85. Mary Taylor — Miss Miles with Emily Midorikawa and Emma Claire Sweeney
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AMY: Hi, everybody. Welcome to another episode of Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off books by forgotten women writers. I'm Amy Helmes...
KIM: and I'm Kim Askew and today's episode is Bronte-adjacent. I guess you could say.
AMY: Yes. In addition to her literary siblings, Emily, Anne and Branwell, Charlotte Bronte had a very close lifelong friend who was also a writer. Her name was Mary Taylor, and in some ways Taylor bears all the hallmarks of a classic Bronte heroine. She had a stubborn and rebellious nature. She was fiercely independent and she was a vocal feminist.
KIM: Yes. And unlike a classic Bronte heroine, she had no time for caustic jerks like Mr. Rochester. Far from being a love story, her 1890 novel Miss Miles: A Tale of Yorkshire Life 60 Years Ago makes the forceful argument that all women ought to have the right and the wherewithal to provide for themselves, financially speaking. She was basically fed up with the options available to women for getting by in the world.
AMY: So it's no surprise that such a girl-power themed book would have strong female friendships at the heart of its story. And I'm excited to welcome the two guests today who introduced us to Mary Taylor: Emily Midorikawa and Emma Claire Sweeney. We mentioned them last summer in our mini episode on literary sisters.
KIM: Right. And in that episode, we had put a wish out into the universe, just hoping these authors and friends might agree to come on the show. And we were so thrilled when they said yes. So without further ado, let's read the stacks and get started!
AMY: Our guests today are Emily Midorikawa and Emma Claire Sweeney. Emily's work has been published in The Washington Post, the Paris Review, Lapham's Quarterly, Time and elsewhere. She is a winner of the Lucy Cavendish Fiction Prize and her most recent book, which came out last year is Out of the Shadows: Six Visionary Victorian Women in Search of a Public Voice. She teaches at New York University London.
KIM: And Dr. Emma Claire Sweeney is a central academic at the Open University where she chairs and designs undergraduate and postgraduate creative writing courses. She's won the Society of Authors, Arts Council and Royal Literary Fund awards. And she's written for The Paris Review, Time and The Washington Post. She was named an Amazon Rising Star and a High- Rising Writer for her debut novel 2016's Owl Song at Dawn. It was inspired by her sister, who has cerebral palsy and autism, and it went on to win a Nudge Literary Book of the Year.
AMY: Together, Emily and Emma co-authored the 2017 nonfiction book A Secret Sisterhood: The Literary Friendships of Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, George Eliot, and Virginia Woolf. In her forward to this book, Margaret Atwood described the work as "a great service to literary history." And I think I would just hyperventilate for the rest of my life if I got that kind of seal of approval. Uh, also A Secret Sisterhood was called "an exceptional act of literary espionage" by The Financial Times. So Emily and Emma, welcome to the show!
EMMA: It's a real pleasure and privilege. Thank you.
EMILY: I'm a big fan, as you already know, so it's really particularly great to be here.
AMY: Okay. So Charlotte Bronte's friendship with Mary Taylor is one of the four main friendships you guys focus on in your book, The Secret Sisterhood, but it does sound, in reading your book, that it required some sleuthing on your part to kind of piece together their bond. I was wondering if you could tell us a little bit about the work involved with that.
EMILY: Yeah. So this is Emily. So although Mary Taylor is by no means a household name, if you've read a biography of Charlotte Bronte or the Bronte sisters, you will have probably heard of Mary Taylor. She was a close friend to Charlotte Bronte and also her sisters to some extent, but we were really interested in the literary influence that she had on Charlotte Bronte, both in terms of her creative output, but also really pushing Charlotte Bronte to establish herself as a professional writer. And we could talk more about the ways that Mary did that a little bit later in the interview. Um, but it did, as you say, require some sleuthing. I mean, sadly, very few letters between the two of them have survived. Mary destroyed a number of these letters in a fit of caution, she said, which we can only assume she was concerned about the letters' incendiary contents. And Mary Taylor was not usually a particularly cautious person, so it really makes one wonder what was there. So yeah, we had to find other ways of finding out about their friendship. Looking at the letters that did survive, looking at other letters to other individuals who had hung on to the letters, and also other things that Mary Taylor had written later.
AMY: Sounds juicy.
KIM: Yeah. So what were you able to find out about their early friendship? Do you have any favorite anecdotes about them from their school days together?
EMMA: Yeah. It's Emma here. Um, sadly they did not get off to the best start. It's actually a little bit heartbreaking reading about Charlotte Bronte's school years. She was ostracized for being shortsighted, for being diminutive in height, um, for being unable to really throw herself into the sort of playground games. And Mary Taylor didn't seem terribly impressed by Charlotte Bronte when she arrived at the school, and from what we can gather, didn't seem to do anything to defend Charlotte Bronte against the other children's laughter. And then at one point they did have an interaction and the story actually gets worse. Mary Taylor apparently told Charlotte Bronte, "you are very ugly." This was something that really haunted Charlotte Bronte for years to come, and, you know, she referred to it in later years. But at the same time, she did grow to really appreciate Mary Taylor's bluntness. She referred to "the sincere and truthful language" that her friend would use, because they did become friends. One of the anecdotes I love about them, actually, is that having got off to this terrible start, they ended up getting into political debates. Um, Charlotte Bronte was much more conservative as a school kid and she actually was really interested in politics from a sort of ridiculously young age. So they used to get into these quite fiery debates, because Mary Taylor was from a family of radical Nonconformists. So she had a much, much more progressive and liberal outlook. Um, so yeah, the idea that they were talking about these kinds of political subjects from a young age, I think said something about the two of them and perhaps shines a bit of a different light on Charlotte Bronte, because I think we often think of her as sort of quite timid. And I think in some way she was, but she also was very well-informed and not afraid to speak her mind when she felt that she knew her stuff.
AMY: And there was also another young woman in the mix, too, their other friend, Ellen Nussey. So how did Mary fit in along with Ellen?
EMILY: The three were very close, but Mary and Ellen were quite different individuals. Ellen was quite a gentle person, particularly as a school girl. Um, she was someone who was much more cautious than Mary Taylor. As we've already heard from Emma, Mary Taylor and Charlotte Bronte's relationship was much more robust. And Charlotte would go to Mary, you know, to thrash out thoughts on issues of the day, or maybe actually just to try and get advice of what she should do in her own life. So I think Charlotte needed both of them, but for quite different ends, I would say.
KIM: Yeah. And in some ways you really argue that Mary was instrumental in helping Charlotte Bronte become the woman we now know and love. Is that right?
EMMA: Yeah, I think we would definitely argue that. Um, when Charlotte Bronte was working as a teacher at the school they had formerly attended together, she was desperately unhappy. And Mary Taylor said, you know, "How can you give so much of yourself for so little money?" Because she knew that Charlotte Bronte wasn't managing to, you know, put much aside. So I think that encouragement to think beyond the conventional ways in which women of that class and time could earn a living and to take herself seriously as a writer, to think of that as something that maybe she could pursue. Um, and then If we know anything about Charlotte Bronte beyond the Haworth Parsonage in Yorkshire and the moors, we might know that, um, she spent some time in Brussels in Belgium, and that was a trip that was sort of instigated by Mary in many ways. Mary had planned to go there and study, and telling Charlotte Bronte about this, you know, inspired her to think maybe this could be an option for her. And she talks about Mary giving her "a wish for wings." So I think that sort of life beyond the sorts of family was a life that Mary Taylor kind of opened up in many ways. And then of course the radicalism that was inspired by Mary Taylor, you know, went on, we would argue, to shape a lot of the thoughts that we might associate with Charlotte Bronte in her later novels.
AMY: She also kind of had a tough-love attitude towards Charlotte, and that leads into her response to Charlotte's novel Jane Eyre. Can you talk a little bit about how she responded to that?
EMILY: Well, she responded in a mixed way, I would say. She did praise it as being, you know, a wonderful work of art. Um, she clearly could see that there was some literary merit with it, but really, you know, something that she really wanted to take Charlotte Bronte to task for was at least, in Mary's eyes, she felt that she had not included a strong enough social or political message. She said to her, you know, "Has the world gone so well with you that you have no protest to make against its absurdities?" Now, this may have come as something of a shock to Charlotte. And I think, you know, to us today, it doesn't actually necessarily feel like reasonable criticism because although Jane Eyre had been hugely popular when it came out, it had also been quite controversial. And the very thing that it has been criticized for in some quarters was, you know, challenging the status quo, presenting this woman who was not going to just fit in with the way things were done. And so I think all of that is there in Jane Eyre, but it was not perhaps right on the surface, because it's all wrapped up in the storytelling. Mary, I think, wants things to be on the surface. She wanted the political message, the social message to be right there, where everyone could see it.
AMY: That's exactly what she does with her book, Miss Miles. And so let's move on to this novel.
EMILY: Yes. So the subtitle of Miss Miles is A Tale of Yorkshire Life 60 Years Ago. The book came out in 1890, so we're talking, you know, the 1830s. It's a book that looks at the whole community, but it specifically looks at some key female figures within that community. The Miss Miles of the title, so Sarah Miles, who's a working class young woman who seeks to better herself. Although initially she doesn't even really know quite what she's pursuing with this idea of bettering herself, but by educating herself and trying to become independent. I won't go through all the different female characters, but two that I think are particularly interesting are Maria Bell, who is a clergyman's daughter who falls on hard times and then establishes herself as a school mistress, and really tries to make a go of things that way. And her friend, Dora Wells, who has actually got this quite dreadful family background in the sense that her mother has been left a widow and she remarries into a family, really, just with the aim of shoring up her own financial circumstances and for her daughter, as well. And to some extent this is successful, although not to the extent that she would have envisaged, but she also brings her daughter into an environment that's extremely unwelcoming, um, and really just a complete misery for Dora. And Dora really finds herself unable to extricate herself from the situation. And I think the friendship between Maria and Dora is particularly interesting because we do see aspects of Mary and Charlotte's own friendship kind of played out in the way that these two connect with each other. So I think it's interesting in terms of portraits of women of the time, but also anyone interested in the lives of Mary and Charlotte.
AMY: So the setup is kind of these four women from four completely different circumstances. And she's sort of using each one as an example for, you know, the difficulties that women face, including one of the ladies, Amelia is from a wealthy family, but we see a reversal of fortune in her case. But really, what Taylor's doing is exploring poverty and the workforce of the time and the fact that there were no safety nets. So a bad year at the mill meant, you know, possibly the poor house or starvation for people.
KIM: Yeah, I mean, she really gives us a frightening vision of what can happen to women when they aren't able to support themselves. And yeah, the same threat does hang over the men in the book too, but there's this feeling that at least they have some agency in the situation that the women lack.
AMY: Right. And Taylor kind of underscores this point when she writes about Maria, "For in truth, it amounted to this: that she had no more control over her own good will or ill luck than a little child." So what if anything from Mary Taylor's own life would account for her being so fiercely focused on this idea of wanting women to be able to support themselves?
EMMA: I think a lot of this, um, might stem from her relationship with her father. Her father had quite progressive attitudes towards marriage. He advised her not to marry for money, and not to tolerate anyone who did. And that seems to be advice that she took to heart and advice that was, you know, it was quite extraordinary at the time. But also her father went from being a really quite well-off industrialist to mounting debts and bankruptcy. And so, you know, Mary as a, as a girl, saw a real change in fortunes and, you know, went from a high level of comfort to having to take care of, I suppose, in terms of not having new clothing and looking out of place with the sort of more fashionable children at school. And then, when her father died and he had actually become bankrupt, there were tensions between her mother and her three brothers about the remaining property and assets, and the division of those. So I suppose that situation would have really highlighted to Mary the vulnerability of women when they're reliant on their menfolk to earn the money and make the financial decisions.
AMY: Right. And let's get back a little bit to this character of Dora that you brought up, Emily. This is Maria's best friend. Her mom has no other recourse to provide for them but to marry an abusive evil husband. Dora says at one point, "From what terrible destiny did she rescue me when this was the price? Once a beggar, always a beggar, she seems to have thought, and then accepted her position and took the means that are supposed to make all things right for womankind." Meaning, of course, that marriage was the only real option that she had.
KIM: So, yeah, we mentioned Taylor complaining that Bronte had no doctrine to preach. Well, Taylor preaches in Miss Miles. Boy, does she! And oftentimes it's via Dora. She actually says to Mariah, "Darkness is ignorance, I tell you. It is what is recommended to us women. If people knew that the women in the church yards were alive, those in the coffins I mean, and were waiting for us to dig them up, do you think anyone would do it? No, they would not. They would say ladies did not want to get up. That they had all they wanted and the men did not like them to get out of their graves."
AMY: Yeah, she really doesn't hold back. And then she has hatched this idea, like her one long shot, Hail Mary pass that is going to get her away from this horrible house she's living in. She's going to try to be a lecturer. Kim and I were cracking up because she has no experience. She doesn't even basically have a speech prepared. She's just going to wing it when she gets up there. But she gets Mariah to go out to all her neighbors and sort of gather them together, sell them on the idea of paying for this lecture. And then when Dora does give her speech, it's a moment, right? She brings the house down.
EMILY: And do you really do get the sense that the people who have turned up for this speech, you know, they've basically come for the novelty of seeing this crazy woman getting up and, and giving a talk, which I think we do have to remember how unusual, how novel it would really be to see a woman standing up in public and speaking about anything, really, at that stage. And she talks about social issues, really in the speech. You know, she talks about the plights of working people. We get the sense that Dora has been pushed to breaking point, but we also get, of course, the sense of Mary Taylor, the author, using Dora as her mouthpiece to say, you know, what she really thinks. So it's interesting, I think again, from those two points of view, and, um, as you say it's a speech that's extremely well-received in the book, and it marks a complete shift in the way that Dora sees herself as a character, and it allows her to finally see a way forward in what has become, you know, a very long, drawn- out, dreadful situation for her.
AMY: Yeah. And so like you said, the people in the town are not just skeptical, but a little scandalized by it too. And in fact, Maria has this would-be suitor who is trying to win her heart. And he sends her a letter, basically, lecturing her about her friendship with Dora and saying, "You should not be associating with this woman. It doesn't make you look good." A super annoying letter. And I love the fact that she writes him back with this mega "talk to the hand" moment.
KIM: Yeah. I mean, Amy and I texted each other when we were reading that part, like, "Oh my God, this is great." She's like, "no." Um, and then also another thing that happens is Sarah punches her love interest in the face. So there's this visceral female strength happening in both of these different ways, and throughout the book. Do we know if any of this squares with Mary's relationships with men in real life?
EMMA: Well, it's hard to imagine that Mary was the kind of woman who would put up with any kind of mansplaining. And the kind of upbringing she had from a father who encouraged her not to marry for money probably set her up quite well, that feeling that she had a right to some kind of equality and independence. I think she liked to be able to do the things that men might be able to take for granted. One of the lines from one of Mary Taylor's letters that I particularly love, and I think it gives a real sense of her character, she was talking about studying algebra and she said "it is odd in a woman to learn it, and I like to establish my rights to be doing odd things." I think that sorts of sums Mary up, really.
KIM: What a great quote. Oh, I love that.
AMY: She sounds like just a spitfire.
KIM: Yeah. I love her.
AMY: Um, in the book, I think Mary Taylor throws more than a little shade around at upper class women and even some middle-class women. They don't always come across particularly well in the book. In fact, um, the young woman, Sarah, who's decidedly from a lower class, she has these great fantasies about being like a fancy lady someday. "I want to be a fancy lady" and then she would always stop and be like, "What do they actually do?" And then people would kind of explain "Well, they do this or this." And she's like, "No, but I mean, what do they do?" I love those moments.
KIM: Yeah. The more she found out about it, the more she was kinda like, "Hmm. I don't know about that."
EMILY: Yeah. There was a sense of how even people who are in relatively comfortable social positions can be trapped just by the nature of being a woman and having so little agency, so little control over their own fortunes, you know, other than marrying a rich man who may or may not treat you well. Whatever you say about Miss Miles, there is a strong social message to it. You can see what the argument is, and I think that could only really have been honed through years of experience and years of thinking about the subjects that she wants to include.
AMY: Yeah, I, I kept thinking like, why did it take her so long to write this? But then when you think about her life, it does make sense because she was working, basically. It's like any career woman having to try to write on the side, and we'll get into this in a moment, but let's back it up a little. So in the autumn of 1844, Charlotte received a letter from Mary that shocked her to the core. Mary announced that she was moving to New Zealand. And Kim, I couldn't help but think of the moment, long ago, when you told me that you were moving from LA to San Francisco, and I'm pretty sure we both burst into tears.
KIM: Yeah, I'm sure we did.
AMY: Luckily Kim came back, but I know that feeling of like, "Oh my gosh, my best friend is leaving. Like halfway around the world." Luckily San Francisco was a lot closer. Um, can you talk a little bit though, why Mary made this move and why it was such a pivotal move for her?
EMMA: Well, she had seen her brother make this Intrepid move, and I think she had realized that in New Zealand, British social mores had not embedded themselves. The kind of conventions were more malleable. And so I think she thought of it as a place where she could be pioneering. She could be part of a process that was defining what that culture might be, for better or worse. On the plus side, as a British woman traveling, she was afforded a huge amount more independence than she could have hoped for back in Yorkshire. So she ended up, you know, building, I assume, not with our own hands, but commissioning a five-bedroom rental property to be built. So she was able to get this, this rental income in. She helped her brother with his import-export business and she honed these entrepreneurial skills, which she then later used when a cousin of hers joined her in New Zealand and the pair of them ran a shop together, All of these things things would have been quite difficult for her to have engineered as a middle class woman in Britain at that time. And it was a pivotal moment for Charlotte Bronte, too, I think. I mean, you know, you two were talking about how devastated you were when you were going to be moving further apart. And I mean, Charlotte Bronte referred to Mary Taylor's news as "feeling like a great planet falling from the sky." And so, in a way, I think it was pivotal for Charlotte, just as it was pivotal for Mary. Partly through hearing about this alternative way of life for a woman, and it feels to me that in some subtle way shaped Charlotte's own thoughts about female independence.
KIM: That makes sense. That makes complete sense. So when she got to New Zealand, that is when she supposedly started writing Miss Miles, maybe, um, even though she didn't finish it for 40 years. Is that right?
EMILY: Well, there is a letter where she talks about how she's working on her novel. She doesn't specifically call it Miss Miles. Perhaps it wasn't called Miss Miles at that stage. But I think it was this book or something similar to it. But even then at this stage, she says, you know, she doesn't have that much chance to work on it. She was so busy with other things. You do get the sense that this is something that is being put on the back burner while she concentrates on doing other things.
EMMA: Yeah, she talked about how, um, active work promoted her imagination and creativity, but it's hard to think that it didn't simultaneously make it difficult for her to find the time. She was busy with her business, she was busy with, you know, the sort of practical elements of life. And also, you know, she did a lot of fun stuff. She was, um, very interested in her sort of explorations. She was dancing until three a.m. on one occasion with her cousin. So I think she, you know, she was someone who probably found that solitary occupation of, you know, sitting down with pen and paper, something that was quite difficult to sustain when life was full of so many enticing distractions for her. And she was writing other things, too. So we know in 1848 that she'd written 150 pages of a novel, which may or may not have been Miss Miles. She was also writing a political book that she thought of as being, you know, potentially seminal. She was writing radical articles and these weren't published, um, but she didn't know they weren't going to get published at the time. So she was someone who, maybe she spread herself a bit thin when it came to the writing, or maybe you could say she just had a really rich and fruitful life.
KIM: I think the latter. I'm going to go with the latter. I love that.
AMY: But in the meantime, while she was in New Zealand, Charlotte Bronte died in 1855 and then not too long after that, Mary helped Charlotte's friend Elizabeth Gaskell with her famous biography on Charlotte's life. And in a way, her contributions to that kind of represented her first published work, you could say. Because Gaskell ended up using a lot of what Taylor had written out. But in the end, Mary Taylor was not thrilled with the final result of that biography, right?
EMMA: Yeah. Mary embraced the opportunity to work with Elizabeth Gaskell on the first biography, because she wanted to show how Charlotte Bronte's life had been kind of inhibited and limited. She wanted readers, I think, to take a lesson from that and to see that there needed to be changes. And I think she thought that the biography could act as a source of catalyst. But unfortunately, although people did see that Charlotte Bronte had had suffering in her life, it seemed that critics read her life as a depiction of Christian suffering and a sort of heroine who had endured and that she had been full of forbearance. So rather than seeing it as a kind of call to arms that women cannot be treated in this way in the future and we must change things, it seemed as if Charlotte Bronte was being held up as this sort of mythical figure as, um, what women should aspire to. We should all be able to enjoy our suffering with such forbearance. And Mary Taylor was even more cross when there were complaints about the first edition. Um, for example, the head teacher at the first school that Charlotte Bronte attended... There was a sort of potential libel case being brought by the head teacher, and so Elizabeth Gaskell released a second edition with passages redacted and changed. And Mary Taylor felt that this was a real act of cowardice, and that for all its faults, the first edition at least contained truthful elements, whereas she felt that the changes in the second edition meant that it was a less reliable source.
KIM: Yeah. I mean, I can clearly see why she was so frustrated. I mean, this is somebody who is really important to her and she has a vision for how it's supposed to be, and everyone completely misinterpreted it. That's super frustrating.
AMY: Yet she was bringing her own world view onto Charlotte's life also, so then it's like, what is the right story?
KIM: Yeah, that's true. Um, so then Taylor returned to England in her forties and she ended up living what her neighbors described as an eccentric and independent life. When she was almost 60, she led a party of women on a climb of Mont Blanc in Switzerland. The women subsequently published an account of their 10 week adventure called Swiss Notes by Five Ladies. That is so cool. I mean, I don't know that I'd actually want to do it, but I would love to read about it. That sounds amazing.
AMY: Yeah. Is there anything else you know about the later years of Taylor's life?
EMILY: As you've also just alluded to there, she was thought of as extremely odd, I think, in her local community, including by Ellen Nussey, her old school friend. Um, she actually didn't live that far away, and she certainly subscribed to the view that Mary had become even more eccentric in her old age. But, you know, she had the freedom to do this because she had come back having enough money to build her own house when she came back and set herself up independently. She didn't have anyone to answer to. So, you know, as Emma's talked about earlier, she liked to do odd things and she now had the freedom to do that, and I think it also gave her the chance finally, after all these years of kind of putting it off to really get down and finish her book, Miss
Miles. So it came out towards the end of Taylor's life. She was in her seventies. I think, you know, she rightly realized that she probably didn't have that many years left and she wanted to get this out into the world, you know, before she was no longer able to do so.
AMY: Um, Miss Miles, I will say, I don't think it's a perfect book. I think it had moments of brilliance. There were moments that stood out. There were also parts of the book that I'm like, "Nah, it's not a Jane Eyre- level masterpiece. I would say." What do you guys think about that? How would you rate the book overall? And do you know how the book was received when it came out?
EMILY: Yeah. So, um, I would agree with you. I don't think I would ever say to somebody, "Oh, I forgot about Jane Eyre, read Miss. Miles instead." But I think, you know, there are moments that are really interesting in the book. And particularly if you're interested in the lives of the Brontes, you could read the book as a kind of companion piece to Charlotte Bronte's works in particular. In terms of how the book was received when it came out, it didn't really sort of set the literary world on fire. I think it suffered in two different ways though. Um, as I'd already mentioned with the subtitle, it's A Tale of Yorkshire Life 60 Years Ago. So perhaps it was seen as a bit dated. And, conversely, I think it was also a book that was quite ahead of its time in terms of its social message. So you could argue that it sort of fell down in both of those aspects, perhaps seeming a little bit old fashioned and also just talking about things that would have just seemed so strange to people at the time or the way everything's just so there front and center with Mary Taylor's work. I think it would probably look a little bit too much for readers of the time to tell.
AMY: It really was interesting to see all of her ideas about the oppression of women, basically. And just knowing that she was a friend of Charlotte Bronte, that is what makes it an interesting read, as you said. And I really loved reading your book, A Secret Sisterhood. Each of these four stories unfolded to me like a really riveting movie, and I could almost see some of these friendships being adapted to film, somehow. I could see like a movie version of Harriet Beecher Stowe and George Eliot, which is crazy because they never even met as you explained in your book. And that ties into Charlotte Bronte too, because apparently Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote to George Eliot and said that she was being visited by the ghost of Charlotte Bronte. And I loved George Eliot's reaction is just kind of, trying to be tactful. "I'm not sure how to react to this, but I really don't believe you." Um, so anyway, I want to encourage everyone to read A Secret Sisterhood because I thought it was going to be like, "Oh, friendship, pleasantries. Everybody's being so nice to one another, you know, like we just love each other. We have such a bond." There is drama. There is bitchiness. There is betrayal. There's cattiness. There are poignant moments too. That's what I wasn't expecting out of your book. I thought it was amazing.
EMMA: Well, one of the things that really fascinated us was this notion that female friends, if they had hard moments, or moments of conflict, were kind of written off as being enemies or competitors. And yet all the really famous male literary friendships you could throw a stick at, you know, Hemingway and Fitzgerald or Coleridge and Wordsworth, they all had the huge rows that it was possible as readers and as consumers of literature to accommodate into their friendship as well. Of course ambitious, intelligent, creative men will have sorts of fiery tensions. That doesn't stop them being friends or collaborators. Whereas with women, when they have these kinds of robust intellectual, um, sort of bust-ups, it's suddenly like, "Okay, that can't be accommodated into the friendship." And that was something we found, really, with all the pairs that we wrote about. There were moments of tension and conflict, and yet the writers themselves continued to consider themselves to be friends, even if later commentators decided that they weren't.
AMY: I can picture you guys writing A Secret Sisterhood and how much fun that must have been in terms of making discoveries. And the moment that I'm thinking of is the Jane Austin and Anne Sharp. I think it was that story where there was like a hidden, a little hidden envelope that you guys discovered within the binding of a book that no one knew was there.
EMMA: Yeah. It was a real highlight of the whole process for us. So, um, I had gone to an archive on my own cause we had to share out some of the research and I had taken photographs of reams and reams of diaries that had been kept by Jane Austen's niece, who was taught by Anne Sharp and then transcribed them over many, many, many, many weeks. And there came to a moment where the niece had said she had written a description of a play that Anne Sharp had written and that Jane Austen and the children had performed along with other relatives, and that she had folded up this description and tucked it in the little pockets in the back of her diary, because it was too long to fit in the diary itself. And so I contacted the archivist and asked her, "Can you see if this is there?" She told me, "Oh, it definitely won't be. If it was there we would have found it already. But if you and Emily want to come back to the archive and take a look, then you're very welcome." So we took her up on the offer and we, we traipsed over there. Um, yeah, that moment where we, uh, first you couldn't see that it was there, then we had to really gingerly open this pocket and pluck out this really fragile piece of paper, trying to unfold it without it crumbling. And there it was this description of this play that hasn't survived. It's as close as we could get to Anne Sharp's own writing.
KIM: That's amazing. Wow.
AMY: That would have just been still sitting there hidden away if you guys hadn't done this. Also, I wanted to find out when I saw that the foreword of the book was written by Margaret Atwood I was like, "How'd they get that? That's amazing." And then you guys talk about that in the back of the book. Can you tell that story?
EMMA: Yeah. That was really funny in a way. So we had been asked to commission a famous female writer to write the forward, and we were racking our brains, about who might, you know, be an appropriate person. And obviously Margaret Atwood was top of our list, but we were thinking, how could we get in touch with Margaret Atwood? Because neither of us had any contact with her. And then Emily helpfully reminded me that I was actually booked in to go to an event that Margaret Atwood was speaking and reading at at the British Library. Emily actually couldn't join me on that night, so we decided the best way to approach this was that we would compose a letter and we would hand write it. And I was sent off with the task to try to slip this letter to Margaret Atwood in which we were requesting her to write our forward. And you know, obviously I entered into this task with some trepidation, and I was actually going to this event with my husband. I didn't even tell him that I had this intention to pass on this letter because I just thought it's just far too embarrassing to admit to it. So Margaret Atwood gave her speech and actually during it, she mentioned how sad it was that people no longer exchanged hand-written letters very often. And at the end of this event, um, I still didn't think I'd really get to speak to her because, you know, there were hundreds of people in the audience. I didn't know how I would actually get close enough to hand her the letter, but as luck would have it, there was actually a party being hosted in her honor after the event. But Margaret Atwood herself actually could not attend it because she had a flight to catch. So everyone else went into this party and Margaret Atwood was kind of standing on her own in the lobby. If it hadn't been for having promised Emily, I think I would have chickened out, but because I'd promised Emily I would try, I felt that I had to give it go. Because I thought how likely was it that I was going to end up in an empty lobby with Margaret Atwood. So I went over and slipped this letter to her and said, "Oh, you mentioned that it's such a shame that people don't write hand-written letters and just by coincidence, I've written one to you." And I said it was to thank her because she had actually tweeted about our website when we'd launched it and it had helped generate some traffic to our site. So I said that it was a thank you letter. I didn't mention, we were actually asking her a huge favor. Um, so then much to my surprise, a few weeks later, we got an email from her saying that she'd like to read the draft and then yes, and Margaret Atwood was actually the first person to read our draft before our editors, which was a bit of a nerve- wracking moment.
AMY: Fortune favors the bold.
KIM: Yeah. Good for you.
EMMA: Yeah. "Fortune favors the bold" is a great motto for Mary Taylor.
AMY: Yeah, exactly. She was bold as they come. So while I was preparing for this episode, I actually found something online. There's some controversy that some people think maybe Charlotte could have actually written Miss Miles and that Taylor, for whatever reason, just attached her name to it after Charlotte's death. Kim and I just can't believe this could possibly be true, but what are your thoughts?
EMMA: Well, I don't think we have much truck with that interpretation either. I mean, we do know from Mary Taylor's letters that she was writing a novel. We do know that the subject matter accords with Mary Taylor's lifelong passions and interest, and that she's exploring issues that have long angered her. When you asked this question, it made me think of some of the negative reviews that Charlotte Bronte received on the publication of Jane Eyre and even the really negative reviews, they say things like, um, "Jane Eyre is a murmuring against the comfort of the rich and against the privations of the poor." And I think that word murmuring is really key. So, whereas with Charlotte Bronte's work, there's this subtle kind of subversiveness, with Mary Taylor you know, things are on the surface in a way that would never be described as a "murmuring." So that makes me very dubious. But Emily, I'd be interested to hear what you make of that theory.
EMILY: Well, I mean, I think the voice of Charlotte Bronte's novels is not the same as the voice we find in Miss Miles. So, I mean, there's that for starters, you know, they don't feel as if they've been written by the same author, even though, you know, they do touch on some of the same concerns as you say, it's presented in a very sort of different way. I think sort of beyond that, I just don't think Mary Taylor would have done something like this. She was always very forthright, very honest. The idea that she would try to pass off somebody else's work as her own just, it doesn't really fit at all with anything that we know about Mary Taylor. As Emma touched on before, she could often be far too blunt, far too straightforward about things, so the idea that she would have taken part in this kind of deception, it feels nothing like the character that we researched and got to know.
KIM: Quite a reach there. Quite a reach, I think we all agree.
AMY: Yeah. Charlotte, if she's hearing this from her grave, she's like, "I don't want that book on me." Not that it doesn't have its merits, but It's, it's not a Bronte work.
EMILY: It's a shame she hadn't say any of this to Harriet Beecher Stowe at the time.
And then this..
AMY: Oh yes! That could have cleared it up. Totally cleared it up. Well, anyway. It was so fun having you guys on
KIM: This was a blast.
AMY: Yeah.
EMMA: Thank you so much for inviting us.
EMILY: Thank you!
KIM: So that's all for today's podcast. Don't forget to rate and review us over at Apple Podcasts if you liked what you've been hearing. Or tell a friend.
AMY: Bye, 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.
84. Quilt-Making As a Feminist, Political Act
In this week’s mini, we’re exploring the work of contemporary fine artists Faith Ringgold and Bisa Butler, whose quilts are inspired by a rich African-American quilting tradition, and Adeline Harris Sears’s 19th century signature quilt with autographs by notables including Charles Dickens, Abraham Lincoln, and Harriet Beecher Stowe.
Discussed in this episode:
“In America: A Lexicon of Fashion”
83. Dorothy Evelyn Smith — O, the Brave Music with Simon Thomas
Note: Transcripts are generated using human transcribers, and may contain errors. Please check the corresponding audio before quoting in print.
AMY HELMES: Hi everyone, welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off great books by forgotten women writers. I'm Amy Helmes...
KIM ASKEW: ... and I'm Kim Askew. The book we're discussing today, Dorothy Evelyn Smith's O the Brave Music, takes an established look at a young English girl, a minister's daughter, at the turn of the 20th century.
AMY: Yes. And we've featured a few books on this podcast by American writers looking back at that time period. I'm thinking of Maud Hart Lovelace's Betsy-Tacey books as an example. So when I started reading O the Brave Music, I was expecting another book in that vein; a sweet, witty, charming novel with maybe some swoon-worthy romance.
KIM: Yeah, me too. This book checks all those boxes for sure, but this coming- of- age tale becomes more profound and nuanced with each passing chapter. The narrator's reflections on her youth are far from idyllic, and her struggle to square her inner longings with life's many bitter disappointments will leave your heart tangled up in knots. Yet it's also quietly joyful, too. It was aptly compared to Betty Smith's novel A Tree Grows in Brooklyn at the time of its release, which was in 1943.
AMY: I was also getting some I Capture the Castle vibes while reading this book. And that's a novel by Dodie Smith that I absolutely love, so needless to say, it was pure delight to read O the Brave Music, and we're so glad that today's guest brought it to our attention. We can't wait to discuss it with him today, so let's read the stacks and get started!
[intro music]
KIM: Our guest today is Dr. Simon Thomas, who for the past 15 years has been writing about lost ladies of lit, particularly those from the interwar period of the 20th century on his blog, Stuck In a Book. You can also find him dishing on all things literary on his wonderful podcast Tea or Books? alongside his co-host, Rachel. In addition, Simon is a consultant for the British Library Women Writers Series, which curates works by forgotten female writers. It's their edition of O the Brave Music, for which Simon wrote the afterword, that we read in preparation for this episode.
AMY: And also shout out to the British Library Women Writer Series because I think they have the best book covers. They are silhouettes of each author. I'm always like, "Ooh, I like that one! I like that one!" Anyway, Kim, I can remember the exact moment -- I was walking the dog -- I got a text from you saying that Simon had given our new baby podcast, in its early days of existence, a shout- out on Instagram. We were both elated that a PhD in English from Oxford University was recommending our podcasts to others. It was just a moment, right?
KIM: Yeah. It definitely made us feel like we were doing something worthwhile and it's like, "Okay, let's keep going. Something's working."
AMY: I also want to say that my dream would be to sublet Simon's home for about a year, especially after listening to one of your recent episodes where Rachel basically goes through your bookshelves.
KIM: I love that.
AMY: …hang out with your cool cat and kind of pilfer from your collection. So I don't know if you're interested in like, uh, apartment swap Simon. You can come out to LA and live with my family.
KIM: Business idea: Airbnb, but for book lovers only.
AMY: I love that.
SIMON THOMAS: I will say, as someone who lives in LA, you might find it's rather wet here, and there is a hole in my roof currently. So if you can take the rain coming down the walls as well...
KIM: Ambience. We'll take it.
AMY: What you don't know about Angelenos is that when it rains here, we all get super excited, don't we, Kim? It's like a novelty. But anyway, Simon, thank you for coming onto this podcast. We're so excited to have you here.
SIMON: Yeah, I must say I'm delighted to be invited. I sort of invited myself, really, but it's really wonderful to be here. And I don't remember how I first came across your show other than to say I was there very early and shouting it out on Instagram, but it just, when I saw even the name, Lost Ladies of Lit, I was like, "These are my girls." I think you're doing such a wonderful job of bringing these lost ladies of lit back to attention, and I'm delighted that I could be on an episode and bring my home girl, Dorothy Evelyn Smith, with me.
KIM: So as we've established, in your line of work you are well acquainted with a lot of women writers. What is it about Dorothy Evelyn Smith that prompted you to suggest her in particular for this episode?
SIMON: So as you said earlier, I am the series consultant for the British Library Women Writers Series. And so most of the books that come out in that series are ones that I've suggested to them, and they're meant to represent women's lives in whichever period they're published. And as we'll talk about, O the Brave Music doesn't quite fit because it is written in the 1940s and set in the 1900s, 1910s. It's never quite clear, but before the First World War and in the 20th century. And I managed to just get it into that series, basically, because I just kept saying, “This book's too good for us not to include.” I know it doesn't quite fulfill all the criteria and I know I was not supposed to have favorites, but this is my favorite of the series. And it's one of my favorite books. And that's why I have suggested it for this episode. I came across it in a little bookshop in St. David's in Pembrokeshire, Wales, which is technically a city, but it is, you know, the size of a village. I'd read one book by her and I'd always kept an eye out. I didn't think the title was particularly enticing. I didn't actually recognize the quote. We'll talk about that later as well, I'm sure. But I thought I'll give it another go. And I started reading it, and almost instantly I was completely beguiled. It's one of those books that just, um, I find completely envelops you in the world that she's created. I'm glad you mentioned I Capture the Castle in your introduction. I've been told off for comparing the two because I've been told they're not the same. They're not the same plot or anything like that, but the same feeling of bringing you into a world and just living in that world and missing it when it's finished. And that's why I just want everyone to read it, and almost everyone who does read it loves it. So I just want everyone to at least try it.
AMY: When I started the first few pages, the vibe I was getting was, "Oh, this is sweet. You know, it had some, it's cute. It's funny, blah, blah, blah." I was just like, "huh." And then once we start getting into the meat of it you realize it's not just the sweet coming of age story. There's a lot more to it than that.
KIM: Yeah, the dark undercurrent starts to pull at you and carry you through.
SIMON: Yeah. I will say it starts maybe like it could seem quite twee, but then it is not twee, is it? There is so much, there's so much darkness, but it's also, I think we'll talk about all this in more detail, but I think despite all the sad things that happen, I think it's such an uplifting novel as well. I think that's what I came away with --a sense of it's just suffused in hope, despite everything that Ruan, the main character, goes through.
KIM: Yeah. And that's the best kind of book, I think, so we probably all agree. Um, so do you want to share with our listeners a bit of a spoiler-free summary of the book, introducing us to the heroine?
SIMON: So, as I say, she's called Ruan. A strange name, R- U- A- N not one I've come across elsewhere. And like Dorothy Evelyn Smith, and indeed like me, she is the child of a minister. Although my dad was an Anglican vicar, not a Nonconformist like her father is. She lives in the north of England in, I think, Yorkshire, but I'm not sure if that's ever quite stated. She is in an industrial town, which is surrounded by these wonderful, beautiful moors. At the start of the novel she is seven and it takes us until she's on the cusp of adulthood, I guess. And the first section of the novel is about her living quite unhappily with her minister father and his wife. They were briefly in love, but now the marriage is quite unhappy, really. Ruan goes through a lot more in the space of this book than most of us go through in the space of our lives, I think.
AMY: When I was reading the first part of the book, I kept thinking, "There's no way that you would pronounce this "ruin." Who would name a child "Ruin," right? And so I kept saying "Ru-Anne" in my head, but I love that there's a little poem that one of the friends came up with about Ruan. And it all rhymes with "brewin,'" you know, things like that. So then I was like, "Oh my gosh, it is pronounced "ruin!" So, um, I was glad to have that little clarification. And then another clarification: I never knew that the word manse referred to a minister's house, right? So we did an episode on the Findlater sisters who lived in a manse. And I remember mentioning that in the episode and I thought it was like a small mansion, basically.
SIMON: Yeah.
KIM: Yeah,
AMY: We don't have those here. I mean, we don't use that word.
SIMON: Yeah. It's not really a term that's used that much anymore now in England, but yeah, obviously it was quite common at one point. You'll still occasionally have people referring to the manse or to "manse land," which is land belonging to the rectory or vicarage or something. But, um, certainly I grew up in vicarages or rectories, not manses.
AMY: Okay. Um, so let's talk about Smith's life a little bit. She was born Dorothy Evelyn Jones in 1893 in the Peak District of Derbyshire. Derbyshire, I don't know how you say that.
SIMON: "Darby-shire. "
AMY: Okay. yeah, (I'm a Yank) which was located kind of smack in the middle of the country. And I don't know much about that part of England, but Simon, I would guess that we'd find a lot of moors there?
SIMON: Um, you'd find some. As Peak District suggests you find more mountains, but, um, it sort of bleeds into moors which go across the center of the country. I guess it's also not an area of the country I know that well, although I was just staying on the edge of the Peak District last week, but, um, Yeah. The moors are more famed for Yorkshire, and as anyone who reads this will see are very significant in the book. And I think one of the interesting things about why they're chosen both in this book and in English, British literature, is that in the UK moors are the biggest uninhabited spaces. And they're pretty small, unlike, you know, America or Canada or Australia, we only have a few square miles basically scattered here and there. So to an American reader the moors are probably near the park at the end of the street, but to us, it's this wild expanse. Quite often, particularly in the north of the country, you'll get moorland near the industrial plants. So the places like where Ruan and her family live that have factories at the heart of them and quite dispiriting or smoggy areas around them will also, as soon as you've got out of that area, tend to be moorland. And I think in O the Brave Music, it's a place where Ruan can really be herself. I think she finds her sense of her identity on the moors where she doesn't feel the troubles of her family or the unhappiness echoing around her house. Later she goes to school and she also doesn't love that, so the moors are just a place of freedom for her.
AMY: I want to just chime in for a second, because yes, we don't have moors in America, but I feel like I grew up a little bit on the moors because my family, when I was in eighth grade, we moved into a newly being built subdivision, and our house was one of the first houses there. And so it was all this empty land and it was kind of hills and there were some lakes in the little subdivision, but it was all empty and we called it the moors, and there were teenagers that lived there and we would go play flashlight tag at night on the moors. I had read Wuthering Heights by that point, so I probably was like, know, fantasizing.
SIMON: Can I jump in with a British question? What is a subdivision?
KIM: Oh, good question.
AMY: So it's like, um, what would you call that? Like tract homes.
KIM: People would pick out where their house was going to go and they 1 of 4 styles, you know, or whatever. So every fourth house...
AMY: They all look the same.
KIM: They're all plotted and planned out.
AMY: It's suburbia.
SIMON: All your clever, straight roads and easy map sort of
KIM: What you're talking about actually made me go to Poltergeist, because in Poltergeist it's a subdivision that's built on hallowed cemetery ground
SIMON: Oh my gosh. Okay.
AMY: Did you ever think Dorothy Evelyn Smith was going to lead to a Poltergeist reference?
SIMON: I always assumed she would. I mean, it's the natural next step.
KIM: Oh yeah, absolutely. You know, and it's so funny that you said that, because in my mind, I know that England is small, you know, obviously compared to the U S and a lot of places, but in my mind, the moors do automatically make me feel like a vastness. So I guess there is something in the way that it's described, in the way it must feel to our character and also other people to be on that moor. There is a vastness to it, even though it's kind of small.
SIMON: Yeah. I mean, I think it's all in your perception. You know, to Ruan, they are vast. I mean, you could walk across them in half a day, I imagine, or less, but yeah I think when people think of literary moors, they think Wuthering Heights. Or Kate Bush's song, you know, "out on the wild windy moors." Um, but yeah, I think It's really different in terms of the moors in Wuthering Heights are so dangerous and unsettling, and they are places where people find themselves, but it's always quite ominous. Whereas as I say, I think in O the Brave Music, they're the opposite of that. They're a friendly space. There's a lovely bit where she talks about going "up, up through the purples of the heather ," that sort of thing, and it feels like she's coming out of this dark, difficult place out into freedom. And yeah, I think as a reader, I will say I felt when we were off in the moors, you just feel lighter and happier. Almost everything that happens on the moors in the book is positive.
AMY: Yeah. It's like the mothering side of Mother Nature, you know? Nurturing. Yeah. So anyway, we can get into Dorothy Evelyn Smith's life a little bit more as we go along, but I think we should just dive right into the story. At the beginning of this novel, we see seven-year-old Ruan sitting in church on Sunday as her father sermonizes, and she's daydreaming about cutting up a pink ribbon that she sees on a fellow churchgoer's hat. She would love to use the ribbon to make a new suit for her Little Man, which is her imaginary friend . But as lovely as the ribbon is, she knows that if she were actually to cut into it, it would be finished. No more ribbon; it's done. This little plot might seem kind of trivial, but it actually represents the crux of the entire novel. Can you explain that a little bit, Simon?
SIMON: Yeah. I think you're right. It's such a small moment, and then it recurs throughout. There's a bit later where she talks about maybe going to the circus. And I'll quote: "To go would spoil the splendor I now possess. Like the pink ribbon out of Rosie's hat, if I never had it, I could never lose it." And I think Ruan, particularly in the younger years, lives so much of her life in potential and in the possible, and is scared to grasp it. You can understand why when she's living in a really difficult situation and hasn't had a lot of experience of grasping something and it being good. So it's much easier for her to see the pink ribbon, metaphorically, whatever that might represent, in the distance. And yeah, if she never tries something, she can never fail at something. If she never trusts someone then she can never be let down by them. Over and over again, the perfection is on the horizon. Later in the novel she realizes, on the instruction of others, that she will have to grasp something real at some point, not just live in the potential, but that's a thread that lasts quite a while.
KIM: Yeah. And then unlike her seemingly perfect older sister, Sylvia, little Ruan is a bit of a misfit. She's feisty. She acts out. Um, she's reminiscent maybe of Ramona the Pest or Harriet the Spy. She's always threatening these extreme acts of violence against Sylvia, and her inner thoughts are actually wickedly funny, right? And there are lots of laugh- out- loud moments. She's passionately in love with words, and she has a wild imagination and her father actually tries to curb it to help her. He even insists she give up her imaginary Little Man, which she does actually, even though she doesn't necessarily have to. It's imaginary, but she does, even though it's painful to her. But it doesn't stop her from being her essential self.
AMY: Yeah. And all of these childhood anecdotes, I mean, even though she, in her head, is going through some difficult times and they're maybe not so funny to her, the way Smith writes them is so funny. I'm thinking about the encounter with a circus clown. And then there's a Stand By Me moment where one of her friends asks her if she wants to go see a dead body and, you know, they covertly, creep into the house of a poor family and go see an actual corpse, basically.
KIM: Yeah. Yeah. Speaking of that clown incident, I want to go back to that and read a passage from the book about that. Right after she gets home, after the clown has kissed her outside of a circus tent. Here I go: "There was a terrible fuss, of course. Tears and explanations from Tanner. Tears and explanations from me. I was scrubbed with carbolic soap. I gargled with Condy's fluid. The small tooth comb was brought into vigorous play. Father lectured me on the sin of forwardness. Mother searched my clothing for fleas , and at length, disinfected and prayed over and bitterly clean, I was put to bed with a good book and a dose of opening medicine and all because a clown had kissed me."
SIMON: What I love about that moment, and lots of other moments in the first half of the book, is that they add nothing to the plot. They're just there. Because you think "Oh, is it going to be a circus novel?" It's like, no, the circus, it never comes back. It's never mentioned again.
AMY: Circuses are weird and creepy
KIM: They are. That is true.
SIMON: No one likes a clown, do they?
KIM: No, no. And they definitely won't after they read this. The idea of being kissed without, you know, wanting it by a clown is...
AMY: Horrifying. Yeah. Um, I probably make the mistake a little bit when I read, I kind of assume things are autobiographical. And I don't know if that's the case with this book. I don't know what she might've pulled from life or what she didn't. Simon, do you know if there are any parallels we can draw between the author and Ruan based on anything we know about her?
SIMON: It's interesting you say that, because I also felt that it seems so autobiographical and I think a lot of it has to do with the small details. They don't add to the storytelling so much as just to add to the feeling of the novel and they feel so real. And I'm afraid the truth is that I don't actually know that much. Sadly, her children have died now, but when I was writing the author bio for the British Library edition, I did get to speak to two of her grandsons, which was wonderful. So they'd only known her as children. She died when they were still children. So obviously not the most in-depth knowledge of everything about her, so they could fill me in a bit. And what is true is the area of the country she lived in and the fact, as I said, that she was the daughter of a minister. They didn't think that she'd ever had a brother. I don't know how much I'll say about Clem, her baby brother in the book, who has mental and physical disabilities that are never really specified exactly what they are. I assumed he was drawn from life, but he wasn't. Um, something that works really well the other way, sort of life taken from art, is, in real life, she named a house Cobbetts after the house in the novel, which I thought was really lovely, that the legacy of that house lived on in reality. I think ultimately the only people who'd be able to answer the question of how biographical it is not with us anymore.
KIM: We'll never know. Yeah. You could see the grandkids not knowing if there had been, you know, a brother. But so back to Ruan, we really can't blame her for being as precocious as she is. She is actually bearing witness to the disintegration of her parents' marriage, which for a child of seven would obviously be really difficult. Smith does a really great job of putting us inside the brain of a young girl. She doesn't understand quite what's going on, but she's smart enough to see the writing on the wall. Simon, I was wondering if you have any favorite passages from this first section that we're talking about, that you'd care to share with our listeners to give them maybe a feel of both Ruan's personality and Smith's writing style.
SIMON: Yeah. I do want to reiterate before I read this, that this is a hopeful, happy book, really, often, but the passage I wanted to read was about Clem whom I just mentioned. The passage I've chosen is where Ruan is coming to understand the severity of the illness that he has. And I've chosen it because I think it is a great example, both of the heart and the emotion of the book, but also the way in which Smith manages to combine what the seven-year-old Ruan is going through with the older perspective of the adult writing the novel, I guess, which we'll talk about in a bit. Um, yeah, here it is: That night when I was alone with father for a few minutes, I plucked up my courage and said, "Father, is Clem all right? I mean, will he walk and talk soon like other babies?" He stared at me searchingly. "Who has been talking to you?" "Annie Briggs, Father. She came through the fence and I couldn't stop her. She, she said..." "Well?" he demanded harshly. "She said Clem was only 11 pence ha'penny and a shilling, Father." For a long time Father stood still looking, not at me, but right through me. Then he said in a queer, strangled voice that was humble, yet angry. "Thy will be done, Ruan. Always." I was frightened and crept out of the room. An hour later on my way to bed I peeked around the corner to whisper goodnight and Father was still standing there, quite still, his face hidden in his hands." Oh gosh, I'm choking up just reading it.
KIM: I feel the same way. I will never forget that passage.
SIMON: It's just so striking, I think, such depth. Because I think Smith is fair to all her characters. She gives us the truth of all of them and doesn't just see them as being all bad or good. Things like that really add a depth to the novel, I think.
KIM: Yeah, for sure.
AMY: There's so much that I wish I could say in regard to Ruan's mother, in particular, but it's hard to do that without giving away some major spoilers. So I'm just going to bite my knuckles and hold it in. But suffice to say, Ruan and her sister find themselves shuffled around with no concrete place to call home at a certain point. And since Ruan isn't incredibly close with her sister, she ends up cleaving to several people outside her family who seemed to know her best and love her unconditionally.
KIM: Yeah. This brings us to David, who I guess is, is sort of the Gilbert to our Anne here. Um, he's a young acquaintance of the family. Though he's about five years older than Ruan, he takes it upon himself to be a sweet friend and protector to her. And he truly becomes her lifeline through all the stuff that she's going through with her family.
AMY: I loved David, the same way Ruan does in the book. I was smitten, and he starts off at 12 years old, and I'm already, like, in love with the kid.
KIM: He's so charming. From the get-go, he's so charming.
AMY: So it's not a romance in the traditional sense. I don't know, some readers might get a weird vibe about it because they are kids.
KIM: The big age difference.
AMY: Yeah, but I didn't mind it. What do you think, Simon?
SIMON: Yeah. I'm glad that you pointed out that it's not a traditional romance, because yeah, there is that five-year age gap, which at the beginning, when she's seven and he's 12 is one thing. But then later when he's an adult and she's still in her early teens, if it were a romance, it would be very unsettling. To borrow your Anne and Gilbert thing, it's kindred spirits, isn't it? And I think in some ways, David has the same function as the moors. He's the only human who's able to let her be herself and give her freedom to be herself and sees who she really is. He is so wholesome. He doesn't treat her with any sort of undue dignities. He's quite sarcastic. He calls her Tinribs all the time, a nickname. I don't really know what's going on there and I've never seen it before or since, but he latches on to it immediately. He's not the only person who's kind to her, but I think he is the only person who really recognizes who she is.
KIM: Yeah, he's really honest with her, and he can even criticize her. If he has any criticisms of her, as they start to get older, it's the fact that she's scared to fully live as we talked about. So at one point he actually says to her, "The trouble with you, my child, is that you're an idealist, which is a fancy name for a coward. You live in your imagination and you're frightened to look life in the face for fear it's not quite so attractive as your own idea of it. It doesn't seem to occur to you what a hell of a lot you may be missing."
AMY: Right. And that also, you could say, ties into the book's title. And Simon, I know that you are not a huge poetry fan, um, but can you explain where Smith got this title and how it kind of factors into the book?
SIMON: Yeah, I wish I were a poetry fan. I'd like to be that person, but you're right, I'm not. And I had to explain where the title came from when I wrote the afterword for this edition. I find it quite hard to explain exactly what it's doing in the book, but it comes from a book called The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyam which was written many centuries ago, but translated by Edward Fitzgerald, I think, in the late 19th century. A very popular book at the time. The line is "O the brave music of the distant drum." I think in this novel, it's both Ruan always looking forward to the future and the narrator looking back, that is to say, to her past . She is looking at it through a certain lens, maybe elevating it. Some sort of nostalgia. She wouldn't want to go back there, I'm sure. A lot of horrible things happened, but that sort of lens that she's put on viewing her childhood, as something separate and special that she's no longer part of and can look back on differently from the way she experienced it, I guess. I hope that makes some sense.
KIM: It makes sense, that idea of music sounding so brave from a distance, but you're not seeing the brave music of the drum, maybe a drum for war or all the other things that could be coming from that drum, because it sounds so brave and so inspiring from a distance. That's how I see it.
SIMON: Yeah.
AMY: So in the second half of the book, Ruan ends up going to live with her uncle Alaric. Is that how you say that name?
SIMON: Oh, I don't know. I just said Alaric, but that's not based on any actual knowledge.
AMY: Okay, well, however you say it, uh, he's, he's a kind, but taciturn man, and the house he owns is sort of this crumbling down estate that belonged to Ruan's mother's family. That whole section is what really reminded me of I Capture the Castle. The home's glory days are long past and Alaric resorts to selling off paintings from the house to have enough money to live on. This makes Ruan upset. She doesn't like seeing the portraits of her ancestors being ushered out of the house, but her uncle gives her this advice about not becoming attached to people or things. So he basically shares Ruan's philosophy of sort of being like this insular, you know, separate, island of a guy, right, Simon?
