"A Life of One's Own: Nine Women Writers Begin Again," by Joanna Biggs

Readers can see why I would choose to read “A Life of One’s Own: Nine Women Writers Begin Again” (Ecco, 2023), by Joanna Biggs: It is a combination of literary discussion of eight famous and outstanding women writers with Biggs’ making connections with her own life and work (thus she takes the position of the ninth writer included in the title, which sounds presumptuous, but is done in a humble way). The writers’ lives and work are the main focus, but the author’s own experiences provide a kind of bridge between readers and the eight famed writers. I know you will want to know which writers are the focus of the book; they are Mary Wollstonecraft, George Eliot, Zora Neale Hurston, Virginia Woolf, Simone de Beauvoir, Sylvia Plath, Toni Morrison, and Elena Ferrante. I have read and admired and treasured each of these writers. Readers might wonder about the “begin again” part of the subtitle. In each case, the writer went through some kind of difficulty or obstacle, whether physical, financial, marital, mental, emotional, or otherwise, while working her way toward writing, and managed to transcend that obstacle. This focus was a good reminder that for so long, women were not encouraged to be writers, and women writers had so much less support in writing than men did. Although I already knew quite a bit about each of the eight writers, I still found much to learn and think about. I savored the book, even loved it, as it offered such wonderful insights into the specific writers, their lives and their work, and to the situations of women writers more generally, historically and still.

"Tom Lake," by Ann Patchett

Oh, Ann Patchett! She is such a genius, such an amazing writer! Yet she does it with seeming ease, and with such grace. I have treasured all her books, fiction and nonfiction, but most especially her novels. My posts on her books include those of 9/19/11, 12/8/13, 11/6/16, 3/22/18, 11/15/19, and 3/31/22 (you can also always use the small search bar in the upper lefthand corner of this blogpage). Patchett also co-owns and operates an independent bookstore, Parnassus Books, in Nashville, Tennessee – brava for that! Her brand-new novel, “Tom Lake” (Harper, 2023) is a terrific addition to her fiction. When I heard Patchett was about to publish this novel, and that it involved family, youth, middle age and aging, dreams that evolve, how we figure out what is really important in life, and the power of theater, among other themes, I was first in line to buy a copy. And the fact that it was set in cherry country in northern Michigan, very near to the area of my parents’ former lakeside cottage, where I spent many weeks over many summers, I was even more eager to read the novel. It did not let me down. The novel goes back and forth between the past and the present of its main character, Lara. In the present, during the pandemic when many of the usual workers are gone, she and her husband and their three daughters in their twenties are picking cherries on their cherry farm. Partly to pass the time while picking, Lara’s daughters are eager to hear the story of their mother’s youthful experiences acting in a summer stock theater nearby, at Tom Lake. They are especially interested to hear about her romance with an actor who later became very famous. Thornton Wilder’s play, “Our Town,” has a big role in this story. Lara played that play's character Emily in high school, in college, and at Tom Lake. Her daughters are also curious about why Lara quit acting, and if she ever regrets it. Each of the daughers is, of course, also figuring out what is important in her own life, and on some level is looking for clues in her mother's story. During the weaving of the past and present throughout the novel, we readers are as eager as Lara’s daughters are to find out what happened. But as with all of Patchett’s novels, although the plot is very compelling, equally compelling are the portraits of the characters and of their relationships, and the connections between the past and the present in all of their lives. I thoroughly admired and enjoyed “Tom Lake,” and (as you can tell by now!) I highly recommend it.

