Laura Lamont’s Life In Pictures by Emma Straub

What attracts people to fame? Narcissism? Feelings of inadequacy? A need to be loved?

For Laura Lamont, it’s all these things; but it wasn’t always.

Laura Lamont the movie star begins life as Elsa Emerson, a young girl growing up in Door County, Wisconsin, in the 1920s and 30s. Her parents run a theatre in a converted barn on their land, and for the summer months actors and stage crew stay with the family in various cabins and outbuildings, putting on plays every night. Elsa dreams of being on the stage, of being part of the excitement and the spectacle.

Picador hardback cover. Image: bookoxygen.com

Picador hardback cover. Image: bookoxygen.com

She is the youngest of three sisters – there is stoic, mysterious Josephine, and dramatic, beautiful Hildy. Everyone loves Hildy, and everyone says she should be the one on stage, but she shows little interest. Elsa cannot imagine not wanting to be on stage, with everyone cheering for her. One summer when Elsa is nine, Hildy gets involved with one of the actors, Cliff. The results of that affair will change Elsa’s life forever.

In her late teens Elsa marries a visiting actor, Gordon Pitts, and they move to Hollywood together – young love and young dreams. At a party for a film in which Gordon has a bit part (though he acts like the star), a heavily pregnant Elsa is ‘spotted’ by Irving Green, one of the studio heads. He renames her Laura Lamont and tells her to come and see him after the baby is born and she’s lost thirty pounds, and he’ll make her a star. Again, her life is changed forever.

This point is also where the novel changes forever.

The opening section in Wisconsin is very charming and vivid, with excellent characterisations of Elsa, her family, and the actors. There is also a great sense of place and environment, and the influence the life in the theatre has on young Elsa – it is only natural that she should dream of being a part of the plays, of performing and gaining recognition for her talents. Her relationship with her ‘perfect’ older sister Hildy is also brilliantly drawn, with Elsa idolising the teenager and wondering how she could ever be unhappy. What happens to Hildy has a such an effect on Elsa that it stays with her for the rest of her life. She is sill young and naive, but altogether likeable and seems to have great potential for development as a character. You want her to succeed.

In Hollywood, nothing is as Elsa expected. She did not expect to get pregnant so early on, or be singled out at a party by a studio head. She is overwhelmed and doesn’t seem to have time (or the impulse) to make any major decisions for herself. She is swept along by life, and still unsure of herself. Motherhood and marriage do not give her a sense of identity, and so she looks for this in her acting career.

Alas, she does not find it. Elsa/Laura is desperate for the attention, affection and admiration that Hildy always had and that she felt she did not. She constantly tells herself that it should be Hildy in Hollywood becoming a star and has constant feelings of inadequacy, as of the world wanted Hildy and they got stuck with her instead. Most of this stems from her idolisation of Hildy, but also their mother’s lack of maternal instincts and her outright disapproval of the life her youngest daughter has chosen.

Throughout Laura Lamont’s Life In Pictures, I found Laura to be a very passive character. Everything happens to her, and she is not very proactive on her own. When she is acting in a film, she is told exactly what to say and do and how to be, but in her own life she is completely lost. She and Gordon divorce soon after her rebirth as Laura, and she is charged with looking after their two young daughters – but her housekeeper and nanny Harriet does most of that. So Laura reads her scripts, meets with important people, and acts in her films. In no way does she take control over her own life.

From Laura’s early days as a movie star, there is a parallel between her and another actress at her studio, Ginger. Ginger and Laura start out together, but Ginger’s career is entirely different to Laura’s. She acts in movies but later moves into television, and always plays comedic roles. She is incredibly successful and even moves her way up in the studio, influencing the movies that are made. She succeeds ahead of Laura because she takes charge of her life and makes decisions for herself; she is also very ambitious, something that Laura never seems to be. She wants to act, but her life as a movie star is one that was handed to her, and she never seems to dream of stardom. She simply becomes depressed that she hasn’t achieved it, while making no considerable effort to do so.

Later in her life she resorts to reflecting on what she sees as failures in her life, but that she has made no effort to achieve. For instance she constantly regrets not taking her children to Wisconsin more often, but never makes any plans and or does anything to make this happen. She just seems to like moaning.