SIMON: Yeah, absolutely. And yeah, I'll quote a bit where he does say that, where he says, "You must not care about Madame Margaret [that's one of the paintings] Ruan, or indeed about any possessions. They are a nuisance, a hindrance. I have found that out. The less you care about people and things, the less hurt they can do you. Always remember that you yourself are the only important thing in your life. People and possessions come and go, making a pattern around you, but nothing really touches you. You began alone and you'll end alone. The essential you is alone all the time." So I didn't think is particularly good advice, but it's certainly the advice he gives, and he does have this whole sense of being on your own and not to be pulled down by anything, but also at the same time he is pulled down or believes people are pulled down by their family lineage, even by their homes. He's still staying in Cobbetts even when any reasonable man might've left. Books, which I'm sure we all applaud, are the exception to his rules. He still has plenty of those around. He still has lots of books to pass on to Ruan.
KIM: Yeah, I don't think we go into detail in talking about this, but there is a level of snobbery or snobbishness, I think in the book. Ruan, I feel like, has it too. Um, it's almost presented in a positive light, but I don't know, as an American reader, I don't know.
SIMON: It is interesting. I mean, you're right, because it's a British book from the 1940s so of course there's snobbery. But I think in lots of different ways the book is surprisingly not discriminatory. We have that character, Moses, the young black boy, and Ruan passionately believes that people shouldn't discriminate against him and she wants to be friends with him. There were quite a lot of disabled characters in the book, physically or mentally disabled. And again, they're probably not written about in ways that would be published now, but they are written about compassionately and they're certainly not figures of fun. And then class.... yeah, we have lovely Luke, the, I guess servant, but he's just as deep and wonderful a character as the others, so Ruan and all the characters who are middle or upper class do have some internal snobbery, as I say, everyone did and probably still does in this country. Um, but, I think it's a surprisingly progressive work in lots of different facets.
KIM: It is progressive.
AMY: So as Ruan's growing up and becoming a young teenager, she actually does have a legitimate suitor in the book. It's one of David's friends. And he's a good guy, but she cannot deal with the idea of a romance with him. And it's partly due to the fact that she's resisting this idea of growing up. Smith writes: "Life. Grown-up life. That mysterious business that still lay far ahead of me. I knew suddenly, and quite definitely, that Stebbing's key would never unlock that door for me or his kid- gloved hands tear down that veil. Life was a lovely, a terrible thing. To be dreamed of, but not experienced. Like the pink silk I would not cut and the circus I didn't want to see, the day I knew was so sweet ...so sweet. Why trouble about tomorrow?"
KIM: That is so beautiful. And it shows what we've been talking about, this darkness and the light and everything. And it also even comes down to when Smith was writing this portrait of childhood or whatever, she says she was writing it at the kitchen table during World War II while bombs were actually dropping around her. Sadly, we're actually recording this episode while Russia is dropping bombs on the Ukraine. So that detail feels particularly poignant to me right now.
SIMON: Yeah.
KIM: But anyway, let's back up a little bit in Smith's story and talk about her bio a little bit more. In 1914 when she was 21 years old, she married a banker named James Norman Smith. And after that she adopted the nickname Miffy. That's a play on her married name. Reminds me of Pooky, your mother-in-law.
AMY: Yeah, my mother-in-law's name is Pooky, so I can relate. So during World War I, Smith's husband signed up to fight, and then Dorothy worked as a clerk in the war office.
SIMON: Or "clark," as we would say in the UK.
KIM: I like It it sounds even better that way.
AMY: I feel like such an idiot trying to pretend, although I, in my heart, I wish... you know what? Somebody once gave me the best compliment. It was a British woman, and she said to me, you are very English, Amy. And I remember just being like "best compliment ever!"
SIMON: Can I say, actually, I was listening to an episode where you mentioned Red Pottage. And I did enjoy it because I think you pronounced the author as Mary "Colemandly," not knowing that in Britain, that same name is pronounced "Chumley," which you could never have predicted, but it...
AMY: Wait, what?
SIMON: It’s spelled C H O L M O N D E L E Y.
AMY: Yes! Yeah. Yeah. "Shallmondelay."
SIMON: Yeah, it's pronounced, “Chumley.”
AMY: “Chumley.” Okay. Like Worcester/Wooster, okay.
SIMON: You’d have no way of guessing that.
AMY: See, this is why we need you!
KIM: Yes.
AMY: Um, I'm sure there are so many moments like that in our podcast where British listeners are like, "Uggh."
KIM: I'm sure American listeners are rolling their eyes at my pronunciation, but anyway, that's why language is so fun.
AMY: Yeah. So it's interesting to me, and you mentioned it a little in regard to the title of the book that, you know, she is reflecting backward as she's writing this story, you know? She didn't have to do that. She could have just told the story chronologically and not presented herself as future Ruan. How do you think that maybe serves the story she's trying to tell?
SIMON: Yeah, I think it was such a wise decision on her part, because it enables her to just soak the narrative with wisdom. I think if it were a first-person who's just seven, you'd just see that world as a seven year old sees it. And we do get that part of it, as you say, but because she's able to look back as well with maybe a bit of world weariness, maybe a bit of things she's learned over the years, there's that sense, always, of seeing the greater reality. She doesn't have to have a childlike naivety to what she's saying. Or rather, she does have that, but combines it, I think really cleverly, and she balances the things really well of, um, also having the years of experience. I think it happens a lot when she's looking at her childhood and thinking about how she got out of that situation. But I think there's also moments like where characters are discussing whether or not there'll be a world war. And there's that small element there that we know David will probably fight in that war. And we obviously have no idea what happens to him in it. But because she's writing with the 1940s standpoint so firmly there, we can, I think, experience two narratives at once that don't take away from each other, but really enhance each other. And I think it becomes a much more sophisticated and interesting book than if it had just been a chronological book from a child's point of view. I don't know if you feel the same.
KIM: I feel completely the same. It adds complexity and depth. Yeah, it was a really great decision on her part to do that.
AMY: And I actually have one more passage that kind of relates to this. If you don't mind, I would love to read it. She's talking about memory here. She writes, " How strange a thing is memory. Something happens, something horrifically beautiful, or poignantly sad, something that changes the whole course of life and looking backwards to yesterday and through a thousand yesterdays, and the only things remembered clearly are the color of somebody's tie. A wrong note played on a piano. The tuppence lost down the back of a sofa. The heart keeps the stone that splashed into the quiet pool, but the brain remembers only the shallow ripples that ran glinting across the surface that will go on running forever and ever until they reached the ultimate shores of time."
KIM: I remember tearing up when I read that too. I'm so glad you read that for the episode, because those lines really impacted me, too.
SIMON: When I read that, I did think I should earmark this for my funeral, which is hopefully not coming up anytime soon, but what a beautiful thing to read at a funeral.
KIM: It's gorgeous. Okay. We're all going to be doing that. We're all going to make notes.
AMY: It's interesting too, because I just finished a new book that's out called Very Cold People by Sarah Manguso, and Kim, I'm going to be lending it to you. Um, but the two books have nothing in common. I'm not comparing Manguso's book to this book, but she's writing about a child, a young teenage girl, who has a kind of hard life. And she tells it through these little snippets of memories, basically. And so in that sense, it kind of reminded me of this book. But both books also give the feel of how tough it is to be a child. In childhood, kind of, life happens to you. You don't have a lot of ability to change it. As an adult, when something bad happens, we have a choice of like, well, you walk away, you know? You change your situation, you do something different. Children don't have that ability. They just have to go on with what they're being told to do. And, um, so there's a sadness that runs throughout this book, as we said, but you're right, Simon. It's so life-affirming and joyful by the time you get through it. In terms of what happens with Ruan and David and whether they end up together or not, we're not going to say, but I do think the way Smith chooses to answer the question actually fits in with this whole undercurrent of the book. The idea about "Do you cut the pink ribbon or do you not cut the pink ribbon?" And we'll just leave it at that?
KIM: Oh, yeah, so, um, Simon, you had mentioned other books that you had read. You've already read one by her when you found this book. Are their favorites of hers you'd want to recommend to our listeners? What should we read next by her?
SIMON: Sure. I'll say, I've read three other books by her. There's one other one that's in print, Miss Plum and Miss Penny, which is quite different. It's sort of a cuckoo in the nest thing about a woman who invites another woman to move in with her and that goes quite awry. That one came back in print around the same time actually as O the Brave Music but with different publishers. A lovely coincidence that she was returning to print in two different places. I think the one that I've read that I would most recommend after this one is Proud Citadel, that I've got all my fingers crossed will eventually be a British Library title. I keep recommending it to them, so I'm hoping they'll say yes, uh, which is in some ways quite similar. It's another young girl on the moors, but those are coastal moors. So the sea also plays a really important part. It goes for a much longer period. She's 20, I think, maybe even 30, at the end of the book, but similarly there's another David. He's not called David, and he's not quite as nice, but it's similarly a coming of age thing in a bigger community. We see more people for longer, I guess. So Proud Citadel is the other one of hers I recommend people hunt for, but I do think O the Brave Music is a cut above the ones I've read. It's um, yeah, the other ones are enjoyable, but this one is really something special.
AMY: And I should also add that if you want to hear more discussion about O the Brave Music Simon and Rachel in their podcast Tea Or Books? actually have a whole episode that compares O the Brave Music to A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith. It's funny that they have the same last name, come to think of it. Um, but yeah, so those two books are often compared to one another, right?
SIMON: Yeah. And I hadn't actually read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn until after I read O the Brave Music. So I was seeing it more the other way around. And it's a very different setting, of course. It's very, you know, urban and American, but there are a lot of similarities. Uh, I will say, sadly, Rachel is one of the few people that hasn't liked O the Brave Music, but don't let that turn you off if you do listen to the episode.
AMY: I know, I was surprised to hear that. Yeah.
SIMON: I was so sure she'd love it. I was astonished that she didn't.
AMY: That makes sense now that you were a little worried when you were waiting to hear back from us. You were relieved when we said we loved it.
KIM: You're like, "Am I the only one?" We absolutely loved it.
SIMON: I was so pleased that you guys did love it.
AMY: I feel like there are more things about O the Brave Music I still want to discuss with you guys, but we don't want to give any spoilers away to our listeners. Um, so I just want to say what a joy it's been having you on the show. I feel like I knew you already a little bit just from listening to your podcast, but I do wish that Kim and I could go picnic with you on a moor some sunny afternoon. We're going to figure out how to do that.
KIM: Yeah, I love that idea.
SIMON: I hope to get you to a proper British picnic where it's far too cold and you have to go for a brisk walk halfway through because your fingers are numb. But yeah, thank you so much for having me. I love the podcast. You're doing great work, and I'm so pleased I got to be on this episode.
KIM: My anglophile heart is about to burst right now with happiness. It's too much. I can't handle it.
SIMON: Take care.
KIM: You too. Bye. Sad to say goodbye almost!
AMY: So we'll sign off now, but don't forget to subscribe to our newsletter where we'll occasionally be giving out sneak peek info on which books we'll be featuring in future episodes. You can get a jump on your reading if you're inclined to read along with us.
KIM: Yeah. And as always, you can check out our website, lostladiesoflit.com for a transcript of the show and further information.
AMY: 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.
82. The Polarizing Ambiguities of Motherhood in Books
Note: Transcripts are generated using human transcribers, and may contain errors. Please check the corresponding audio before quoting in print.
AMY: Hey, everybody! Welcome to another Lost Ladies of Lit mini episode! I’m Amy Helmes.
KIM: And I’m Kim Askew. Last week we had the privilege of speaking to Hilma Wolitzer about her wonderful short story collection Today a Woman Went Mad in the Supermarket, and this idea of writing that speaks honestly about the experience of being a wife and mother really got us thinking.
AMY: Yeah, and there were actually a few moments of discussion with Wolitzer that we didn’t have space to include last week but that really speaks to this. Let’s roll some of that audio.
HILMA: “And somebody, and now I’m blocking another name, who said, “If women ever told the truth about their lives the world would shatter.” and women telling these truths, the world isn’t shattering. People are listening and accepting it. Rachel Cusk’s book about Motherhood – I love that book. It starts out about childbirth, but it’s not really about childbirth. It’s about raising this stranger who demands all your time and all your attention and how your life is altered by this. And it goes on and on and on, as you said. It’s never ending. Which is also wonderful.”
AMY: So that quote she initially referenced is actually from a lost lady of lit. Her name is Murial Rukeyser, if I’m saying that correctly, and she wrote: “What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open.” That’s from a poem she published in 1968, so kind of around the time Wolitzer’s stories were first being published, in fact.
KIM: Yeah, and it’s so perfect that she brought that up in relation to Rachel Cusk’s memoir about motherhood (that book is called A Life’s Work) because it basically does just that. It told the truth about her life and, in some sense, at least to the critical world and the people who were paying attention to it, split apart in some ways. Cusk’s book is beautiful, and funny and smart and it doesn’t pull any punches when it comes to describing how hard childrearing can be--how much it can take from you on all levels, physical, emotional, and career-wise. But also how wonderful and amazing it is at the same time. She wrote it when her children were very young, so she was in that super exhausting, particularly alienating period of motherhood, if you know what I’m talking about.
AMY: Oh, yeah, I remember.
KIM: The book came out in 2001 and it made a lot of people angry. One reviewer wrote: "If everyone were to read this book," it said, "the propagation of the human race would virtually cease, which would be a shame." That reviewer was a woman, by the way!
AMY: Oh my gosh. I was going to say, maybe a bit of hyperbole there. Come on.
KIM: Yeah. And so, because a few years later after she’d kind of processed all this sort of outrage that she didn’t expect (or she said she didn’t) she wrote a piece in The Guardian about it, basically saying how floored she was by people’s response to her book. This was before, you know, people were really talking so much about the ambiguities of being a mom. (You know, we’ll talk about that later, but I think people are talking about that more.) The backlash Cusk felt actually made her feel hugely ashamed and guilty at first, -- not for anything she’d actually done to her children, but for not being 100% beatific about motherhood! She finally realized that she’d basically effed with people’s ideal by writing this book, and in reality there’s a huge spectrum of the experience of motherhood, and it’s going to differ from person to person. The book was really ahead of its time.
AMY: I don’t think I realized that she had written the book that long ago.
KIM: Yeah.
AMY: I’ve never read it, so now I’m really intrigued.
KIM: I think you would love all of her books. I’ve already talked to you about her most recent one, which I can loan to you, but yeah, she’s great. She writes fiction that’s sort of auto-fiction-ish, and this was a memoir…
AMY: So yeah, and this kind of ties into the movie The Lost Daughter that we referenced in last week’s episode as well. I can’t remember where it was from, Kim, but you’d sent me an article around the time the movie came out and the writer of the piece sort of argued that, you know, oh everybody thinks this movie is so shocking and surprising because it’s touching on a taboo topic about motherhood, a non-perfect mother who abandons her kids, but there are a lot of mothers in literature, if you look back across the years. This idea of the “unnatural” mother. And so I thought that could be something we could talk about today.
KIM: Yeah. Even Lady Macbeth, like, she’s not a mother, but there’s a lot of speculation based on some of the things she says about motherhood that she had maybe miscarried or something like that. So we’re talking Shakespeare…Grendel…
AMY: Right!
KIM: Yeah, so I mean, we’re talking way, way, way back. Anyway, we’ll have to try to find that article somewhere and link to it in the show notes.
AMY: Yeah, if we can figure it out, we’ll link to it.
KIM: But to your point, on the one hand in literature, you have characters like Marmee from Little Women: She’s basically perfect. She’s caring, nurturing, selfless. As a young kid, you know, reading about Marmee and other characters like that, I really wanted that, but it’s not realistic, I don’t think. So yeah, let’s talk about some literary mothers who don’t necessarily live up to that ideal, or mothers who are driven to desperation (or even abandon their children) like Leda in Lost Daughter.
AMY: So in terms of books we’ve already discussed on this podcast, the first character that comes to mind for me is Kate Comstock from A Girl of the Limberlost. That character is a mother who is emotionally abusive — like shockingly so, right? I think we both felt that way when we were reading that book. And then you can drift over even to Nancy Mitford’s The Pursuit of Love, you know? That main character, Linda Radlett, basically abandons her daughter at birth and lets her in-laws go ahead and raise the child. And even at birth, Linda tells her cousin Fanny that the baby’s so ugly “it’s kinder not to look.” It’s hard not to be shocked by that.
KIM: Yeah, can you imagine if someone said that now? Then there’s Mrs. Bennett from Pride & Prejudice. Though she’s not a villain, per se, she is selfish in that she makes everything about herself. She’s also just super annoying. Definitely not a “Marmee,” but you know, she has her own reasons for why she kind of acts that way I could argue.
AMY: Yeah, not sympathetic in an entirely different way.
KIM: Yeah, you have to think about it. You’re like, oh yeah, her husband is actually kind of annoying, and she does have to marry off all those daughters to save them from poverty, because the house is going to be taken over by someone else. Anyway.
AMY: Definitely not a “Marmee.” (I’m thinking Caroline from the Little House books, too. She was pretty perfect, as well.) But getting back to our mothers today, we have characters like Emma Bovary and Anna Karenina who also abandoned their children for their lovers. That’s always a tough one to wrap your brain around. And I kind of took issue with that aspect, actually, of The Lost Daughter. I didn’t love — I mean, spoiler alert for anyone who hasn’t seen that…
KIM: You probably already know by now.
AMY: Yeah, I imagine by this point… the Oscars are probably done by the time this comes out. But I didn’t love Leda’s decision to leave the family, the fact that it was wrapped up in her attraction to that lechy professor. That made me feel a lot less sympathy for her.
KIM: Yeah, I agree. Adulterous women equal bad mothers is basically the timeworn line of thinking there. But the same thinking doesn’t automatically apply to men. There’s a double standard there, don’t you think? The men sort of, they did just kind of leave and start whatever new life they were going to start.
AMY: Paging Charles Dickens!
KIM: Exactly. And even through the Eighties. I mean, I think there’s more of an idea now of equal partnership than there was even a couple of decades ago.
AMY: Yeah, but when talking about Anna Karenina, though, I think a big crux of that story is like, “Oh my gosh, she’s choosing Vronsky over her son!” But you do feel a lot of her angst at being separated from her little boy, because she’s absolutely obsessed with him in that novel. With Emma Bovary, I think it’s a little bit different, and actually, to get a little “meta” for a second here, I found an essay that Elena Ferrante wrote (and we’ll link to it in our show notes). But she wrote about reading Madame Bovary and how Emma’s attitude toward her children basically cut her, Ferrante, to the core, especially when Emma says of her daughter, “It’s strange how ugly this child is.” And Ferrante wonders if that’s a phrase a woman could ever really say. She thought only a man without children could think up a line like that because it’s so cruel.
KIM: Yeah, it’s very cold.
AMY: Yeah, but as we just mentioned, Nancy Mitford had her character say something very similar about her newborn. But I think Ferrante makes a good point that both Anna Karenina and Madame Bovary were both characters written by men, so that does kind of complicate things even more when we’re looking at this topic.
KIM: It also does call to mind that anecdote about Daisy Fellowes not recognizing her own children in the park.
AMY: But at least she thought they were lovely.
KIM: Yeah, that’s true.
AMY: If you’re not going to recognize your own kids, at least think they’re cute kids.
KIM: Yeah. But to your point, it’s interesting that men wrote both those characters and were able to sort of have them say those things about their children and leave them for men.
AMY: There’s another character, though, that was written by a woman author, who also abandons her children after taking a lover. I’m not going to say any more in terms of storyline, but the character is named Edna Pontellier from Kate Chopin’s The Awakening.
KIM: English majors out there will probably have read this.
AMY: Yes. Chopin wrote at one point in the novel, “In short, Edna Pontellier was not a mother-woman.The mother-women seemed to prevail that summer at Grand Isle. It was easy to know them, fluttering about with extended, protecting wings when any harm, real or imaginary, threatened their precious brood. They were women who idolized their children, worshiped their husbands, and esteemed it a holy privilege to efface themselves as individuals and grow wings as ministering angels.” I feel like I saw you have an “a-ha” moment there, Kim.
KIM: I had a moment while you were reading that, because “protecting wings” made me think of the opposite of that, which is moths, and the terrible mother who sacrifices her daughter in Moths [by Oudia] which is another book that we did on Lost Ladies of Lit maybe a year ago or something like that.
AMY: Oh, she was a terrible mother!
KIM: And she was written by a woman.
AMY: Yes, okay.
KIM: It’s been a long time since I read The Awakening. Maybe high school or college. I probably should re-read it, though. It’s making me want to re-read it.
AMY: Yeah, for sure. But that idea of maternal instinct not necessarily coming naturally to all women is an interesting one, and it reminds me of the book Motherhood by Sheila Heti. I actually just recently read this for the first time. She’s kind of weighing the idea of whether or not to have children, and she actually uses a sort of coin-toss system (like her own version of a Magic Eight Ball) to help her parse through all of these philosophical questions about whether it would be wise or not for her to procreate, basically. It’s a really interesting premise in that sense. relating to being a mother and what you give up or gain in the process. And it’s also a book that I think would appeal to mothers and non-mothers alike, because she kind of just takes you through all of the questions about what being a mother means and what you either give up or gain when you have children.
KIM: Yeah, it sounds like since she was using that way of doing it, it almost could have fallen either way, so somebody who decided not to have children might also appreciate the book just as well.
AMY: Oh, exactly. I mean, I don’t want to give away the ending, but a decision is made by the end. But yeah, I think it’s a book that would appeal to almost anybody. I really enjoyed it. I just lent it to you, Kim, so it’s on your reading list.
KIM: Yeah, I can’t wait to read it. I’ve been wanting to read it. When you think about some of these classic characters from literature like Emma Bovary or Anna Karenina… Anna Karenin… (Oh my god, I can’t even say Anna Karenina) …women who felt like they had no recourse, you realize that times have changed so much. Today women not only have so much more agency but I think there’s also the freedom to vent and discuss these things that didn’t necessarily exist for earlier generations. And as we talked about, I mean, this is fairly recent.
AMY: Yeah, Yeah. It’s actually also making me think of the novel Mrs. Bridge by a man named Evan S. Connell. Hilma Wolitzer actually turned us on to this novel because\ it’s a favorite of hers and she even references it in her story collection. It’s about a prim-and-proper white, upper-middle-class housewife in Kansas City. She leads this very conventional life that’s all politeness and pleasantries and she doesn’t want to ruffle any feathers. He writes the whole novel in these little vignettes, so in that sense it almost reminds me a little bit of E.M. Delafield’s Diary of a Provincial Lady which was our second “lost lady” that we ever covered. So one of these little vignettes that he does is called “Guest Towels” and she basically almost has a coronary because she puts out the nice, brand-new guest towels that nobody’s supposed to use when company comes over, and her son actually deigns to use them. It’s hilarious. And there are so many hilarious moments in the book, but there are so many heartbreaking moments, because she is the way she is, you know? So she’ll do anything, she’ll go above and beyond to avoid having a confrontation with somebody.
KIM: I’m familiar with that.
AMY: Yeah, so it’s very painful and it’s awkward and hilarious, but it’s just this sort of saga, and it covers more than 20 years in her life as a wife and mom. Very bittersweet, in a way. So I would recommend that one.
KIM: Yeah. Oh, I was going to mention The Fifth Child by Doris Lessing, which is another one I haven’t read since high school or college, but I read it in a gothic class, and it’s actually about a woman who’s pregnant. It’s almost like a thriller, a psychological thriller. And the baby is essentially a monster inside her who’s eating her up from the inside, and like, out of control and huge and it’s completely crazy and gross and everything. And I think, you know, it’s obviously a metaphor for having a child and all that gets strained in the process of childbirth and child-rearing and everything. So I want to re-read that one again, too.
AMY: I’ve never read that. Okay. But yeah, like you said, we can now kind of have more honest conversations here about motherhood and say things you couldn’t say outright in previous generations, like, you know, “I’m having a bad day,” even. I think it’s why Dorothy Canfield Fisher’s book The Homemaker, which we also did an episode on, previously, that was such a big deal and had everybody talking when it came out in the, I think it was the Thirties, right?. Like speaking of horror, this wasn’t even a horror novel, but yeah, people took it that way. But yeah, just being able to vent now, being able to talk about it, almost helps kind of dissipate some of that angst, you know? Like it kind of solves the problem in a lot of ways. One of the most unhelpful things you can say to a frazzled mom…
KIM: Oh my god, what is it? I probably have heard it.
AMY: I mean, I know it’s always said with the best of intentions, but when people (usually from an older generation will say something like, “They grow up in a blink of an eye” or “It’ll all be gone in a flash”.... “Before you know it, they won’t be around anymore.”) And I know that it’s true. What they’re saying is dead-on and it’s a good point, but right now, in this moment, I just need to vent, you know what I mean? And so suddenly now I’m not just having a bad day or frazzled, but now you’re making me sad, too.
KIM: You’re sad and guilty! Like, “I’m not appreciating every single second.” And it’s the worst feeling, and you already feel that as a mom anyway. Because you do know every second they’re growing up and growing away from you. Totally. That is the worst thing.
AMY: And it’s just not helpful. It’s like telling somebody that had a terrible day at work, like, “Well, one day you’re going to be retired, you know.” And it’s like, “Guess what? That day is a decade or more from now. So I’ll worry about that in a little bit, but right here, today, I just needed somebody to listen to me for one second.” And like you said, it’s almost like by saying that they’re putting a lid on your emotions, because there’s no comeback to that other than like, “Oh, yeah, you’re right. I guess I’ll shut up. I guess I’ll just sit silently.”
KIM: I should be appreciating it all. And you know, be the perfect mom. It brings back the whole “perfect mom” idea. Like you’re not supposed to be frazzled, you’re supposed to be like Mother Earth every second and that’s just impossible. Oh my gosh, you can tell I have a three-year-old.
AMY: Who’s about to walk into the bedroom at any moment because she didn’t want to go to bed tonight. So yeah, I vow not to say that to younger mothers when I’m older, but footnote: I probably will, because at that point I’ll be feeling nostalgic. And I do understand why people say that.
KIM: Yeah, I already do say it, but you know, not in that moment. So I’ll try to remember not to say it in that moment.
AMY: Yeah, just say, “Is there anything I can do to help?
KIM: Yes, exactly. Or “It is hard. It’s hard for everyone.”
AMY: This episode is making me think of that Calgon commercial… remember that? Calgon, take me away!” When the mom is like flipping out: “The dog! The washing machine! The kids!”
KIM: And you know, there was no way in hell she actually did get a bath. I mean, come on. It Was the Eighties or something. There was no way she got a bath, because I can barely get one now and I have less responsibility than that. Poor Eighties Woman!
AMY: Clearly a dude wrote that ad, because then it cuts to her actually taking a bath and it’s like a porn movie…. Saxophone music and dimmed lighting. No. Nobody’s getting that.
KIM: Yeah, totally.
AMY: I will never forget that commercial. That one always sticks with me.
KIM: And it does make me want to go take a bath right now.
AMY: Alright. Well, maybe we should sign off now. Maybe you can fit one in.
KIM: Okay, that’s all for this episode, tune in next week when we’ll be diving into another great book by a woman author you might never have heard of before. And we’re excited about our guest for next week. He’s blogger, podcaster and PhD Simon Thomas. He’s an expert on women authors from the first half of the 20th century in particular. And he’ll be joining us to talk about one of his favorites with us: Dorothy Evelyn Smith. Her novel O the Brave Music calls to mind A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
AMY: We love Simon. He’s such a nice guy, right?
KIM: Yeah, he is.
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.
81. Hilma Wolitzer — Today a Woman Went Mad in the Supermarket
Note: Lost Ladies of Lit is produced for the ear and designed to be heard. If you are able, we strongly encourage you to listen to the audio, which includes emotion and emphasis that's not on the page. Transcripts are generated using human transcribers, and may contain errors. Please check the corresponding audio before quoting in print.
KIM ASKEW: Hi, everybody! Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off forgotten women writers, or in today's case, celebrating the almost-forgotten work of a woman writer we think deserves a lot more recognition. I'm Kim Askew...
AMY HELMES: ... and I'm Amy Helmes, and that's right, Kim. Today's lost lady isn't exactly lost. She's a well- respected writer who, at age 92, is alive and well, living in Manhattan and still writing, in fact. But a collection of her short stories were lost, so to speak, until quite recently. And Kim, I keep thinking back to our very first episode on this podcast when we sort of spelled out our mission statement, which was something to the effect of, "This author is incredible. Why hadn't we heard of her before? People should be reading her." And those are exactly the thoughts that came to mind when I think about our subject today, Hilma Wolitzer. She ought to be more of a household name.
KIM: Yes, she should. And specifically anyone who is or has a mother would appreciate this new, but old, collection by Hilma Wolitzer. It's called Today a Woman Went Mad in the Supermarket. Talk about a title that stops you in your tracks, right Amy?
AMY: Yeah, no kidding. I mean, as soon as I heard that, I'm like, "Yes, please." And if you're itching to know more, we've got an exciting surprise for you today because we reached out to Hilma Wolitzer herself, and she agreed to join us for today's episode to talk about it.
KIM: Oh my gosh, Amy, what the heck are we waiting for? Let's raid the stacks and get started.
[intro music]
AMY: Our guest today is the accomplished and award-winning writer, Hilma Wolitzer. A self-described late bloomer, her first novel Ending was published in 1974 when she was 44 years old. And incidentally, that's a book that loosely inspired Bob Fosse's 1979 film All That Jazz. Wolitzer has since published 13 books, including the 2012 novel An Available Man.
KIM: She's received honors and fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts and the American Academy of Arts and Letters. She has also taught creative writing at Columbia University, NYU, the Breadloaf Writer's Conference and the Iowa Writer's Workshop.
AMY: She's an inspiration for a new generation of writers, I think, and in one sense, you could say that quite literally. Her daughter is bestselling author Meg Wolitzer, who actually had an instrumental role in bringing her mom's latest story collection to the light of day. The book was published just last summer to great critical acclaim, earning raves from authors like Elizabeth Strout, Lauren Groff, Tayari Jones, and Gail Godwin.
KIM: In addition, Today a Woman Went Mad in the Supermarket was named an NPR Best Book of the Year, a New York Times Editor's choice, a People magazine Book of the Week, and a Kirkus Fully Booked Editor's Pick. Electric Literature named it the best short story collection of the year. Hilma Wolitzer, we are so excited to talk to you today. Welcome to the show.
HILMA WOLITZER: Thank you for inviting me.
AMY: Okay. So as we said, your book came out last summer, but Kim and I didn't catch wind of it until a previous guest on our show, author Anne Zimerman, mentioned it on Instagram. She is the biographer of MFK Fisher. We had her on, maybe Kim, about four months ago I think?
KIM: Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.
AMY: Here's what she had to say about the book. "Today a Woman Went Mad in the Supermarket by Hilma Wolitzer is, I think, one of the best books I've ever read in my life. Like permanent place in the special stack kind of good. It's a collection of short stories, mostly from the 1960s/ early seventies about domestic life, marriage, mothering, and the particular restlessness that being a woman in the world inspires. It is SO GOOD. [All caps.] And unfortunately for me, at least, proves that the more things change, the more things stay the same. Update the fashion and other specific details and any of these stories could be written now." So Hilma, I think that's the first time you're hearing that.
HILMA: Yes, it is! I'm thrilled!
AMY: How does it feel to be getting such effusive praise like that for these stories, some of which were written half a century ago?
HILMA: More than half a century ago. The oldest one is now 56 years old, the title story. It's surprising and very gratifying. I must say what pleases me the most is hearing from both young people and from men, as well, because the stories focus so much on the women's interior lives. The point of view is usually female in the stories, and I'm getting really positive feedback from men. And even though the stories are, most of them, are quite old, I'm getting very good feedback from young women as well.
KIM: That's wonderful. Um, I'd love to hear a little bit more about how this recent book came about. I know the stories have been previously published most of them, in various magazines, right? So what prompted them getting back out there into the world?
HILMA: Well, it had to do inadvertently with COVID. My husband and I both came down with it at the beginning of the pandemic in 2020. It's almost two years now, which is hard to believe. We were hospitalized in separate hospitals, and he died two days before I was released from the hospital. And I came home feeling really ill and devastated and very sad, and my daughter, Meg, had been looking at the stories while I was in the hospital and she decided that they would be a good collection and she approached me about it. And I just wasn't interested. I was too sad. I was too sick. Um, I was in mourning. Uh, I really didn't want to do it and she pursued it. She even pursued it with my agent. She petitioned him to look at them as a collection. And after a while, I began to think, “I need something to do and I need something to look forward to,” which was very hard at that particular period. And then putting the stories together and writing the new one, especially writing the new one, became a way of grieving. Because the usual ways of grief, even, were just not available. I never saw my husband when he was dying. Nobody saw him. Nobody saw me afterward. The family didn't get together. I mean, we spoke on the phone, but nobody put his or her arms around anyone. And, uh, my husband was cremated, nobody was there to see him off. It was just a terribly sad time and it didn't seem real. That was part of it. It seemed that he hadn't died, but that he had just vanished. And writing about it gave it reality. And though it was painful. It led me to acceptance.
AMY: Yes. And so that story that you wrote, it sort of caps off this collection and I'm so sorry for your loss. I can't imagine going through any of that. Um, and sadly, there are people out there that can relate to it because a lot of people have had to go through it in the past few years. Um, but in terms of the stories themselves, these earlier stories, did you have any apprehensions about introducing them to modern readers in the sense that you know, they are old stories? Did you worry, "Oh, they might be too dated?"
HILMA: Yeah, I did worry about it. Uh, you know, in the stories, nobody has a computer. Nobody has an iPhone. Um, the women in the stories mostly don't even have jobs. That's how dated they were. And I think my editor was a little concerned about this as well, but I came up with a solution by putting the date that the story was published after each story. And that put them in perspective. I think.
AMY: Well, first of all, it didn't occur to me at all the lack of technology.... anything like that wasn't problematic to me. And in terms of the women not necessarily having careers or they're not being mentioned in the stories, that didn't bother me either. And it made me think, you know, yes, the majority of women today have careers, but it doesn't mean that we don't still also have this life that you were writing about. It doesn't replace the domestic life, you know? We can have jobs and then we still have all this stuff going on at home. We just happen to have both now.
KIM: Especially during COVID too, because a lot of women were home with their families and really immersed in, you know … even if they're still working, a lot of us have been home.
AMY: And I lost my job during COVID, so I went back to, "Okay, I'm vacuuming now. I'm doing, you know, I'm doing that sort of stuff." Like, "Oh my God, here I am." So anyway, we want to talk about the stories in this book a little more, but first I wanna know about your backstory. You were born in Brooklyn in 1930. Did you always know that you wanted to be a writer even, as a little girl?
HILMA: Well, as a little girl I wrote really bad poetry. And, uh, I did not grow up in a literary household. My parents were respectful of any creative effort that their children had, but there were hardly any books around. But then, uh, one day my mother went to school for a parent-teacher conference. I was in the fourth grade and she came home glowing and she said to my father, "Do you know what Ms. Fredericks said? She said Hilma shows great promise." And from that moment on, they took these little poems I was writing more seriously. In fact, they had me recite them when they had their weekly card game with their friends. These poor people really just wanted to deal out and next hand, and instead they had to listen to this kid in her pajamas reading these awful poems and then applaud afterward. And that felt very good. And I felt that it was really due to this parent- teacher conference with Ms. Fredericks. And then believe it or not, about 50 years later, I was a published writer and I was giving a reading in a library in Montclair, New Jersey, and a little old woman came up to me after the reading. And she said, "You won't remember me, but I was your fourth grade teacher, Ms. Fredericks." And I started gushing. I just said, "I'm so grateful to you. You really jump-started my career by getting my parents to be encouraged about my writing. You told my mother that I showed great promise." And she said, "Oh, honey, I told that to all the mothers." Really put me in my place.
KIM: But what a wonderful woman!
AMY: And that just goes to show the power of words, because whether she meant it or not, it did change your life, you know? It did encourage you. So...
KIM: And it's lovely that your parents actually took it to heart and wanted to show you off to their friends. That's so sweet.
HILMA: I think that all children are born with talent and it's either encouraged or knocked out of them.
KIM: Mm-hmm mm-hmm yeah.
AMY: Speaking of talented kids, uh, is it true that you also went to high school with Maurice Sendak?
HILMA: Yes, not only did I go to high school with him, but we shared a desk in major art. I started out as a visual artist, and Maurice was already doing marvelous drawings for the high school literary magazine. It was a rather tough high school in Brooklyn. (I think it's since been closed.) And years later, Maurice and I shared the same editor, and there was a dinner party in honor of the editor. And I sat next to Maurice. He was just as unhappy in high school as I was; we both couldn't wait to get out. And I said, "Maurice, you and I graduated, and everyone else was sent up the river!" That was such a tough high school.
AMY: And then you did not attend college after that, right?
HILMA: No, I did not go to college. I was 16. Maurice was 18 when we graduated. I was 16. I couldn't wait to get out into the workforce, unprepared to do anything. I became a file clerk, um, a bookkeeping machine operator. Even before that, when I was 13 in the summertime, I worked under the boardwalk in Coney Island, renting beach shares and umbrellas. Um, I worked in a place that made these sort of Swan Lake feathered head dresses for women. My job was to steam the feathers, and because I was such a daydreamer, I burnt most of them and then I would just open the window and throw them out, not realizing that they were drifting past my boss's window on a lower floor. So I was quickly fired from that job.
KIM: I love that imagery. That's great.
AMY: Totally.
HILMA: But I feel all this experience is useful, even if you don't use it directly. It gives you a sense of... well, a sense of irony and a sense of humor about yourself.
AMY: Yeah. More life experiences than if you're just following the traditional route of everyone else sitting in a college classroom.
HILMA: I wish I had sat in a college classroom. I see that my daughters' education really made a difference in the way they not only viewed the world, but the way they read books. I mean, I was reading Jane Austen in my forties, and one of my daughters said, "Oh, mom, that's much better. You're coming into it as a mature person." I said, "No, I think it's much better to come to it first as a young person being guided by a mature person."
AMY: But you did start taking writing classes then?
HILMA: Yes, I began taking a writing workshop at the New School when I was in my mid thirties, married with two children, with Anatole Broyard, who then became a daily book reviewer for The New York Times. At first, it was a terrible experience. I had to get a big babysitter. I had to get to the city on the Long Island railroad. We were living in the suburbs then. And, um, the classroom was very crowded, and he had read all of our stories, and he called on me first in this crowded classroom to come to the front of the room and read my story aloud. I was super shy. I was very embarrassed, especially when he asked me to spit out my gum. I think I spit it into my pocketbook because I had no place else to put it. Uh, and I read the story very quickly, hyperventilating without any affect at all. And then I collapsed into my seat and Anatole called upon the other people to comment on the story, and a man in the front row raised his hand and said, "That was the most boring thing I've ever heard."
AMY: The opposite of Ms. Fredericks.
HILMA: Yeah. Yeah. I was ready to just pack it in, go home and just be a housewife forever and ever, but Anatole came to the rescue. He passed me a note, which I still have 32 years after his death, and it says, "The story is fine. See me later." And then he said to my critic, "You're perfectly entitled to dislike the story, but you have an obligation to tell the writer why and how you think she might make it better." And in that moment, I understood revision and teaching, the balance of honesty and charity that's necessary when you lead a class in anything creative. And he saw me later and put me into an advanced class and the following week, he had me read the story to that advanced class. And they didn't like it either, but they gave me constructive criticism. So I felt less shattered. Just slightly less shattered, frankly, but, but less shattered. And eventually the story was published.
AMY: That's amazing.
KIM: That's incredible. And what was the first story?
HILMA: Today a Woman Went Mad in the Supermarket.
KIM: Okay? Yes, so that was the story
AMY: Oh, it was that story!
KIM: Okay. So you were already drawing from, I guess, the suburban life you were living and pulling it into your stories from your first story, right?
HILMA: Yes.
KIM: Wow. That's so fascinating.
HILMA: I mean, I was raised to be a domestic goddess. I was raised by a housewife to be a housewife. And I assume that I had to do this. This was my job, was to get married and have children and make jello molds. And I was putting so much creativity into my domestic life. My children always had homemade, from scratch birthday cakes that were decorated until they collapsed. They had homemade Halloween costumes. They had tuna fish men, not tuna fish sandwiches. Tuna fish men had carrot stick, arms and olive eyes. And I just had to do it that way. The whole family was sort of relieved when I began to write and was using that creative energy somewhere else, leaving them alone.
KIM: That's great.
AMY: Um, it was kind of surreal the day that I discovered your book. First of all, it was just a few days after I had watched the film The Lost Daughter. And so I was texting back and forth with mom friends of mine, because everybody was kind of in a tizzy over this movie because it brought up so many emotions for everybody who's a parent, uh, or everybody who's a mother, I should say. So we were texting back and forth, and one of my friends was like, "Oh, I'm gonna go read The Lost Daughter. And I realized she was really into this idea of books about motherhood. And I had said to her, "You should read Meg Wolitzer's The Ten-Year Nap, because that was a book that was, for me, really thought-provoking about motherhood in the same way. And then later that night, I saw Anne Zimerman's post about your book. And I was like, "Oh my gosh." At first I didn't even make the connection. I just thought, "This sounds like a book I want to read." And then I saw the last name Wolitzer, and I was like, "Wait, what? How is this possible?"
HILMA: There aren't many people by that name.
AMY: No, exactly. But it made me realize, I think women are starving for art and literature that speaks frankly about the experience of being a woman, and specifically, motherhood. What are your thoughts on that? Do you agree?
HILMA: Yeah, I do. This is partly why I think the stories are still timely, because women are still struggling with these issues; wanting to be the best wife, the best mother, but at the same time, have something else in their lives. They're restless in the same way that I was restless, in the same way that my characters are restless about their lives. I loved being a wife, being a mother of young children. I adored it. It was so much fun, but at the same time, I did feel that I wanted to do something else. And eventually I discovered it was writing. And had I not been in Anatole's class and had I not had the good fortune to get an agent in the strangest possible way, I might never have had a career. Because I didn't know any writers. The town we lived in in the suburbs didn't even have a bookstore. I had never met another writer before I took that class. I had never taken even an English literature class past high school. So I wrote this first short story, and my husband, who was not exactly thrilled with this switch of my violating the contract that I'd signed to be a wife and mother only, uh, suddenly I was doing something else that was really taking up a lot of my concentration, but I showed him the story, and I said, "Is this a story?" I was uneducated, but he had a PhD and he had a lot of literature classes behind him. He was a psychologist and he said, "Why don't you send this?" And he mentioned the name of a friend who was a critic and an artist and who we both thought was very astute, "and see what he thinks of the story." And he read the story, and then he put it in his pocket and went to a party where he ran into a literary agent. It happened to be John Steinbeck's agent, and he gave her the story and she called me the next day and said, "I'd like to represent you." But she was like a fairy godmother. Overnight, I'd gone from the cinders into the beautiful coach and I was a writer, and I couldn't believe it. I went into the bathroom and I tried on scarves and things to see if I looked more like a writer. And then I felt an obligation to keep writing, and I bombarded her with stories and they were rejected. Um, And the rejections... it's good for writers to be rejected because once you get past that and you're still writing, you know that you're a writer, um, that you're not in it for the money or for any modicum of fame. But I did find that other people judged you. You feel like a writer, but other people do not think of you as a writer unless you're published
AMY: Mm-hmm .
HILMA: And when I published that first story and it was to The Saturday Evening Post, which was a very important magazine in those days, I remember telling my parents about it. And my parents used to call me all the time in stereo on two different phones. And, uh, my mother would say, you know, "What are you doing today?" And I would say, "I'm writing a short story." And she would just not respond to that. She would say, "What are you making for dinner?" But when I sold that story and I called them and I got so much money for that story... our income was extremely modest at that point. My husband was a school psychologist and I wasn't working. I was like the women in my stories. I didn't have a car. I was living in the suburbs with two children. My husband's working a couple of jobs to make ends meet. So the car was never around except on Sundays when I went to the laundromat and to the supermarket. And I walked everywhere. The afternoon that I sold that story to The Saturday Evening Post, I went right across the street to the Rambler dealer and put a down payment on a car. So in a sense, writing brought me freedom as well.
AMY: I love that story and yeah, that does bring up another question, because you said your time was very limited. You had three kids? Three? Two?
HILMA: Two kids. And we happened to live so close to the school that they came home for lunch. So I never had a full day. But the thing was, I stopped making tuna fish men. They get tuna fish sandwiches and I'd go right back to the typewriter. The typewriter was at the end of the kitchen table. My older daughter said she loved the sound of that as she was going to sleep of my typewriter. I wasn't neurotic then about privacy and quiet. We had a dog. The dog would be barking or needed to go out. The children would be fighting. The phone would be ringing. Everything was going on, and I could interrupt the flow of thought and then go right back to it. Of course that changed.
AMY: Yeah, I was gonna say, I wish I could have that ability because that's one of the, the biggest challenges is when, you know, you have 20 minutes, say, to feel like, "Can I use that 20 minutes creatively and, and really dive into something?" And I always feel like my brain can't, you know?
HILMA: Yeah. It was really hard. People said, "Did you have a, a routine? Did you write three hours a day? Did you write in the morning?" The minute I got out of bed, I would rush to the typewriter. Amy Tan refers to it as "going from dream to dream," which I think is very apt, because sometimes you are thinking about the story in your sleep and the characters would wake me up. I mean, they would say, "Hurry up! This is what I wanna say." And I'd have to get there and put it down. And it was very thrilling, and I could work like that. Once everybody was out of the house, I could work like that and then suddenly look up and it was dark out. I mean, I would get up to go to the bathroom or the kitchen in between, but you lose yourself completely. Even now, when I was writing the final story in this book, I was 90- years old and I forgot how old I was until I passed a mirror. I mean, you just, you lose yourself in the fictional universe so much. So that story is more autobiographical than my other stories. So people think your work is autobiographical, which is a great compliment. There's that willing suspension of disbelief.
AMY: Yeah, I will admit when I started reading the stories, I thought for sure they were autobiographical. It's hard not to; they feel so real. The one that really struck me as, "Oh, she for sure lived this," was "Photographs," which was about pregnancy and childbirth because, well, first of all, it's completely wild and hilarious, which is perfect because the experience of childbirth is so absurd and hilarious in a lot of ways. But I thought, "I can't imagine, imagine somebody writing this that hadn't experienced it."
HILMA: Yeah, I definitely used some of my own experience there. The screaming part.
AMY: Uh, yeah, yeah, yeah. The chaos involved in that whole delivery. Um, but I loved, there's one particular line from that story where the narrator is at an obstetrician's appointment and you write "other pregnant women in the doctor's waiting room and I smiled knowingly at one another. We found ourselves in a vast and ancient sorority without the rituals of pledging." And I love that because I feel like it kind of sums up what your stories offer, which is that sort of communal joy and comfort. Like you're belonging to this ancient club of women who have also been there and kind of experienced what you've experienced.
HILMA: That's good. I do feel that though we live in families I think we also live in communities and we live in the world. This pandemic has proved that to me, because though I felt somewhat isolated because of being quarantined, I still felt so many other people around the world were having the same experiences. I felt somewhat comforted by this. And I think this is what you get from reading books. You like, you try to find some universality in the characters, but they also have to be idiosyncratic. It can't be a book about every woman or every man. I'm hoping every woman and every man will find something of himself or herself in the book, but the stories have to be about particular people. And they're not me, and they're not my husband, generally speaking. Uh, the stories that repeat in this volume about Paulette and Howard are completely invented.
KIM: The stories in your book, they're a combination of poignant, funny, relatable, as we've been talking about. Also unsettling and even haunting, at times. We wanted to talk about the title story from the book, Today a Woman Went Mad in the Supermarket. As you said, it was first published in The Saturday Evening Post magazine, and that was in 1966. The narrator encounters a woman at the supermarket who is having a breakdown. She's practically catatonic. You write: "She gripped the handle of her empty cart and said ‘There is no end to it.’ It was spoken so simply and undramatically, but with such honest conviction that for a moment, I thought that she was referring to the aisle of the supermarket. Perhaps it was blocked ahead of us and she couldn't move up farther. But then she said, ‘I have tried and I have tried, and there's no end to it. Ask Harold. Ask anybody. Ask my mother.’” Do you remember what sparked you wanting to tell that particular story?
HILMA: I have no idea. I'm sure that I felt the supermarket was the ideal place to talk about domestic angst because of, I think I describe it in the story, the bloody cuts of meat, the towering cans of Campbell's soup and so forth and so on. All the fancy Jell-O I was gonna make for my husband's colleagues' dinner parties. It all added up to the perfect atmosphere for a story about a woman losing it.
KIM: Yeah. It's unforgettable I mean, no wonder your writing instructor was like, "This is a writer here."
AMY: It's more than "fine."
KIM: Yeah. I'll never forget reading that story for the first time.
AMY: So I also loved, "there is no end to it" -- that reminded me totally off topic, but the series "Downton Abbey," my very favorite line from "Downton Abbey" is when the dowager Maggie Smith, she's talking about children and she says, "Oh, children, it's just the on and on-ness of it." That exactly sums up the experience of having children is like, for better and for worse. It's the on and on-ness, there is no end to it. That feeling, you know?
KIM: Yeah. Yep.
HILMA: You sort of have them wantonly, uh, and in my generation you had them because you were supposed to. Now women make choices. Um, some people have children, some people don't. My 97- year- old sister, she talks about the old lady who's asked if she had to do all over again, if she would have children. She said, "Yes, but not these children."
KIM: That's hilarious.
HILMA: Yeah, but I don't feel that way. I love my children. My children are marvelous. They got me through everything.
KIM: Hilma's children, if you're listening, you're okay. You're good in her book. Um, so were these stories more subversive, do you think, in the Sixties and Seventies when you first wrote them than they are today? I can imagine maybe an audience 50 years ago might have been shocked when you were supposed to pretend like everything was just fine and dandy, but today, you know, we're starting to have these more honest conversations, I think, on the subject.
HILMA: Yes, and actually my daughter, Meg, pointed this out to me. She said, "Mom, these are such nervy stories!" And I realized that I may have been hiding behind these stories. I was the angry person. I was a nervy person who wanted to talk out, who wanted to curse and so forth and so on. And instead I did it subliminally through the stories and I, I didn't realize it, but when the kids showed me this and said, "I can't believe you wrote this!" in fact, one of my kids said that, uh, after my novel Ending came out, there's a, a very graphic sex scene in the book. And she said she was so embarrassed in high school when boys would sort of taunt her about her mother's sex scene in the book. I understood her embarrassment.
KIM: Yeah. Uh, I can't wait to read Ending. I've only read this collection, so I can't wait to read more of your books. I wanted to ask about your revising, because you said that one of your favorite parts of writing is actually revising. Why is that?
HILMA: Well, first of all, you're not facing a blank page or a blank screen. You're not starting from nothing. You have something in front of you. There are two type of writers. There are writers who overwrite and there are writers who underwrite. And they're not insurance brokers, but they don't write enough. Um, and I found out the kind of writer I was when I was taking this course in sculpture at the Brooklyn Museum. The first thing they gave me was a little piece of soapstone. And I thought, you know, like Michelangelo, I'm gonna release the figure from the stone by chiseling away at it. And the next thing I know, I had a pile of dust. I chiseled it all the way down. And then when they gave us clay the following week, I built up, and I actually had a portrait of someone. And I realized that I was somebody who would write the minimum and have to add. So I would pull my pages out of the typewriter, or print them now, and sit down or get into bed or wherever I wanted to go with a pencil and just add things. This was very pleasurable. And reading your work aloud really helps you hear what's missing and what is too much.
AMY: Well, I want to read something aloud from your story "Nights." This is a story about insomnia, and as someone who experiences insomnia almost nightly, it really struck a chord.
KIM: I get a lot of emails from Amy that are dated like 2:00 AM, 4:00 AM when I wake in the morning.
HILMA: I am an insomniac as well.
AMY: So, okay, okay. So first I'm gonna read, this is the narrator awake in the middle of the night: "A song I have not heard in years comes into my head. First I'm mouth, the words. Then I try to whisper the tune. But my voice is throaty and full.
“Shhhh,” Howard warns in his sleep.
Oh, think, think. Come up with something else. But the song is stuck there. Doo-be doo dee-dee, a song I never really liked. I try to overwhelm it with something symphonic. So, this is what I've come to, I think, and the song leaves my head like a bird from a tree. Instantly other birds flock in: shopping lists, the 20/20 line on the eye chart, a chain letter to which I never responded. Do not break the chain or evil will befall your house. Continue it and long life and good health will be yours to enjoy and cherish. In eight weeks you will receive 1,120 picture postcards from all over the world.
Will I?
Learned men wear copper bracelets. My mother weeps over broken mirrors. Hearts are broken, bones. They crack in the silence of the night."
So to me, that kind of stream-of-conscious, manic feel to the story exactly mimics the way my brain works when I wake up. You totally nailed it. I find myself being like, "Why are you thinking this? This is so random. This is such a nonsequitor stop, stop!" I'm trying to will my brain to stop. And I think moms, in particular, have this sort of mental load that kind of spills over so that in the wee hours of the morning you're still thinking all of these things. Um, but yes, wanted to find out, are you sleeping better at this point in your life? Tell me there's hope.
HILMA: I'm afraid not. I think part of it is not letting go of the day, and part of it is dreading the next day. I sleep very well if I don't have anything planned the next day, but if I have something planned, I start thinking about it when I'm in bed, you know? What am I going to do? Will I need an umbrella? Uh, stupid thoughts.
AMY: Yeah. Stupid thoughts. Yeah.
HILMA: They don't even make sense. I can't meditate for the same reason. When I start to meditate, I keep thinking. And I remember my older grandson saying when he was about four years- old, "Grandma, I have thoughts all day long." And I was so thrilled. I said, "This is the beginning of consciousness," never realizing or never remembering how difficult consciousness could be, how overwhelming it could be with flights of ideas coming into your head.
AMY: Yes. Like birds. And I've since kind of flipped the script, and I welcome it in a weird way, like, okay, this is my time of night. So I'm able to have a different perspective on it now, basically. But I just, I love the story because it just really felt like my experience.
HILMA: Thank you. And I think insomnia is something that seems to run in families too, I've noticed. So there may be something genetic to it as well, but I think that your mind is just working on overtime.
KIM: I feel like as the years go by, I'm turning more and more into an insomniac myself, but I've not gotten to the point where Amy is. I don't see it as a gift yet, but I'm gonna try to do that.
HILMA: Don't hang around with Amy. It's catching.
