end this episode with another one of Jane Wilde’s poems because if you read this one while keeping in mind Oscar Wilde’s own tragic fate, this has real poignancy, I think. 

THE POET’S DESTINY.

THE Priest of Beauty, the Anointed One,

Through the wide world passes the Poet on.

All that is noble by his word is crown’d,

But on his brow th’ Acanthus wreath is bound.[Acanthus is a thorny plant)

Eternal temples rise beneath his hand,

While his own griefs are written in the sand;

He plants the blooming gardens, trails the vine—

But others wear the flowers, drink the wine;

He plunges in the depths of life to seek

Rich joys for other hearts—his own may break.

Like the poor diver beneath Indian skies,

He flings the pearl upon the shore—and dies;

KIM: It’s interesting that the “poet” in this verse is a “he,” because if you think about the griefs that Jane had in life, too, I think this could just as easily be about her, be about both of them.

AMY: Yeah, totally. Interesting life and interesting lady. So that’s all for today’s episode, everyone. If you’re a Patreon member, get ready to put on your dancing shoes! In next week’s bonus episode we’ll be exploring the revolutionary history of a scandalous new dance craze of 19th century Europe: The Viennese Waltz. 

Bye, everyone!

KIM: Our theme song was written and recorded by Jennie Malone and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Amy Helmes and Kim Askew and supported by listeners like you.

183. Emilie Loring — Uncharted Seas with Patti Bender

AMY: Thank you for listening to Lost Ladies of Lit. For access to all of our future bonus episodes and to help support the cause of recovering forgotten women writers, join our Patreon community. Visit lostladiesoflit.com and click become a patron to find out more. 

KIM: Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off forgotten women writers. Kim Askew…

AMY: …And I'm Amy Helmes. Fun fact about Kim and I: we've written a few Hallmark movies together.

KIM: Yeah, including Her Pen Pal, which aired in 2020. We've worked on a few more that will maybe see the light of day at some point. Anyway, our experience with Hallmark has really driven home for us what a huge and passionate fan base is out there for these kinds of movies. People who love them just can't get enough of them.

AMY: That brings us to today's lost lady who, from 1922 through 1950, wrote wholesome romance novels at the prolific pace of about a book a year. 

KIM: Emilie Loring didn't stop writing until she died, and even then, new titles continue to be published under her name almost every year for two more decades. Why? Because her devoted readers found her work addictive.

AMY: In the same way it's easy to get sucked into a Hallmark movie marathon. Our guest today can help explain this phenomenon. She's read every one of Emilie Loring's works at least 50 times! 

KIM: Woah. Do we need to stage an intervention here? I'm a little worried about her!

AMY: Don't be. An Emilie Loring addiction isn't going to hurt anyone. As today's guest writes in her 2023 biography of the author, "An Emilie Loring book is like a cardigan sweater; classic, comfortable, never too much or too little. Not a trendsetter, but somehow always just right." 

KIM: Listeners, are you ready to fall hopelessly in love with Emilie Loring? Then let's raid the stacks and get started. 

[intro music plays]

AMY: Our guest today, Patti Bender, is a former professor of kinesiology who has spent the last 30 years working in altogether different muscle, researching the life and works of Emilie Loring. This labor of love culminated last year in her published work, Happy Landings: Emilie Loring's Life, Writing and Wisdom, and I think it's safe to describe her as the world's foremost authority on Emilie Loring. Patti, welcome to the show!

PATTI: Thanks. I've been looking forward to this. Thanks for having me. 

KIM: So great to have you on. So the origin of this biography goes back 30 years, which is incredible, but your interest in Emilie Loring goes back even farther. Do you want to tell our listeners how you first came to know her? 

PATTI: Sure. My father and my sister and I were on a train going from Chicago to Arizona back home from my grandma's house, and I was reading Little Dot and Casper comic books and I ran out of them. And so my older sister had a book, it was an Emilie Loring book, and it didn't have any pictures, but I read it anyway. And I read that one, the first one, and then I just kept reading them. I had three older sisters. Every summer my grandma would make us rest after lunch and we would read books. So we'd get a handful of Emilie Loring's, and each of us would read all of them. But then I kept reading them, and I read them all every year and more were coming out. At this time I thought they were new; I didn't realize they were being re-released. So I just read them until I'd read them over, well, now well over 50 times each. And I had no intention of writing a biography, but I got curious about who Emilie was, and there was nothing written about her, really, except that she was born in 1866, which all of a sudden I thought, “Oh my gosh, she was an old lady!” And I couldn't believe that. So I still didn't think I was gonna write a biography until I met the Loring grandchildren. They started sharing more information, and pretty soon I had 5,000 pages on the woman, of original research. And, um, what do you do with that? You write a book.

KIM: That's amazing. Can I just add that I still remember the first book that I read as a child that wasn't for kids. I think you don't forget that. 

PATTI: That's right. 

KIM: Like, it makes such an impact on you, at least for me it did as well. So I completely understand how that would have grabbed your attention from the get go.

PATTI: Oh, sure, because I was reading little girl stuff and now I was reading like my sister's stuff. It was a big deal. 

AMY: I thought it was really interesting that she didn't even start publishing novels until she was 55 years old. And I know you remarked on that in your biography, that you hadn't imagined someone that old writing these books.

 PATTI: I know, and she was in her eighties when she wrote her last one, and yet everyone's so youthful. I think there's some wisdom in that for everyone. She kept that interest and vivacity throughout. 

AMY: She had a quote about that herself too. She said "Old age is merely life into which you put no enthusiasm."

PATTI: Right. "For enthusiasm is the fountain of youth."

AMY: Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. But despite getting a late start as a writer, she actually came from a family with a rich history in publishing, right?

PATTI: So her grandfather was an original founder of The Boston Herald. And then her father was really the biggest influence. He was a publisher with Lee and Shepard Publishing. They specialized in sets of classic works and also in children's books. And in his spare time, he wrote 78 plays. He's still the best selling amateur dramatist of all time. 

AMY: What?!

PATTI: Which I think is amazing. Yeah. His “Among the Breakers” still has sold more than “Uncle Tom's Cabin,” and nobody's ever heard of it. 

AMY: No. Or, or really of him. Yeah. 

PATTI: Yeah. And so, yeah, he deserves a book. But, um, Emilie used to go to work with him, and they'd bring children's books to her and she would say, "No, I don't like this one,” or “I like this one." And they would listen to her, because they wanted to appeal to children, right? So I think that's a really important thing. She always had books, books, books, and she was always listened to. This wasn't a girl who grew up in the Victorian times with being told to shush. She was put up on the desk and asked for her opinion. So she grew up in an environment that cared about what kids read, and that was great preparation for later.

AMY: Didn't her dad publish the first Alice in Wonderland edition? 

PATTI: He did, in the United States. He was responsible for the first, um, American edition of Alice in Wonderland. He did so many remarkable things. He was incredibly prolific. I don't know how anyone could do all the things that he did. 

AMY: For sure. And he was pretty chummy with Mark Twain. I mean, he was a big deal!

PATTI: He was.

AMY: But also he's such a good guy. He's such a good husband, he's such a good father. Around the house, the whole clan, they put on little plays because he's inspiring them creatively. It just seemed like such a fun family to be in.

PATTI: They'd take all the furniture out of the parlor and set up stages, and people would come in, and famous actors and famous authors were coming to their house and acting out plays. And every Christmas morning they acted out a play. And she said, you know, “I felt so sorry for children who didn't act in a play on Christmas.” He was the bright light in the middle of all of them and permanently influenced his children.

AMY: And not just Emilie, because her two siblings, their writing careers took off long before hers did, right? Her sister was a playwright. 

PATTI: Right. So her sister wrote suffragist plays and her brother wrote a few plays, but then he wrote for vaudeville and was tremendously successful there. And then he started writing musical comedies for the stage, and then he ended up writing for the silent film industry. And then his son became a famous script writer in the thirties and forties. So they were just a tremendously creative and prolific bunch. 

KIM: Okay, so normally we wouldn't have one of our early questions be about an author's marriage, but in this case, Emilie Loring was actually a traditional wife and mother a long time before she became a writer. She married attorney and aspiring politician Victor Loring when she was… how old was she when she got married? 

PATTI: Well, she was 25 when she got married, 24 when she met him, and he was 32. And in her books, the girls are 24, 25, and the guys are 32. Like, almost uniformly. There are about three exceptions, I think. I will push back just a little bit on the “traditional” part, because she did other creative things before coming to writing. So she was a photographer, an arts and crafts artist, a metal worker, she was a gardener, she designed a home, she did interior design. She was really busy, just not writing. 

KIM: Right. She was always creative on some level it sounds like. 

AMY: And like her father, her husband, Victor, also seems like a really great guy. It seems like she has great men in her life.

PATTI: She does. And the nice thing about that is in her book, she's not having to fight for dignity or fight for recognition. She assumes she's going to have it, and she has that, do you know what I mean? That's a nice thing about reading her books is that, um, internalizing that as a girl, I felt the same way. You know, it wasn't something she had to fight for. But Victor, I think of him as being steady and she was vivacious. So that was the kind chemistry that they had. 

KIM: I love his name. It sounds like a hero from a soap opera or something. “Victor Loring!”

AMY: It does!

PATTI: I know. 

KIM: Right. 

PATTI: Yeah. 

AMY: And he's the one that really prompted Emilie to go for it in terms of her writing career, right?

PATTI: Yeah, I mean she gave him credit for saying, you know, “You've wanted to write, go ahead and write. Give it a whirl.” And actually, he wrote a short story himself, which I have never been able to find. Help me find it. It's in Snappy Stories. I know which issue, I can't find anyone who has it, but Snappy Stories was a sort of a racy men's story magazine, and I would love to see what Victor had written. Um, but he wrote one story and then she took off and wrote. I would love to imagine that they had a conversation like, “Well, I did it. Come on.”

AMY: Yeah. He didn't just tolerate it, he's like, "I think you should do this. You're good." And I loved reading about Emilie's process for sending out pitches because it was almost like mechanical. Like, she was a machine, and it's a numbers game and you just keep sending pitches. She kept like a chart of her rejections…

PATTI: Yes. She kept them on cards and she would write the day that she began each story, you know, "Commenced this story," and then she'd say, "Finished, sent to this place," and then she'd start, "Commence this one." And then if the first one's rejection came back, that very day, if it was smudged at all, she retyped it, put it in a clean envelope and sent it out.

AMY: I would sit and be wallowing for at least a week or two and telling myself how bad it must be. 

PATTI: She just kept it moving. She was writing, she was sending, she was writing, she was sending. Her first book returned 44 times before she finally got an acceptance. You know, I think I would have given up. 

KIM: I have given up! 

PATTI: She was not gonna give up. Well, it's soul sucking, right? You know, it just takes all the strength from you when you work really hard and you try that you submit it it's like, "No, not interested." 

AMY: But she also took their notes into consideration as well, and she'd be like, “Okay, they gave me some feedback. Let me work on it. Let me switch it up a little bit and then send it out again.”

PATTI: That was an advantage she had growing up as she did, because she'd seen her father work. She'd seen him work with other authors. She'd watched her siblings work. And so she knew this was a craft that had to be honed. This was a skill to be created, not just an inspiration and a talent. And she took that very seriously. 

AMY: So, she had a lot of examples in her life of healthy and happy marital relationships. Her parents had a great marriage. She had a great marriage. Um, talk a little bit about some of the classic characteristics, I guess, of an Emilie Loring romance.

PATTI: Yeah. So, something happens right away. When you open the book, there's gonna be something right away. In Uncharted Seas, the very first thing is, " Step quick, lady, step quick.” So a dramatic start. There are two educated, independent characters who have separate goals. That's the guy and the gal. And there's a mystery that brings them together. The mystery often takes place in his life, but doesn't have to. There's humorous dialogue. There are charming surroundings, uh, there are cultured references. And then there's a theme that's usually expressed in the title. So Uncharted Seas, you know, it's about sending yourself into the unknown, into places where there's uncertainty, and finding romance in that. Finding new vistas, strengthening your character. So those are the things that are in all of them. The plots are quite different. You couldn't play “Emilie Loring Bingo.” There are some things that if you are paying attention, then you know that she's going to mention Alice in Wonderland in each one. And then this is the first book where she wrote “Happy Landings.” A horse is named Happy Landings, and from this book on, somewhere in the book she puts that. So those are some nods, just little things she slipped in for herself.

KIM: I think this is a good time to start talking about Uncharted Seas, our book for today. So Patti, do you want to set the stage for the story? And also tell us about some elements from this novel that are lifted from Emilie's real life. 

PATTI: Sure. So the character in this book, Sandra Duvall, is a girl on her own, and she goes to her father's friend and he gets her a job as a two secretary to a woman in the horse racing set. When she goes out there, there are two men, Nicholas Hoyt and Philippe Rousseau. They're both claimants to this same estate. Their horses are about to compete in a big race, and they're both interested in Sandra. But is Philippe who he really says he is? And who's on whose side at Seven Chimneys? So those are the conflicts, and Seven Chimneys is a real place. These are places that are in Blue Hill, Maine, where she had her summer cottage. Uh, Stone House was Emilie's actual house in Blue Hill. That still exists today, and it does have a ghost. There are lots of stories about the ghost at Stone House. 

AMY: Okay, so we've got Sandra Duvall. She has just landed a new job as a secretary at this very nice house, Seven Chimneys. But as you said, Patti, this first chapter just kind of ropes you in right away because we learned that her employer is temperamental, who's prone to maybe throwing some tantrums. We start in that chapter with an admonition to Sandra, not to, was it not to fall in love? 

PATTI: Not to fall in love with her employer's husband. 

KIM: Husband. Yeah. But she thinks at first that it's the son, because he's younger than her.

PATTI: Right. Right. 

AMY: I liken it to all the best bits of a soap opera, but with much better writing, you know? 

KIM: I totally can picture it as a movie the entire time. 

PATTI: I know. I often think about the different actresses that I would like to see play these parts. And it makes so much sense because with her dramatic background, you can imagine these things being spoken and played. First scene, after she's gotten the job, when she arrives in the town, she comes to the train station and she's waiting for her ride. And a fellow comes and loads up a saddle and she says, “I'm here!” She thinks it's her ride. He says, “Yes, Miss. I see you.” And she thinks, “Oh gosh, you must be a groom or a workman.” But she inveigles him to take her to Seven Chimneys. And unbeknownst to her, this is Nicholas Hoyt. This is the heir, one of the people who claims the estate. From the very beginning, she's attracted to him, but she thinks he's down on his luck, and she's sort of, you know, she's amused that he's playing a part, but she doesn't know what part. 

AMY: It's that classic where it's like…

KIM: Mistaken identity. Yeah, 

AMY: Exactly. But then she kind of knows that he's not who he says he is. So there's like, friction. 

PATTI: Mm-hmm. But she's wrong about who she thinks he is. 

AMY: And it's not only that sort of like Darcy/Elizabeth Bennet, Pride and Prejudice vibe going back-and-forth between them, but also that is a very classic Hallmark start to a relationship with the mistaken identity and this sort of thing. 

PATTI: Sure. And and the thing that is interesting is that she doesn't think she's supposed to like him, you know. She can't help herself. She does like him.

AMY: Yeah. And there is this other romantic rival, I guess you would say, he is kind of like the Willoughby in Pride and Prejudice, where, you know, Sandra's taking his side and then eventually comes to realize like, "Oh wait, he's the cad," you know?

PATTI: She's never really attracted to Philippe, but they're not sure whether he's the true heir or not. And that's the big mystery is, you know, who's going to inherit this big estate? 

AMY: You mentioned also that Emilie Loring was really into interior design, and you see that so much in this book. I don't know if all of the novels have these lush settings, but the way she describes, well, first of all, Seven Chimneys is an amazing mansion on an amazing property. So you're already like, Yeah, I can settle into this world for sure. 

KIM: Oh yeah, Absolutely.

PATTI: And they're always accurate for the time periods. I have the Pantone color book that looks at all the colors for the different eras, and I'm always looking up and going, “Oh yes, there she is with the turquoise and the apricot.” Emilie went to fashion shows all the time. She loved fashion. And so the women's gowns are always just right, and the hems go up and down with the times and, they're Paris designs. Yeah, clothing and the places are always beautiful. People sometimes criticized her for having such fancy surroundings, and first of all, that's what she knew. And second of all, uh, she said, “I spend, you know, the better part of a year inside this book that I'm creating. I like charming surroundings!” 

KIM: It's like Philadelphia Story or something like that. I love the setting and getting to live in that world. I ate it up, like, I was completely into it and I could not put it down. 

AMY: Didn't she say at one point, “I write the things that I want?” 

PATTI: She gives a couple of examples. There had been a red hat that she had wanted and, um, so she wrote it into her next book. And when people couldn't travel for a while during the war years, then she would give herself a trip. She wrote a whole story about going to England because she couldn't go. So she gave herself that treat.

AMY: But so much of what she wrote was about things that she had experienced, right? Like going to Alaska, she turned that into a novel. I love the story from your biography about, uh, she wrote a whole book based on an advertisement about a lost shoe, like a lost and found? 

PATTI: That's right. Yeah. The actual, um, clipping is in her archives at Boston University. It's just this little clipping she'd cut out and then years later she wrote the book. I mean, it was honestly years later before that happened, but it just said, you know, "Found: black slipper with a buckle." She just wove that into the whole beginning of a story.

KIM: I love her.

PATTI: Well, I do too! And it, it reminds you of, you know, just give me a start to a story. Okay. Here's a black slipper, make something out of it. And all of a sudden she's in…

KIM: Yeah, a writing prompt.

PATTI: Right. And now, all of a sudden she's in Alaska. And, um, so yeah, it didn't take much to get those going. And the thing that was fun for her was that she didn't know what was coming, either. So she used to say that she'd sit down with her two dozen sharpened pencils, and then she would start to write, and she never knew what was going to happen. And that was some of the excitement of writing for her. She would set up the situation, set up the theme, set up the characters, then find out what they were gonna do.

AMY: Um, the world of thoroughbred horse racing is really well delineated in this novel too. I'm usually not a horse literature person. Like, I didn't like National Velvet, I didn't like Black Beauty, all that kind of stuff. 

KIM: You didn't like Black Beauty?!

AMY: Well, that's, yeah, a whole other episode. But I mean, when she sets the stage for that horse race, it really comes alive. The muscles rippling in the horse's legs. The spectators in the crowd. It's the most dramatic portion of the book really, the stakes are so high. But yeah, I thought she did a great job with that.

KIM: It brought a lot action and activeness or into the novel, having that setting and the passion and obsession everyone had with the horses, and which horse was gonna win and everything. That was a pretty good device.

AMY: Alright. So this book has all kinds of twists and turns. It has the mystery element, which we haven't even really gotten into, but maybe we should just leave that for people that want to read and find out how that all comes about. There's a little bit of tragedy in it. Again, no teasers, um, for the most part, there's something cozy about it, right? I don't know if it's the setting or the time period, the romance… it makes me think about the time period that Emilie was living through, which was kind of fraught. You know, you have a couple of world wars, the Great Depression. Were people craving books like this because it was an escape? Did people find her brand of storytelling too cheery? You know, obviously people liked them, but…

PATTI: She was very popular. And, like she says in this book, Sandra Duvall observes and says, “Reading always closed the door on problems for her.” And Emilie wrote to entertain, and I think that she saw these kinds of books as an absolute need. Think about when we're at war and the USO goes over to entertain the troops. What do they do? Do they show them [Saving] Private Ryan? No. You know, they go over with something that's cheerful. And Little Orphan Annie came out the same year as as, um, the movie, came out the same year as Uncharted Seas. It had a funny ghost in it, too. So the humor and the optimism… Look at the pandemic we've just come through you know? Ted Lasso, here's a story that's about the goodness of people. Things turn out well. People do bad things, but not very bad things. You know, people are basically good. Um, that same kind of antidote, I think is what she was writing. And her thought was that, you know, if you were someone who was just living placid life, not involved with things, maybe you'd need a book to stir you up, make you aware. But if your son, like hers, is carrying ammunition to the fronts in World War I, and at any moment you could find out that he had been blown up the night before, you know if you've already lost your money and you're living hand to mouth, you don't need to be told that there are problems in the world.You have the problems. And so her kind of book is the kind of book that gives you some strength. It has optimism. It takes you away for a while. Gives you that break, gives you the rest you need, and you come back feeling a little stronger, a little better, a little better prepared. I think she saw that these were essential kinds of writings for people. And, during the Depression when, uh, publishers were dropping authors left and right because, you know, people were buying fewer books, they kept Emilie Loring on. 

AMY: And she wasn't turning a blind eye to anything in the world, right? Her books actually mention the first world war. I think that comes up in this book; She sees the veterans being helped into the stands at the horse race. She does acknowledge what's going on culturally. 

PATTI: Of course, and the men have typically served in wars, almost all of them have. And each of her books is set in the year in which it was written. And so if you read them in order, you can read the history of the United States from 1922 to 1950. And the events in each one are real events. So if she mentions a concert in New York, that concert actually happened, and they play what she said they played. So if you were reading her books as she was writing them, those references meant a lot to you because you knew what they she was talking about. 

AMY: Okay, so Uncharted Seas was her ninth novel, but her various publishers were racing to get these books out, as you said. Just as fast as she could turn out manuscripts, they would publish them. So she would go on to write 21 more titles until her death in 1951, but then, Patti, explain: more titles kept coming out.

PATTI: Sure. They were a little silent about her death because her sales and the royalties were so good. And so they hired a ghostwriter to flesh out some of her serials and make some more books. Then they started cobbling together short stories of hers, and I know that I can pick out: “Here's some Emilie writing… oops, here goes the ghostwriter again. Nope. Here's Emilie again.” Because the writing's different. You know, it comes from someone's soul. You can't have a formula that makes you be another person. Um, and so they wrote 20 more, and they re-released her original 30. So in Sixties and Seventies, then, they were having new books come out as well as re-releasing the ones that I thought were brand new. And the strategy worked because in the Sixties and Seventies, Emilie's book sold over 37 million copies.

AMY: Wow!

PATTI: Thirty-seven million! They really wanted those royalties to continue. Emilie was earning the equivalent of $300,000 a year toward the end of her career, and the royalties were keeping her sons, who were not particularly wealthy, was keeping them in the places where they lived.So it was important to the families.

KIM: Okay. So that's a lot of books. Um, if you were going to steer us toward a particular one to read next, I know it's probably hard… is it hard to pick? What would you say? 

PATTI: Of course it is. Well, never hard in the moment because, you know, like you stand in front of a bakery case you go, oh, I want that one! But tomorrow it's gonna be a different one. Um, I would say, Here Comes the Sun or Hilltops Clear. Both of those take place…she wrote eight of them that took place in Blue Hill. Both of those do. Writers might enjoy reading. Give Me One Summer, which is about a fledgling writer, and then reading Beckoning Trails, which is about a famous writer. So Emilie wrote about herself, actual things from her life as a writer. So Give Me One Summer and Beckoning Trails, if you were a writer and wanted to kind of put yourself into a romance, those would be the two I’d suggest.

KIM: Oh, that sounds really fun. 

AMY: Didn't you say in your book also that, the title Fair Tomorrow would maybe be the one that most closely hews to her own love story with Victor?

PATTI: Yes. That's the one that I think because it takes place where she and Victor probably began their romance. I think it's the closest to her real romance with Victor. Some of my favorite scenes are in that book. Um, so sometimes if I don't want to read the whole book, I just go from scene to scene in my favorite places. And Fair Tomorrow has some of those.

KIM: What about Hollywood? Did anyone come calling? 

PATTI: She tried. She only tried a little bit, and I don't think she pushed at it very much. I just, they're so in the vein of It Happened One Night or Philadelphia Story. if you know those movies, that's what these books are like. 

KIM: Absolutely. 

AMY: Yeah, anybody that is like a fan of Turner Classic Movies and that sort of “Old Hollywood” vein are gonna love Emilie Loring.

KIM: I completely agree with that. Yep.

PATTI: Right. I think that's where she belongs. The nature of her books. 

AMY: I was a little surprised to read in your book that she got nominated for a Pulitzer Prize actually in 1937. And Margaret Mitchell wound up winning that year for Gone With the Wind, but, you know, we kind of think of Pulitzer Prize winners as you know, going back to the, like, saying very deep and important things about the state of the world, so I'm surprised that her books would have been considered. 

PATTI: Well, a nomination isn't an award…

AMY: …but what did they make of her books? Like, serious critics?

PATTI: That kind of comes in two different parts. One is, did she do what she did well? Yes. So the critics call her books, “well crafted, intelligent, entertaining.” Did they admire what she was doing? No, they did not. Quote, “It is simply an entertaining mystery romance.” Oh, well, I mean, that's all it is, you know.

KIM: Yeah. I mean, given what we talked about, about how, you know, popular she was and it was that comfort food that you can escape for a while. I wonder if that was the thinking for the nomination. It's like she was doing a service in a way, right? 