Emma Straub. Image: picador.com

Emma Straub. Image: picador.com

As her career dwindles and the children need her less, Laura begins incessantly writing letters to her mother, who never responds. Over the years, Laura’s parents came once to Hollywood to go with her to the Oscars, and she visits Wisconsin with her family once too. On both occasions, her mother is sour and cold, disapproving of Laura and the life she has chosen. After the visit to Wisconsin, Laura’s mother writes her a particularly cruel letter in which she requests less and less contact, as they have so little in common. It devastates Laura, but she continues to write; again her need for attention and love dictates her actions. You feel sorry for her as her mother is very unkind, but at the same time you wish that Laura would do something for herself and stop seeking attention and validation from someone who will never provide it.

I loved the opening section of Laura Lamont’s Life In Pictures, about Elsa’s childhood in Wisconsin; but once she gets to Hollywood, things go downhill not only for Laura but also for the reader. While Emma Straub’s writing is consistently fluid, considered and elegant, her storytelling meanders and gets muddled in Laura’s emotions and thoughts of self-pity. Laura spends too much time thinking about the past and what could have been, and doesn’t seem to learn much. This is why I found the ending unsatisfying – while Laura fulfils a childhood ambition, she doesn’t really resolve any of her issues or move on from Hollywood as I thought she might. She idealises her childhood and after her career starts to wane she wastes years and years wallowing in self-pity and moping around the house drugged up on barbiturates. I wanted to shake her and shock her into doing something for herself instead of waiting for someone to save her; which in the end is what happens – and so she learns nothing at all.

There are a lot of good things about this novel, and I liked so many aspects of it (the writing, the supporting characters, and life in Wisconsin), but its negatives are too great for it to become brilliant.

*

Published by Picador in the UK and Riverhead Books in the US, in 2012. My copy was kindly provided by Picador for review.

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Midnight in St. Petersburg by Vanora Bennett

At university I signed up for a course called Demonic Literature, and started doing some of the reading in the summer holidays. When term began, we were told the course had been cancelled – cue mass anger from English Lit students (i.e. ineffectual grumbling). I had already read and annotated over half of Dostoyevsky’s Demons for the course and loved it – but I was so annoyed and disappointed at the course being cancelled, and had so much new reading to do that I gave up on Demons and read other stuff. Boo. But my interest in the history of Russia remained, and I have kept an eye out for a book to pique that interest.

Enter Midnight in St. Petersburg.

2013 trade paperback cover. Image: randomhouse.co.uk

2013 trade paperback cover. Image: randomhouse.co.uk

This is a totally different book to Demons, don’t get me wrong. This is not crazy complicated and intense 19th century Russian literature, and there are no demonic metaphors, but it does share the themes of revolution and public disillusionment with both the ruling classes and government. While the ordinary people hate the government and the Emperor, there are also tensions within the communities of revolutionaries, with different groups insisting on their ideas being right and craving power for themselves.

But let’s go back to the beginning. Inna, a Jewish orphan, “has fled the pogroms of the south to take refuge with distant relatives” in St. Petersburg, travelling on a stolen passport (quote from the blurb). She meets a peasant priest on the train, and he guides her to her new address, promising to help her if she ever needs papers. She reaches her new home and the door is opened by the cousin she has never met, Yasha, who has no idea who she is or why she is on his doorstep. He lives with the Leman family, violin makers and kind people that accept Inna and employ her in their workshop, training her to craft violins.

Anxious about being found with false papers, Inna goes to visit the priest she met on the train, Father Grigory. At his house she meets a group of his devout followers, as well as a few curious observers – who include Prince Felix Youssoupoff (also spelt as Yusupov) and his English friend Horace Wallick, an artist at Faberge. Horace takes a shine to Inna and soon comes to visit her at the Lemans’, and they become friends. Meanwhile an attraction has been brewing between Inna and the young revolutionary Yasha; and Horace’s feelings for Inna grow every time he sees her. As the First World War approaches and Inna’s position becomes increasingly precarious, she must choose between Yasha and Horace.

Midnight in St. Petersburg is a very rich, intelligent text with great depth. The sheer length of the book – which I thought was a little excessive – is filled mostly with the political side of the story, as St. Petersburg becomes increasingly dangerous for Inna, Yasha, and Horace. Specific details of the political unrest are not really examined beyond the fact that the people have little money and are fed up with the government and the Tsar. Yasha disappears into the night to meet with fellow revolutionaries, and he gets himself into trouble when he takes too many risks; Inna tries to find solace in Father Grigory but quickly loses faith as his reputation changes and the country comes to know him as Rasputin; and as Russia unravels a classic love triangle develops.