AMY: Yes, yes. The award for best opening sentence, I think, in this book has to be from a story called "The Sex Maniac." It starts off, "Everybody said that there was a sex maniac loose in the complex and I thought — it's about time. It had been a long asexual winter."
KIM: That narrator in that line. Ugh. It's so good.
AMY: It's such a good story. There's another story where the narrator's husband has been arrested for indecent exposure. Um, that was also quite a ride. But you also, in other stories, write about nakedness as sort of the ultimate vulnerability I'm thinking of in "Mother," which is just really an anguishing, yet beautiful, story. You write: "The very worst thing, she was certain, was not human misery, but it's nakedness, and the naked witness of others." So I'm wondering, does writing ever feel like a form of nakedness to you? Because you have said that you were quite shy at one point in your life?
HILMA: Yeah, I, I think it does. And I don't mind exposing myself, if you pardon the expression, of, especially in that final story, which is not about my husband and me; it's about Howard and Paulette, but I assign what happened to Morty and me to these fictional characters. And many of the details are really, really true.
KIM: Yeah. Which is a loosely fictionalized account of your pandemic experience and losing your husband Morty to COVID. You dedicate this book to him, and we're so sorry for your loss. Um, we wanted to know why you felt it was important to end the book with that particular story.
HILMA: Well, when we collected the other stories, it was a slim volume, and I felt it needed to be beefed up. But I also felt compelled to write this final story. Um, it just seemed I had to put it down, and this has never happened to me before, except, maybe, that childbirth scene, um, where I felt it was necessary. But here, as I said, it was a way of grieving as well. And, um, what was amazing to me, I had stopped writing fiction. I was writing poems again in my old age. Uh, actually getting them published in good little literary magazines. And I was satisfied with that. My husband and I had a good, companionable life in our old, old age, and then this happened and it seemed really important to write about it. But it was wrenching to write about it. And it was cathartic at the same time. And the amazing thing was how all my recent attempts at writing fiction had failed. I would start something and it wouldn't go anywhere. When I began this story, I couldn't type fast enough. It was sort of almost as if I was taking dictation. My characters aren't real, but they are like neighbors who've moved away and I wonder what happened to them. And so I've always wondered what happened to Howard and Paulette, so to use my own experience and to find out what happened to them that way seemed so appropriate. They always had parallel lives. They weren't our lives, but they had parallel lives. They were the same age as my husband and myself, and I had to bring them to old age. I, I want to write one more worry about Paulette. Uh, and I want to write about widowhood. I hate the word "widow." I was thinking the other day, that it's "window" with the N knocked out, which takes away the light that comes through the window. It's a dark word. And I don't like it. Uh, I feel more that I'm a married woman without a husband.
AMY: Mm-hmm would you be with, to read a short passage from "The Great Escape?"
HILMA: Yes, I'll read the very opening.
AMY: Okay.
HILMA: "I used to look at Howard first thing in the morning to see if he was awake, too, and if he wanted to get something going before, one of the kids crashed into the room and plopped down between us like an Amish bundling board. Lately though, with the children long grown and gone to their own marriage beds, I found myself glancing over to see if Howard was still alive, holding my breath while I watched for the shallow rise and fall of his, the way I had once watched for a promising rise in the bedclothes.
Whenever I saw that he was breathing and that the weather waited just behind the blinds to be let in, I felt an irrational surge of happiness. Another day! And then another and another and another. Breakfast, vitamins, bills, argument, blood pressure pills, lunch, doctor, cholesterol medicine, the telephone, supper, TV, sleeping pills, sleep, waking. It seemed as if it would all go on forever in that exquisitely boring and beautiful away. But of course it wouldn't; everyone knows that. T
There were running death jokes in our family. My father, driving past a cemetery: “Everybody's dying to get in.” My mother: “Death must be great — nobody ever comes back.” Howard's mother: “When one of us dies, I'm going to Florida.” That would've been funny, except that she actually meant it. Now, none of them was laughing or ever coming back."
AMY: Thank you for sharing that with us.
HILMA: Now, I promise you the story gets funny.
AMY: No, it really does. It gets funny and then it gets sad again. Yeah. Um, it makes me think though, a, I am excited to hear that you are at least gonna write one more about... Paula or Paulette?
HILMA: It's Paulette, and then she's called Paulie.
AMY: Okay. Oh, okay. Got it. Um, But given the critical success of this book that just came out, I'm also wondering if you maybe have any other old writing hiding in a drawer somewhere that might still see the light of day. Are you holding out on us?
HILMA: No, no, no. I don't think so. I, uh, I'm afraid to look because if I find something that I like and I didn't include in this collection, I'll really feel bad.
KIM: I love what you just read. It reminded me of my grandmother. She lived to a hundred-ish. She used to say, "I'm afraid all my friends are gonna think that I got sent to the other place," and she'd point down, "It's taken me so long for me to get up there." So yeah, I mean, you know, she meant it with a sense of humor. So...
HILMA: Yes, I know. You've gotta have it. You have to, I mean, um, you have no choice. If you want to have any friends, you can't keep complaining and you can't keep, uh, expressing dread. The dread may be there, but it's not there all the time. You're so easily distracted by life. I mean, somebody asked me the other day what my superpower is and my superpower is curiosity. I can't wait to find out what happens next, even though everything in the newspapers is usually horrible and has been certainly for a few years. I'm so curious and this, I think, keeps me going. I want to find out what happened and, and I think that's one of the reasons I read, one of the reasons I write, and one of the reasons I get up in the morning. I'm always surprised when I get up in the morning, please and surprised, no matter how stiff or lousy I feel. It's another day.
AMY: You seem like you could be in your seventies.
KIM: I know, absolutely!
HILMA: What I really love is people who say, "Oh, you don't look 92. You look no more than 88." Like, who would wanna look 88?! I might as well look 92! Seventies is pretty good. I considered myself still sexy in my seventies.
KIM: Well, you make 92 look amazing.
HILMA: It doesn't feel horrible to be 92. And especially when you can still read and go into other people's lives and other universes to expand the one you're living in now. I mean, it is different. Um, I walk as if I'm drunk sometimes , um,
KIM: I do you that too.
HILMA: You keep on trucking. I wrote a poem about it that was published in a lovely journal called Women's Review of Books. Katha Pollitt was the poetry editor, and I wrote a poem about it. The beginning was something like, um, "Sometimes I tell myself don't just lie there. Keep moving." And that's how the poem starts, and that's actually how I feel in the morning. I have this idea that if I keep moving, I'll keep moving. Yeah, it's an illusion or delusion, but it, it feels right. And it feels optimistic, which I want to keep being.
KIM: So you're obviously still reading a lot, it sounds like. And that's, you know, one of your great pleasures. Are there any other lost ladies of lit that you can think of that you might wanna give a shout out to for our listeners?
HILMA: Yes. Some of them are living and some of them are dead. Um, among the living is Lori Siegel who is now I think 90 or so a terrific writer. Other People's Houses is one of her books. And another one is My First American. Marvelous books. Another one is someone I have only read. I know Lori and we taught together once at Breadloaf and I’ve known her a long time, but somebody named Nancy Huddleston Packer, P A C K E R, who is still alive. She's in her nineties. Uh, I think the book is called Small Moments. Absolutely marvelous to me. She was right up there with John Updike and John Cheever, uh, in her writing and her daughter, by the way, is Ann Packer, who's The Dive From Clausen's Pier... she’s a wonderful writer herself. This is her mother. A nonfiction writer who I love, and she's not lost yet, but she may become lost unless we keep talking about her, is Jenny Diski. I don't know if you've read her. D I S K I. She's British. Her essays are brilliant. Some of the best essays I've ever read. Talk about light and darkness in one sentence. She's really terrific. Um, Elizabeth Taylor, not the actress, but the British writer Elizabeth Taylor, who I had the pleasure of reviewing a book that turned out, unfortunately, to be a posthumous book, her first posthumous publication called Blaming. But, um, I went on to read Mrs. Paulfrey at the Claremont and a collection of stories called The Devastating Boys. Just a brilliant, wonderful writer. And then, uh, a really good friend of mine named Bharati Mukherjee. She wrote a book called Wife. Not my daughter's The Wife, but just Wife, which is really good. And she was married to a Canadian writer named Clark Blaise and together they wrote a memoir called Days and Nights in Calcutta. She's really just a wonderful writer. And I love that Lucia Berlin came back into..
AMY: Yes. I actually wanted to ask you about her because you guys were kind of writing across the same timeframe.
HILMA: I think she's more imaginative and more innovative than I am. I just love her work. Those scenes in the laundromat.
KIM: Uh, mm-hmm , they're incredible. Just amazing.
HILMA: Yeah, she's really good. So there are lots of people out there, and then I have to give a shout out to one of my great friends, who's not a writer, but an ongoing actress in her nineties, Estelle Parsons. Estelle and I met in a coffee shop and we began talking and began sitting together, I would say about 10 years ago when we were only in our eighties. And we've been fast friends ever since. And Estelle is going to be in a movie. She's just preparing a new role in a new movie. She's an inspiration to me.
KIM: She sounds incredible. It has been, I can't say… I'm gonna speak for both Amy and I, this has been an absolute joy to have this discussion with you today. We are just so happy we were able to read your work and we want to read more, and we feel so lucky we got to spend the last hour with you. Thank you so much.
HILMA: It was my pleasure.
KIM: And we can't wait to read the next story about Paulette.
HILMA: Well, I can't wait for you to read it. I can't wait to write it. Good luck with your kids.
KIM: Thank you.
HILMA: And your careers.
KIM: Thank you so much. Bye!
AMY: Bye!
KIM: …She was incredible! I'm not that with it now, let alone at 92!
AMY: I'm not either!
KIM: Oh my gosh, she's sharp as a tack, that woman.
AMY: Yeah.
KIM: Wow.
AMY: So that's all for today's episode. If you haven't read Hilma's latest book Today a Woman Went Mad in the Supermarket, make buying it your first order of business after hitting stop on this podcast, please. It's that good. I also have her most recent novel An Available Man in my reading queue. And I can't wait to dive into that one, too. I am expecting a lot of humor in this one.
KIM: I wanna read that now, too. Anyway, if you're enjoying this podcast, please tell a friend or several. You'll not only be helping us, but you'll also be giving other people the gift of great book recommendations and who doesn't want that?
AMY: Right, right. Until next week, bye 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.
80. Ukrainian Poet Lesya Ukrainka’s The Forest Song
Note: Lost Ladies of Lit is produced for the ear and designed to be heard. If you are able, we strongly encourage you to listen to the audio, which includes emotion and emphasis that's not on the page. Transcripts are generated using human transcribers, and may contain errors. Please check the corresponding audio before quoting in print.
KIM: Hi, everyone! Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off forgotten women writers. I’m Kim Askew, here with my co-host and writing partner, Amy Helmes…
AMY: Hey, everyone. Today we wanted to focus on a “lost lady” of Ukrainian literature. It goes without saying that Ukraine has been on all our minds.
KIM: Yes, It’s heartbreaking and deeply unnerving to watch and listen to the news. And it’s surreal, too. We did that episode on Virginia Cowles’ Looking for Trouble a couple months ago… and that was set in World War II, but now it feels like history is repeating itself in a sense.
AMY: Yeah. And in Cowles’s book, she writes in great detail about Germany’s invasion of Poland and the world’s reaction to it. It feels like something similar is playing out now. I mean, Ukraine has spent centuries living in the shadow of Russia’s tyranny. But you’re right, it’s still hard to believe what’s happening. I was listening to an interview on NPR recently with the director of the Ukrainian Art Center here in L.A and she was talking about how the West has long just assumed that Ukraine was “Russian,” culturally, when in fact Ukraine has always had its own language, its own identity and its own culture. But Russia and the Soviet regime has a centuries-long history of suppressing, arresting and killing Ukrainian writers and erasing Ukraine’s language, art and cultural identity. The killing of hundreds of Ukraine’s writers and artists in the 1930s under Stalin’s regime is known as the Executed Renaissance, and there’s an important anthology of that same name that was published in 1959 which single-handedly saved the work of that generation of writers. So we’ll link in our show notes to an article that details how that whole anthology came to be, because it’s kind of an interesting story.
KIM: In today’s episode, we wanted to focus on one of Ukraine’s best-known poets and playwrights, Laryssa Kosach, who wrote under the pen name Lesya Ukrainka (LESS-ya oo-CRANE-ka).
AMY: Oh, good job, Kim. You actually, I think, did a pretty good pronunciation there, um, for you. I do want to point out to listeners that we are not experts on Ukraine’s history but we’re going to do our best to talk about Ukrainka’s life and work as we understand it. So she was not part of that generation known as the Executed Renaissance which I just mentioned. She lived a few decades earlier. But a little bit about Ukrainka’s life first: She was born in 1871 in the northwestern part of Ukraine. And actually, her mother was also a writer and political activist who wrote under the pen name Olena Pchilka. Her father was a lawyer who edited a literary journal. They were both very involved in the Ukrainian nationalist movement and so consequently, Ukrainka was exposed to a lot of important Ukrainian cultural figures, even in her childhood.
KIM: Ukrainka’s writing embodies nationalist themes, which makes sense because Ukraine was under Russian control during her lifetime. When she was a little girl it was actually illegal to print any books in the Ukrainian language. Incidentally, she and her siblings were privately tutored rather than attending the Russian-style schools in Ukraine. So her parents were clearly attempting to counteract this Russian indoctrination.
AMY: She was a very frail child who was frequently bed-ridden (she contracted tuberculosis at age 12, which plagued her for the rest of her life. She suffered greatly from it). She had hoped to become a concert pianist, but her illness made this dream impossible. So instead she distracted herself by reading voraciously and learning multiple languages. She spoke 12 languages as an adult which meant she could read a wide-range of books from around the globe and she could also translate works for a living later in adulthood. As a child, she wrote verse, and one of her first poems was actually a reaction to the politically-motivated arrest of her aunt.
KIM: Wow. Her mother encouraged her to submit her poetry for publication, and she did so under this pseudonym she became known for. And if you think about her pen name, Lesya Ukrainka, which means “Lesya the Ukranian woman” she’s making a sort of bold proclamation about her identify, right? Because Russia banned writing in the language of Ukraine, her work actually was published across the border from Ukraine in Austro-Hungary where there was more freedom. By her early 20s she had published several collections of poetry. To think of this frail and sickly young woman being the person who would rally a nation with her words is really moving.
AMY: Then in 1905 there was a revolution in Russia that brought a little bit more freedom to Ukraine and the ability to use their own language a little more freely. Two years later in 1907 Lesya married a man who was also afflicted with tuberculosis, and her health continued to decline after she married. She had the means, though, to travel to many different countries, including Egypt and Italy, in search of a cure for her health, but all her attempts to find some relief proved fruitless. She died at the age of 43 in 1913, but not before writing the play “The Forest Song,” which she’s well-remembered for.
KIM: Yes, Amy and I read it for this episode. It’s considered a masterpiece of Ukrainian drama and is based on popular Ukrainian folklore. She wrote the original draft over the span of 10-12 days, and it was staged for the first time five years after Ukrainka’s death. What did you think of the play when you read it, Amy?
AMY: I thought it was beautiful and haunting. I kept thinking how much I would love to see it staged, because it just seems so visual. In my own mind, I was picturing kind of the aesthetic of — I don’t know if you remember in Dead Poet’s Society when they put on a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream and it was very sort of eerie and dark? That’s how I pictured “The Forest Song,” from an artistic standpoint. If I was the artistic director, that would be the vibe I’d go for. I think it could be really visually very stunning.
KIM: It also makes me think of Pan’s Labyrinth, I think. That’s Guillermo Del Toro, right? That’s so beautiful, I love that movie.
AMY: Oh my gosh, yeah, yeah, like that sort of otherworldly, mystical… Yes. And I mentioned “Midsummer Nights Dream” from Dead Poet’s Society, but this play is very “Midsummer Night’s Dream.” It’s got all these different spirits of the forest, and the lyricism is very reminiscent of Shakespeare, too, I think.
KIM: Definitely. So I’ll go ahead and summarize the plot of the play for our listeners: It’s a three-act story of a forest nymph named Mavka who is torn between her loyalty to the world of the forest and her love for a human named Lukash who is a gifted flute player. Mavka is enchanted by the music he plays.
AMY: Yes, and Lukash is hot and heavy for Mavka when they first meet, and although she remains hopelessly devoted to him, he eventually treats her with disdain. He moves on, basically, and takes up with this human peasant woman of his mother’s choosing. The play ends badly for everyone, but the ending is somewhat bittersweet and there’s quite a visual there at the end. It’s hard to shake; I don’t want to give it away. The play can be read as an eco-parable about humanity’s encroachment upon nature, I guess you could say.
KIM: Yeah, that’s beautifully put. Amy, should we resurrect “Lost Ladies of Lit” theater for this episode to give listeners a very brief little taste?
AMY: Yeah, sure. And this, in fact, I feel like it gives a little bit of that Shakespearian element of it. So I thought we could read the part where Rusalka, who is basically a vengeful mermaid, convinces a pair of lost babes to try to lure Lukash to his death while he is out collecting fireflies to decorate Mavka’s hair. The lost babes in this case are babies who are conceived out of wedlock and then drowned by their mother because she is sort of ashamed. And indeed, a Makva (who is our heroine in the play) is said to come from similar origins — a female infant who dies before being christened. So I’ll play Rusalka the wicked mermaid who doesn’t like this human hottie skulking about in the forest making eyes at Mavka; Kim, I’ll make it easy on you. You can just read the part of the lost babes.
KIM: I’ll do my best.
Rusalka:
Little Lost Babes, in the night,
Kindle now your lanterns bright!
[the Lost Babes show up in the reeds, bearing lanterns.
Rusalka:
See there, that one who’s wandering about
He’s like that father who abandoned you,
Who ruined your dead mother, let her die
He should no longer live!
Lost Babes
You drown him then!
Rusalka
I do not dare; the Forest Elf forbids.
Lost Babes
But we’re not strong enough; we are too small.
Rusalka:
You are tiny,
Light and shiny;
With your lights in small hands sure
You can foolish folk allure.
Go into the rushes there
Where no Forest Elf can hear.
Should he come out,
Put your lights out,
Disappear!
Be like lights deceiving always
O’er pathways;
Burst out bright o’er reeds and rushes,
Lead him into bogs and slushes,
When he’s slipping,
Send him dipping
Down into the deepest slime …
Then I’ll finish him this time!
Off now, like a flash!
KIM: Ooh, it’s very dramatic.
AMY: Yeah, very Shakespearian, right?
KIM: Totally. Like the Three Witches or something.
AMY:Yeah, for sure. And actually I was getting some old-fashioned Disney vibes reading it too, I think probably because it’s a fable and has fairy tale-like qualities to it. So of course I wasn’t too surprised to discover that it’s been made into an animated movie — from a Ukrainian film studio called Animagrad. (That’s the name of the studio.) The film is called Mavka. The Forest Song, and it was supposed to be released sometime this year (both in Ukrainian and in English) They have a trailer out, and it looks somewhat faithful in terms of the different characters but this kids’ movie also touches on one other aspect of the myth of the mavka, which is that the mavka can tickle people to death. So our girl Ukrainka was basing her story on an older mythology that Ukrainians would have been quite familiar with. (But I’m glad Ukrainka didn’t go the “torture tickle” route in her play! She left that out.)
KIM: Yeah, that’s good. Anyway, I hope the animated film still sees its release this year! We’ll go ahead and post a link to the trailer of the English-language version of the movie in our show notes if you want to check it out.
AMY: So yeah, the play is very much a parable about the devastation humans wreak upon the natural world. I’ve seen the word “ecofeminism” used in describing “The Forest Song.”
KIM: Yeah, I love the word eco-feminism being applied to that. There is definitely a feminist bent to the play. I’m thinking of when Rusalka, the mermaid, gives a lovelorn Mavka some tough advice about the true nature of love.
AMY: And then even the wise Forest Elf tells Mavka that she has done the betraying, and she’s like, “What do you mean? How am I the one that did the betraying? He’s the one that left me?” And he says, basically, “you betrayed yourself.” But then he adds:
“Not all the stars are faded out for you.
Behold, see what a festival is here!
The maple-prince has donned his golden robes.
The wild rose all her wreath of corals wears;
While innocence has changed to purple proud
Upon the cranberry, whose flowers you wore
When nightingales intoned your marriage song.
The ancient willow, e’en the mournful birch
Have put on gold and crimson, rich brocades,
For autumn’s festival. And you alone
Will not cast off that beggar’s garb of yours.
You seem to have forgotten that no grief
Should ever triumph over loveliness.”
I mean, can we cue the Gloria Gaynor anthem ‘I Will Survive’ right about now?.... There’s a bit of that going on in this play. I also love the line when Mavka confronts Lukash, who has abandoned her. It’s like one of those “I’m so disappointed in you” moments, because she says: “I’m only sad because you cannot bring your life up to the level of your soul.” What a great line.
KIM: That’s like l’esprit d’escalier, you know? Wit of the staircase.
AMY: I don’t know what that means, but okay.
KIM: It’s a French phrase, but it actually means the thing that you think of to say when you’re walking away but you always think of it too late. I probably announced it horribly, but yeah, that’s the idea of it.
AMY: Ooh, I love that!
KIM: But anyway, I also thought this would make such a terrific opera or a ballet. There’s something kind of Swan Lake about it.
AMY: Oh yeah, for sure. And I think they did turn it into an opera at one point in the 1950s. I remember reading that somewhere.
KIM: Well that makes sense. There are a lot of monuments honoring Ukrainka including a statue of her on a quiet street in Moscow as well as a beautiful statue of her in Kyiv.
AMY: Yeah, it’s interesting that she resides today in both those countries, right, you know, that are at war. And in terms of what’s happening in Ukraine right now, we thought maybe we’d let Lesya Ukrainka have the last word for today’s episode. So even though she was in a lot of physical pain during her life and she lamented the oppression of living under Tsarist Russian control, she did write poetry that was really hopeful. One of her most famous poems, “Contra Spem Spero” is a good example of that. (The title translates to “Hope Against Hope”). It was published in 1890, and I’ll go ahead and read it because it seems like a hopeful note to end on given the state of the world today:
Thoughts away, you heavy clouds of autumn!
For now springtime comes, agleam with gold!
Shall thus in grief and wailing for ill-fortune
All the tale of my young years be told?
No, I want to smile through tears and weeping.,
Sing my songs where evil holds its sway,
Hopeless, a steadfast hope forever keeping,
I want to live! You thoughts of grief, away!
On poor sad fallow land unused to tilling
I'll sow blossoms, brilliant in hue,
I'll sow blossoms where the frost lies, chilling,
I'll pour bitter tears on them as due.
And those burning tears shall melt, dissolving
All that mighty crust of ice away.
Maybe blossoms will come up, unfolding
Singing springtime too for me, some day.
Up the flinty steep and craggy mountain
A weighty ponderous boulder I shall raise,
And bearing this dread burden, a resounding
Song I'll sing, a song of joyous praise.
In the long dark ever-viewless night-time
Not one instant shall I close my eyes,
I'll seek ever for the star to guide me,
She that reigns bright mistress of dark skies.
Yes, I'll smile, indeed, through tears and weeping
Sing my songs where evil holds its sway,
Hopeless, a steadfast hope forever keeping,
I shall live! You thoughts of grief, away!
79. Frances Harper — Iola Leroy with Dr. Koritha Mitchell
Note: Lost Ladies of Lit is produced for the ear and designed to be heard. If you are able, we strongly encourage you to listen to the audio, which includes emotion and emphasis that's not on the page. Transcripts are generated using human transcribers, and may contain errors. Please check the corresponding audio before quoting in print.
AMY HELMES: Hi everyone. Welcome back to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off great books by forgotten women writers. I'm Amy Helmes.
KIM ASKEW: And I'm Kim Askew. The novel we'll be discussing today, Frances Harper's Iola leroy was reissued a few years ago by Broadview Press, and we're excited to have Dr. Koritha Mitchell with us today to discuss it.
AMY: Dr. Mitchell edited the edition and wrote the book's introduction. And what I learned from it left me a little gobsmacked and wondering why I had never heard of Frances Harper before.
KIM: Yeah. I had the same reaction, Amy, and you're right. It's shocking once you understand what a hugely important figure Harper was, not just as a writer, but also as an activist. She was a well-known abolitionist and suffragist of her day, she toured the United States on lecture circuits. And in terms of her writing, she was a prolific and popular writer of poetry and prose for over half a century. Her story, "The Two Offers," written prior to the start of the Civil War, is believed to be the first short story ever to be published by an African-American woman.
AMY: She earned huge acclaim while she lived, yet it's fair to say Harper has not been as well remembered as she ought to be.
KIM: The same holds true for her novel Iola Leroy, which is an eye-opening look at what it was like for Black Americans in the midst of, and in the decades following, the Civil War. It also examined society's one-drop principle of racial classification and its implications.
AMY: There's a lot in this book that felt revelatory to me and what's more, it still feels soberingly relevant today, 130 years after it was written. I can't wait to dive into it, so let's read the stacks and get started.
[intro music]
KIM: Our guest today is a professor and literary historian. Dr. Koritha Mitchell, author of the award-winning Living With Lynching, which examines how African-American communities historically used lynching plays as a coping mechanism to combat racial violence. Her second title From Slave Cabins to the White House: Homemade Citizenship in African-American Culture was named a Best Book of 2020 by Ms. Magazine and Black Perspectives. She teaches English at the Ohio State University and she has lent her cultural commentary to outlets such as time CNN, Openly,
Good Morning America, The Huffington Post and NPR's Morning Edition. Korthisa, we are so thrilled and honored to have you here. Welcome to the show.
DR. KORITHA MITCHELL: Thanks so much for having me. It's an honor to join you.
AMY: So African-American literature is a particular specialty of your scholarship, but I want to know how, and when you first actually became aware of Frances Harper and this novel Iola Leroy.
KORITHA: It's a great question because you know, she's certainly not someone that most people have heard of. And I did not discover her until I was in graduate school. So it was, um, an American women writers class taught by Carla Peterson at the University of Maryland College Park, where I went to grad school. And once I became a professor it was the book that I was most invested in teaching regularly because it covers so much ground and it's ground that determines the current historical moment. So much of what happens in those decades is what we are still living with. And so it was always important to me to expose my undergraduates to a book like that. Um, in other words, earlier than I was exposed to it.
KIM: Okay. Um, in terms of Harper's life, she was born Frances Ellen Watkins in Baltimore in 1825. Koritha, what can you tell us about her early life and how it might've shaped the public figure she would become?
KORITHA: Yeah. So she was born free. Both of her parents were free, but they also died when she was really young. And she is basically reared by her uncle, Reverend William Watkins, and he runs a school for black children in Baltimore. So she's able to go to school until she's about age 12 when she has to start work at a very young age, but the people she works for, they allow her to read in whatever spare time she has. And in fact, they also have an actual bookstore and so she's able to maximize that exposure to literature very early on, not only from her employers, but also with the foundation that being educated by her uncle created for her.
As early as 1846, she publishes her first collection of poems. It's called "Forest Leaves." And for many decades scholars thought that that was lost to us, but it was rediscovered in the two thousands by a graduate student, I believe her name is Johanna Ortner. It was a really exciting find because, you know, everyone was convinced that this wasn't available. And so when she found it, it was a really big moment of celebration.
KIM: How cool. I love that.
AMY: hidden treasure. Okay, so tell us a little bit about Harper's activism and how she came to be a speaker. I think, in the introduction to your edition it talks about the Fugitive Slave Act and how she got really fired up over that.
KORITHA: Absolutely. So the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850 passes and what happens in 1853 is a black man is punished, violated under that law, and he ends up dying, and she writes to a friend that on his grave, she is just simply committed to abolition as a cause. So shortly after that, in 1854, she has an opportunity to speak. And she's not the renowned orator at that point. She reads one of her poems, and because she's so skilled and because people are mesmerized, um, she gets herself on a speaking podium in the next year. This is early in her career. I believe she's like 28 at this point. The reports are that the crowd is 600 strong. just blows my mind. And it's another reason why, the more I learned about Frances Harper, the more I was like, "Oh my goodness, I need to know more." Just an absolutely astonishing person. She ends up being the first black woman that we know of to be paid for lecturing for an abolitionist cause in the United States, speaking to audiences that are both black and white, both men and women. How is it that we don't know Frances Harper's name as well as we know Frederick Douglas's name? How is it that we don't know her name as well as we know Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B, Anthony? This is ridiculous, right? career spans more than 50 years. Basically every progressive issue that you can think of, she was a part of.
KIM: And it's interesting you mentioned Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, because she was a little bit at odds with them, right?
KORITHA: And see, I wouldn't even put it in those terms. So the rift comes in in terms of the amendment that will give the formerly enslaved black men the right to vote. That's the moment at which Stanton and Anthony kind of stake their claim and say, "If we're going to watch Sambo march into the kingdom first, then I'm out." That's basically what they say, right? They're just like "we good white women have been all about helping the Negro, but now that they're no longer at the bottom does it really make sense for us to let them march into the kingdom first?" Like that's literally the language that's used. And so Frances Harper has to face how much white women are going to choose race over gender. But what I find so compelling about her in that moment, too, is that even as she watches women hold themselves to incredibly low standards, she refuses to do the same herself. She is stunning for the example she gives us that she's going to keep her focus on what she believes is going to make the country better, make society better, make something like a public good. I'm telling you, one of my role models.
KIM: She's inspiring.
AMY: The strength of her convictions. Um, all right, so we can speak more about Harper's life as we go along , but let's jump into the book right now, Iola Leroy. She wrote it in the later years of her life. It was published in 1892 and it was her first and only novel to be printed in a single volume. So her other three novels were serialized in periodicals. Koritha, do you want to go ahead and give our listeners a little kind of spoiler- free synopsis of the story?
KORITHA: Sure. So Iola Leroy is about the title character, Iola, and her journey through the United States. She is born to an enslaved woman that she does not know is enslaved and her so-called owner. And so Iola and her brother grow up sure that they are white and the people who were enslaved on their property are nothing like them. It's only after Iowa's father dies and people invalidate her mother's marriage to him that Iola now is considered enslaved. Her brother is considered property, and basically we follow what happens after Iola realizes that her country does not see her as a human being, but in fact, sees her as property.
AMY: It's just chilling, the idea of not even expecting it and then out of the blue, you're just thrown into slavery.
KORITHA: Well, and what you're describing as chilling is something that Harper highlights, right? She really forces readers to think about how brutally arbitrary slavery is in the first place. It's okay for all of those darker skinned black people to be enslaved until you're the person who's being treated this way. So Harper is brilliant in making the country look at itself through Iola's eyes, I think.
AMY: She has to face her own hypocrisy in the fact that, yeah, she was defending slavery until suddenly it happened to me.
KIM: Yeah. And then everyone who reads it, you know, would presumably do the same thing.
AMY: Yeah, exactly.
KIM: So unlike Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin, this book was actually written decades after the Civil War. Could you maybe give some context as to why Harper wrote this book when she did? Who was she writing this book for, and what was her aim?
KORITHA: Part of what she's doing is she's telling a community story. She starts the novel with the enslaved community, and it is only later that we actually meet Iola in the first place. It's giving readers a way to understand and appreciate the enslaved communities and how those communities supported each other through the violence of this country. The other way to answer it though, this idea of who is she writing for and what is she aiming for? As we've said already, this is the first novel that she publishes as a bound book rather than serialized in a magazine. Her other novels that are serialized in the Christian Recorder we might say are focused on the audience of the Christian Recorder for her to put this in a bound book, suggesting that she's willing to reach out to readers who might not be so Christian and they also may not be a Black audience, primarily. She is aiming to reach as many readers as possible. You know, by the 1880s you have what we would call plantation fiction being best-sellers right? So Thomas Nelson Page, Joel Chandler Harris, these kinds of denigrating narratives that basically caricature African-Americans and look back to the good old days of slavery. So, you know, here comes Frances Harper by 1892 suggesting that we actually look seriously at not only the brutality of what slavery was, but also the remarkable resilience and intelligence of the people who fricking survived it. She's giving us a way of looking back at the kind of resilience and intelligence of a community that was robbed of everything. And as we look to build a future, how might we account for their brilliance as we march forward? So that's a beginning of an answer. You can see I could go on, but that's the beginning of an answer.
KIM: I love that though, because the story belongs to the people in these communities, in the story. But the story was basically being taken from them and written from a viewpoint perspective of people that it wasn't about. She's taking that back, and it's amazing. And it is kind of an antidote to the other stuff. And then, you know, you keep going forward when you still have Gone With the Wind being a bestseller and a big movie and everything. So, you know, obviously these words were needed.
AMY: And you can tell, and we'll get into this a little bit later, but you can tell the last chapters of Iola Leroy are kind of like a clarion call for the community, like you said, for like, this is how we need to band together going forward into the 20th century.
KORITHA: But not just the community, right? The entire nation. Part of it is an indictment of the nation, like, look at how brutal this country is. And can we do better as a country?
One of the things I love to say about Frances Harper is that she is a model citizen who could not vote. So one of the things she talks about is the way that she's doing these speeches around the country and meddling in slaveholders' business. Enslavers are the people who have a vote in this country and get to set the agenda for the country, but I'm going to be bold enough to meddle in their business because I have a larger vision for what the country should be about. So the clarion call, I think, is national in scope. And that's the other reason why I think it's her first bound book, because she has that much of an ambition about trying to change the conversation.
AMY: Okay, love it. So when I started reading this book, it was just a few months after I had watched the Netflix film Passing based on Nella Larson's book. That's the story of a black woman who chooses to pass as a white woman in the 1920s. This book is about a young woman who lives as a white woman, unaware that she is actually biracial. And then once she learns the truth, she's got this identity crisis, you know? Who do I want to choose to be? Because she could proceed as a white woman. She kind of has an option. So can you talk about the significance of her choice once she does learn the truth about herself?
KORITHA: Yeah. I mean, there's so many angles from which I can address this. I mean, I think the first angle since you mentioned Passing, you know, in African-American literary studies, passing narrative is basically a genre. And that is because this country has decided that the only people who should have benefits and rights are white people. That's still how we do. Ahmaud Arbery is on my mind. We have a country that still does that. One of the scholars that I'm thinking of, as I say this, you know, Gabrielle Foreman talks about Iola Leroy as an anti-passing narrative. I might argue that we only had about 12 years where the country actually tried to, I don't know, treat me as a human. Reconstruction is the only time that, as a nation, we were like, no, we actually ought to be making things more decent for people who are Black. Literally, the only time. So what, 1865 to about 1877. That's it. And so that 12- year period is the only time that it felt like maybe you could have a chance in this country and not be white. And so in that moment of enlarged possibility, people who were light enough to pass, but didn't, we're aggressively suggesting that my so-called African blood is not anything to be ashamed of. And the country was actually affirming them in that, so that being racially- ambiguous actually became a way of arguing for improved conditions for other black people. I think that's part of Harper's investment in offering us a character like Iola, but here's the other thing I have to say. This is the other way to look at it. And this is influenced by, Allison Hobbs's book, and I'm not going to remember the name of it right now, but part of what she makes so clear is that when you study passing in the United States, what she finds is that it's not so much what you pass for, it's what you pass away from. It's what you lose. Harper has given us Iola Leroy as a character who helps us understand what Allison Hobbs found, which is that what you lose, and the connection to family and black community, actually makes it not so worth it to have all of those unearned benefits that the country showers just on the basis of whiteness.
KIM: Beautifully said. I think Harper does an amazing job of making the reader feel really immersed in the fear and doubt and confusion of this era that we're talking about. And even reading it today, there's a real sense of, "Wow, it actually wasn't really that long ago." And you've kind of mentioned how, you know, the more things change, the more they stay the same, right? Are there any moments from the first part of this novel that you thought were particularly powerful or effective that you might want to read a passage from?
KORITHA: So I'm going to read the absolute opening of the novel. [reads passage]
KIM: How could you not want to keep reading that book after that opening? I mean, it pulls you in on this meta level, this conversation, but there's this whole idea of rebellion. I mean, you think of Hunger Games, you think of, um, Handmaid's Tale. Like all those things. I just love it.
AMY: Yeah, it's all just bubbling under the surface, ready to explode, and the coded language that they use to convey this network of communication amongst slaves on different properties.
KORITHA: That to me is a perfect way of understanding this insistence on Harper's part of beginning with the community. They are violently kept from learning to read and write, and yet they have done what they needed to do to become literate in other ways. All of this is dangerous stuff that they're doing, but she's making it clear that this is something they're invested in doing. The other thing that I think is so fascinating in that opening is the narrator tells us that we're talking about Thomas Anderson, although he was known as Master Anderson's Tom. That's how he's known, but that's not how we're going to talk about him. He's Tom Anderson! So at the very start, Harper is helping us understand the complexity of this community and also the complexity of her language and the language that the characters are using, right?
KIM: This is a great place to also point out something that you talk about in the introduction to the book, how some of the characters don't speak in standard English. And we wanted to have you maybe talk about the difference in the dialect and what she's doing with that.
KORITHA: Yeah. I mean, what she does is very, um, kind of, I would argue common among black writers who understand that language is always marking power, right? Why am I speaking English in the first place, except for colonization and slavery. This isn't my mother tongue. And so for me, part of what Harper does when it comes to dialect is underscoring that the use of dialect or not is not the marker of intelligence, and I think part of what I find fascinating, too, is even if you have black characters who speak similar dialect, they can have very different outlooks. She kind of marks the diversity within black communities as well. Which of course is just again, honoring their humanity in ways that the system doesn't. The Reason to do a novel rather than nonfiction in this case is because she is interested in those debates and disagreements and interested in painting a community of people. Like they are people, that's why they disagree.
KIM: Yeah. Of course they don't all have the same opinions, you know? They're going to have different ideas of how to do things, so let's actually look at what a real community of people would likely talk about.
AMY: Reading the book felt to me like going back in time and maybe reading op-eds from newspapers of the time. Yes, there's a plot, but a lot of it is just the talking. Um, you can see that that's the message she wanted to get across. I found the second half of the book to really be the most compelling in a lot of ways. This is after the Civil War has concluded and so you're like, "okay, things are somewhat resolved," but then you see what the freed slaves have to contend with during the years of Reconstruction.
KIM: Yeah. People were trying to reunite with their loved ones and that being a whole aspect of Reconstruction that you don't really hear about. Um, and you actually included a really interesting appendix among many in the book. Um, it lists the actual newspaper notices from emancipated slaves seeking to track down their loved ones. And it's heart-wrenching, as you'd imagine.
KORITHA: That's part of why I was so invested in creating those appendices and especially the one on Black families, both in slavery and in freedom, because what Harper works so hard to do is to show that the country had to brutally lie about how black people are not fully human. Their emotions are not of the same order as white people. So it's no big deal if you separate mother from child, they're just like separating puppies. That is what this country built its wealth on doing. Even in that passage I read where we open up, Robert's mother was sold away from him and for the rest of the narrative you're going to watch him be driven by the impact of that early trauma. Not only did these people do everything they did to try to get from under a brutal system, but then after they got out of that brutal system, that doesn't erase all of what they've lost. And so in one of the examples from the newspapers that I include in the appendix is a brother who is looking for a sister. They hadn't seen each other in 35 years. And so that was one type of historical document that was really important for me to put at people's fingertips.
AMY: I loved it, cause you're like, wow, this is the real example of what she was writing about. And we should say that Iola has some romantic suitors in the course of the book. There's a little kind of love story. Really the love story in this book is about families reuniting. That's what you're rooting for. That's what you're worried about. I don't care who she winds up married to, to be perfectly honest, but I want her to find that mom, you know? So we don't want to give away any spoilers about her search for her family, but, I think we can say that Harper puts forth some powerful ideas in terms of what sort of future the Black community could and should forge. And one example that really struck me was her argument that mothers were going to play a critical role going into the future. Koritha, can you explain that in a little more detail and why was that important to Harper?
KORITHA: Well, I think this is an opportunity for me to say again, that I really feel like Harper is invested in a kind of, as you put it, clarion call for the nation writ large, not just for Black communities. And so part of the reason why Iola's investment in motherhood becomes important is because she also has been so invested in education. She's a school teacher, she's a nurse. She spends an entire, you know, at least chapter looking for a job. And her uncle is like, "You know, you're going to be okay, you're not going to go hungry if you don't have a job." And she's insisting, "No, there would be fewer unhappy marriages if women were educated." So there's a way in which Harper is really invested in having us think about what are the limitations that are put on people who actually have a lot of potential. But the other thing I wanted to bring up though, in relationship to this, and this is why I'm so invested in thinking about how she makes it a bound book, because she wants to speak beyond the audience of the Christian Recorder. This is one really powerful example toward the end. This is Dr. Latimer, just talking to Iola. So Dr. Latimer is a light-skinned person who could have passed, too, just like Iola, but here's one of the things he says: "To be born white in this country is to be born to an inheritance of privileges, to hold in your hands, the keys that open before you, the doors of every occupation, advantage, opportunity and achievement." A passage like that is so important because we have watched Iola look for a job. And every single time she gets the job based on her demeanor and qualifications, she gets let go the moment that they find out that she has a drop of black blood, right? So Harper is bringing to our attention, what are the arbitrary things that gives you benefits? What gives you rights? What gives you humanity and what doesn't? Here's another passage I just have to read, even if I don't have a good excuse for it right now.
AMY: Go for it.
KIM: Yeah. Please do.
KORITHA:
This is when Iola is a teacher. She has started a school: One day, a gentleman came to the school and wished to address the children. Iola suspended the regular order of the school. And the gentlemen assayed to talk to them on the achievements of the white race, such as building steamboats and carrying on business. Finally, he asked how they did it. “They've got money,” chorused the children. “But how did they get it?” “They took it from us.” So she goes on and then here's the narrator chiming in again: The school was soon overcrowded with applicants and Iola was forced to refuse numbers because their quarters were too cramped. The school was beginning to lift up the home, for Iola was not satisfied to teach her children only the rudiments of knowledge.She had tried to lay the foundation of good character, But the elements of evil burst upon her loved and cherished work. One night, the heavens were lighted with lurid flames and Iola beheld the school, the pride and joy of her pupils and their parents, a smoldering ruin.
Cause this is what happens. Black people do something to advance themselves and they are attacked. Very often the racial violence in the post -Reconstruction era, which becomes the lynching era, and when Jim Crow segregation starts to settle in, very often the violence that's happening isn't because Black people have done something wrong or that they're criminals. It's because they're succeeding in some way. And this country says, "Nope, there's a proper place for you. And that's under my foot."
AMY: This novel is just packed with ideas. It really is. She covers so much ground with this book.
KIM: Yeah, sadly, it's timeless too .
AMY: Okay. So there's so many lines in this book, but there was another one where Harper wrote: "When we have learned to treat men according to the complexion of their souls and not the color of their skins, we will have given our best contribution toward the solution of the Negro problem." And I'm like, Martin Luther king speech, one of the most famous lines that we remember from his speech. That's almost paraphrased from what she was writing in 1892.
KORITHA: Well, what I would say though, when these Black people who are laying out the case say something like that, they're talking about how they've never been treated according to their character. That's what they're talking about. But if we were more honest than we would have to see how much we don't treat white people according to their character. They can be despicable and still get the benefit of the doubt. If you're white, you don't get judged by what you do or don't do, you get assumed good. And even when you do something despicable, we will find ways to see your humanity. If you're black or brown, no thanks; never happened. Haven't seen it happen yet. So that, to my mind, is the only way that we could do any kind of justice when people like Harper or Martin Luther king say that. It's actually looking at how the character of white people can be....despicable. despicable.
AMY: That's the first time that's ever been presented to me with the flip side. Cause you're right. We think of it as this shiny, happy platitude: Let's treat everyone great. And It's like, no, let's treat everyone equal in terms of, if you're a jerk, we're going to treat you that way too. I didn't think about it as it works both ways.
KORITHA: It's never worked both ways, right? And that isn't an accident. It's not an accident that you don't hear what I just said often.
AMY: Right.
KIM: Yep.
KORITHA: It's not an accident. Everything is set up to say the exact opposite, to make whiteness act like it's just neutral. It's just there. And maybe one day we can treat you a little better, Koritha. No, I'm looking around and I'm seeing how raggedy y'all are. And so I want to just simply be treated according to what you claim you respect, but these are your standards and you don't even live up to them, right? So I have to admit to you, and I'm going to shut up, but I have to admit to you that trying to expose all of the vicious work that treating whiteness as neutral does informs every element in my edition. It's my goal with everything I chose to put in there. I want us to see whenever we act like whiteness is neutral, we are doing great harm. It is not neutral. It is doing harm.
KIM: Absolutely. Yup.
AMY: Um, I don't know if this was in your introduction or if I saw it somewhere else, but that a hundred years before Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on the bus, Frances Harper did that on a trolley car. Do you know that story?
KORITHA: Yeah. And actually the truth is Harper tells a story also about, I believe it's Harriet Tubman, about this same kind of violence on transportation. So part of what we have to understand is the way that Black women of the 19th century, especially, are over and over again being treated brutally on public transportation. And as they are being brutalized, white people, including white women, sit there just as comfortable as can be. That is one way to understand the experience of Black feminist thought. Because at the end of the day, we live in a country that acts as if being a woman should include things like, I don't know, dignified treatment, but that's not what happens to me even now. That's not an automatic thing. This country is geared toward making sure that no matter how dignified my presentation, I do not have to be treated that way. And so it makes all the sense in the world that in the 19th century you have Black women who are having the experiences that are not very far removed from what we come to associate with Rosa Parks. That's how Black women's activism so often has operated, that it's very capacious. Black women are always attuned to all of those forces that are unnatural and evil forces, man made forces that have nothing to do with my humanity, nothing to do with any of that, it just has to do with power dynamics, and people's willingness to create systems that take away my life chances.
KIM: Harper also mentions in this later section of the book the need for Black people to write their own books. When Iola explained to one of her suitors that she aspires to write but isn't sure would do any good, he responds, "Ms. Leroy out of the race must come its own thinkers and writers. Authors belonging to the white race have written good racial books for which I'm deeply grateful, but it seems to be almost impossible for a white man to put himself completely in our place. No man can feel the iron which enters another man's soul." Koritha, considering the importance of having Black people write their own stories, why do you think Frances Harper isn't better remembered today?
KORITHA: There are so many answers to that question, and I think at the end of the day, what's crucial to remember, especially given the lovely context that you just gave us, is that not being well remembered has very little to do with whether Black people actually did the writing or not. And even earlier than that, even before they're writing books, there's plenty to appreciate and keep record of, so it's not that Black people aren't doing the intellectual and other work to preserve the truth about their communities. It's simply that there are a lot of forces against it. So with Harper as a specific example, part of what I delve into in explaining this in the introduction is that a lot of times she is selling her books at her speaking engagements. So especially for someone who commanded 600 people on the first try, you can imagine you're commanding those kinds of audiences, then the people who are following you know what a big deal you are. It's not until after she passes away in 1911, that there's even a possibility of people not appreciating what she left as a legacy, but sure enough, that starts, and it starts, I would argue, with W E B Dubois. So part of what we can not neglect in this conversation is that it's not just white women who hold themselves to low standards in relationship to other people, namely Black women, it's also Black men who can hold themselves to low standards in relationship to Black women. So Dubois, I would argue, is one of the people who begins the pattern of diminishing what Harper had achieved. And then as the decades move on, I would say that part of what happens is in the Black Power era, there's a way in which Iola Leroy can be discounted because of this light-skinned heroine. In the Black is Beautiful, Black Power era you want someone more chocolatey like me to be the protagonist. And so that's another reason to kind of diminish the importance of Iola Leroy. Part of what's tricky about that, though, is if as a culture we valued periodical literature more than we would have been more attuned to her three serialized novels, at least two of which have dark-skinned heroines. ButI lola Leroy is the bound book that comes to represent her contribution. And so in the Black Power era, that's not so cool. At the same time though, by the Seventies, you're starting to get more in higher education in terms of feminists pushing for, you know, something like Women's Studies. A lot of that is happening through white women who don't think in terms of Black women. So all of these forces, I think, come together to create a scenario in which someone like Harper falls out. So I think that's one way of answering that question. The good news is because people have worked so hard, against the worst odds, to leave a legacy like this, it's here for the kind of recovery that has been happening around Harper for some decades now. And I'm very proud to be a part of that.
AMY: It's crazy to me that when we think back on this time period we think Harriet Beecher Stowe. That's the slave book, right? And I know that book was galvanizing for the Civil War and everything, but to me, this book offers so much more. Why are we forgetting this Black woman writing about the time period and our go-to girl is a white woman telling the story of slaves? It's kind of crazy to me.
You're like,
Amy, what have I been trying to tell you for the last hour and a half?
KIM: Yes. Absolutely. Absolutely.
AMY: So this is the bound book, as you said, that she's known for. Um, if people wanted to check out any other titles, what would you say would be the next thing that people might want to read?
KORITHA: Yeah. The two things outside of Iola Leroy that I always hope people will look at would be her 1859 short story, "The Two Offers." And as we talked about that, as far as we know, is the first short story published by an African-American woman. And "The Two Offers" is fabulous to teach because I love for my students to see how in 1859, this Black woman is making a very clear argument about why staying single would be smart.
AMY: Yeah, I love it.
KIM: That's awesome.
KORITHA: Um, and then the other one that I like to bring up is a poem I actually included in the edition, but it's called "The Slave Mother: a Tale of Ohio." And because I'm at Ohio State University and have been for the last 17 years, I always like to underscore Ohio connections. And that poem, it's the story of Margaret Garner who ran away from slavery and was trying to kill all her children and killed at least one. And that becomes the story that Toni Morrison kind of uses as a point of departure for Beloved. Just the tradition of Black women who have engaged with Margaret Garner' story. "So The Slave Mother, A Tale of Ohio" is a poem I would suggest as well.
KIM: Great.
AMY: I feel like I wish I could take a course from you or something. I wish I was there at Ohio State.
KIM: You're obviously an amazing professor.
AMY: Yeah. I mean, we had our sort of line of questioning together for this, but now that I've talked to you, I want to rethink about everything that I thought I knew about this novel, because you've really made me think about it in some different ways. wAnd I hope that our listeners are inspired to go pick up a copy of Iola Leroy too, so they can experience everything we've been talking about.
KIM: Yes. And we should add that Broadview Press, the publisher, is generously providing a discount code for any listeners who purchase the book between now and the end of April, 2022. Go to BroadviewPress.com and use the code Iola20, that's I-O-L-A- two-zero for 20% off your purchase of the book.
AMY: Thank you, Broadview Press for doing that. And you should really check out some of their other titles while you're at it because they have a lot of other great books by forgotten women writers and Koritha, this has been so fascinating. Thank you for lending us your expertise on Frances Harper.
KORITHA: I really appreciate it. Thank you so much for shining a light on Harper. She is freaking amazing. And so thank you for making sure that gets some attention.
KIM: So that's all for today's podcast. If you enjoyed it, consider giving us a shout out on social media.
It's a really great way to help us find new listeners, but it's also a great way for us to connect with you. Let us know you're out there.
AMY: Our theme song was written and performed by Jenni Malone and our logo was designed by Harriet Frant. Lost Ladies of Lit is produced by Kim Askew and Amy Helmes.
78. The Gillian Beer Fan Club
Note: Lost Ladies of Lit is produced for the ear and designed to be heard. If you are able, we strongly encourage you to listen to the audio, which includes emotion and emphasis that's not on the page. Transcripts are generated using human transcribers, and may contain errors. Please check the corresponding audio before quoting in print.
AMY: Hi everyone. Welcome back to another Lost Ladies of Lit mini episode. I'm Amy Helmes.
KIM: And I'm Kim Askew...
AMY: So Kim, if there were a fan club for this week’s subject, the literary critic Gillian Beer, you'd for sure be in it, right?
KIM: Yeah, absolutely. I've turned to her scholarship quite a few times, and I'm talking way back in my undergrad days, studying medieval and Renaissance lit and all the way through my graduate studies when I was primarily focused on Victorian lit. I just love her work so much. I'm so excited to talk about it today. And also, I'm excited to learn more about her, because even though I've read her work, I've cited her often ... I don't actually know that much about her.
AMY: Well, I guarantee you know more than I do, ’cause this is one of those episodes where I consider myself a complete newbie. And I will also confess to being almost scared of anyone at her level of academia. When you hear the number of accolades and awards this woman has, it's incredibly intimidating. I mean, she's actually a Dame of the British empire, awarded that title in 1998.
KIM: I know, pretty fancy, right?
AMY: Yes. So anyway, I'm going to be relying on you in this episode, Kim, to walk me through things a little bit. I read a few interviews with Beer, and she really seems like a nice lady.
KIM: Yeah, she does. Don't be intimidated. It actually reminds me of something. I'm not sure if you know, but, um, the writer Alain de Botton, he wrote, um, How Proust Can Change Your Life and a bunch of philosophy. You know him?
AMY: Yeah.
KIM: So when I was living in London, briefly, several years ago, I actually wrote him a letter -- an email -- asking him if he knew of any Proust clubs in London, because I thought, you know, who else would know if there are Proust clubs in London? And he wrote me back! Like within 24 hours, the nicest email. No, he didn't know of any, but he was very complimentary about my writing, which, you know, I had a blog at the time (of course, like everyone did back then.) And he was very complimentary and nice. And we actually exchanged a couple of emails.
AMY: That's amazing! We're going to say you and he are great friends. We're just going to like, augment that.
KIM: I definitely think so. Yeah. We’d know each other in a crowd. Yeah, for sure. Anyway...
AMY: Yeah, that's a good point. Just because somebody's super smart and intellectual doesn't mean they're unapproachable.
KIM: Yes.
AMY: Um, okay. But getting back to Gillian Beer, what do we know about her in terms of her life story?
KIM: Okay. So let's start out with the fact that she was born in Surrey, England in 1935 and she was the daughter of a teacher and a university professor.
Okay. That makes sense right off the bat. The children of teachers are always smart, I think. And I can say that pretty brazenly as I am the daughter of a school teacher.
KIM: Hi, Phyllis! (That's Amy's mom.) Um, my mom had a few careers, one of them was teaching high school computer classes. So I guess I'm kind of in that club a little bit, too. Anyway, there's a great article by Claire Armistead in The Guardian that talks a bit about Beer’s childhood (and we'll link to it in the show notes) that was super helpful.
AMY: Yes. Okay. And so that is one of the first articles I read when we were getting ready for this episode, and it was great. It really filled me in, and I suddenly was super into this woman just from reading one article. You turned me on to somebody and hopefully we're going to do that to some listeners.
KIM: All right. So to summarize her article a bit, as a young child Beer lived with her divorce mom, and they lodged in the home of a family of bricklayers, but then she was sent off to convent boarding school at age 11. And it sounds like from the article that local officials actually got involved because they didn't think her living conditions were safe at the bricklayers.