PATTI: Those awards go to books that move the needle politically or socially in some way. And she wasn't trying to move the needle. She was trying to entertain people. it's just such a different thing. And it's good company though. You think about romantic comedies in the movies, since we've been talking about it. In the history of the Oscars, only two romantic comedies have ever won Best Picture. One was It Happened One Night in 1934. The other one was, um, Shakespeare in Love in 1998. That's it. Dorothea Lawrence Mann said, um, “Should the vast hoard of readers go on admiring realism and loving romance.” The Pulitzer or the Oscars are looking for those ones that societally move the needle, and ones that merely entertain people, merely make them happy, you know, that's considered fluff. And I hope at some point a comedy could make it. I hope that romantic comedies would get more interest. Look at Barbie this year, right? 

KIM: Yeah, 

PATTI: It was passed over for Best Picture…

KIM: Because it's fun. It's fun, it's light, even though it's feminist. 

PATTI: Emilie's in good company, being overlooked. 

AMY: Yeah. 

PATTI: And Sarah Ware Bassett had said something, I'm paraphrasing, but she said, you know what? I don't know why a story about a good person should be seen as idealism and about a bad person being realism. 

AMY: Yeah. Who are you hanging out with, right? Because my friends are all nice people.

PATTI: Exactly. And Emilie had said, you know, “the beautiful things in life are just as real as the ugly things in life.” But if you go into the awful bowels of despair, you know, that's considered more worthwhile. 

KIM: Yeah. And she was writing about what she knew, like we said, because she had a long and mostly really happy life.

AMY: This is, um, kind of jumping back in time, but I realized, we didn't give you an opportunity. Did you wanna read any section from Uncharted Seas? 

PATTI: I marked one. Her father's friend, the one who gets her the job, is talking about dreams. And, Nicholas Hoyt says that “dreams are an extravagant indulgence.” And, um, Damon says, “Indulgence? How do you get that way, Nick? Dreams are the source of much of the new thinking, new convictions, new power in the world. They send the adventurous out on uncharted seas, dangerous seas, and its danger, not security, which develops strength in mind and spirit. No, I wouldn't say that dreaming was an extravagance. I'd list it under the head of a non-taxable necessity.” And then Sandra speaks up and says, “I've had that ‘uncharted seas’ idea myself, but why think of those seas entirely in terms of danger and treacherous reefs and sinister whirlpools? I'm perched on the lookout spying for goodwill ships and treasure islands and priceless friends and lovely summer seas with just enough squalls to make me appreciate fair weather.” 

AMY: That's a great encapsuling of her of spirit, right? What she thought about life. This morning I was just looking on Goodreads really quick seeing what people had to say about Emilie Loring, and there was one comment that was so short and simple and it just said, “These books bring me comfort.” She’s still, today, she's doing that for people. And just the idea, like you said, when you first discovered her you always knew that there would be another one, another one, another one. I can never really run out, you know? Once you do, you start your journey like Patti to read them 50 times each!

 PATTI: People think that's funny. But I often ask people, “How often have you sung your favorite song?” It's not that you don't know how the song ends or that you don't know how the story ends. It's that you really love the language and love the flow and love the pattern. 

KIM: The feeling it gives you.

PATTI: Yeah. Yeah. So I wanted to share when you were mentioning that, um, online… I have a website and people come there to share about Emilie, and mostly they'll say,” I thought I was the only one who remembered her!” But, um, one said, “I love her language. Her descriptions draw you in.” Another said, “Emilie Loring got me through two graduate degrees in literature, the antidotes to the depressing classics.” And then, um, and then another one said, “I found Emilie Loring when I was 18. I'm now in my eighties and I still enjoy reading them again and again.”

AMY: She's dependable. 

PATTI: She is. She is. 

KIM: Thank you so much, Patti, for introducing us to Emilie Loring, and never give up on your quest to tell her story. We're happy to be part of spreading the word about Emilie Loring and her books and your wonderful biography.

PATTI: Well, thank you so much for having me. This has really been fun. Thanks. 

KIM: That's all for today's episode. Join us back in two weeks when we'll be discussing an Irish writer who earned the nickname, “the national poetess of Ireland.” And oh yeah, she also gave birth to this guy you might have heard of: Oscar Wilde. 

AMY: That's right. Oscar Wilde's mom is a lost lady of lit, you guys! And for those among you who are Patreon members, tune in next week when we'll be playing a fun game of “Whose Line is it Anyway? Elizabeth Taylor versus Elizabeth Taylor.” Yes, we're going to be pitting the actress against the “lost lady of lit” trying to figure out who said what or who wrote what.

KIM: I love our life. Anyway, our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone, and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Kim Askew and Amy Helmes, and supported by lovely listeners like you!

181. Angela Milne — One Year’s Time with Simon David Thomas

AMY: Thank you for listening to Lost Ladies of Lit. For access to all of our future bonus episodes and to help support the cause of recovering forgotten women writers, join our Patreon community. Visit lostladiesoflit.com and click "Become a patron" to find out more. 

AMY: Hi, everyone, welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off great books by forgotten women writers. I'm Amy Helmes here with my co-host, Kim Askew. 

KIM: The novel we're discussing today is a story of a romance that starts off as a one- night stand. Liza, our heroine, meets a dashing gent, Walter, at a party and ends up, as Liza says, "with me in bed with nothing on and him kneeling there with only socks." Bowm-Chick-a-Bow-Wow!

AMY: Yeah, racy. Oh my god. Although there's nothing really that sexy about a man standing there in his socks only. But no, he's charming. He's charming. So the novel takes place over the course of one year, beginning on New Year's Day. But the year in question might actually surprise you. The action, in more ways than one, is set sometime in the late 1930s, just before World War II. So not necessarily an era known for its frank portrayals of sex and the single girl.

KIM: Right. And published in 1942, it was actually the only novel written by Angela Milne, The niece of famed Winnie the Pooh author, A.A. Milne.

AMY: I love a lost lady with a famous literary connection. It takes me back to our very first episode of this podcast on Monica Dickens, the great granddaughter of Charles Dickens. This book though is such a pleasure to read, and I am excited to learn a lot more about Angela Milne. We've got a returning guest, in fact, Simon

Thomas, to tell us all about her. 

KIM: Yay, Simon. So let's raid the stacks and get started. 

[intro music plays]

Simon Thomas is a consultant for the British Library Women Writer Series, which curates works by forgotten female writers. It's their 2023 edition of One Year's Time, for which Simon wrote the afterward, that we read in preparation for this episode. He started the blog Stuck in a Book in 2007, and co-hosts the popular podcast, Tea or Books? Simon has a PhD from Oxford University in interwar literature.

AMY: And Simon joined us on the show several years ago for... god, has it been several years?

KIM: I don't, yeah. 

AMY: That seems more recent than that. Um, yeah, that was for episode No. 83 when we discussed Dorothy Evelyn Smith's O the Brave Music, which we loved. And I got to hang out with Simon on my trip to England last summer, which was wonderful. Welcome back, Simon. So good to see you.

SIMON: Thanks so much. It's lovely to be here. Yeah, it was lovely to meet you in person. Um, it was lovely to be called charming in your podcast about it. I put that in my little, you know, praise book. You, of course, are charming too. And yeah, I'm delighted to be back here for Angela Milne.

AMY: And in my like hazy recollection as time passes, I know I've changed it a bit, but now you have gallantly saved me from a throng of killer bees. Remember all those bees?

SIMON: I mean, I didn't sort of fling myself in front of them. I was like, “Shall we just go back inside?” 

KIM: That's the Mr. Darcy, style, right? You're just gonna calmly… 

 AMY: Understated save. 

SIMON: That's true. True. 

KIM: So let's begin our discussion by learning a little bit more about Angela Milne. What do we know about her early life, if anything, Simon? What can you tell us?

SIMON: Yeah, we're not gonna learn huge amounts, I'm afraid, 'cause it has been hard to find very much. But, um, the bits I have found, as you have mentioned, she's the niece of A.A. Milne who is, um, now very famous for Winnie the Pooh. And during his life he was famous for that book, but famous for a world of other literature as well. Um, she grew up in Croydon, which is a part of London. And she was apparently best friends with Peggy Ashcroft at school, the noted actress, uh, she would later become. She went to quite a posh school, Godolphin school, in Salisbury. Um, and that's basically all we know about her quite elusive childhood.

KIM: It's crazy how little you can know about someone in the 20th century and then, you know, you can dig up more sometimes on someone from the much more distant past. 

SIMON: Yeah. Yeah. 

KIM: Especially considering you know, her relations and everything.

AMY: And for American listeners who might not be as familiar with Peggy Ashcroft, she was like a famous stage actress with like the Royal Shakespeare Company?

SIMON: Yeah, that's right.Um, she, and I think she was later Dame Peggy Ashcroft, but um, yeah, she was of that generation of extremely well respected classical actors. 

AMY: Right. I did see she was in A Passage to India, so that was a one thing where I was like, “Oh, yes.” 

SIMON: Ah. 

KIM: Oh, yeah, yeah.

AMY: Okay. So Angela Milne began her working career as a secretary, which will play into our discussion of this book. But after deciding she was, quote, 'the world's worst at it," she quit. So what happened next, Simon? 

SIMON: So her uncle, A.A. Milne, gave her 50 pounds, a lot of money in those days, and said, “Go and try and be a writer if that's what you want to do.” Which actually is a lovely hearkening back to his own young days when he had wanted to become a writer and his father said, “You've got a year to go and try and do it. If you can break even in that year, then fine. I won't make you be a school teacher” or whatever you wanted him to be. Um, so yeah, it's just sort of continuing the generational shift of, it is hard to set out to be a writer with no money. So here's a little bit of money. See what you can do. If you're good enough, you'll make it. 

KIM: Yeah, which is not a lot of money really to start yourself off, even then. But I like the traditional aspect of it. 

SIMON: Yeah. I guess, yes, you're right. It would not have paid rent for a year.. 

KIM: Yeah, it was like, “okay, I believe in you enough to think that you can do this.”

SIMON: Yeah. 

KIM: So she was also a land girl during the war. Simon, could you tell our listeners a little bit about what that actually entailed?

SIMON: Sure. So, yeah, during the war, obviously, uh, we had conscription in the UK where most men went off to fight at the front if they were of that age, and that left lots of jobs that needed doing, that women stepped up. For farmers actually weren't conscripted, but there was still must have been a lot of shortage of labor, and so it was just a way to, you know, “Dig for Victory” was the slogan on the posters, to go and, uh, make sure that there were enough crops in the UK for people to survive on, all that sort of thing. Basically just like after, you know, generations and generations of women not really being allowed to have hands on work, particularly if they were middle class and above that they were suddenly called to do it. And, um, and she went to do that. I don't know how good she was, but she described it as “living in quiet desperation, eating turnips and freezing in bed,” which is quite a good description of rural English life now. I don't have central heating in my flat. It's freezing.

AMY: Oh my gosh. 

KIM: Yeah. Yeah. You canimagine it, yeah, it wouldn't necessarily be the most fun thing to be doing at that age. But still, an adventure. 

SIMON: Yeah, something to build character. 

KIM: Yes. Yeah, exactly. 

AMY: So, uh, her uncle A.A. Milne, he wrote humorous sketches for Punch Magazine. And Angela would go on to do so as well. She was also notably the first woman invited to the Punch table, and there's actually a great anecdote about that in the forward to the British Library Edition. We were hoping you could share that anecdote, Simon.

SIMON: Sure. Yeah. So for those who don't know, the Punch table was something that only certain members of the writing staff and editors were invited to. So it wasn't like every writer got to be there, it was sort of very much the inner circle. Uh, and she was there just once and apparently while she was there, there was a heated discussion about Walt Disney's adaptation of Winnie the Pooh, which from what I know of Punch at the time Iimagine was not very favorable, 

AMY: Oh yeah, for sure. I'm thinking of that animated movie right now and just cringing a little and thinking about what they would've been saying. That's hilarious. 

KIM: Yeah. I kind of imagine it like an early, uh, woman on SNL or something and being in behind the scenes, practicing for SNL sketch 

SIMON: Yeah. Um, and one of the interesting things about Punch is that everybody wrote under a pseudonym, which is usually just initials. so A.A. Milne was always just A.M. Women tended to write under a full name. Well not full name, but a name rather than initial. So she was there under, I think it must be pronounced Andy, but a A-N-D-E, and you know, Rachel Ferguson was there as Rachel. So I don't know if they had to, like, we we're not gonna tell you who they are, but we have to code that it's a woman for some reason, rather than just letting them write under initials.. 

KIM: Oh wow. Okay. So her first and only novel is One Year's Time, and it was published in 1942, and she's clearly in it, she's drawing on both this experience of being a secretary and also her sense of humor. Let's talk about the book. Simon, do you want to share the basic premise with listeners?

SIMON: Yeah. And it is one of those books that has a very basic premise because in some ways, there isn't really that much that happens. It's a year in the life of a woman called Liza. She has a job. She works as a secretary, which, you know, is quite unusual to see that day-to-Day working life in novels of this period. She also very early on meets this young man called Walter and gets to know him quite quickly as we'll talk about. It's basically just a year in the life of her career, of her romantic life, of her friendship life. Uh, we don't see that much of a wider family, but she's very much that sort of single woman who, who's distanced herself from what family she has a bit. And there's, you know, there's a few trips and a few fights, but broadly there isn't really a plot to speak of. It's more just,

um, 

the day-to-day

life. Yeah. 

KIM: Yeah. Yeah. And it still totally works. Um, AMY, do you want to do the honors of reading a little bit from the book to give our listeners a feel for how it reads? 

AMY: Yeah, sure. So this is a passage towards the beginning of the book, right before Liza and Walter sleep together for the first time. She's just met him at, is it a New Year's Eve party?

SIMON: I 

think 

so, 

AMY: it new? Yeah, yeah, 

KIM: Yeah.

AMY: She's brought him back to her apartment and is hanging out with him on the sofa. Milne writes, "she thought of the party she had met him at, at the house of some strangers and how she had nearly not gone there, and she decided that there was something in Fate after all. She said suddenly,

What do you like best in the world? Well said, Walter, I'm not absolutely sure what plane we're on. I mean, I should like to say sex. It's sprang to my mind. It's true, of course. I mean, who doesn't? But then it would be just as true to say Shakespeare or the Brandenburg Concertos or curried chicken or the moon on the sea.

Or Groucho Marx. You see what I mean? Oh, I do, said Liza. I suppose it depends on who asks you. And then she nearly blushed and turned round and moved the telephone an inch from where it was before. So then Walter asks Liza, well, tell me some of the things that you hate. And so she rattles off a list of things that she doesn't like.

And Walter says, You hate all my hates. I think you can summarize them as stupidity and vulgarity, don't you? I think so, said Liza. She was thinking he has a quick, alive face to match his voice and his hair isn't quite dark. It's dark brown and his eyes are gray. So then Walter goes on to ask her what would happen if I took my tie off?

And Milne has Liza answer. Everything. I mean, how good 

is that? 

 And then Milne writes, Now she did blush. She hadn't meant it to mean what it sounded like or to mean anything. It was just something to say.

She saw that Walter was rather embarrassed too and was a little surprised. He said, I don't think it need. And then modern life's awfully trammeling, isn't it? Yes. I should hate to wear a tie. I didn't mean that. O? What did you mean? She wondered why she had said it.

If you insist, said Walter undoing the top button of his shirt. I meant that there aren't any rules of conduct. Now, there probably weren't any ever, but people always say there were, so I suppose there were, Liza stood up and put her glass back on the tray. I think rules are rather silly.

No, I don't really, Walter stood up too. Nor do I, really. And so, uh, things progress from there as you can probably, uh, intimate with him starting to undress. There's a few things I love about 

this. First of all, she's so good at the banter, right?

But, um, I love at the end where she says, I think rules are rather silly. And then she says, No, I don't really, because that's something that kind of comes up throughout, is she's not able, with Walter, to state what she really feels all the time. And we'll get into that 

later.

Um, 

KIM: Yeah, she says things she doesn't mean, which we all do, and she actually expresses like, okay, Why did I say that? 

AMY: And that little bit about moving the telephone an inch, I mean, that's such a perfect description of when you're sort of blushing and you can't look at him. Just fiddling 

with something to do. 

SIMON: And I think that whole dialogue could be lifted

to a film made today, set today, and it would still feel absolutely right for like a man and

a woman meeting for 

the first time. And, you know, flirting. It feels timeless. 

KIM: Yeah. 

Yeah, absolutely. I feel like it could be made right now into a film so easily. So I wanted to talk a little bit about when Walter first calls her the first time, and she is in the middle of painting her floor this glossy black color. She's trying to make her bachelor flat look more chic. She's on a tight budget, obviously, and I thought that was really fun getting to see like, 

there's a certain sense of pride she has, but also it's, you know, not always great. 

AMY: And that DIY thing, if anyone could look back at my apartment when I was in my twenties and I have this brilliant idea that 

I'm gonna paint an armoire, you know, and then I have no idea what I'm doing.

And, and the fact that she's painting the floor black, but she can't figure out how to paint under the rug and 

she's spilling the paint everywhere. It's hilarious. it's so, 

it's so my life when I was in my twenties. Yeah. 

I was always so proud of like my stupid painted, dumb 

thing that I did. 

KIM: Yeah. I could choose what color I wanted for a room. This was in San Francisco, and I had it painted like this deep red, which I loved for about a month. And then it started to drive me crazy 'cause it was so dark red. 

AMY: Like bordello. 

KIM: Exactly. It was like, Okay.

I went a little too far. Anyway, part of the thing she is like working through is she doesn't wanna be seen as this certain kind of bachelor girl, right, Simon? Talk a little bit about the bachelor girl term and kind of why it was bothering her 

so much. Yeah, I think the term bachelor girl is so fascinating because in this period, I guess starting maybe in the 1920s, there was this real attempt to stop using the words old maid, to stop using the word spinster. There were a lot more women than men in the UK, there were 1.75 million more women than men because so many men had died in the First World War. So there were all these young women facing the fact that they may well not get married ever, and if they were going to, they might have this extended period of singleness, but they wanted to rebrand. So bachelor girl originally came in as a cool alternative to spinster. But you know, misogyny being what it is, it very quickly, um, doubled back on it and there's a little quote I'll read, one of the mentions of it, which is when Liza's talking about finances and in her relationship with water, she says, I can't help feeling like that about money,

SIMON: said Liza, as they walked up the lane to the car. You would, if you'd always had to earn your own living. I mean all of it till a year and a half ago. She thought That sounds like getting at Walter for not really earning his, and it makes me a bachelor girl. That's awful." So there, she's thinking a bachelor girl as an independent woman, but what comes with being an independent woman, in her mind at least, is having to think about finances and having to penny pinch or, you know, having to do these things that don't make her seem womanly and flirtatious and all these things she's trying to be in that moment. So, yeah, she obviously wants to be independent. She likes having her own place. She likes having a job, but she's terrified that she'll be judged for those things. And she's also judging other people. She sees those women in a hotel and she decides just 'cause they're wearing slightly boxy clothing, that they must be, you know, beyond the pale and have never had a moment's joy.

So there's this internalized misogyny she's experiencing and projecting onto others. We don't really know how much other people are genuinely judging her for being a bachelor girl, but probably they were. There's a reason that she's afraid of this.

AMY: Well, Walter does have some derogatory statements about being a bachelor girl. He says like, they have fat calves or 

something like that, right? 

KIM: Yeah, 

SIMON: He again, he sometimes just like immediately backtracks

from it, essentially saying, Oh, I didn't mean it. But does he mean it? I guess he's in a position where he's

not really had to think about whether he means it or not,

whereas to Liza 

it's very

important. 

KIM: Walter has this annoying habit of flicking her on the neck, which I found really weird and annoying 

about him.

What did you, what did you both think? 

AMY: Okay, my older brother did this to me all the time, even in adulthood. That flicking, like 

flicking behind my ear, flicking my neck. 

KIM: How did you feel about that? 

AMY: It's so annoying, but he's trying to annoy me, right?

Like that's what brothers do. But for like a love interest to do it, it was triggering for me, 'cause I kept thinking back to all the times I got flicked by my 

older brother.

KIM: Yeah. There's something so 

aggressive about it. 

SIMON: Yeah, I think it's another example in this relationship where he just is doing whatever comes to his mind. It might be flicking her, it might be cutting her off. He is not thinking, How would this affect the future of our relationship?

How does this affect how she sees me? 'cause he just does whatever he likes. Whereas she's constantly thinking, How will this make me seem to him? Will doing this small action

jeopardize a potential future 

with him? 

KIM: Been there. Been there personally, 

AMY: Oh my God. Yeah. 

KIM: that?

Yep. I know. It was almost a little disturbing to 

AMY: read 

this because it was so familiar. 

KIM: Totally. 

SIMON: We should say it's also a funny and 

fun

book. It's not 

just 

traumatic. 

KIM: Completely funny and fun, 

but very realistic. 

AMY: A lot of their, conversation is humorous and it revolves around inside jokes, and I think that is very hard to write about, because inside jokes are annoying 

to everybody that's not 

part of the inside joke, right? She does a really good job of making you feel like you're a third party in that joke, and so 

you get the humor of it. And, um, yeah. I love the banter.

SIMON: Yeah, it made me think of Noel Coward plays when I was reading 

it. Yeah. Yeah. And there's a slight staginess to it, but in a fun way and yeah, like something like

Private Lives or something where it is that, you

know, everyone's 

saying the perfect thing to

each other. 

KIM: Yes. 

She is trying to do that to a certain extent. She's trying to be entertaining and fun, you 

know, whatever he throws at her, she can handle it and she's not gonna be too attached or whatever. 

AMY: So, yeah, Walter makes it pretty clear that what he expects from this relationship is kind of just no strings attached. As much as he disses the bachelor girl, he also talks down upon the little woman, and so when he does that, Liza has no choice but to be like, Oh yeah, I would never wanna be the little woman. No, no, that's 

not me at all. But privately inside, she's like, 

When's he gonna propose? Um, and Liza pretends it's what she wants, but it's not an equal relationship,

right Simon?

SIMON: Yeah, absolutely.

I mean, in the ways we've talked about already about, you know, her constantly reevaluating how she's presenting herself, which he clearly isn't, there's other much more tangible things that make it less free. Like if she gets pregnant, that's going to affect her life a lot more than it's gonna affect his life. So there is this sense that they're flying in the face of custom, but also very aware of certain customs.

One way that comes out, somewhere in the middle of the book, they go away for a weekend together. And, Liza is the one who's putting on an inverted commas "fake" wedding ring and practicing how to write her adopted surname in the hotel 

guest book.

KIM: Yeah, let's talk about this ring. ' You wrote about it in the afterword to the book as a sign of her middle classness. Can you tell us a little bit more about that, 'cause I think it's pretty interesting. 

KIM: I. Yeah, I think what made it seem really middle class to me is that she refers to it as a fake ring. And it's a wedding ring from Woolworths, the High Street chain. It's only fake to her because she expects when she actually gets married, she'll wear gold, she'll wear something actually valuable. This ring's probably made of bakelite, which at the time was a relatively new invention that made these things accessible. I did mention in the afterword to it a popular song from the 1920s, so a little earlier, called A Woolworth Wedding by R.P Weston and Bert Lee. I'll just read the

chorus. Sadly, I don't know the tune otherwise, of course I would, um, 

sing it to you, but

KIM: Oh, come.

SIMON: You'll just have to imagine it. Um, We'll have a Woolworth wedding, Sweetheart, you and I, everything except the grand piano down at Woolworth where you can buy, we'll buy the wedding ring there. It won't be gold, it's true, but our love is 18 karats, so any kind of ring will do. Um, so, so for Liza, it's something that, you know, you see this in quite a lot of the novels of the period.

You go and buy it and you pretend. For a maid or a girl in a factory, or you know anyone in that class that is their wedding ring and that is what they're excited about. There's nothing fake about it.

AMY: Right. They're 

not gonna get anything nicer than that one. Awww.

KIM: Yeah,

AMY: Uh,

KIM: happy to just be nominated. 

AMY: Yeah. Um, I looked up that song online and I could find the tune, Simon, but I couldn't find an audio clip of the tune with the words. So between you and I, we could put on a little show.

SIMON: We could piece it together. Okay. 

AMY: Yes, 

exactly. 

AMY: So, as we mentioned, Liza thinks she could never be herself until she got married, and she thinks she's gonna have security once she's married. Not only financial security, but it's also security from rejection. She's just sick of dating, and she's sick of having to deal with the games.

Um, she's jealous of Walter's interaction with other women, and so she thinks, Well, if we were married, I wouldn't have to feel that way because I would have him at 

that point, right? 

KIM: A done deal kind of thing. 

SIMON: Yeah. And, um, in fact, I, I'll just read the quote that we've sort of been hinting at between us, if that's all right. It's a bit of a long quote, but it's a good one. She could never be herself till she was married. When they were married, she could be nasty to Walter when it was necessary because she wouldn't be afraid of losing him. She could tell him he was lazy. She could make him a proper barrister and bully him to write his book. And all she did now was stop him working, not by saying anything, by saying nothing. He was afraid because at the heart of their relationship, instead of the courage to take each other for life was a blank, a fear on her side. On his. She sat down again and thought, trying to put herself in Walter's place. Yes, he was being perfectly reasonable. He had always told her what he wanted. She had always said she wanted it, too, because she was afraid. Which I think is actually a really moving moment in what is quite a funny book because he isn't being deceitful.

He's probably just blissfully unaware that she's thinking all these things and he thinks that they're both being honest, but she's not really allowed to be. Um, and to an extent she would be safe if they got married, both from the jealousy, from all these other things. be very unlikely that they would get divorced once they were married.