So you sort of get a blend of revolutionary/political thriller and classic love story tropes with this novel. Bennett’s writing flows and engages, and is beautiful without detracting from the action. At times I found the pace a little slow, and as mentioned I think the novel as a whole was longer than it really needed to be, and I think the conclusion was a bit drawn out. The political undercurrent creates  a feeling of tension throughout the book, and as in Demons causes both the reader and the characters to question not only who they can really trust but also what it means to be free. Late in the novel Yasha talks with Inna about the futile nature of revolution – once one leader is out, another always comes in and the people are “slaves” again. But there are no grand political allusions here – this is more a simple story of disillusioned people trying to find a place for themselves in the world.

Author Vanora Bennett lived in Russia for some years, and on her return to England discovered that her great-grandmother’s brother had worked for Faberge and lived in St. Petersburg in the early 20th century, leaving as war broke out to return to the safety of home. This man was Horace Wallick, and he was the inspiration for Midnight in St. Petersburg. Bennett states in her Afterword that she loved her new connection to Russia and the city she loved, and wanted to explore her great-great-uncle’s life and consider what his time in Russia could have been like. Of course the novel is entirely fictional, but its grounding in reality (of both Horace and the political upheavals) gives it extra depth.

Vanora Bennett. Image: guardian.co.uk

Vanora Bennett. Image: guardian.co.uk

As the novel progresses the story still moves around the unstable nature of St. Petersburg and the need for safety, but the drive within the narrative comes from Inna’s complicated feelings for both Yasha and Horace. Her search for happiness is the real story here, with quests for safety and love being part of a larger whole. I also rather enjoyed the side notes about the individual members of the Leman family, particularly Mrs Leman, and how their story (/stories) play (s) out alongside Inna’s. While she is ‘exotic’ they are ‘everyday’, just trying to get on with their lives and run their business; they think about home and family, while she thinks about great love and her own emotional life.

I really enjoyed Midnight in St. Petersburg, but I didn’t quite love it. I found it overly long and the ending not quite in tune with the rest of the story; but I loved the characters and the sense of place, as well as the interplay of sociopolitical struggle and the intense emotions of the love triangle. Bennett has written previous historical novels as well as non-fiction books, which I might explore when I’ve worked through my current (huge) TBR. Anyone who loves historical fiction would definitely enjoy Midnight in St. Petersburg.

*

Midnight in St. Petersburg was published in April 2013 by Century, an imprint of Random House UK. My copy was kindly provided by the publisher for review.

Vanora has written a great blog post here about her long lost relative, Horace Wallick.

The President’s Hat by Antoine Laurain

The President’s Hat is a charming little novel that really cheered me up on a dreary afternoon, and I am glad Gallic Books sent it to me. Set in 1986, the novel tells the story of a hat that belongs to French President Francois Mitterand; Daniel is sitting in a Paris bistro when the President comes in to have dinner with some colleagues. Amazed and overwhelmed by the man dining next to him, Daniel stays as long as the President, wishing he could join his table. After the President leaves, Daniel realises that he has left his hat behind.

Gallic Books 2013 edition. Image: amazon.fr

Gallic Books 2013 edition. Image: amazon.fr

He picks up the black felt hat, unable to believe that this is that hat of the First Frenchman. Drawn to it and unwilling to lose the feeling of excitement the evening has brought him, Daniel impetuously takes the hat. And, for reasons unknown, his whole life seems to change. He gains unprecedented confidence at work and astounds his colleagues, earning a promotion. As he relocates with his family for his new job, Daniel forgets the hat on a train outside Paris. And so begins the journey of a simple black hat belonging to President Mitterand. It travels around France and even to Venice, each of its owners completely unaware of its owner and how it came to them, but each knowing (except one!) that it makes them feel strangely different and seems to have a magical effect on their lives, changing them forever.

I really liked The President’s Hat and read it in one sitting, and was buoyed up afterwards. With each character, different philosophical and political issues are discussed – Daniel is given a chance he never imagined and dreams of greater happiness; Fanny also searches for happiness in love and business; Pierre considers his past success and current depression and disillusionment; and Bernard reconsiders his entire political belief system and changes almost everything in his life. There is also plenty of discussion of the randomness of our lives and the multiple possible routes that our lives can take, and how apparently small events can make big differences. The unknown nature of the future and the possibility of change are central themes to this novel, as well as the importance of taking chances and going with your heart.