AMY: They decided that she needed to be carted off to this boarding school for her own good, it sounds like.
KIM: Yeah. But she didn't like being away from her mom, of course, and that sounds really sad. But then something happened to her.
AMY: Right. She fell down a flight of stairs and hurt her back, which sounds awful. Thank God she survived that. But in a weird twist of fate, it sort of sent her on this trajectory that would become her career because while she was home laid up for six months, she started to read a ton of great literature to pass the time. Just whatever she could get her hands on. She particularly loved Henrik Ibsen, Oscar Wilde…
KIM: Yeah. And there's a funny anecdote where she actually says, "I remember being very struck by Ghosts (the play by Ibsen), which I didn't really understand because I didn't know about venereal disease, but I knew about people going mad in a cloistered life." So reading that, I wonder if that was how she felt about convent school, which is ... Yikes!
AMY: What would you say, she was about a preteen, kind of?
KIM: I think preteen.
AMY: I can't remember what the article said, but it was like, can you imagine reading those sophisticated writers at that age? It's pretty impressive. Okay, so after boarding school, she went on to St. Anne's College at Oxford. It was a women's college then, and even today it still accepts the highest proportion of female students of any college at Oxford. It was around this time she got married to another scholar and literary critic named John Beer. And while she was pregnant with their first child, she was offered a research fellowship at Girton, the Cambridge college we have mentioned a few times on this show. Rosamond Lehmann, the subject of our episode back in September, went there and she wrote about the college in her book, Dusty Answer. Um, I kind love that Gillian was diving into career stuff at the same time she was having babies. (She gave birth to three sons.) But in that interview we mentioned with Armitstead, she admits that having children did slow her down some, as she really wasn't able to write for five years while her children were young. And I found that refreshing to hear, just because she wasn't some superhuman new mother that was doing all this, you know, intellectual career stuff, and also still raising babies. She was having to juggle, and it was a challenge. But she did say that having kids at that time in her career was so valuable to her because it contributed to the sort of scholarship that she would go on to write about.
KIM: Yeah. It was really interesting that while she was observing her children, she started thinking and mulling over all this stuff about evolution, childbearing, child raising, and all of this ultimately inspired her later writing on Victorian literature. So she was teaching, writing these incredibly academic books and raising her sons. Kind of reminded me of The Lost Daughter, which we have talked about actually quite a bit since we saw it.
AMY: Yeah. It sounds like Gillian handled it a lot better than, um, well, I can't remember the character's name...
KIM: Yeah. It's like the positive side of being an academic and a mother.
AMY: Yeah, Gillian Beer said she really enjoyed motherhood when her kids were young. There was no facet of her that wanted to run away and flee.
KIM: No, it doesn't sound like it.
AMY: In fact, it sounds like her early career at Girton was really magical for her.
KIM: Yeah, she actually said, "I don't want to construe my life romantically as this poor little girl who somehow managed to end up a Dame and a professor. But at the same time, all that happened. I'm a historical remnant from the great days of free education I was carried through by the state." I love that she acknowledges, you know, the big part that that played in the experience that she had and what she was able to do with her career and her life.
AMY: Yeah, you got to love a rags to riches story. Anyway, her first book came out in 1970. It was called Meredith: A Change of Masks. That's about the Victorian novelist and poet George Meredith. And, forgive me for saying that I do not know George Meredith.
KIM: I didn't either. I had to Google him, so don't feel bad. I had no idea. He might be more well-known in England.
AMY: True. Um, my cursory internet search of his books did inspire me to bump him higher up on my to-be-read pile after I looked him up because one of his novels, The Ordeal of Richard Feverel is inspired by the collapse of his first marriage, and apparently shocked people with its sexual frankness. He was also nominated for the Nobel prize in literature seven times. So now I'm really feeling like an idiot for not knowing George Meredith, but I digress.
KIM: We digress. So getting back to Beer, the same year she published her book on Meredith, she also had another book out. So two in the same year. And this one was called The Romance. It's about romantic literature from the Middle Ages through the 20th century. So especially the stuff from the Middle Ages and Renaissance I was using all the time and referring to while I was writing my papers in college.
AMY: I think it's interesting, Kim, because I know that you are not as much of a fan of reading non-fiction stuff. What's different about reading her that you super get into it?
KIM: I think because she is writing explicitly about fiction that I'm interested in. So there's that connection there. And then also just the way she looks at science. The way she relates that to fiction, the connection between science and fiction. It's like basically Frankenstein, a nonfiction version, if that makes sense.
AMY: Okay. Yeah. And we’re going to get into that a little bit more in a second, but getting back to her professional journey, um, she wound up working as a fellow at Girton college for 30 years. And then later she was the King Edward VII professor of English literature at Cambridge.
KIM: Whoa.
AMY: Yeah. She eventually became president of Claire Hall, Cambridge's postgraduate college. So Kim, as I've already said, I've never read anything she's written. Tell me what else I should know about her in terms of her work.
KIM: Right. So I talked about the connection she makes between humanities and science. She just does it in this really beautiful, compelling way and it kind of appeals to the way my brain works. Um, I think I understand Victorian science better than maybe contemporary science. Um, but also, she's keying in on the symbiotic relationship between narrative storytelling and science, and I really dig that.
AMY: I don't know what you're talking about.
KIM: Okay. Okay. So I gave a paper at a conference at Claremont Graduate College. It was called Darwinian Theory and its Role in Bleak House.
AMY: You did?!
KIM: I did. Yeah, didn't tell you? I just did that, you know, one weekend. Anyway.
AMY: That's really impressive, Kim!
KIM: Thank you. Anyway, so Beer has a 1983 book called Darwin's Plots: Evolutionary Narrative in Darwin, George Eliot, and 19th Century Fiction. It was a big inspiration for the paper that I gave. And she doesn't discuss Dickens too much in the book. He was my subject in the paper, but um, her writing was more about Thomas Hardy and George Eliot, but it applies Darwinian theory with those authors and it really helped me see Bleak House in a whole new and fascinating way. And then my Henry James thesis was on the literary detective novel, and Victorian science played a big role in that paper too, specifically forensics. So she says in her book, Arguing With the Past, "We need to learn the terms of past preoccupations to experience the pressure within words, now slack, of events, anxieties, and desires." So basically, when you're reading Thomas Hardy, when you're reading George Eliot, when you're reading Henry James, there is a current underneath everything that they're learning about in contemporary science at the time. And it's incredibly impacting their work because all these new innovations are coming up. Darwin is coming up with these incredibly new thoughts that are like sending sparks throughout the entire society. And if you'd read those works from our viewpoint, you don't necessarily get that. She sort of connects you with that. What were they trying to understand then? What were the things they were grappling with at that time? Does that make sense?
AMY: Yes, that is perfect, how you just described it. Okay. Oh my God. It's like a double whammy because not only is she referencing all these classic books that we love anyway.... I mean, Thomas Hardy is a favorite of mine. I know he's super depressing, but I love him. But you're getting like a master class on how to read it.
KIM: It's so important to understand through that lens, what they were thinking of, what was exciting to them, what they were talking about. And at that time, scientists and writers were almost sometimes the same people because they were doing both. They were in the same journals. I mean, they were in the same places in society. They were in salons. They were all interacting with each other. It's not necessarily the way it is now, which feels much more fragmented.
AMY: Got it. Okay. So we need to learn the terms of past preoccupations. That's what she meant by that.
KIM: Yes. Yes.
AMY: I love that. I feel like I'm Oprah, like, "light bulb moment!"
KIM: Oh yeah, totally. Ding, ding, ding!
AMY: Okay. So I can see now how reading her work would give you a new lens with which to look at some of your favorite novels. I totally love it.
KIM: I knew you would. So now you can join the fan club with me. There's stuff of hers that I haven't read. She's also written a book about Virginia Woolf where she looks at To the Lighthouse in relation to the philosophers David Hume and George Berkeley. And I've read Hume and Berkeley in grad school, so I need to re-read Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse and also read her book on that. And this is interesting: she's been a judge for the Booker Prize twice. She was a visiting scholar at UC Berkeley and Yale, and her most recent book came out in 2016, Alice in Space: The Sideways Victorian World of Lewis Carroll. She won a Truman Capote Award for literary criticism for that book.
AMY: As somebody who's always wondered what the hell Lewis Carroll was doing... actually, I love Alice in Wonderland, but to have somebody really smart walk me through it sounds amazing. It's making me think of how much we loved being English majors. And you would have your favorite English professors, and it was so fun to just sit in class and hear them talk. Reading her work is like getting to go back and do that and just geek out over all this stuff.
KIM: Exactly. That's exactly how I feel. Oh, I just wanted to also add that she takes quite a bit of time to work on these. So it's not like she's just putting one out every year. These are actually works that take sometimes many years, even decades to write. There's a lot of scholarship that's going into every single book.
AMY: She just sounds like an academic rockstar.
KIM: Absolutely. And if you loved hearing about her life, she has a short memoir about her childhood in England, just before and during WWII. And I only found out about it while researching this episode, it's called Stations Without Signs, and we'll link to where you can buy it in our show notes. And I think the title refers to the train station signs in England being removed during WWII so as to confuse the enemy. I've ordered the book and I can't wait to read it. And really, everyone who loves reading 19th century fiction, please, please go out and read Darwin's Plots. It will give you an excuse to reread all your favorite novels, as if you needed one.
AMY: She's kind of the sort of person I would love to go have tea with or something. I feel like she would just be a fascinating conversationalist. And like I said, she seems so nice.
KIM: Yeah, very smart, but very kind at the same time.
AMY: I mean, I'm thinking if you and I ever go to London, we are going to meet up with all of our UK previous Lost Ladies of Lit guests. So that's Laura Thompson, Lucy Scholes, Judith Mackrell, Lauren Elkin... who am I forgetting?
KIM: I'm thinking also of future guests, so there's Kate McDonald and Emily Midorikawa and Emma Claire Sweeney. That would be a really great party.
AMY: Somehow we’ve got to get Gillian Beer there, and we're going to just all sit at her feet and worship her like accolytes. And then she will tell us to stop all that stuff and nonsense and pass her another cucumber sandwich. That's what I'm envisioning anyway.
KIM: Somehow I feel like you two would get along. I feel like I can hear you saying that.
AMY: Well, anyway, that's all for today's episode. Keep those emails coming in to us, and tune in next week when we'll be introducing you to yet another lost lady of literature.
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.
77. Daisy Fellowes — Sundays with Leigh Plessner
Note: Lost Ladies of Lit is produced for the ear and designed to be heard. If you are able, we strongly encourage you to listen to the audio, which includes emotion and emphasis that's not on the page. Transcripts are generated using human transcribers, and may contain errors. Please check the corresponding audio before quoting in print.
AMY HELMES: Hey, everybody. 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 writing partner, Kim Askew, and we're about to get super glamorous and sophisticated on you for this episode, right, Kim?.
KIM ASKEW: Yes. And by super glamorous and sophisticated, we mean French. We're going to be talking about Daisy Fellowes, and while her name sounds tres English, Fellowes was half-French and half-American and spent her life in Europe where she was a French socialite as well as an acclaimed beauty and heiress and the Paris editor of Harper's Bazaar, among other things. But in addition to being the epitome of 30s chic, she was also a minor novelist, which is why we're discussing her today. And we're super excited to have the multitalented Leigh Plessner on to discuss Fellowes and her 1931 novel Sundays with us.
AMY: Oola la la! I can't wait. So let's read the stacks and get started.
[intro music]
KIM: Our guest today is Leigh Plessner, the creative director of the cult favorite jewelry store Catbird. She also writes for New York Magazine's column "The Strategist." And I'm so thrilled to have you on, Leigh, because not only am I a huge fan of Catbird -- I have many tote bags in my house from all the orders -- but I also follow your beautiful Instagram account. It's romantic and charming and erudite, and, like Catbird, has this wonderful element of fantasy, which is one of the reasons why you are perfect for the discussion of this book. (The full title of it by the way is actually Sundays: A Fantasy.) Listeners, I found out about the book in the first place because Leigh posted it in her Instagram stories. So thank you for introducing us to this arch and frightfully chic little novella and for coming on the show with us to talk about it.
LEIGH PLESSNER: Thank you so much for having me. I am an avid listener of Lost Ladies of Lit, and I'm so pleased to be here.
AMY: Yay. Um, so now we know that you studied English lit in college, right? Is that how you first encountered this?
LEIGH: So I did study English literature in college, and then right afterwards, I went and I worked at this really wonderful independent bookstore where I got to sort of get a second degree in the art of reading. And I had heard Daisy Fellowes's name over the years, but very much in passing. Then a snippet of Sundays turned up in this newsletter that I get called Opulent Tips, which is by a fashion writer and editor named Rachel Tashjian. And I immediately began the eBay search to try and track down a copy.
AMY: Which is challenging! When we had agreed to do this book with you and I went to get a copy, we had a moment of panic because I was like, "Kim, we can't get this book! What are we going to do? Can listeners get this book?" And we will discuss that later. So listeners, don't worry. You're going to be able to get a copy of this book. But yeah, it's hard to find.
LEIGH: It is indeed. It took me a few months of searching. And then there's some really expensive copies, and I got super lucky with a not-very-expensive copy. But it is very hard to find.
AMY: And I even remember you so kindly offered to let us borrow that copy, which luckily we didn't need to do..
KIM: Yeah, we were like, “No, we don't want to do that.”
AMY: I know, because I was like, "If that got lost..." Oh my gosh.
KIM: Yeah.
LEIGH: Well, I would love to share it. If anybody is desperate to read it, you can DM me and we can see about a little book loan.
KIM: A little Lost Ladies of Lit lending library. I love it.
AMY: Okay. So Kim mentioned in the introduction that Daisy was an heiress, but she was not your garden-variety heiress. She was an heiress to the Singer sewing machine fortune. Her grandfather was New Yorker Isaac Singer, who invented the first practical and commercially successful sewing machine. Her mother was heiress Isabel Blanche Singer, one of Isaac's 24 children. And I just needed to take a moment to let the idea of 24 children sink in. Um, but anyway, that was her mom's side of the family. Daisy's father was the Third Duke of Glucksberg, an aristocrat and sportsman. So she was actually an heiress twice over. And to say she was enormously rich does not even do it justice ... like filthy, filthy, filthy rich. Daisy was born in 1890 in Paris, and Lee, do you want to share with us, if you know anything more, about Daisy's youth?
LEIGH: I might butcher some names, but I will try my absolute best. So Daisy was a middle child. She had an older and a younger brother. Each sibling was born within one year of each other. And when Daisy was only six years old, their mother committed suicide. The children were then raised mostly by their aunt, Winaretta, who was also known as Princess Edmond de Polignac. Winaretta had a really remarkable life of her own; she was a patron of the arts. She established a music salon in Paris where her proteges included Debussy and Ravel. Uh, she also had a couple of entirely chaste marriages and several high-profile relationships with women.
AMY: She sounds like she could have her own episode, a mini episode, in the future, right, Kim?
KIM: Yeah, absolutely. She's super interesting. So Daisy emerged from this "poor little rich girl" childhood to become one of the first "It Girls." She was on the cover of Vogue and Diana Vreeland said of her: "She had the elegance of the damned." I love that quote; it's so good. Karl Lagerfeld reportedly said she was "the chicest woman I ever laid eyes on." She was a friend of Coco Chanel and the muse of Elsa Schiaparelli, who invented the color shocking pink just for her. Leigh, can you tell us more about what set Daisy's style apart?
LEIGH: Absolutely. So Daisy was very daring in her personal style, and that appealed deeply to the Surrealists of the time. She was said, also, to have directly inspired Coco Chanel. She wore clothes by Schiaperelli and she was a favorite subject of Cecil Beaton. She also had the most amazing jewelry collection.
AMY: Which appeals to you, right?
LEIGH: It does indeed.
AMY: Probably a bit more ostentatious than the typical Catbird design.
LEIGH: Opposite ends of the spectrum. But, um, uh, both devoted to materials and craftsmanship.
KIM: We're talking pieces by Van Cleef and Arpels, Belperron and, famously, Cartier. Apparently jewelry historians are fascinated with this collection. Lee, since this is your area of expertise, do you want to tell us more about that?
LEIGH: I would love to. So I was looking at all of the photos of Daisy that I could find, and she had this amazing pair of diamond and emerald bracelets, and in the photos she would stand exactly just so, so that they fanned down perfectly around her wrist. I've never really seen bracelets quite worn like this, where they occupy the wrist and then they go somewhat down the hand as well and they wrap around either side of the fingers. They're really spectacular. So they are a matching pair and they also could be worn together as a necklace. Um,
AMY: I want to jump in for a second because I read an anecdote about these bracelets and the reason she had them on each wrist was because she didn't like asymmetry. I don't know if that's true but yeah,
LEIGH: But I love the juxtaposition of somebody who is inspiring the Surrealists and who was so, sort of unconventional in so many ways and yet had such a strict order about things. That makes it so much richer and more interesting. So she also owned... Cartier had this collection, this series, called the Tutti Frutti collection, and she owned the most spectacular of all of the Tutti Frutti pieces. It was full of just an enormous ruby and emerald and diamonds and some sapphires, and it tied shut with a black silk ribbon.
KIM: That sounds gorgeous.
AMY: I'm salivating. And also, you mentioned the Surrealists, and I had a great anecdote about Salvador Dali. She apparently told Dali that she could make anything fashionable. And he said, "Very well, take off your shoe and put it on your head." And she did, and she made a shoe hat become a sensation. There's a total style of hat called the shoe hat that springs from this anecdote, which I think is fabulous. It looks like an upside down shoe.
KIM: That's crazy. I love it.
AMY: Serious confidence. Anyway, uh, getting back to her personal life, Daisy was married a couple of times. Her first husband committed suicide, sadly, after his affair with a chauffeur was exposed. Then at one point, Daisy took Duff Cooper, the British ambassador to France, for her lover. And she also famously set out to seduce Winston Churchill, right?
LEIGH: Yes. This is true. So Winston Churchill's secretary wrote a memoir, of course. And in it, he told the story of Winston telling him that one time he fled from a room when Daisy Fellowes, who had asked him to tea, received him lying on a tiger skin chaise longue. This seduction did not go well, but Daisy did end up marrying Winston's cousin, Reginald.
KIM: Wow. She really went all out. I mean, that's kind of embarrassing.
LEIGH: It's so not the Winston Churchill we think of, right?
KIM: No.
LEIGH: But apparently even Clementine forgave Daisy for this overture. So all was well,
KIM: Yeah, there's so many great anecdotes about her. So another thing, she was also a mother, but really hands-off and by really hands-off, there's an anecdote about that as well. Do you want to tell it, Leigh?
LEIGH: Sure. So, there's a story about Daisy that goes something like this: she saw a group of girls playing in a park and she turned to the nurse who was watching them and said, "Whose lovely little children are those?" To which the nurse replied, "Yours, Madame."
KIM: I love it.
AMY: Oh man. So in addition to being this incredible fashion muse, she was also the editor of Paris Harpers. The Daily Mail, which is kind of known for its sensationalism, I think we can say ... they wrote of Daisy: "She lived on a diet of morphine and grouse and the occasional cocktail."
KIM: Ouch.
AMY: Yeah. And the title of that profile is "The Most Wicked Woman in High Society." I kind of think she probably saw that and loved it and almost would not have taken offense.
KIM: It's almost like performance art.
AMY: Yes. She was a collector of jewelry, art, lovers, erotica, you name it. But then she also wrote several novels and an epic poem, which is starting to give her a lot more depth, right?
KIM: Yeah. And after reading Sundays and learning more about Daisy, I kind of have to wonder if there was a lot more there there, if you know what I mean. I can't wait to hear what you both think. Um, anyway, Amy, that is an excellent segue into talking about Sundays, which was not at all what I expected. I knew absolutely nothing about who Daisy Fellowes was before we started researching this episode, and based on her name and the title of the book, I kind of imagined Sundays was going to be this charming little innocent, English romp of a book, maybe set in a pastoral English countryside. And it is a romp, but it's a completely different kind of romp, right?
AMY: It feels very French. We read an English translation, and even if you took the French names out of it, I feel like you could still tell this was French, you know? Sundays was originally published as Les Dimanches de la Comtesse de Narbonne or The Sundays of the Countess de Narbonne in 1931, it came out. But it was translated in English as Sundays in 1960. So the version we're actually using is the 1960 translation. Leigh, can you give our listeners a quick spoiler free summary?
LEIGH: I would love to. So in a spa town in the French countryside, Mademoiselle Mélanie Emperor, a gray-haired masseuse, lives in her once-grand family's home with her young servants, Germaine. One day Germaine runs away from her life with Ms. Melanie and she runs towards beauty and opulence. But the path along that road is very, very bumpy and not everything is as it seems.
AMY: Did you have any favorite passages from the book that would maybe give listeners a little bit of a feel for the prose?
LEIGH: I do. This is from page 20, if anybody is able to get their hands on this. This is Mélanie waking up in the bedroom of this home. And it had once been her mother's bedroom. So she has all of these childhood memories of this room: She loved them all; especially the high satin-wood cupboard incrusted with ebony that bore as a proud pediment the letter 'E' tenderly embracing the letter 'M.' Upon the serpentine chest of drawers stood a plaster bust of Napoleon the III that baby Meélanie had playfully decorated in Indian ink with sardonic eyebrows and a military moustache. The armchairs, hassocks and pri-Dieu were covered in a raised plush of Gothic design. Next to the opulent curtained bed surmounted by a circular dome stood the conjugal two-decker commode with a slate top that held a painted carafe, small vial of orange flower water and a sugar basin. Also a nightlight in the shape of a castle. The only new item, added by Mélanie, was the fancy kidney-shaped dressing table decorated all over in thick lace over rose satinette. It had a large three-sided mirror attached to the back which made it impossible for the person sitting at the table to see anything but the top of her head.
KIM: I feel like that is the perfect passage. And it's so interesting that Daisy chose to inhabit in this book the life of a poor working girl, who's basically the subject of this novel. But it's subtitled "A Fantasy," and it is quite funny. I'm thinking of the character you're talking about in your passage, Mélanie. She cleverly uses the bridge over a passing train as a vibrator, so that's pretty funny. But it's also somewhat tragic, too. The brother's a pedophile. There's a hint of incest. Germaine has an abortion she doesn't want. Do you think the subtitle is merely ironic or is there more to it? What do you think she was doing with that?
LEIGH: I was also struck by how much it wasn't a fantasy. And I didn't leave this book feeling resolved or as if I understood it, really very much at all. There's this light tone to the book. There's like frippery, there's satin bed covers, but there's also a lot of darkness. I don't even totally know what I mean by this, but was it a fantasy of how hard life could be? We know that Daisy had so much hardship in her life alongside of so much luxury. So was she exploring that in a different setting? I truly am not quite sure.
AMY: I have the exact same note. That there's this lightness and buoyancy to the book, but then there's this undeniable sadness. And the main character's kind of flitting from lover to lover. And we know that Daisy had lovers galore. So I'm wondering if it's a little bit of an elegy about, you know, not really being able to find what you're looking for sort of thing. I also feel like it's a book that maybe you're not meant to read so much into. I do not understand parts of this. It is weird.
LEIGH: I thought it was really, um, noteworthy and surprising that Mélanie was such a fully developed character and that she had gray hair and she had bad feet. She was not glamorous in the way that I think the people that Daisy interacted with were. She was normal in many ways in this fantasy. And I really wasn't expecting that. And I found that very sweet and tender. I didn't feel as though she was laughing at her.
KIM: I love the way you put that. I completely agree.
AMY: And also for this heiress who has money galore to write about a character whose main dream in life... Germaine doesn't quite know what she wants; she's figuring it out as she goes along. She thinks she wants money. She thinks she wants the high life, but we come to find out that what she really dreams of is a little house in the country, you know, near a pine grove. She wants something very simple at the end of the day. And to look at this woman who had everything that money can buy, there's almost like a wistfulness, that life was sort of unavailable to her. So maybe that's her fantasy in a strange way.
KIM: Yeah, like Marie Antoinette and her dairy.
AMY: A little country house. Yes. There was one little other passage that I really wanted to read because I loved it. And so if you guys don't mind... also getting back to Germaine's quest for love, there's a moment in the book where she finally, she thinks, is experiencing her first moment of truly falling in love. And I loved the description of it. I think it's a great scene. So I'm going to read it. She basically meets this sort of playboy viscount. They are at a festival and they go on the carousel, which we just recently had a mini episode on carousels. Um, so they get onto the carousel and I'm going to read what happens next:
A stuffy family settled on the scarlet cushions of the open sledge pulled by two white swans. They immediately became an Imperial Family and smiled while bowing graciously to left and right. The merry-go-round began wheezing and turning sluggishly with the effort of an old suburban train getting going for the day. Then the organ and the machine moved faster and faster. Moving like mad, The Blue Bells of Scotland went into a crazy rhythm, one grew dizzy, the spectators became blurred, a galaxy of coloured stars. Germane cried, 'Faster, faster.' Just as she spoke, they stopped suddenly with a double hiccup that much upset the Imperial Family. When she got down Germaine found that the ground was playing at ocean waves.. She bent back a little to steady herself but lost her balance. A strong arm took her by the waist, 'Ho la' said that Playboy, for it was he. Still rather dizzy, she felt a delicious tingle that started from the small of her back and ran all over her, exactly just the opposite of what one feels when one's foot has gone to sleep. This wonderful sensation entirely pervaded her unsuspecting body. She was waking up for the first time in her life. They walked about like this closely linked, separating only for major reasons like firing a shot or throwing a hammer. Germaine's lips parted in a ravishing smile. "Myosotis," said he gently leaning close to her ear, for he was quite tall. [Myosotis is going to be his little pet name for her.] Presently they found they had strayed outside the Fair grounds on to a deserted avenue where stray paper and dust danced merrily. The avenue led past a deep declivity where the old fortifications had one stood. He took her in his arms. She realized that she knew nothing about love.
I love that. I mean, it just gives you the feeling of what it is like to have that initial stage of being swept off your feet, literally.
KIM: Yeah, that was gorgeous. So, um, while I was trying to find out more about Daisy and the book Sundays and what people thought about it, I thought maybe some critical, popular or academic reception of it might help me understand it. So I looked on Jstor. I Googled, I looked everywhere and I couldn't turn up anything in English or French. So I reached out to Laura Thompson, our guests for the Nancy Mitford episode. She has a new book, Heiresses: the Lives of Million Dollar Babies, and lo and behold, Daisy Fellowes is one of her subjects! So I messaged her to find out if she'd uncovered anything regarding Sundays while she was researching Heiresses. Fortunately for us, she had. Nancy Mitford actually read it and liked it! How perfect is that? She wrote in a letter to Evelyn Waugh that "old Daisy has written a nouvelle, which isn't bad at all in a sort of Firbank way." So I then had to Google Firbank, and she's referring to Ronald Firbank, an English novelist whose novels were dialogue-filled sexcapades. He had, and has, a lot of fans from Evelyn Waugh to Alan Hollinghurst, and the late Susan Sontag named his novels "part of the canon of camp" in her 1964 essay "Notes on Camp." And this is all making me think of the Met Gala's 2019 camp theme. I'd been wondering why Sundays was translated to English in 1961 and not earlier, and maybe this idea of camp as a clue... there's something very Sixties about it. I don't know. What'd you guys think about that?
AMY: I'm not sure. I don't know. She died in 1962. So this English translation is actually a few years before that, but I also kind of wonder if maybe there was, you know ... sometimes famous people are getting towards the end of their life and there's almost like a looking back at them, kind of a renewed interest. I don't know, but...
KIM: Maybe England wasn't ready for this in the Thirties. And they were in the Sixties.
AMY: Yeah, I don't know. I love that Laura Thompson was able to weigh in on this for us too. And it just makes total sense that there'd be a connection between Daisy and Nancy. They were both bright young things of their time. I'm sure they crossed paths a lot.
KIM: Yeah. And I mean, the one little tidbit that I was able to get about Sundays happened to be from Nancy via Laura, and that's so cool. Also there's a little more, too. Laura said that Nancy actually got along really well with Daisy, but at one point, Nancy got chucked from one of Daisy's yachts, she had two of them, and it was to make room for one of Daisy's lovers. So all's fair in love and war. Right?
AMY: The lover comes first. The lover du jour, we should say. And speaking of love, one of Daisy's so-called vices was her collection of erotica that she loved to show off. I think we touched on that earlier. We need a traveling exhibition of this. When is this coming to the States? Field trip, if and when it does. We should also mention that Sundays is beautifully illustrated with charming scenes and nudes by a guy named Vertes. Vertes was Marcel Vertes, a French costume designer and illustrator who won two Academy Awards for best art direction and best costume design for his work on the 1952 John Huston film Moulin Rouge.
KIM: Yeah. And I would say that this book almost seems like it should be judged as a whole package, these lovely illustrations being an important part of the overall fantasy of the book.
AMY: What'd you think of the illustrations, Leigh?
LEIGH: I very much agree that it's the whole package. It almost feels like a grownup picture book. And Sundays grew out of a trip that Daisy and Vertes took to take the baths in France together. And they conceived of these stories about the locals in town, and, I suppose, at the spa as well. So it was born out of working together.
KIM: Oh, that's so playful. I can imagine them totally being like, "Oh, what do you think that person's life story is?"
AMY: Here we are trying to read deeply and it's probably just, they were having fun.
KIM: What a clue! I love that you found that! That's wonderful.
LEIGH: It's on the inside flap.
……
KIM: I think that's super illuminating.
LEIGH: I did learn, also, from here that she, um, was friends with Cocteau, which makes so much sense. Yeah.
AMY: She was friends with everybody; she knew everyone. Yeah.
LEIGH: Amazing that given the world in which she inhabited and how central she was, as the center of this web in so many ways, that there hasn't been a film about her. There hasn't been a biography about her, there hasn't been even very many articles written about her.
KIM: Yeah, it's really, really limited. I mean, we've talked about some obscure women on this show and she was one of the hardest to find anything about. And she is one of the more recent people!
AMY: I know, and she was so famous! I mean, it's really odd.
LEIGH: Did you guys see the picture of her bathroom?
KIM: No...
LEIGH: I'll have to find it and send it to you, but it's very much like talking about that deluxe, double decker commode. She had, uh, this very beautiful cane chair that sat over and around the bathroom. And the whole piece was about, um, sort of the bathroom as a salon.
KIM: Oh, interesting. I love that, we'll link to it in the show notes.
LEIGH: Seeing that photo of her bathroom really reinforced that description...
KIM: The idea of "the throne." Okay, so we know The Daily Mail called her "the most wicked woman in high society." And she had this really extreme reputation for being sharp and hardened, for being a thief of other women's husbands, for being a bad mother, all these things that we talked about. But I read that she actually donated all of her salary as editor in chief of Harper's and a large amount of her total fortune to a local orphanage. I thought this was really interesting considering that anecdote about her not recognizing her children in the park. It's obviously a ridiculous anecdote. Probably not true, of course. But you have to wonder how many of the other stories about her were just malicious gossip?
LEIGH: I agree, I think that she was probably very complex, and complexity can get reduced , often for women, into being wicked or bad and being a bad mother. The snippets that are around her really turned her into this Cruella-like character, but, um, there was this tenderness and curiosity in Sundays that really belies this notion that she was just flip and glamorous. I also think about how her mom left her life when she was so small and what a heavy burden that is to carry. Who knows the way that that manifests itself?
AMY: I agree completely. In terms of the anecdote about her mothering, in Sundays, we end on a portrait of the main character as mother, and it's this very sweet, poignant moment between her and her child. And she's also very mothering and nurturing to her brother.
KIM: Yeah. I almost feel like the level of viciousness about her, The Daily Mail and things like that, it seems like it can't be true because it's just so dark and over the top, like obviously somebody was mad for some reason, you know?
AMY: Like I said, I feel like she seems like the type of person that actually wouldn't have even cared, you know, like she would just lean into it.
KIM: The performance is working. They're believing it.
AMY: So, as we mentioned at the top of the show, we did find it a little challenging to track down a copy of this book. Kim and I managed to borrow it from the library at Mount St. Mary's College here in LA. So, you might check your library. But affordable copies do pop up online, you just have to keep checking. So by the time we finished prepping for this episode, we were able to purchase a $25 copy online. Leigh, have you by chance read any other works by her? I know she has another title called Cats in the Isle of Mann.
LEIGH: Um, so Sundays is all I have read, but I do have an eBay search and alerts set up right away. And you also remind me that I need to email one of my favorite book sellers here in Brooklyn to see if he ever comes across anything to let me know.
AMY: I will say about Cats in the Isle of Mann... we haven't read it either, but I will refer back to a previous guest of ours, Brad Bigelow from neglectedbooks.com. He did a blog entry on this book and he rated it "justifiably neglected." He didn't think it was that great.
LEIGH: Maybe that's the meanest thing anybody's ever said about her.
KIM: So while we're lucky enough to have you on with us, would you like to recommend a couple of other books that struck your fancy?
LEIGH: Yes. I would love to. One of them is lost, but not a lost lady. So I've been reading the adult writings of -- that sounds like a euphemism for something, but it's really just the not-children writings of Ludwig Bemelmans who wrote Madaleine and illustrated Madeline. And it is so wonderful. And for all of the reasons why everybody loves Madeline and going to Bemelmans bar, it should be all of the reasons why everyone should spend some time with his other work.
AMY: What is it? Is it fiction? Nonfiction?
LEIGH: It's everything. So I have a collection that his wife pulled together after he died that was called, Tell Them it was Wonderful. And it comes from, I believe he wrote for The New Yorker. He wrote for many other publications, but he also published novels. And I just got off of eBay a lot of books. I think it's five of them, including The One I Love Best, which was devoted to his friendship with the decorator Elsie de Wolfe.
AMY: I feel like that name came up for us, Kim, when we were doing, um, um...
KIM: Marjorie Hillis?
AMY: Yes. Yeah. Marjorie Hillis. Yeah. Okay, um, well I don't even think of him as having written anything but Madeline books.
LEIGH: He had such an enormous life, and did so many things. And it's all just really beautiful.
KIM: That's wonderful.
AMY: Yeah. Thanks for recommending that for us. And then also thank you so much for joining us today. This has been such an interesting conversation and we're so glad that you had posted that Instagram story when you did. It's been great having.
LEIGH: Thank you so much. It was such a pleasure. And I'm so glad that I got to navigate this sort of unexpected and strange book with other people. It made it so much more fun.
KIM: Thank you for being willing to come on and do this with us. And also, merci to the ever lovely Laura Thompson for providing some great anecdotes for this episode. I pre-ordered Heiresses and I can't wait to read it.
AMY: Yeah, same. And if you want to know more about Daisy Fellows, I think you'll find it in the pages of Heiresses. So definitely check out Laura's book for more. We'll sign off now, but don't forget to subscribe to our newsletter where we'll occasionally be giving out sneak peek info on which books we'll be featuring in future episodes.
You can get a jump on your reading if you're inclined to read along with us.
KIM: And as always check out our website lostladiesoflit.com for a transcript of this show and further information.
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.
76. Lost Ladies of Aviation
KIM ASKEW: Hey everyone, welcome to another Lost Ladies of Lit mini episode. I'm Kim Askew.
AMY HELMES: And I'm Amy Helmes. And today we're switching gears a little bit to talk about a pioneering female pilot from the 1930s who became a celebrity, thanks to a historic solo flight across the Atlantic.
KIM: Amelia Earhart. Right?
AMY: Well, no, hold that thought because we're also going to discuss a female aviator who tragically went missing. Her body was never found after her plane crashed.
KIM: Okay, well, now that's Amelia Earhart, right?
AMY: Nope. At least that's not who we're focusing on in this episode and see, that's sort of the problem when it comes to women in the history of flight. She's the big name everyone knows, but there are dozens of other women pilots that deserve recognition. And we're going to focus on two of them today. Their stories have much in common with Earhart's, and their lives were flat out fascinating.
KIM: All right. Let's expand our horizons, especially since one of the aviators we're going to be discussing today. Beryl Markham, was also an author who, like Earhart, wrote about her adventures. So technically a lost lady of literature too. And Ernest Hemingway of all people admired her writing.
AMY: Knowing Hemingway, who knew her, that's probably not all he admired about her.
KIM: I can only guess.
AMY: She was a good looking lady. Um, anyway, the other aviator we'll be talking about today is a name that actually cropped up in books we discussed in last week's episode, Noel Streatfeild's The Whicharts. Amy Johnson is the pilot that the flying-obsessed little girl in her book idolized.
KIM: Okay, this is so cool. I'm loving the synergy. So fasten your seatbelts, everyone, and return your seat backs and tray tables to their upright positions, because we are going to tell you about a couple of female pilots who deserve to be filed away in your brain right alongside Earhart. Who should we discuss first, Amy?
AMY: I think we should start with Beryl Markham. I did want to say though, I think you sound like you could be a flight attendant.
KIM: I've always wanted to say that!
AMY: I liked your delivery. So while Earhart may be the first female pilot to pull off a transatlantic crossing, she did it from east to west. Beryl. Markham was a British-born pilot who pulled off the same feat in the opposite direction. Now she did it four years after Earhart's historic flight, mind you, but it's actually a much longer flight. You're heading west right into the jet stream. So definitely nothing to sneeze at.
KIM: God, I hate long flights, even when I have in-flight movies and free biscotti and beverage service and all that. But anyway, Beryl's backstory is also pretty interesting because at the age of 40, in 1904, her family moved from England to Kenya. Her mother was really not feeling it there and so she moved back to England, which meant Beryl was basically raised by her dad and his Masai servants who taught her Swahili and how to spear hunt .Later in adulthood, she befriended Baroness Karen Blixen. That's author Isak Dinesen of Out of Africa fame. In fact, if you remember the pilot Denys Finch-Hatton from Out of Africa, he was Blixen's lover. He was also Markham's lover for a while. He's the one who sparked her interest in learning to fly\.
AMY: Yeah. And so in her late twenties, around 1931, she began taking lessons and she became the first commercially-trained female pilot in Africa. To get that certification meant knowing how to strip and rebuild her plane's engines. So she started off as a bush pilot earning her money helping big game hunters spot game animals from the air. Prior to that, as a young woman in Africa, Beryl was actually the first woman to earn her license as a race horse trainer at the age of 18. That's the same trade as her father. She eventually trained six winners in the Kenya Derby, in fact. But getting back to her love life for a second, I know it's not as important as her career feats, but it's really just as interesting. She was glamorous and captured the eye of many men. Apparently she had a scandalous affair with Queen Elizabeth's Uncle Henry, the son of King George V. She met him when he was big-game hunting in Kenya.
KIM: Ooh.
AMY: She was married at the time. Uh, so the Windsor family was pretty aghast at this affair and they nipped it in the bud, but it's quite a salacious story. Uh, there's a lot more to it, and we'll link to an article in our show notes, explaining.
KIM: Yes, but anyway, back to her career, being a pilot in Africa was a dangerous undertaking considering you were flying over pretty remote locales. If something were to go wrong, say, it would go really wrong. All that training in the bush obviously prepared her for this historic transatlantic flight that she took in 1936, which actually did go slightly wrong. She ran in a field and crashed-landed her small single-engine plane in a peat bog in Nova Scotia. She got a bloody gash on her forehead and then wandered through the bog thinking she would probably die there until she stumbled across some local fishermen and explained who she was. So it wasn't pretty, but she did it. She'd flown across the Atlantic from England, making her the first person to do it. The first man to do it had technically started in Ireland. She received a ticker tape parade in New York City for the feat. That is so cool.
AMY: I know, I love that the first guy started from Ireland and she's like, "Oh yeah? Let me back it up a bit." Um, incidentally, Markham's original motivation for wanting to break records as a pilot sort of stemmed from bad blood with an ex-boyfriend. Um, I am so sorry to keep harping on her love life, but it's all kind of part and parcel of her story. So she had become romantically involved with the man who taught her how to fly. His name was Captain Tom Campbell Black, and there was a famous air race in Australia that she dreamed of winning with him. But she found out that he'd flown the race and won it with another pilot. So she was kind of ticked about that. And then shortly thereafter, she found out he had married someone else. It spurned her to want to prove to him that she was every bit as good a pilot as he was, if not better. She wanted to make him eat his heart out by making headlines.
KIM: To the soundtrack of, uh, Taylor Swift's "Bad Blood" in the background.
AMY: Um, yeah.
KIM: And she did it! Good for her. If you want to know all the incredible details of Markham's transatlantic flight, go read her 1942 memoir. It's called West With the Night. What a great title.
AMY: Yeah, and Kim, you and I haven't yet read this one, but maybe the testimony from one Ernest Hemingway can speak to its merit. So this is from a letter that he wrote to his editor, Maxwell Perkins, and it was later used as a blurb on West With the Night when it was re-published in the early 1980s, because Hemingway gushingly wrote, "Did you read Beryl Markham's book West With the Night? I knew her fairly well in Africa and never would have suspected that she could and would put pen to paper except to write in her flyer's log book. As it is, she has written so well --and marvelously well --that I was completely ashamed of myself as a writer. I felt that I was simply a carpenter with words, picking up whatever was furnished on the job and nailing them together and sometimes making an okay pig pen, but she can write rings around all of us who consider ourselves writers. The only part of it that I know about personally, on account of having been there at the time and heard the other people's stories, are absolutely true. I wish you would get it and read it because it is really a bloody wonderful book."
KIM: Wow. Knock me down. That is incredible praise from Hemingway, especially. Anyone who's a famous writer to write that kind of praise for another author. He must've really meant it. Wow.
AMY: Yeah, but there was one line that was omitted from all of that effusive praise when they put it as a blurb on the book, because in the original letter, Hemingway called her unpleasant and I quote a "high-grade bitch."
KIM: "And now we've got bad blood..." Anyway, that's so Hemingway; true to form.
AMY: Yeah, totally. You would expect nothing less from him, but I guess in a way that makes the praise all the more authentic. He didn't even like her, and he gushed about her in her writing. Um, it really does make me want to rush out now and read West With the Night. The book was pretty much forgotten by history, but then it was reprinted in the early eighties, as we said. But you should also know there is some controversy about whether or not she really wrote the book or if it was ghostwritten by, or at least jointly written with, her third husband, screenwriter Raul Schumaker. That's another whole rabbit hole you can dive into. The answers remain inconclusive. I don't know, I haven't researched it really enough.
KIM: I mean, hang on a second. Would they say that if it were the other way around and this was a man's? Uh, no, they wouldn't, so….
AMY: Just have to suddenly feel like, could she really have written this? The fact of the matter is all the anecdotes in the book are her anecdotes, you know, so...
KIM: Oh, and I'm sure if he wrote it he would have told everyone anyway.
AMY: I think that might kind of be what happened. I'm not sure. Um, anyway, Beryl died in 1986, but lived long enough to see the book republished to massive critical praise. There are also several biographies of Markham out there which might be of interest and also a 2015 novel called Circling the Sun by Paula McClain. McClain also wrote the hit novel The Paris Wife about Hemingway's first wife Hadley Richardson. So anyway, there are many more resources out there to check out if you want to know more about Beryl Markham. We really barely scratched the surface of her incredible life. There are so many anecdotes that I didn't get a chance to put it in.
KIM: Yeah, it almost seems like, um, she could be a whole episode on her memoir about that trip.
AMY: yeah, yeah.
KIM: Anyway, let's pivot to the pilot Amy Johnson, who Noel Streatfeild, our last "lost lady," references in her book, The Whicharts.
AMY: Yes, Amy Johnson's life, on the surface, I guess, might not be quite as sensational from a personal standpoint as Beryl Markham's, but her aviation feats certainly were. After I saw her name pop up in The Whicharts, I thought, "Wait a second, who's this?" Um, I did some Googling and discovered that she was the first woman to fly solo from London to Australia. She was nicknamed "The Queen of the Air" and she set many long-distance flying records in the 1930s, both flying solo and with her Scottish pilot husband, Jim Mollison. Jim proposed to her during one of their flights only eight hours after meeting her, which sounds so romantic. Uh, but also maybe not a huge surprise that marriage only lasted six years.
KIM: Yeah.
AMY: Um, but anyway, if you check out Amy Johnson's Wikipedia page, there's a gorgeous photo of her staring off at the camera like such a bad-ass. She's got her leather bomber jacket and her goggles are pushed up on her head, and you're just like, "This woman is so clearly fire."
KIM: This is your next Halloween costume.
AMY: Oh my God. I
KIM: It's perfect. And she has the name, Amy. Anyway, this other Amy apparently had several white-knuckle moments in her mini adventures. She and Mollison crashed landed their playing in a drainage ditch in Connecticut on a route from England, but survived with only a few scrapes. She also crashed landed in India and had to get a village tailor and carpenter to help her fix up the plane's wings so she could keep going. She also overturned her glider during an exhibition in England, but was not seriously hurt.
AMY: She was always literally flying in the face of danger, but ultimately Amy's luck ran out in 1941 when she was serving as a pilot in WWII. She was part of the air transport auxiliary, which transported Royal air force aircraft around the country. And she was flying near Oxford in poor weather conditions when her plane crashed into the Thames estuary. It was supposed at the time that she ran out of fuel, but more recently, it came out that she was maybe probably struck by friendly fire, and this was all covered up so as not to hurt the country's morale during the war, because she was such a legend. A convoy of wartime vessels saw Amy escape the plane in her parachute, and she was spotted alive in the water calling for help. An attempt was made to rescue her, but because of the bad weather, it was difficult to get to her. The captain of one ship actually dived into the water and tried to swim out to save her and he actually died in those efforts. So really sad. Um, they tried tossing ropes to her from one ship and they almost got to her, but she got swept under the boat and they lost sight of her. And anecdotally, one crewman on board, he years later stated that it was thought that she probably got sucked into the blades of the ship's propeller, which is horrific. Her body was never recovered, though her belongings and her log book eventually washed ashore. She was only 37 years-old when this happened. We'll link to a recent news article about the circumstances surrounding her death, because they've, you know, since uncovered a lot more information. So if you'd like to learn more about what really happened the day she died, you can check that.
KIM: Wow. And I'm reminded of the young girl in Streatfeild's book who was so enamored with Amy as a celebrity figure and how devastated the entire British public must have been to have heard of her death. That's so tragic. Wow. And also, someone needs to make a movie about her life.
AMY: Yeah, there were several films made about both Amy Johnson and Beryl Markham. But yeah, as Streatfeild kind of implies in her books, Amy Johnson was basically an obsession of the British tabloids for better or for worse. She was beloved by that country, and she always told people, "Call me Johnny." That was her nickname for Johnson. Um, she was very down to earth despite her fame. People knew how perilous these long- distance journeys were and how much courage and physical stamina and determination and intelligence it required. And to think of little girls of the time being able to read about women like Beryl and Amy in the newspapers, and to have these brave women icons to look up to and to follow their exploits, it's really pretty remarkable.
KIM: Yeah, I'm so impressed by what these women were able to accomplish in their lives. It's incredible. Well that's all for today's episode. Tune in next week, when we'll be discovering another lost lady of literature. We're going to be talking about Daisy Fellowes with Catbird's Leigh Plessner.
AMY: Perfect guest for that book, right? So off we go into the wild blue yonder, but keep those five-star Apple podcasts, reviews, and Instagram shout- outs coming. They are the metaphorical wind beneath our wings. Don't make me sing it people! Um, they make our hearts soar. Is that enough flying metaphors or should I keep going?
KIM: No, that's okay. Thanks. 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.
75. Noel Streatfeild — Ballet Shoes and The Whicharts with Wendy-Marie Chabot
AMY: Welcome back to another episode of Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off forgotten women writers. I'm Amy Helmes here with my friend and co-host, Kim Askew.
KIM: Hey, everyone.
AMY: Kim, did you ever take ballet lessons when you were a little girl?
KIM: Yes, uh, for like a minute. I did tap, jazz, and ballet. I loved the idea of it. The reality of me doing it wasn't great. In high school, I did take modern dance also for one semester. My sister used to sneak and peek at me while I was practicing, and she can probably have you rolling with laughter describing me dancing to Joshua Tree.
AMY: Oh my gosh. Well, I took dance, too, and the joke in my family was that I always would have my tongue sticking out. So there are lots of pictures of me with my cute little outfit and my tongue is just hanging out like a dog.
KIM: That's hilarious.
AMY: But as you know, Julia, that's my 12 year old, she's very into ballet.
KIM: Oh yeah. She looks like a professional, compared to me, especially. She looks like the vision of a ballerina, and I loved getting to see her in "The Nutcracker" this year. That was so cool.
AMY: Yeah, it was fun. And actually a neighbor of ours gifted her with a small statue of that famous Degas sculpture. It's called Little Dancer, Aged 14.
KIM: Yep.
AMY: Only fairly recently, did I discover that there's an ugly undertone to Degas's depictions at the ballet.
KIM: Yes, and I have known about that for a while. The ballet in France and elsewhere was a brothel culture, basically. He was a realist painter who took for his subject matter people in the lowest sphere of society: laundresses and prostitutes, for example. And ballerinas fell in that classification too.
AMY: You can, even in his paintings, occasionally see gentlemen lurking lecherously and, uh, you know, what we once naively viewed as charming is now just kind of sad. And in fact, the young woman who was the model for that sculpture (the one, Julia was gifted), her name was Marie van Goethem. She was one of three sisters trained in the ballet, but it's also known that their mother was basically pimping them out at the same time.
KIM: Hmm, whoa. And actually, it's really interesting how this sort of ties into the books we'll be discussing today. These books offer up a dichotomy between our idealized notions of ballerinas and the darker and more disturbing reality.
AMY: Yes. And we're pretty excited that today's guest suggested we examine these novels in tandem. I can't wait to introduce her so let's rate the stacks and get started.
[intro music]
KIM: So our guests today, bibliophile and bookstagrammer Wendy-Marie Chabot, holds a special place in our heart as she is one of the first people to reach out to us after we started the podcast to let us know she was a fan of the show. Amy and I were like, "Wow, a real person out there is actually listening to us. And she likes us!"
AMY: Wendy-Marie was kind of new to Instagram at the time, and we started following her, only to discover that she has amazing taste in books and really smart and interesting insights into them. I'm always writing down titles that Wendy or her tiny companion recommend. And if you want to know who her tiny companion is, go follow her @whiskeytangowendymarie. Honestly, she reads more books in the time it takes to sneeze than I manage to read in a month. I think I'd even trust her with my credit card to go into a book store and buy a few titles for me. Wendy Marie, incidentally, is also the author of the non-fiction book, Wannabe: Confessions of a Failed Bibliofile, which she wrote under her former online pseudonym, Badgwendel. You are definitely a kindred spirit, I think, although I kind of hesitate to use that phrase, knowing that you're not really an Anne of Green Gables fan. Maybe that's one place where our tastes diverge a little bit, but that said, welcome to the show, Wendy-Marie!
WENDY-MARIE: It’s so amazing to talk to you guys, and about Anne of Green Gables, I have a theory that there are certain classic books you have to be the right age to be introduced to, otherwise you may not appreciate them properly. At the age when most little girls were reading Anne of Green Gables, I was deep down in the Little House on the Prairie, Noel Streatfeild, and Louisa May Alcott phase. Anne of Green Gables never crossed my radar. Forgive me?
AMY: I get that. I feel the same way about certain books. Now that I have that explanation, I get it. So listeners, prior to this recording, Wendy-Marie, Kim, and I actually kind of debated the correct pronunciation of today's lost lady. I had always been saying it “Noelle Streetfield.” What do you think, Wendy-Marie?
WENDY-MARIE: If you have Spotify or any other podcast app, you might want to look up "Desert Island Discs Archive.” Their January 17th, 1976 episode, I believe it's Roy Plomley who is the presenter.The Castaway was Noel Streattfeild and that's exactly how Roy pronounces her name. And she did not object to or correct his pronunciation.
AMY: Okay. That's helpful!
KIM: Well, I'm terrible with pronunciation anyway, as anyone who listens to this podcast already knows. So I'm sure I'll be saying it wrong no matter what. I'll be sure to switch back and forth to confuse everyone. But anyway, now that we've got that straight, um, Wendy Marie, when we reached out to you about guesting, you'd suggested Streatfeild, and I'd remembered reading her 1936 children's book Ballet Shoes when I was a kid, but I was unfamiliar with her other novel she'd published five years earlier, The Whicharts. You described it as the "shadow twin" to Ballet Shoes.
AMY: Right. And we're excited to get into all that and what that means. But unlike Kim, I had never even heard of Noel Streatfeild, let alone read anything by her. I kind of suspect that this book is still pretty well-known in the UK, and British listeners, you can feel free to weigh in on that, but I think it's much less known here in the States. That's despite the fact that Ballet Shoes is a book that comes up in the 1997 film You've Got Mail and it was also made into a film starring Emma Watson in 2007.
KIM: So Wendy-Marie, what do we know about Streatfeild's life, especially as it pertains to the books we're discussing today?
WENDY-MARIE: Well, she was one of five children. She was the second in line. Her father was a vicar. And whenever there was any entertainment that needed to be done for the parish at the vicarage, the children were responsible for organizing it and performing it from soup to nuts. So Noel would be the one who would write the sketches. She would help create amazing costumes. She knew how to do the violin. She was very talented with different things. This was her introduction to the theater and to being different. In her family, she actually stood out. Her sister was a wonderful artist; very beautiful. Her younger sister was incredibly beautiful. Her younger brother had an amazing life. But she didn't really click with the family, and she didn't really connect or click with her mother. There wasn't really a solid bond between the two. And she did have a better bond with her father, but of course, he's a vicar. He's paying attention to the whole parish, versus just the needs of one of his five children.
KIM: That's really interesting. I love thinking of them all entertaining everyone who comes over and like being in charge of that.
AMY: "Partridge Family," vicarage-style!
KIM: Yeah, yeah.
AMY: So even though The Whicharts came out prior to Ballet Shoes, let's start off discussing Ballet Shoes, because it's probably the book she's most famous for. And I think it’s kind of good, in a way, to read this book before you dive into The Whicharts.
KIM: Yeah. I think that makes sense. So we'll get into the book's plot in a moment, but can you first talk a little bit about what kind of reception the book received when it came out in 1936, Wendy-Marie? It was basically an instant hit, right?
WENDY-MARIE: Correct. This was her first published juvenile fiction. She had written adult fiction, some of it under a pseudonym, since the early thirties, but this book came out and it just hit a chord. It's in the middle of the Depression. You've got these three sisters, the characters in the book, who are struggling against the odds. There's this wonderful family bond. And it's very hopeful, so it just sold beautifully. This made her career, truly, as an author. She still continued to write adult fiction throughout the rest of her life, but she's best known for her juvenile work.
AMY: And then her subsequent children's books sort of had the similar title to Ballet Shoes, right?