The divorce rates were very low. Because it was set in a sort of uncertain period in the 1930s, I'm not sure whether it's before or after divorce legislation came in in the UK, I think it was 1936 or 37 around then, which expanded the um, grounds for divorce quite significantly. Before then there's quite a tricky list of things like incest or insanity or something. Whereas, yeah, there were more options, but depending on when this was actually set within the 1930s, that might not have been on the table. But again, even with those options, you were pretty safely 

married. Maybe not happily married, but, but, 

you were 

KIM: safe. 

Yeah, because you're safe to bully and like 

SIMON: yeah. 

KIM: Totally. It's like 

her turn to like, get him under her thumb and get him to do all the 

SIMON: Yeah. 

KIM: wants. I love that her fantasy is about that. 

AMY: It's about 

nasty to 

KIM: Exactly. 

SIMON: I think her fantasy is also just

like not having to think about

what she's saying. It's just like if 

I'm thinking something, I can say it. 

and that's 

it. 

KIM: Exactly. Yeah. 

AMY: But would she? Would she be able to do those things with Walter? Because she, like myself, does not like confrontation. 

KIM: Oh yeah, me too. 

AMY: So even to the extent, not even with Walter, but she sublets her apartment 

when she goes off for the summer with him and the people subletting are not paying the rent and she just cannot confront them and be like, No, I really need my money. She keeps going back and forth like, uh, I'm still 

SIMON: Yeah. 

Yeah. 

AMY: them.

And it's like, just tell them. 

KIM: Yeah. 

AMY: cause she hates confrontation. 

KIM: Yeah, 

there. 

SIMON: That's me as

well. Yeah. Yeah. 

KIM: The other thing, um, I felt, so she describes her mood swings a lot, so she can go from like euphoric to mildly depressed, depending on how things are going with her relationship with Walter, for example, she could be just in the depths of despair and then he does one little nice thing, and then she's euphoric again.

And I felt like that is very true to like someone in their twenties and sort of how you feel about things in the moment. Um, and I want to read from a scene where they go to the movies ' because it's filled with Liza's random thoughts and emotions as she's experiencing watching this movie. "Walter and Lizza sat in the middle of the middle row of their cinema. In front of them sat a loving couple, sloping a little to the left and behind them, someone who clicked her tongue. Whenever anything happened in the film, Lizza sat with her hand in Walters. They always held hands in a cinema. It was a film they hadn't seen before, but as Walter said, only just soon it would pass from her mind.

And all she would remember was that tonight Walter had said he was in love with her, and tonight they had some Turkish cigarettes and she wore a new elastic roll on belt, which squeezed her together and would leave a pattern. But the funny bits of the film were exquisitely funny. The sad bits made her cry worse than ever before.

And she always cried at films. Now. When the girl in the film told the man that she loved him, whatever happened, she would always love him because he was a part of her and she wouldn't be alive if she didn't love him. The tears drowned Liza's eyes and the man hadn't said he loved her.

Oh, you poor girl. But he will, when they jacked the car up off the man, and the girl took his head on her knee and he said he guessed he loved her. The tears ran right down Liza's face. Oh, he couldn't die. He couldn't. The man was in bed in a very shiny hospital. The woman behind them clicked her tongue and said, look at his temperature.

But the doctor told the girl he was going to be all right. Liza thought, it's only a film I'm just watching. It has nothing to do with me. I'm not even interested. So she wasn't crying when the girl put her head down on the pillow by the mans and the music grew suddenly louder and the screen said the end. She took her hand from Walters and they stood up while the gramophone played. God saved the king. Liza saw with great pleasure and great. Embarrassment that Walter's eyes were almost pink, but that might just be from looking at the screen or the smoke in the air. But she'd never seen his eyes pink before.

No, it would be the smoke. When other people looked as you felt, it didn't mean they felt the same. Other people. That was wrong. Liza and Walter held hands as they made their way through the crowd and in the King's Road.

He took her arm and linked her little finger with his, they walked slowly along. Well said. Walter, what did you think of that? Well, what did you, same again. Wouldn't it have been heavenly if the Jack had slipped and bust his neck? Heavenly said, Liza. Some films are films, aren't they? But darling, I cried dreadfully.

I hope you didn't see me. No ducky. I was too busy, not crying. Aren't we awful? He squeezed her hand. Liza thought we are in love. I did know before that I was more than he was. Now it will be different. 

AMY: I think that scene, that whole movie scene and, and their reaction afterward 

sums up the 

entirety of their relationship, right? 

KIM: Right. Yeah. 

AMY: She's bawling her eyes out because the man in the film says, I guess 

I 

love you. And 

KIM: enough. 

AMY: her to just 

break out in 

tears.

And he's, Walter is pretty much 

unmoved by the 

KIM: yeah. 

ahead. 

SIMON: when he says he is busy not

crying, that's him saying that he was 

crying though.

KIM: Yeah. And she loves 

that. Yeah, 

she 

totally loves

that. It's 

like he gives her just a little enough, she takes it and she's like, euphoric. And then he turns it 

and it's like, Oh,

actually I'm gonna move 

to the neighborhood, you know, but I'm not moving in with you 'cause we're 

SIMON: Yeah. 

KIM: be married, so, 

AMY: That's what's great about Walter though, is he is so charming. You know he's behaving badly with her, but he is really charming and so you understand. Like in my head, he was the spitting image of Carrie Grant. He's got that vibe to him, and you can forgive him anything because he's just adorable.

Everything he says 

is so funny and cute and 

charming, 

right? 

KIM: What do you think, Simon, of Walter? I'm curious. 

SIMON: Yeah, I think I'm with you. Like if people listen to this episode, haven't read the novel, they might think, Oh, he just seems awful and selfish and caddish, but I defy anyone not to fall in love with him. He is so fun and light and fresh and it's, maybe that's where the frustration also comes because he is not committing, he is not being clear, but he's that person you meet at a party and you're just like, I want to hear what he's saying next.'cause he just makes it more fun to be around him. 

KIM: Yeah, totally. I mean, even like going away for the summer, that's exciting for her. They're gonna go away. She quits her job, which she was kind of bored with anyway, to go have this kind of playing “pretend marriage” time, you know, it's like he's, he is very fun.

SIMON: Yeah, you mentioned the job there actually, we haven't talked that much about the office job, but there's a little quote I wanted to read just from the office, because I think it'll give you a picture of how she brings across the camaraderie and fun and silliness of an office. Um. The office was rather exciting today. First, Miss Derry had a new jumper last week. She had dyed the navy on turquoise, or rather, as she had said, she had dyed the blasted stripes turquoise. You couldn't do anything with the navy part. It had made no difference that anyone could see, and today, Miss Derry had been saying when Liza came in, so I gave it to mom for polishing brass. What do you think of this one? It was magenta open work with very short puff sleeves. Pretty hot. Miss Nedley had said gloomily. think it's that.

Like I love that. It's great. That's what 

you talk about when you go into work, isn't it? You talk about, you know, the new outfit, you or you know,

the unsuccessful haircut you've had. Something like that. I know. It's, it's, yeah. And I think that way gloomily at the end is so good. ', You immediately know what the atmosphere of that exchange is.

AMY: And also it sums up another thing I loved about Liza throughout the book is all of her inner 

kind of catty thoughts about people. She's kind of, she can be a mean girl about people. She doesn't like confrontation, but her inner world is judging people for 

KIM: Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. It could have been a dot-com digital advertising agency (said from experience.)

AMY: Yeah.

Yeah. And even that scene at the beginning with, um, Walter and Liza, basically any scene they're in together, if they had been like, “Hold on, I wanna post this on Instagram,” it would've worked because it seems so modern. It seems like it's present day. I mean, there are elements that you're like, Yes, we're not in the modern world, but... 

SIMON: And that was actually a discussion we had republishing it. The editor who I recommended it to said, I'm just worried this doesn't feel like a 1940s novel set in 1930s, because it feels so modern. I was like, Yeah, it does, but I think that's, you know, it was published in the 1940s, so let's go for

it.

It's not the period 

piece that

people might expect when they're 

KIM: Right. Totally. You completely surprised me, Simon picking this and I don't read the forward or the afterward until after I read the books. I don't wanna know anything about it. I was just so excited at how relevant it was to my life and how modern it felt like it.

It was a complete surprise. 

SIMON: I'm so glad. Yeah.

KIM: Yeah. 

AMY: Okay. So, we've been talking here about Liza's personal life a lot. Let's get into Angela's personal life. We know she was married in 1947 when she was 38, which would've been 

kind of a ripe old 

age. 

KIM: I guess that's something with not 

not enough men maybe. Yeah. Not enough men around, as you said. 

SIMON: Yeah. 

AMY: Yeah. 

Do we know anything else about her own dating life? Married life? 

SIMON: We do not, um, afraid. I mean, I'm sure the second World War would've had an effect on, you know, when she would've met, uh, her eventual husband. But yeah, I don't know if she, I dunno if she had any broken engagements or maybe she met a Walter who wouldn't commit, who knows?

AMY: I think we've all met a Walter. We've all met a Walter. 

What was the response to One Year's Time when it came out? Were people scandalized at all by this casual sex?

 SIMON: I haven't been able to find many reviews. I don't think it sold very well, particularly, or there were that many printed. The people who did review it, I was quite surprised, didn't sort of call out that too much. I mean, they acknowledged that it was a very sort of free and easy relationship, but not in a scandalized way,

more just sort of saying it's a bit different from other things you might read. Um, so yeah, maybe the reason the publishers didn't do a huge print run, or it didn't so well, maybe it's

connected to that, 

but, um,

I don't 

know. It's, 

KIM: our perceptions are just off about 

that time because 

we don't 

SIMON: I, 

KIM: Maybe it was more

SIMON: yeah, I mean, people were obviously doing things that people weren't writing about, so, um, yeah. 

Yeah. 

I mean, it was also, of course,

published during the Second World War, so there were paper shortages, all these sorts of things meant that, um, yeah, it would've, I mean it isn't that likely it could have had a huge print anyway. But yeah, we often think people in the

past were like the books about them, 

which, you know, 

KIM: Yes. 

SIMON: were, but to an extent they weren't.

KIM: Yeah. 

AMY: Yeah. 

And we're so lucky that this book has been republished. But uh, I hear that it was a bit of a challenge to track down the rights to it.

SIMON: Yeah, my goodness. Um, it does feel like a miracle. So I read it for the first time, oh, I don't know, maybe 2008, 2009. I read it in the Bodleian library in Oxford, which has all the books published in the UK, because I just couldn't find a copy of it anywhere. I'd heard about it because of her connection to A.A. Milne, and whom I love. Um, but I thought that I'm never gonna be able own a copy. I. That's it. so when they were asking me at the British Library for suggestions, I wanted to read this one again. It'd been a long time. I wanted to see if it was as good as I remember. Uh, and they said, Yep, fine. We'll do it. I was like, Well, this'll be easy because A.A. Milne's super famous. His estate must be well known, and it was in a catalog to come out a few years back and we had to, in the end, just pull it because they could not find the family. Angela Milne was still in copyright,uh, so we had to get a family to it, and I was, I was so sad. They've got brilliant people at the British Library tracking down the states and things, and they couldn't find any connection. And Angela Milne's married name was Killey, K-I-L-L-E-Y, which is pretty unusual. I thought there were so many reasons why it should be easy to find and it wasn't possible. So we were like, Fine, we'll put it on the back burner. If we ever find out about the estate, great. Technically, as you probably know, publishers can just publish, if they've done their level best to find the estate. You can actually pay. I think that's something the government set up. Uh, you can sort of set up a fund in case the estate ever does turn up, but it's quite expensive. And the British Library, I think, you know, because they're such an esteemed publishing wing of a very esteemed institution, they don't want to, you know, do anything too risky. So they just put it on hold and I thought, absolute last ditch, can't hurt on my blog I thought I'll just put a note saying I've mentioned this is coming out. It's not coming out. If anyone's got any connection, please let me know. Then a blogger called Claire, who blogs at The Captive Reader, a wonderful blog, emailed me saying, I don't know if this helps, but years ago I was reviewing a book by A.A. Milne and his nephew commented on it. He was not Angela's brother, he was her cousin. A different sibling of A.A. Milne. So she emailed him saying they're trying to find the family. Do you have any connections?He emailed me saying, Yes, I know her children, Nigel and Julia, I can put you in touch. And we went from there. It was amazing. I got to email both Nigel and Julia. And yeah, they were thrilled. They said yes straight away and I just couldn't believe it because I, you know, I never thought it would happen. It's one of the few books in the series that I'd never been able to have a copy of, so I'm thrilled it's reprinted, just so I can have a copy on my shelves apart from anything else. Um, yeah, that was a very exciting day, and I just love that it was just a, a humble book, blog exchange that managed to do what all these, you know, people who do it professionally somehow couldn't manage. 

AMY: Totally. Yay. Internet. 

KIM: So back to Milne's writing life, she continued to write for Punch. And her writing for Punch, Jam and Genius, was published in 1947. She was a regular book reviewer for The Observer and also an ad copywriter. She died on Christmas Eve, 1990, and One Year's Time, it basically seems almost effortlessly good. So I'm wondering why she didn't write another novel. Do we know anything about that? I guess we don't know much, so maybe not.

SIMON: Yeah, it's another one of those answers where I'm just afraid I have to say I don't know. Uh, but you, you see it time and again for women of this period writing, don't you, particularly if the first book hasn't been this huge success. Maybe she just didn't have time. Maybe she didn't have the inclination. I don't know. I think it's really sad that she didn't, because, I mean, Jam and Genius also really fun. That's easier to find second hand copies of if people want to track that down. And she was just one of these really fun, light, enjoyable, relatable voices that just burned once and then died, which  does make me think maybe, uh, maybe is more autobiographical than we know. 

KIM: Oh, good point. Yeah. 

SIMON: People have that one story, 

KIM: Yeah, they gotta get it out. yeah. 

AMY: She's one of the few lost ladies that I wasn't able to immediately find a photograph of online either. Have you seen any photographs of her, Simon?

SIMON: I think I've seen photo of her as a child, I think is maybe in Ann Thwaite’s biography of A.A. MIlne. But nothing as an adult.

AMY: Okay. 

KIM: That’s gonna be interesting. Yeah. Usually wehave something we can use. Um, yeah. 

AMY: We'll just have to use the book cover. Yeah. So anyway, Simon, this has been a blast. 

SIMON: It's so fun to be back. Thank you. Yeah.

KIM: Thank you for introducing us to this marvelous book that everyone should immediately go out and read 'cause it's a blast.

SIMON: Oh, thank you for spreading the word, and thanks as always for your wonderful podcast and all the great names that you're bringing to a wider audience.

KIM: Thanks, Simon. That's all for today's episode. We'll be posting a bonus episode on our Patreon site next week. That will be about Lost Ladies of Lit at the Oscars, just a little quick follow-up to the Academy Awards. 

 AMY: Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone, and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by AmY Helmes and Kim Askew and supported by listeners like you, including Jan, McKenna Roe, JJ Wilson, and Marianna Fowler. Thanks so much for your support. 

179. Carolyn Wells — Murder in the Bookshop with Rebecca Rego Barry

AMY HELMES: Thank you for listening to Lost Ladies of Lit for access to all of our future bonus episodes and to help support the cause of recovering forgotten women writers, join our Patreon community, visit lostladiesoflit.com and click Become a Patron to find out more. 

KIM ASKEW: Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off forgotten women writers. I'm Kim Askew, here with my co-host, Amy Helmes, who is not a big fan of mystery novels, listeners.

AMY: No. I think, Kim, honestly, I've maybe only read one Agatha Christie novel in my life. I'm not keen on Sherlock Holmes. I know both of these facts are making you shudder a little bit right now. You love a good mystery, right Kim? 

KIM: Oh yeah, I'm all over the place. Cozy British mysteries are great; like hardcore noir detective novels; French, Italian translations. I love the mystery/detective novel a lot. 

Amy: So this is the episode for you then. 

KIM: Yeah, 

AMY: While I don't love a fictional mystery, I do really enjoy a real life mystery, and I think we've got one to explore today, namely, the quest to figure out why on earth a wildly successful and prolific writer who was pretty much a household name around the turn of the century, fell into complete obscurity. 

KIM: We're going to call it The Mystery of the Vanishing Legacy, Amy. Carolyn Wells was a celebrity who counted Theodore Roosevelt, Thomas Edison and Mark Twain among her many famous friends and fans. She was, without a doubt, a pioneer of the detective mystery genre. She started writing locked-room mysteries a decade before Agatha Christie's work first debuted, and she even published a nonfiction how-to guide on the technique of writing mysteries. She was so famous that in 1936, Milton Bradley actually licensed her name for a game. It was a card game.

Amy: And while mysteries were Carolyn Wells's bread and butter, at a certain point in her career, she also wrote across genres, including books for children and young adults, humor pieces, short stories, poetry, puzzles, and anthologies. All told, she published, get this — 180 books in her lifetime, which is mind boggling, especially when you consider she started her writing career a bit later than many other writers we've featured on this podcast.

KIM: Wow. That's a lot by any standard. And speaking of mysteries, our special guest today had to do some sleuthing of her own to uncover the answer to the question Who was Carolyn Wells? What she found out along the way is pretty incredible. Are you ready to kick off this investigation, Amy?

AMY: Absolutely. So let's raid the stacks and get started! 

KIM: Our guest today, Rebecca Rego Barry, knows a thing or two about old books. In addition to having a master's degree in book history, she is also a former editor of Fine Books and Collections magazine, and she currently works as the director of communications at the Raab Collection, a firm that buys and sells historical autographs and documents. She's the author of 2015's Rare Books Uncovered: True Stories of Fantastic Finds in Unlikely Places, and her writing can also be found in From Page to Place: American Literary Tourism and the Afterlives of American Authors. 

AMY: Rebecca's latest book, out just last week from Post Hill Press, is The Vanishing of Carolyn Wells: Investigations into a Forgotten Mystery Author. Our former guest Allison Gilbert from our episode on Elsie Robinson blurbed this book actually, calling it “an engrossing biography that reads like a detective novel.” This book will also make you laugh a lot with its frequent fourth-wall breaking. So it's kind of part biography and part glimpse also into how biographies are born.Rebecca, this book is such a delight. I'm so excited to talk about it today. Welcome to the show. 

REBECCA: Thank you so much for having me. I've been such a fan of this podcast for years. So it's amazing to be on. 

AMY: Thanks for listening.

KIM: Yeah, that's awesome, we love hearing that. Um, we mentioned moments ago that you were a lover and a collector of rare books, which is so cool, and that is what circuitously brought you first into contact with the ghost of Carolyn Wells. Can you fill our listeners in? It's such a great story.

REBECCA: Yeah. Um, well, for about 13 years, I was editor of this magazine called Fine Books and Collections. So, in sort of my daily work, I would end up going to these rare and antiquarian book fairs, and one year, 2011, actually, my husband came with me, tagged along. And while I was off doing something else, he went over and he bought a first edition of Walden, which has always been one of my favorite books. It was going to be a surprise birthday gift for me that year. 

AMY: Major husband brownie points.

KIM: Yeah. 

REBECCA: It’s one of the only gifts in my life that has really knocked my socks off. And so I opened it, you know, on my birthday. There's a couple of book plates in there because obviously it's an old book, it's been owned by generations of people. And one of the book plates in it is a really kind of neo-Renaissance woman, and she's holding this funny little character in her hands, a little gargoyle like character. And it says along the bottom the name Carolyn Wells. So I was like, “Well, that's really interesting.” Like, I have no idea who this person is. And, you know, women collectors are pretty rare in the early 20th century, just because women didn't have the money or the agency to really be book collectors. So I just thought it was a neat thing and didn't really think about it too much. But again, going to all these book fairs, I started to see the name Carolyn Wells pop up on these first editions of 20s and 30s-era mysteries. And then in 2018, a British imprint put out a copy of one of her mysteries called Murder in the Bookshop. And that of course got my attention because it's a mystery set in a bookshop. It's all about rare books and antiquarian books. And it was such an “A-ha” moment. I was like, “Oh my God, she is not only a book collector, but she's a mystery author, and she wrote a mystery about rare book collecting.” And it really all just came together. And, um… 

AMY: And I have one of her books with her book plate in it.

REBECCA: Exactly. 

AMY: So you have this a-ha moment, but then at what point did you decide, “Hey, I want to write the story of this woman's life.”?

REBECCA: What happened was, because I was a freelance journalist I thought to myself, “Okay, I'm going to write an article about her.” So I pitched it to Crime Reads, which is a website about mysteries that I love, and, you know, they accepted it, and I just wrote a little article about her. But in the process of writing that I found out about all these other facets of her life in which she excelled, you know, and I just thought, “Wow, this is a much bigger project than I think it is.” And that article actually came out in March 2020, like the week the pandemic started, so I had all this time on my hands to really say to myself, that's not just an article, it's a bigger project. 

KIM: And fittingly, this book reads like a mystery novel in its own right as you're attempting to track down information about Carolyn's life and career. So tell us how difficult was it, and can you also, um, tell our listeners some of the more surprising twists and turns that happened along the way?

REBECCA: Yeah. I mean, probably for a lot of figures, you plug them into Google and not much comes up or not much that's reliable. You could certainly find her in Wikipedia, and she pops up in a couple of reference books, but there was no biography of her and I couldn't find any library that had a substantial archive, like her manuscripts and letters and that kind of thing.

So I just started thinking, “Where is this woman? Why is she not well known? Why is there nothing really out there substantial about her?” And I talked to one scholar when I was writing the Crime Reads article who said to me, “I have been thinking about this for decades. I really hope you run with this because somebody has to.” So, like I said, it was the beginning of the pandemic, so I just kind of spent a lot of time doing some digital research. Carolyn Wells never had any children, so I knew that there wasn't going to be some kid out there who's got an attic full of her stuff or a grandkid. But I thought to myself, “Well, maybe I can just find somebody.” And so I started looking around in Ancestry.com and Find a Grave and all these other websites to see if I could find any family members, and I happened upon her brother and I was like, “Okay, she has a brother! Great!” And then from there, I found out that he had three children, one of which was still alive. And so I sleuthed around and I found an address, and I wasn't even sure it was the right woman. It's a woman named Phyllis.I wasn't sure if it was the right person, address. I knew she'd be in her late 80s. So I thought, you know, she might be compromised. She might be ill. Who knows? But I wrote a letter and I just sent it out into the world. Four days later I get an email back from this woman and she's like, “Yes I am who you think I am and I'm so excited about your project and would you like to come visit me and see what I have?” And I was just like, “Oh my God, this is going to happen.”

Amy: Oh my gosh. 

KIM: Amazing. I love that. 

Amy: Her name is Phyllis. 

REBECCA: Yeah. She is the grandniece of Carolyn Wells and really the last living link, because she was about seven when Carolyn died. So she doesn't remember meeting her necessarily, but I'm sure they probably did. I just think of her as like the last living link between Carolyn's world and our world.

AMY: I'm just imagining how gratifying it was to hear from you, like, somebody cares about this woman that was related to me I know is important. Every biographer sort of has these stories, the kind of behind-the-scenes maneuvering of how they find all the information. You choose to include a lot of these personal stories, like, your journey in your book, which I loved, and you have all these footnotes that you include that are just hilarious. And I feel like that aspect of the book really makes this biography shine. So listeners, even if you think to yourself, “Oh, I'm not a big non-fiction person, I don't want to read like a big, heavy scholarly biography,” that's not this book of Rebecca's. Did you know that you wanted to write the book in this sort of personal way?

REBECCA: Well, a couple of things, and thank you for saying that because I kind of thought to myself as I was writing, and even now when I look at the finished product, I think some people are going to love this part of it and some people are going to hate this part of it. You know, those like the footnotes and the little side stories and that kind of thing.I kind of knew that people aren't going to want to read four or 500 pages, you know, a scholarly tome about a woman that they've never heard of. And Carolyn being Carolyn, you know, known for being funny and witty, I wanted it to be a little irreverent. You know, she says in her memoir the reason for writing, to her, was to entertain and to amuse, and so I kind of took that and I thought, I have to do something like that. I can't just plod along from birth to, you know, all of her different books and what scholars thought of them and then death. I didn't want to do it that way. 

AMY: And also the mystery aspect is fun. You're the Fleming Stone sleuth of this biography, you know? 

KIM: Totally. So let’s go ahead and dive into the life of Carolyn Wells. She was born in 1862 in Rahway, New Jersey. Rebecca, is there anything about her youth that maybe would have offered up a clue, (ding ding!) about her mystery writing future?

REBECCA: She had a very, um, “privileged” is definitely the word, lifestyle growing up. Although I will say this: her father decided what she could read and what she couldn't read, so she didn't really come into her own as a reader, um, until she was in her teens and she figured out that there was a public library she could walk to and she could get any book she wanted and her father didn't have to know about it. So, you know, that's one facet of it. She didn't grow up in a house full of books and she wasn't destined to be a writer necessarily. But one of the things I talk about in this book, and this is just purely a hunch, and it's, you know, certainly not something that can be proven, but there is this really violent and unsolved murder that happens streets away from where she lives when she's 25. And the victim is actually about 25 as well, and it's a woman that no one apparently knows anything about. She's found, it's sort of like a Jack the Ripper-esque murder. They never find the killer, but it goes on for months, the search for the killer, and the search to find out who this woman is. They call her The Unknown Woman. And they had like hordes of media come to this tiny town and people thinking they could figure out who the woman was. And I can't help but think that that kind of planted a seed for her, not only to be a writer, but to write mysteries in which they always get solved. There's always a detective. He always finds out. The right thing always happens. You're never left wondering if the killer is still out there, you know? 