"The Best of Everything," by Rona Jaffe

Rona Jaffe’s novel “The Best of Everything,” when it was originally published in 1958, was considered risqué, even shocking, for its candid portrayal of the lives of young women working in New York City, most of them planning to work only until they found husbands. The “shocking” part had to do with their romantic and sexual lives, as well as with the blatant and unchallenged discrimination against them at work, and the rampant sexual harassment they endured. It also had to do with the fact that some of these young women wanted more than just marriage and children; they wanted to be able to continue working as well. In other words, despite society’s expectations, they wanted to “have it all.” But this ambition was mostly not considered acceptable in the society of the times. This was the time a few years before second wave feminism (then known as “women’s liberation” or “women’s lib”) began to be a movement in the U.S. and elsewhere. The recent reissue (Penguin, 2023) of “The Best of Everything” includes an excellent introduction written by New Yorker writer Rachel Syme, one that provides a useful perspective about the social climate of the times. The main characters in the novel are several young women who work in a publishing house, and the story tells of their work lives, their friendships, and their relationships with the men in their lives. The young women sometimes compete with each other, but mostly are loyal to each other; the solidarity among them, especially when some of them suffer very difficult times, is a high point of the novel. They cannot complain to their employers, or to anyone else with any power, about the discrimination and harassment they endure, but they can and do look out for each other, and comfort and help each other. Although the novel is a “page turner” and perhaps not at the highest levels of literature, it is fascinating to read. Besides the usual pleasures of character and plot, the cultural environment of the times is of interest, as well as the portrayal of life in New York City and surroundings. Most of all, to me and perhaps to other women of my generation, the book is a timely reminder (in case we had forgotten) of how much sexism and discrimination existed, and of how blatant it was. It could be instructive for younger women and men to read as well. Reading it from the perspective of our own times offers a contrast, as matters have improved for many women in many – though definitely not all -- parts of the world, sometimes dramatically. (I do note that this book focuses on a particular subset of women – young, white, heterosexual, mostly middle-class, fairly well-educated, American, urban – and although the lives of this group reflect in many ways the situation of women of other identities and places, the differences are important to remember as well.) But the reminder the novel provides is also somewhat chilling, in that very recent years have forced us to realize that progress is not all linear, and victories we thought we had won can be, and have been, taken away from us, in a way that we could never imagine. I am glad “The Best of Everything” has been reissued, as it offers us both reading enjoyment and important instruction on the lives and rights – or lack thereof – of women, and of the need for ongoing vigilance and action.

"The Critic's Daughter: A Memoir," by Priscilla Gilman

As readers of this blog know, I love literature, especially fiction. I love memoirs and biographies. So of course I love the perfect combination of memoirs and biographies of writers and others involved in the world of literature – critics, editors, publishers, and more. “The Critic’s Daughter: A Memoir” (Norton, 2023), by Priscilla Gilman, like "Lives of the Wives” (see my post of 7/4/23), is a perfect mixture of the above preferences. Gilman writes about her life as the daughter of her late father, the eminent literary critic Richard Gilman. It is almost a dual (auto)biography, in that the author was extremely close to her father, and felt responsible for him in many ways, starting in her childhood and continuing until his death decades later. She admired him, even adored him, learned from him, and was extremely protective of him. Much of her own life and career was modelled on his. He was a very loving father. But he was also a complicated, sometimes insecure and difficult man, one with his own unhappy secrets, and not only Priscilla but her sister and others had to tiptoe around him, propitiate and try to shore him up and please him. It was too much (partly self-imposed) responsibility for his daughters, especially for Priscilla; she both welcomed the responsibility and sometimes felt overwhelmed and even angry about it. This is a loving but clear-eyed portrait of Gilman’s father, and of the dynamics of a literary family (the author's mother was the famous literary agent Lynn Nesbit) in the midst of the literary life in New York City in the mid-to-late twentieth century and into the twenty-first century. Along the way, we readers learn much about the literary scene of that time period. The book features many famous writers and others in the worlds of literature and the arts. This memoir is fascinating for its psychological insights and for its literature-related portraits. It is also beautifully written.