WENDY-MARIE: Correct. In the UK, her books have different names. For example, there's an amazing book which I'm very fond of by Noel Streatfeild called Dancing Shoes here in America. It came out under the title Wintle's Wonders in the UK. There's another book that was written during World War II for children which is known as Party Frock in the UK. Here in America it's known as Party Shoes. Curtain Up, which is also a wartime book, is known as Theater Shoes. So they did capitalize in the US to brand it out, because if you just put these books out without the "shoe" name, it would not have translated very well to the audience. So I can understand the branding with the publisher saying, "We've established yourself with shoes; let's keep going."
KIM: Yep. That totally makes sense.
AMY: So in terms of Ballet Shoes, can you explain the premise a little bit more for our listeners?
WENDY-MARIE: Of course. This is in the late Twenties into the Thirties, London. We have a young lady called Sylvia and her eccentric -- and when I say eccentric, I'm talking about, "Let's go explore and not tell people where you're going to be for a couple of years," -- Great Uncle Matthew. And he brings her back presents. The first present he brings her back is an orphan little baby girl named Pauline that he found after a shipwreck. He goes away again and brings her another present, which is a beautiful little Russian girl whose name is Petrova. And then the third present, he brings her an adorable little red-headed baby, whose name is Posy. And the children, they're very creative. Pauline is a natural actress. Petrova is a mechanical genius. And Posy is like the next Pavlova; I hope that's how you pronounce that dancer's name. (Also, I cannot pronounce words either.) And they go into theater to earn a living because they're very poor. So Sylvia now has to turn into taking borders in order to keep the girls fed and clothed. And the girls also need to learn a trade because they're orphans; they don't really have any family to rely on, except for Sylvia and possibly Great Uncle Matthew.
AMY: Wherever he is, right?
WENDY-MARIE: Correct.
AMY: Um, okay, so you can't really go wrong kicking off a children's book with foundling children, right? It's kind of a time-tested literary trope.
KIM: Yeah. And I kind of liked that the book doesn't really dwell too much on what happened to the girls' parents. Ostensibly, they came to tragic ends, but it really doesn't dwell on that. It's just like, "Oh, something happened to their parents and he found them on his adventures, or whatever, and he's bringing them home and it's lovely."
AMY: Yeah, and in that first chapter Great Uncle Matthew, nicknamed GUM, he's collecting these babies the same collects his fossils which is why they end up taking the last name of Fossil. It’s all very quirky, and it reminded me very much of the premise for the Netflix series Umbrella Academy, if anybody there has seen that. There's this wise old man bringing together all these orphan babies ... in this case, they don't have superpowers; they have power of the dance. Um, as we said, unfortunately, Great Uncle Matthew doesn’t stick around long enough to the girls' talents. Sylvia is left with these children. There's another adult in the house, Sylvia's long-time nanny, who's referred to as Nana in the book. She's kind of that loving, but stern, nanny that we always see in literature. Her temperament kind of reminded me of Ol' Golly from Harriet the Spy, that kind of "tough love" thing.
WENDY-MARIE: Tough love and very resourceful. A mother figure that's usually a servant of a lower class, who's very resourceful is a definite trope throughout all of Noel Streatfeild's books. It's like she's trying to work out the problem she had with her mother, where the few people in the family who really truly loved and treated her properly were the servants.
AMY: Yeah. Interesting. So if I had any major qualm from this book, it's the fact that none of the characters are really that broken up about the fact that GUM has gone completely AWOL and might be dead somewhere. And their only real worries are that they are flat broke because they've run through the funds that he left them. I would have liked to have seen a little more hand-wringing about, you know, his whereabouts, but I guess the girls were babies when he left. So I can see how maybe he's just almost a mythical entity to them, but you'd think at least Sylvia and Nana would be a little more like, “Hmm I wonder okay?"
KIM: Yeah. but there's something so British about that.
WENDY-MARIE: Exactly. It's like the British explorers that would go off into the jungle and their wives would be, like, twiddling their thumbs, like, "Okay, are you coming back? Yes or no? I don't know."
KIM: Yeah. And then one day, Sylvia basically realizes that GUM's return is long past due and they haven't any money left, but they come up with solutions and they move forward. It's that stiff upper lip, like, "We're not going to let it get us down." Right? "We're going to keep going."
WENDY-MARIE: Exactly. She looks at the options, even though it might move her down a little bit on the social class, she's willing to do what it takes. She's not technically their mother; other people might just shuffle them off to the local foundling society, but she keeps them and takes care of them and does cherish them in her own way.
AMY: So as you mentioned earlier, because they're strapped for cash, Sylvia winds up taking in boarders. They're living in this huge house; they might as well put It to use. I think the addition of these extra people in the house makes the story that much more interesting all of a sudden.
KIM: Yes. For sure.
WENDY-MARIE: It certainly does. And that's one of the beauties of Streatfeild is she had such an eye for all of the people around her that when you read about the doctors (and they're not medical doctors; they're doctors of literature of mathematics) you can almost picture them in your head. And then one of the boarders is Theo, a dance teacher at a prestigious, and when I say prestigious, the proprietor of the school used to dance for the Imperial Russian Ballet, you can just picture Theo perfectly. And then of course, there's some other boarders that come through. There is a gentleman, John Simpson, and he loves cars. He's very mechanically-inclined, and I can picture him very, very clearly in my head.
AMY: So suddenly we have a whole house filled with super interesting people who are sort of lending their expertise and their talents to teaching these children. But even with the renters, money is still tight, which is why Theo, the dance teacher, suggests that the girls maybe ought to get into performing. This is one way where they can make money. Um, I will say that the amount of budgeting that this family does and the detail with which Streatfeild gets into the dollars and cents or the pounds and shillings of it all, is super specific to a crazy degree. There's so much math in the book that I felt like I was doing, you know, every time they needed a new dress. It was like, "Okay, we've got to add this all up in our head. Is there enough to go around?"
KIM: Yeah, they were literally counting every single penny.
WENDY-MARIE: As the daughter of a vicar, she did have what was known as a dress allowance that her father would give her every year. And it was very, very small. In her semi-autobiographical adult books, The Vicarage series, she does talk about how she had to keep everything so very narrow because even though she came from a good background, there wasn't money in her family. And she had to live on a very, very narrow budget. And she herself trained in the drama school. The drama school that she trained in is now The Royal Academy of Drama and Arts, I believe. RADA. And even those fees for her father was a huge drain on the family even after her siblings had already left home. So she grew up with money being very, very, very tight. That's why it's such a relatable book. Even though you might not be going on the stage or a mathematical and mechanical genius like Petrova, or, you know, you might not be Posy who is a light, fairy butterfly of a dancer who's going to make the history books, you can still know what it's like to go, "Golly, I need to budget. I need a new pair of shoes, or I need to upgrade my computer," Or, "Oh my God, my car... I took it for an oil change and I need repairs." It’s that part of doing what you need to do to try to cover what you need in life is so relatable.
KIM: Right.
AMY: And so Sylvia is a little bit skeptical about this plan to have the girls money by performing. But she reluctantly goes ahead with it. The ballet school is a kind of classy place. You know, it's not going to ruin their reputation or anything like that to be involved in it. Um, I think it is really interesting to follow them behind the scenes and get to see what it's like to be backstage at a theater. What's it like to audition for these shows? It seems like it would innately appeal to little girls. I mean, I was the kid who was always in my basement listening to the Broadway recording of Annie and pretending I was in the show, right? So it's just like a fantasy world that I think young girls would really get into.
KIM: Right. And then on the flip side of that, we have this middle sister, Petrova. The fact that she wants something so much different out of life is a key point of this novel, right Wendy-Marie?.
WENDY-MARIE: Yes, it is. Petrova is an interesting case. Out of all of the characters in Ballet Shoes, Petrova is pretty much Noel. She has this beautiful older sister, just like Noel had. She had a beautiful younger sister, very talented. And then you have Petrova, who doesn't quite fit in with the family, even though she's very loved and cherished. And technically, because of the way her mind works, Petrova can just learn those dance routines and get them drilled right down into her. But she doesn't have that passion that will translate on the stage. So she doesn't quite fit in because as you're looking through her, she's the sister that really stands out. She's doing mechanical things. She's talking about airplanes. When Mr. Simpson comes to live with them in the boarding house, the two of them bond over cars and mechanics, to the point where he even gets her a little tiny coverall so she can work on the cars without getting dirty. She always wants something more. And throughout the novel, she kind of cherishes the thought that, “If I'm old enough, maybe I can retrain for something.” She wants to fly planes. She wants motor cars. She just wants something different, which is a very relatable thing to small children. And even adults, you know? You might not fit in in your chosen or found family. So she's very appealing and very relatable.
KIM: Yeah. Um, without her character, it would be, I think, a much flatter story.
AMY: I think that's kind of the appeal of these novels, is that there's a personality for everyone. You know, you have three very different sisters, and as a reader, you're going to identify with the one that, you know, speaks to your own heart a little bit. What I like, also, is that none of these sisters is too precious. I feel like it could have almost tipped over into that, where they're just such good girls. No, they can be a little bratty! All three of them.
WENDY-MARIE: They do learn some very human lessons. When Pauline has her first big theatrical contract, I mean, well, she's only making four pounds a week doing a pantomime, which is a very popular British thing to do, entertainment-wise, around Christmas time. Very, very popular -- many stars get their start in that. But she acts up and you know what? Life slaps her down. And she does kind of learn a little lesson that she does carry with her throughout the book. But it's not pushed down your throat in a twee fashion. I wish there had been a sequel that would have been probing deeper into what happens to the sisters. In other Streatfeild books, you get little glimpses, but I think I'd like to see more of Pauline's journey. Posy, we already know, is going to be an amazing ballerina. We already know she's going to be awesome and amazing. Petrova, I'd love to see Petrova's path more as an adult, but we don't get that, unfortunately. Just glimpses. Just little nibbles.
AMY: Well, if you want to dive deeper into a version of these characters, sort of maybe the dark underside of these characters, we can pivot now to The Whicharts.
KIM: The moment we've all been waiting for!
AMY: Yes, exactly. So Ballet Shoes was a massive success for Streatfeild, but its genesis actually springs from this earlier book of hers that we mentioned, The Whicharts. Wendy-Marie, talk us through this and how it kind of evolved into Ballet Shoes.
WENDY-MARIE: Noel Streatfeild's first career was actually as an actress. She trained at what ultimately became RADA, which is still well known and still going today. And she would go on tour. And while she was on one of the tours, she realized that she was not going to be the success that she wanted to be. Her father died, and when she was coming back home, she realized that what she wanted to do was something else. So why not try writing? And I definitely suggest you listen to the "Desert Island Discs" episode with her from the archives, because her reaction about having a writing career as being more stable than an acting career is perfection. So she decides to write a book. She had already dabbled in writing a little bit, but she decides to write this book about three sisters... who ended up in the theatrical world...
AMY: It's sounding very familiar, huh? To the degree where I finished reading Ballet Shoes, I downloaded The Whicharts to read next. I was still on the very first page when I had to stop myself and double check because I thought I had accidentally opened Ballet Shoes again on my Kindle. It’s that similar. I was like, “Wait, what? Huh?” I had no idea it was practically the same story, albeit a much less sanitized version.
KIM: Yes. The beginnings start off nearly verbatim, but then you quickly realize this isn't a kid's book, right?
AMY: No. It's like a book meeting its evil twin. As I kept reading, I just was like, “Holy crap. I cannot believe the detour that this book is taking from the other one.”
KIM: Completely completely. I mean, it is tawdry! It would be really fun to showcase the contrast by reading a sample from each book. So you can actually see this in action. Um, so Amy and Wendy-Marie, do you want to take it away?
AMY: Sure. I think it would be fun to read from the section where the third and youngest baby girl turns up in each book. So Wendy-Marie, why don't you read the passage from Ballet Shoes first? Um, we'll do just after GUM, which stands for Great Uncle Matthew, has sent baby Posy to the house.
WENDY-MARIE: I'm going to try. My voice is a little rough today, but I'm going to give it a try:
"The sudden arrival of little Posy caused an upset in the nursery. Nana, it was who took in the basket, and when Sylvia got in and went up to see the baby, she found her crumpled and rather pink, lying face downwards on Nana's flannel-aproned knee. Nana was holding an enormous powder puff, and she looked up as Sylvia came in.
“This is too much, this is,” she said severely.
She shook a spray, a fuller's earth over the baby.
Sylvia looked humble.
“I quite agree, Nana. But what are we to do? Here she is.”
Nana looked angrily at Posy.
“It isn't right. Here we are with Pauline rising four, and Petrova sixteen months, and down you pop this little fly-by-night. Two’s enough, I’ve always said. I told the Professor so perfectly plain. Who is she? That’s another thing I’d like to know.”
“Well, her name’s Posy, and her mother is a dancer.”
“Posy! With the other two called as nice as can be after the Holy Apostles, that's a foolish sort of name.” Nana gave a snort of disgust, and then, in case the baby should feel hurt, added, “Blessed lamb.”
“Right.” Sylvia turned to the door. “Now I know how you feel, I shall make other arrangements for her, perhaps an orphanage…”
“Orphanage!” Nana's eyes positively blazed. She pulled a tiny vest over Posy’s unprotesting little head. “Who’s thinking of orphanages? The Professor’s taken her, and here she stays. But no more, and that’s my last word.”
KIM: That was great.
AMY: Yeah, I think somebody has a future in audio book recording.
KIM: I know seriously,
WENDY-MARIE: If I only wasn’t dyslexic and stuttered!
AMY: Now I'm going to read a similar section from The Whicharts, and just to set this up, once again, in Ballet Shoes, we have the young woman, Sylvia, with three babies left by the globetrotting Great Uncle. In The Witcharts, the Sylvia character is now named Rose, and she is actually a young woman who fell into a love affair with a married brigadier who summarily dumped her, but then started saddling her with his subsequent mistresses' unwanted babies.
KIM: Yeah. Not quite the professor of Ballet Shoes.
AMY: And by page five of The Whicharts, the word "fornication" is used. So Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore. Totally different book, but you will see similarities in what I'm about to read. Now, the third baby in this book is named Daisy, so I'll just start with Daisy's arrival.
"On the evening of her arrival, after the Brigadier had left, Rose had gone up to examine the baby. She found its little crumpled red body lying face downwards on Nannie’s flannel-apron knee. Nannie, holding an enormous powder puff, looked up as Rose came in.
“I was ’opin’ you'd come up, Miss. This is too much, this is.”
She angrily shook a shower of “Fuller's Earth” on daisies underneath.
“I know, Nannie, but what can I do? Here she is.” Rose looked helplessly at Daisy.
“Tisn’t right. ’Ere are we, Mamie four-and-a-’half. Tania nearly three. Old enough as you might say to know what’s what. And suddenly down you pops this little fly-by-night, come by God knows ’how. ’Tain’t right.”
“Oh, but Nannie, they’re half-sisters.”
“And ’oo’s the Mother? That’s what I likes to know in my nursery. Miss Anybody for all we knows.”
“I believe she was a dancer.”
“So I should say.” Nannie snorted in disgust. “Just the sort of Mother I should expect. Blessed lamb!” she added to the baby.
Rose was worried.
“After all,” she said; “the other mothers were —”
Nannie interrupted.
“As nice a pair of young ladies as you could wish. If unfortunate. If I lives to be a hundred I’ll always speak well of Miss Mamie. Speak as you find I say. As for Miss Tania: well, she was quite the little lady. As I often says to Cook, it was ’hard to believe she ’hadn’t got no wedding-ring. And now this! A dancer indeed!”
Nannie bristling with indignation pulled a tiny vest over Daisy’s unprotesting little head.
“Well, Nannie, if that’s how you feel, she must go.”
“Go! ’Oo said go? She’s come, an’ she must stay. But she starts with a nasty ’andicap, poor little thin’.
So just comparing those two passages that we just read, you can really see how the first book kind of informed the second. It's so similar, right?
KIM: Yeah. It's like an adaptation, basically.
AMY: Exactly.
KIM: So while both books follow the same plot and feature most of the same characters, the stories do start to diverge a bit as they go along. And we won't reveal any major spoilers, but let's just say the Whichart girls end up being a lot less sheltered than their Fossil counterparts.
AMY: Yes, and Wendy-Marie, would you like to explain really quick for our listeners why they take the last name the Whicharts?
WENDY-MARIE: Well, the Whichart sisters actually have a slightly different origin than the Fossil sisters. The Fossil sisters are all orphans, adopted at various points in GUM's adventures. The Whichart sisters are actually half sisters. They know that they're half sisters; they can't really hide the fact, but they're never told their father's last name and they have to go to school and they need to have a name to be registered under. And the name the children choose is “Whichart,” based on the Lord's Prayer, where it's "Our father, which art..." So they always refer to their father who's most certainly not named Whichart, as Whichart.
AMY: Very cute.
WENDY-MARIE: Their origin is kind of, "Okay... okay, Noel...."
AMY: The irony, yes. Um, so we sexual exploitation in the world of ballet at the top of this episode. And Streatfeild delves into that a bit in this book. Wendy-Marie, would you care to explain? And also, listeners, this isn't an enormous plot point, so we're not giving away anything here.
WENDY-MARIE: Well, here's another part where the Whichart sisters definitely have a much more interesting existence than the Fossil sisters. The Fossil sisters never encounter anything bad in the book, being exploited in that way. They're very safe and protected. The Whichart sisters end up at a ballet school, which is not prestigious. It is very low class. So we have Mamie who's the eldest Whichart sister, who is the first to go onto stage. She ends up in the chorus, and she's very young and she's very tall, and very blonde and very gorgeous. So she is catnip to just about any predatory male. She does end up becoming involved with a choreographer whose name is Dolly, and Dolly is known for preying on young female dancers. There's points where the other dancers are like, "Stay away from him. He is bad. He will ruin your life." Dolly starts creeping up on her and gets her other jobs beyond the first one. And invites her to his apartment late one night and comes up behind and gets her on the couch and starts kissing her. She can't be any more than 15, 16, 17 years old. And this is one of the beauties of Noel Streatfeild's writing. She perfectly encapsulates the terror of doing something for the first time and wondering, "Oh my God, have I made a mistake? Can everybody tell? And am I pregnant?"
AMY: It's super creepy. It's um child abuse, basically, is what it was.
KIM: Oh yeah, for sure. But Mamie gets over it pretty quickly and just kind of moves on and then she ends up making some questionable choices going forward because of this world that she's in, but she's pretty unapologetic about it all. So the book gives this more sobering look at the various options women had for getting by in the world. So different from the more, as you said, "safe" world of Ballet Shoes.
AMY: Yeah. So it's interesting in this book that the mothers of the three orphan babies, we do meet them. We get to know them. That's one facet of this book that I found interesting is that a lot more peripheral characters that are super interesting in The Whicharts, I think. She benches out; she delves into other people's stories. I think these characters are so much more richly drawn than they are in Ballet Shoes. Like the comparison of the Madame Ballet Shoes with the owner of the dance company in The Whicharts is night and day. And it's so much more well-crafted in The Whicharts.
KIM: Yeah, it's like a Dickens character, actually, a lot of the characters, but especially her,`reminds me of a Dickens character.
WENDY-MARIE: And she also reminds me of the owner of the theatrical school in Penelope Fitzgerald's At Freddy's where it's a decaying, decrepit world where things are literally falling apart. When you walk into this school that this Madame runs, it's dirty, it smells, it's filthy. You kind of want to just entirely coat yourself in hand sanitizer after even walking in there.
AMY: It's sordid. Yeah.
WENDY-MARIE: Sordid is an excellent word.
AMY: But yeah, so I liked Ballet Shoes a lot when I was reading it, but then reading The Whicharts and comparing it, it just popped off the page. Ballet Shoes suddenly became a little bit more flat to me.
KIM: Yeah, it's very sanitized. While The Whicharts actually, because it feels more real, it's more poignant. I think it tugs at your heartstrings in a whole other way than Ballet Shoes does.
WENDY-MARIE: Ballet Shoes is a cucumber sandwich at a tea party, whereas The Whicharts is your roast chicken; it's your meat and two veg. You really can dig down in it, and of course, it's because they're meant for different audiences. You don't want to terrify small children with books. You want to be able to escape into them and show parts of the reality, but if you had put half of the things that happened to the Whichart sisters in Ballet Shoes, it would not have been the classic bestseller that we have, because there's so much escapism. With The Whicharts, there's no escapism. It's just unrelenting poverty. It is hard work. It's just grinding. There's so much meat on the bone with The Whicharts. It's that good.
AMY: Um, yeah, I think one thing that both books really have in common is the sisterly bond. I mean, she does a great job in both of the books of really knitting these girls together,
KIM: Yes, even though they're so different, underneath it all there is like this really, really tight bond between all three of them. It's really great.
WENDY-MARIE: They're willing to stand up for each other. An example for both books, the very similar circumstance where they do whatever they can to scrape together the cash so that particular sister has an outfit so she can get the job. There's something very similar in The Whicharts where the character, you think wouldn't do this for her sisters, Miss “I like older dudes and I'm a really pretty tall blonde girl…” Mamie has a gentleman friend who she goes to for money to get the money for the sister's outfit. It's just this amazing sisterly bond. Tania is so desperate in The Whicharts to keep her family together, that she goes on stage for one of the worst jobs ever. It's the most horrific job, but she's willing to do it because that will give money so the family can stay together in an apartment and not have to be parted. And that's one of the strengths. Noel, even though she may not have loved all of her siblings, she had very strong ties to her siblings. Her youngest sister, she adored, Richenda, who was born much later than she was. There's almost a 20 year difference. She loved Richenda like a sister, like a daughter. Her eldest sister, Ruth, illustrated the original edition of Ballet Shoes. So just that strong sisterly bond that Noel had with two of her siblings is transformed and continues, not only in Ballet Shoes, but in her other children's books. So that's just another one of those marvelous parallels, just like these little nibbles from Noel’s life that she's able to bring into her books. So that just makes it so relatable and so real.
AMY: So I've never really had the experience of reading two books like this from the same author that are such mirror images of each other. It was just fascinating for me to get to do that. And I wonder what Streatfeild must have thought initially about turning The Whicharts, this sort of seedy, tawdry story into a children's book. I can see her thinking, “You want me to do what? Huh?”
WENDY-MARIE: And again, that's where I'm like, listen to the Desert Island Discs. In a way, she was like, “Okay?” Because they wanted a book like The Whicharts, but a children's book. And it was very easy to basically just lop off half of it and make things nice and pretty. But as a challenge, as an author, that's one of those things where I don't think I've ever seen a book like that where it's written from two distinctly different points of reference. I mean, you have Stephen King's books. Um, he had two that came out: Desperation and I believe it's The Regulators that came out and were written by his two different author personas, but they were essentially the same story written by a horror author. I've never seen it done by someone doing juvenile and adult, I don't think I've ever seen another example that's quite as compelling. And let me tell you, I've read those two Stephen King books and they're not my favorites. But The Whicharts and Ballet Shoes, um, how fast did I reach for my Kindle and my wallet?
AMY: Obviously Ballet Shoes is pretty popular still. I mean, it's pretty well known. Um, but I wonder if The Whicharts is lesser known because they wanted to sort of, um, keep everything all prim and pretty and just have people know Ballet Shoes. I can see where the publishers might've been like, “Let's just pretend The Whicharts never existed.” And maybe you can answer this Wendy-Marie, like as a little girl, if you read Ballet Shoes, do you then go read The Whicharts and are you sort of crestfallen? Like, “Wait, huh?”
WENDY-MARIE: Well, when I'm reading it in the early Eighties as a little girl living in Michigan with my parents, I had no idea that there were other books that she'd written as an adult. To me, Noel. Streatfeild just wrote these amazing books about amazingly talented kids in really interesting careers. You have the ballet, you have the theater, you have tennis, there's even a book about the circus. There's later books that she wrote in the Sixties and Seventies about children that are TV stars or musical stars or musical geniuses. So I had no clue until I was an adult. that she had written adult novels. But also I think the publishers may have also seen the two Noel Streatfeilds. So it's almost like there's two separate entities the publishers are looking at, you have adult Noel Streatfeild, which I do believe came out under Sylvia [Susan] Scarlett.
AMY: Oh, okay. She had a pen name?
WENDY-MARIE: And then you have juvenile fiction. It's almost like, because there were two different perceptions of Noel Streatfeild depends on what publisher and what sort of genre that you were looking for. I don't know that your average child is going to stumble across The Whicharts, and The Whicharts, honestly, I have not seen as a reprint until within the last four or five years when it did come out on Kindle.
AMY: Got it. Let's talk real quick about the film adaptation of Ballet Shoes. It has Emma Watson and a host of other faces from British cinema that you will recognize. And it sticks with the pretty sanitized version of Ballet Shoes, but they did cherry pick a few more innocent things from The Whicharts to include. Wendy-Marie, what'd you think of this one?
WENDY-MARIE: I have thoughts, but, um, they might not be everyone else's. You guys might not love me anymore. Uh, I really do not care for the 2007 adaptation. I don't really go with Sylvia getting a boyfriend that's Mr. Simpson. (Sorry, spoiler.) I do like the fact that it sticks more with the aesthetic and the vibe. Um, there is a 1975 version that was done by the BBC which is also available to view on YouTube, which is much shorter. It was a serial done in about six episodes of 22 minutes or so, which is a little bit sharper and focuses more on the training and focuses more on the first part of the book. I think I prefer that version because that version really gives you the overall sense of what it was like to be a dancer. What it was like to train. You just get right into it. The Madame in that version, she’s just got these marvelous villainous eyebrows. She's got this amazing accent. But there are some things I do like about the 2007 version. Sylvia becomes more of an individual. Even though I might not like her romance, you see a friendship that she develops with Theo; you just get to see this wonderful bond of how the borders become a found family, not only for the girls, but for Sylvia, who has no one but her governess, no one but her nanny. Her mother has died. Her great uncle is who knows where.
AMY: I liked the 2007 version a lot, and I actually liked that they gave Sylvia a romance. I thought it made the whole thing a little more cohesive and gave her something more to do. And she was played by the actress who plays, um, Miss Darcy, Darcy's little sister in the original BBC Pride and Prejudice. So I liked seeing her face again, and I thought she was a great actress. But I have not seen the 1970 version, so I will reserve judgment and maybe need to check that one out well.
KIM: I have no skin in the game as far as those adaptations. I haven't seen either, but, um, if you are looking for a still darker side to ballet, you could watch the Natalie Portman film Black Swan, and also, there's a movie called Six Weeks. I think it's from 1982 with Dudley Moore and, um, oh gosh, Mary Tyler Moore. Yeah, Dudley Moore and Mary Tyler Moore. It's a melodrama, and the little girl in it is a ballet student, but it is darker. Then also, when I was in high school, in addition to reading all the library subscriptions of Ballet magazine (I was obsessed with it) I also read Gelsey Kirkland's autobiography. It's called Dancing on My Grave. She was one of America's most famous ballerinas in the seventies and she studied under Balanchine and danced in the Nutcracker with her lover, Mikhail Baryshnikov. She was eventually fired from the New York City Ballet for using drugs. But there's a lot more to that story, of course. So if you do want to get some more insight into that world, those are some places that you can look.
AMY: Ooh. Yeah. That darker world of ballet. But Kim, this is making me think of your one and only thespian moment in elementary school. Would you care to share?
KIM: Uh, yeah. So I wrote an epic poem about a unicorn, and I got up in front of my whole school during the talent show and recited it. Only, you know, I was a bit shy, so I actually cried all the way through it. I recited the entire thing while tears were streaming down my face. So that was a moment that stagefright, uh, came upon me and then it took a while for it to come off. But yeah, that is my one big thespian moment.
AMY: You were just really feeling the emotion!
KIM: I was, yeah. It was there. Yeah.
WENDY-MARIE: As a listener, I demand this to be a bonus episode. I want to see video or hear audio of this, please.
KIM: Luckily, none exists, but it's seared into my brain. Like, literally, I can still remember… We were living in Texas at the time and my grandparents came from California for this performance and, uggh, it was just … it's an excruciating memory. But look how far I've come!
AMY: I just want to give you a hug right now, just feeling this.
KIM: Thank you.
AMY: Yeah. Um, and Wendy-Marie, I want to give you a hug too! I know that if you were on the West Coast with us, we would be hanging out.
KIM: Definitely.
WENDY-MARIE: Thank you so much. It's actually been, ever since I heard your podcast, I was like, “Can you imagine the luxury of being on an episode and talking books with two people that you just connect with?” There's just something about the podcast that was so amazing. I actually was introduced to it with your E.M. Delafield episode. I love Diary of a Provincial Lady and E.M. Delafield so very much, so when I was looking for a podcast to listen to at work, I found your podcast and I just was enchanted and I could not stop listening to it. So actually, talking with you is a dream!
AMY: That's one of the great things about our podcast is we know it's helping us find people who like the same things that we do. So, um, it's really awesome.
KIM: So that's all for today's podcast. The three of us will now take our final bows. Feel free to throw roses.
AMY: Yes, but Kim and I will be back next week with another mini episode. In the meantime, don't forget to rate and review us over at Apple Podcasts if you like what you've been hearing, or tell a friend.
KIM: Bye 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.
74. A Short History of Carousels
Episode 82 Carousels in Literature
AMY HELMES: Hi, everyone. Welcome back to another Lost Ladies of Lit mini episode. I'm Amy Helmes.
KIM ASKEW: And I'm Kim Askew. So last week in our discussion of noir novelist Dorothy B. Hughes, we mentioned her book Ride the Pink Horse. The pink horse is actually based off an actual vintage carousel that's famous in Taos, New Mexico.
AMY: Yeah, they call it Tio Vivo, which means "lively uncle" in Spanish. And I'm not sure why it's called that, but I do like it. I think that would be a great band name, don't you? The Lively Uncles.
KIM: I love that. Yeah, one of your kids is going to have to start a band or something and you can prompt them to use that name. Anyway, we talked last week about wanting to maybe explore this idea of carousels more for a mini episode. And so here we are because I mean, who doesn't love carousels, right?
AMY: Right. They're fun. They're kind of even magical. Although I've got to say, personally speaking, carousels always give me a little tinge of anxiety. Are you feeling this at all? Do you know what I'm talking about?
KIM: Maybe. Tell us more.
AMY: Okay. So I have memories of being a kid standing in line for carousel rides at a fair or amusement park, or what have you. And when you're standing in line, you have all this time to pick out exactly which horse you have your eye on, right? "I'm going to go get that one." And then once they let you in, everyone makes this mad, crazy dash to the horse of their dreams. And nine times out of ten, you don't make it to the horse that you were hoping to get. And then it's an out-and-out wild, frenzied race to make sure that you at least get on a horse that goes up and down.
KIM: Right. I mean, who wants one of the stationary horses? It's so boring. You don't want the horse just sitting there.
AMY: No. And to take that one step further even, I was always so paranoid that I'd somehow have to end up on the gondola bench seat and not get a horse at all. I felt like that was a fate worse than death, to end up on the bench on a carousel.
KIM: Yeah, and I was worried that would happen. I don't remember it ever happening, but one thing that always worried me, too, is I would see, I don't know if you were at the ones where you would try to also put a hoop over something while you were on it. So I would see the hoops. They were trying to land the hoop over the hook from the horse.
AMY: It's interesting you mentioned this because when I was researching carousels for this episode, that idea comes up. So we're going to talk about that a little bit more.
KIM: Oh, cool. Okay.
AMY: I'm fascinated that you've actually seen a carousel where you have to do that.
KIM: I have, and I think it's almost like, you know how nervous I get when we're watching the Olympics And I'm like completely biting my nails that someone's gonna fall during the ice skating? It felt like that for me; it's not a sport, but in my mind, I think I took it a little too far, right? And speaking of these frenzied panics, in last week's episode, I happened to mention the Alfred Hitchcock film that featured a whirling carousel at the end. And I couldn't quite remember what movie it was, but I've since figured out it actually is a scene from the movie Strangers on a Train. Do you remember that? Which was adapted from a book by Patricia Highsmith, another female novelist known for her psychological thrillers.
AMY: Yeah, I don't think I've ever seen that movie.
KIM: Oh, okay.
AMY: I know Patricia Highsmith. She is best known for writing The Talented Mr. Ripley book series, and those have been adapted into several films, including the most famous one, I think, which is the Matt Damon/Jude Law/Gwenyth Paltrow one from 1999. You could sort of say that Patricia Highsmith maybe is another lost lady of lit. I think she's probably more well-known than last week's lost lady, Dorothy B. Hughes, though.
KIM: Yeah.
AMY: But I'm glad that you figured out that that's where the carousel was from.
KIM: Yeah.
AMY: I grew up calling them merry-go-rounds, I don't know about you, but, um, I started looking into the history of carousels or merry-go-rounds and honestly my eyes sort of glazed over a bit reading about them from a mechanical standpoint. I just really don't care how they were made or when they were invented. But I did find some interesting merry-go-round trivia if you'd care for me to delve into that a little bit.
KIM: Oh yeah. Definitely.
AMY: Okay. So first up, did you know that carousels in England spin in the opposite direction from ones in North America?
KIM: I had no idea.
AMY: Yeah. So here in the U S if you're standing on the outside of the carousel, the horses always face right. In the UK, the horses are looking to the left, apparently.
KIM: Huh....
AMY: I didn't know that either.
KIM: I know the cars, they were on opposite sides of the road. And so what drives that...
AMY: I don't know.
KIM: Is it all that way?
AMY: I don't know. British listeners out there, let us know if you can confirm this.
KIM: Yeah, Simon Thomas, we're waiting for you to answer this question.
AMY: And I also learned that the premise of ponies going round and round in a circle -- it actually springs from knights' training in the Middle Ages and even dating back further in the Middle East. And so I don't know if it's a game that they would sort of host or just more of a training activity, but there was an exercise where knights or riders would gallop their horses in a circle and toss a ball back and forth amongst each other while they were circling.
KIM: That seems like a sport I could be into. I could care less about football or anything like that, but, you know, with the horses and knights and all that. I think that's pretty cool.
AMY: A new Olympic sport. But I mean, honestly, Kim, you and I can't even really catch a ball standing on our feet.
KIM: We would just watch. Spectators. Yeah.
AMY: Yes, but like I said, it was kind of a training exercise for horsemen in the Crusades, and the word carousel apparently stems from a Spanish term carosella, which means "little battle."
KIM: Interesting. I love this. I actually just assumed maybe it had something to do with the word carouse. This is so cool.
AMY: Yeah. And later, instead of riding the horses and tossing the balls back and forth, skilled cavalry types would actually gallop their horses in a circle and they would spear or swat down rings that were hanging from poles overhead.
KIM: This is what I must've seen when I was a kid. And now it makes sense that that's where this came from. What I saw. I had no idea that it went back that far. That's cool.
AMY: So eventually that whole idea of spearing the rings or catching the rings became a fun thing to do at festivals and places like that. Now there was also another version of the term carousel. It was more of a ceremonial type of parade, like a military parade where knights and noblemen would ride around a pavilion or town square on their horses in a circle. Louis the XIV of France held this kind of display in the courtyard of his Tuileries Palace. I think I'm saying that right: Tuileries Palace. He held one of those to celebrate the birth of his son, and the location of that today is right next to where the Louvre is. And it's still called Le Place du Carousel in Paris. So it's like a famous landmark in Paris.
KIM: Yeah. Now I know why it's named that.
AMY: Yeah.
KIM: So now in terms of the carousel rides we know today, the first ones featured flying horses that hung from chains and they spun out with centrifugal force. Others moved because they were towed by horses or people who walked in a circle, pulling a rope. And then there were also hand-cranked versions.
AMY: Yeah. And so Tio Vivo, the carousel that is mentioned in Ride the Pink Horse it works that way. It's a hand-cranked kind of thing where a guy actually has to do manual labor to get it to go around. And that particular one dates back to the 1890s. But today in North America the oldest platform carousels (and that's the kind we generally think of now where there's like a floor to the carousel) um, there's two really old ones. One is located in Oak Bluffs, Massachusetts, and there's another in Westerly, Rhode Island. And they both date back to 1876 and they were constructed by one of the most famous carousel makers in history, an Englishman named Charles Dare, which actually now has me thinking: if a British guy designed it, did he have the horses facing left or right? I believe these two, I've looked up pictures, and they go to the right, as we said North American horses do.
KIM: Well, I think we need to add this to our list of field trips. The list keeps getting longer. I guess we need to go see this for ourselves. Um, and also, uh, this is reminding me of that memorable scene from Mary Poppins where she takes the children on a carousel ride.
AMY: It's probably one of my top 20 all-time favorite movies. But actually, I've never read any of the Mary Poppins books and those were written by P L Travers, a woman. It stands for, um, Pamela Lyndon Travers. So I guess she's another lost lady of lit that maybe we could do an episode on. I mean, she's not that lost, but I actually haven't read the Mary Poppins books, so...
KIM: No, I haven't either. And I don't know if I even remembered anything about the author or really knew much about the books. And that name isn't familiar to me, so....
AMY: Oh, okay. I thought everybody kind of knew that name. Okay. No, so I don't know, even, if the merry-go-round scene in the Disney movie actually even takes place in the book or if something Disney-fied, which is possible, I'm not sure.
KIM: Speaking of Disney, as we mentioned in last week's episode, in Griffith Park out here in Los Angeles, there's a famous carousel that you and I know really well, Amy. It's a stone's throw from your house, actually.
AMY: Yeah. So Walt Disney, once upon a time, lived in my neighborhood after he moved to Los Angeles and he frequently took his kids to go ride this carousel that's at a nearby park. It was built in 1926. It's quite pretty. So one day while he was sitting on a bench watching his daughters ride the ponies, he was struck by the inspiration to build a theme park. You know, why can't we have a whole amusement park with all kinds of rides like this?
KIM: Yeah, and how often do we hear that you should stop and play and relax and you'll have great ideas. So that's probably the best example of that ever. And also side note: when Walt Disney had a carousel built for Disneyland, he wanted to ensure that every horse on the ride was a jumper. So there were no stationary horses, Amy. He was worried about that anxiety you mentioned at the top of the show. Thank you, Walt!
AMY: So nobody has to be standing in line, like sweating it out. Only jumpers! Guess that's what makes it the “Happiest Place on Earth,” right?
KIM: Yep. Allegedly.
AMY: But getting back to the Griffith Park merry-go-round that actually inspired him. If you go there today, they have a "Walt Disney sat here" plaque on a bench that's right by the carousel. And then, interestingly, at Disneyland you'll find another park bench from the same park, supposedly, that is said to be the actual bench that he was sitting on the day he hatched the idea. You've taken Cleo on it, right?
KIM: No, we haven't yet, but I've been talking to her about it lately and we are going to go now after this surge. It's top of the list and she has a book called Los Angeles and it's one of the things in the book. It's all Los Angeles landmarks, so that's in it. So she's super excited.
AMY: Okay. perfect. Cause yeah, she's a great age for it. But speaking of this particular carousel, the gondola benches on this one are super duper weird. So like carved onto them is this little creepy, hairy naked guy and he's chasing a naked girl. So when you take Cleo, look for this. I remember the first time being like, "What is this? Why are these naked weirdos on the gondola?" I want to say that they are supposed to be Caliban and Miranda from "The Tempest." I do remember reading that somewhere, that that's who that is on the bench. So keep an eye out for that when you take her.
KIM: That makes sense, but it's still really a strange choice. Unexpected. Anyway, trying to think of other carousels in literature though.... I know one factors into the book Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury. You've read that, of course.
AMY: No, I don't like science fiction very much.
KIM: That's true. That's right. Okay. I read all the science fiction.
AMY: All right, so there's also the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical "Carousel," which was originally adapted from a Hungarian play. I know you're not into musicals, but have you seen "Carousel?"
KIM: I'm into some musicals. I love "The Music Man" and stuff, but I don't have a wide repertoire of musicals and no, I have not seen "Carousel."
AMY: So it's really kind of creepy. Um, there's a kind of predatory love interest/leading man named Billy Bigelow, who works at a carnival as the carousel barker, and that musical, "Carousel," has come to be known as "the wife-beater musical."
KIM: No.
AMY: Yeah, cause he's just, he's kind of a bad dude and he doesn't treat the heroine all that great. But she loves him anyway.
KIM: You're not selling this for me, for sure.
AMY: I know. Um, my high school put on a production of this musical way back in the day. And actually Jennie Malone, who wrote our Lost Ladies of Lit theme music, she was the star of that production. So I went and saw it, but I remember watching it and thinking "This story is disturbing on multiple levels." And I think it's kind of now been #metoo'd out of existence. But it does have really good music.
KIM: Um, I wouldn't have thought a musical called "Carousel" would be so troubling. Um, maybe there's a reason I never watched it. It doesn't sound like "Grease," which is my speed. But anyway, since we're on topic of riding horses, albeit fake ones, this is kind of a great segue into mentioning that we received a couple of letters recently regarding our mini episode on the lost art of riding side saddle. That's an episode that aired about a year ago. Suffice to say, I think we maybe touched a nerve with a few sidesaddlers out there.
AMY: Ruh-roh, what did we do? Um, of all the episodes I thought could be contentious, that is not one I ever anticipated. But then again, the fact that we even used Suzanne Somers' ThighMaster in that episode to explain how a side saddle works should be evidence enough that we are maybe not your official authority figures on riding side saddle.
KIM: No kidding. And in fact, I feel like that episode should have been maybe listed as a comedy in terms of how much we actually know about side saddles, but anyway, we welcome any and all perspectives, of course, especially since these two letters are from people with actual experience in riding side saddle. So without further ado, let's share the gist of those letters.
AMY: So our first letter writer says, uh, "Firstly, I'm very disappointed to hear how you describe side saddle and side saddle writers. You say we "just perch on the side." You mentioned it taxes the muscles unevenly, and that the poor horse would be written by someone not centered on its back. These comments you have made are categorically false and many women that currently ride sidesaddle would find them highly offensive. I ride side saddle myself. I am not perched to the side and my muscles are not taxed unevenly because my hips are central on the horse's back, no different to if I was astride. I have spent hours in the saddle, and because I am central, I have no aches or pains. This style of riding isn't any more dangerous than astride riding, and apart from if your saddle wasn't to fit correctly, it doesn't affect the horse any different. I am deeply offended by your comments. If you have no idea about this style of riding, how can you possibly make such indecent comments? Ladies like myself work and train very hard to be at a level of sidesaddle, and to hear two women portray it with false information like you have is absolutely appalling. You should be praising women like ourselves who are trying to keep tradition and history alive, not slating us with false facts. I shall be not sharing your podcast to fellow side saddle riders or equestrians in fear they will also be offended. You should be utterly ashamed with your preposterous comments." And then the next day we received a kind of similar letter.
KIM: Yeah, coincidence.
AMY: Yeah. Um, this is from a member of the Sidesaddle Association who currently competes against astride riders in dressage, show jumping and eventing. And she writes: "You ride centrally over the horse's back, and it is not cruel. As to the unsafe nature of riding astride, I would argue that in some cases, being attached better to your saddle, as you are aside, makes you safer than astride, particularly for difficult horses. The safety mechanisms developed over the years to protect riders, male and female, riding sidesaddle proves that lives did matter." Um, so it's good to have that perspective from somebody that actually does it, you know. Charmian Kittredge London, who lobbied against the practice of riding sidesaddle, might beg to differ with those claims, but honestly, Kim, you and I have no pony in this race. Pun intended. I mean, as we mentioned in that episode, so long as riding side saddle is a man or woman's choice and not their only socially acceptable option, we're all for it. We are not trying to get side saddle riding canceled, rest assured.
KIM: Yeah, we're actually incredibly impressed by people who choose to do it and compete in it. We would not be able to do that in our wildest dreams, but we think that you're awesome. Anyway, all this hullabaloo about this makes me wonder if they'll still let us wear tweed and attend the Dianas of the Chase race in England. And that's the most important thing. I don't want to be kicked out of that!
AMY: I hope they don't come after us with riding crops.
KIM: I know, and actually one of the letter writers encouraged us to give sidesaddle riding a try. So maybe we'll have to put that on our bucket list alongside going falconing and that sort of thing.
AMY: Probably not though. Probably not going to jibe with my current healthcare deductible.
KIM: My balance isn't that good.
AMY: Well, anyway, that's all for today's episode. Please though, keep those emails coming in to us. We appreciate them all, and tune in next week when we'll be introducing you to yet another lost lady of literature.
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. Giddy-up!
73. Dorothy B. Hughes — The Expendable Man
KIM: Hi, everyone! Welcome back to another Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off forgotten women writers. I’m Kim Askew…
AMY: And I’m Amy Helmes. And it’s just us today.
KIM: Yes, a rare full-length episode with no guest. Don’t worry, we have plenty more amazing scholars and writers joining us in the weeks and months to come.
AMY: That’s right, but for the book we’re discussing today, I dunno. It made me a little wary of strangers.
KIM: No joke!
AMY: We’ll explain in a minute, but suffice to say, Dorothy B. Hughes’ crime/noir novel The Expendable Man is a psychological thriller that will have you on the edge of your seat and maybe even questioning your own instincts.
KIM: It’s an incredible “whodunit” with an unusual twist — but rest assured, we don’t want to give anything away in this episode, so we’re going to be purposefully vague when discussing parts of this novel.
AMY: That’s right. We want to preserve your own personal experience of reading this book. But because the pivotal twist Kim just mentioned is so ripe for discussion, there will be a point at the very end of this episode when we’ll give you an opportunity to hit stop on this recording. Then if you want to hear more (or maybe read the book and return for this final part of the discussion) you are welcome to continue listening.
KIM: We’re maintaining an air of mystery on this podcast, which is fitting for this book! So let’s raid the stacks and get started!
[Intro music]
AMY: So in addition to being a literary critic and historian, today’s featured author, Dorothy B. Hughes, wrote 14 crime and detective novels, many in the noir-style that Kim, I know you love.
KIM: [responds about your love for noir.]
AMY: I’ve never been as much into that sort of macho, gritty hard-boiled stuff. Even mysteries in general… I usually have to be cajoled into reading them.
KIM: I know, which is interesting because you’re so into true crime! So that surprises me.
AMY: Yeah, I’m not sure how to dissect that. But I was interested in reading today’s book because you recommended it. And also because I’m not as used to noir-crime novels written by women, so that intrigued me. This book was published in 1963, and while of course today there are a lot of women crime and detective novelists, it’s not as easy to name classic women noir writers the same way we talk about Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler.
KIM: [Responds about how Hughes really deserves to be listed alongside those names — especially since three of her best-known novels were adapted into Hollywood films (one of which starred Humphrey Bogart.) I mean come on!
AMY: Yes we’ll get into all that later, but first, Kim, what do we know about Dorothy B. Hughes?
KIM: She was born Dorothy Bell Flanagan in Kansas City, Missouri in 1904. (Her mother’s maiden name was Callahan, so she sounds pretty solidly of Irish descent.) We could not find much about her early years growing up in Missouri other than the fact that she knew from a very young age that she wanted to be a writer. She received a journalism degree from the University of Missouri and then took some graduate coursework at Columbia University. Her first published book was actually a book of poetry called Dark Certainty, which won the prestigious Yale Younger Poets Prize in 1931. She worked as a journalist and eventually found herself in Albuquerque, New Mexico taking more graduate classes at the University of New Mexico. Around this time, in 1932, she married a man named Levi Allan Hughes who was the son of a prominent Santa Fe businessman. They moved into a pretty impressive residence with a tennis court that took up almost an entire block. Her marriage seems to have been a happy one.
AMY: In 1939, Hughes wrote a nonfiction book about the history of the University of New Mexico. Meanwhile, she’d given birth to three children (a son and two daughters) by the time her first novel, The So Blue Marble, was published in 1940. And over the next seven years she published 11 crime/thriller/noir-style books, several of which feature Santa Fe as the backdrop. She was able to churn them out, and it seems like the public ate them up.
KIM: Wow! To be writing this prolifically with three small children? How? I mean, even if she was living a somewhat privileged lifestyle (it sounds like), that’s really impressive.
AMY: Apparently she would write at night after all the kids were in bed. I found a 2016 article in the Santa Fe New Mexican about Hughes in which her youngest daughter, Suzy, had this recollection about her mom: “You did not go into her room when she was writing. She wrote in her bedroom laying in bed, and you had to knock on the door, and if she was busy, you couldn’t go in. She would just not answer.”
KIM: [responds. Maybe something like “The Mystery of the Mom Behind the Closed Door.” I love it. ]
AMY: Incidentally, Dorothy’s sister, Calla, was also a writer. She had moved to Santa Fe in 1929 (I wonder if maybe that’s what prompted Dorothy to move there? Or if it was the other way around?) But her sister actually was the society page editor for The New Mexican newspaper under her married name, Calla Hay. Seems like she was something of a local celebrity. Later, Calla and Dorothy also both moved their families to Los Angeles in the 1940s to write for Hollywood.
KIM: Okay, yes, let’s get into that. So in 1943, Hughes’ novel The Fallen Sparrow hit the silver screen. (That starred a young Maureen O’Hara) Then in 1947, Universal Studios adapted Hughes’ very popular novel, Ride the Pink Horse. (Sounds like a funny title, but the pink horse refers to a famous little antique ‘flying jenny’ carousel in Taos, New Mexico.)
AMY: Side note: we should do a mini episode on carousels… I mean, we live close to the one and only carousel that actually inspired Walt Disney to create DisneyLand, right?
KIM: Yep. But I love the idea of a carousel inspiring a noir novel, too. There’s something a bit eerie about that calliope music, right?
AMY: Yeah, I haven’t read that book, but I think the carousel factors into it in a sort of sweet, poignant moment in the book.
KIM: Okay, good to know.
AMY: Anyway, while living and working in Hollywood, a friend invited her to the set of the Ingrid Bergman movie Spellbound. Bergman met Hughes and then tipped off her pal Humphrey Bogart about her. This led Bogart to buy the film rights to Hughes’ 1947 L.A.-noir novel, In a Lonely Place for his production company, Santana Productions. He stars in the movie. It’s apparently both an amazing novel and film. (Many critics maintain that this movie, though lesser known, is actually Bogart’s finest work and it’s considered one of the best film noirs of all time.) It subverts the gender cliches of the genre — we won’t say anything else about it to prevent spoilers.
KIM: [can respond with your thoughts on film/book.]
AMY: Also, according to Wikipedia, there’s a Smithereens song called “In a Lonely Place” which quotes dialogue from the film, so I’m wondering if that same dialogue was in Hughes’ original novel.
KIM: Hmm, I’ll have to go back and check. But anyway, after her spell in Hollywood, Hughes moved back to New Mexico in the early 1960s and by this time she’d taken a break from writing crime novels — she said she needed to focus on her ailing mother and to help out with caring for her grandchildren. She did, however, still review books for various newspapers — she was a book critic for 40 years. But she wrote one last novel, in 1963. It’s the book we’re discussing today, The Expendable Man, which was reissued in 2012 by New York Review Books. Shall we dive into it?
AMY: Yes! Walter Mosely actually wrote the afterward to the book, saying: “She was among the best and her work belongs in our canon of classic American stories. Bringing her back is no act of nostalgia; it is a gateway through which we might access her particular view of that road between our glittering versions of American life and the darker reality that waits at the end of the ride.”
KIM: And that’s a perfect segue to the set-up for this novel, right? The story begins on the road. A young doctor by the name of Hugh Denismore is alone, driving his mother’s Cadillac from Los Angeles to Phoenix to attend his niece’s wedding. (His parents will be meeting up in Phoenix separately.) He pulls through a town and a beat-up car filled with teenagers crosses his path — their raucous laughter and screaming leave him unnerved. He stops at a drive-in restaurant for a quick bite. Once he’s back on the road, he encounters a hitchhiker in the middle of nowhere. It’s a teenage girl.
AMY: Don’t do it, Hugh! Don’t stop to pick her up!
KIM: Right? But it’s evening now. Hugh’s a good guy and his conscience won’t let him leave a stranded young woman by herself in the middle of nowhere. The moment he pulls over, though, a sense of dread starts to plague Hugh. Amy, do you want to read a passage from this moment?
AMY: Sure. So this is when the young doctor has just asked the girl, against his better judgment but wanting to be a good Samaritan, if she wants a ride. Hughes writes: “He repeated his question, a little impatiently because he didn’t like this situation at all, his car stopped here on the road, the girl standing outside looking at him. At any moment a car from Indio might overtake them, or one appear from the eastern crest of the road. A chill sense of apprehension came on him and he wished to hell he hadn’t stopped. This could be the initial step in some kind of shakedown, although how, with nothing or no one in sight for unlimited miles, he couldn’t figure.
He spoke up more sharply than was his wont. “Well, do you want a ride or don’t you?”
“I guess so.” As if in speaking she’d made her decision, she’d opened the door and piled in.
He set the car in motion again, picking up speed until he hit the sixty-five-mile maximum for this highway. He didn’t look at her or say anything more to her. From the periphery of his eye, he saw her set her traveling bag on the floor mat, away from him, close to the door. Her soiled sandal touched it protectively, as if it were filled with gold and precious gems. For no particular reason, he was relieved that his suitcases and his medical bag were locked in the trunk of the car.
Far ahead on the road, he saw the shape of an oncoming car as it lifted itself over a culvert. He switched on his lights. The sky was still pale, the pale lavender of twilight, but the sand world had darkened. It was difficult enough to drive at this hour, the lights would identify the presence of his car to the one approaching. When the other car passed his, headed toward Indio, he saw it was yet another jalopy filled with kids. It was hopped up; it zoomed by, with only scraps of voices shrilling above the sound of the motor.
In his rear-view mirror, he watched until it disappeared in the distance. Just for a moment, he had known fear. It might have been the same group which had hectored him in town. The trap might be sperung by his picking up the girl; they might swing about and come after him. Only when the car had disappeared from sight, did he relax and immediately feel the fool. It was surprising what old experiences remembered could do to a presumedly educated, civilized man.
KIM: Okay, so Hugh tries to break the ice with his passenger and we can tell that despite her youth (Hugh guesses she’s around 15) she’s bad news. She’s unrefined, brash and a bit bratty. She says her name is Iris Croom.
AMY: If anybody listening watches Ozark, I totally was reminded of the character of Ruth from that show. Manipulative and tricky. And a liar.
KIM: Hugh senses this straight away, so his top priority is to send Iris off on her way, asap. Unfortunately, ridding himself of the girl en route to Phoenix proves difficult. Each time he tries to drop her off in a safe place, near a bus terminal or what have you, she manages to turn up again.
AMY: Like a bad penny.
KIM: Exactly. It’s like in a horror movie when a character’s looking in the mirror and suddenly the reflection of the monster appears in the background. What started off as a sort of cool dread eventually turns into out-and-out panic for Hugh. Iris hasn’t really done anything other than be a typically annoying teenager, but Hugh is increasingly unnerved at being in this girl’s presence. As the reader, you feel his dread, but at the same time, his panic seems maybe a bit of an over-reaction.