KIM: Right. 

REBECCA: It's just a funny thing that I happened to notice when I was at the cemetery where she is buried, The Unknown Woman is also buried.

AMY: Oh, wow. 

REBECCA: And they still don't know who she is. I mean, I guess they could, you know, excavate her and do some DNA testing, but they don't want to do that. So it is something that the town actually cherishes as a mystery.

KIM: Hmm. Interesting.

AMY: You mentioned, you know, she started cultivating her own literary tastes later in her youth. Did she read any mystery writers? 

REBECCA: Well, you know, she started as a librarian, for about 10 or 12 years. She basically said, and I kind of point out in the book, librarians would kill you if they heard this, but she said, I basically just ordered books, sat there and read them. That's what she did as a job, which she loved because she got to read all of the magazines that came in, all the new books. So she read pretty broadly. And during the 1890s, Sherlock Holmes was like the biggest and best thing, and she loved him. She loved Arthur Conan Doyle. But she does talk in her memoir about being home one day, it's a rainy day, and she and her mother are there, and someone comes over and they want to read aloud to them this novel, and it's one of Anna Katharine Green's novels, mystery novels. And she says something in her memoir along the lines of, I had never heard this before and I was blown over and from then on I couldn't get mysteries out of my blood. 

KIM: Ooh, I love it.

REBECCA: So I think between Anna Katharine Green and Arthur Conan Doyle, she was just hooked. 

AMY: And listeners, we're going to be talking about Anna Katharine Green in a bonus episode coming up. So, um, we'll get more into her, but okay, so she's working as a librarian, but really just sitting there reading, which is funny because in high school, I was like a library assistant. That was my job. And I would pretend to be off in the stacks straightening or whatever, but I'd really just be sitting there cross legged diving into a book. So I totally can understand that. So how does she go from librarian to professional writer?

REBECCA: Yeah, while she's a librarian, like I said. She's reading all of these magazines we don't necessarily remember today, but they were like small literary slash humor magazines. And she kind of gets it into her head that she's going to start pitching these editors with some poetry and little bits of prose and puzzles she's really into. I mean, she's a literary nobody and she just thinks, Well, I can do this. So she lands a piece in Vogue and she lands a piece in Puck, and then she parlays every small publication, every little success into the next thing. By the end of the decade, she's writing for Life, and she's writing for Judge, which is a British humor magazine. And it takes her a long time before she finally can say to herself, “I am a writer,” and leave the job as a librarian. It's 1902 when she does that. She's 40 years old when she makes the break. 

KIM: Wow. 

AMY: So getting kind of a late start as a writer. Yeah.

REBECCA: Mm-hmm. 

KIM: So even before she started to focus on mysteries, she wrote a lot of novels for children and young adults, right?

REBECCA: Yeah, the interesting thing about her is she's doing all of this concurrently. She's writing poetry. She's writing for children's magazines. She's writing humor pieces. Uh, then she starts writing a bunch of young adult books, particularly a series called the “Patty” books, of which she writes 17. And they are immensely popular. They're reprinted for decades. And then in 1909, she writes her first mystery. But again, all of this is happening at the same time. And in some years she's writing six, eight, I think nine or 10 is the max per year. 

 KIM: That's more than Stephen King, right? Wow. 

REBECCA: It's not a record. For a while, I thought, Oh my God, is she a record breaker? 

KIM: Totally. Yeah, you're like, “Guinness..!” Yeah.

AMY: I want to get back to her humor writing. Didn't she do a parody of, I want to say Upton Sinclair? Who was it that she parodied?

REBECCA: Uh, Main Street was the name of the novel. I think, is it Sinclair Lewis?

KIM: Sinclair Lewis. Yep. Main Street. 

REBECCA: Yeah. Which was like the number one bestseller of the year. I guess she just didn't like the plot of it, and she decided I'm going to parody this. And she writes a novel that's called Ptomaine Street. I think that's a, is it a type of poison? I'm not sure. 

AMY: It's some sort of illness, or yeah.

REBECCA: And uh, yeah. Writes an entire novel and really just for the fun of it, in the middle of everything else she's doing.

AMY: And it seems like the response to all that, I just wanted to point out, was, you know, people were delighted by her, but also surprised that a woman could write anything funny.

REBECCA: Very much. Yeah. I mean, this whole thing that, you know, we've heard in our lifetime, “Are women funny?” is something that they were literally writing the same phrase, the same question a hundred years ago and addressing it at her. “Are women funny?” And then they'd hold her up as a woman who, in fact, is funny. Like, can you believe it? She's funny. 

AMY: Shocker! Yeah. And smart, too, because she's also doing these puzzles and brain teasers for newspapers and magazines. So she was kind of actually a crossword puzzle pioneer, and I wanted to correlate this back to what I mentioned in the introduction about my not loving mysteries so much, because I don't really like any sort of brain teaser games or logic puzzles. It just hurts my head. 

KIM: Which is so funny because you are so smart. I mean you were on “Jeopardy!” 

Amy: Yeah, no, I have no time for it. I do like the occasional crossword puzzle, but I think the fact that I don't like these logic games so much, it makes sense that I don't, therefore, love to read mysteries. Because there's a lot of synergy between the two. 

REBECCA: I feel exactly the same way as you do. I'm just not big on puzzles. I'm not big on like Wordle. My family gets mad at me when we play Scrabble because they say that I ponder too long on the letters, and same thing with mysteries. I kind of feel like when I open a mystery or any novel and I'm starting to read it, I don't want to think about what's going to happen. I don't want to know before everybody else knows. I want it to just play out. But mystery readers don't. They want to solve that puzzle before the big reveal. So for me coming into this project, it was like, “Okay, I'm going to have to read a lot of mystery novels and try to get into that headspace,” which I'm not in. But yeah, she actually equated poetry with puzzles and puzzles with mysteries. She would equate them to math equations. 

AMY: Which I also hate.

REBECCA: Me too! Yeah, she always said the heart of a mystery is the clues and the puzzle at the heart of it. She actually didn't care much about the characters, the motivations, and this is a little bit where, you know, modern ears don't necessarily like her writing or, you know, some critics have said, “Oh, well, you know, it didn't have enough depth.” That's not what she was doing. And it's just not the way she came at writing mysteries. 

AMY: This is tracking. 

REBECCA: Yeah. 

KIM: Yeah, that's like, I guess you could see it as a weakness, but then, what do you think made her so uniquely good at writing mysteries?

REBECCA: Well, she was great at that puzzle aspect, but that puzzle aspect was something that was happening in the earlier years. When she published her first mystery in 1909, that was like the height of the fashion for mysteries. But by 10, 15 years later, when you're in the Golden Age of mysteries, that's all changing and they don't want that anymore. They want good characters and they want motivation. But also, I mean, I feel like she had a lot of ingenuity. She's writing three, four, five a year, saleable mystery novels that are reviewed well, that are selling 15, 20, 000 copies each, which is unheard of. I mean, aside from somebody like Mary Roberts Rinehart, who was her nearest competitor in the mystery market in America, there's no one else selling that many novels. So she's coming up with good ideas and good plots, but when we look back on her as critics did in the 60s, 70s, 80s, whichever critics actually paid any attention to her at all, it's to say, Well, that was old-fashioned.

KIM: Mmm, okay. So I think now is a great time to talk about one of Carolyn Wells’s mystery novels. As we said, she wrote 82 of them. The most famous were her Fleming Stone series. We decided to focus on Murder in the Bookshop, the one we mentioned earlier, because it dovetails so nicely with your own interest in rare books, as you said, right, Rebecca?

REBECCA: I mean, she did sprinkle rare books into some of her other mysteries, but this one is the one where she really focuses her attention on that entire market, you know, the rare book collector is a man who gets killed within the first few chapters and then also a rare book is stolen. The librarian is suspected and the wife is suspected and the book dealer is suspected. And for people who love rare books and antiquarian books, the scenes in the library, the bookseller's office, I mean, it's all really cool.

KIM: Yeah, yeah.

AMY: So we mentioned the Fleming Stone series. Fleming Stone comes up in this novel. Rebecca, how would you describe him?

REBECCA: I think she tries to make him seem like he's a scholar detective. 

KIM: Mm-hmm. He's literary. 

REBECCA: He's literary. And I think his name, Stone, is meant to convey a certain blandness, which he is. He's kind of a gray, bland character, but then he just shows up and he's like, “Okay, I know what happened here.” I think, you know, she got some criticism because in some of the Fleming Stone novels, he doesn't show up until like the last 15 pages. So, you know, you go through this entire mystery, there's no detective. There's police, and they're always bungling, and there's the actual characters themselves trying to figure stuff out, and then, you know, you'll get 75 percent of the way through the book, and then someone's like, “Maybe we should call Fleming Stone!” So that was one thing that when she got criticized for Fleming Stone novels. It was like, well, why does he not show up until nearly the end of the book? This book is not like that. 

AMY: Yeah, but I do have so much to say about Fleming Stone, um, and I think “bland” is a good word, because he is not your charismatic Sherlock Holmes. It almost seemed like his underlings that he would recruit to help him out were the actual heroes in terms of solving the crime. I read two of her books for this episode, but in each case, it was like, “Okay, his assistants are the ones doing all the work, and they're more interesting characters!”

KIM: They have so much personality!

AMY: Yeah, yeah. What did you think of the book, Kim?

KIM: I love that it was set in the 1930s. I love the literary aspects of it. So I was looking up some of the quotes and things from Fleming Stone that he was throwing in his conversation. Um, I felt like  some of the things that happened kind of contradicted itself. So even though she had the puzzle aspect, it did feel a little bit rushed, to be honest. What did you think?

AMY: I got a lot of chuckles out of it. So Fleming Stone, his relationship with the police is so hilarious. The police give him so much leeway. It's just like, Oh sure, this random guy, let's tell him everything we know! 

KIM: Yeah, it wasn't that typical animosity that you usually see between the detectives, at least today, anyway, in mystery novels. 

AMY: And they decide it would be a good idea for Fleming Stone to have a key to their home so that he can do some solving in their house whenever he wants to. 

KIM: Oh, totally! Oh, and also can I say they… I'm not going to give anything away because I'm not going to say who, but they let a prime suspect go do their job for them!

AMY: There is a lot of citizen sleuthing.

KIM: Yeah, 

AMY But I agree, like, getting a window into the time frame, this upper class world..

KIM: That's what I loved.

AMY: 1930s rich people and how they lived is really fun to follow along, right? 

REBECCA: Yeah. And that's what she did best. And actually Anna Katharine Green did that as well. Carolyn liked setting her novels either on Fifth Avenue and grand apartments or it's a country house in Connecticut or it's a country house in Long Island. Once in a while, it's a country house in Wisconsin, but they're almost always in the Metro New York area. And it's always your upper class, your upper middle class. And yeah, when the detective shows up and his assistant shows up, they're like, “Yeah, just stay here for the weekend. Until we all figure this out, you can just stay here with us.” And they're all like that! 

KIM: “We have innumerable rooms,”was the phrase. 

Amy: Was it also a theme across her mysteries that the murderer victim, you always kind of weren't too upset that that person died? Like, you find out that they're actually not the greatest, so you're not really feeling too much sympathy for them? 

REBECCA: Yeah. Yeah. And I think this is in a lot of the novels from this era, you know, they'll end up committing suicide or they'll end up doing something so that the police don't have to arrest them and put them on trial and she wants to skip all that. 

KIM: So it's like a convenient end. 

REBECCA: She wants it to just end quickly and be done.

KIM: yeah,

AMY: I will say also, she does a great job at having lots of potential suspects all with valid motives. So I was never at any point in the two books that I read feeling like really early on, “Oh, I know who did it.” Actually, no, Murder in the Bookshop, I definitely was like, “It's probably this guy.” But you are given a number of options as you go along. And of course, she withholds very important information from the crime that you find out, like, three fourths of the way in. And you're like, “Well, that would have been nice to know.” So I think that's also why I don't love mysteries. You're being manipulated with the information you're given, right?Um, But the end of this novel, we're not going to give anything away, but the way that Fleming Stone solves this mystery, I was rolling on the floor laughing. so funny, ridiculous, however you want to say it. All credit to Carolyn Wells, I'm just saying I think it's right that this is not necessarily going to appeal to all modern readers. But for a laugh, it's really good. And, there are parts that are great. There are parts of her writing that are wonderful. It was uneven, is how I would describe it.

REBECCA: Yeah. and, you know, the funny thing is that this is probably, Murder in the Bookshop, her biggest bestseller. And it was a New York Times bestseller in 1936.

AMY: I think that's an important thing to touch on, Rebecca. We don't necessarily need to judge her based on what we think of the books, right? We need to judge her based on the success, tremendous success, that she had during her lifetime.

KIM: Yeah, obviously people were just craving what she was writing. 

REBECCA: Mm hmm. A getaway really. 

KIM: Yep, exactly. 

REBECCA: Yeah, I agree. And I kind of make this point a few times in the book. Like, I didn't write this biography of Carolyn Wells because I loved her books and I thought she was a brilliant mystery author. It didn't really have anything to do with that. It really had to do with mostly the fact that she excelled in all these different facets of, you know, literary, film, humor, children's literature, like all these different facets. When you add them all up, it's like, “Oh my God, this one person did all of these things!” But yeah, I mean, in terms of whether or not I subjectively thought this novel was good or that novel was good, I don't really think that matters much. And I also think, like you were saying, it's very hard to be a hundred years removed from the publication and think of it the way contemporary readers thought of it.

KIM: Absolutely. 

AMY: And hey, Theodore Roosevelt loved it.

REBECCA: Exactly. She actually was acquainted with four different presidents, Thomas Edison and Mark Twain. Maybe not that that matters too much, but what I'm saying is she was a household name, so much so that, you know, they tried to make a radio show out of her name. They made a card game out of her name. I mean, these are things that don't happen to everybody, that's for sure.

KIM: Right. 

AMY: Rebecca, we had discussed ahead of this recording whether we should read Murder in the Bookshop or this other very popular novel of hers, Vicky Van. And we ultimately settled on Murder in the Bookshop because of the rare books collection, but, , um, I actually liked Vicky Van better than Murder in the Bookshop. So I would recommend to listeners, if you were gonna do a starter Carolyn Wells novel and wanted to try one out, I would point you in the direction of Vicky Van. I thought it was fun. Again, a good snapshot of an era. 

REBECCA: I would agree. I mean, even though I say personally Murder in the Bookshop I love because of the book element, but I think generally critics, you know, when they talk about her work, they will say her early work is better than her later work, um, which makes some sense. By the time she's, you know, writing in the third book late 20s and 30s and 40s, you know, she's definitely older and she's definitely got a formula that she's employing. But the earlier work maybe has a little bit more interest to it. You know, when I started this project, everyone was like, “Oh no, she's, you know, very bland and very formulaic and don't really bother.” I had a couple of mystery scholars tell me that kind of thing. And when I went back into the reviews of each and every novel, The New York Times, The Boston Globe, like all the local papers, Publisher’s Weekly, I found more good reviews than bad reviews, which tells me that the readers then enjoyed the work. Again, when you're looking at it from a hundred years later, or maybe not even a hundred years later, you just have different expectations for literary work than they did then.

AMY: I want to go back and read from Murder in the Bookshop because I feel like we've been tough on poor Fleming Stone. He does have a lot of moments of humor, as does Carolyn Wells, his creator. So I just wanted to read this little section that did make me really laugh.

Fleming Stone has a hunch about who his suspect might be, and he says, I am not absolutely sure of my man, but if he is the one I think, he must be put out of commission entirely, as soon as possible. “I don't want to kill him, but if it is a question of his life or mine, I shall certainly try to remain in the telephone book.” 

KIM: Totally. I love Yes. Totally. I love those lines. Listeners, there are a lot of lines like that.  So we talked about this being set amongst the rare book trade and this is a pursuit that Carolyn got really into later in life as well. It's actually a pretty important part of her legacy, right, Rebecca?

REBECCA: Yeah, um, she got married late in life, she got married when she was about 55, a man named Hadwin Houghton, and… 

AMY: Can we interrupt and talk about the possible way that they met each other? 

REBECCA: Yes, although it’s difficult to know because Carolyn was always cagey about giving away personal information. But in some interviews she did, she puts out there that the way that they knew each other is that he loved puzzles. I don't think we really touched upon this before. You asked and I never really answered about her puzzle making, but for 15 years, she made puzzles that were published in various magazines, one of which was related to The New York Times. She claims in one of these interviews at Hadwin would write in answers to the puzzles and that they kind of struck up a correspondence that way and that's how they got to know each other. Whether that's true or not, I love that story. So… 

AMY: I'm just gonna believe that that's true because it's such a cute story. 

KIM: I love that. 

REBECCA: So they got married late in life. They move into this beautiful apartment, but then he dies a year and a half later. And when he dies, some friends step forward and say to her, “You know, you really need a diversion in your life. Why don't you try collecting rare books?” And she's like, “Okay.” You know, I mean, I guess she's got, like, time and money and obviously an interest in books. And she starts collecting pretty broadly, but Walt Whitman in particular. And she treats it like a job. She just goes after every Walt Whitman, first edition, second edition, letters, manuscripts, whatever she can get her hands on. And within, like, a year or two, she's got like one of the biggest and best Walt Whitman collections in the world, which she holds on to, um, and when she dies, that collection goes to the Library of Congress. It's amazing. And the rest of her books,she collected Lewis Carroll, Edward Lear, um, what she referred to as the Concord poets, meaning Emerson and Thoreau and Hawthorne and that group, um, there were four different auctions just to get rid of all the books that she amassed. 

AMY: And the Concord Poets bring us back to your Walden. 

REBECCA: Yeah. Yeah. And I actually have a letter that she wrote to her friend about how she had stopped at a bookshop and bought a first edition of Walden and what she paid for it. It's amazing because this is a letter she's writing to her best friend about the book that I currently own.So now I have the book and I have the letter. 

KIM: Oh, that's so cool.

Amy: And you have the biography of Carolyn Wells that you've written. Amazing. Rebecca I'm in awe of the legwork you did to bring her story to light and even though I'm still not a convert to mystery novels, I really loved reading your book and learning about this amazing woman and everything she did, and also getting your account of sniffing out her story. You are a literary Nancy Drew, if ever there was one. 

REBECCA: You know, I was listening to one of your podcasts, the one about Rona Jaffe, and I went and bought a copy of The Best of Everything, which I'd always known about, but never gotten to. And I bought a copy. It has an introduction by Rachel Syme, and, um, she's got this wonderful line in the introduction where she says that “Rona Jaffe's legacy was bigger than her literature.” The same goes for Carolyn. It’s so, so much bigger than, you know, whether or not you think she was a clever mystery author or, you know, if she's the best. It just kind of transcends all of that.

AMY: Absolutely. She was a superstar of her day. 

REBECCA: I think so. And I think she deserved a biography at the very least. So that's why I was like, “I’m going to do this.”

KIM: Definitely. Well, I'm so glad you did. And I know Amy is too.

Amy: Yeah. And we're so glad that you stopped in today to talk to us about her. Thank you so much for joining us. 

REBECCA: Thank you. It's been my pleasure.

AMY: So that's all for today's episode. If you're a Patreon member, you can join us next week for a follow up on today's discussion when we'll be discussing Anna Katharine Green, aka the Mother of the American Detective Novel, and her novel, The Leavenworth Case. This is the author who kind of inspired Carolyn Wells to write mysteries. So visit lostladiesoflit.com patron to find out how to access all of our exclusive content.

KIM: Our theme song was written and recorded by Jennie Malone and our logo is designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Amy Helmes and Kim Askew and supported by listeners like you. 

177. Zelda Fitzgerald — Save Me the Waltz with Stephanie Peebles Tavera

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KIM ASKEW: Welcome to an all new episode of Lost Ladies of Lit. I'm Kim Askew here with my co host, Amy Helmes. 

AMY HELMES: We're back, everyone! Yay, finally! And we're excited to start exploring some more lost ladies of literature and talking all things bookish. Let's kick off our return with a lost lady who, it's fair to say, is a true original. 

KIM: Yeah, she's one of a kind for sure. We know her instantly by her first name, but it's her last name, and, well, that of her famous literary husband which framed everything she did.

AMY: Zelda Fitzgerald, the first flapper, was an icon of the Jazz Age, but there was real substance under her bubbly effervescence. And I need to wrap my own knuckles here, Kim. I never took her seriously as a writer because I'd never really had her presented to me that way, I guess? We talked about her in a bonus episode from last year, which put her more on my radar. 

 KIM: Same for me. That's episode number 135 on Zelda's paper dolls for the curious among you. We mentioned then that she'd written a single novel, Save Me the Waltz. It was published in 1932. 

AMY: Yeah. So after that episode, our guests today happened to chime in on our Facebook forum to say that Save Me the Waltz was quite good. And I only had to read a few pages of this book to realize that this woman had a serious mind and she could write! 

KIM: Amy, while I was reading this largely biographical novel, I think I texted you two words, “Just. Wow.” Despite being once told by her famous literary husband that she had essentially nothing to say, I think she actually had a lot to say in this work.

AMY: Me too, and I cannot wait to discuss it, so let's raid the stacks and get started. 

 [intro music plays]

KIM: Our guest today, Stephanie Peebles Tavera, is an assistant professor of English at Texas A&M University, Kingsville. She's also the author of the 2022 work Prescription Narratives: Feminist Medical Fiction and the Failure of American Censorship, out from Edinburgh University Press.

AMY: In 2021, Stephanie helped to recover an 1892 novel by Annie Nathan Meyer called Helen Brent, M.D. That work earned her an honorable mention by the Society for the Study of American Women Writers Book Edition Award. Stephanie is currently working on recovering the plays of Angelina Weld Grimke, as well as a monograph on women writers and mental health with an emphasis on the role travel therapy and self exile play in improving one's mental health.

 AMY: Ooh, I love that. That's giving me a reason to go on a vacation. Um, Anyway, as we mentioned in our introduction, Stephanie also has a particular affinity for Zelda Fitzgerald. In fact, an essay she wrote about Zelda and Save Me the Waltz will be included in an upcoming collection called American Writers in Paris: Then and Now. Stephanie, welcome to the show.

STEPHANIE: Thank you guys so much for having me and for hosting me today. I've been a long time listener of your podcast and not least because a number of my friends and colleagues have been guests on your show. Laurie Harrison Kahan, Mary Chapman, Coritha Mitchell, and Etta Madden. You guys have excellent taste in guests. 

AMY: Oh, We love our guests! 

KIM: We love our guests, yeah, and we love hearing that. So as Amy just mentioned, you have a special affinity for Zelda Fitzgerald. Do you want to tell us a little bit about that? What attracts you to her life and work, Stephanie?

STEPHANIE: Sure. My first memory of being captivated by Zelda Fitzgerald as a historical figure and as a celebrity is from watching Midnight in Paris, the 2011 film directed by Woody Allen and starring Owen Wilson. Alison Pill, who plays Zelda Fitzgerald in the movie, really brought the character of Zelda to life for me. Her rapid-fire speech, her grandiloquent vocabulary, her decadence and vivaciousness, and then, of course, her infamous disdain for Ernest Hemingway.  Like you, I initially knew Zelda as a historical figure, not as a writer. She was the quote, "the wife of F. Scott Fitzgerald." And I'm putting air quotes around "wife of" because she hated that phrase "wife of." She wanted to be publicly recognized as an artist on her own terms. I didn't read Save Me the Waltz until COVID quarantine about four years ago, and then I went on a binge, reading everything she wrote: her girl stories, her play, her essays. And I believe one of the reasons I was initially pulled into Save Me the Waltz, specifically, is because I learned that it was a thinly-veiled account of Zelda's own attempt to become a professional ballerina with the Paris Opera Ballet at the ripe old age of 30. And I was a professional ballerina once upon a time. 

AMY: What?!!

KIM: Oh that’s so cool!!

STEPHANIE: In another life. In another life. 

AMY: Alright, so sorry I interrupted you. I got so excited. Tell us more.

STEPHANIE: Okay, so I was invited to join Metropolitan Classical Ballet when I was 17 years old. So even before I finished high school, yeah.

It's a young person's career. So the emotional tenor of Save Me the Waltz, the pain that Zelda describes of molding your body to fit someone else's ideal form of beauty, as well as the anorexia, the perfectionism, the physical torture to your feet, all of that resonated with my own life experience, just as I had hoped when I got into the novel.

AMY: That's amazing. I love that connection.

KIM: I know. Absolutely. That is so cool. 

AMY: Even though, as I mentioned, I had never previously read any Zelda Fitzgerald, I had read the Nancy Milford biography of her that came out in 2011. So I was familiar with the basics of her life. And so I feel like we can have a parallel discussion going forward about Zelda's life as we also discuss the heroine of this book. Her name is Alabama Beggs. 

