"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.