AMY: Yeah, like why is he so jumpy?
KIM: I mean, I get it, though, if only because Hughes does such an amazing job of building this slow tension throughout their car ride.
AMY: Absolutely. Once they finally make it to Phoenix, Hugh takes his leave of Iris, but she manages to track him down at his hotel on his first night in town, wherein she makes a request that he flat-out refuses. So she leaves in a huff, and at this point he thinks (and hopes) he’s seen the last of her. He can finally focus on enjoying the wedding festivities.(He’s wrong, though. Dead wrong.) Kim, I absolutely love that Dorothy Hughes sets all the events of this book in the midst of the niece’s wedding and surrounding social events. Hugh’s family is totally clueless that he picked up a hitchhiker coming into town or that he might be in any danger. They’re just ready to celebrate the happy occasion!
KIM: Yes, and it forces Hugh, in the midst of all these family events, to try to keep his shit together and plaster on a smile even as the situation continues to devolve over the course of the weekend. Hughes writes: “During the reception, he couldn’t remain on guard. He had to mingle with family and friends. With his fingers crossed against intrusion, he had to pretend the joy the others were feeling. Grandmother’s towering white cake was cut, the toasts lifted. Hugh limited himself to one champagne cup. He would take no chances on a muddle head tonight.”
KIM: As if family events aren’t stressful enough!
AMY: To me, the wedding stuff….that’s the sort of unique spin a female writer can put on a story like this. It’s not just set in back alleys and seedy bars and dark stairwells, which is what I think of from the male noir writers. There’s something inherently feminine in the family and wedding stuff that I enjoyed. And yes, as you said, it makes an already tense-situation a thousand times more difficult for poor Hugh, especially since one of the wedding guests — a friend of the bride — has captured his fancy and the feeling is very mutual.
KIM: Oooh, yes, let’s talk about Ellen Hamilton!
AMY: Ellen! She and Hugh flirt at the rehearsal dinner — the chemistry is real, and the family are all cheering this couple on from the sidelines — they’d been hoping these two would hit it off.
KIM: But given Hugh’s difficulties which stem from his car ride from Los Angeles, Ellen gets caught up in the trouble, too. They become a team as they try to figure out a way to get Hugh untangled from the mess he’s in.
AMY: Yes, and again, listeners, nothing we’re revealing here is really a spoiler. I will say of Ellen, though… she’s great, but for me, she’s almost too supportive when she finds out what a pickle this guy is in. I kept wishing for a moment where she’d at least have a moment of doubt or say to herself, “Do I really want to take all this on? For a guy I literally just met?”
KIM: Well, at least Hugh is thinking it the whole time, even if she’s not saying it. He knows he shouldn’t be saddling her with this.
AMY: Yes, Dorothy Hughes writes: “He was falling in love with her as he’d never known love before, even with full realization of the hopelessness of the situation. Because of a moment of charity on a desert road, he would have to live with the taint of this case forever. That was the cold truth. He could never sully an Ellen Hamilton with its ugliness.”
KIM: We’ll be talking about Ellen more at the tail end of this episode, because I think her willingness to help him makes a lot more sense when viewed within the full context of this book (which we aren’t going to reveal here.) Also, we should mention that the weekend is hot and muggy. That stifling heat also felt very appropriate for a noir novel. The atmosphere is suitably oppressive.
AMY: Right. And as we stated at the top of the episode, there’s a twist to this book. Hughes powerfully upends this story with just a single word — it happens on page 55 of the book and we won’t say what that word is. We’ll leave it for you to discover. But as soon as you read it, you’re like, “Ohhhhhhh.” Kim, you had told me that there was going to be a twist, but I still didn’t see this coming.
KIM: Yeah, you kept texting me trying to guess what it was and I was like, “You really just need to keep reading.”
AMY: Needless to say, I think that moment (in my experience with it, anyway) kind of forced me to acknowledge my own culpability, as a reader, in some respects.
KIM: [responds without really giving anything away…something about having preconceived notions that are entirely wrong] So that’s all we’ll say about The Expendable Man in this portion of the podcast. Before we move on, we should mention that later in her career, in 1978, Dorothy Hughes also wrote a biography of Erle Stanley Gardner, who wrote the Perry Mason detective stories. Hughes also won several other writing awards in her lifetime. In 1951 she received the Edgar Allan Poe Award for criticism and in 1978 she was honored with the Grand Master Award from the Mystery Writers of America. She passed away in 1993 and her ashes were interred in Santa Fe’s Rosario Cemetery.
AMY: Yes, and I want to credit Molly Boyle, whose 2016 newspaper profile of Hughes in The New Mexican helped fill in some of the blanks for us about her life. The University of New Mexico actually has in its archives an oral history interview with Hughes about her life, but those tapes are not transcribed, sadly, so short of flying to New Mexico we had to cobble together what we could about her personal life. Her three children are no longer living, but if there’s anybody out there who has other insights to share with us about Hughes’ life, please let us know.
KIM: Absolutely. And now, I think, would be a good time for all of you who have not yet read The Expendable Man to hit stop on this recording unless you want to have the plot and that special twist we mentioned revealed. So we’ll five you a few seconds here to fumble around for your phone and make sure you can sign off.
AMY: Fumble, fumble, fumble… I feel like we need a little interlude music. [Hums the end of the Jeopardy theme.]
KIM: Okay, hopefully everyone who wanted to jump off the podcast has done so by now. And to all of you sticking around, I feel like we are in a special secret society.
AMY: And now we can finally speak freely about this book! Although we can’t say the word that turns this book on it’s head on page 55.
KIM: Right, because it’s a racial slur. The n-word. Those six letters clue us in to the fact that this story is more nuanced and more complicated than we had anticipated. Amy, what was your initial reaction when you got to this page and saw that word?
AMY: It felt like a little jolt, honestly. I was like, “Wait, Hugh’s black?” Then I literally flipped back to some of the beginning pages wondering if I should have known it all along; if it had been mentioned already. But no, this was the first reference to the young doctor’s race. I had just assumed, unthinkingly, that Hugh was white. Hughes plays on all of these stereotypes that would lead us to that default mode. He’s a young doctor. He’s well-spoken, well-educated (he quotes Longfellow in his car ride with Iris). He comes from a well-off family of white-collar professionals. I shouldn’t have automatically assumed “white guy,” but I did.
KIM: And yet when you go back to the intro of the book, Hughes has left the reader so many signs. The teenagers in that jalopy weren’t just being crazy kids — they were screaming racial slurs at him (she just didn’t specify it.) When he pulls his car into the drive-in eater, Hughes writes that he “waited for one of the serving girls to bring him a menu” …. “Eventually, as he knew eventually it would happen, the less pretty of the young waitresses came to his car and thrust a menu at him.”
AMY: Reading that now, knowing he’s black, you’re like, “Oh, he was purposefully made to wait… she delivered the menus to him rudely.” But the first time around, you don’t even think twice about it. Hughes is being sneaky with how she subtly reveals it. Later when Iris has gotten into the car, Hugh tells her he’s a doctor. Hughes writes that her reply is: “‘Really?’ She stretched the word, like a credulous child.” After the fact, we understand this sarcastic reaction.
KIM: Right and in that passage you read earlier where she moves her bags possessively toward her side of the car… you are now reading that in a new light, too. Everything suddenly takes on these racist undertones.
AMY: And it’s not helped by the fact that once he gets to Phoenix, Hugh has some racist cops eyeing him for Iris’s murder. He has to grit his teeth and try to be as accommodating and as civil as he can be, despite their disgusting attitude. But basically he knows that as a black man, he is guilty until proven innocent, not the other way around. It also explains why he is not so forthcoming when he first finds out that Iris (a.k.a. Bonnie Crumb) was murdered. As a reader, you think, “Just come clean right away that you gave her the ride!” But you understand why he didn’t once his race becomes apparent. He needs to consider his options very carefully knowing he will be judged by an entirely different set of standards and a different brand of justice.
KIM: Yes, and Ellen knows that too. (We realize that Ellen, too, is black, and I think that’s why she’s so willing to believe this guy she just met. She knows how often Black men are wrongly accused and made scapegoats, so she is quick to believe in his innocence. Hugh knows that nobody in law enforcement is going to believe him, so he’s going to have to uncover his own proof.
AMY: Although there is the white lawyer, Skye, who is on Hugh’s side. And he becomes the third point in a very minor love triangle with Hugh and Ellen as well. (They realize they will need a white lawyer because only a white man believing in his innocence will help them — that’s a sad commentary in its own right.)
KIM: Once we realize that Hugh is a black man, Dorothy Hughes doesn’t shy away from showing us the subtle and not-so-subtle indignities that both he (and Ellen) have to face. The hotel staff in the novel are pretty overtly racist, and the couple even talks about whether it’s okay to swim in the pool there.
AMY: Yes, all these moments are profoundly disturbing and yet Ellen and Hugh sort of take it in stride. They’re so used to it. At one point, the racist cop pays Hugh a visit at his grandmother’s house. When he enters the house he says something like, “I’ve always been curious as to how you folks live,” and when he’s leaving he even dramatically takes a big whiff of air as he’s leaving the house and remarks, “Fresh air sure smells good.”
KIM: [responds about these upsetting moments]. Going back to our own reaction to the beginning of this book and our just assuming that Hugh was a white character, it would be interesting, I think, to find out how Black readers (or any other minority) would respond. Would they have been roped in as easily as white readers? Or do those stereotypes that Hughes employs not fool them as easily?
AMY: And also, what do we think of a white woman of privilege writing this black man’s story in the 1960s?
KIM: Well, getting back to the afterword that Walter Mosley wrote for the New York Review Books reissue, he says: “A white woman writing of a young black man’s problems with the law was certainly a kind of gamble — but Hughes often chose to write from perspectives far from her own” … and he also says, “The poison this too-little heralded writer uncovers is as lethal as arsenic. Hughes’s hero wants to believe in the country Los Angeles represents to him. He wants to believe that his education and his family’s hard-won social position will protect him.”
AMY: Right, it’s like there are two threats running through this novel. There’s an immediate danger (the killer on-the-lam) and an existential one which is the societal threat faced by people of color. I was just as afraid for Hugh each time he had to walk into that police station as I was when he was driving down dark lanes looking for the real killer. You have to credit Hughes for exposing racism in her novel at the time she did. It was gutsy.
KIM: Absolutely. And it definitely taught you and I a lesson about being a more critical reader going forward and not jumping to conclusions so quickly.
AMY: So that’s all for today’s episode. If you enjoyed it, be sure to let us know by leaving us a five-star review wherever you listen to this podcast. We’ll be back next with another mini episode — and we’ve got plenty more amazing guests lined up for the next few months to talk about women authors you’ve likely never read before.
KIM: Bye, everyone!
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.
72. Go Ask Alice
KIM ASKEW: Welcome back to another Lost Ladies of Lit mini episode, everyone. I'm Kim Askew, here with my writing partner and BFF Amy Helmes.
AMY HELMES: Hi, everyone.
KIM: So I want to start this mini off with a bit of a mea culpa. It's something that's occurred to me more than once since we started this podcast (about a year ago at this point). Amy, you know that several years ago I wrote my master's thesis on Henry James. It was titled "Henry James's The Wings of the Dove as Literary Detective Novel." I've been a longtime devotee of James, and I very much enjoyed researching and writing this thesis. And I want to give a shout-out to my wonderful thesis advisor, Dr. Millie Kidd. She's the director of the Master's Program in Humanities at Mount St Mary's. But ever since we talked with our first guest, Anne Boyd Rioux, about James's friend and fellow writer Constance Fenimore Woolson (that's back in episode 11, if you want to check it out) I've kind of felt a little bit guilty.
AMY: What? Why? Explain, please.
KIM: Okay. It's because now that I know about all these amazing ladies whose books have been forgotten or left out of the quote-unquote “canon,” I honestly wish I'd written my thesis on one of them instead. There's all this scholarship on James out there, and even though I felt like I had something somewhat unique to say, I don't necessarily think the world needed like another hundred-whatever pages on that James. So anyway, while I can't go back and rewrite my thesis (thank god), I can do an episode on James's sister Alice. She was a diarist, who like Fenimore Woolson, became just another footnote in James's story. So that's what we're going to do today. Let's get to know Alice James! Amy, did you know anything about her before we started working on this mini episode?
AMY: Um, no. And so if you're buying tickets for a guilt trip, you better just sign me up too, as your traveling companion, because I knew basically zilch. But first off, I want to back up and say, I do think it would have been awesome if you had done a thesis on a lost lady, but we're doing this now, right? We're getting the word out there now.
KIM: Yeah, this kind of makes up for it right?
AMY: More than makes up for it.
KIM: Okay. Good. I feel better.
AMY: But yeah, getting back to Alice James, I obviously knew of Henry James, and I knew of William James, his brother, who was a psychologist and philosopher. But whenever I heard Alice James mentioned, to be perfectly honest I just assumed that was William's wife, because William did have a wife named Alice. So it gets a little bit confusing. So William and his wife, Alice, were friends with Jane and Mary Findlater, the Scottish sister-writing team that we did a previous episode on. So I guess that explains some of my confusion. I didn't even know there was a sister in the mix, so you are miles ahead of me in knowing about this and, um, yeah, let's do it. I'm looking forward to knowing more.
KIM: Okay. Great. So, I became interested in her while I was working on my thesis. I want to quote a letter that Henry wrote to his brother William in 1888, and it was regarding his sister's response to the "Jack the Ripper" murders happening at that time.
AMY: My antenna just went up a bit more.
KIM: Yep. Yes. I knew you would like that. Henry and his sister, Alice, were living abroad in London then and Henry specifically described how the murders were affecting their sister Alice: “She was wuthend, [that's a German term, meaning "furious or lively"] to a degree that almost constituted robust health," he writes, intimating basically that Alice showed a lively interest in Scotland Yard as they were investigating these grizzly murders. I mean, of course that's going to pique my interest and other people's too. Amy, there's a novel called What Alice Knew by Paula Marantz Cohen that has Henry, William and Alice helping Scotland Yard solve the murders. How cool is that?
AMY: Sibling detectives in Victorian London with a literary spin? Oh my God, what a great idea for a novel, and I want to read it. Um, and then I'm also really sad that Alice missed out on the true crime podcast sensation. She would have loved them as much as I do, clearly. I love that she was so enthralled by the Whitechapel murders, as they're called.
KIM: I I mean, she could have been a murder podcaster had she lived now. I mean, if we're going down that road, I could see her really doing that.
AMY: Yeah, but going back to this letter that you quoted from, it's sort of implies that Alice wasn't always in the best of health if it took these grizzly murders to sort of get her animated and feeling, you know, enlivened about something.
KIM: Yeah, Alice had a lot of health issues. But of course, because this was the Victorian era, they fell under the hodge-podge label of "hysteria." And I actually just picked up a book on that called Unwell Women: Misdiagnosis and Myth In a Man-Made World by Elinor Cleghorn. I feel like we're going to be doing a more detailed episode on this at some point, because it's fascinating.
AMY: Oh my God. I just am thinking of all these lazy Victorian doctors who didn't want to make any effort to actually diagnose a woman's physical ailments other than to call her hysterical. It reminds me of Rachel Vorona Cote's book Too Much. If you remember last spring, she was a guest on our show.
KIM: Right. That was a great episode; that absolutely fits in with this. Anyway, back to Alice. Do you want to fill us in on her basic info?
AMY: Yes. So I got to do a little digging for this. As I said, I didn't know anything starting off, so it's all new to me, but she was born in 1848, the youngest of five children. And because she never married, she lived with her parents almost her entire life. But when she was around 25, she taught history for three years at a Boston-based correspondence school for women. And those three years when she was teaching were reportedly among the most illness-free years that she had in her life.
KIM: Yeah. I found that to be fascinating and heartbreaking at the same time. The time she felt least ill in her life was when she was working. And she was only able to do that for three years. It makes me think of our early episode on Dorothy Canfield Fisher's The Homemaker, actually.
AMY: Right. That idea of really only being able to find fulfillment through work. And maybe Alice would have flourished if she had been able to work for a living like her brothers? Who knows? Or maybe she just wasn't able to work because she was so ill. But instead, with her time she wrote about her painfully slow decline towards death. Her diaries weren't published until half a century after she died, but the literary critic, Maria Popova writes that Alice “was an exquisite writer from whose pen seemed to flow the best of her brothers’ aptitudes — William’s insight into human psychology and Henry’s novelistic splendor of style — along with a sublimity of sentiment entirely her own.”So can you imagine if she had written novels like her brother? I mean, we would have eaten them up.
KIM: Absolutely. Unlike her brothers, Alice was mostly bedridden from a young age, though. When Susan Sontag made a play of Alice's diary, she even called it "Alice in Bed." Alice had a series of mental breakdowns and underwent many different types of treatment for her hysteria, including electric shock therapy. At one point, it got to where she even contemplated suicide. And she actually asked her father's permission to kill herself, and he did give it to her. He felt that her suffering was so bad that it would be all right if she chose to kill herself, but in the end, she actually chose to continue living. And when she wasn't having a breakdown or undergoing treatment for hysteria, she was apparently a very lively companion. That trip to London with Henry that I referred to earlier, Henry actually wrote back to William in Cambridge that Alice's “conversation is brilliant and trenchant . . . she is the best company in the place.”
AMY: It would be interesting to read a biography of her and find out if they have any ideas now what was ailing her, if it was a physical complaint that could have been remedied, or if she did have some psychological issues.
KIM: Yeah. From what I've ... just the research I've done so far, which admittedly has been somewhat limited, it seems like it probably was sort of a response to mental things that she was dealing with.
AMY: LIke depression, maybe? Or bipolar?
KIM: Depression. Yeah. exactly. Yeah. Yeah,
AMY: I was just wondering if there was an underlying physical thing.
KIM: Yeah. I'm curious as well to dive deeper into that.
AMY: So after her parents died, she inherited some family money, and then Henry made over his share of his inheritance to her. So she was able to live independently, and she also had a "Boston marriage," a term that we've referred to in other episodes. This was a permanent relationship with another woman, Katherine Peabody Loring, who was her companion and nurse, and possibly more, toward the end of her life. Alice passed away from breast cancer at age 43 in 1892, 10 years after her father's death. Katherine Loring was in charge of the funeral arrangements and Alice had given Loring her diaries, but Henry didn't want them published because he thought it might "endanger his own social standing." Kim, why do you think he was so threatened by these diaries? Was she spilling a lot of family secrets or were they controversial in some way?
KIM: Well, I have a quote from Katherine Winton Evans in a piece she wrote for The Washington Post, and it says that, in Alice's diary, “she dared at last unleash her critical faculties on a variety of subjects from politics to the British upper classes. She was as tart and prickly in her diary as she must have been in person.” So I could only guess that the way that she wrote about people in her diaries was maybe something that was more for the dinner table and not for the wider public, according to Henry, anyway.
AMY: No punches pulled. Bring it on. So wait, have you read her diaries?
KIM: Nope. I have not read her diaries yet. Nope. It's ahead of me. I'm excited to do that.
AMY: All right. Yes, I'm really interested in checking them out now that I hear there's maybe some gossip and some prickly opinions in there. So despite big brother's wishes, eventually her diaries were published beginning in the 1930s, and she's since evolved into something of a feminist icon for struggling to find her voice through her illness. She actually wrote, “I think that if I get into the habit of writing a bit about what happens, or rather doesn’t happen, I may lose a little of the sense of loneliness and desolation which abides with me. My circumstances allowing nothing but the ejaculation of one-syllabled reflections, a written monologue by that most interesting being, myself, may have its yet to be discovered consolations.”
KIM: I wonder what Freud would have to say about her use of the word ejaculation there. Anyway, it's interesting, we were talking earlier about what she might have been had she been able to work for a living, because she actually wrote to her brother William near the end of her life: “Don’t think of me simply as a creature who might have been something else… Notwithstanding the poverty of my outside experience, I have always had a significance for myself, and every chance to stumble along my straight and narrow little path, and to worship at the feet of my Deity, and what more can a human soul ask for?”
AMY: You have to kind of admire that self-respect and confidence that she clearly had in herself. The first thing I want to go do now is read that Susan Sontag play that you mentioned, "Alice in Bed." It sounds like Sontag kind of merges Alice James's story with that of Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, which sounds brilliant.
KIM: Yeah. I mean, I feel like this is just an intro discussion for maybe a later, longer episode on Alice James. She's so cool.
AMY: Yeah. So one of our things we'll be doing in 2022, homework assignment, is go read her diaries. And listeners, if you have anything to add on the subject, let us know. I'm sure there are people out there listening that know a lot more than we do about her.
KIM: Yeah.
AMY: So that's all for today's podcast. Be sure to tune in next week when we'll be dusting off another great work from a woman writer who deserves a bit more of the spotlight, we think.
KIM: Don't forget to check out our website, lostladiesoflit.com, for more information on this episode and others, and be sure to keep those five-star reviews coming over at Apple Podcasts. We are so grateful for 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 Kim Askew and Amy Helmes
71. Gene Stratton-Porter — A Girl of the Limberlost with Sadie Stein
AMY HELMES: Hi, everyone! Welcome back to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to unearthing forgotten classics by women writers. I'm Amy Helmes, here with my writing partner of 15 years and our show's co-host, Kim Askew.
KIM ASKEW: Hey everybody! Today, we're back with another lost classic we definitely think deserves a spot on your to-read pile. It's A Girl of the Limberlost, and it's by the once bestselling novelist and McCall's magazine columnist, Gene Stratton Porter. This is the book that made her famous, and by famous I'm talking about at their peak in 1910, her novels attracted an estimated 50 million readers.
AMY: Even by today's standards, that's huge! So Kim, you know how much I love Smithsonian magazine, right? I'm a subscriber. Well, that's where I first heard about Gene Stratton Porter. There was an article written by Kathryn Aalto that compared Stratton Porter's popularity to that of J.K. Rowling today. Between 1917 and 1948, there were something like 21 film adaptations of her works, including several adaptations of the book we'll be discussing today. It is strange. And I mean that as a compliment.
KIM: Yes. If you can't tell, we are very excited because here with us to discuss this strange book is previous Lost Ladies of Lit guest Sadie Stein. She was on the podcast last spring to talk about Maud Hart Lovelace's Betsy-Tacy high school books. And if you want to go back and listen to that, it was episode 35. We had the best. It turns out Amy and Sadie happened to be reading A Girl of the Limberlost at the same time. We started nerding out about how weird the book is, and of course, the three of us decided to reunite for another episode. We do have a few minor spoiler alerts in this episode. We don't out and out say what happens, but if you'd rather wait until you have read the book, you might want to come back and listen to this episode later.
AMY: If there's anyone I would want to discuss moth hunting with -- that's the hobby of the main character of today's book -- it's definitely Sadie Stein. So let's raid the hopefully not moth eaten stacks and get started!
[intro music plays]
AMY: Our returning guest, Sadie Stein, is a New York-based culture writer and editor, and her essays have been published in Elle magazine T magazine, The New Yorker, The Paris Review, and The New York Times among many others. She has her own book curation business, SOS Libraries, and she recently wrote the preface for the new Persephone edition of The Deepening Stream by Dorothy Canfield Fisher. Canfield Fisher was the subject of our eighth and ninth episodes last fall, so feel free to go back and check those out. Anyway, welcome back to the shows, Sadie!
SADIE STEIN: I'm so delighted to be here. Thank you for having me.
KIM: It's so fitting that you're returning for this episode, Sadie, because there are some interesting similarities between Gene Stratton Porter and Maud Hart Lovelace. To begin with both the authors are from the Midwest. Stratton Porter is from Indiana, while Hart Lovelace is from Minnesota and A Girl of the Limberlost and the Betsy-Tacy high school books are both coming of age books featuring female protagonists. Both are also set around the first decade of the 20th century. And both authors use their childhoods as inspiration for their novels.
AMY: Yeah, but A Girl of the Limberlost is a bit darker than Lovelace's childhood books. In fact, when I was reading it, I was like, "I don't know that this is a kid's book." We can get into that.
KIM: Yeah. And coming into it, I did not know at all what to expect. I really knew nothing about it other than you both had said it was weird. I'd heard Gene Stratton Porter's name, but I didn't know anything about her. Sadie, do you remember how you were introduced to Stratton Porter and what made you decide to read A Girl of the Limberlost?
SADIE: Oh yeah, I read it from a young age because it was a favorite of my grandfather's. His mother had grown up in Wabash County in the Limberlost area and would have been around the age of the Elnora Comstock character. And she had moved away in her youth to Arkansas for the rest of her life, and, I think, really idealized her childhood in Indiana and passed that onto her kids. And so that book was a great favorite of my grandfather and all his siblings. So I grew up reading it. I guess I was probably a little young to read it because as you say, it's really lurid and quite bizarre. It's very intense. People are constantly panting to express how upset or passionate they are. All their dialogue is panted. It comes into play 200 times in the book. I've done the word search on it. It's so odd, and it just goes to show how kind of overwrought a lot of the tone of this novel is.
AMY: Yes. I was thinking about this last night and the phrase that came to mind was "Indiana soap opera."
KIM: Totally. It's very dramatic and lush, and then there's like the swampy stuff and yeah, it kind of all goes together.
AMY: So let's just jump into sort of who Gene Stratton Porter was. She was born Geneva Grace Stratton in 1863 on Hopewell Farm in Wabash County, Indiana. And I kind of love the name, Geneva.
KIM: Me too. I think that's beautiful.
AMY: Yeah. She was the youngest of 12 children and grew up mainly outside communing with nature.
KIM: Gene's family even called her "Little Bird Woman," because she once threw herself between her father's shotgun and a red-tailed hawk he had wounded. After that, she began tending to every bird on their family's land, and that included over 60 nests. In 1872, when she was just 10, one of her brothers sadly drowned in a river, and not long after, her mother died of typhoid. Then when she was 11, the family moved to the city of Wabash. It was at that point that Stratton Porter finally began attending school. She took nine birds with her that she'd rescued to school every day in cages, supposedly.
AMY: Okay, yeah, my "BS" meter is going off like crazy on that. Nine birds that you're I guess, walking with to school? No, I don't believe it.
KIM: I mean, it does seem like it could have been an exaggeration, but she did also write a book called Homing With Birds: The History of a Lifetime of Personal Experience With the Birds. So maybe there's more clarity in that. It's a bit of a memoir/nature book. But anyway, as we said, A Girl of the Limberlost is very autobiographical in a lot of ways. And before we get into the similarities between Stratton Porter's life and her art, maybe we should give a quick rundown of what this novel is all about. Sadie, would you care to fill our listeners in on the broad strokes?
SADIE: Sure. So this is technically a sequel to the novel Freckles, however, it's a standalone read. They both take place in this piece of woodland which really existed called the Limberlost, which was a marsh which was very, very rich in bird and animal life and also very valuable timber. So Freckles is actually the story of an orphan who is sort of a guard of valuable trees in the Limberlost. And then in A Girl of the Limberlost, Elnora, the protagonist, becomes sort of the heir to all the secrets of the swamp. She kInd of communes with nature in an almost Green Mansions-like mystical way. She runs very wild, lives quite far from town on the edge of the swamp with her mother who has been maddened by grief by the loss of Elnora's father. Now her father, it should be mentioned, died in a quicksand pool in the Limberlost, sending her mother into labor, such that the mother could not throw him the branch necessary to save his life. So instead she watched his agonizing, slow death and resents and hates Elnora as a result of robbing her of her husband. So when we meet Elnora, she is starting high school. She's never really been socialized I guess, but she's very bright. She's been teaching herself. She shows up at school and is kind of a country bumpkin. She doesn't have the money or the clothes to fit in. She feels very uncomfortable. Um, some neighbors and her own wits and ingenuity help her get through it. She begins making a living by selling moths and cocoons and arrowheads -- things she finds from swamp -- to collectors, and as a result, becomes very expert and incredibly independent financially. There is much interpersonal drama with her and her mother, but basically it's a story of conservation, on the one hand, and the importance of nature, but also it's kind of a classic, old-fashioned story of grit and perseverance and overcoming the odds, which in her case are peculiar because of this very odd character of the mother.
AMY: Yes. Which we'll get into momentarily, but the Limberlost sounds fictional. That sounds like a made-up place, like a fairy land sort of thing, but it is a real location, like you said, Sadie, kind of a bit south of Fort Wayne. And Stratton Porter lived there for some time. It was described as an area of "treacherous swamps and quagmire filled with every plant, animal and human danger known." And legend has it, the swamp got its name when a guy named "Limber Jim" went missing and then word spread that "Limber's lost." That sounds hokey, and I almost have a BS meter going off for that, too. Um, the swamp was eventually drained in 1913, but you can actually still see the Limberlost cabin. It's a rustic, Queen Anne-style log cabin where Gene Stratton Porter lived for part of her adult life. And so this area obviously inspired her writing, but getting back to her childhood ... Sadie, how would you say her early life compares with that of Elnora, her heroine in the book?
SADIE: Well, as you say, she came from an enormous family, so she obviously was not on her own. I guess they were all relatively feral, I don't know. Um, but she did grow up of course, in that area and really loved it and was a very active conservationist. She also, I think from pictures of her, looked not unlike the way the character of Elnora is described. She was very attractive with kind of auburn hair and kind of tall.
AMY: She had killer eyebrows.
SADIE: Yes, she had good, heavy eyebrows, which they mentioned, and she also did go on to sort of have a slightly more cosmopolitan life. I mean, she lived out the rest of her life, much of it in California and in the city as well, pretty happily married ... had by the standards of the time an unconventional marriage. She always was quite independent, worked a lot. He left her alone to do her own thing, moth hunting, and they got on very well. In fact, you know, I had visited both those cabins...
AMY: You have? Okay. All right. So yes, there's two, I only mentioned the first one so far, but there were two cabins that she had. Okay. So hold that thought, because we'll touch back on that in a sec.
KIM: Hang on. Can I just say, I knew that you were interested in this book because you were talking about reading it. Amy had been talking about reading it at the same time. So we decided to do this. I had no idea of, you know, your family reading it. Your reading it as a child. You visited the cabins. I mean, it's so perfect!
SADIE: I know, this is a weird coincidence with my family. I went to college in Chicago, so when we would drive to and from Chicago to New York, we'd pass through Indiana and it was on two separate trips that we visited the two different cabins, both of which are really beautiful -- more like large, rustic houses. And it was interesting for me because I had so much family in that area. People have grown up there and yeah, it's really, we'll get to that more, but it's beautiful. I recommend it.
AMY: Okay. So I think the most important relationship in this book is the relationship between Elnora and her mother, Kate, who is to put it bluntly, emotionally abusive. And I think that's why this didn't strike me as a children's book. Kate flies into rages. She withholds affection. She's incredibly cold. It did make me wonder about Stratton Porter's relationship with her own mother before she died, as well as her relationship with her daughter, Janette, who she dedicated A Girl of the Limberlost to. Um, Sadie, let's just dive into Kate Comstock, this character. What did you make of her?
SADIE: This character is a profoundly disturbed individual, I think it's safe to say. As you say, we see her flying into rages, being incredibly cruel to Elnora at all turns. Really seeming to hate her. We're told repeatedly that they're not, in fact, poor. They could get a lot more money out of their land, but she refuses to touch it because she won't touch anything her husband -- the sainted dead husband -- was involved with. So she won't drill for oil. She won't cut down a single tree. And as a result, they live as though they're quite poor. And Elnora is forced to go to school without fees, without books, without clothes, and indeed, her mother knows she'll need this stuff and withholds it from her, sort of to teach her a lesson and cause her to be humiliated. And there's numerous instances of this and it's quite upsetting to read. And they really go for it in some of their fights. I mean, there's one in particular I was thinking of, um, if I may read it, it's the scene where Elnora is on the brink of completing a valuable moth collection. And she's just a couple moths shy of a big collection that will actually put her through college for a collector. So the following happens:
"Elnora, bring me the towel, quick!" cried Mrs. Comstock.
"In a minute, mother!" mumbled Elnora.
She was standing before the kitchen mirror tying the back part of her hair while the front turned over her face.
"Hurry, there's a varmint of some kind." Elnora ran into the sitting room and thrust the heavy kitchen towel into her mother's hand.
Mrs. Comstock swung open the screen door and struck at some object .Elnora tossed the hair from her face so that she could see past her mother. The girl screamed wildly.
"Don't mother!"
Mrs. Comstock struck again. Elnora caught her arm.
"It's the one I want. It's worth a lot of money. Don't! Oh, you shall not!"
"Shan't, Missy?" blazed Mrs. Comstock. "When did you get to bossing me?" The hand that held the screen swept a half circle and stopped at Elnora's cheek. She staggered with the blow and across her face, paled with excitement, a red mark rose rapidly. The screen slammed shut, throwing the creature on the floor before. them. Instantly Mrs. Comstock's foot crushed it. Elnora stepped back. Excepting the red mark, her face was very white.
"That was the last moth I needed," she said, "To complete a collection worth $300. You ruined it before my eyes."
" Moth?" cried. Mrs. Comstock. "You say that because you're mad. Moths have big wings. I know a moth."
" I've kept things from you," said Elnora, "because I didn't dare confide in you. You had no sympathy with me, but you know I've never told you untruths in all my life."
"It's no moth," reiterated. Mrs. Comstock.
"It is!" cried Elnora. "It's just out of a case in the ground, its wings take two or three hours to expand and harden."
"If I had known it was a moth..." Mrs. Comstock wavered.
"You did know. I told you, I begged you to stop. It meant just $300 to me."
" Bah! 300 fiddlesticks," sneered Mrs. Comstock.
"They are what have paid for books, tuition, and clothes for the last four years. They are what I could've started on to college. You crushed the last one I needed before my face. You've never made any pretense of loving me. At last, I'll be equally frank with you. I hate you. You're a selfish, wicked woman. I hate you!"
AMY: Wow. That was an intense moment more than halfway through the book, I believe. And what's interesting is that's kind of one of the first moments where Elnora really snaps. Because up to that point, she kept trying to kill her mother with kindness. And then this was the moment where ... she's grown continually through the book and been gaining her strength and courage and independence, and this is when she was finally like, "No more." And the slap heard round the world, right?
KIM: Yeah. And, you know, speaking of growing, I can't think of a single portrayal of a mother that's quite like Kate Comstock in Limberlost. I mean, there are neglectful mothers like Caddy's mother, Mrs. Jellyby, in Bleak House, but they're all kind of one-dimensional and unchanging, whereas Mrs. Comstock undergoes a real transformation and Elnora has this nobility that ends up basically winning her mother over.
SADIE: Yeah. I mean, I guess Marilla Cuthbert is very strict at the beginning. That's the closest I can think of.
AMY: In Anne of Green Gables.
KIM: Yes, that's right.
SADIE: And much like Anne Shirley, Elnora is a little too saintly; the way Anne gets in the later books where everyone's in love with her and she's sort of mystical. Although Elnora has more humor and is actually a pretty well-drawn character. And the mother, also, is not completely an ogre. We see moments where she's kind of funny. I imagine her as sort of an old Katharine Hepburn type; rangy, and no BS, but her hatred for Elnora and her loyalty to this husband are kind of baffling. The level of it is kind of presented as near psychotic. When she sort of comes to her senses, she suddenly devotes herself to loving her and being a great mother. And in the course of the next few chapters begins helping her hunt moths ... gets a makeover.
KIM: That was the craziest! I loved it, but I'm like, "What?"
SADIE: It's one of many make-over sequences in this book, because one odd thing, and maybe it's because she was a naturalist and an observer, she gives descriptions of clothes and food so satisfyingly: the hats and her graduation outfit ... there's a lot of that, which I always enjoy. Even when we get jumping ahead to the Chicago portions of the book, there's a very good description of a ball gown; a sort of Art Nouveau kind of gown, which you can really easily imagine looking fabulous. So that is yet another strange, but great element of this book.
AMY: And similar to Maud Hart, Lovelace, who also excels at that sort of descriptive writing.
SADIE: Yeah. Yeah.
AMY: And you say the mother, Kate, has had an almost instantaneous about-face. She's trying to be a new person, basically. But I think even before that moment of reform, you did see glimpses of her just not knowing how to love her daughter; like kind of wanting to, but she's so cynical and she's so damaged and hurt. I think Stratton Porter gives little moments where she wants to say something. She wants to be kind, but she just can't.
KIM: Yeah. It's like, she's so entrenched in this way of living with her daughter, she can't find a way to get out of it.
SADIE: It's true. And they imply that also it's hard because she's a girl. There's a little boy, a kind of B plot, Billy, who provides some comic relief as well as some poignant scenes, and she's able to be kind to him and understanding in a way she can't to Elnora. You know, Elnora is also such a paragon, such a saint, that in a way, maybe that's hard for her, too, if we choose to read it that way.
AMY: That's true. She's borderline sugary, saccharine sweet. I think she doesn't quite get there. She has some moments of pushing back and she can be a little feisty, but yeah, it's that "Pollyanna" thing where you're just like, "Oh, God, everybody loves you," you know?
SADIE: Exactly. And she becomes the most popular girl in school and she, of course is first in her class and incidentally, very beautiful. Oh, and can play the violin almost magically by ear, in a way she inherited from her father. Now Gene Stratton Porter was a gifted musician and could play stringed instruments, but I believe she had, you know, normal lessons. This wasn't just sort of a mystical secret of the swamp that was passed to her by osmosis. So I'd say sort of the third and fourth leads of the book are this couple, their nearest neighbors, Margaret and Wesley Sinton who have lost their own children, have a happy marriage, are much more normal than Elnora's mother. And they have, were given to understand, always looked out for Elnora. Without overstepping too much, they've given her love, they've tried to take care of her physical needs as best they could. And they've been really the one adult constant in her life. And they're prepared to help her out, financially, but she doesn't like to take money from them, being very proud and self-sufficient. But yes, they play a pivotal role and they're there throughout the story.
KIM: What we wanted to mention, too, was that nature plays such a big role in Limberlost. It's actually much more important than Elnora's high school experience. You can see how important the natural world is to Stratton Porter. It's actually rapturous.
AMY: Yes, rapturous almost to a ridiculous degree, at times. I'm thinking of Mrs. Comstock's almost religious/orgasmic experience in the forest. She's had this epiphany; now she wants to help her daughter collect this rare moth. Um, that scene was all a bit over the top. I can understand the level of emotion she was striving for, because the stakes are really high at that point, but it was like, "Calm it down."
KIM: I was panting while I was reading that section.
AMY: Yeah, there was panting in that, for sure .
KIM: And Stratton Porter also gets really into certain key motifs that are repeated: wildflower versus hothouse flowers and moths versus butterflies. Sadie, what do you think Stratton Porter was trying to say with all that?
SADIE: So much of what she does in the book and what she has Elnora doing by extension is trying to instill respect for the natural world. And I think having seen in her own lifetime the destruction of this gorgeous habitat around her, she really felt the necessity of making young people aware of what they have and I've not just valuing the store-bought hothouse flower or the occasional showy butterfly, but understanding the real beauty that comes when you actually take the time and attention to study it.
AMY: Well, I want to say I did some Googling of moths after reading this book and I do have a new appreciation for how beautiful some of them actually really are. I just always think of like the brown, boring moths, but no, once you actually look into it a little more, some of these are gorgeous. And also, this summer after I had read the book, I was traveling in Eastern Ohio, a place called Hocking Hills. It's a very beautiful part of Ohio. And there was a guy there that actually will take you out on nighttime, moth-hunting expeditions, and I would have done it. The problem is you could only go on a full moon Saturday night because you needed a full moon to be able to see, I guess. It wasn't that time of the month. So I was bummed that I missed my, um, lepidoptery course, but maybe someday.
SADIE: Actually by chance, one of my uncles, he's a hobbyist, but he collects Lepidoptera, which is night moths, in California. And I've gone out with him a couple of times in my childhood. And we did the process she describes as doping, of putting a mixture of beer and brown sugar on trees, painting it to attract them. And then you collect the specimens. It's really interesting.
KIM: I love that you've done that! That's great. And we should put some pictures of these moths too, on our Instagram for this episode. I think it'd be cool to show people. Um, so let's talk about Elnora's love interest that sort of comes up later in the book.
SADIE: I mean, what do you think?
KIM: I thought he was a bit flat, personally, compared to Joe Willard in the Betsy-Tacy books.
AMY: I mean, I just thought this whole romance was not even necessary. Really, to me, the love story was between her and her mother. This felt really tacked on.
KIM: Like, “Oh, it needs a love story because it's a coming-of-age.” But the love story, like we were talking about high school, it's actually even more incidental. Yeah. It's kind of tacked on.
SADIE: It's true. And there's something odd about it too. I mean, it's basically... Here's what happens. So Philip Ammon is, um, I guess he's educated in the East. They say he went to Harvard; his family's in Chicago. They have some social standing. He's a young lawyer, but also very interested in moths, as one is. And he is convalescing and comes to stay with his uncle in the town of Onabasha, which abuts the Limberlost. And in his ramblings runs across Elnora, very picturesquely, gathering moths. He becomes sort of her helper for the summer. He's engaged to a girl back home, a Chicago belle named Edith Carr. Elnora knows about this; her mother doesn't. Elnora falls in love with him in the course of this. They have so many interests in common and he's apparently extremely handsome and, like her, kind of too good to be true. They're both basically perfect. But then he leaves, he returns to Chicago and to Edith Carr, who we are given to understand is superficial, generally crummy, inferior to Elnora in almost every conceivable way, although strikingly beautiful.
AMY: She would be the "butterfly," as opposed to Elnora's "moth," so to speak.
SADIE: Yeah. So long story short, Phillip Ammon and Edith Carr have a ball. The theme is moths, although she's not interested in them. She wears this fabulous-sounding Poiret kind of gown, which is very easy to picture in exactly the palette of this one, Yellow Emperor moth, which just so happens to be the one moth Elnora needs to finish her collection. They are having the ball. It's glorious. They're about to announce their engagement formally when what should flit across the ballroom, but a Yellow Emperor moth!
KIM: Too good to be true; but it happens.
SADIE: Yeah. Philip Ammon scoops it up, very excited. Runs to send it to Elnora -- knows it's the last one she needs to complete her collection. Edith Carr is mortified, goes into a jealous rage, publicly humiliates him, throws his ring to the ground. That night, I think Philip realizes Elnora is better; shows up at the Limberlost and begins courting her. As you say, there's not a lot of heat there. I think it's safe to say sexual things in this book are very strange because they're not absent. There's that very odd early sequence in which there's a gang of thieves in the Limberlost, one of whom is basically afraid he will not be able to resist the temptation of raping Elnora. And he writes her a note to this effect saying, "Don't, for the love of God, go into the Limberlost by yourself. There are bad men who are doing things you can't imagine.
AMY: He's a peeping Tom; he spies on her in her bedroom.
KIM: Yeah, and that continues to be alluded to throughout the novel.
AMY: I was very confused by this.
KIM: Yeah. You're waiting for something to happen.
AMY: And she sets the stage for something awful is going to happen with this lascivious lurking guy. And then nothing happened with it.
SADIE: I mean, I guess we see key things from that part. First of all, the mother learns about it. So it's the first time we see her kind of behaving appropriately. She's like, "Okay, we're not letting that happen. I know what that means," and kind of handles it like a normal adult. And then Elnora defies the explicit orders of this note and does go in by herself, runs into exactly this guy, and he then is, I guess, so kind of humbled by her purity and goodness or her innocence or something that he helps her catch moths all night. But a very, very odd contrast to then her high school life, which is presented as clean and fresh and conventional and wholesome. So it's almost going between the Betsy-Tacy world and this dark, Gothic world with affairs and sexuality.
AMY: And, um, that's why it's making me laugh that you read this as a kid.
KIM: I know yeah. So there's this ongoing tension throughout the book; a sexual tension.
SADIE: And she's pretty naive and innocent too. It doesn't occur to her that this could be an issue. Then the swamp is an odd kind of character. isn't it? Because on the one hand it's a source of her wealth and it's a source of incredible wonder, but it's also really sinister. And the pool where her dad went down is right on the edge of their property. They pass it every day, and he's presumably at the bottom. So that's Gothic. And then you've got this other world of Chicago brought in; kind of normal, Chicago high society. It's all peculiar. I'm not quite sure why she brought in the romance, except that she kind of gets into it. Like there's way more purple prose surrounding that. As over the top as that is, and as unconvincing as I find their relationship, there are moments where he talks about what he wants out of life and out of a partner, which I think are quite moving. And, um, one of the mom's better scenes, I think, is when he returns to the Limberlost. Now he wants to marry Elnora and the mom is like, "What the hell do you think you're doing? A day ago you were engaged to someone else. Don't do this to her. She's not your plaything." Now I have to say, I find the final act very unsatisfying of this book and they wrap it up too fast. I don't like how everyone just suddenly shows up in, you know, the same place. Like, I don't know if you've read much Georgette Heyer, but there's an irritating convention in those books where all the characters kind of converge in one place. Hijinks ensue, and it's sort of like that.
AMY: Yeah, and you're not even in the swamp anymore.
SADIE: It's really odd.
AMY: Okay, so we're critiquing this, but I think we can all say we loved it, right?
KIM: Oh, absolutely, 100%.
AMY: So how do we square that? Because there are things that are wrong with this book .
SADIE: Yeah.
AMY: Wherein lies the joy?
SADIE: For me, I mean, it's so many things. I find this such a vivid book. You go in with the understanding that it's overwrought, it's kind of purple. It's very old-fashioned in certain ways. And within that, you can find moments of such beauty, and I think such truthful writing and such great description. And I don't know about you, but I come away with an appreciation for so many of the things she talks about. You learn a lot about moths in a very non-didactic way. You really do absorb these lessons while caught up in the plot. And I think there's the usual pleasures of a coming-of-age story; of someone overcoming, as you say. The relationship with her mother, that's sort of a satisfying evolution, even if the romance is less so. But you kind of leave with a picture of a world as beautifully described as someone who indeed did describe things for a living and with that kind of appreciation. And if you like it, Freckles is worth reading too. If possible, it's even stranger and even heavier on the nature. But one thing that's nice is that she doesn't distinguish between girls and boys and what they can do. And Elnora is just as independent as Freckles was. In some ways, unwisely.so, because worse things can happen to young girls, as we're told. But she's just as competent, just as capable, just as smart. No one thinks she isn't. And I think for a young girl that's fun read,
KIM: I agree. And I love the Elnora character. I mean, melodramatic or no, I absolutely love her. I love how she feels about nature and how she is her true self. Even with her friends, you know, even though you might consider the popular group, whatever, superficial or something, they appreciate who she is. And I love that. I mean, there's so much to love about this book.
AMY: Mm-hm. And then just briefly getting back to Gene Stratton Porter. You mentioned that you had been to the Limberlost cabin and what's the other cabin, the Cabin at Wildflower Woods, which is now in Gene Stratton, Porter State Historic Park.
SADIE: It's really beautiful. Um, and you know, they brought back a lot of the Limberlost. It's now called Loblolly Marsh, which is its indigenous name. And the biodiversity isn't what it was, but it's bounced back amazingly and it's really gorgeous. So if you're passing through that part of Indiana, definitely make the detour. I mean, as for the house it's gorgeous, it's kind of, um, Arts and Crafts era. It's rustic, but beautiful and comfortable. And you can tell that she did have a very artistic eye and she did a lot of the watercolors there. And I think, like Elnora, could probably just whip together a little birch-bark basket in 20 seconds and fill it with violets.
AMY: And if you visit there now, you can take a twilight nature hike there with a naturalist, which I totally want to do.
SADIE: I want to also. I don't think you could even do that back when I went. And I think probably the marsh is way more established than it was when I was there too. Because I was in college, so that's a while now and I want to go back
KIM: Definitely.
AMY: And speaking of the swamp, this book reminded me a lot of Where the Crawdads Sing, that Delia Owens novel. I mean, just the idea of this mostly independent young woman with an abusive parent who has to fend for herself, basically. If you liked that book, which I know a lot of people did, it came out two or three years ago. Um, this is totally in the same vein.
SADIE: That's true. Yeah. I wouldn't have thought of that, but you're absolutely right.
KIM: I liked this one so much better than that one, but you know, that's just me. I know a lot of people love the Crawdads one. But Limberlost did remind me, in a good way, of Anne by Constance Fenimore Woolson. We discussed that book with Anne Boyd Rioux in Episode 11. So. Amy, did that remind you of it?
AMY: Yeah, the natural elements. And then also the Mackinac Island reference too, um,
SADIE: I want to watch these adaptations. I've seen one of them as a kid and I was sort of disappointed, but I'd be curious now to go and check them out. And there's also a mini series, no?
AMY: Well, there's a 1990 version. That one leaves out the love story. So they really focus on the mother-daughter relationship. And there's a lot more about "Is the mom going to sell off part of the land, um, for oil drilling or what have you?" I didn't love it. Then there's a 1930 version. I wouldn't even recommend that one at all. Totally goofy. And then there's a 1934 one, which I've just skimmed. They're all kind of available on YouTube. I know the 1934 and the 1990 one you can watch in its entirety on YouTube. I thought the 1934 version was the most authentic. It hewed the most closely to the story. And the best actor in that was a little boy that played Billy. Everybody else was okay, but he had heart-wrenching moments and he brought it.
KIM: You know what that makes me think, did we mention about Gene Stratton Porter starting her own silent film production company in 1924?
SADIE: That's true. She had that whole, whole other career in Hollywood.
KIM: Yeah. What do you know about that?
SADIE: Not much, just that she did it and lived out the rest of her years in Hollywood and actually made pretty good money doing it. That she was an impressive business woman.
KIM: Yeah, didn't she live part-time on Catalina island, too?
SADIE: Yeah, there's a house on Catalina island, which I'm sure is also amazing.
AMY: Yeah. And speaking of films, you can see actual film footage of Gene Stratton Porter building that house. So if you want to see what she looks like, we can provide the clip to that. You know, usually with these lost ladies, we only get to see photographs, but you can actually see some film footage of her, which is great.
KIM: And switching gears a little bit, but still talking about a lost lady, Sadie, I was so excited. I saw that you wrote the preface for the new Persephone edition of Dorothy Canfield Fisher's The Deepening Spring, and we discussed Canfield Fisher's, The Home-maker back in Episode 9,, one of our first episodes of this podcast. Persephone is one of our favorite publishers, of course, and I love that they tapped you to write the preface for The Deepening Spring. Is it something you get asked to do often? How did that happen?
SADIE: I've done a few prefaces, I guess, but I know the Persephone people, who are wonderful. And I think I had mentioned to them just in conversation that I very much liked Dorothy Canfield Fisher. I read her as a kid. Understood Betsy was one of my favorite children's books. Like The Home-maker, it really is a way for her to talk about kind of Montessori education, which she brought to America. And so she's always interested me as a writer and a figure. I hadn't read The Deepening Stream until they gave it to me, but it's a very interesting World War I novel, actually. And she writes children uncannily well. So the first third is really about that. I recommend it, and I was so lucky to get to do that. It was pure fun.
KIM: I can't wait to read it.
SADIE: I'll drop one in the mail for you if you give me the best address.
KIM: Can't wait. Okay, great, I will!
AMY: Anyway, so thank you for making a return appearance on the podcast. You're our first returning guest and we, again, loved having you. You're so much fun.
SADIE: I'm honored! And I always have so much fun. Listen, I'd come back any time and talk with strange intensity about YA books of the first half of the 20th century.
KIM: Oh, you're the best. That was fantastic. Thank you. Sadie!
SADIE: Thank you so much.
AMY: So we'll sign off now, but don't forget to subscribe to our newsletter where we'll occasionally be giving out sneak peek info on which books we'll be featuring in future episodes. You can get a jump on your reading if you're inclined to read along with us.
KIM: And as always check out our website lostladiesoflit.com for a transcript of this show and further information.
AMY: 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 Kim Askew and Amy Helmes.
70. Fowl is Fair
KIM: Hi, everyone, and welcome back to another Lost Ladies of Lit mini episode. I’m Kim Askew.
AMY: And I’m Amy Helmes…. And for those of you who weren’t aware, my married name is actually Amy Fowler, which I only clarify here because it sort of comes into play for today’s episode.
KIM: Oh, yeah, it totally does. I hadn’t thought about that. So tell us more, please.
AMY: So, I guess the meaning of the name “Fowler” comes from a trade back in the Middle Ages. It’s an occupational name for a wild bird hunter. Somebody who catches birds for food or sport. Today, we’re talking about falconry, which is a related idea. But in the case of falconry, you’re actually using birds of prey to hunt other, smaller birds, as well as other small game like rabbits and squirrels.
KIM: Okay, soI’m so excited to talk about this today, because I just finished reading Lauren Groff’s new book, Matrix, (I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT. It’s incredible.) And there’s actually a falcon at the beginning of this book, and I don’t want to give it away, anything that happens, but it really sets the tone for the story.
AMY: Okay, yeah. You had told me that you were reading it, and I’m intrigued.
KIM: Yes.
AMY: And I’m actually still in awe of the amount of books you manage to read outside of the books we are reading for this podcast.
KIM: I know, you’re probably like, “Why are you reading other books?” I’m fitting it all in somehow, trust me.
AMY: “Get back to your homework!”
KIM: Yeah, totally.
AMY: No, no, no. I love it. I love it, actually. So there are a number of other books about the sport of falconry and hawks, which we’ll touch on a bit later in this episode, but first I want to talk about what sparked the idea for this episode. Because you kind of think of falconry as a lost art, you know — something out of history books. But I was reading an article in The Los Angeles Times a few months ago about the new Academy Museum of Motion Pictures here in Los Angeles. The story was all about this Harris hawk named Spencer, whose job it is to ward off pigeons that might nest over the museum’s open-air terrace or hang out on the building’s signature glass dome.
KIM: I love this…. So this museum that Amy’s talking about is actually smack in the middle of the city… it’s kind of crazy to think they’re using this ancient technique to ward off pigeons in dense urban areas, but I also know they frequently use falcons for the same purpose in New York City. How cool is that?
AMY: Yeah, so if you’re ever visiting a city museum and you did NOT get pooped on by a pigeon during the visit, you may, in fact, have trained hawks to thank for that!
KIM: It’s also common for vineyard owners to bring falconers in to keep blackbirds away from the grapes, and even landfills use hawks to keep scavenger birds, like seagulls, away. So there are still people doing this as a living.
AMY: So getting back to Spencer, the Academy Museum’s winged employee… he comes about twice a week to the museum. (When he’s in a “foul mood,” (I had to get that pun in there), but no, apparently sometimes when he’s not in the right mindset, his brother Shady fills in to do the work). Their handler’s name is Lindsey Benger, who works for a company named Hawk Proz. And they actually have to mix up the days and times they come to the museum, because the pigeons are smart enough to figure out if there’s a regular schedule when the hawks are coming.