STEPHANIE: I think you're right. It is really hard to separate Zelda from Alabama, and I think that's purposeful. I think Zelda wants us to read her into Alabama Beggs. Zelda Sayre was born on July 24th, 1900 in Montgomery, Alabama. So there we have our first parallel, Alabama. Zelda was the youngest child of six born to Anthony Dixon Sayre and Minerva “Minnie” Machen. Her father was a prominent, respected judge from an old Southern family who had owned slaves and were proud supporters of the Confederacy. This is the same context in which Alabama Beggs was born and raised. Zelda suggests in her letters and in her novel, Save Me the Waltz, that her father was concerned with reputation and legacy. In other words, keeping his good name. Zelda was a threat to that legacy because she was such a wild child, and later as a teenager, a flirt who snuck out at night…

AMY: Uh oh! Daddy don't like it!

STEPHANIE: Oh no. Yep. A flirt who snuck out of the house to attend parties and date half a dozen boys all at the same time. Alabama is described similarly by the townsfolk, similar to Zelda. The first section, or act of Save Me the Waltz follows Alabama Beggs as she meets and falls in love with David Knight, who, just like F. Scott Fitzgerald, is temporarily stationed in Alabama's hometown during World War I. David wants to be an artist, a famous painter. And while Alabama's parents are resistant to their marriage, Alabama watches as her older sister, Joan, marries the right kind of husband, who can provide for her. David is neither southern nor wealthy, just like Scott, yet Section One ends with Alabama's marriage to David in New York City as he receives an advance for a piece that he recently sold.

AMY: So yeah, I want to get back to what you said earlier about Zelda not liking to be known as the “wife of” Scott, because we definitely see that here between Alabama and David. Alabama doesn't like the idea of being eclipsed by him. He carves their name on the doorpost of the country club in order to commemorate where they first met, but these are the words he carves: David, David Knight, Knight, Knight, and Miss Alabama Nobody. And then later in his letters to her from New York he writes, “You are my princess, and I'd like to keep you shut forever in an ivory tower for my private delectation.” And Zelda writes, “The third time he wrote about the princess, Alabama asked him not to mention the tower again.”

I found that really telling, because this idea of having to take on the supporting role to Scott's shining star, it really must have vexed her.

STEPHANIE: Yes. Alabama is struggling against the patriarchal expectations that were imposed on her by her father and then later her husband. Zelda tells us about this cultural struggle when she says things in the novel like, quote, "The girl had no interpretation of herself. She wants to be told what she is like." And the men in her life tell her that her identity is dependent upon the roles that she fills in correlation or subordination to them. I think it's telling that the book is bookended by Alabama's relationship to her father, because her father has basically taught his daughters that their value is in relationship to men. And in a kind of Freudian turn, the husband must replace the father in keeping that wife or daughter in line. 

AMY: That also leads to something else I wanted to mention, which was, especially in this first section of the book, I felt there was tension between the old world, the sort of turn of the century , and then this new world with the flapper and modernity. When Alabama is on her porch swing waiting for David, Zelda writes, "Alabama waited for her date outside, pendulously tilting the old swing from the past to the future, from dreams to surmises and back again." So we really get that sense of past versus future.

STEPHANIE: Yes. And I just had this conversation with my students yesterday, that just because a century ends and a new one begins doesn't mean the culture stops or the politics stop. They just continue. They pull from the previous century into the new one, right? So it's poignant that both Zelda and her doppelganger, Alabama, are born in 1900. There is this tension that's pulling her between the two centuries, and I also think it's worth pointing out that tension also exists in Scott's short stories and novels, which indicates that he felt that tension too, culturally. You have these young folk who are trying to push for new progressive values in the early modernist period and they're at odds with one another.

KIM: All right. Let's dig in a little bit into her depiction of the Deep South. It's very sensual. You can feel the humidity. You can smell the perfumed air. You can hear the crickets chirping on a sweltering summer night. 

STEPHANIE: It's a really good novel to read right now when it's cold.

KIM: Yeah. 

AMY: Mix yourself up a mint julep, everyone! 

KIM: There's the tension, but there's also that deep, ingrained love of the environment of the South. 

STEPHANIE: She's romanticizing it. Which writers from the South often do. Nostalgia for a past perfect. 

AMY: All right. So let's move on to the next section of the novel then, which is quite a departure. It's set in New York and also the Connecticut country house where our newlyweds, Alabama and David, are living. But it soon becomes clear that the excesses of the Jazz Age have caught up to them, so they end up moving to France, where they hope their money will last longer, and where David can focus more on his art career. At this point, they have a young child, a little girl, Bonnie, and in real life, the Fitzgeralds’ only child, Frances, whose nickname was Scotty, was born in 1921. Stephanie, I'd love to hear some of your thoughts on this section of the novel and how it would have correlated with what was happening in the Fitzgeralds' real life.

STEPHANIE: Yeah. It's patterned directly after their real-life experiences and their adventure moving from New York City to abroad. Zelda and Scott had become celebrities in New York City. She became known as a fashion icon as the first flapper. And Scott, of course, he's gaining celebrity for his first novel, This Side of Paradise and for his short stories that he's published in a number of various literary magazines, like The Atlantic. And so they find themselves financially struggling, living the high life, and they take themselves abroad to Paris, where a community of writers had already established themselves. A community of high modernist writers: Gertrude Stein, Ernest Hemingway, Djuna Barnes. And then of course, prior to that journey, Zelda gives birth to Scotty, their only child. I think it was not an entirely planned pregnancy, so that kind of throws her for a loop. Interestingly enough, the part about section two that most attracted me was the comic relief. The ocean liner…

KIM: Oh my God. Yes. That description of that whole experience is fantastic.

AMY: But then there's also hijinks even back in Connecticut when they are having a dinner party and some drunken fools stumble in, and Alabama is trying to entertain her parents…

STEPHANIE: …who are horrified. This is how you live?

KIM: Totally.

AMY: The wild child continues, basically. 

KIM: Yeah. 

AMY: And it continues even on into France, because then she gets involved with some other gentleman. There's that whole plane crash situation. We won't reveal what all that is, but yeah.

KIM: Okay. So then moving on to chapter three in the novel, this is where we're going to cue Abba's “Dancing Queen,” right? 

AMY: Oh yeah. But “Young and sweet, only 17," therein lies the problem, because Alabama is around 30 years old, and as Stephanie already told us, that is a wee bit too old to be starting your ballet career. And this is a part of Zelda's life that always felt a little bit pathetic. Oh, what's she doing? But reading about it here, I developed a whole new respect for her drive and what she was trying to do.

KIM: Totally. Oh my God, yeah. It's intense, Stephanie, right?

STEPHANIE: Yes. We get the sense in the novel that Alabama joins the ballet because she's bored in her lifestyle in Paris, right? She's bored as a wife and as a mother, and she's also bored living this decade-long party. And so I think she's joining the ballet in part because she needs structure to her life. She doesn't have that anymore. And she wants her own thing, something that she can dedicate herself to that is entirely hers. She wants to produce an art that is entirely her own, not something that would compete with her husband. And the same might be true of Zelda as a writer. She creates a different kind of writing than her husband does. They're not really modernists together. He's a modernist, she's more surrealist. We'll get into that later. So as sad as this part of the novel might seem, yes, 30 is considered old for the life of a dancer, and then of course it's even more difficult when you've had children, which Zelda had just given birth to Scotty a few years before she joins the ballet. I have two kids. After giving birth your center of balance shifts…

KIM: Among other things… 

STEPHANIE: Among other things, yeah, and your body doesn't feel the same again. You have to kind of get used to living in a different body. So the ballerina in me is kind of reacting to this section going, "What are you doing? You're 12 to 13 years behind everybody else. Why would you put your body through this at this point in your life?" Zelda's trying to find or build some kind of community, a safe place among other women where she can create her art without criticism in the same way that the patriarchal world creates that criticism. 

KIM: When you talk about the trauma and ballet and the community, it makes me think of A Little Bit Culty, that podcast. It's like a little bit culty. It's like you're doing something that, you know, you're completely invested in to try to get something out of it, but it's causing a lot of harm at the same time.

AMY: And also just the masochism of putting yourself through that much pain. She describes the pain of being a ballerina. It's almost like when people cut themselves or something to relieve their inner pain. 

KIM: Yeah. She was not a dilettante in any way about it. Like she was spending hours, doing this.

AMY: Yeah.

STEPHANIE: In fact, there's this line that I really love that kind of encapsulates or crystallizes this idea. Zelda writes, "It seemed to Alabama that reaching her goal, she would drive the devils that had driven her, that in proving herself, she would achieve the peace, which she imagined went only in the surety of oneself."

KIM: That's perfect.

STEPHANIE: Yeah, I thought so too. 

AMY: And when we're talking about ballet and reading this book, the word “arabesque” kept coming up in my mind because we know an arabesque is a ballet move, but also I think arabesque is also a design description, right? A very intricate, curly design. That intricacy, ornateness, reminded me of the writing style of this book, I think. So why don't we get into that a little bit? While she was writing the novel, she was in the hospital and she wrote Scott saying that this was what she was working on and she said "I'm proud of my novel, but I can hardly restrain myself enough to get it written. You will like it. It is distinctly Ecole Fitzgerald, though more ecstatic than yours, perhaps too much so." And that line stood out to me "too much so," because at first when I was reading it, I almost thought she was trying too hard with her writing style, or she was trying to show off. She's got tons and tons of simile and personification, but then once I got into the rhythm, it worked for me. And so I kind of want to know your guys' thoughts and how you reacted to it.

KIM: Oh, exactly the same. At first I'm like, "Okay, I want to try to figure out every line. What is she trying to say here?" And then I stopped. I remembered our other experiences with some of our other books that we'd read that were like this. And I just let myself get swept into the story and the writing and then I absolutely loved it and I could not get enough.

STEPHANIE: Yes. Yeah, Zelda is definitely a surrealist writer, not a high modernist like her husband. I think that's interesting because, for all of the claims to experimentalism that high modernist writers and scholars of high modernism have made, I find high modernism actually quite predictable. Surrealism is not. It surprises you, very much the same way that Zelda's writing surprises you. You think it's gonna unfold in one direction, and then it takes a sharp left turn and jumps off a cliff. That excess and decadence that you were describing earlier of Zelda's writing, there's an excess in language, an excess in imagery, it's very over the top. It's almost too much. 

AMY: She was living that excess, right? I mean, her lifestyle was excessive. Also, they're in the Jazz Age. So that sort of improvisational rhythm, the offbeats, the unpredictable nature, that is so evident in her prose.

STEPHANIE: And not just in the descriptions of the environment in which they're living, right? It's literally her writing is practicing or performing this excess. The word choice that she makes, right? 

AMY: Yeah, yeah, Okay, so let's go ahead and read a little bit that will um, showcase this. We have each picked a few of our favorite passages from the book. I'll go ahead and start with one of my favorites, just a description of New York City. You'll very much get that comparison to jazz when I read this.

The New York river's dangled lights along the banks like lanterns on a wire. The Long Island marshes stretched the twilight to a blue campagna. Glimmering buildings hazed the sky in a luminous patchwork quilt. Bits of philosophy, odds and ends of acumen, the ragged ends of vision suicided in the sentimental dusk.

The marshes lay black and flat and red, and full of crime about their borders. Yes, Vincent Yeomans wrote the music. Through the labyrinthine sentimentalities of jazz, they shook their heads from side to side and nodded across town at each other, streamlined bodies riding the prowl of the country, like metal figures on a fast moving radiator cap.

 That sounds like something Scott would have written, almost.

STEPHANIE: A little bit more decadent though. Like "labyrinthine sentimentality." That's so Zelda. Or "the ragged ends of vision suicided and the sentimental dusk." Suicided. 

AMY: She uses human verbs to describe these non-human things. it's just saturated with that.

KIM: It's so luscious and so visceral. I hope the listeners are getting how gorgeous this novel is and why people need to be reading it. I wish we had read it a long time ago. It's stunning. 

AMY: Yeah. 

STEPHANIE: Yeah. My favorite passage has that same kind of absurd or strange metaphor. This is on the train to Connecticut from New York City. The Green Hills of Connecticut preached a sedative sermon after the rocking of the gritty train. The gaunt, undisciplined smells of New England lawn, the scent of invisible truck gardens bound the air in tight bouquets.

Apologetic trees swept the porch. Insects creaked in the baking meadows, widowed of the crops. There didn't seem room in the cultivated landscape for the unexpected.

AMY: And she was the unexpected, traveling on that train to Connecticut, right? 

KIM: Yep. 

AMY: Here comes Alabama, Connecticut! Watch out! 

STEPHANIE: But it's so perfect. The next time I go to Connecticut, that's exactly how I'm going to think of it.

KIM: Oh, yeah, absolutely.

STEPHANIE: The conservative nature of the state right? Apologetic trees. I mean, I will never see trees the same way again. Yeah.

AMY: Connecticut, she's got your number.

KIM: So this is a description of David and Alabama, courting. The spring rain soaked the heavens till the clouds slid open and autumn flooded the south with sweat and heat waves. Alabama dressed in pink and pale linen, and she and David sat together under the paddles of ceiling fans, whipping the summer to consequence.

Outside the wide doors of the country club, they pressed their bodies against the cosmos, the gibberish of jazz, the black heat from the greens in the hollow, like people making an imprint, for the cast of humanity. They swam in the moonlight that vanished the land like a honey coating.

And David swore and cursed the colors of his uniforms and rode all night to the rifle range rather than give up his hours after supper with Alabama. the beat of the universe to measures of their own conception its precious thumping. Mm hmm. how visceral that is.

Isn't that amazing? Gorgeous.

So let's move into Chapter Four now, the final section of the novel. In it, we see Alabama hospitalized for a dance-career-ending foot injury. In real life, though, Zelda was also hospitalized, but not for a foot injury. Let's talk about the mental struggle she was having at this time.

STEPHANIE: Sure. Zelda wrote Save Me the Waltz while she was a patient at the Phipps Clinic of John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland in 1932. Get this, she wrote the whole novel in six weeks. 

AMY: That's mind blowing. 

KIM: In every way, she's like a bright shining comet that's like streaking across the sky, burning brightly, right? 

AMY: Yeah. The feverish pace of that. 

STEPHANIE: So interestingly, Phipps Clinic was the fourth clinic or asylum that Zelda visited during her life. It also wouldn't be the last. She actually tragically died in an asylum during a fire in 1948, when she was about 47 years old. Zelda had been institutionalized by her husband after her previous mental health episodes of breakdowns, including her post-ballet breakdown in the fall of 1929. Like Alabama Beggs, Zelda Fitzgerald was invited to dance a solo part in a professional production of Aida with the San Carlo Opera Ballet in Naples, Italy. Unlike Alabama, Zelda did not take the position. We don't really know why she declined the offer, but shortly after declining the invitation, Zelda experienced mental and physical exhaustion, during which she began hallucinating and seeing voices. She was hospitalized twice as a result of these symptoms. First at Malmaison in France in April, 1930, and then Valmont Clinic in Glion, Switzerland in June, 1930. Because she wasn't getting better, Scott invited a famous psychiatrist named Dr. Oscar Forel to come assess Zelda.

And of course, Dr. Forel diagnosed Zelda with schizophrenia, which actually in those days was a term they used for bipolar disorder, not just schizophrenia as we know it today. And then Dr. Forel recommended treatment at his clinic, the Prangins Clinic in Switzerland on the shores of Lake Geneva. While she was there, she experienced traumatic forms of treatment. She was given tons of injections of chloral hydrate to tranquilize her, of morphine to induce sleep, of bromides for pain. And she also participated in talk therapy sessions with a psychiatrist and her husband, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and these sessions are important because not only were they verbally abusive, but also Scott poached dialogue word for word from the transcripts of those recorded sessions for his novel, Tender is the Night, published in 1934.

AMY: That feels like such a betrayal. Am I wrong? 

KIM: Yeah.

STEPHANIE: Absolutely. Yeah.

AMY: And there's another little section I saw in the introduction to the edition that I read. When Zelda and Scott are fighting over who has the rights to their story, I guess you could say. And he basically said to Zelda that what she wrote were “nice little sketches, but you have essentially nothing to say. You are a third rate writer and a third rate ballet dancer. I am a professional writer with a huge following. I am the highest paid short story writer in the world.” You know what? If you're the highest paid and you're the best, maybe get your own stuff. Don't steal from what I was telling my doctor.

KIM: Yeah, under tragic, really difficult circumstances. Sorry, go ahead, Stephanie. 

STEPHANIE: No, no, I remember the response to that. That was part of the transcript from the therapy sessions, and Zelda interrupts him at one point and says, “It seems to me you are making a rather violent attack on a third rate talent then.”

KIM: Yeah. It's like, if she's so third rate, why are you so threatened by it?

STEPHANIE: It felt like a mic-drop moment. 

KIM: Yeah, totally. 

AMY: And for him to say that after you read this novel and you see how good it is, it's like, "Shut up, dude.”

KIM: Oh, totally. Yeah. So going back to the novel, by the end of it, Alabama and David, they make their way back to her parents’ home in the Deep South. And it's really a full-circle moment. It's actually very emotional, right?

AMY: Yeah. Personally, I don't cry often reading books, but I teared up a little at the end of this book, I will admit. The book affected me. I know that sounds corny… 

KIM: No, it doesn't. 

AMY: And that last line in particular… we all know the final line of the Great Gatsby: And so we beat on, boats against the current, born back ceaselessly into the past. Let me read the final line of Save Me the Waltz: They sat in the pleasant gloom of late afternoon staring at each other through the remains of the party. The silver glasses, the silver tray, the traces of many perfumes. They sat together watching the twilight flow through the calm living room that they were leaving like the clear cold current of a trout stream. 

KIM: Team Zelda. I'm getting us Team Zelda t shirts, Amy. 

AMY: They're both good. I mean, I'm not denigrating Scott. 

KIM: They're both good, but I'm sorry, Team Zelda for me.

AMY: And you do, you see similarities.

STEPHANIE: Yeah!

AMY: So if you're a fan of F. Scott Fitzgerald and you're reading his version of their life, why not go ahead and see. her take on it is?

KIM: Yes. I love that, Amy.

STEPHANIE: They both end with a sort of meditation on water. I'm not sure what to make of that yet, I just realized it for the first time. Mm 

AMY: It definitely echoes one another. 

KIM: Time, water. Yeah, totally. The tension of past, present, future that Amy was talking about earlier. Yeah. 

AMY: I was gonna ask how did Scott feel about Zelda writing her version of their life together, but I think we know the answer. He wasn't happy about it.

STEPHANIE: Of course. Yeah. No, he felt that he had the copyright to their lives basically, right? He owned it. He gets to tell the story. So it's interesting. I think that Zelda was rather amused at the prospect of being Scott's muse. She enjoyed the attention from him. But then she came to resent it over time as he becomes increasingly more controlling. And so, as we know, Zelda wasn't just Scott's muse. He stole passages from her letters and diaries, the transcripts of their therapy sessions. Zelda was livid about that, um, she felt that it was a breach of privacy, which of course it is. But it's ironic, too, because Scott complained that Save Me the Waltz was a breach of privacy. He felt that it aired their marital issues in a way that Tender is the Night didn't, according to him, um, and in a way that Gatsby didn't, in his view.

AMY: He kind of thwarted her a little in the publishing process of this book, right? I don't remember the story completely, but when the book was published it was riddled with errors and typos. Do you remember about this, Stephanie?

STEPHANIE: Oh, yeah, I can tell you the hot goss. 

AMY: Okay. 

STEPHANIE: So Scott infamously tried to prevent the publication of Save Me the Waltz. When Zelda sent the manuscript of Save Me the Waltz directly to Scott's editor at Scribner's, Maxwell Perkins, Scott had not read the draft at that point. The first draft of the novel was more transparently about the Fitzgeralds' marriage. In fact, David Knight was originally named Amory Blaine, the protagonist of This Side of Paradise, and the autobiographical character of F. Scott Fitzgerald. So of course, his first response to this was "Veto! Veto!"

AMY: I can see that. I can kind of side with him on that. Yeah.

STEPHANIE: Perkins helped guide the revisions of Zelda's novel into the final published form that we're reading today. And this is the version that Scott read, actually, before the novel went to press. Even so, he was still angered about the novel for a couple of reasons. He felt that it was too similar to his own novel, Tender is the Night, which he was writing at the same time that she was writing Save Me the Waltz. And he accused Zelda of poaching from Tender is the Night. Again, ironic, because he's the one who's actually poaching. The second reason he was upset about it was he felt it breached their privacy, and that it presented him in particular in a bad light. In fact, in a letter to his editor, Scott complains, quote, "The mixture of fact and fiction is calculated to ruin us both, or what is left of us, and I can't let it stand." End quote. That's when he actively intervened in the publication process. He discouraged his editor, Perkins, from proofreading, and in fact insisted on doing the proofreading himself. And it was so poorly proofread that the reviews of the book in The New York Times and in the Bookman, among others, complained about the mechanical errors and the type print. So after the book had been on the market for a few years, Fitzgerald pleaded in a letter to his agent, Harold Ober, “Please don't have anybody read Zelda's book because it's a bad book!” In other words, he's trying to tell his agent, Don't market it. Don't sell it. Don't help her out. So it didn't sell well. But I don't think It's entirely the fault of the copy editing process. Zelda's book came out in the Great Depression. People just weren't buying books. Another reason could be that they just didn't know what to do with the language. Even if it was well-copyedited, Zelda has a unique voice, and I think people don't know what to do with that. They didn't know what to do with it then, and they still don't know what to do with it now. They don't quite understand the principles of surrealism, or they just find it too difficult to read. It requires too much work on their part to parse through the language and learn the rhythm, as you said.

KIM: Okay.

AMY: Yeah. So back to Zelda and F. Scott's life, they eventually separated. He suffered a heart attack and died at the age of 44. Zelda died four years later at the age of 48 under really tragic circumstances. Can you tell the listeners what happened, Stephanie?

STEPHANIE: Sure. In 1936, Scott once again checks Zelda into a mental hospital, against her will. This was the Highland Hospital in Asheville, North Carolina. While she was there, Scott ran off to Hollywood to become a screenwriter, thinking that it would make him more money than writing novels and short stories. Zelda was in and out of the Highland Hospital for the next nine years, and when she wasn't in hospital, she was often at her parents' home in Montgomery, Alabama. But then Scott dies in 1940, and Zelda falls into this deep depression. She checked herself into Highland Hospital voluntarily in 1948, and even though the doctors told her that she was well enough to go home, she kept insisting on staying until she felt stable. And that was her fateful decision. A fire broke out at the hospital three weeks later, on March 10th, and Zelda died in the fire alongside eight other women. And the autopsy revealed that she had sedatives in her system at time of death, which I think is really interesting. She might have been sedated as part of the treatment plan at the clinic.

AMY: Also an interesting internet dive if anybody wants to look into it more, it's possible that fire was arson. One of the employees at the hospital is suspected of being the person that set that fire intentionally. She was never charged, but it's an interesting thing to dig around on the internet about. 

STEPHANIE: Oh my goodness. 

AMY: Even more awful of a story, right? 

KIM: Yeah. 

STEPHANIE: I didn't know that part about the arson. 

AMY: Yeah. It was a nurse working at the time. And yeah, I'll send you a couple links to it.

STEPHANIE: Okay. All right, so there's a mystery here. 

AMY: Yeah, for sure. But really just a tragic… so much about her life is tragic, right? 

KIM: Yeah.

AMY: And yet so much about it is brilliant and beautiful. She's such a paradox. Let's talk a little bit about her literary legacy, because I know that's something that you focus on in your forthcoming essay. You sort of have some ideas about why she has been excluded.

STEPHANIE: I think that it's easier for us as humans to accept the simpler story of a person's life. It's easier to remember Zelda as the flapper, the “wife of,” the drunk, the party girl, and, potentially, the madwoman. We cannot reconcile this simplistic image of her with the literary and artistic genius that she was. And I don't think that it's just the case with Zelda. I think it's also the case with a number of women writers that I've been working with over my career who I've been recovering. So what I'm working on with this article in particular is establishing Zelda as part of a Surrealist community, the community of women writers in expat Paris, like Gertrude Stein and Natalie Barney and Djuna Barnes. I think that that influence affected her writing style in positive ways, but also then made it really difficult for her to fit in any kind of box as a writer, and makes it difficult for us to make sense of her, to make sense of what she was doing in her writing style and the meaning of the text outside of these clear autobiographical parallels.

KIM: Stephanie, I love that you're doing this work to bring Zelda out of this box and sort of change this legacy into something she deserves. 

STEPHANIE: Thank you.

KIM: Your time with us today has been so invaluable, and the more we talk about this book, I feel like there's just even more to say. There's so many layers, really, we only scratched the surface, listeners. But Stephanie, thank you so much for joining us. I've loved this discussion.

STEPHANIE: Thank you so much for having me. This was delightful. 

AMY: So that's all for today's episode. Join us back in two weeks when we'll be discussing a forgotten mystery writer. And speaking of mysteries, next week we'll be discussing the Winchester Mystery House of San Jose, California, and its connection to author Shirley Jackson. That episode is exclusively available to our Patreon members, so if you want in on that, head over to lost ladies of lit.com and click Become a Patron.

Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone, and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Kim Askew and Amy Helmes and supported by listeners like you. 