Antoine Laurain. Image: lefigaro.fr

Antoine Laurain. Image: lefigaro.fr

There is also the question of the power of power itself – does the power of the President transfer to each wearer of his hat? Does association with power make us feel more powerful, more in control of our own lives? This book certainly suggests that this is true. Mitterand was an extremely influential and often divisive figure in French and European politics, and one wonders why Laurain chose him as the owner of the hat. Mitterand as hat-owner places the story in the 1980s, and this brings up issues of wealth and economic climate, and its effect on people’s lives. In this sweet little book Laurain manages to sneak in some much more complex issues.

The style is quite light and flows nicely, creating a whimsical and very enjoyable atmosphere. Interestingly three different translators were used – one for Daniel, one for Fanny and Bernard, and one for Pierre. There are no stark differences between the styles of the three translators (or at least none obvious enough for me to pick up on), but I like the idea of using different translators for different characters. Experienced translators will hopefully appreciate the different nuances of each section, and it gives the characters more depth.

This is a great little book that I really recommend – get it!

*

The President’s Hat was originally published in French as Le Chapeau de Mitterand by Flammarion in 2012, and in English by Gallic Books in 2013.

Travels With Myself and Another: Five Journeys From Hell by Martha Gellhorn

I was walking down Long Acre with my boyfriend; we wandered into Stanford’s to ogle maps and travel books. After having a wander we came to the books table back near the entrance. I was attracted to the dated-in-a-good-way cover of Travels With Myself and Another (from Eland), not only because of the layout and title but also because of the incredible photo of the author. Martha Gellhorn, in black and white, turning back to the camera with a frown and windswept hair, holding a gun and wearing what appears to be tweed in a field of long grass. She looked bloody amazing and I wanted to know more.

Eland cover, 2002. Image: betterworldbooks.com

Eland cover, 2002. Image: betterworldbooks.com

The opening paragraph of chapter one also enticed me:

I was seized by the idea of this book while sitting on a rotten little beach at the western tip of Crete, flanked by a waterlogged shoe and a rusted potty. Around me, the litter of our species. I had the depressed feeling that I spent my life doing this sort of thing and might well end my days here. This is the traveller’s deep dark night of the soul and can happen anywhere at any hour.

Gellhorn writes with a very likeable sense of dark humour and a healthy ‘buck up’ attitude that keeps her going through her worst trials of unbearable weather, transportation, lodgings, illness… and the rest. When having to deal with a useless guide, driving around Kenya and Uganda, she repeatedly tell him to buck up, as she wrangles with the Land Rover (he was meant to drive but refused to do so) and takes charge of the trip. Suffice to say I think she’s pretty awesome.

Martha Gellhorn had what I would call a remarkable life. Born in St Louis, Missouri, in 1908, she dropped out of university (in 1928) to forge a successful career in journalism. She wrote for a host of American publications as a foreign correspondent, and reported on the rise of Hitler as well as the Spanish Civil War, which she covered with her later husband, Ernest Hemingway. They were married for the duration of the Second World War, during which Gellhorn threw herself into the action. I was amazed to read in her author profile in my copy of Travels that “after Hemingway stole her accreditation, she stowed away on a hospital ship on 7th June 1944 and went ashore during the Normandy invasion to help collect wounded men” – according to Wikipedia she posed as a stretcher-bearer so that she could follow “the war wherever [she] could reach it.” No mean feat. She was also one of the first journalists to report on the liberation of the Dachau concentration camp, from the scene.

Her five Journeys From Hell are truly spectacular. In 1941 she travelled to China to document the Sino-Japanese war and the effects of WW2 on China. This section of the book is the most blackly comic as Gellhorn describes the appalling places they have to stay and the incredibly dangerous flights in small aircrafts, and the men who fly them. She travelled with an “Unwilling Companion, hereinafter referred to as UC”, who I soon realised was Hemingway. They had been married a few months before and this trip was in effect their honeymoon. Their compared experiences of the trip create much of the humour, as he is happy to drink, smoke, and chat with locals, while she is trying to get material for her article and remember important details, as well as deal with guides and officials that barely speak English. The fantastic quote on the back cover perfectly embodies Gellhorn’s feelings on this trip:

The door [of their accommodation for the night] opened onto the street and the smell thereof. The mosquitoes were competing with the flies and losing… I lay on the boards, a foot off the floor, and said in the darkness, ‘I wish to die.’