KIM: Okay, I have two things to say here. One of them, I think we should be saying “wing-ED”, because we’re talking about falconry.
AMY: “Wing-ED.” Yes.
KIM: And I’m sorry, that is the most … Hawk Proz? We need a more poetic name. That’s too prosaic. I mean, it is very specific, but…
AMY: Hawk Proz. I see what you’re saying.
KIM: I mean, come on.
AMY: You want something more dignified. Maybe it could be like Hawk Prose — P-R-O-S-E.
KIM: Yeah, I guess if I think about it that way it makes me feel a little better.
AMY: You want something a bit more fancy.
KIM: But, either way, I’m always amazed by the fact that a falconer can let the bird go and it comes back. It seems like they would have to have a really special bond in order for that to happen.
AMY: Yeah, I think that’s true, but to be safe, I know the birds (in this article anyway) have a little GPS backpack so that handler is able to track them from her phone. Because sometimes, Spencer, the bird in the article, he does get sidetracked and ends up over in a neighborhood park. But in general, the birds know where their bread is buttered, you know, they know that by sticking with the handler they’re guaranteed a good meal. And I think they’re actually raised from birth. So Kim, you’re laughing your butt off.
KIM: Okay, here's what I'm thinking of. I'm thinking of a modern day Ladyhawke. Remember that movie?
AMY: No.
KIM: Matthew Broderick. Ladyhawke. Okay, please tell me you know it.
AMY: Okay, yes. Yes, yes.
KIM: Okay. So I'm thinking like a remake of Ladyhawke, but they have like a GPS backpack.
AMY: Oh my God. Now I’ve got to go back and watch that. I do remember the Matthew Broderick “hawk” movie.
KIM: It should just be remade anyway, without the GPS backpack and with Timothee Chalamet. But anyway, keep going, continue. I
want to hear all of it.
AMY: Okay. So when the birds are chasing after these L.A. pigeons, they actually very rarely catch one. So the point is really more to scare them away to a different area than to pick the pigeons off and kill them. So it’s a lot more humane than using poison or bird spikes; and it’s a lot more cool (let’s face it) than using those tacky fake owl statues you see places.
KIM: Absolutely. We have one of those on our garage, and, you know, I'd rather be doing it this way. So you mentioned when Spencer was in a bad mood, that fact that hawks can actually have moods is one thing that stands out, but it also reminds me a lot of another book that I think you read, also: H is For Hawk, by Helen Macdonald. It’s this amazing memoir from 2015. It’s about how she trained a goshawk while she was in the process of grieving the sudden death of her father. Goshawks are supposed to be notoriously difficult to train, and the one in this book has all kinds of attitude, as I recall. But it’s also quite mythical. Macdonald writes that her hawk is like, “a reptile. A fallen angel. A griffon from the pages of an illuminated bestiary. Something bright and distant, like gold falling through water.” Just reading that again makes me want to re-read H is For Hawk. I love that book.
AMY: Yeah, I love that. “Like gold falling through water.” It’s beautiful. I think Falconry feels very “Athurian legend,” too.
KIM: Yeah.
AMY: if you read The Once and Future King by T.H. White, you’ll get some Middle Ages falconry vibes in there… And then there’s another book that sounds pretty interesting along this same line…. It’s called The Peregrine. It’s a 1967 book by J.A. Baker, which was reissued in 2004 by the New York Review of Books Classics. It’s written in diary format and is something of an autobiography about his obsession with one particular falcon to the point where he almost becomes the bird. He wrote this at a time when peregrine falcons were becoming endangered thanks to the impact of humans. So I have not read this book. I get the sense that it’s pretty dark and intense and philosophical, and the people who love it are a little obsessed with it. Apparently filmmaker Werner Herzog is a fan. He said of the book, “It has prose of the caliber that we have not seen since Joseph Conrad—an ecstasy of a delirious sort of love for what he observes.” Anyway, Kim, as I was reading reviews of this book, I kept thinking it sounded like something you would absolutely love. Have you heard of it? Or read it?
KIM: I have heard of it, and I'm feeling like maybe I read that Helen MacDonald was partially inspired by that for her book as well.
AMY: Yes, she references J.A. Baker in her book, so she brings it up.
KIM: Okay, so that’s where I remember it from. But I also love Werner Herzog. I’ve seen him speak in person a couple of times, at least. And I’m a big fan of his movies, so I need to read this book. I should read this book. I think I would absolutely love it, and I don’t know why I haven’t yet.
AMY: It really sounded like your speed.
KIM: Yeah, it’s going on my list.
AMY: And then getting off on a slight bird-of-prey tangent here, I was also just reading about another book that just came out in November called Chouette by Claire Oshetsky. It’s about a woman who is pregnant, but she reveals to her husband that, oh-by-the-way, the baby is actually half-owl.
KIM: Oh my gosh! I’ve seen the cover of that book! I think I’ve seen it, people publicize it. I had no idea that that was the premise for it.
AMY: Yeah, so apparently the main character who’s pregnant had a romantic interlude with an owl which led to this conception. And then the baby, a daughter, ends up being this sort of wild, predatory bird-baby. Publisher’s Weekly calls it “A Dantean journey through the violent fever dreams of a young woman in the trials of pregnancy and early motherhood…”
KIM: Sign me up. I love it. That sounds amazing. The premise sounds a bit strange, perhaps, but it reminds me a little bit of the plot of Gertrude Trevelyan’s Appius and Virginia (we did a few months ago), where the main character is raising an orangutang… orangutan.. Orangutan as her own child.
KIM: You can’t say “orangutan” and you still can’t say Gertrude.
KIM: I feel like I might have said “Roman a CLEF” at one point in our podcast, and then I heard someone saying [Roman a CLAY] the other day, and I was like, “Wait a second.” Can you say it either way?
AMY: I always thought it was “Roman a CLEF” too, and then Sarah [Raff] from the Aphra Behn episode said, “Roman a CLAY” And I’m like, “What the heck did the ‘F’ go?”
KIM: Okay, thank you. It’s not just me.
AMY: Yeah. News to me. Complete news to me. Okay, so finally, since this is a mini episode, which is where we usually branch out to other topics, I didn’t necessarily think that this was going to actually lead us to a lost lady of literature, but it did, in fact! So I found out that the earliest book about falconry, The Boke of St. Albans, is attributed to a nun named Juliana Berners. (But there’s a big asteriks next to this… there’s a big asteriks...I can’t say asterisk.)
KIM: [laughing]
AMY: But there’s a big asterisk next to this, which I’ll explain in a second. The Boke of St. Albans is a book that was written in 1486 all about gentlemanly pursuits like hunting, fishing and birding as well as things like heraldry. Juliana Berners was apparently a Benedictine prioress at St. Mary of Sopwell near St. Albans. It’s believed she was the daughter of a nobleman, which would explain her love of these country sports that I just mentioned. And it’s really not clear whether she wrote the entire book or if she really only wrote the section on hunting. It’s all a bit nebulous and there’s not a ton of information that can be found out about her, but she was definitely referenced by other medieval writers. And then around the Victorian era, scholars were starting to be skeptical about whether or not she really was the author of The Boke of St. Albans. And it doesn’t help that there are various spellings of her name and that the records have her being part of two different families. It also doesn’t help that the historical records for the priory where she was prioress have a big gap (so the records are basically missing) for the time period she was supposed to have been there. All this adds up to a big mystery that scholars are still trying to get to the bottom of. They think a lot of the Boke of St. Albans may be taken from French works, but they don’t necessarily know what those source books are, so maybe it was something she created entirely. Who knows?
KIM: Okay, you need to run to your nearest bookstore or call them up right now and get Matrix, because there's so much there. The main character in matrix is very androgynous and has some more typically “male” Interests and pursuits. And she came from France to England to run a priory. And there's just so many things in what you just said that also are similar to this book. So,
AMY: She might have known that reference?
KIM: Yeah. It's based on Marie de France, is who she's supposed to be. But there's only so much we know about all of these women, so it's possible she took some of this as well. And I'm going to be looking to see if I can find anything about this in relation to Matrix, but yeah. Great, great, great book.
AMY: Okay. I think my favorite part from The Book of St. Albans, though, is its list of collective nouns. So you know when you think about terms like a “gaggle of geese” or “a murder of crows”? A lot of those come from the Boke of St. Albans. (That’s where it originated from). So it also lists “a tower of giraffes” and “a confusion of wildebeests,” “a bloat of hippos.” So there’s all these different collective nouns that we don’t… I mean, to this day, most of us don’t know what the collective noun is for a group of wildebeests. (A confusion, apparently.) And the book is the most famous source of those collective nouns, and it didn’t just apply to animals. So here are a few others: we have a tabernacle of bakers, a drunkenship of cobblers, a neverthriving of jugglers, a subtlety of sergeants. It’s funny and awesome, and if Juliana Berners did write this, I kind of love her just for that alone.
KIM: I mean, that's amazing. So what did she have to say about falconry? If she wrote this book that is?
AMY: Well, it’s interesting that she’s a proponent of conservation in this book, so she says things like, “take only the birds you need and leave the rest for your neighbors, otherwise you’ll spoil the sport for everyone.” I’m paraphrasing that, but that was not necessarily common wisdom at the time, you know? She also had a list of what ranks were allowed to own certain types of hawks and falcons. So it was all decided by your social standing, whether you got to have a peregrine falcon (it meant you were an earl) or a mere goshawk (which would have been for a yeoman.)
KIM: I mean, what were they teaching us in schools that we didn't get to read this book? I mean, thank god for this podcast, that's all I can say. But anyway, this is all reminding me of the episode we did last year with Lauren Cerand. We were talking about The Green Parrot (you’ll remember this) by Marthe Bibesco, and Lauren mentioned that she had actually been falconing. Do we have that clip?
AMY: Yes, let’s play it right now.
LAUREN CERAND: I went falconry once, and when I was holding the hawk in my hand, I actually understood, completely and wholly, for the first time in my life, that animals are completely different than us; that we anthropomorphize them, that we make up stories about them, that we have relationships with them, but this hawk and I, like, we wanted nothing of the same things.
KIM: Okay, so if we needed any more proof that Lauren is the coolest person on the face of the planet! It’s like she’s from another place and time. Shout out to Lauren; we love her.
AMY: Totally. Actually, I did go see a falconry exhibition, once. I remember when I went to England for the first time, I think I was in Stratford-Upon-Avon — they had some sort of falconer there. It was this blonde girl. I just remember like cute yellow (but dead!) baby chicks in her hand! That was the bait she was using with the hawk.
KIM: Okay. Part of me wanted to say, okay, can we burn calories from doing this? Because I think it is the right workout for me. I think I finally found the thing that I can do. But the dead baby bird part, then that had me go, “not so much.”
AMY: I do want to say I have an idea. Because I looked this up, when Lauren was saying she went falconing once, and it was like, “Who does that? Right?” And I happened to Google it. I don't know if I was looking up the Hawk Proz. I don't know what I was doing. There's all kinds of places in Southern California where we can just go do this. It's a thing. Let’s do it!
KIM: I will absolutely, 100% do it. Sign us up. I will do it. I don't care about the cost. I'll do it.
AMY: All right. So listeners, Kim and I are going to go falconing, let's say sometime in the next year.
KIM: Yeah.
AMY: Between now and Fall of 2022 we’re going to get our butts falconing.
KIM: Yeah. We absolutely are.
AMY: And we'll see if it's actually any sort of workout, which I honestly don't think it is. It's a workout for the bird, Kim. Not you.
KIM: Yeah. Oh, yeah, you’re right.
AMY: Maybe you have to chase after it.
KIM: Yeah, that's true. I'm sure I'll be chasing, chasing: “Come back! Come back!” But no, I definitely wanted to. “Please bond with me!” Okay. Anyway, thank you listeners for putting up with me. That's all for today's podcast.
Join us back here next week, because we're going to be talking all about Gene Stratton Porter, whose classic novel A Girl of the Limberlost features a heroine that's obsessed with another winged creature of the forest. I said “wing-ED.” Did you catch that?
AMY: I caught that.
KIM: Thank you. And best of all: we’ve got one of our all-time favorite guests back again next week. Cultural critic Sadie Stein is returning to discuss this one with us!
AMY: Oh my gosh, who doesn’t love Sadie? So tune in for that, and don’t forget to take a minute to leave us a five-star review where you listen to this podcast.
AMY: It literally takes one-minute! And don’t forget to sign up for our monthly newsletter at lostladiesoflit.com and tell your friends about us on social media!
KIM: Until next week, bye, everybody! 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.
69. Margery Latimer — We Are Incredible with Joy Castro
AMY HELMES: Hi, everyone. Welcome back to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to unearthing forgotten classics by women writers. I'm Amy Helmes, here with my writing partner and co-host Kim Askew.
KIM ASKEW: Hey everybody! Today, we're going to be discussing an all but forgotten early 20th century American writer whose work was once compared to DH Lawrence, Gertrude Stein, and James Joyce. Her name is Margery Latimer, and her mind-blowingly brilliant book from 1928 is called, aptly, We Are Incredible.
AMY: And it's out of print and was never re-published, which is shocking. We were able to find a version inscribed by Latimer to her parents, but unfortunately the $2,500 price tag on that one exceeds our show's budget. Thankfully, we were able to download a scanned PDF of the book from Oxford's Bodleian Library.
KIM: And just so you know, listeners, you're easily able to download that, and we'll give you a link for it in our show notes. But the reason we even know about this book at all is thanks to a fantastic essay. It was on Lit Hub, and it's by today's guest, the novelist Joy Castro.
AMY: We'll introduce Joy in a moment, but listeners, as per usual on the show, the author's story here has proven to be really just as interesting as her novel.
KIM: Yes, very much so. And we can't wait for you to hear this episode; there's so much to talk about. So let's read the stacks and get started!
[intro music plays]
KIM: Today's guest, Joy Castro, is the award-winning author of the post-Katrina New Orleans literary thrillers, Hell or High Water, which received the Nebraska Book Award, and Nearer Home, and the story collection How Winter Began as well as the 2005 memoir The Truth Book. Her essay collection Island of Bones received the International Latino Book Award. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times Magazine, Ploughshares, The Afro-Hispanic Review and many other notable publications. A former writer in residence at Vanderbilt University, she is currently the Willa Cather Professor of English and Ethnic studies at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. Listeners, I read her latest novel, Flight Risk, which came out in November, and I thought it was just a beautifully written book. I absolutely loved it. Welcome, Joy! We are so happy to have you.
JOY CASTRO: Thank you. I'm thrilled. This is incredibly cool.
AMY: So we heard about today's lost lady, Margery Latimer, from you and an article you wrote. Would you kind of share with our listeners the story of how you first came upon Latimer's work?
JOY: Absolutely. She was a surprise. I had never heard of her in my literary education. I stumbled across Latimer because I was working on a different project regarding Jean Toomer, the Harlem Renaissance writer whom she married And, I thought, "Oh, I'll read some of her work." When I read the stories, I just was electrified. I was like, "She's crazy! This stuff is great!" Always unsettled and a little unsure, and she uncovers things, especially about small-town life, rural village life, and about gender dynamics and sexuality in the period, that are just astonishing. So I became mystified and I started reading more of her work. She published four books during her life. (Well, three during her lifetime, and then one came out posthumously). I became enthralled and I thought, well, "I'm going to write the book about her. She deserves a book." And so I wrote my dissertation about her. And at that time, university presses were really moving away from publishing an entire monograph about one writer, and particularly a writer no one knew anything about, so there would be no reason for libraries to acquire it or scholars to adopt it for their courses. So people kept turning it down and I thought, "Well, okay." And I published a couple of articles that had to do with Latimer, and then I began publishing more and more of my own creative work and sort of let it go, you know, I thought, "Oh, it's just not the time." But I never stopped loving her work, so this is a thrill to have the opportunity to share it with more potential readers. She's brilliant.
AMY: Okay, so let's give some background on Latimer, because I think it will provide some essential context for when we discuss the novel. First off, she was born in 1899 in Portage, Wisconsin, a small town of 3,000, which I'm guessing was not unlike Beaver Falls, the small town in We Are Incredible. So Joy, what do we know about her early years?
JOY: Sure. She was the second child of Laurie and Clark Watt Latimer. He was a traveling salesman, and this provided his family with a very modest, sometimes fairly strapped, lower middle-class life. It was a small village in rural Wisconsin, and she always dreamed of something magical and far away. And her mother encouraged her in those dreams. She was always a writer. And when she was 18-years-old, a story of hers was published in the high school newspaper, and it caught the eye of Portage's premier cultural figure, Zona Gale I'll talk more about Zona later, but Zona was quite well-to-do and had become independently wealthy in 1908 when her book of short stories, Friendship Village, was published. And this book also was patterned upon Portage, Wisconsin, and it really put Portage on the literary map at the time. She was a noted regionalist at first, and later she gained real national fame and serious wealth and was just sort of a major cultural figure. She, I think, pulled her car to the side of the road and sort of said to Latimer, "Get in, dear.” And they went to her mansion and she began mentoring and nurturing and, interestingly, sort of controlling Latimer for the course of their friendship, which lasted 15 years. It was quite a conflicted and vexed friendship. Latimer went to the University of Wisconsin, Madison, for a while, and was dismayed by the sort of "rah-rah" football, Greek life, culture of Madison. And, her friend, Carl Rakosi, the poet who was there at the time and knew her, said that all of the delicate sensitive people were utterly demoralized by the culture at Madison at the time. So she went to New York, and Zona Gale furnished her with letters of introduction, including one to the Women's Home Companion, where Latimer then wrote fashion copy for awhile in New York and started publishing her stories and reviews of books. But she became homesick, and eventually returned to Madison again. And Zona designed -- really handcrafted -- a scholarship for her. The terms of the scholarship were written so that Latimer could take only the courses she wanted, which were basically philosophy, literature and writing. When she was back in Madison that time, she wrote and edited, for The Lit, the college campus literary journal. And that's, I think, when she met and fell in love with Kenneth Fearing, a sort of grubby, cynical, counterculture figure. She ran into some problems with her father, who was very, sort of white supremacist, nationalist, nativist ... because Fearing was Jewish. And so her father was distressed by the union and made speeches about it, which are caricatured in many of Latimer's works as well. Anyway, she dropped out of the University of Wisconsin, Madison, moved to Greenwich Village, and started what became a life of tremendous success in upper Bohemia. So Gale, again, furnished her with letters of introduction to people in the Harlem Renaissance. She was writing for The Nation and The New Masses, and major literary magazines, and Kenneth missed her terribly and joined her in Greenwich Village. And they broke the Mann Act of 1910, which forbad heterosexual couples from co-habiting overnight together. So they rented an apartment. Threw big parties. It was Prohibition. They went to the moving pictures together. They knew everyone who was anyone. It was quite the high life for Latimer. She didn't have an allowance. Her parents were not wealthy, and she supported herself, and often she even supported Fearing. She didn't tell anyone this. No one knew that she wasn't on an allowance. She became friends with Georgia O'Keeffe in 1925, and they remained friends until the end of Latimer's life. Her work appeared in the same places that James Joyce's work, Gertrude Stein's, Katherine Mansfield... reviewers compared her to those high Modernist writers. She won serious prizes, as for the novella Guardian Angel. Scribner published that and paid her $750 at the beginning of the Depression. Anyway, her relationship with Kenneth Fearing ended sadly. She became pregnant and wanted to keep the child, with or without marriage. He was very opposed to marriage, thinking it a bourgeois institution. He really pushed her into terminating the pregnancy. She had an illegal abortion in New York. She was devastated by the experience, after which he dumped her anyway and took up with a younger woman who wasn't nearly so ambitious or accomplished. And Latimer was heartbroken and returned to Portage and decided that as Zona Gale had always preached to her young acolytes, both male and female, people could be artists, or they could have rich love lives and families, but they couldn't do both. Particularly women, at a time when heterosexual sexuality almost guaranteed maternity and burdens of childbearing. So that had always been Zona Gale's line, and Latimer decided to believe it and stayed in Portage, kept writing, kept publishing, really quite wildly, for about three years. And then, at a dinner party in Chicago, she met Jean Toomer, the Harlem Renaissance writer. They fell passionately in love. He was a confirmed bachelor; was never going to marry, but Latimer changed his mind. They got married and it became a nationwide anti-miscegenation scandal. Hate mail, threats... I think even in Italy, newspapers covered the story. So it was a really big deal. This was a time when lynchings were still quite common in the United States. They returned to Chicago. They were thrilled that Latimer was pregnant. They took an apartment near Lake Michigan, and she decided to have a home birth. Unfortunately, within hours of delivering a healthy baby daughter, she died from hemorrhaging and infection. So she died at 33 — very young. So she had quite a packed life.
AMY: Yeah, just the summary alone starts to give me a better sense of what it was that I read with We Are Incredible, you know? You can pull pieces of that in and be like, "Ah, this is starting to make a little more sense." Although I still have questions.
JOY: Good!
AMY: So let's jump into that a little bit. We Are Incredible came out in 1928 when she was 29-years-old. So Joy, would you mind giving our listeners a quick kind of spoiler-free synopsis?
JOY: Absolutely. This is an intriguing and strange novel, and the book is divided into three sections, each named after a character. So the first character is Stephen Mitchell, a young man who has been besotted with the small town's premiere cultural figure, Hester Linden, and who is broken from his thralldom, to some extent, but can't seem to get on with his life. The second section is called Dora Weck, and this is the young girl who is marked in the text as a Latimer figure. Latimer really, in almost all of her work, gestures towards autofiction. She marks her characters with signifiers that she was writing an autobiographical story. So Dora Weck occupies the center section of the novel, and then Hester Linden has the third and final section. And Hester is a fascinating creature. She has littered the landscape with the husks of other young people who were besotted with her as well, and who couldn't seem to move on. One young man throws himself into the canal and dies. Others try to get married and have failed relationships and so on. But in this novel, Dora had been living with Hester Linden as her protege and acolyte, and Stephen Mitchell was living with the aptly named Fry family. Basically all that happens in the Fry household is cooking and eating. So the matriarch of the Fry home, Myrtle Fry, is always talking about cooking, eating bodies and illness. And she is described in terms that are deliberately revolting throughout the text. She gossips all the time. She's a horrible mother; she's verbally abusive to her children. She slaps them. She threatens them with abandonment, but it all passes for normal in the little village. So, anyway, that's the home that Stephen Mitchell is living in. Dora Weck is actually Myrtle Fry's younger sister, and when she is urged to Mary Joe Teeter, the good local boy who will inherit the town creamery, she moves back in with the Frys also. And so there's this sort of love triangle going on between herself, Stephen Mitchell, and Joe Teeter, but also a different one between herself, Stephen Mitchell, and Hester Linden. So that's kind of everything that's in the air that's going on, and it's really an intriguing look at what happens when delicate, sensitive characters collide. Yeah. It's fascinating.
KIM: I had no idea what to expect, really, at all when I opened up the book, and I just kept saying this, but my mind was blown away by it. I think I emailed you and told you that. I'm like, "This is just wild!" It's so feminist; it's so modern. In fact, you wrote recently that Latimer was "Modernist to the core." It just feels like this book must have been way ahead of its time. I mean, you said she was compared to James Joyce. Could you talk a little bit about Modernism and how it relates specifically to this book, We Are Incredible?
JOY: Sure. A lot of Modernist writers used avant garde textual approaches to actually critique modernity. Modernism wasn't pro-modernity; instead it critiqued the technology that had brought the world global war at the time, WWI, and it critiqued the numbing soulless effects of the Industrial Revolution: factory work, people who would march off to their place of business, punch the clock, and come home deadened and empty. It critiqued consumer culture, commodity culture; some of it critiqued the relationship between the sexes and the dynamic of that. Much of it critiqued racism. But certainly Modernists were turning a gimlet eye on the social situation of their time, and they were trying to disrupt it by defamiliarizing things with different literary techniques, some as radical as Gertrude Stein's, you know, which really explode narrative expectations and language in interesting ways. Uh, Joyce's work... Latimer, I think, tries to be a bit more accessible in all her work. There's nothing, I think, that would push an ordinary reader out or befuddle everyday readers. Like when you're reading We Are Incredible or any of her other books, you might be confused about what's going on with the characters or why they're doing what they're doing, but you know, there's nothing totally disorienting. She wants to tell a new story, but I think she wants to tell it in ways that are approachable for the average reader. So in that I think she's a really generous kind of Modernist. She didn't want to keep people out with overly erudite language and textual games. She wanted to invite readers in.
AMY: I think she did that also by making it feel like such a woman's story in certain ways. The domesticity and all that sort of drew me in, and you're right; I wasn't turned off in the way that I was like, reading Ulysses and I can't handle it and I don't know what's going on. You could follow it the whole way through, but like you said, you were just question after question, like, "What does she want me to feel here? What is she trying to say?" But yeah, it's a page-turner.
JOY: Yeah. Isn't that interesting? Yes. I think it certainly is. I think all of her work has that propulsive, forward-rushing narrative feel, so I'm happy that you experienced it that way. I find it to be so, and you know, it's interesting, you mentioned that a lot of this novel is located in the domestic sphere, and it certainly is. Not all of her work does that, but a lot of her work really does explore the settings to which most women of the period where confined,
AMY: I was wondering, just to give our listeners a little bit of a feel for what her writing's like, if you had any favorite passage from the book that you would care to read?
JOY: Yes. Even though there are so many different kinds of stylistic moves that she makes, so it was hard to settle on one. She's doing really different things, like dialogue is utterly different from the passages of lyrical description, but I thought I would read something close to the beginning to sort of give listeners an intro. And this is in the "Stephen Mitchell" section and it's really more of the lyrical prose that Latimer excels at. And it introduces you a bit to the characters. So Dora Weck Is not named, but she comes into it also:
Automatically he took the road to Hester’s house and as he listened to the sound of his feet on the pavement he felt an inclosing warmth rise from his body, rise, but not reach, the austerity of his mind. And then it occurred to him that perhaps a word from Hester, that poignant, remote glance turned upon him, would take away his illusion of mental independence. If the telephone should awaken him some morning and he should hear her voice he would be a boy again. He might go anywhere in the world but a cable from her would bring him back. Then it occurred to him with the increasing warmth and lightness of his limbs that this bondage must seem luxurious to his body.
He saw ahead the mass of dark leaves and as he drew nearer the scent of blossoms came. Now he could see the narrow path between trees, the outline of the porch. As he looked his eyes were washed of all other visions, of the thousand cruelties he saw each day, and as he drew nearer and heard the sound of water pouring over stones, heard the rustle of leaves, his ears were cleansed of all other sound and as the air came into his nostrils there was a magical change in his breathing. Then he saw a girl.
She lay on her face in the deep grass, her arms circling her head. The moon rose higher as he watched, and changed her hair to copper, made her dress a pool of white. But she lay still with the light upon her.
KIM: Gorgeous.
AMY: I remember thinking to myself, it almost felt like a ghost story at the very beginning, which is appropriate because of how these characters are haunted.
KIM: Yes.
JOY: Very much so. And critics at the time sometimes referred to Latimer's caricatures or depictions of a "Gale figure" as vampiric, as well. So there is something ghostly, something otherworldly, about the way Latimer depicts the characters and their relationships with each other.
KIM: Speaking of that, I had read her boyfriend Kenneth Fearing's The Big Clock a few years ago. And it's been a little while, but while I was reading We Are Incredible I did think there was something I recognized in that feeling of dread, the darkness underneath, maybe a sci-fi quality, like we were talking about. There's so many things going on in this book though, just what you were saying about the small-town life — it's not charming; there's child abuse and women being pretty much forced to marry people they don't want to marry. In some ways people are more dead than alive. What do you think she was trying to say?
JOY: I think what she was saying is that provincial villages were not to be underestimated as a source of all the texture in the world; all the impulses of human nature, all the beauty, generosity. euphoria and cruelties and sordid things. I mean, you're absolutely right; there's a whole passage in the book where Myrtle is gossiping about an adolescent girl who's been sexually used by so many of the town's men, including her uncle, a stalwart churchgoer, that the father of her unborn child can't be determined. She's going to be sent away to the city until it all blows over, and it's figured as her shame and her mother's shame for not controlling her, rather than that of the men in the town for abusing her, you know? So I think Latimer was intrigued by violence at the micropolitical level and really wanted to illuminate that, whether it was something as blatant as that, or in her novel This is My Body which came out … (Isn't that a great title? This is My Body? I mean, what a bold title for a woman to publish in 1930, and bold, not only in its reclamation of the body, but also because it resonates with religious language. "This is my body; take, eat." Right? So she's sort of saying "I'm the Christ." Pretty radical, revolutionary thing for someone to claim!! “This is my body. This is my story. It matters.” Right? “And I'm going to put it in the world.” So in that novel, it's a collegiate novel, sort of, a roman a clef, of her time at Madison and her experiences there. And in that book, there's a married dean who has a student lover. He gets her pregnant and has her strapped down for an abortion. So, I mean, Latimer is really looking at all these realms of violence and abuse that were mostly covered over and suppressed at the time. She's working to illuminate those in her texts and to say, you know, all is not friendship in "friendship village." And yet at the same time, there's ecstasy. There's love. She's a rapturous descriptor of Nature. And she's always drawing upon Nature imagery to express the intensity of emotion between people as well. Trees blossoming within one or the sun melting into gold all over one's body or things like that. She does it much better, but those, I think, were the things that she was trying to approach in her work. And I think pretty successfully; people found her work quite threatening. So I think she succeeded in doing what she was trying to do.
AMY: It's funny that you bring up the microcosm of a small town, because it's almost like reading "Our Town" if "Our Town" was a horror story. Like a really dark, twisted Thornton Wilder version of "Our Town," you know? It has all the same components, but it's just so twisted. It's like the antithesis of "Our Town."
KIM: I love that, Amy.
JOY: Yes,
KIM: That's great.
JOY: It is great. It's like the underbelly,
AMY: Yes.
KIM: Yeah.
AMY: And speaking of dark, this undercurrent of Hester Linden, you know, she's such a mystery in the first two sections, like, "Who is she? What's she going to be about?" And then we finally meet her in the third section. I kept wondering, is she supposed to be good? Is she a savior figure? Is she bad? Vampire, yes, that kept coming up as well. I also kept thinking of Dickens's Miss Havisham, you know? Just this broken, vengeful woman. So what do you think we were supposed to think of Hester? What did Latimer want us to think of her?
JOY: I think she probably wanted us to wonder all of those things. I think all of those things surface in the text from time to time, and I think that's part of why we get three different third-person points of view. So we're seeing Hester from the outside. We're even hearing Myrtle Fry talk about her in her gossip monologues. And then even when we get close to Hester, as you say, we don't get inside her really. We hear her sometimes directing her body as to what to do like "Mouth, smile calmly," which is super weird. Like she's really divorced from her body and she's ordering it around like an automaton. And I think Latimer wants us to experience the power, the psychic hold that such a figure could exert over others: young, impressionable, others. And also to acknowledge the generosity — misplaced generosity, right? — She's always giving money and giving things, but she doesn't really understand how anyone else sees the world. There's that point when her house maid, her sort of ladies’ maid, comes in and she's wearing her glasses and Zona says, "No, no, dear, these don't flatter you." And she takes the glasses off of the woman. And the woman's like, "No, the doctor says I need to wear them, you know, to be able to see." But Zona's like, "You're not aesthetically pleasing to me, so let me help you."
AMY: I want to interrupt because you're saying "Zona," and the character's name is Hester. So why don't we dive into that?
JOY: Yeah. yeah, yeah.
KIM: Absolutely. Like, how does this relate to her relationship with Zona that you were talking about? Can you tell us more?
JOY: Definitely. What a slip, how funny! Latimer, who read Freud, would be amused. Anyway, um, this book occupies a moment on an arc of Latimer's fictional exploration of that long and vexed relationship. So the first time she addressed her friendship with Zona Gale in fiction, it was in a short story called "Possession," which appeared in 1925 in the avant-garde journal Echo, which came out of Colorado. And in that story, the Zona character is not named, she's described as "my lady." There's a younger woman in a quasi-erotic thrall to "my lady" who promises fine, great things and spins fantasies, verbally, that make all the sordid aspects of village life melt away. And she discourages her young friend from having a romantic relationship with a young man, and the young friend says, "Okay, I won't; I'll throw my lot in with this older woman figure." Um, this book, We Are Incredible, occupies the middle position in this arc. And in this book, I can't tell you what happens without spoiling it, but Dora Weck, the Latimer figure, defies Hester Linden and tries to have a sexual, intimate relationship. I'll just say things don't necessarily succeed. And in the third examination, the young character, Vanessa, does succeed in breaking the hold of the older, Zona Gale figure. But what I want to say is, Latimer didn't write the sometimes pretty scathing characterizations of Zona Gale out of the desire for personal revenge. I mean, she knew how indebted she was to Gale. They remained close. Other young acolytes did break with Gale completely. I think what she was doing was trying to analyze, in fiction and through the lens of her own personal experience, a shift -- a generational shift -- that scholars like Elaine Showalter noted about the women of the time. So Zona Gale was born in 1874. She earned two college degrees before the turn into the 20th century. She was a journalist, she was a playwright. She wrote stories and novels, as I mentioned. She was self-supporting. But she still really embodied this kind of ethereal delicacy; a "wispy angel in the house" kind of ethos that everyone noted. People of the time were like, "She just rustles around in her silken skirts gazing off into the ether." She was really into mysticism. She was into theosophy, which preached sexual abstinence. And so she was sort of an embodiment of purity. And she was born a year after the Comstock Act, which prohibited contraception and information about contraception. So really if a woman wanted to have the time to pursue art, to pursue a career, a lot of women did eschew heterosexual love, at least, because it did pretty much guarantee maternity at the time. There were often women who had quiet lesbian relationships, long-term partnerships or, short romantic affairs, or often unmarried professors and so on and so forth. And then Elaine Showalter, the scholar, writes about how younger women are like, "Wait a minute. We want to be flappers. We want to drink bathtub gin and listen to jazz and have sex and smoke cigarettes. We want to have a great time and still have careers and work, you know, and make art." And so there was this huge tension between those generations of women. And I think we can see this in some ways as being a bit structurally analogous to the tensions between second and third wave feminists. Latimer was like, you know, “I've got the right to vote at long last. I want to have a life; a full, rich life, and I'm obviously attracted to boys. And, I don't understand why Zona keeps touching me in these sort of intimate ways, caressing my hair, kissing me, adjusting my clothing." So there was this eroticism that suffused their relationship and it was like a mutual attraction, but it was also really infected, sort of, with this power imbalance and ideological differences and so on. Zona Gale didn't want any of her female proteges to ever write about sex in any form. So there was this huge tension. And I want to add, super briefly, I'll just sketch it in, is that Latimer was her closest confidante. Zona Gale's biographer has stated that, and in two short stories, "Nellie Bloom" and "Daisy Turlock," Latimer very covertly, in highly-coded fashion, reveals the fact that Gle had had affair at a young age in New York with the playwright Ridgley Torrence. And there are, I think, hundreds of their love letters in the Torrence collection at Princeton University. And her parents forbad this relationship and she ultimately relinquished it, trying to be a "good girl," and no one would have really known about that at the time; she never revealed it. No one knew it. She did get married at the age of 54. So for most women, this would be menopausal or close to menopause. So she didn't have to worry about the problems of maternity when she got married to a Portage industrialist and banker. This wrecked Margery Latimer, as you can imagine, because Latimer was like, "Wait, what about everything that you've preached all these years?"
KIM: It explains so much. It's like a key in the lock. I mean, what I wanted to talk about, Hester and how she seemed to be trying to create this template for how to be a free woman in the world that she was living in, but part of it was the time that you're saying, the context of where she fell in history, and then also personally, this experience that Zona had and Latimer sort of seeing the result of that, too. Wow. That's fascinating. Thank you!
JOY: Yeah, I think it is a kind of key to that aspect of Latimer's work, for sure. This just adds to the fact that Latimer wasn't writing these portraits in any kind of vindictive way. So when her novella, Guardian Angel, another depiction of Zona Gale, came out in Scribner's, Latimer rushed around Portage buying up all the copies of Scribner's because she was afraid that Zona would see them and be hurt. She didn't want to hurt her friend, but she felt compelled to tell these stories and to really push into a dynamic that was baffling, painful, mystifying, and so compelling to her; this mentor who is also sort of a succubus in some ways, like she was trying to untangle that.
KIM: Yeah. It's not flattering. So it's very interesting that Zona was able, and Latimer were able, to continue a relationship and not have it end up being something that broke, that…
AMY: It did break though, right?
JOY: I mean, they had ruptures, but they remained friends right until the end of Latimer's life.
AMY: Okay. didn't know that: I thought they severed ties.
KIM: I mean, people have severed ties for a lot less.
AMY: I can't imagine being a young woman and kind of being saddled, to a degree, with this older woman's baggage, really. What she needed was a therapist. Latimer had to step in and be that person for her. No wonder she had such mixed feelings about her! It makes a lot more sense now, this character of Hester and why she's, you know, adored and reviled at the same time.
JOY: I think so. And something else that I would add about their real life relationship between Zona Gale and Margery Latimer: I believe that Latimer's own aesthetic and politics had an effect on Gale's. Gale's own work became more acerbic, more blunt, more shrewd, after meeting Latimer, who was pretty savage, as you know. And Gale's work took a slightly darker turn. It lost the sort of rosy, bucolic vision of Friendship Village. So I think that there was really a relationship of mutual literary influence between the two women. It wasn't only mentorship or patronage. If you read Zona Gale's work, as it evolves you can see it getting more critical the longer she's close friends with Latimer. So I think they were really pushing each other to develop their aesthetic visions, in a way that I think Gale was grateful for, ultimately. And I think that is probably also what enabled her to overcome the sting of some of those less-flattering portraits. I wanted to mention quickly a little bit about the reception and publication of We Are Incredible. Is this a good time?
AMY: Sure.
JOY: So as you mentioned, it came out in 1928 and it was published by J.H. Sears, a publisher that really catered to sort of the smart set; witty, avant-garde kinds of things that could still be enjoyed by a mass audience. The print run was 5,000, which is significant, especially at the time when the population in the United States was much smaller than it is now. A review of We Are Incredible led the fiction section in The New York Times Book Review.
KIM: Wow.
JOY: Yes, it was reviewed widely all over the country. People were reading it everywhere, talking about it, arguing about it. It's really interesting: a lot of critics did not take kindly to the depiction of small town life. They found it unnecessarily negative. They critiqued the "ill-behaved, untidy children" in the book.
AMY: That is so weird that that would be someone's takeaway. Oh my gosh.
JOY:It is weird. Mainstream reviewers sometimes critiqued Latimer's work (then and later, because this was her first book) for its focus on what they called, "so slight a theme as feminine adolescence." They saw her as being narrow and circumscribed, precisely for the reasons that you mentioned, Amy: that much of her work is set in the domestic sphere, and much of it focuses on the lives of girls and women.
AMY: Why do you think this book kind of fell off the map, first of all, and then what do you think it offers readers today?
JOY: I think it fell off the map because Latimer's death in childbirth in 1932 at the age of 33 came at the beginning of the Depression. Her work had been avant garde, boundary-pushing, Modernist, in a way that was still not really widely accepted. Faulkner, for example, at that time was still being heavily criticized for being dirty, right? For talking about sordid, nasty things and politics and race. He was rejected by the mainstream press. I mean, his publisher was Latimer's publisher; it's really interesting, the connections there. But, you know, Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man has a bedwetting scene on the first page that wouldn't cause us to blink, but at the time that was considered obscene. So some of the things in Latimer's work prevented her from being widely embraced and immediately canonized, and I think that was the case with most women writers at the time: Kate Chopin disappeared, Zora Neale Hurston disappeared. Jean Rhys pretty much disappeared until Wide Sargasso Sea came out in the Sixties. So there was all this really brilliant work that had to be recovered, like a lot of lost ladies of lit, in that period. And then what happened was, Jean Toomer was the executor of Latimer's literary estate and he never enjoyed again the literary success that had come to him with his mixed genre novel Cain in 1923 in the Harlem Renaissance. He pulled away from literary work and he didn't work to keep Latimer's own reputation alive, but even if he had, it's important to note that his own reputation disappeared. I think it was only in the Sixties and Seventies that African-American scholars and critics rediscovered Cain and brought it back to visibility back into the Canon where it now, you know, comfortably resides. But for all those decades Toomer disappeared, and Latimer disappeared with him. So I would say those are the reasons that we don't know about her four stunning books. And what I would say she has to offer now is an incredible glimpse, a real cross-section of what life was like then for young, passionate, ambitious, aspiring, white women from lower-class middle America. And I think that that actually would be interesting to a lot of women who share those characteristics, but to a lot of people who don't as well. I mean, Latimer is addressing anti-Semitism in her work. She's addressing class injustice, sexual violence, she addresses anti-black racism. She addresses white supremacy and white privilege over and over again, naming whiteness as a source of privilege decades before the mainstream would begin to do that. She was a hundred years ahead of her time, absolutely, and I think just connecting with a brilliant literary forebear, I think it could be so affirming for readers and so exciting and interesting because she is so surprising and weird. She does such interesting things at the line level. She's so inclusive. She's so experimental. She's writing about women artists and she cares deeply and profoundly about Nature, the world, our bodies, our loves our pains, our desires. She's just a passionate writer and a thrilling read.
AMY: It's a tragedy she did die so young, because it would have been interesting to see if she could have disproven that theory, that Zona Gale had -- that you can't have children and continue to be an artist, you know? Could she have done it with her daughter? (She had a daughter that was named Margery.)
JOY: Yes. And I believe she absolutely could have. Toomer was devoted to Latimer's work. He was entirely supportive. They loved being, working artists together, and they had apparently a marvelous, erotic connection and enough money to live comfortably enough. And I think that they would have raised their daughter together and been extremely happy.
KIM: So reading this book was a revelation and I think it will be to our listeners as well. And we'd love to hear from you since you've read all of her stuff and written about it. What would you recommend as the next piece of work by her? A short story? One of her novels? What should we read next?
AMY: Something that's available.
KIM: Yeah. If possible. Yeah.
JOY: You know, um, ideally you would next read her next book, Nellie Bloom and Other Stories, which came out in 1929. And I don't really know how available that is; it's not in print so your next best bet would be to grab the collection Guardian Angel and Other Stories that Feminist Press brought out in 1984. It's still available. It's weirdly confusing in its title because Latimer's second collection of short stories was called Guardian Angel and Other Stories. But this book from Feminist Press is not that book. It takes stories from both collections, from Nellie Bloom, 1929, and Guardian Angel, 1932, and puts them together. And I don't think it's really a completely ideal or representative collection of the very best of her short stories, but it's definitely a taste and it's definitely easier. And, I mean, I'm thrilled that you liked We Are Incredible so much. I would say she's even stronger at the short story form. I think that's where her real power lay. And so I'm excited that people might have the chance to read those. She's utterly brilliant.
KIM: Oh, I can't wait. I absolutely can't wait. Do you feel like she has influenced your writing in some ways?
JOY: Maybe. Probably I try to take more risks and be weird because I encountered Latimer, so you know, the ability to blend lyricism and lush language with biting analysis of violence. I think that's something that I might not have done as well had I not encountered her work and her example and her courage
KIM: And you have another book coming out, right?
JOY: I do! How do you know?
KIM: Because I follow you very closely on Twitter.
JOY: Okay. Thank you. Yes. Okay. A total departure... it's supposed to come out in January, 2023 and it's going to be called One Brilliant Flame. It's a historical novel set in Key West, Florida in 1886 in the Cuban insurgent community that was the rebel base for the anti-colonial guerilla fight against Imperial Spain and Cuba. And this is actually my family's heritage and legacy, about which I knew nothing growing up. It's really a lost moment in U.S. History, the function that Key West fulfilled at that time as this rebel Cuban base. It's set around the Great Fire of 1886, which burned most of Key West. Arson was suspected at the time, but it was never proven. And so all of my main characters have motives to want Key West to burn, but we don't find out until the end who might've sent the fire. So it's a novel of political intrigue.
KIM: I can't wait.
JOY: Yeah, it was so exciting to do the research and then to try to inhabit the minds of those characters in a way that would be historically faithful and yet exciting to a contemporary audience. So it's pretty lean. I tried to avoid any of the stuffiness that sometimes upholsters historical fiction. So, yeah.
AMY: Well, thank you for coming on today and helping us inhabit the minds of the characters in Latimer's novel, because really you brought so much to this discussion. I walk away now feeling like I have such a better grasp of it. It was really fun to get to talk to you.
KIM: This is one of my favorite conversations!
JOY: It was such a pleasure. Thank you for your enthusiasm for literature in general, and for women and for gender and for this work. And thank you for the work you do. It was really fun.
KIM: So we'll sign off now, but we encourage you to read We Are incredible as well as Joy's novel Flight Risk. They're both so good.
AMY: And as always check out our website lostladiesoflit.com for a transcript of this show and further information
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.
68. The Happy New Year Episode
KIM ASKEW: Welcome back to another Lost Ladies of Lit mini episode, everyone. I'm your host, Kim Askew.
AMY HELMES: And I'm your other host, Amy Helmes. So we just rang in 2022 a few days ago, which seems like as good a time as any to sort of take stock and deal with assorted odds and ends for this podcast. Right?
KIM: Yes.
AMY: Last year we talked about New Year's resolutions, which I am not that good at making or keeping, but what I am good at is a good old fashioned New Year's purge. I was in full "Marie Kondo" mode over the holidays. Gave me a little time to do some organizing. Have you ever done that sort of Marie Kondo -- she's the author of the life-changing magic of tidying up, right?
KIM: Yeah. Oh my God, totally, and in fact, forget about spring cleaning. Every year I'm all about holiday cleaning. Okay. Maybe not "cleaning." Eric would argue with me about my choice of words there. Purging is right; like getting rid of stuff. I'm not the best at cleaning, but I'll get rid of things because I want to get rid of the old stuff so I have room for all the new stuff. Anyway, speaking of "sparking joy," we agreed that we needed to talk about our favorite other podcast of the year, "Once Upon a Time at Bennington College," right?
AMY: Oh my God.
KIM: Yeah. It was written and hosted by writer Lili Anolik, and the series takes a deep dive into a small liberal arts college in Vermont and how it shaped the careers of Donna Tartt, Bret Easton Ellis, and my favorite Jonathan Letham, all of whom were at the school at the same time in the early 1980s.
AMY: Enthralling.
KIM: Yep.
AMY: I literally was champing at the bit every week for the latest episode to drop. I couldn't. I was beside myself and Mike, my husband, he was super into it too.
KIM: Okay. I remember driving to meet you a couple of different times and listening to it on the way there. And then we would talk about it. I mean, I was actually enjoying getting in the car and driving around LA; any excuse to listen to this podcast.
AMY: Right. It made LA traffic bearable.
KIM: Absolutely. And the way Lili Anolik, like, just talks about everything. Every sentence sounds like it's going to be salacious, even if it isn't. She just has that skill.
AMY: She's kind of letting you be a fly on the wall at Bennington College in the early eighties — 1982. I kept texting this podcast to all my friends and urging everyone, like, "You've got to stop everything, and this is a podcast you need to listen to." And I would always preface it by saying, "I'm not really a Bret Easton Ellis kind of person. It's not my favorite, but just do it," and I have a new appreciation for him now.
KIM: Me too!
AMY: And I want to go back and read Less Than Zero.
KIM: Me too.
AMY: Still, American Psycho, oh my God, that was hard, as Lili goes into, but she takes us back to his teenage years in Los Angeles which was fascinating, especially since we live in LA; to be able to picture all that and see it shaped him and then going back and forth between him and Donna Tartt and her story, and just all the characters at Bennington College...
KIM: Oh, I was constantly Googling people named Brick and...
AMY: Oh, Brix, yeah.
KIM: And somebody "horse" ... Madeline Horstman, or whatever. Madi Horstman I was trying to find these people.
AMY: I looked up all their pictures.
KIM: I totally did.
AMY: I read the Esquire article that sort of inspired the podcast. And I gasped when she found the real-life people from The Secret History.
KIM: Totally. And all the little details, like the apricot scarf. There's a whole...
AMY: Of the professor! Yes, yes, And the Carly Simon connection...
KIM: "It was an Alfa Romeo!" And the B-side of the Police's "Every Breath You Take," I mean, oh my God, I just get chills talking about it right now.
AMY: A lot of you probably already know about it , but if you don't, we’re fully championing this one. I think it would be a great springboard for a movie.
KIM: Oh, yeah, absolutely. Or a TV series. I mean, oh, and can I also just, I know we're getting very excited because we love this, but I want to talk about Jonathan Letham. I've read his books since like the Nineties since, before Motherless Brooklyn. I've loved him for the longest time, and just getting to see how his story was woven in there. And he was kind of the outsider, and I'm not going to say much more because I don't want to give anything away, but watching his origin story and how it was woven in with that of Donna Tartt and Bret Easton Ellis and how they all knew each other -- like more than knew each other. I mean, it's just, oh my god, it's incredible.
AMY: It gave me such nostalgia for the Eighties, too. I just wish I could take a time machine just, go back for the music.. And the Brideshead Revisited element!
KIM: Yes. Oh my god. If we had gone to Bennington College, we would totally have been dressing like Brideshead Revisited. And one of the things they talk about is sort of making their experience of what college should be -- your idea of what maybe going to Oxford or Cambridge is like -- to recreate that for themselves. I would have bought into that completely. I would have been carrying a teddy bear
AMY: The scarves! I know. Okay, so we should mention that Bret Easton Ellis and Jonathan Letham participated in the podcast. So we get to hear their interviews.
KIM: And they talk and they read from their essays, and they're completely honest, it seems like; are open and very comfortable talking about it, which also just makes it that much better.
AMY: Yeah. On the other hand, Donna Tartt did not participate in the podcast. And what are your thoughts on how she's portrayed?
KIM: Um, Yeah, so she's famously a very private person, so not surprising that she wouldn't say much. Though, I mean, Jonathan Letham actually lets them read letters that she wrote to him, which I was kind of like, Oh, I wonder... I have a feeling he must have gotten her okay to do that as a somewhat friend of hers.
AMY: I don't know...
KIM: Probably not, but I mean, wow. I mean, that seems like an invasion, but that's a whole other thing. That seems a bit of an unfair thing to do, but I'm glad he did because I love hearing those letters. But I don't think she comes across as, um ... you know, she comes across as very driven. Let's put it that way. That's maybe a soft way of saying it: very driven, very ambitious, kind of doing what she needs to do to create the world she wants to create.
AMY: I don't think Lili Anolik had a ... I think she was trying to be very objective, in, you know, telling Donna's story. But when we get to the interviews with some of the inspirations behind The Secret History, those guys are pretty scathing at times. So, it's very interesting. Everyone should make their own judgment. And I do wonder if they were a little harsh toward her because she was a girl, you know? Didn't like her being in their midst, their little special club that, you know, she was trying to elbow her way into.
KIM: And Lili Anolik says from the beginning that they always had sort of a negative perspective of her and they were bringing that into whatever they said about her and to take it with a grain of salt, in that way. It certainly makes for a more interesting story to make her a little ... she almost comes across as a little tiny bit "Lady Macbeth" or something.
AMY: Yeah. And then I'm not going to give it away because it's in the last episode, but there's an anecdote about something that happened in terms of Donna Tartt's inspiration for The Little Friend, where it's a question of using somebody else's personal history to inspire that book. And there was some hard feelings.
KIM: Yeah. Didn't that remind you of Willa Cather and Dorothy Canfield Fisher, and their whole feud?
AMY: Yep. That's the first thing I thought of. Yeah. I mean, we talked about that whole question as a writer: can you have dibs on somebody else’s story? Is that fair? I mean, I think you can. I think all is fair in writing.
KIM: Especially if you can live with it, honestly. I mean, it's like if you can live with somebody getting mad at you, and maybe not speaking to you forever, if it's worth it to you for your art, then I guess you can. You can be a bad art friend.
AMY: It does seem like there were things that she easily could have changed to make it not so...
KIM: Yes.
AMY: Even for The Secret History, too, there maybe were things that she didn't need to have it be that directly lifted from real life to tell the story. Well, but I mean, we all love The Secret History, so...
KIM: I wouldn't want The Secret History to be changed. Yeah. And when you do hear the source in her life and the people that she knew and how she turned that into what she did, I mean, it just makes me respect her writing in that book even more.
AMY: One hundred percent. And she's always kind of had an air of mystery... she keeps everything close to the vest and a bit protected and...
KIM: And she's wearing a vest, usually, too!
AMY: Yeah.
KIM: So it's convenient.
AMY: But I think this podcast just preserves that concept of her, right? Even though things were revealed about her, she's almost more mysterious than ever now.
KIM: Yep. Yeah, yeah. I want to reread all the things from everyone .
AMY: Yes, same.
KIM: Yeah,
AMY: Bottom line, Lili Anolik had the difficult task of telling Donna Tartt's story without her participation, but it reminded me of that famous Esquire article, I don't know if you know it, Kim, by Gay Talese: "Frank Sinatra Has a Cold." (Better a cold than COVID, right?) Um, but this is an article that's kind of legendary. Gay Talese was supposed to write a cover story profile of Sinatra, but was told that Sinatra had a quote-unquote "cold," meaning he couldn't do the interview. And so Talese was like, "What do I do now? I have to turn something in." Well, he went on to write a story about Sinatra by interviewing about a hundred people who were in Sinatra's orbit. His dry cleaner, you know … anybody that kind of dealt with him in any way. And the resulting story that he came up with is now sort of what they teach every would-be reporter in Journalism 101 when it comes to writing a story on an unwilling subject.
KIM: I mean, the profiler's revenge.
AMY: Yeah. Maybe just sit down with the guy. Give him 30 minutes
KIM: Yup.
AMY: Or 15 or whatever. Yeah. Getting back to how Donna Tartt is portrayed in "Once Upon a Time at Bennington," it drives home the point of how tricky it is to tell someone else's life story.
KIM: Right.
AMY: Yeah, there's a new biography out on Elizabeth Hardwick, the writer and literary critic. And she dreaded the idea of somebody eventually writing about her life. In the 1970s she wrote a letter to the poet Elizabeth Bishop in which she said, "I can't tell you how I dread the future with biographies. Fortunately, I'll be dead before most of them come." So yeah, writing biography or telling somebody else's life story is always going to be somewhat subjective.
KIM: Yeah, that's true., And incidentally, the name of that biography on Hardwick is called A Splendid Intelligence, and it was written by Cathy Curtis.
AMY: Also Elizabeth Hardwick, we should mention, wrote the introduction to a novel that we're going to be featuring in an upcoming episode soon. It's Tess Slesinger's The Unpossessed, so when I saw Elizabeth Hardwick's name in the intro, I thought, ``There she is!"
KIM: Yep.
AMY: But getting back to biographies, I think I can confidently state that if anybody was going to ever try to write my story, including you, Kim, they would get it so wrong.