168. Mary McCarthy’s The Group Turns 60

KIM ASKEW: Hi everyone. Before we dive into today's episode, we want to let you know, this will be our final new episode for 2023. We'll be taking a brief hiatus to enjoy the holidays with our families and we'll be back with more brand new episodes in late January.

AMY HELMES: Until then, we'll be airing encore presentations of some of our favorite past episodes starting next week. This little break will also be a terrific time for you to catch up on back episodes from the past three years. In fact, it's going to be your last opportunity to enjoy free and unlimited access to our mini episodes. And really, Kim, if you think about it, “mini” is kind of a misnomer, because most of these episodes run about 20 minutes long. They're not too mini.

KIM: No, no. I like to think of them more as bonus episodes. And so to that end, soon after we return from hiatus, these episodes will be available only with a Lost Ladies of Lit Patreon subscription for as little as six dollars per month. You always hear things like "the price of a latte!" For the price of a latte! For the low, low price of a latte, you can get…” [laughs] Yeah, we're diving into Patreon, people. Some of our listeners have been suggesting this for a while and we finally got around to doing it.

AMY: And don't worry, we are committed to keeping our full-length episodes on forgotten women writers free and available for all to enjoy. That's a priority for us. But if you believe there's value in what we do, we hope that you'll consider supporting our work in the new year, because believe it or not, it actually does cost money to produce this podcast. I know a lot of our listeners are writers and college professors. A subscription is probably going to be a tax write off for you, so think about it that way. So we're gonna have more info for y'all at the start of the new year on how you can sign up. We'll direct you to our Patreon link also in our show notes if you want to get a head start on that or be put on the waitlist for when that's all starting. 

KIM: Amy and I tend to let our hair down a bit more in our bonus episodes. We have a lot of fun with them, they're usually good for some laughs, so we hope you continue to tune in for those. Consider it a small but meaningful way that you can be part of our efforts to remind the world of all the great women writers people should be reading.

AMY: It's been amazing to spread the word about lost ladies of lit, and we look forward to introducing you to many more in the new year.

KIM: So without further ado, here's today's episode.

AMY: Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off forgotten women writers. I'm Amy Helmes, here with my cohost, Kim Askew.

KIM: Hey, everyone. Listeners, if you've followed this podcast long enough, you know that Candace Bushnell's Sex and the City and the television show it spawned get mentioned a lot on this podcast. I would say almost to a nauseating degree. I didn't even really watch the show when it was on, as often as it comes up here, and not that there's anything wrong with it, but you know, I just didn't.

AMY: I know it's a little embarrassing. I feel like maybe we need to issue a moratorium on that reference. But it is often our go-to comparison when we're trying to highlight a book's frank discussions about sex or novels about women friendships or independent young working women in the city. I'm thinking particularly of New York City, so books like Rona Jaffe's The Best of Everything, Miriam Karpolov's Diary of a Lonely Girl, and Ursula Parrott's Ex Wife. We've done previous episodes on those, and I think Sex and the City has come up in all of those.

KIM: Yeah, that's right. And when it comes to scintillating "girls about town" sort of books, it's an easy touchstone to reference. Everyone gets it, even if you haven't watched it. And in fact, The book we'll be talking about today directly inspired Candace Bushnell to write Sex and the City, so we kind of have to mention it this time.

AMY: Yeah, but I'm going to start referring to it by other names so maybe like Fornication in the Metropolis or Carnal Activity in an Urban Center. Let's try to put new spins on the title.

KIM: We're going to work on that, guys. I like that idea.

AMY: Um, But yeah, so apparently Sex and the City was born after Bushnell's editor suggested, "Hey, why don't you write a modern day version of Mary McCarthy's The Group?"

KIM: Ka-ching! And the money started pouring in.

AMY: Yeah, yeah, brilliant idea. So I suspect a lot of you out there, you're all remarkably well read people, have already... read The Group, but then there might be others listening who are thinking, "What's The Group?" Or maybe like Kim and I, you sort of knew of it, but you had never actually read it.

KIM: Yeah. Amy, you and I both independently had this book on our radar a few months ago as something we wanted to read, not necessarily for the podcast, but when we found out we were both reading it, we decided we had to discuss it, especially since this past August, it actually marked the 60th anniversary of the novel.

AMY: Yeah. So let's dive in, or as we like to say, let's raid the stacks and get started.

[intro music plays]

KIM: Okay. So full disclosure listeners, Amy and I initially planned this as a mini episode. We don't have a guest on today helping us out.

AMY: It's not a mini episode anymore. It's a bonus episode. 

KIM: It's a bonus episode. That's right. Bonus.

AMY: Yeah, but today, like Kim said, it's just going to be the two of us giving you our non-expert opinions. That said, let's talk about the history of this novel. It's probably Mary McCarthy's best known work. When it was published in 1963, it was pretty much an instant hit. It remained on the New York Times Bestseller List for two years, and it got banned in Australia, Ireland, and Italy because of its frank discussion topics, which range from sex and contraception to lesbianism and mental illness. So the story of the book follows eight friends over the course of seven years following their graduation from Vassar College in 1933. McCarthy, herself, graduated from Vassar in 1933. So in some respects, the book is autobiographical based on herself and her friends that she knew from college. So Kim, I didn't know what the Vassar Daisy Chain was until I read this book. I had never heard of it.

KIM: Right. I had not heard of the Daisy Chain either. Do you want to tell our listeners what it is exactly?

AMY: Sure. So I found a little bit of info about it on the Vassar Encyclopedia online. That's a thing. So I'll try to sum it up. It's a longstanding tradition at the school. Every year a group of sophomores are chosen for their leadership skills, their class spirit, their volunteerism, you know, they're chosen by a committee of seniors to carry a 150-foot chain of daisies and laurel, aka "the daisy chain" at the commencement ceremony for that year. So to serve as a "daisy" as a sophomore is a great honor. And this is a tradition of Vassar that extends back to the late 1800s. In fact, they got all the daisies in the first place because the quad on campus used to be a large daisy field, so they would just get the flowers there and make them into the chain. And the chain itself has become very elaborate and actually kind of heavy, from my understanding, so you do need a lot of girls to hoist this thing at the commencement. So originally the daisies were chosen for both their contribution to college life as well as their attractiveness. This didn't sit well with everyone, naturally, so eventually they correctly phased out the beauty contest aspect of it.

KIM: It kind of sounds like a homecoming court. I mean, maybe that's changed these days too, but I remember it was sort of a popularity contest, but physical attractiveness was definitely though, maybe not stated.

AMY: Yeah, yeah.

KIM: So the characters in this book, much like the real life young women chosen for this daisy chain, Amy told us about, they are considered to be the cream of the Vassar crop. And that sets the stage to find out what becomes of these women in the group as their lives progress beyond graduation. 

AMY: And it seems like each girl in this novel almost, in some ways, seems to represent one facet of a prism of female experience as a young adult, right? I think some of the characters are better fleshed-out than others, but I'm just going to rattle off the names of the core eight girls and then talk a little bit about each. Um, first we have Kay, who I kind of think of as almost like the main character in some ways. All the girls are attending her wedding at the start of the book. She's the first to get married. She is interested in theater and directing, which is something that she had done at Vassar, but she ends up having to work at Macy's to support herself and her playwright young husband. So she feels kind of thwarted in her ambitions. The marriage is rocky from the start and as that relationship devolves her husband later has her committed to a psych ward for hysteria. So that's Kay. Then we have Dottie. She comes from an upright Boston family. She's the one who we get to sort of see her sexual awakening in the novel.

KIM: Yeah, we're going to talk about that.

AMY: The “naughty part,” I guess, part of the reason it got banned in those other countries. Um, we have another character, Priss. She's sweet and timid. I kind of think of her as like the Beth March of The Group. Would you say that?

KIM: Yeah, yeah, I'd say that's right. She's a bit of a pushover almost. 

AMY: Yeah, I think so. We get to see her introduction to motherhood in the book, which is really fascinating. Then there's Lakey. That is the nickname for Eleanor Eastlake. She is gorgeous, dripping with confidence, very worldly. She's sort of the envy of all the other girls, and we do come to discover she is a lesbian. Uh, she's played in the film adaptation of this book by Candace Bergen, who I think everybody knows. Then moving on, Polly. She is a Midwestern girl. Her family had been hard hit in the Depression, so she actually attended Vassar as a scholarship student, but she's very kind hearted, she sort of takes on strays in her life. She's friends with, like, her elderly neighbors. She, in the book, has an affair with a married man and, if I remember correctly, she's kind of one of the more politically-minded, is that right, Kim?

KIM: Yeah, I think so. Honestly, I get them confused.

AMY: Some of the political stuff I would just like glaze over because it's actually a very long book. So when I would get to like Trotskyism I would suddenly be like "doo doo doo doo doo." 

KIM: They have a lot of debates about politics. 

AMY: Yeah. Um, okay next is Helena, she is a preschool teacher after college. I'd say she's one of the more well adjusted in The Group. She keeps the class notes on everyone, so she's sort of updating everyone as the years pass about who got married, who had babies, you know, what happened to everybody. I see her in some ways as kind of the glue of The Group, because she's in touch with everyone. Okay, so then, next we have Pokey. That's such a funny name. 

KIM: Very much. 

AMY: She is actually an heiress. She literally grew up with a butler, but unlike Lakey she's not as glamorous. She's kind of the pudgy one of The Group.

KIM: She's studying to be a vet and she commutes by plane just because her dad gave her a plane. So she got her pilot's license so she could commute to her Cornell classes. She's going to Cornell for grad school. Yeah.

AMY: Yeah. Um, and then last but not least, we have Libby, who works in publishing after college. She has literary ambitions. In the film, she is played by Jessica Walter, who you might know if you watched Arrested Development. And her attitude, especially in the movie, it reminds me a little bit of Samantha from Sex and the City. Shoot! I said it. 

KIM: Oh, no. Drink, drink! Drinking game! 

AMY: Um, yeah. So, Libby is not quite, or actually she's not at all as sexually brazen as Samantha, but she does sort of say what's on her mind in the group. Maybe, you know, a little too brazen at times. Um, and then, so that's the eight girls, but then also McCarthy throws in random people that you're like, “Wait, who's this?” So there's Noreen who went to Vassar but she was never officially a member of The Group in college. And she is a hot mess. She's sleeping with one of the other girls' husbands. She's portrayed as a negligent mother, kind of dirty. 

KIM: Yeah, she's definitely an outsider to the group. They look down on her.

AMY: Yes. So Kim, of all those that I just mentioned, did you have a favorite?

KIM: So I think Polly was maybe my favorite, but also she kind of rounds out the book at the end. So maybe that's why I think of her as like a more strongly developed character maybe. But all the characters, I enjoyed aspects of each of them. I feel like they sort of all come together and their personalities play off each other. You almost can't have one standalone, at least the way they're developed in the book. Um, but Dottie's experience is really super poignant, and I found her character really interesting and her story unforgettable too. What about you? 

AMY: Yeah, I ironically liked Lakey the best. As soon as she came on the scene at the wedding at the beginning of the book, I was like, "Who's this? I like her." So cool. And then…

KIM: There's not enough of her. 

AMY: There's not enough Lakey! Lakey goes off to Europe for much of the book and then she returns at the end. But the whole time I was reading the book, I was like, " When are we going to return to Lakey?" 

KIM: Yeah. Speaking of Little Women, like you did earlier, she's like the Amy; the lesbian Amy. 

AMY: Yeah. Yeah. Uh, yeah. She's just so confident. So yeah, I was disappointed that there wasn't more Lakey. 

KIM: I could have read a whole book on Lakey. 

AMY: But we should talk about the fact that McCarthy based all these characters off real friends of hers from Vassar, because they took it as a betrayal of sorts. They did not like the fact that they inspired this book. 

KIM: I could totally see that. I mean, she's a writer, so I think we even had a whole episode on this, but we talked about how writers have kind of the right to sort of take their life, I guess, to a certain extent in their fiction, but I could see, based on how the characters are portrayed, there's definitely negative aspects to them. Um, it's almost like she's gossiping in a way if she's using her friends' personalities in her portrayal and it makes me think of Donna Tartt and what she used for The Secret History, you know? People's actual personalities from Bennington.

AMY: Yeah, you have to be willing to accept the consequences. People might be ticked at you, and these women were ticked. I was thinking this morning, like, “Would I have wanted Mary McCarthy to do a send up of me?” And I think no. She shines a light on maybe parts of a person that the person themselves would not even want to know about. It is satirical at times. 

KIM: But I'd say, you know, and maybe this is getting too far ahead, but I'd say it's all for the greater good, though, because stepping back and looking at the novel and looking at what this Vassar education... what that life was like. It's almost like it was idyllic while they were in school. They were given all these ideas. They were so well read. They had politics. They had an idea of how they wanted to help the world. It's all about self fulfillment and that's how you're going to help the world. And then they get out into the world and they're actually interacting at careers and marriages and everything, and it's almost a hindrance to them. And I think it's really interesting that she shows how society takes these women who were ready for everything, like The Best of Everything idea too, that's not how it ends up working out.

AMY: Yeah, yeah, and the more I looked into Mary McCarthy's life as we were getting ready for this. episode, I did realize there's a lot of Mary McCarthy in all of these different girls in the book. She had said, you know, these characters are composites. And I would say it's a composite of her also in a lot of the different characters. I can see her in all of these girls in some respects, including the fact that, uh, McCarthy said that her second husband had had her committed for hysteria, much like Kay in the book, you know? So, you can take bits and pieces.

KIM: Oh, my God. Yeah. I mean, there's so many things in the book that you could see as gossip. And they, the characters do gossip about each other in the book. So you could see how it was probably like that in real life among these friends as they're staying in touch after college. That's crazy that McCarthy was also committed for hysteria by her husband, because that is an unforgettable part of the book,

AMY: Yeah. Yeah. Um, okay, so there are other unforgettable parts of the book. We mentioned that this was considered so scandalous at the time, so let's talk about that. I was personally expecting it to be far juicier on the sex front than it was, given what I thought I knew about it going into it.

KIM: Yeah, I feel the same. I mean, Dottie losing her virginity, it was quite descriptive, but it's nothing compared to how, you know, from the 70s onward, the way sex has been talked about, it definitely feels dated in that way.

AMY: Yeah, and it was really like that "Dottie" moment, and then you didn't return to a ton of sex in the rest of the book, right? 

KIM: No, I don't think so. No.

AMY: It was just one portion. But yeah, for sure, this sex scene is kind of unforgettable. She walks the reader through it, step by step. But to me, that makes it almost seem more like an instructional manual, you know, more than something salacious. Uh, it felt like being in sex ed class or something like, okay, this is what will happen and this is what you should expect and it's going to feel like this.

KIM: And you have to wonder if she was kind of trying to give that information almost into the public service. I don't know.

AMY: Yeah, it felt like it to me, definitely. You'd think, Oh, girls are reading this book secretly undercover because it's so naughty. No, I think girls are reading this secretly undercover because they're getting a lot of important information from this book that they wouldn't get anywhere else. 

KIM: Yeah, including, uh, Dottie goes to the gynecologist to get birth control, and it's very nerve-wracking for her, you know, not wanting anyone to see or know who you are and like, all the emotion about this, um, visit to the gynecologist. So do you want to read an excerpt from that section just so people can hear what we're talking about?

AMY: Yes, I do. And I actually want to back up a little bit to the morning after she has been deflowered by this guy, an artist who's… 

KIM: Daisy chain... Deflowered. Sorry. 

AMY: We gotta get that, pun in there. Um, so this guy, his name is Dick. He's an artist. He's very…

KIM: Sorry, all the, all the puns. [laughing]

AMY: I know lots of puns going on, but yeah, he's very no-nonsense about what he wants out of this interaction. He does not want a relationship. He just is interested in casual sex. And so he says to her the next morning. Actually, he says it to her the night before they have sex. Like, "You got to know there's not going to be any attachments here." And she's like, “Fine, fine, fine.” So he reiterates that the next morning, that he would be happy to continue on as casual lovers. So here's what McCarthy writes: 

"Get yourself a pessary." Dick's muttered envoi as he propelled her firmly to the door the next morning fell on Dottie's ears with the effect of a stunning blow. Bewildered, she understood him to be saying, “Get yourself a peccary,” and a vision of a coarse piglike mammal they had studied in zoology passed across her dazed consciousness like a slide on a screen, followed by awful memories of Krafft-Ebing and the girl who had kept a goat at Vassar. Was this some variant she ought to know about, probably, of the old maid joke?

So this shows just how naive she is. 

KIM: Totally. There's just so much going on in this passage. 

AMY: He's just like shoving her out the door, basically saying like, “Go get a pessary.” 

KIM: Come back when you're, uh, yeah, pessard. I don't know, whatever that is.

AMY: Um, so she's confused thinking he's saying get yourself a peccary, and all these thoughts are running through her head. It gets funnier and funnier, that little scene. And then he sees that she's confused, and so he clarifies: “A female contraceptive, a plug,” Dick threw out impatiently. “You get it from a lady doctor. Ask your friend Kay.”

 Understanding dawned; her heart did a handspring. In a person like Dick, her feminine instinct caroled, this was surely the language of love.

KIM: Oh, Dottie. 

AMY: So, yeah. So she does, she goes and she gets herself to the gynecologist. And let me read another little passage:

…Dottie, all by herself, had visited a birth-control bureau and received a doctor's name and a sheaf of pamphlets that described a myriad of devices — tampons, sponges, collar-button, wishbone, and butterfly pessaries, thimbles, silk rings, and coils — and the virtues and drawbacks of each.

[First of all, I don't know what half of those are, just FYI.] 

KIM: Sounds like torture devices or something. I don't know. Or something a tailor would use. I don't know. Weird.

AMY: The new device recommended to Dottie by the bureau had the backing of the whole U.S. medical profession; it had been found by Margaret Sanger in Holland and was now for the first time being imported in quantity into the USA where our own manufacturers could copy it. It combined the maximum of protection with a minimum of inconvenience and could be used by any woman of average or better intelligence following the instructions of a qualified physician.

This article, a rubber cap mounted on a coiled spring, came in a range of sizes and would be tried out in Dottie's vagina, for fit, wearing comfort, and so on, in the same way that various lenses were tried out for the eyes. The woman doctor would insert it, and having made sure of the proper size, she would teach Dottie how to put it in…

 And so she goes on from there with very, very, detailed instructions on how to insert this device. So again, it's like a sex ed pamphlet.

KIM: Totally. It's like the government put out a pamphlet explaining how this all came about and what your options are.

AMY: Yeah. Like a PSA. Yeah. So this is just one aspect where McCarthy is doing that. There's other moments throughout the book where she's sort of giving women information.

KIM: You know, that makes me think about Priss and her battle with breastfeeding. She actually marries a pediatrician, and so he's basically telling her what the latest information is on how she should be a new mother. Um, she's talking about how much it's hurting at first, breastfeeding, and the dread you feel when the baby hasn't eaten enough. She's worried about his weight goals. Um, it's really harrowing for her, and yet she's being encouraged by her husband, actually not even encouraged, more like... really forced ordered to let her baby cry it out at the hospital and she's so unsure of what to do. She just wants to do the right thing and it was so hard to read honestly because she wanted to pick him up and they weren't letting her. It was hard to read.

AMY: Yeah. It was hard to read, but also satisfying to read because I remember like the early days of breastfeeding and how, much it did hurt, you know, and I remember a nurse saying, "Say the alphabet in your head and grit your teeth, and by the time you get to the letter Z, hopefully it'll stop hurting."

KIM: Yeah. Oh my god. 

AMY: Like in a way it was comforting to read too. But yeah, also just the 1930s maternity ward scene was hilarious. So a lot of the group members were coming to visit her. She's just had a baby, they're literally smoking cigarettes in the room. 

KIM: Right 

AMY: They’re pouring cocktails to celebrate the baby. 

KIM: It was a cocktail party!

AMY: It was. And then it was so funny too, because I don't remember which member of The Group, but they were always joking "Can you believe Priss is breastfeeding? Because she was the most flat chested of us all." And then McCarthy has one of the ladies make some joke about like, "It's the miracle of the loaves and fishes" because Priss had the smallest boobs and she's breastfeeding. Yeah. So, but yeah, so there's all these social issues tackled, you know, others are mental health because Polly's dad is manic depressive in the book. And then we have Kay, you know, being committed. Um, psychoanalysis is talked about a lot. It's not really a very plot-heavy book, but her description of the characters is to me what makes the book. Like, her ability to write about them in a way that you know exactly the sort of woman she's talking about, which does get back to the friends sort of being upset, because it's not always kind. Um, what do we think in general about the book? I know you had mixed feelings.

KIM: I had mixed feelings. Um, so I started reading it. I got a little tired of it, to be honest. I put it down. I picked it back up later. That is not the sign for me of something… If I really love it, I'm just going to like, drop everything and read it. I did not do that. And then sometimes I had trouble keeping track of all the characters, cause there were so many of them. But that said, having finished it now, I felt it was definitely worthwhile to read. So I recommend it, but I didn't love, love, love it. What did you think? 

AMY: I had the same issue. I was gripped by it enough to keep going solidly through and finish to the end. But my problem was I just felt she didn't need so many members of The Group. It was too many, and she couldn't or she didn't devote enough time to all of them equally to make it worth having some of the other characters. Pokey...

KIM: Yeah.

AMY: There was hardly anything to Pokey. 

KIM: She was an extra. 

AMY: She could have ditched Pokey. She could have ditched Lakey, even though she was one of my favorite characters. She wasn't there for most of the book. I think some of the characters could have been combined. You know, like, um, Helena could have been combined with Dottie or something like that. So yeah, it is very long. I unfortunately was comparing it a lot of the time to The Best of Everything, which we did an episode on previously because there are similarities. Now, The Best of Everything by Rona Jaffe was published in 1958, and The Group was published in 1963. I'll put you on the spot, Kim. Which did you like better?

KIM: Oh, The Best of Everything. For me, personally. 

AMY: Yeah. 

KIM: The Best of Everything was my favorite. 

AMY: I don't think The Best of Everything was trying to be everything that The Group was trying to be. Like, I think The Group is definitely aiming for a higher literary quality than The Best of Everything. But yeah, The Best of Everything follows four girls in a slightly later time period, but they're going through a lot of the same things, and it was just a more delightful read. 

KIM: That's exactly right. It's just more engaging because you're not having, “Okay, now we're to this character. What did that person do again?” You know, like, and trying to reconnect with that character again. I always felt connected with the characters in The Best of Everything.

AMY: Yeah, I think what you said earlier, Kim, is right. They had such a bonding moment at Vassar, and Vassar really prepared them to go out into the world set up for success and to have all these idealistic ways they could be in the world. 

KIM: Idealistic is the perfect word.

AMY: Yeah, like they graduate, the “daisy chain” is now ready to take on the world and make a difference, and then it's kind of dashed to pieces. 

KIM: Yeah. Yeah. If it had been an all female society…

AMY: It's true, it's like Vassar was a utopia and then they go back out and okay, now what?

KIM: They’ve got to try to work with what they learned and take that into the real world and it doesn't fit into the real world, sadly.

AMY: Yeah. And Lakey is the one who manages to escape and find happiness, but she's off the canvas for a lot of the time.

KIM: Right. So, let's talk about the book's reception. As we mentioned earlier, it was an instant bestseller, but it also had its critics, particularly among highbrow literary types. In the New York Review of Books, Norman Mailer famously wrote a scathing 4,000-word review of the book. He said, "Her book fails as a novel by being good, but not nearly good enough. She is simply not a good enough woman to write a major novel."

AMY: Ouch.

KIM: I mean, this is just... the reviews that we've read by men about women's work it's like “Fine if you don't like it,” but like the way... it gets worse, he called it "a trivial lady writers novel infused with a communal odor, a cross between Ma Griffe, that's a perfume, and contraceptive jelly." I mean, yikes. Also that the book could be said to "squat on the grand avenue of the novel like a shabby little boutique, a place which offers treasure in the trash."

AMY: A treasure in the trash is like, it's got a little something good going for it, but it's really treasure mixed in the trash. 

KIM: I just want to hit him over the head with it.

AMY: You know what though, when you think about Norman Mailer and how uncomfortable a novel this would be for him to read, it does tackle women's issues.

KIM: Yes. 

AMY: The putting in the “peccary” or whatever. 

KIM: He shouldn’t even be reviewing it.

AMY: There was a sense from him, I think, and so I wanted to try to give him a little bit of credit here because she was already a very well-respected literary figure when this came out. She had already written books that were critically, you know, um…

KIM: Lauded. 

AMY: Yeah, lauded. So I think there was a sense of disappointment from him that she had sacrificed her potential literary greatness by writing about women's issues after writing these other books that were more acclaimed.

KIM: Right. The same old story that women's issues are domestic issues and they're not like on the level or scale of

AMY: Right. Yes, especially because this was the 1930s and there were so many big world issues brewing, and so he was like, You had an opportunity to really tackle the vibe of this era, and this is what you gave us? It was sort of a feeling of like, I had high hopes for her, but now I'm not so sure she can hang with us greats, you know what I mean? That's the tone I took from his review. Um, and he basically, he writes the review like it's some sort of indictment. I think it's called the case, not the case against, but like the Case of Mary McCarthy [The Mary McCarthy Case]. And it's almost like a court judgment, the way he wrote it. We'll put that review in our show notes because I think it's worth reading just for some of the vitriol there alone. 

KIM: Wow.