Gellhorn and Hemingway meeting officials, China, 1941. Image: wikipedia.org

Gellhorn and Hemingway meeting officials, China, 1941. Image: wikipedia.org

I admired Gellhorn throughout the book, and particularly in the long section detailing her travels, this time recreational, in Africa, in 1962. In the penultimate year of her second marriage, Gellhorn took herself off to Africa to try and discover the real place hidden behind news reports. In both West and East Africa she meets a huge cast of diverse characters, including many “whites” who have lived in Africa for varying lengths of time. She found that even those who had lived there for more than a decade (including one married to an African and with mixed race children) still claimed to not at all understand the “blacks” and declared them to be “lower” in several ways than themselves. While Gellhorn herself finds many cultural and social differences between herself and the African people, she is not outright racist towards them and seems to be made uncomfortable by those who express such views. More than once she wonders if so-called “white civilisation” is any better than half-naked tribes in mud huts. She concludes the African people would most likely be better off if they were left to live without the influence of Europeans and Americans. That said, she views many of the African communities she visits to have gone largely unchanged in hundreds of years and does not credit them to have invented on their own, over time, any of the “white” modern inventions that colonialism has brought them, such as electricity and cars. I wasn’t sure what to make of this – but concluded that in general Gellhorn had a better attitude towards the African people than most other white people she meets, and at least respected their ways of doing things.

Travels With Myself and Another also covers “horror journeys” to the Caribbean during WW2, as well as Russia and Israel in later years, and Bali in March 1946 for the surrender of the Japanese troops stationed there – each fruitful in their own ways and described with lashings of sardonic Gellhorn humour and world-weariness. I liked Martha Gellhorn immensely throughout the course of this travel book/travelogue – whatever it may be defined as – and have decided to explore more of her writing, both fiction (five novels, fourteen novellas and two collections of short stories) as well as anthologies of her journalism. Her author bio in this book ends with:

She was a woman of strong opinions and incredible energy. Though she turned down reporting on the Bosnian war in her 80s, saying she wasn’t nimble enough, she flew to Brazil at the age of eighty-seven to research and write an article about the murder of street children. Touch-typing although she could barely see, she was driven by a compassion for the powerless and a curiosity undimmed by age.

What a woman.

*

Travels With Myself and Another was originally published by Allen Lane in 1978, by Eland in 1982, and reprinted (also by Eland) in 2002 and 2007.

Helena Rubinstein: The Woman Who Invented Beauty by Michele Fitoussi

This book came to me entirely by chance when I saw it was up for grabs from the publisher Gallic Books on Twitter. I had heard of Helena Rubinstein at some point, not sure where, but my first memory of hearing her name was in an episode of Sex and the City when the girls visit the Helena Rubinstein spa in New York and Samantha gropes her male masseur. The manager throws them out because “Helena Rubinstein is a civilised place for civilised people”. I reckon the lady herself would have agreed.

Personally I’ve come to care a lot more about beauty and skin care in the last few years, and now find myself reading about it more and more, both in magazines and online (XOVain is particular favourite). Helena Rubinstein is a hugely respected name in the industry but has been a little forgotten of late, with no visible campaigns and their products barely mentioned in the press. But, as Michele Fitoussi’s title states, Helena Rubinstein was a pioneer of the beauty industry and was a key player in the invention of what we now know as ‘beauty’ in the modern sense.

Gallic Books edition. Image: belgraviabooks.com

Gallic Books edition. Image: belgraviabooks.com

Madame (as she came to be known) was born in Krakow, Poland in 1872, the eldest of eight daughters. She refused to follow her parents’ wishes and marry someone just because she should, and so was more than happy to be sent to live with her maternal uncles in Australia in 1902. Her mother Gitte had created a simple face cream that she insisted all her daughters use every day; Helena took twelve jars of it with her and began telling women about it in her uncle’s shop after they asked how she achieved her flawless complexion. She sent for more cream from her mother and after obtaining the formula made it herself, and sold it in her uncle’s shop. This simple face cream, originally called Valaze cream, was the beginning of her beauty empire.