"Lives of the Wives: Five Literary Marriages," by Carmela Ciuraru

There is nothing like well-written, informative, insightful literary biography with a splash of good gossip for good measure! “Lives of the Wives: Five Literary Marriages” (Harper, 2023), by Carmela Ciuraru, gives the life stories of each member of five twentieth-century couples, along with astute analysis of each couple’s relationship. The couples are Una Troubridge and Radclyffe Hall (although they were both women, Troubridge was clearly the “wife” figure); Elsa Morante and Alberto Moravia; Elaine Dundy and Kenneth Tynan; Elizabeth Jane Howard and Kingsley Amis; and Patricia Neal and Roald Dahl. The author’s clear focus is on the ways that the wives, although mostly writers themselves, were very much in traditional “wifely” roles of supporting the “great men” writers. They had to squeeze their own writing (or acting, in the case of Patricia Neal) between and around the housework, childcare, typing, editing, emotional shoring-up, way-smoothing, and other typical “duties” of wives, literary or otherwise. It was assumed by their male partners (and the lesbian Radclyffe Hall) that things should and would be this way. The misogyny was unsurprising for the time, but still disturbing and sad to read about. There was also often jealousy by the male writers when their wives’ literary works were more successful than their own. The biographies and analyses in this book are fascinating, and the writing is excellent. And I admit that the (fairly discreet but definitely juicy) gossipy parts are both shocking and intriguing. I highly recommend this book.

"You Could Make This Place Beautiful," by Maggie Smith

Bereavement is one kind of loss, one that I have written several times about (e.g., 12/22/22) because of my own grieving the death of my beloved husband. I just finished a book about the grieving of a different kind of loss: the end of a marriage. Maggie Smith (“Not that one,” as she writes!) has written an affecting, painful, but ultimately hopeful memoir titled “You Could Make This Place Beautiful” (One Signal/Atria, 2023) about the end of her marriage. She writes the story of the marriage itself, as well as its end, and of the time after. She tries hard to be fair to her ex-husband, and preserves his privacy as much as possible. But she is first in disbelief, then very angry and very sad for a long time. A thread running through the book is not only her own pain, but her worry about how the divorce affects her two children. Another thread is her realization that throughout her marriage, she had tried so hard to make herself small, to allow her husband’s needs to come first, and to minimize the time and energy that her writing and editing career took. Afterward, she is angry at her ex-spouse and, to some extent, herself for this unspoken agreement the two of them seem to have had, and for his expectation that she would always put the roles of wife and mother before any of her own work and personal needs. He doesn’t put the same demands upon himself, giving the rationale that he is making more money than she is. The story is written in short vignettes that have a poetic feel (Smith is in fact a poet), and the author’s experiences, told this way, feel very immediate. She takes us through her journey, and we are happy for her that -- eventually -- she works her way toward a kind of acceptance and peace, and even joy in her new life. But of course there are scars. I admire the writer’s candor, and her generosity in sharing her experiences and feelings -- both visceral and thoughtful -- in a way that many people -- women especially, but not only --will relate to.

The Power of Story; the Power of "Charlotte's Web"

I have written often about the power of narrative, of story, and how stories have always drawn me (as they do most human beings). I have also written here (12/22/22, for example) about the comfort of reading memoirs and novels during times of great loss. I thought about both of these ideas when recently, I am not sure why, the great children’s book, “Charlotte’s Web” (1952), written by E.B. White and illustrated by Garth Williams, came to mind. I remembered that when my mother read this book to me when I was about 5 or 6 years old, I would love it, but also would weep at the sad parts near the end, and then I would ask her to read it again, and again, and again. The sadness was part of the story, and painful as it was, the power of the story made me want to hear it again and again. And although sad, it is a lovely story, a story about love, nature, respect, and kindness. I can remember so clearly my feelings during those readings. As I said: the power of story. I am still absolutely and completely in thrall to that same power of story, these many decades and countless stories later. (P.S. Even if you are an adult, if you have never read “Charlotte’s Web,” please do! I am sure you will be moved by the words, the illustrations, the characters, the gentle humor, the pathos, and most of all, the story.)