AMY: But yeah, his review isn't all bad and I will say some of what he says. I do agree with. It wasn't our favorite novel ever. We didn't fully like it. Um, others have Hillary Mantel once called it a masterpiece.

KIM: And I love Hillary Mantel. Yeah, I mean, I guess my issue with what he's saying is the part of him claiming that what she's writing about isn't important in the scheme of things, if that's what he's trying to say, because I think that's actually the best part of it.

AMY: Yeah. And the "perfume" and the "contraceptive jelly"... he's using words relating to women and femininity to critique her, which is gross. Like “a shabby little boutique.” It's like he's talking down using women terminology, if that makes sense. Um, but he wasn't the only one that criticized it. Elizabeth Hardwick, the famous literary critic, um, McCarthy considered her to be a friend, but she called it an "awful, fatuous, superficial book." And she also wrote a mean spirited parody of The Group in the New York Review called “The Gang,” using a pseudonym, and Mary McCarthy was apparently very hurt by this. I think it would be interesting to see a parody of it, cause It was such a sensation. 

KIM: Hmm. Yeah, totally. Yeah. It's almost like if you get a skit from Saturday Night Live, it's like a good thing. Even if they're making fun of you, it's like, obviously whatever you did impacted culture. 

AMY: Yeah, exactly. And I tried to look up online, and read this, “The Gang,” the story she wrote, and I couldn't find it. I need to do a little more sleuthing to actually read it because maybe it was very mean-spirited. I'm not sure.

KIM: This reminds me of the episode we did on literary feuds. 

AMY: Yeah, yeah, the Willa Cather and Dorothy Canfield Fisher episode. Yeah, exactly. That was one of our early episodes. So Mary McCarthy wrote The Group when she was in her 50s and in an interview with The Observer 16 years later after it was published, she said that it had ruined her life. And I think it was because of the backlash with her friends, and yeah, I don't know. It's funny though because it's really the book that she's most well known for today. It did get optioned right away and turned into a film in 1966. I actually loved the movie.

KIM: Oh, yeah, I didn't love the movie, but I found it entertaining. It's so funny. I watched it with Eric, my husband, and it was good that I had read the book because I had to explain a lot of what was happening to him. He was like, “Who is that person?” There's so many characters that if you haven't read it, I think it's hard to keep track of who the characters are and why they matter. 

AMY: Okay, that's fair. The movie really does hone in on the high melodrama moments, almost in a campy way. 

KIM: Totally. Totally. High melodrama is exactly right.

AMY: I liked it, but I think you're right. You kind of had to have read the book. 

KIM: I'd say it was fun, but for me, probably I should have watched it without him. I warned him, but you know, he doesn't listen. Anyway.

AMY: Uh, getting back to Mary McCarthy, she died in 1989 when she was in her late 70s.

KIM: I'm wondering which of her other books are worth reading next. We mentioned her campus novel Groves of Academe in a previous episode, What do you think? 

AMY: Yeah, I'm intrigued by her debut novel. It's called The Company She Keeps, because it's kind of a send up of New York high society. 

KIM: Oh, that sounds fun. 

AMY: Yeah, and it was very much a critical success. There's also a famous short story she wrote called "The Man in the Brooks Brothers Shirt," which is about a woman having casual sex with a businessman on a train. It was originally published in The Partisan Review, and I had heard of that, um, that title is very familiar.

KIM: Me too. Yeah, I know. I wish we had time to read more of her work. I'm just going to have to put it on the list for someday, but I'm definitely interested. And we haven't talked that much about her life in the episode because we were so caught up discussing the book, but I feel like there's probably a lot to say there as well.

AMY: Yeah, it seemed like she had a really interesting life and a tragic childhood, actually. She and her brothers were orphaned at an early age when their parents both died from the flu, the Epidemic of 1918. So the siblings all went to live with relatives, but it sounds like that was an abusive environment. And actually, I think we might be able to get more, uh, by reading her autobiography Memories of a Catholic Girlhood, which gets into all of this a bit more.

KIM: Oh, interesting. And Amy, wasn't she also involved at one point in a public feud with the playwright Lillian Hellman? I don't really know the details of that, but maybe there's a future episode to be had in there.

AMY: Yeah. Speaking of literary feuds, maybe we do a follow up. I didn't know all the ins and outs of this, but apparently, um, this feud between Hellman and McCarthy inspired Nora Ephron to write a play about it called “Imaginary Friends”. So I think the fight stemmed from some sort of political disagreement, but what I do know is that Mary McCarthy then went on The Dick Cavett Show and said something to the effect of every word Lillian Hellman writes is a lie, including "and," and "the."

KIM: Oh my God. Wow. So they can just, you know, when you're that famous, you can just go on The Dick Cavett Show.

AMY: …and cast aspersions, yeah. So Hellman sued her for that, for libel, um, and that made the feud even more public. 

KIM: Naturally. Yeah. So obviously listeners, we barely scratched the surface of Mary McCarthy, but we're out of time for today. So maybe we'll circle back at some later date, but it was really fun getting to discuss The Group with you, Amy.

AMY: Yeah, I'm glad I read it. And finally, before we sign off here for a few weeks, listeners, we wanted to leave you guys with a little update, some of the responses that we got a few weeks back to our episode on mondegreens.

KIM: Oh yeah. That was a fun episode. And a mondegreen, if you remember, is the term to describe misinterpreting song lyrics.

AMY: Yeah, we asked you listeners to weigh in on some of your own mondegreens, which were hysterical. So we're just going to share a couple of them here with you. We will withhold their names to protect the innocent, but you guys know who you are.

KIM: Okay. Let's hear them.

AMY: Okay, um, first one somebody wrote to us on our Facebook forum and said that they always thought that the song, “If You Like Piña Coladas,

and Getting Caught in the Rain,” you know that one? She always interpreted it as, "If you like tea and enchiladas..." 

KIM: I feel like that particular song, the lyrics are so strange, there are probably so many people who have incorrect ideas about the lyrics.

AMY: Yeah, yeah, and like tea and enchiladas is such a weird dietary combo. Okay, next one, the song by Toni Braxton called “Breathe Again.” It's like, "If I never feel your tender kiss again. If I never hear I love you now and then. [hums]." I don't know the lyrics right here. So she says, basically, I promise that I shall never breathe again. And then it's like, “breathe again, breathe again.” Well, this person thought she was saying, "I shall never read again, read again."

KIM: That’s terrible. That's worse than not breathing again.

AMY: I know, I know, “I won't breathe again” is a pretty extreme reaction to have, but “I will never read again” is an even more extreme reaction. And the person was like, "What does she have against reading?" Um, and then my favorite, Is from a former guest of ours who wrote to me and said that the Alanis Morissette song, “You Oughta Know”, where she sings, “It's not fair to deny me of the cross I bear that you gave to me.”

KIM: You, you, you, oughta know!

AMY: They thought that she was singing, "It's not fair to deny me of the cross-eyed bear that you gave to me." So picture like a deranged-looking stuffed bear with cross eyes. Like the creepy Five Nights at Freddy's bear. She's like, “You gave it to me. I'm not giving you that cross eyed-bear back.” 

KIM: Okay. Yeah. Anyway, that's all for today's episode on that note. We're going to be back in late January with all new episodes, but in the meantime, we'll still be active on Instagram and our Facebook forum. So be sure to follow us there to stay in touch and to find out which Lost Ladies will be featuring in the new year. And also if you go to lostladiesoflit.com, you can sign up for our newsletter and we'll also be emailing you to remind you so you don't forget when the new episodes start.

AMY: And we'll be reminding you about how to sign up for our Patreon. And also as we sign off for 2023, we want to say thank you as always for your support. What a great year it's been discovering all these women writers with you.

KIM: Yeah. It's been amazing. Thank you to our wonderful guests too. Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Amy Helmes and Kim Askew.

167. Lydia Maria Child and the “Thanksgiving” Poem

AMY: Welcome to another Lost Ladies of Lit mini episode. I'm Amy Helmes, here with my co host Kim Askew.

KIM: Hey everyone! It's Thanksgiving week here again in the States. Amy, what's your favorite food from the Thanksgiving dinner table?

AMY: Uh, all of the carbs. Not as much the dessert. Like, the savory carbs. So, the mashed potatoes and stuffing, for sure.

KIM: Oh yeah, love that. 

AMY: Any bread. Although, I try not to actually not have the bread, because I'd rather just have more mashed potatoes and stuffing.

KIM: Yeah, but a good dinner roll…

AMY: Yeah, it's…

KIM: With butter. Yeah. So good.

AMY: A Parker House roll. Mm. What about you?

KIM: I like those. I like the stuffing. I like the savory stuff. I like the sweet potatoes, you know, and sometimes we do it with the marshmallows. Yeah, yeah.

AMY: Which seems like such a weird combo. I wonder if other listeners outside of the country are like “Sweet potatoes and marshmallows?” It's really good. Anyway, um, speaking of sweet stuff, my mom's side of the family, they always had a long-running tradition. I think they still do it, actually, that everyone gathers the day after Thanksgiving to bake the Christmas cookies, which then get frozen or eaten, you know, within a week. And unfortunately I haven't been able to participate in this for a long time because I haven't lived in my hometown since I was 21. But yeah, when I was little, from a very young age, my cousins and siblings and I, we would all gather at my grandma's house to do this.

KIM: “Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother’s house we go!”

AMY: “The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh through the white and drifting snow!” I smell a topic as surely as I can smell the pumpkin pie baking in the oven! ) It's from a poem called “The Thanksgiving Poem.” And Kim, did you ever think about who may have written it?

KIM: No, but something's telling me it might be a lost lady of lit.

AMY: Indeed it was!

KIM: Ha!

AMY: The author's name is Lydia Maria Child, and we're going to end this episode by reading that poem in full, but first, let's find out a little bit more about her. There's actually a kind of new biography written about her by another Lydia: the author Lydia Moland. Moland. Not sure how you say that. That book came out this time last year. It's called Lydia Maria Child: A Radical American Life.

KIM: Radical. Um, I don't think of that poem as radical. It's so quaint. It seems almost more like Norman Rockwell, kind of.

AMY: Yeah, I agree. Um, and from what I can tell, it seems like Lydia Maria Child was sort of the Martha Stewart of her day, actually, because in addition to writing novels and children's books, she wrote a book called The Frugal Housewife, which was published in 1829, and it was a bestseller. It was full of practical advice in the kitchen and for around the house. But I guess probably comparisons to Martha Stewart in her Hamptons home, that's actually wrong because Lydia Maria Child was a staunch advocate of being economical. She thought of luxury as a vice.

KIM: Well, it's a bit more in the vein of MFK Fisher, I guess, we did that episode on her household guide and cooking, How to Cook a Wolf. I don't think she thought of luxury as a vice, but she definitely wanted to make sure that there were ways to have luxury in an economical way. 

AMY: Yeah, how to, like, make do with what you have. Yeah, that probably is a bit more what Lydia Maria Child would be advocating for. She was all about stretching one's resources, letting nothing go to waste. So this book, this household book, was so popular it went through 33 printings over the course of 25 years, which is...it's pretty amazing. She also wrote a manual for mothers called creatively The Mother's Book. 

KIM: Okay. That's reminding me a little bit of Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management.

AMY: Yes, Isabella Beeton. Yeah, I had, I owned the Mrs. Beeton book for a while. I don't know what happened to it, but I was so intrigued by that for a while. Of course, there's nothing practical in it for the 21st century, but yeah, it's a fun book to flip through. We should do another episode maybe on all of these kind of household manual books. That would be fun.

KIM: I would be so into that.

AMY: Yeah, because I'm also, it's reminding me of the TV show “1900 House,” which we loved. Just, I'm always fascinated by how people did their chores and kind of went about their daily lives in history. But anyway, so getting back to Lydia Maria Child, she was also an outspoken abolitionist, and this was well before the Civil War. So in 1833, she wrote a book called An Appeal in Favor of the Class of Americans Called Africans. And that book really shone a light on the cruel treatment of enslaved people in this country. She considered slavery to be a moral disease, which undermined democracy because it really produced a bunch of lazy, rich white people who were unwilling to do their own work and therefore they were bringing nothing to society in terms of their usefulness to the country. So it might seem like the homemaker book that she wrote had nothing in common with this anti-slavery book, but there actually was a tie-in, because she saw that the people who craved luxuries in life were complicit in slavery because of all the luxuries that they had. Like sugar, for example, came from the toil of enslaved people.

KIM: Right. It kind of makes you think now of, you know, the discussions about cell phones and how they're made and a lot of things… the fast fashion and things that we buy now that we know that, you know, it's harming other people and the environment. But anyway.

AMY: Yeah, so she was kind of onto… 

KIM: She was already onto that… 

AMY: A long time ago, yeah.

KIM: So what do we know about this famous Thanksgiving poem she wrote? How did that happen?

AMY: Well, it was published in 1844 in a book of poetry called Flowers for Children, Volume 2. And we know it as “Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go.” But in the original poem, it was Grandfather's house. That got changed over the years. Um, it was originally also titled “The New England Boys’ Song About Thanksgiving Day.” Which is kind of a mouthful.

KIM: A really long title, but okay.

AMY: Yeah. Um, okay, so when you're hearing “Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house to go,” what do you picture Grandmother's house being like?

KIM: Oh, it's totally like Little House on the Prairie, Little House in the Big Woods. Like a log cabin or something. Definitely something super rural on a farm.

AMY: Yeah, I thought that, too. But you can actually look up her grandfather's house online. It's a house called the Paul Curtis House. That's the “Grandfather's house” that she's writing about. And it looks like a mansion. Like, Google it right now. Paul Curtis House. It's a huge, white, three story, Greek Revival-looking mansion. 

KIM: More like, um, Little Women. Like the, like the grandfather who lived next door in Little Women. 

AMY: Yeah, Mr. Lawrence, 

KIM: I did not picture that at all. 

AMY: No, it's totally not what you think. 

KIM: Yeah, so was she rich?

AMY: Yeah, apparently. So it's interesting that she was all anti-luxury because it looks like her family was pretty well-to-do.

KIM: Interesting.

AMY: But it's funny because she ended up paying a pretty heavy price for the stance that she took against slavery in her life. People were outraged by this. They didn't want her lecturing to them about it, and they stopped buying all of her books. And as a result, she ended up living the later years of her life in poverty. Or so she claimed, actually, because, um, her friends, they were stunned to find out, when she died in 1880, that she really still had a tidy little nest egg that in today's money would be somewhere around three quarters of a million dollars, so she was claiming poverty because nobody was buying her books and she probably wasn't making any money, but because of her ability to live so frugally on the money that she had earned, she had a large savings still at the end of her life.

KIM: Making a mental note to pick up a copy of The Frugal Housewife to see if I can pick up any tips.It obviously worked out well for her. 

AMY: Yeah, So let's finish up this episode by reading the full version of “The Thanksgiving Poem.” Um, I think in subsequent decades some people swapped the Thanksgiving for Christmas, so if you think of this poem as more of like a Christmas poem, that's probably why.

KIM: I do. 

AMY: Oh, you do? Okay. I always think of it as Thanksgiving. Anyway, here we go. I'm going to read, uh, and I think I'm actually just going to read an abridged version, because I were to read all the stanzas, it would start to feel interminable. 

So:

Over the river, and through the wood,
To Grandfather's house we go;
the horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
through the white and drifted snow.

Over the river, and through the wood,
to Grandfather's house away!
We would not stop for doll or top,
for 'tis Thanksgiving Day.

Over the river, and through the wood—
oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes and bites the nose
as over the ground we go.

Over the river, and through the wood—
and straight through the barnyard gate,
We seem to go extremely slow,
it is so hard to wait!

Over the river, and through the wood—
When Grandmother saw us come,
She will say, "O, dear, the children are here,
bring a pie for everyone."

Over the river, and through the wood—
now Grandmother's cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

There's six more stanzas in the original poem, but I spared you.

KIM: I think the two stanzas we all know and love by heart is probably sufficient. 

AMY: Yeah, I think that's enough. 

KIM: Yeah, yeah, but Happy Thanksgiving to all of our listeners who celebrate. We're grateful for all of you.

AMY: Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Amy Helmes and Kim Askew.

166. Alba de Céspedes — Forbidden Notebook with Joy Castro

KIM: Welcome to another episode of Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off forgotten women writers. I'm Kim Askew, here with my co-host, Amy Helmes.

AMY: We've covered fictional diaries on this podcast before. I'm thinking back to our third episode on E. M. Delafield's Diary of a Provincial Lady, and more recently, The Diary of a Lonely Girl by Miriam Karpilov. That was episode number 142. Kim, did you ever keep one of those secret diaries when you were a kid?

KIM: Over the years I had different ones with a lock and key. I love the idea, but I could never really stick to it for any length of time. That probably doesn't surprise you.

AMY: I would always lose the key, so then I would just be like, Oh, I guess get rid of this. 

KIM: Yeah, that said, the narrator of today's fictional diary would definitely have loved a sturdy padlock, maybe even a steel reinforced concrete bank vault for her illicit journal. The prospect that her written depository of private thoughts could be discovered by her family makes her paranoid because the words she is committing to paper feel downright dangerous. And yet, she can't give up her obsession with it.

AMY: Yeah, I'm reminded of that famous quote by the writer Muriel Rukeyser. "What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open." This 1952 novel, Forbidden Notebook, by Cuban Italian writer Alba de Céspedes, expounds on that theory by showing us the secret hopes, fears, fantasies, and doubts of a seemingly ordinary woman living in Rome in the early 1950s.

KIM: In a New York Times review of a 1958 English edition of this novel, de Céspedes was called "one of the few distinguished women writers since Colette to grapple effectively with what it is to be a woman." Famed Italian writer Elena Ferrante is also said to be a huge fan of this book, and we're very excited that we get to welcome back a previous guest to the show to discuss it.

AMY: So as they'd say in Italy, andiamo tutti! Let's raid the stacks and get started. 

[introductory music plays]

KIM: Our returning guest, Joy Castro, is the award winning author of literary thrillers, including 2012's Hell or High Water and 2021's Flight Risk, as well as a 2005 memoir, The Truth Book and Island of Bones, an essay collection, which received the International Latino Book Award. Joy is currently the Willa Cather Professor of English and Ethnic Studies at the University of Nebraska Lincoln, and you may remember that she joined us on the show almost two years ago to discuss the writer Margery Latimer and her fantastic novel, We Are Incredible. That's episode number 69 if you want to go back and have a listen.

AMY: Joy's most recent book, One Brilliant Flame, is a historical novel set in Key West and inspired by her ancestral history, and there is an oblique connection between that novel and today's lost lady, Alba de Céspedes. Welcome to the show, Joy. 

JOY: Thank you. Thank you both so much. It's wonderful to be back. 

AMY: Had you heard of her before you started writing One Brilliant Flame?

JOY: So yes and no. You mentioned Hell or High Water, and in that novel I named the protagonist Nola Céspedes because I'd been doing so much research about Cuba during the anti colonial period and I learned that Carlos Manuel de Céspedes in 1868 called for Cuba's independence from Spain. So he was an anti colonial revolutionary, but at the same time, he also freed all the enslaved Afro Cubans on his plantation. He knew that in good faith, he couldn't fight for his own freedom while enslaving other people. And so I was already aware of who he was, and I loved that kind of moral clarity, so I gave my protagonist that surname. Carlos Manuel de Céspedes comes up a few times in One Brilliant Flame, because he was so important to the Cubans in Key West. So the characters talk about him and so on. But Alba de Céspedes I had not heard of. I saw a tweet by the literary scholar Merve Emre, and she was reading an advanced copy of Forbidden Notebook. And I saw the surname of the author, Alba de Céspedes, and I was like, "That's an unusual name." So I did a little digging and was thrilled to find out that she is actually the granddaughter of Carlos Manuel de Céspedes. His son had been a diplomat and had married an Italian woman. They had had a child, and that was Alba. 

KIM: So she was born in Rome in 1911, and I'm not sure how much you know about her early years, Joy, but it sounds like she definitely inherited some of her freedom fighter grandfather's political gumption?

JOY: Absolutely, yeah, and there is, to my knowledge, no full biography yet in English, but what I've been able to find is that she married quite young, at the age of 15. She had a son already by the age of some sources say 16, some say 17, and then was divorced when she was 20. That was in 1931, and that's when her writing career really began. But during the 20s, Mussolini had risen to power in Italy, so she was really coming of age under a fascist dictatorship, and she was quite outspoken against fascism. She was jailed twice for her anti fascist activities, and two of her books were banned. And so that's a really interesting and rich kind of tension, because as the daughter of a diplomat and quite cosmopolitan, Alba de Céspedes would have known about the opportunities that were opening for women around the world, you know, in some places getting the vote, uh, college, entering the professions, free love, contraception, bathtub gin, flappers, right? So in some places things were really opening up in wild and exciting ways for women, and yet under fascism, procreation was seen as a woman's duty, and women were being pushed, quite forcibly in Italy and Germany, back into really rigid traditional gender roles. So there would have been a tremendous tension and an urgency on her part. She seems to have really been born a feminist and an outspoken political thinker.

KIM: Yeah. She's so young to be doing all this. 

AMY: I was thinking, also, if your father is a diplomat, that takes a certain bravery to be like, "Sorry, dad, I'm gonna, gonna ruffle some feathers."

KIM: Gotta go get arrested.

JOY: I think so. And, you know, I would be really interested in learning more. I would love to read a full biography, you know, to see how she did experience that time and understand the interiority that she was experiencing during that very early marriage and what caused her to leave it at the age of 20.

KIM: Yeah. And then to go on to write, she wrote eight novels between 1935, and you can only imagine that the war and the climate in Italy leading up to the war must've had an impact on her work. 

JOY: Absolutely. I think she was very interested in the connections between the micro political and the macro political. She circumscribes the action of Forbidden Notebook to a small domestic sphere, but it's definitely a politically engaged novel in many ways, and I think she was thinking about how larger political forces play out on the home front. And I think a lot of terrific women writers have done so around the globe, you know, I'm thinking of Mariama Bâ in her book, So Long a Letter, or Merce Rodoreda in Spain, who also rode under fascism. I mean, we could go on and on with that list, but who are exploring what does that mean in the private, in the personal sphere? How do those same energies affect us in the most intimate realms of our lives?

KIM: Yeah. Even Lorraine Hansberry, “A Raisin in the Sun.” We did an episode on that. I'm thinking of just taking what's going on outside and taking it into the domestic space.

JOY: Exactly. Exactly. So, uh, very soon after Rome was liberated in 1944, Alba de Céspedes founded and began to edit a really important journal of politics, culture, literature, and during its short run, uh, they lost financial backing by 1948, they published pretty much all the major figures in Italian politics and culture, but also writers from around the world. And in fact, another one of those writers that should join that small canon that I was just building out loud, Katherine Mansfield, who is one of my personal favorites and who also, um, she's just an exquisite master of capturing large political issues in the tiny, compressed, intense domestic space of the nuclear family. And it's interesting to me that de Céspedes resonated with Mansfield's work enough to publish it in Mercurio. She also published a fantastic essay by Natalia Ginzburg in 1948, called “On Women”. And this was provoked by the fact that there was a cultural debate in Italy around whether women should serve as judges. And so women had just gotten the national vote in Italy in 1945, believe it or not. So it was a matter for discussion as to whether women were fit to serve as judges given that, the thinking went, their sense of logic was often so different from that of men. So how could they be trusted to rule on court cases? In Natalia Ginsberg's essay she explores what she calls a dark well that she says women fall into. And for her, it is something that renders women's judgment fallible, or at least not reliable. Women fall into a kind of anguish or despair. And then de Céspedes includes her own response to that in the journal, but she sees that dark well as a rich source of humanity, compassion, of being able to plumb the depths of agony and then come back to the surface with the riches that she finds there. And so she thinks that that equips women very well for judging, both from the bench and in everyday life, you know. Of course, as a critic, she would have been quite invested in women's ability to judge and judge publicly.

 KIM: Listeners, if you loved that rousing America Ferrera monologue from the Barbie movie, you need to read this essay and de Céspedes’s beautiful response in their entirety. They're fairly short and we'll post them for you in our show notes.

AMY: Yeah, I feel like Forbidden Notebook was de Céspedes’s opportunity to sort of explore all these ideas about the female experience in much greater detail. So let's pivot now to discussing the novel. It was published in 1952. I think we all read the most recent translation that just came out, uh, translated by Anne Goldstein. Joy, can you set the book up for us and tell us a little bit about this diarist?