Charismatic and with excellent marketing and sales skills, Rubinstein made her Valaze cream so popular that she was eventually able to set up salons in the biggest Australian cities, after selling it in her uncle’s shop and encouraging word-of-mouth amongst society ladies. She remained a national hero there for the rest of her life. Her empire (an appropriate word once you read her story) spanned Australia, New Zealand, Europe, America, and even Japan in the late 1950s.

From Australia Madame moved to western Europe, conquering Paris and London, before tackling New York. She was always ambitious, and no success was ever enough – work was everything. Even through her troubled first marriage and the births of her two sons, she worked tirelessly, even to the point of neglecting her family. This is where we might not like Madame as much as we did initially. I was certainly thrown by her willingness to leave her children with nannies for such long periods of time, to the point where the boys felt a huge emotional distance between them and their mother. Fitoussi however is sympathetic to both Madame and her sons, and describes their relationships from both sides, examining how their childhood affected their later lives. I think Rubinstein’s approach to motherhood says a great deal about her, as career was everything for most of her life. It was only when bad health forced her to slow down that she began to reflect on her role as a mother and wished she had spent more time with her children when they were young.

Madame. Image: institutfrancais.pl

Madame. Image: institutfrancais.pl

She was certainly not without heart, but she was consistently tough with all those around her, demanding more and more from them every time she saw them. Most of her sisters were summoned to work in her salons, as well as nieces and nephews, and even her beloved assistant Patrick O’Higgins, a fixture in her later life, was not immune to her harsh words. It seems to me that Madame greatly appreciated family, but was so incredibly determined to succeed in business that she sometimes forgot just how important they were to her.

Michele Fitoussi documents the life of Madame with obvious affection and admiration, although sometimes the sheer amount of travelling and dramas that happened seem to be too much to fit into the pages, and a list-like structure sometimes appears. Most of the time, however, Fitoussi manages to include all the major life events and key minor moments while still portraying the humanity of the woman at the centre of an enormous business empire. It is glamorous and exciting, but not without the mundanity of everyday life and the struggles of familial relationships.

Author Michele Fitoussi. Image: elle.fr

Author Michele Fitoussi. Image: elle.fr

Despite her shortcomings, I really do admire Helena Rubinstein. She battled through a tough childhood, very uncertain and difficult beginnings in Australia, a constantly changing industry and challenging rivals, not to mention being a woman and a Jew in a world that favoured neither. She was defiant and brave, and unendingly determined to succeed. She was always in charge and never let anyone beat her – even when her home was burgled, she sat in the bed, a defenceless old woman, and hid her diamonds and the key to safe in her nightgown while the thieves tried to find her best jewels. Helena Rubinstein was tough, bold and very intelligent. She is quoted as saying she felt as if she had lived “a dozen normal lives” and after reading Michele Fitoussi’s excellent biography I can see why.

*

Helena Rubinstein: The Woman Who Invented Beauty was originally published by in France by Grasset in 2010, and was published in English in 2013 by Gallic Books.

Mad Girl’s Love Song: Sylvia Plath and Life Before Ted by Andrew Wilson

Deadlines are generally a good thing but when it comes to this book it’s a good thing that I didn’t have one. I bought it of my own volition and read it, and thought about it for a long time, and attended a Q&A with the author, and only now am I about ready to get my thoughts on it down on, well, this blog.

There are many biographies of Sylvia Plath, and rightly so. She is one of the most acclaimed and influential American poets of the 20th century, and an icon of some kind for many an aspiring writer – or indeed, a lost soul. Sylvia Plath was just that – lost.

UK cover. Image: books.simonandschuster.co.uk

UK cover. Image: books.simonandschuster.co.uk

This new book focuses on Plath’s life before she met her husband Ted Hughes, and I was instantly intrigued by this fact as it is almost impossible to read anything about Plath without reading about Hughes and their relationship at the same time. Hughes’ position as her widow and her editor meant that he had a huge influence on the way Plath was viewed by the reading public after her death, especially since only one volume of poetry was published during her lifetime. Throughout the publication of her novel, The Bell Jar, and countless other poetry collections (including the seminal Ariel), Hughes was in charge of what was seen and read by the world. He presented his wife as he thought she should be seen. He famously dismissed her early writing and her numerous short stories as ‘juvenilia’ that were part of a ‘false self’ that did not showcase her talent fully. Scholars and readers of Plath’s early work, particularly since Hughes’ death in 1998, have largely disagreed with his opinion. As Andrew Wilson deftly shows in this new biography, Plath’s early years and early work were an integral part of her whole self.