KIM: Yep. Yep, definitely.
AMY: Yeah. The flip side of that is probably also true. I'm not sure I could write your whole life story. How could I possibly know everything, right? I don't know that you can ever really know another person fully.
KIM: Yeah. And it's interesting, that idea of interviewing everyone around someone, that's probably the way that you would get closer to the truth. Anyway, so yeah, I think we really try to keep this in mind whenever we're trying to paint a portrait of the "lost ladies" we feature, and sometimes we are working with limited information. And that's why we were so thrilled this fall when we received an email from Brook Ashley. She's actually the goddaughter of Dare Wright, who we featured in a mini episode back in September. If you remember, it was about Dare Wright's The Lonely Doll.
AMY: I love that she reached out.
KIM: Yeah. So Brook Ashley, Dare's godchild and author of Dare Wright and The Lonely Doll, actually wrote in to clarify some statements we made based on our research of Dare. We feel so privileged that Brook wrote us and gave us this additional information. There were quite a few points that offer a different perspective on Dare Wright, and as her godchild, we think it's important that we share these with you. And we're posting the entire letter on our website lostladiesoflit.com. And thank you, Brook Ashley, for writing in. It really means a lot to us that you reached out and gave us an opportunity to provide some additional context on Dare Wright's life. So go back, listen to the episode if you want, maybe, and also visit lostladiesoflit.com so you can get fully Brook Ashley's perspective. And again, we want to thank Brook so much. It's always exciting when someone writes us who has even more knowledge on a particular subject.
AMY: Okay. So last thing for this episode. Kim, anything fun and exciting that you read this year that, (you know, doesn't necessarily have to be a lost lady) that you want to talk about?
KIM: Oh my gosh, talking about more books. Yeah, let's do it. Okay. So some of the books that I managed to fit in that weren't for the podcast that I absolutely love ... so I'm only gonna mention ones that I loved. I'm super picky about what I read, as you know, Amy. So forget all the social media hype, these are the real deal. These are the ones that I loved. Um, there's Colson Whitehead's Harlem Shuffle. It's a crime novel set in 1960s Harlem, and it has a noir feel to it. It really appeals to me, and great writing, so I recommend it. And you've probably also heard of Lauren Groff's Matrix, and I want to loan that to you, Amy. It's been getting lots of well-deserved praise. It's amazing. It's a historical novel loosely based on the life of Marie de France. Really loosely, but it's really all about ambition and power from a purely female perspective for a change, which is especially great.
AMY: Good. Yes. add that to my pile .
KIM: Then I have another one for your pile and this is not by a woman, but it's R.C. Sherriff's The Fortnight in September, and it's a New York Review Books book, and it's the best. It's about a working class family's annual vacation, and it is so good. It's like one of those books that just leaves you with a good feeling.
AMY: Is it funny?
KIM: It's funny, it's witty. It's a little poignant too, but just uplifting at the same time. So another one I read this year... oh, my god, I'm a huge fan of Rachel Cusk and her new book, Second Place. She's a genius, and I can't recommend this book enough. A Swim in the Pond in the Rain, which is by George Saunders. It's so good. He breaks down Chekhov stories, and it's based on his course at Syracuse University.
AMY: I know, I love George Saunders, and I just wasn't sure the Chekhov angle, if I didn't know the stories…
KIM: Yeah, he breaks them down and you can actually read them as part of it. So you don't… it's not like you have to know them from memory or anything. He has passages and sometimes the full story, and he breaks it down and talks about it. And also it’s not just for people who love to read, but also, writers, I think, would get a lot out of this book. Um, and then Excellent Women by Barbara Pym. I read that for one of Sadie Stein's McNally Jackson seminars. It was my first introduction to Barbara Pym, and I can't wait to read more. And also, Sadie Stein was one of our guests in the previous year and she's coming back in a couple of weeks with another episode.
AMY: Yeah. Our first returning guest. I read Excellent Women also. I think you gave it to me when you were done, and I loved it and I would love to do a whole episode on Barbara Pym. So hopefully sometime in 2022, we can get that on the agenda.
KIM: Yeah.
AMY: On my end, I'm a non-fiction girl, so the one I read this year that I loved … actually, I think I mentioned it last week when we were discussing Virginia Cowles ... I read the 2019 biography A Woman of No Importance, which is about the World War II spy Virginia Hall. And it was incredible. I'm pretty sure it's going to be made into a movie. But along those same lines, this is one I haven't read; I haven't gotten around to it yet, but it came out this year. The author is Rebecca Donner and it's a biography of her great, great aunt, Mildred Harnack, who was part of the German Resistance during World War II. called All the Frequent Trouble of Our Days. And that is one that I've got to get around too soon. I've been desperate to read it. I also read Ann Sebba's biography of Ethel Rosenberg, which came out this year. Also I just want to give a shout-out to a book that I just finished called Gentlemen Overboard. It's by a lost man of literature. And I found out about it through our guest Brad Bigelow from neglectedbooks.com. This is a book that was just put out by Boiler House Press recently but it's also come back into print in a number of other languages as well. It's a really slim volume. It's comic, but also really poignant and profound. Basically the story is about a guy on an ocean liner, and he slips and falls overboard. And so he's treading water in the ocean for the entirety of the book.
KIM: Oh, wait, does he have a volleyball?
AMY: That's Castaway, but yeah, it good. And another novel that I have on hold at the library and it's probably going to take forever for my turn, but I really want to read Amor Towles's The Lincoln Highway.
KIM: Oh, me too. I've heard that's good. I read A Gentleman in Moscow and I loved it, so yeah, I definitely want to read The Lincoln Highway.
AMY: And he did Rules of Civility.
KIM: Yeah. Yeah. Oh yeah, we loved Rules of Civility!
AMY: Loved it, I know! And then finally, because I listen to audiobooks a lot while walking my dog, and now that the "Bennington" podcast is done, I need something else.
KIM: Awww.... bye, Bennington podcast.
AMY: I know. I didn't want it to end. But anyway, actually I'm having fun right now because I'm listening to Eve Babitz's Sex and Rage on audio book. I decided with her recent passing that I wanted to read a bit more of her. And same with bell hooks. So I have Ain't I a Woman? downloaded and Eve Babitz.
KIM: Amazing.
AMY: And surprise, surprise. Guess what book, I still haven't finished, y'all?
KIM: The Clarissa countdown of the 21st century?
AMY: I haven't made a lot of headway, and Rosemary Kelty, if you're out there, I'm wondering if you have finished it because I know you were starting it the last six months or so, and you probably beat me to the finish line. If so, let us, know.
KIM: Yeah. So that might not be all for Clarissa, but it's all for today's podcast.
AMY: Yeah.
KIM: We're looking forward to sharing a lot more interesting books with you in the coming year. And if you'd like to know in advance what those books are, be sure to sign up for a monthly newsletter over at lostladiesoflit.com.
AMY: Happy New Year, 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.
67. Virginia Cowles — Looking for Trouble with Judith Mackrell
KIM ASKEW: Hi, everyone. Welcome to Lost Ladies of Lit, the podcast dedicated to dusting off forgotten women writers. I'm Kim Askew...
AMY HELMES: ...and I'm Amy Helmes. And Kim, I don't know if I told you this actually, but I had recently nabbed an old copy of a book called It's a Great War by a woman named Mary Lee. And I learned about her from our recent guest, Brad Bigelow. He's the editor of neglectedbooks.com who joined us a few weeks ago to discuss Gertrude Trevelyan. I hope we can eventually do a mini episode on Mary Lee, who was one of the very few women writers covering World War I. But actually by the time World War II rolled around a few decades later, there were even more women reporting on the war. (Although I think you could say they were still a dime a dozen.)
KIM: And that includes Martha Gellhorn, who we did an episode on earlier this year.
AMY: That's right. But did you know that Martha, while in Europe covering the Spanish Civil War and World War II, had a correspondent gal pal that she occasionally teamed up with over there? She was another trailblazing American reporter named Virginia Cowles. Together, Virginia and Martha Gellhorn even wrote a play together about their experience.
KIM: Okay, wow. So most of us have heard of Gellhorn, but I wasn't familiar with Virginia Cowles until we started looking into her for this episode.
AMY: Same here, which is why I'm very happy we've got another guest joining us today with a lot more knowledge about Cowles and her sensational wartime memoir, Looking for Trouble, which was reissued by Faber this fall.
KIM: Yes. I can't wait to introduce her, so let's ride the stacks and get started!
[intro music]
AMY: Our guest today is Judith Mackrell. She's a former dance critic for The Guardian and the author of several nonfiction titles, including Flappers: Six Women of a Dangerous Generation, Bloomsbury Ballerina, which is a biography of Russian dancer, Lydia, Lopokova, and The Unfinished Palazzo: Life, Love and Art in Venice, which tells the stories of the three famous women whose lives were connected through an abandoned Venetian Palazzo. Her most recent book is The Correspondents: Six Women Writers on the Front Lines of World War II, which The Daily Mail describes as "thoughtful and edge-of-your-seat thrilling" and Kirkus calls "an exhilarating read." British book retailer Waterstones named it one of the Best Books of 2021, so huge hooray for that. Judith, welcome to the show!
JUDITH MACKRELL: Thank you. I'm delighted to be invited and particularly to be part of your project, which seems so joyously to be reclaiming literary women from history or from neglect. It's fantastic and fantastic we're looking at World War II as well, where I think there are many women writers who have yet to be discovered.
AMY: Absolutely because Virginia Cowles was totally new to us. And I just want to say that I loved reading your book, The Correspondents. I felt like I was getting this really fun history lesson of World War II, you know? You sort of bring the events leading up to the war into really sharp focus, but you do it through the experience of all these women who were right in the mix. And I felt like I was living the tension right along with them. You set the tone, that sort of foreboding tension. And I also felt for the first time that I got a really good picture of how this war unfolded. The way you structured the timeline was really helpful in that way, because of course we learned about the war in history books and in school, but it was a fun way to see the bigger perspective. And I love that about your book
KIM: And not only do you spell out this wartime history, but having the women's perspective on it all really makes it unique, I think. In your book, you note that famed journalist Dorothy Thompson said "women make the best reporters and spies." What do you think she meant by that?
JUDITH: Well, I think she basically thought they had far better social skills than men, which meant that both as spies and as journalists, they were really intuitive when it came to interviewing people, perhaps even eliciting more confessions, more confidences. But also they were really much better at maintaining a social network, you know? Cultivating the contacts they needed for that. And of course, Virginia was actually brilliant at this. She just seemed to know everybody. Everybody seemed to love her. So the first three-quarters of the Second World War, when the Allied command were doing their best to exclude women from the official press corps, when they were trying to keep women from the front lines, having those contacts, you know, using people to help her find the loopholes in the regulations, that was essential for Virginia (as it was for the other five women in my book). And I think it also meant that because they had to use quite devious routes to get to their stories, often they came at the war from a different angle from the men who, you know… they found different issues, different stories to write about.
AMY: And it's interesting because earlier this year I read Sonia Purnell's A Woman of No Importance, which was about the spy Virginia Hall. So then in reading your book, I did see some parallels there in how they maneuvered, you know?
JUDITH: Yeah.
AMY: So per the title of your book, there are six women reporters whose stories you weave into your narrative. But for this episode, we wanted to pull focus a little bit and concentrate on Virginia Cowles. She was an American who grew up on the East Coast. And she actually started off as a society reporter, which you wouldn't necessarily think that a woman who was writing about debutantes and New York city nightclubs would, or even could segue into a career as a war correspondent. How did she end up making the switch?
JUDITH: Well, she never wanted to remain as society columnist, but unfortunately it was the kind of ghetto to which most women journalists at that time were consigned. It was extremely difficult for them to graduate onto hard news. And she made that shift partly after her mother died, tragically young; there was a small inheritance leftover and she used it to go traveling. She spent a year traveling the world. And all the kind of travel pieces she wrote, the kind of human interest stories she wrote, convinced editors, finally, to let her stop writing about debutante balls. And the next big shift was in 1935 when Mussolini was about to take the Italian troops into an invasion of Abyssinia -- now Ethiopia -- and Virginia thought this would be a really good way to get to write about what she called more rigorous matters. And she asked her editor if he would send her. She admitted she knew nothing about international affairs, but she thought she could get her ear to the ground and write some good descriptive pieces. So her editor had said, "Okay, you can go, but you have to pay your own expenses. And I'll only pay you if you give us the skinny, as it were." When she got up there she met and fell in love with a very charming and well-connected Italian journalist who I think, partly because he felt so guilty when he discovered that despite her incredibly sophisticated veneer, he was actually the first man she had ever made love to, he felt so guilty that he said, "Oh, well, you know, I'll get you an invitation to this very high-profile political dinner." And so she's at this dinner and Mussolini's press attaché is there. And just as a matter of form, really, she feels she has to, she says, "Well, could you give me an interview with Mussolini?" Expecting, actually hoping, that nothing would come of it, but the next morning she's woken up by a telephone call saying, "Yes, you've got your interview at six o'clock in the evening." And she's petrified. She's never done a political interview like this, let alone one with a dictator of Italy who's got the whole of Europe trembling. And in truth, it's not the best interview. Mussolini, he just kind of rants at Virginia for about 10 minutes, but it is a huge scoop for her. And it's on the back of that that her editor then allows her to go to Madrid to write about the Spanish Civil War.
KIM: What an amazing early scoop. Wow.
AMY: I can just picture her waking up that morning and getting that phone call and being like, "Crap!"
KIM: It's totally a "Bridget Jones" moment.
JUDITH: It was! I mean, she's absolutely terrified she's going to be tongue-tied, and she spends all day trying to kind of prepare some questions and is unable to eat, you know, but of course, as it turns out, her nerves were just irrelevant, really. Mussolini just wants to use her as a kind of mouthpiece to have a rant at Britain and America.
AMY: Okay. So one of her next journalistic coups happened when she was covering the Spanish Civil War. I'd like for you to kind of explain for our listeners a little bit why her coverage of that war was seen as such a big deal and more dangerous than anything most of the other war correspondents were doing.
JUDITH: When Franco and his Nationalist army mounted a coup against Republican Spain, it was perceived as this big ideological battle between fascism and democracy. Both sides were absolutely paranoid about spies, and journalists were amongst the prime suspects. And it was very, very difficult for individual journalists to report both from behind the Republican lines and then to cross over into Franco's Spain and write about the Nationalist army. Most of those who had attempted it had ended up in jail. When Virginia came out to Spain, she was absolutely determined to try and see the war from both sides. And so she was determined to try and get behind both lines. And the fact that she did, again, using her amazing contacts, was proof of her utter determination, but also her courage. She could one have been arrested. In fact, she very nearly was. But Virginia had moral courage and physical courage. That was one of the great things about her as a writer.
AMY: And she also had style!
JUDITH: Yeah. Well, when she arrived in Madrid, the kind of unofficial uniform for the press there were kind of berets and workers' overalls, you know? It was a big kind of moment of egalitarian dressing. Virginia, however, arrived in Madrid wearing a little tailored wool dress, a fur jacket and high-heeled suede shoes. And to all the pro-Republican press corps, they thought she looked like she'd come for a tea party in Manhattan! How is she going to be wandering around the trenches dressed in her high heeled suede shoes? And Virginia and her glamor became a bit of a byword, certainly during the first years of the war. And she would indeed pitch up frequently in quite dangerous situations wearing these high-heeled suede shoes. When she ended up in Prague in 1938 and it looked very likely that a war might break out, the other journalists in her hotel were like, "Would you please go to the shop and buy yourself suitable footwear? Because there's going to be a lot of running if this war breaks out." But yeah, it became her trademark and, um, it certainly helped to get a number of stories.
KIM: I mean, she is the best argument for James Bond being a woman. The next James Bond. I know they ended up choosing someone else, but I think they were discussing having a woman and they should have!
JUDITH: Absolutely. Yeah, it was very double-edged, Virginia's glamor. Some people found it very endearing. A lot of the soldiers in the front lines found it delightful. And certainly when Virginia was in Spain, she had soldiers giving her little love notes, but it made her fellow journalists suspect she was perhaps not serious. And certainly Martha Gellhorn and Ernest Hemingway, who were really pro-Republican and ferocious in their political views, regarded Virginia with quite a lot of disdain. And it took a while for them to realize that actually she had real grit as a journalist, that the high-heeled shoes and the jacket did not at all reflect her qualities as a journalist or as a person. There was one classic instance in Spain when she was invited to lunch by a Soviet general, who was part of Stalin's secret army. This general was both infuriated by Virginia's Manhattan glamor, but also clearly deeply besotted by it, because once she arrived at his HQ for lunch, he then kept her kidnapped for three days during which he tried to convert her to Marxism while also feeding her bottles of Champagne. And at the end of that three days, you know, she leaves with a red rose presented by the general, but also the most amazing scoop. I mean, journalists actually out in Madrid weren't meant to have any kind of contact with the Soviets. Their presence wasn't meant to be seen. So the fact that she'd had even five minutes with the general ,let alone three days and a kind of very bizarre sort of seduction, absolutely put her ahead of the field.
AMY: I love this story. It reminded me so much of in Raiders of the Lost Ark when Marion's held hostage by the Nazi official who's trying to woo her and he buys her the dress and he gives her the Champagne dinner, but I can picture Virginia being like, "What did I just fall into?" So she wasn't just having to defend herself from the dangers of battle, she was also having to be on guard from creepers like this!
JUDITH: Though bless him, this general, he was so convinced that the Communist Revolution would pretty much take over the world, and he expected America to fall next. And he was so taken by Virginia. He didn't want her to be on the wrong side of the barricade. He was looking out for her.
KIM: It's so sweet!
AMY: It's true. He didn't ultimately hurt her in any way.
JUDITH: No, I mean, women in Spain were often in very dangerous situations. I mean, rape was used as a weapon of war there as it was everywhere. But Virginia, even though she had her lipstick and her powder compact and was always beautifully coiffed, you get no sense in any of her writings or her memoir that she ever felt afraid for herself.
KIM: Wow. And then she eventually had to make a daring escape to get out of Spain, right? What happened? How did she get out?
JUDITH: Well, that was when she'd crossed over to Franco's Spain and found that the press was being policed much more aggressively. And she had one of the fascist officers as her minders, and as he became conscious that really, her sympathies were with the Republicans, he began to get very suspicious of her, and she realized it was time for her to get out. She asked for a press car to take her back over the border, and they said, "No, there's none available. And you're not allowed to travel by train." And at that point she knew she was under investigation. People seem to crop up whenever Virginia was in a state of acute crisis in her life, almost in danger. And so this series of people just kept cropping up when she was trying to make her way back to the border with France, giving her lifts, offering her a bed for the night. And then finally she manages to get word to one of the British diplomats in France who pretends he's coming over just to give her lunch and then kind of smuggles her out of Spain in his diplomatic car.
KIM: Wow. What a great story.
AMY: So while Virginia was reporting from the Franco side of the fighting, she was able to see what a lot of people didn't even quite know at the time, which was that Hitler, Mussolini and the Russians were all covertly lending their support and kind of pulling the strings in Spain in order to further their own agenda. And a lot of the women correspondents in your book were kind of Cassandras in that way. They were sort of seeing what was looming in the future beyond Spain and the threat that Hitler posed to the world before even any of the politicians were able to suss this out. And I know this was incredibly frustrating to Martha Gellhorn. Would you say Virginia was equally irked?
JUDITH: Yes. I think by the time she came out of Spain and realized, as you say, exactly how much Hitler and Mussolini were backing Franco, it became very clear to her that they weren't just out to help a fellow dictator. They were actually giving their own war machines a practice run in preparation for a wider war. And having also gone into Spain determined to try and keep an open mind politically about both sides, she came out absolutely committed to the idea that fascism had to be stopped; that it was the evil force that, you know, Martha, Gellhorn and Ernest Hemingway had already denounced it as. And when she'd got back to London, which is where she went next, the articles she wrote for The Sunday Times, which outlined what she thought were the dangers in Spain, were greeted with huge sort of interest and acclaim by a lot of the politicians. And yes, during the next year and a half, she was vehemently on the side of the anti-appeasers. She felt it was absolutely the moral duty of the Western democracies to go to war against Hitler and finally say enough is enough. I mean, there was a wonderful incident when she just got back to London and she'd written this huge, very analytic piece in The Sunday Times about what she'd seen in Spain. And it got all around Westminster and Whitehall; all the civil servants, all the politicians were reading it. And David Lloyd George, the former British prime minister, held a copy of her article in his hand as he was speaking very vehemently to the House saying, you know, we must be gearing ourselves up for a war sooner rather than later. But at that point, her name wasn't credited. She was just credited as an expert in Spain or something. And when Lloyd George requested to meet her, he asked a mutual friend, Randolph Churchill, Winston Churchill's son, if he would bring Virginia down to lunch. And at this point, Lloyd George was assuming that the writer of this highly-acclaimed article would be some kind of retired general or some military historian. And he was deeply disconcerted when Randolph Churchill drove up and out of the car came Virginia in her high-heeled shoes and lipstick, looking about 20. He was actually very offended. It was a very sticky lunch until finally Virginia won him over. And in the end he was as charmed by her as everybody else was.
AMY: We've obviously talked a lot about her social skills and her networking skills, but in terms of her writing and her reporting, what do you think made her copy so good?
JUDITH: I mean her copy varied, depending on the context in which it was being printed. So when she was writing for the Sunday Times as their roving correspondent, her pieces were quite similar to her memoir in that they were very pacey, they were full of local color and human interest as well as political analysis. But she was also writing much more factual pieces for the newspapers as well, and in those instances, her prose was much more sort of brisk and factual and not so easy to distinguish from other journalists. Her memoir, however, which is a literary tour de force, I think, really focuses on that narrative drive; on the human interest, and really on the kind of vividness of her description. Some of her accounts, you know, you can't believe she wasn't just writing it the very next day. It's so fresh on the page! And the momentum of this memoir, you know, it's got the pace of the thriller, really.
KIM: So as Nazi Germany began to pose an existential threat, Virginia actually had a run-in with Hitler fan girl, Unity Mitford. Listeners, she's the younger sister of author Nancy Mitford, of course, and we did an episode on her last year. Can you tell us about Virginia's encounter with Unity?
JUDITH: Yeah, this is just another of those sort of brilliant, serendipitous moments in Virginia's career. It's the late summer, early autumn of 1938, and she's gone to Nuremberg to cover one of Hitler's great rallies, and already there's a real feeling of tension. And she writes fantastically well about how the whole of Nuremberg feels like the capital of some religious crusade. So full of Nazi supporters. There are people tramping and chanting through the streets. And when Hitler holds a big tea for the dignitaries and the press, Virginia's really fortunate even to get a ticket. She doesn't ever expect to talk to him, but as she is sitting down, this young, rather gauche English woman sits down next to her and introduces herself as Unity Mitford. And Unity Mitford has been an absolute acolyte of Hitler ever since she went to one of the first Nuremberg rallies, and they develop this very bizarre relationship. She's been admitted to his inner circle, and she's one of the people with whom he confides most intimately. So Virginia listens to Unity gushing about Hitler and how wonderful he is. And you know, this is September, 1938, and it looks as though Hitler's going to invade Czechoslovakia and the whole of Europe could be on the brink of war. Um, so Virginia tries to find out from Unity, you know, "What's Hitler saying?" You know, trying to get the skinny. And Unity sort of babbles on saying, oh, she doesn't think Hitler will go to war. She says, "He's very excited. He loves the idea of having the world trembling before him, but you know, he's just built all these beautiful buildings in Berlin and Munich. I don't think he'd like to have them bombed." And then she goes on and says, "But you know, he does like to plunge himself into these crises because he gets bored easily. So Virginia just drinks in this extraordinary flow of information and comes away with the conclusion that, you know, according to Unity, if Hitler does take Europe to war, it'll be just because he's suffering from a bit of ennui!
KIM: Oh my gosh, uh, chilling on some level.
JUDITH: Yeah. I mean, she makes wonderful comedy out of this conversation with Unity, but she then follows it up with her description of Hitler's opening speech to that mass crowd. And it's chilling. I mean, that's the great thing about Virginia: she can flip tones so fast that while you're really engaged and beguiled by all the human drama, she never lets you forget the absolute severity of the situation -- the crises that she's writing about.
AMY: And that reminds me, also, in her memoir when she's covering the London Blitz. And she does, she juxtaposes sort of the everyday "life is normal" again with suddenly "here we go!" And I have a short little passage that I'm going to read because I think it encapsulates that really well. So yeah, she's in a London suburb, I think. She asks some homeowners if they're not worried or afraid of this. And they're like, "Oh no, if we were afraid, what good would it do us anyway?"
And she writes: There was certainly no answer to that; although I had a sinking feeling in my stomach, I thought if they could take it I ought to be able to take it too, and climbed into bed hoping that if death came it would be instantaneous.
The next morning, the sky was blue and innocent. If you hadn't seen the yawning craters and the wreckage, you might've thought that you had dreamt it. Traffic was normal, the shops were full, old ladies sunned themselves in the park, and soldiers and their girl friends strolled down Piccadilly arm in arm. I lunched at the Berkeley restaurant and found it as noisy and crowded as ever. Suddenly there was a bang. The room shook as a time-bomb exploded a few blocks away. A pretty girl in a saucy hat turned to the young army subaltern with her, and said, in a voice that rang across the restaurant: “Did you drop something?”
Then she goes on to say: You can write about the blinding flashes of gunfire and the long hiss of the bombs; about the deep roar of falling masonry like the thunder of breakers against the shore. You can write about the red glow of flames through the blackness, about the searchlight beams, the stars and the flares all mixed up together against the sky.You can write about these things, but it is improbable that they will convey the mixed sensations of the moment. The noise of the planes was the worst—an uneven, droning noise, like the sound of a dentist’s drill. Sometimes it grew so loud you held your breath, wondering painfully if the bomb racks would open. Once Vincent Sheean stopped in the middle of a sentence and glared angrily into space.
“What's the matter?” I asked.
“Nothing. I'm just waiting for that bastard to get out of the room.”
That seemed to describe it. Best of all.
I loved that passage so good. She really brings it to life.
KIM: Yeah, absolutely. Yeah. And clearly her memoir from her wartime experiences (it's called Looking for Trouble) it’s aptly named. When and why did she write it? And how was it received when it came out?
JUDITH: She started writing it at the end of 1940. London was being bombed. She'd written heroically about the Blitz and about the battle of Britain. But at that point, it was incredibly difficult for female journalists to get to any of the British battle zones under the war office's jurisdiction. And she decided that she could set her writing to a different purpose. At this point, America was still neutral, and France had surrendered to Germany. Britain was incredibly vulnerable, and there was a huge propaganda effort to get America, if not to come to fight immediately, then at least to supply Britain with the weapons and the food stuffs that it needed. And Virginia decided that she would write her memoirs and the story of her formative years as a war correspondent as part of that same propaganda mission. So although on the one hand it's hilarious and racy and a hugely descriptive account of all her escapades, kind of beating through the book you get a sense of every war she's covered has been started by fascists. And it kind of reaches a crescendo at the end of the book where she resorts to all this Churchillian rhetoric saying, "I've given you a picture of everything I've seen. Now's your time, America, to kind of gird your loins and pick up your arms and help Britain fight this terrible menace." I think it took her six months to write and she then toured America with it and it ran into several editions. I mean, it was hugely popular, both in Britain and in America -- on both sides of the Atlantic -- and after the war was over it earned her an OBE, a British honor, for her services to the war.
AMY: She was constantly traveling into danger from which other people were fleeing and trying to escape. So, Judith, I was wondering if you had any favorite sort of white-knuckle moments from her adventures.
JUDITH: I think actually it's her Paris escapades that resonates most strongly, because it is so extraordinary. I mean, she flies to France on absolutely the last civilian flight available. But at that point, she's not really aware that the French government is about to leave the city and is about to order the French army not to defend Paris anymore. And she thinks she's going to go and report on a sort of successful defense by the French. And she starts to realize things might not be going her way when her plane is diverted to Tours, which is 250 kilometers south of Paris. And the train she's on trying to get back into Paris, there's only three other people on it! Everybody else is going south. She arrives in Paris and there's an absolute mob at the station with people just desperate for any kind of transport to get out of the city. And she writes then this almost hallucinatory account of what it's like to find a taxi and be driven around Paris where there's nobody. The hotels are all shut; the streets are empty. If there are people on the streets, it's a few stragglers carrying their baggage. She says it's like watching someone you love dying. And there's kind of page after page of bleakness, and Virginia clearly mourning for the city that she loved. And then Virginia writes this incredibly harrowing description of joining the massive exodus — millions of refugees heading south. And she has seen refugees before in this war, but nothing on this scale. And she writes of these little tragedies that she witnesses on route. And there's one really piercing moment where she sees a woman standing outside her van with her children begging for petrol, because she's run out. And of course, no one will stop. They're trying to get away from Paris, but they're also now suffering the terror of German bombers who are strafing the road periodically to try and get the refugees to turn back. And so the only people who stop for this poor woman are four men who just push her van to the side of the road to get it out of the way, and of course break... I think it's her rear axle in the process. The van topples over. All the woman's possessions are scattered all over the road and she's just left on her knees, weeping, you know, with her children around her. And you sense the hopelessness of these people, but also how desperate the situation is, that people can go from, you know, two weeks previously, Paris bars were still open. People were drinking, they believed their government was going to save them. And now suddenly they're homeless being bombed by the Luftwaffe. And Virginia is brilliant at those moments, I think, of just making you feel, you know, on your own nerve endings, how hideous this war was for the civilians, in particular.
KIM: Reporting from a war zone, as we've heard, is challenging enough, but what were some of the added obstacles women reporters had to face during World War II?
JUDITH: When war broke out, there was definitely the perception still that, you know, women were the weaker sex and that they should be protected, essentially, from, you know, the noise, the blood, the danger, the weaponry of war. So the British War Office, and then the American War Office were both adamant that even if women were, for instance, allowed to report on the Blitz and did so heroically, they shouldn't be allowed with the official Press Corps near the front lines. But their motives were mixed. It wasn't just that they felt women needed to be protected. It was also they feared that because they would be amongst soldiers who would have been absent from their wives or girlfriends for months or even years, there was kind of a fear that these women might provoke scenes of sexual unrest. There was fear that in the thick of battle, if a soldier saw a woman journalist nearby, he might be more inclined to try and protect her rather than do his duty to fight the enemy. But, hilariously, the issue that absolutely seemed to have obsessed the military was they could not conceive how men and women could go to the toilet in close proximity to each other. And what the British called "the convenience question" and the Americans called "the latrine business" just seemed to symbolize the whole of the military's prejudices. It seemed beyond their wit to realize that if a woman was sufficiently brave and had sufficient initiative to work, to put herself in the way of bullets and bombs and shells, you know, she would not be too delicate to duck behind a tree to relieve herself or even use a mixed latrine. And as a result of that prohibition, it meant that the first four years of the war women weren't allowed to travel with the male press corps. It meant they had to make their own arrangements for transport, their own arrangements for accommodation when they were out near the war zones, and they were deprived of all the basic facilities that the male press used to deliver their copy. It meant that they weren't even allowed with the other press corps into the daily military briefings, which actually was very dangerous to them, because while they were sort of hitching around trying to get their stories, they didn't know where the fighting had spread to, which were the most dangerous zones, which weren't. And it was only in autumn, 1944 when women had protested so much and had proved themselves such great reporters that gradually those regulations were relaxed and women were allowed to travel with the male press corps.
KIM: It's just fantastic information, and just makes you think how much more they had to go through just to do this amazing reporting that they're doing. It's really incredible. Um, I also wanted to know more about her friendship with Martha Gellhorn. We were curious about what their relationship was like and how would you say they were alike or different?
JUDITH: Well yes, having not impressed Martha at all on her first arrival, Virginia and Martha then became quite pal-y because Martha was one of the very few women in the Madrid press corps, and although she liked to think of herself as "one of the boys," she did find it kind of overbearing, the absolute "macho-ness" of Madrid. So having Virginia in town where the two of them could go and drink cocktails together while the men were kind of discussing military strategy, um... there was literally one beauty salon still open in Madrid where they went and had their nails done. And they used to go window shopping. I mean, Madrid was a very surreal place, because daily life was still going on, even though they were being bombarded .With Franco's shells. So they became quite pal-y but Martha, at that point considered Virginia to be a real lightweight, because she wasn't vehemently committed to the Republicans, because she came from this sort of a seeming socialite background. I think Martha had just thought this was going to be a kind of one-off friendship, but then their paths kept crossing through the years winding up to the Second World War, and in the Second World War they became very close. Martha obviously came to recognize Virginia's astuteness and her courage and cleverness in getting what she wanted. I mean, at one point they were in Italy together and Virginia had managed to get both passes with the Free French forces, which would allow them to bypass the British and Americans in Italy. They did come to admire each other hugely, and they remained very close. Even in the years after the war, Martha was godmother to Virginia's first child, but in some strange way, Martha's initial prejudices about Virginia seemed to resurface. They lived, by chance actually, very close to each other in London during the Sixties, and they had completely different views on the Vietnam War. And as Virginia also settled into a more domestic family life, I think Martha felt less and less connection with her, and towards the end of her life became kind of bitchy about Virginia and reneged, actually, on her admiration for Virginia's journalism and dismissed it as high level gossip, which it absolutely never was. But when Virginia died, her daughter, Harriet Crawley, received a very beautiful letter from Martha, who I think had recognized that she'd become overly-prickly and wrote of her gratitude to Virginia as her greatest friend in the war.
AMY: So a complicated relationship, as many women's relationships can be.
JUDITH: Yes.
AMY: Um, and they also wrote a play together at one point?
JUDITH: Yeah. "Love Goes to Press." They started writing it in early 1945 when Martha was briefly in London and Virginia, by then, was based in London full-time. And, um, Martha was exhausted and coming back to London and meeting "Ginny" as she called Virginia and being able to laugh with her and just share their old stories had been an amazing kind of relief and contrast for Martha. And the two of them spent a lot of time together and they began to think, well, how are they going to earn their money once the war was ended? Who was going to employ them as journalists? Where would they go? What would they do? And so they decided to write a play together, a comedy, which was based on their experiences in Italy the previous year. They based the two heroines on themselves, but they each wrote the other's character. So it was a sort of very affectionate... not caricature, but an affectionate portrait of each other. But together, they also wrote very comic episodes which allowed them to take all the satirical shots they wanted at egos of the male journalists they've encountered and at the idiocy of the military bureau. They finally completed it when the war was over and it did do very well in London, actually, during its brief run, but it actually bombed on Broadway. Apparently the Americans thought it was too flippant.
KIM: Did anyone ever think about bringing it back again?
AMY: I know you can buy it in print.
JUDITH: Yes. You can buy it in print. I don't know if it, if it's not too of its time and place.
KIM: Right. Perhaps it didn't age well. Yeah.
AMY: Speaking of time, there isn't enough time in this episode, really, to talk about all of Virginia's accomplishments and adventures. The list goes on and on. So you need to go read Looking for Trouble, as well as Judith's book, The Correspondents, to learn all the rest of her stories. But, as you mentioned, Judith, England awarded her an Order of the British Empire medal in 1947 for the impact of her work. Now I know that some of the other women in your book had a more difficult time kind of rejoining the regular world after the war. But Virginia seems like she did pretty well when it was over. Can you tell us a little bit about her life after World War II?
JUDITH: Yeah. I think one reason why she emerged from the war with perhaps less trauma is that she had stopped frontline reporting by the end of 1944. So she didn't go into those concentration camps. She didn't witness those really searing images that, for instance, gave Lee Miller decades of PTSD. It had been difficult for her, the war, emotionally, because in the summer before it was declared she'd fallen in love with a journalist (also a pilot) called Aidan Crawley, and he had been shot down over the Libyan desert, I think in 1941. The rest of the war she didn't know if she’d actually see him again, but after the war ended, Aidan appeared on Virginia's doorstep with a proposal of marriage. To her great concern, you know, he'd been in the prisoner of war camp for the last four years so he was not looking exactly "groom material," but two weeks later she agreed to marry him and that marriage was extremely happy. He got elected as a Labor MP in the post-war election. They had three children and Virginia was genuinely devoted to her husband and family. She was a lioness, really, in defending them. And although she couldn't really continue daily journalism while being so committed to her family, she did then turn to writing biographies and popular history and did very well at it. I mean, partly because she had such great contacts, but also, you know, all her natural writing skills, that great talent for narrative and characterization that we see in her memoir, all that, you know, she was able to exploit and develop. So she did have a very successful second career. I just wish she'd written another installment of her memoir. She did have lots more adventures, uh, and her life with Aidan afterwards was equally fine. And in his biography, he quotes a little bit from her diary. It's so tantalizing. But yeah, we don't know...., it was only by talking to her daughter, Harriet, that I could really find out a lot about what happened to her after the war.
KIM: Right. And by the late 1970s and early Eighties, she was stricken with emphysema and she had to face her own mortality. She managed to take one final trip back to Spain where her reporting really all started, but she tragically died in a car accident on her way back through France. That was in 1983 and she was 68 years old. What a life she lived though! Incredible. Just incredible.
JUDITH: Yeah. And I'm so thrilled that Faber have chosen to reissue this memoir because she has been unjustly forgotten, I think, in war literature. Many people who've just recently discovered her have been overwhelmed both by the quality of her writing and by the adventures of her journalism. She was part of this extraordinary generation of journalists who was so pioneering, really, in making the way for today's generation of journalists. Broke down so many obstacles, so many prejudices, to allow women full equality as war reporters.
AMY: As you said, Faber recently reissued Looking for Trouble. The Sunday Times' Christina Lamb, who is one of today's leading British foreign correspondents, wrote the forward to this edition. And she describes Cowles as the "Forrest Gump" of journalism, meaning if big moments in history were happening, Virginia Cowles was there. And Judith it's been so wonderful having you as our guest to tell us all about this talented and courageous woman. And I just want to say, it's hard enough to write a biography of one person, but you did six women in this book, and it's really an impressive feat. And I loved the book. Thank you so much for sharing it with us.
JUDITH: That's so kind of you. It was marvelous to have such incredible women to write about. I have to say, um, yeah, I would have loved to have had several volumes.
KIM: This was a real honor getting to talk to you. And just to let you know a strange coincidence, my friend, Nicki, who's a literary agent, for my birthday last week sent me Bloomsbury Ballerina. And I cannot wait to read that too. So yeah,
JUDITH: That was my first biography, so I held that in a very special affection.
AMY: Is there anything on the horizon next? Anybody that, you know, you want to tackle next, or any projects that you have brewing?
JUDITH: Yeah. So I've started a new book which is the double biography of the two British artists, Gwen and Augustus John. They were brother and sister, and they were sort of born in the final third of the 19th century, but their careers flowered at the beginning of the 20th century. And I'm fascinated by their relationship as a brother and sister, but also the way in which Augustus John was the template of the flamboyant Bohemian promiscuous artists, while his sister was much more of a recluse. And while he, at the height of his career, was considered the most famous British artist of his generation, of his time, hardly anyone knew about Gwen's work. But after they died, they're posthumous reputations have completely reversed. So Augustus's work is now not so much seen or written about, and indeed, when he is written about people are very disapproving of his promiscuity and his kind of wicked ways with women. Whereas Gwen, she's being reclaimed by this project to rediscover lost women artists, and her reputation now rides far, far higher than his.
AMY: That sounds fascinating. And we occasionally drop in a lost lady of art in our podcast, so maybe we'll eventually have you back for that. And I was also thinking, uh, The Correspondents, what a brilliant TV series that could make.
KIM: Yes, absolutely.
JUDITH: You can't see, listeners, but my fingers are crossed!
AMY: Absolutely.
KIM: Oh, amazing. Well again, thank you for joining us to talk about Virginia.
JUDITH: Well, thank you so much. It's been great for me, and I love to think of these women having their lives continuing onwards, and I'm just so impressed by this project that you're running. I think it's brilliant. It's great.
KIM: Thank you. So we'll sign off for now, but don't forget to subscribe to our newsletter where we'll occasionally be giving out sneak peek info on which books we'll be featuring in future episodes. You can get a jump on your reading if you're inclined to read along with us. We love that
AMY: And as always, check out our website, lostladiesoflit.com, for a transcript of this show and further information.
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.
66. “A Wicked Editor’s Christmas Dream” by Alice Mary Vince
KIM: Hi, everybody! Welcome to another Lost Ladies of Lit mini episode. I'm Kim Askew, here with my co-host and writing partner, Amy Helmes, and we're decking the halls these days; Christmas is right around the corner. I wish I was wearing a Santa hat right now.
AMY: I know, I was actually thinking earlier this evening, if I could figure out where the kids' reindeer antler headbands are ... but I'm not that committed. That's the great thing about podcasting, right? We're not on camera, except to each other on zoom anyway. Yeah. As I recall last Christmas [sings] "Last Christmas...." um, we kicked off that episode talking about all of the Christmas carols that made us feel super depressed. Remember?
KIM: Yeah, we liked that about it, I guess, a little bit, and so we were weeping and laughing as we were recording that episode. But it was extra fitting because we were all stranded inside our homes last year, not really able to see friends or family. It's a little bit better this year, so...
AMY: We were really depressed. But this year, I thought maybe we could kick off this Christmas episode talking about a Christmas carol that I think is absolutely terrifying. And I think, probably, you know which one I'm talking about.
KIM: I'm guessing you're talking about A Christmas Carol. I mean, there's a scary ghost of Jacob Marley
AMY: No, no, no.A Christmas carol. That is absolutely terrifying.
KIM: Oh! So I thought you were kind of making a pun about...
AMY: The song.
KIM: Oh, I don't know. No, what is it?
AMY: "Carol of the Bells." It's God awful.
KIM: Oh my God, I had no idea where you were. I thought you were making a pun about A Christmas Carol.
AMY: No. The song that's like [sings] "Ring Christmas bells, joyful we sing, psychotic bells, psychotic bells!"
KIM: I love it.
AMY: No, you don't.
KIM: I totally love it. Amy. I love that...
AMY: Everyone in our family is super scared of it.
KIM: I love it. I have a new appreciation for it now. And I might be a little scared, but...
AMY: Don't you think it's just super like tense and anxiety-forming?.
KIM: I love that stuff. I mean, Carmina Burana is like one of my favorites, and then, uh, Christmas stuff ... I love "The Messiah." Parts of it sound kind of scary too, but I love the drama.
AMY: The drama, yeah. That's what it is. To me, it's like that Psycho shower music. "Tweek! Tweek! Tweek!"
KIM: You're right. I'm never going to listen to the same again!
AMY: Even in Home Alone, that's the song they use for the scary part of the movie. I can't believe you don't. Yeah. Anyway.
KIM: Sorry. Anyway. Yeah, I didn't get that one. So anyway, why are you trying to freak us all out, Amy? Christmas isn't supposed to be scary. It's supposed to be fun and light and just jolly.
AMY: I know, but do you think maybe the Victorians would beg to differ a little on that?
KIM: Yeah, I mean, good point, but that's the Victorians. They were all about a good Christmas ghost story., and I'm wondering what the appeal there is for them. Maybe the contrast between what Christmas is supposed to feel like -- warm and comforting, a cozy domestic scene -- with that which is kind of dark and chilling, especially in winter time. So I think I get it. It kind of works, strangely enough.
AMY: Yeah. And then I think also, maybe around the holidays, you tend to think about loved ones who have died. So that makes you a little bit more primed to think about ghosts, I guess.
KIM: I love a good Victorian ghost story anytime of the year. Um, I'm a Victorian at heart, I guess.
AMY: Yeah. And it's safe to say, I think, that the most popular ghost story at Christmas time is Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol," which we've mentioned. But it spawned a lot of copycats in its day; people that were eager to capitalize on the public's appetite for Yuletide specters.
KIM: I love the phrase: Yuletide specters, but it's interesting you mentioned "Yuletide," because the idea of spooky Christmas stories actually didn't originate with Dickens. The tradition goes back much further in history. It goes all the way back to the pagan festivals like winter solstice, the darkest day of the year and a pre-Christian holiday that was called Yule.
AMY: Yeah, doesn't the idea of pagan festivals, just that phrase alone, feels spooky? I'm picturing dancing around a fire and chanting. I don't know.
KIM: Yeah. Just talking about it I get the chills and I feel like some sort of primordial....
AMY: Yes. There's a definite mystique to it. So speaking of those kinds of pagan festivals, that time of year spawned ghost stories going all the way back to the Medieval era. And I was reading a Smithsonian article about this topic from a few years back; it was written by a guy named Colin Dickey, and his article mentioned a Victorian humorist, Jerome K. Jerome. And he kind of summed it up best when he wrote, "Whenever five or six English-speaking people meet round a fire on Christmas Eve, they start telling each other ghost stories. Nothing satisfies us on Christmas Eve, but to hear each other tell authentic anecdotes about specters. It is a genial festive season, and we love to muse upon graves and dead bodies and murders and blood."
KIM: My kind of people! No, just kidding. Every time we mention Smithsonian on this podcast, it's like a drinking game or something. It's reminding me also of Henry James's Gothic novella The Turn of the Screw, which we've talked about, I think, a couple of times in other episodes. It's sort of a story-within-a-story where the narrator is recounting the tale with some other people on Christmas Eve night.
AMY: Anytime you're sitting around a fire, which you often are on Christmas Eve, right? Ghost stories seem appropriate. But getting back to Dickens, his ghost stories were always morality tales. So he wasn't necessarily trying to freak people out. He was using ghosts to teach a lesson and appeal to his readers' better nature. Eventually he decided to stop writing the Christmas ghost stories, but there were plenty of other writers who were willing to dive right in to pick up where he left off.
KIM: First of all Dickens: That wiley, talented hypocrite. But that's another episode. And interestingly enough, these ghost stories that you're talking about that the people were writing in the Victorian era, they weren't all scary. Some were kind of poking fun at the trope, especially the "cautionary tales to be a better person" aspect. And that leads us to the story we're going to be focusing on today. Right?
AMY: That is true. So getting ready for this episode, I was looking around trying to find a "lost lady" Christmas ghost story from that era. And I had found a few that were fine, but they were basically kind of just your garden-variety haunted house story, you know? They were written with an earnest intent to scare, but I didn't really feel like they blew me away enough to devote a podcast episode to.
KIM: Yeah, we have standards around here, people. High standards.
AMY: Yeah, I wasn't going to just do a throw-away scary house tail, you know? Who cares? But then I stumbled upon this one story in an edition of Victorian Christmas Ghost Stories from Valancourt Books. They have a few different collections of Christmas ghost stories. And I read this one and fell in love with it because it was so different from all the other ones that I'd been reading. This one is basically a spoof of Dickens' A Christmas Carol. It's called "The Wicked Editor's Christmas," and it was written by a woman named Alice Mary Vince.
KIM: I mean, that title, "The Wicked Editor's Christmas" is completely unusual. Hilarious. Just the name; It totally intrigues me too. I'm into it.
AMY: The writers in us are intrigued, right? Not that we know any wicked editors.
KIM: No, we've never seen the word "stet" ever. This story is about an unnamed newspaper editor who serves as this story's Ebenezer, Scrooge, if you will.
AMY: Yes. It's Christmas Eve. He has just finished a big rich dinner, complete with some boozy punch. And so he's sitting in front of the fire, digesting, feeling pretty good. When lo and behold, he receives an unexpected visit from ... yes, you guessed it: a ghost. But the editor's response is more unfazed than it is nonplussed. And so I'm just going to read from the story here, because it's so hilarious. And also, Kim, I have an idea of when I read this, I might try to put the ghost's voice in like an echoey, like put a little echo-y effect so it sounds like a spooky ghost. We'll see if I can pull that off. So this is referring to the editor:
He had a great dislike to all ghosts, but a particular aversion to the Christmas species. They were so moral, so improving, so bent on doing good. At other seasons of the year, ghosts content themselves with tapping, creaking and occasionally pulling the clothes off your bed. But at Christmas they always become priggish and apt to rake up things you would far sooner forget all about. The editor saw that he was about to be bored and he sighed deeply, as he asked, "Will you kindly give me your name? I do not think I've had the pleasure of meeting you before."
KIM: I'd like to think I could actually maintain a cavalier compartment like that if I ever came across a ghost, but I think it's probably unlikely. I don't think I could keep my cool, and also, that sounds like Evelyn Waugh or something. It's very 1930s. Even though it's Victorian, there's something very modern about this.
AMY: Yeah. Anyway, it gets better and it gets funnier. So the ghost tells the editor that he has been sent to him by the spirit realm to show him a few things. And the editor's like, well, you know, our chief reporter generally attends to that sort of thing. Um, you know, talk to my staff, basically, but the ghost is like, "No, no, no, it's you I'm supposed to see." So as the story continues, the editor's like, "Oh, great. Now I'm in for a morality lecture. Perfect." So he asks, "Would you tell me the origin of the Christmas ghost?"
"Dyspepsia," answered the ghost briefly.
"Why is he so much more respectable and tiresome than any other kinds?"
"There's nothing like the liver," said the ghost, "for awakening the conscious, and there is no season of the year when the liver is more likely to be out of order, and the conscience is correspondingly susceptible. We take advantage of this and come to earth to administer our rebukes and suggest improvements."
" I suppose you follow the old rules -- pictures of the past, present, and future," said the editor.
"Yes, I work on the good old lines," replied the ghost, "though I flatter myself I have introduced a little variety into the business."
So then the editor is like, "Would you think it's rude if I just kind of skipped this whole thing?" And the ghost is like, "No, no, you've got to listen. You must hear this." And so he shows the editor the first scene of the night. It's a bird's-eye view of the town with people brooding over copies of the newspaper that he publishes.
"This," said the ghost, "is the abode of dejected men and rejected copy. You have largely helped in peopling this."
" Well," said the editor, "There wasn't room for it all, you know, and I did my best."
"Not always," said the ghost in denouncing tones. "Read that." He pointed to a manuscript over which a very thin pallid-looking man was leaning. And the editor read it carefully. It was addressed to him and bore a date of some weeks ago, but he had never read it before.
"By Jove!" he said. "That's uncommonly good! I'll use that on Friday."
" Too late," said the ghost monotonously. "Too late. Look into the man's face." The editor looked, it was the face of a corpse.
"That man died of want," said the ghost. The editor shivered.
KIM: Oh, my God, anybody who's ever gotten a rejection letter -- and if you're listening to this podcast, you probably have because you might be a writer -- oh my gosh, that's like, "They'll see what happens. It was, it was soap poisoning!"
AMY: "It was rejected copy!" I love it. I wonder if you can die from a rejection letter? Apparently you can!
KIM: If you can die from love, you can die from a rejection letter.
AMY: So anyway, then we move on to the next scene of the night. The ghost goes on to show the editor an image of a little boy and girl who are reading salacious headlines about a horrible murder, as well as disclosures from divorce court. They're getting all this from the newspaper and the editor is like, "I remember that well! We got that murder scoop before anyone." Suddenly they flash-forward to seeing the little girl grown up. The implication is that she is now a prostitute, and the boy has become a criminal. And the editor is stricken by this.
"Am I answerable for this?" he asked.
" Yes," said the ghost. "You and others are answerable for all of this."
"But," remonstrated the editor, "the realistic stuff sells so well nowadays. Everyone goes in for it."
"Even so," said the ghost, "that girl is an outcast and that boy is going to the gallows. Have you had enough?"
KIM: Yeah. This editor clearly subscribes to the "if it bleeds, it leads" theory of newspaper publishing. And also, the writer obviously got some rejection letters, I guess. Oh my gosh.
AMY: I know. I love her. I love that. Um, so then the ghost goes on to call the editor "politically wobbly" -- he uses that phrase, and the editor's excuse is, basically, "It's rather hard to please everybody, you know." And then by the end of the story, he chalks up the whole night to indigestion. He says, as he's lowering the gas and going off to bed, "There was too much nutmeg in that punch." And that's basically the end of the story.
KIM: I love it. I feel like the story still works today. It's a cautionary tale for Fox News executives, among others. Um, but I really want to know ... what we know about the woman who wrote this? Who is Alice Mary Vince?
AMY: I wish I knew more. I couldn't find a ton of information. The Valancourt anthology, where I found the story, it says that it was originally published in The Lincolnshire Echo on December 19th, 1895. And The Lincolnshire Echo is a weekly regional newspaper in Great Britain, which is still published today, it seems. But I couldn't find her at all in any other internet searches, other than being listed as the author of this one particular story. So, I don't know. I mean, she's a true lost lady, at least from my little bit of digging that I did. I don't know if there's any other stories she might've written.
KIM: In someone's great grandmother's attic there is a pile of rejection letters so high.
AMY: She was wrongly rejected, because this story is great.
KIM: I want to find out about her. I mean, I'm not giving up yet, Amy. I know you're very thorough, but I'm not willing to give up. If there's anyone out there who knows who Alice Mary Vince is or anything else she's written, we want to hear about it. Let us know. We'll take the smallest clue and run with it. She's obviously very witty. Maybe she was just a local who submitted this story for kicks, and now she's being talked about more than a hundred years later. So good for her!
AMY: And in the meantime, if you're interested in reading more Victorian ghost stories, which I think could be a fun little tradition to start maybe with your family on Christmas Eve, I don't know... But if you want to do that, go check out the Valancourt Books of Christmas Ghost Stories. There are five different volumes, so you have lots of stories to choose from, and they're all pretty quick, you know, quick, little fun things you can do after dinner with your relatives or whatever. And a lot of them are written by women. So thank you to the guys over at Valancourt for getting all these stories back in print.
KIM: Yeah. It sounds like these anthologies would also make a really great Christmas gift for the book-loving folks in your life.
AMY: Yeah. I mean, most of the stories are going to be things people don't know. I think people can get tired after a while of Dickens's A Christmas Carol. I know that is a tradition for a lot of people, but maybe spice it up a little.
KIM: Yeah. You can have both.
AMY: And speaking of Christmas gifts, if you want to know what's on our wishlist to Santa this year, we'll tell you: it's some more five-star ratings and reviews over at Apple podcasts or wherever you listen to your podcasts, but Apple would be great. And I know we say this at the end of every episode and it gets a little repetitive, but it really means a lot to us. So if you could take a few seconds now that this episode is finishing up to head over and tell us you love us, we would be so incredibly grateful. And if you just do it now, we won't have to haunt you from beyond the grave decades from now to admonish you for letting it slide!
KIM: We need some rattling chains in there. Hopefully you can find that when you're editing. We'll see you back here next week. We're going to be discussing another "lost lady of lit." Virginia Cowles was a WWII reporter and a bestie of Martha Gellhorn. Her gripping wartime memoir Looking for Trouble, helped drum up American support for entering the fray. Author Judith Mackrell will be joining us next week when we'll learn all about Cowles' daring adventures.
AMY: Happy holidays, everyone!
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.