JOY: Yes, delighted. I just want to thank Astra House, the imprint that published the book, and Alessandra Bastagli, um, who was so fantastic and involved with that process and who kindly sent the advanced reading copy to me back before it came out. They did a really beautiful job. But to the novel, and I will say it was originally published serially in 1950 and 1951 in a very popular Italian illustrated magazine that featured photographs of big film stars from the era on its covers like Sophia Loren and Audrey Hepburn. So the novel first came out in short bits and was consumed by readers of that magazine, and interestingly, it was published, as I said, in 50 and 51. And the first diary entry is November 26th, 1950. So it would have had this tremendous sense of immediacy, of right-now-ness. And the mostly women who would have been avidly reading it, although, you know, many men did too, would have been in some ways similar to the diarist Valeria Cossati, who is a 43 year old working mother of two adult children, young adults, and a wife, she's a devoted wife to her husband, Michele, and they all live together in a fairly cramped apartment in Rome. She has an office job, though she doesn't admit to herself that she actually likes working until about halfway through the novel. Um, but to set things up, one day, on a Sunday, she's going out and the weather's beautiful, and she's on her own. She's going out to buy cigarettes for her husband so that she can have them on his nightstand when he wakes up, because he sleeps in late on Sundays. And it's just sort of lush and sensual and she's aware of herself and the weather and she wants to buy flowers so that she can carry them around and feel beautiful. So it's kind of this Mrs. Dalloway moment there at the beginning of the text. And she goes into the tobacconist and she sees a black notebook, the kind that she used to write in as a schoolgirl. And she's possessed, suddenly, by an impulse to buy this notebook. And curiously, according to the laws at the time, tobacconists couldn't sell notebooks on Sundays because on those days the stationery shops were closed, and so to prevent unfair competition with the stationery shops, they were only allowed to sell tobacco products. But she convinces the tobacco guy to sell her the notebook and the way she codes this in her own first diary entry in this black notebook is fascinating. And can I just read a tiny bit?

KIM: Yes, definitely.

JOY: So listen for the sin in the language. So this is the very first line.

I was wrong to buy this notebook. Very wrong. But it's too late now for regrets. The damage is done. I don't even know what impelled me to buy it. Pure chance. I've never thought of keeping a diary. Partly because a diary has to be secret. And so it would have to be hidden from Michele and the children. I don't like hiding things. Besides, there's so little space in our house, it would be impossible to manage. Here's how it happened… 

And then she tells the story of going to the tobacconist, and then, at the end of that story: 

I was alone now in the shop. “I need it,” I said. “I absolutely need it.” I was speaking in a whisper, agitated, ready to insist, plead. So he looked around, then quickly grabbed a notebook and handed it to me across the counter, saying, “Hide it under your coat.” I kept the notebook under my coat all the way home, I was afraid it would slide out. fall on the ground while the porter was telling me something or other about the gas pipes. I felt flushed when I turned the key to open the door to the apartment. I started to sneak off to my room, but I remembered that Michele was still in bed. 

So, the language with which de Céspedes imbues this episode is the language of a secret affair, a secret romance, and it's also the language of political resistance. If you think about resistance to fascism, hiding something under your coat, it's a secret. You look around, say, "Here, quick, take it," right? So both of those discourses are brought to life within the first two pages of this novel. It's just brilliant. And it makes the notebook seem like this very forbidden object, a dangerous object right from the get go.

KIM: Yes, she does it so beautifully. It's like the simplest thing, but there's so much tension fraught within it.

AMY: Yeah, like, super desperate-housewife-vibe, where you're like, what could she possibly need to write? It's so clandestine, you know? Your curiosity is instantly piqued. And like you said, it's forbidden in more ways than one because she wasn't really supposed to have bought it that day.

KIM: Yeah, there's this level of escalating terror associated with the diary's existence. She's just so guilty. It burns wherever she has it hidden in the house. It's almost like The Tell Tale Heart or something like that, where it's just there all the time within her thoughts, whether it's hidden away in a drawer at the bottom of a bag of kitchen rags.

JOY: I think one key to understanding what it represents to her, because she doesn't have, you know, fornication to confess when she buys it, right? Nothing like that or criminal activity. But one key is that writing her own name on the first page, Valeria, is what excites her and what stimulates her. And we can talk more about naming later, but it's this selfhood that thrills her and that the diary stands in for so powerfully and effectively. That's why it's an excellent vehicle for telling the story, because it externalizes her growing sense of self awareness that's interior. She confides her interiority into this object that she then has to hide around the house, and the very fact of its physical substance makes her realize, I don't have any place in this entire apartment that is my own. I don't have a drawer that I can lock, you know, so she hides it in the laundry. She hides it in the kitchen cupboard. She's afraid that her husband or adult children will find it and read it or even just find it and ask her about it. And she realizes \ not only does she not have a space for it, so definitely no “Room of One's Own” in Woolf's terms, but not even like a drawer of one's own. But also she doesn't have time to write in the diary privately. She has no privacy, so if she's just sitting writing, it will cause all kinds of questions in her family that she doesn't want to contend with. So having the physical object of the notebook brings all these things to the surface for de Céspedes.

KIM: Yeah, I love that you mentioned her thinking about writing her name, because we learn early on that everyone in her family, including her husband, calls her Mamma, and it really irritates her on some level. And so much of her identity from their perspective is wrapped up in being a mother, so having the notebook just represents so much of her individuality separate from them, which she really almost isn't allowed to have.

JOY: Exactly. We learn in the novel that her parents have always called her Bebe. They don't call her Valeria, they call her “Baby,” right? And then, yes, her whole family calls her Mamma. And we get this moment when she reveals to the notebook that her husband used to call her Valeria when they were in love, when they were courting. I should say that their marriage is basically a friendly, companionate or roommate marriage. It's basically sexless, although that's not Valeria's desire, and that he started calling her Mamma when his own mother died, which is kind of ick.

KIM: Yeah, yeah.

JOY: And that a portrait, a photographic portrait of her mother in law hangs in their bedroom. 

KIM: Yeah, no wonder they're not having sex. 

AMY: Yeah.

JOY: She's been pushed into that domestic, familial, sexless, caretaking role, and it just doesn't sit well with her at all.

KIM: Yeah. And you had mentioned her age earlier. I think one of us mentioned her age, but everyone's telling her she's old, and she's feeling like this youthfulness inside that's blossoming, but everyone around her is telling her she's old and she's like her mother in law, basically.

AMY: And she's worried that if they do see that she's keeping a notebook, they're going to laugh at her and this idea that she doesn't have anything worthy of writing in their eyes, you know? And talking about this idea of time being a luxury that moms aren't allowed, so therefore the diary is this kind of sinful luxury for her to keep, she touches on so many problems that I think still plague mothers today. I'm just going to mention a few moments. She feels guilty about something as simple as just getting in a little cat nap when you're exhausted. I'm speaking as a mom, a lot of times you feel like you can't do that. She talks about the pressure to single handedly create a perfect Christmas for her family. Also the exhausting logistics and meal prep and the detailed household instructions that she would have to leave if she ever wanted to get away for a weekend, and having just taken a trip to England, I want to bring up a funny moment. A couple days before I was leaving, my husband said to the kids, Oh, maybe mom can make a lasagna and put it in the freezer before she goes. split the difference and I bought two frozen pizzas but I wasn't going to actually make a lasagna while I was packing to go overseas. 

KIM: Yeah, but there's also and I feel like she even admits it to herself, there's almost a martyrdom to it. It's like there's expectations that everyone has on her, but because her identity is only as this wife and mother, it's like if she slows down and has to think about who she is, which is what she ends up doing with the notebook, then chaos is gonna break out. So I feel like some of it is almost self imposed. Am I wrong there?

JOY: One Of my very favorite sections in the book speaks to exactly what you're describing. Sort of the pleasure of martyrdom, which is the only pleasure left to her. Um, and there's this really gorgeous passage that when I was first reading the book, I thought, Okay, this writer knows what she's doing so well. So let me just, um, share this: 

Something keeps me from confessing that I'm writing. [So again, the language of sin and confession.] It's the regret that I spend so much time doing it. I often complain that I have too many things to do, that I'm the family servant, the household slave, that I never have a moment to read a book, for example. That's all true. But in a certain sense, that servitude has also become my strength, the halo of my martyrdom. So on those rare occasions when I happen to take a nap for half an hour before Michele and the children return for dinner, or when I take a walk, gazing in the shop windows on the way home from the office, I never confess it. I'm afraid that if I admitted I had enjoyed even a short rest or some diversion, I would lose the reputation I have of dedicating every second of my time to the family. No one would remember the countless hours I spend in the office or in the kitchen or shopping or mending, but only the brief moments I confessed I had spent reading a book or taking a walk. Michele is always urging me to get some rest, and Ricardo says, [that's her son, her adult son,] that as soon as he's able to earn money, he'll take me on vacation to Capri or the Riviera. Recognizing my weariness, [so verbally recognizing her weariness] frees him of every responsibility. So they often repeat severely, you should rest, as if not resting were a whim of mine. But in practice, as soon as they see me sitting and reading a newspaper, they say, “Mamma, since you have nothing to do, could you mend the lining of my jacket? Could you iron my pants?” And so on. 

And so it goes on and on and then, she talks about how only having a high fever gets her out of constant work, right? The second shift that she pulls after she gets home from her office job at 7 p. m. And she writes: 

I'm always tired and no one believes me. And yet tranquility for me originates precisely in the tiredness I feel when I lie in bed at night. There, so in that tiredness, I find a sort of happiness in which I feel peaceful and fall asleep. I have to recognize that perhaps the determination with which I protect myself from any possibility of rest is the fear of losing this single source of happiness, which is tiredness.

The nuance and delicacy with which she examines her own contradictions is so... it's perfect. 

KIM: Yeah, it's absolutely perfect. And I, even in a very modern marriage, etc. I still totally get that feeling of where like, okay, you have to seriously be down for the count to take a break, you know, I mean, I take many more breaks than Valeria, but, 

AMY: Yeah. I mean, that's a good point. Still see artifacts of what she was going through a little bit, right?

KIM: Yeah, definitely. 

JOY: There's all this advice even today. Oh, if you want your husband to be helpful around the house, (helpful as if it's really your duty) never criticize his housekeeping.

KIM: Yeah, and overpraise, like, when they do things, make a really big deal out of it.

JOY: Exactly.

KIM: So, interestingly enough, in addition to having this life at home, she is also a career woman, and a lot of her friends, maybe all of them, really, aren't career women. So her workplace ends up factoring significantly into this novel. Do you want to talk a little bit about that, Joy?

JOY: Yes, so most of her friends are wealthy women who are supported by their husbands, and we get scenes of that earlier in the book and how she feels a bit divided from them because of that. One of her friends, we should mention, is Clara Poletti, who has split from her husband and is a successful screenwriter. Poletti is more similar to de Céspedes herself, who was also a successful screenwriter in addition to being a novelist, editor, journalist, and so on. And so she's sort of a stand in for de Céspedes on the periphery of this novel. Valeria, our protagonist, does find such deep pleasure in her office work where she's competent, she's respected, and where she is called Valeria, right? So again, that identity is recognized by her boss, uh, who is a wealthy, good looking businessman. And they've worked together for some years, and, uh, the fact that he recognizes her, that he praises her work, that he calls her by her name, that he sees her for who she is and who she wants to be seen as, this gives rise to growing mutual attraction between them, which does become part of the focus of the novel. But again, I would argue that the real affair in this novel, the real danger to Valeria's settled domestic life, is an affair with herself. It's a romance with her own thoughts and feelings, her own desires, her own sensual perceptions of the world, you know. That's what's really blossoming. But she doesn't even really have the language for that, right? It sort of gets externalized onto this handsome, wealthy boss guy who could possibly, you know, change her life in all kinds of exciting ways.

KIM: Yeah, you get the feeling her husband would be more upset about the illicit diary, almost, than the affair. 

JOY: Potentially so. And an interesting sort of sidebar in the novel is that her husband, we learn, she learns, has also been secretly writing.

KIM: Mm hmm.

JOY: Writing a screenplay. And he gives it to Clara Poletti to read, and there's a very strong suggestion throughout quite a lot of the novel that he's actually involved in an affair with Poletti. And this is an interesting aspect as well, that he's drawn to a woman who's successful, independent, a writer, a creative, and his wife is right there in the same apartment with him, uh, and he sees her as Mamma, please mend, you know, whatever, please iron my stuff, please have dinner on the table. He's just incapable of seeing her, whereas her boss is capable of seeing her.

AMY: He reminds me a little bit of the husband in E.M. Delafield's Diary of a Provincial Lady in that he's just kind of a dope sometimes, but he's not a villain at all. And I like that she chose not to make him a villainous, jerky husband, because I think it makes her quiet desperation even more potent and you realize it's not about the husband, per se. It's a bigger issue.

JOY: I think that de Céspedes does a great job. Of humanizing all four of the main characters and showing their loneliness, their anguish, their desires that are thwarted by various forces. And so, yes, Michele does not come off as a cackling, controlling villain, uh, just as someone who expects his wife to fulfill certain roles and can't see anything beyond that, right?

KIM: The idea of an unreliable narrator, too, and how it kind of plays into this, because, you know, it's like what you said about him maybe having an affair. She's dropping hints, but she doesn't want to admit even to her own private diary. While she's very honest in a lot of ways, it still feels like, okay, this is a very real person who is unwilling to admit certain things to herself.

JOY: Exactly. There's a sense in which she's unwilling to let herself know what she actually does know. That that would be shattering in some way that she cannot emotionally tolerate. So she turns a blind eye to that. In terms of whether she's a reliable narrator or an unreliable narrator, she's a sincere narrator. There's a kind of ruthless honesty she has with herself about herself. I think she says something like The more I try to be the judge, which is interesting if you think back to that, um, Ginsburg exchange in Mercurio, um, the more I try to be the judge, the more I find myself the criminal, right? So she's interrogating her own motives, and that kind of careful precision of analysis of the small day to day mundane aspects of an ordinary life are what make the novel for me have the texture of psychological reality and the fluidity of the prose where one minute she's starting to think about politics a bit, and then the next minute she's worried about her family and then the next minute she's craving a new pretty hat, you know? That sort of fluctuation reminds me a great deal of the modernists who were trying to capture a stream of consciousness. 

KIM: Right. Right. 

JOY: Yeah.

AMY: So yeah, the relationship in the book that I was most intrigued by, to be perfectly honest, was the relationship between Valeria and her 20 year old daughter Mirella. The mother daughter dynamics are so intense, and I have a 13 year old, so I'm just on the cusp of this changing relationship that, you know, mothers and daughters naturally have, but it was kind of excruciating to read this as a mom to a daughter, and it was also very different. A lot of novels you read about maternal angst, it's mothers of young children, you know, postpartum things like that, but this is so different because Mirella is almost grown. But in that sense, they're able to actually engage with each other on an entirely different level that is almost hostile at times. 

KIM: Yeah, and it's hard because she recognizes that she should say something else, and she wants to, but she'll just say the worst thing to her daughter. You're just like, Oh why couldn't you say the thing you really wanted to say? You could connect, you're both struggling and lonely. You could connect over it, but...

JOY: Yeah, absolutely. To circle back, like, if you think about Kate Chopin and The Awakening and the way that her young children are the source of her anguish, right? But the issue of Mirella, I think that Mirella functions for Valeria as a kind of road not taken, right? Mirella is a vision of what could have been, what might have been, what could still be if Valeria were bold enough to seize the reins of her own life. And so it's insanely irritating to her that right here in her own apartment is her own daughter who's doing the things that she didn't have the courage to do, the wherewithal to do, the encouragement, right. And there's even a passage late in the book where Valeria contemplates her own role as a kind of bridge between her mother's generation and the expectations for womanhood that her mother still presses on her at every opportunity and then her daughter's generation, which has so much more sexual freedom, political freedom, professional freedom, right? 

AMY: There's a part of her that also is trying to champion what Mirella is doing, even though she disapproves of it. You see moments where she's like, Go on girl. Go, go for it. Don't do what I did, you know, sort of thing. So very interesting dynamics.

KIM: Yeah. And she does in some ways want Mirella to move forward, but then other ways she feels like it's very much a betrayal of everything she's put into marriage, that her daughter can go out and do this. It's like she did all the things she was supposed to, and it doesn't feel good to her. And she's almost punishing her daughter for that.

AMY: Yeah. Like I never got that opportunity. I didn't get to do that.

 JOY: Yes, you mentioned America Ferrara earlier, and a filmic text with which many of your listeners will be familiar is, um, her movie Real Women Have Curves. And that same dynamic plays out there, where the mother is envious and bitter. Why should the younger generation enjoy a life that I wanted, but could not have? Yeah.

KIM: Right.

AMY: But some of the moments between Mirella and her mom are so brutal. It's like she knows her mother's wounds, and she jabs it.

JOY: It's a brilliant analysis of mother daughter dynamics. It really is. And something that I want to mention in that regard, is that in the next novel by de Céspedes that is being published in English, now, again by Astra House, um, is called Her Side of the Story. And it also has a mother daughter relationship. So I haven't read it yet, I just got it last night in the mail and I'm so psyched, but there is a mother daughter relationship in which the mother has extra marital longings for someone. And her young daughter is watching this happen. So more Mirella became the protagonist and was watching Valeria and could tell what was happening with Valeria's desire and so on. So it flips the roles. I won't say more because I haven't read it yet, but this is just what I'm gleaning from the afterword by Elena Ferrante. Clearly the mother daughter relationship was one that compelled her tremendously. 

AMY: I also noticed, um, getting back to her boss at work, they're always trying to set up, like, how can we be together? How can we runoff on a rendezvous somewhere? And a phrase that keeps recurring over and over is Valeria saying, It's not possible. And I feel like she's saying something more than just this affair is not possible. Like she's speaking to a bigger issue again. 

JOY: I do think you're right. She's policing her own concept of what's possible for herself. We should talk about, just very quickly, the fact that the very act of keeping a diary changes how she perceives her world because now she's sort of scanning for things to write about. So what, in the course of an ordinary day, is worth memorializing in writing? Then what do you say about it? You're an editor and you're a critic of your own life, and that alchemy is part of what makes the notebook so incendiary, so explosive. She realizes that she's being changed by the very process. 

KIM: Yep.

JOY: That is just very important. And so her repeated utterances, it's not possible, both to her boss and to herself in the journal, are just sort of a way of surveilling herself and maintaining the borders of her life.

AMY: And the larger idea that really writing this notebook is not going to be possible for much longer, you know? I mean, she feels her world is closing in on her. 

KIM: Can you talk a little bit about the publication history of this book? How was it received when it was serialized also, and why do you think she was eventually forgotten?

JOY: Well, she was a best selling novelist in Italy. So it was received extremely well at that time in her country. When it was published in the United States in its first English translation the U. S. by Simon and Schuster in 1958 as The Secret, that was the title of it then, I don't know a lot about how it was received at the time but we know that it was reviewed in The New York Times by Francis Keene who was a translator of Italian literature and romance languages, and she loved it. She just thought it was incredibly brilliant. And so in terms of The New York Times and its influence, you know, it would have been well received here, but I don't know how widespread that was or what the sales figures were like. I don't know that yet. 

AMY: I love the idea that it came out first in the magazine, like you said, for Italian readers. 

KIM: Yeah, totally. It's perfect.

AMY: You feel like it's a real woman almost. Yeah. 

KIM: Yeah. 

JOY: Exactly. And that breathless urgency, what's going to happen next, right, as if this were happening in real time, perhaps not even that far from where you live, right? 

KIM: Yeah.

AMY: And like we talked about, there is this building dread. Was almost like Lord of the Rings, the notebook was like some sort of dark entity in the house that has a power. So by the end of the book, Valeria writes that "all women hide a black notebook," and it's taking me back to this conversation from the essays earlier about this deep well that women fall into and de Céspedes's belief, kind of hopeful belief, actually, that women find important things in that well. 

JOY: Yeah. So the thing that I think is really brilliant about how de Céspedes structures this novel, in that sense, the sense of dread and ominousness and how things are either going to be horrific or they're going to close down; we don't know what's going to happen, and how things the opportunity to vicariously experience rebellion, critique, right? All the things that Valeria is experiencing desire, right? And then to close it up like a notebook and put it away or destroy it entirely. So we have the possibility and then the containment, right? So it's thrilling and revolutionary and incendiary, but then safe. 

AMY: It's making me think, randomly, of that kind of like end of Raiders of the Lost Ark where the Ark just gets buried on the shelves, but you know all the hidden danger and how powerful it really is, right? 

KIM: Yeah.

JOY: Yeah. Yeah, exactly. All that hidden danger. Yeah.

AMY: So that brings me to your own writing, Joy. I want to mention a personal essay that you wrote last year entitled “Burning It Down.” It was recently named a notable essay in the New Best American Essays Collection edited by Vivian Gornick. We're going to share a link to that in our show notes, listeners, so you can read it in full. But it relates to de Céspedes, I think, because you talk about the decision you made to destroy all of your journals that you had kept since the age of 12. Tell us a little bit more about this.

JOY: Absolutely. Yeah. And in my case, I didn't really have scandalous, incendiary material in the journals, but I felt as if I wanted to let go of a calcified sense of identity. I really wanted something new and fresh. So it was really kind of an ontological move, like, I don't want to carry these yards of notebooks around with me anymore, like baggage of who I used to be, all these different iterations. There was something quite fierce and wonderful about letting them go, and as you know, the essay opens with having my hairdresser shear off my long hair, which was dark at the time, and letting it grow in silver. So like lots of letting go or shedding, uh, you know, because I had been coloring my hair. So there's a lot about performing a kind of femininity or youthfulness or whatever. I was just sort of like, nah, I don't want to, you know, I'm ready for change. But as long as I am dragging this boulder of past selves behind me, it's almost as if I feel beholden to the expectation that I'll keep performing who I was, you know? And even if other people haven't read those journals, I know what they say, you know, and I'm tired of them. I'm ready to turn those in and to see what kinds of freedom lie on the other side of that. The field of pure possibility, to go back to that phrase that you noticed, Amy, that Valeria keeps saying: It's not possible. It's not possible. What if one says to oneself, It is possible. And that is possible. And that's possible too. And anything is possible. Then what? Then what do you make of your life? That's a radical kind of freedom, and it's a kind of freedom that I think not only does the world not give women very often, but women don't give ourselves, and so that's what I wanted to do.

KIM: Right. So, we've talked about Valeria's need to keep her innermost thoughts secret. And then we talked about you destroying your own journals. But in your professional writing career, you've done really the opposite, in terms of publishing these incredibly candid essays, like Burning It Down, which I love and I'm so excited it's getting even more recognition because it's wonderful. Not to mention your memoir. 

AMY: Yeah, you took your past and you put it out there, boldly, for everyone to read, which is a hard thing to do. You're basically doing the opposite of what she was trying to do, which was to keep it under wraps.

JOY: But I think there's a tremendous difference. The public version, when one knows it will be public, is highly shaped, not fictionalized, but shaped, edited, chosen. In a different way from the process that Valeria learns about, where you're looking at your life and then choosing what to write for yourself privately to explore things. That's just so vulnerable. Of course I still keep notebooks and journals and so on, but, you know what I think it was? Um, we hired a historian, a Latina historian at my institution, and she came to my apartment. She's like, You know, uh, as a Latina writer, as a professor, there are very few Latinas who are full professors in this country, and she said, You know, people are going to want your notebooks, your archives, one day. And I was like, Whoa, wait a minute. What? You know, because I just thought, you know, uh, I'll get old. I'll destroy them all. So my son won't have to deal with them. And you know, that, that I forget what, um, Scandinavian practice of...

KIM: yeah.

AMY: Oh, right. Preparing for death. Yeah.

JOY: Yeah, but I never thought, Oh my goodness, that stuff could be public. I didn't write it to be public. So I guess it's a little bit about control and intentionality. So when we select things and we say, here's something that I would like to offer the world. Maybe it was harrowing. Maybe it was awful. Maybe I behaved badly. Maybe other people did, but I'm going to analyze it with a kind of precision and then revise it and polish it and give it to the world. That's a really different thing from, you know, I'm 19 and writing in my diary thinking no one will ever see it. So I think I just wanted to preserve a sense of privacy and freedom that kept those two selves very separate and distinct. 

AMY: Interesting. I love that.

KIM: So Joy, thank you so much for introducing us to Alba de Céspedes. Is there anything else you're working on that you'd like to tease for us? Another title in the works? No pressure.

JOY: Thank you. Um, yes, and I would say that. The next novel by de Céspedes will be available in November, like mid November, Her Side of the Story. 

KIM: I can't wait to read it. 

AMY: I know, I'm definitely going to read it. I love that there's something else available for us.

JOY: Yeah, I'm really excited. Myself, I'm working on two things: a collection of short stories about women at pivotal moments who choose the very unexpected. So it definitely ties into what we've just been talking about. And then I'm also editing, with translator Rhi Johnson, a collection for the University Press of Florida of my grandfather's writing. So this really fed into One Brilliant Flame. My grandfather, Feliciano Castro, after whom the character Feliciano in that book is named, he was a poet and a lector, and a printer, in Key West. He published a volume of poetry in 1918 that was included in my father's effects when my father died. And I just thought, you know, maybe all grandpas write books of poetry. And so I've known about this for many years. And, um, then I met Rhi, who's a translator and a scholar of Galician and Cuban literature, and they said, No, wait, these poems are actually pretty cool and important. So we've been working together for quite some time, and now they're going to be in print. So that's also exciting in terms of legacy, you know, and Alba de Céspedes and her relationship with her grandfather. Yeah, so…

AMY: It's really amazing, the connection that, you know, you've discovered with her. It's uncanny. 

JOY: It is uncanny. It's truly amazing and thrilling. So thank you for inviting me to talk about her.

AMY: Well, it's been so great to have you back. Thank you so much.

KIM: Yeah. You can come on anytime. You're great at this.

 So that's all for today's episode. Listeners, have you ever wondered how you can keep the legacies of these lost ladies alive?

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Our theme song was written and performed by Jennie Malone and our logo was designed by Harriet Grant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Amy Helmes and Kim Askew.