Wilson chose the title Mad Girl’s Love Song after reading an early poem of the same name, written by Plath in 1951 while she was a student at Smith College. It was inspired by a boyfriend at the time and depicts a woman trying to work out if her lover is real or a figment of her imagination. She wonders if their passion is real of if she made him up “inside her head”. I can see why it was chosen – in some ways it is so evocative of Plath’s state of mind throughout her life, conflating what is real and what she has imagined for herself.

Mad Girl's Love Song, 1951. Image: tristavega.blogspot.com

Mad Girl’s Love Song, 1951. Image: tristavega.blogspot.com

This theme comes up again and again throughout the book when it comes to Plath’s friends and boyfriends, and even her family. She sees all of them not quite as they really are, but how she wants them to be, casting them as idealised or exaggerated versions of themselves. Devastated by her father’s death when she was eight, Plath spent the rest of her life looking for a “colossus” that could replace him, seeing all her dates and boyfriends (including Ted Hughes), as well as male friends, as potential father-figures that could protect her and make her happy. Inevitably, none of them lived up to her ideal. “Colossus” was the name of the only poetry collection published in Plath’s lifetime, and the term comes up again and again throughout this book when Plath refers to ideals of men.

At a reading and Q&A on 13th March at Waterstones in Covent Garden, Wilson stated that Plath turned certain people in her life from real people into “spectres” of themselves, projected images of what she wanted them to be. This happened mostly poignantly with Eddie Cohen, a young man who wrote to her after reading one of her short stories in a magazine. They became regular pen pals and discussed almost every facet of their lives, from writing and art to sex and relationships. As an objective and, crucially, detached male voice, Cohen gave Plath his opinion on how she should conduct herself with men, and how he felt she was progressing as a writer. Reading snippets of their letters in Wilson’s book, I did not always like Cohen for his harsh judgements of Plath and his insistence that he was right and she was wrong. Despite his criticisms they continued to correspond and it seems that Plath benefitted from a critical voice that told her when she being an idiot and when she was on the right track. Wilson’s research and carefully chosen quotes suggest that Cohen knew Plath better than most of the people in her life. As someone entirely separate from her everyday life, she was able to share more with him than with those around her, whose judgements could potentially damage her.

When Cohen turned up unexpectedly at Smith College one day, Plath was furious, and he left after only a few hours. She felt as if he had violated her privacy and she could not stand to see him in real life – as a real person. She needed him to remain as a spectre, as a critical and reassuring voice that came to her only in letters and entirely removed from her personal, physical self.

It seems to me that Plath had a tendency to ‘dream away’ what she didn’t like in her life and replace it with fantasy and writing. As her state of mind deteriorated throughout the early 1950s, she seemed less and less real to her friends, and lived more and more in her own head, particularly after her 1953 suicide attempt and hospitalisation.

A young Sylvia Plath. Image:  nationalvanguard.org

A young Sylvia Plath. Image: nationalvanguard.org

Ted Hughes looms large in the distance towards the end of Mad Girl’s Love Song. You know she will meet him soon, and indeed their meeting in included in the book. When Plath met Hughes, she was still involved with Richard Sassoon, the man that has come to be called her “great love”. They had a passionate, intense relationship and spent blissful hours in hotels and restaurants, and even a trip around Europe. But when Plath had to go back to Cambridge, Sassoon had to go to Spain – and in his absence she returned to her fledgling romance with Hughes. She later severed all contact with Sassoon and married Hughes, four months after they had met.

At the Q&A Wilson keenly pointed out that he was not ‘anti-Hughes’ and that he hopes that now we can live in a world where readers and scholars are not divided into two camps, one supporting Hughes and one supporting Plath. Neither one was right or wrong. Yet it is inevitable that, after reading this intense and fascinating book, one might feel some anger towards Hughes for the fateful role that he played in Plath’s life, and the emotional damage that he did to her. However, one might also feel angry (as I admit I do) at Plath for not always addressing her problems directly and her rage and anguish overwhelm her. There were times when I was reading this book that I wanted to shout at Plath for running off with another boy or venting at Eddie Cohen instead of dealing with her issues head on. I wanted her to fight, more than she did. But I think she fought as much as she could, and reached a point where she just could not fight any more. I may not agree with all her life choices, and I may regret certain circumstances (if only Sassoon had been able to stay with her!) but the flow of life cannot be changed. The past is the past.

Sylvia remains captured in it, somewhere between a moment of intense happiness, and one of equally intense despair.

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Mad Girl’s Love Song: Sylvia Plath and Life Before Ted was published in January 2013 by Simon & Schuster in the UK, and Scribner in the US.

Notes: The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox by Maggie O’Farrell

After last week’s Maggie-fest, I went home, picked up my copy of The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox, and read it in two days. It’s not very long, and my copy has quite wide set print, but I read it so quickly mostly because it was compulsive. It is, simply, an amazing book. Examined once the book is finished, the story is actually quite complicated and ‘sweeping’, but it is written quite simply and sensitively, taking in great emotions and drama but never – not once – being melodramatic or sensationalist.

The narrative I found to be almost dream-like at times, as it flits effortlessly between Esme in the 1930s, Iris in the mid 2000s, and Kitty’s stream-of-consciousness narrative from within her Alzheimer’s-riddled mind (also in mid 2000s). O’Farrell’s choice to give Kitty Alzheimer’s in her old age is the perfect device to demonstrate the importance of memory and perception within the wider story, as well as the ways in which we interpret our present lives.

2006 paperback cover. Image: headline.co.uk

2006 paperback cover. Image: headline.co.uk

Esme is a character so beautifully drawn that she could almost be analysed as if she were a real person. We see her in childhood, and in old age, with her fateful adolescence in between. Her experiences of early life in India – as well as the typhoid outbreak and the death of her ayah – reminded me very much of Mary Lennox in The Secret Garden (one of my all-time favourites). Though Mary is completely abandoned and Esme remains with her family, both are taken away to a completely different life without being given a choice, and are expected to adapt to a new world that they do not understand at all. Esme’s ‘problem’ is that she is stubborn, independent, and defiant. She refuses to be bored, and this refusal dictates her entire life.

Mental health and societal perceptions of it are crucial to this story. In 1930s Edinburgh, a woman could be locked away for being deemed ‘difficult’ by male relatives, and left to languish in a psychiatric hospital. But it is not just these thankfully now outdated views that are examined. In the modern day narrative of Iris and the elderly Esme, mental health still has its stigmas. Iris’ stepbrother Alex cannot believe that she is taking on this ‘mad old woman’ who is apparently her great aunt. There is a mistrust of ‘madness’ and a fear of it, but also, it seems to me, a lack of understanding. Alex represents the view that it is best left alone.

The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox is one of those deceptively simple books that stays with you long afterwards. It is a book that Maggie O’Farrell fans tend to really love, and I am not at all surprised. Brava, Maggie, brava.

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The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox was published in 2006 by Headline.

Published Today: A Treacherous Likeness by Lynn Shepherd

A Treacherous Likeness by Lynn Shepherd is a historical novel, but it is also a mystery, a thriller, a crime novel – there is so much inside its pages. It picks up where Shepherd’s previous novel Tom-All-Alone’s left off, with Victorian detective Charles Maddox finding a card left for him bearing the name ‘Shelley’ – and his great uncle in some sort of catatonic state, presumably as a result of seeing the card.

2013 cover Image: constablerobinson.com

2013 cover. Image: constablerobinson.com

Charles is plunged into the Shelleys’ family history, investigating what happened between the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley and his wife Mary (still alive during the novel, and a very mysterious character), as well as Mary’s stepsister Claire Clairmont, who also makes an appearance in the novel. Lovers of the Romantic poets will find this book very interesting, as well as anyone who likes crime and mystery fiction, as well as historical fiction. For it is fiction. Everything in the novel is speculation about what happened in real life, and is only one version of the truth.

Lynn Shepherd. Image: lynn-shepherd.com

Lynn Shepherd. Image: lynn-shepherd.com

I really enjoyed this novel, and I think it will be very successful. Lynn will be speaking about A Treacherous Likeness on 13th March at St John’s Wood Library – click here for more information.

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A Treacherous Likeness is published in the UK by Corsair, an imprint of Constable & Robinson. My copy was kindly provided by the publisher for review.

Notes: Mrs Dalloway and The Hours

I have just finished reading Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf… and oh I am swept away. I hadn’t actually sat down to read Woolf since studying her at university when we read The Waves and To The Lighthouse for a course on Modernism and the concept of time (I forget the official course title), and that was, well… two years ago (ish). I LOVED To The Lighthouse, and found The Waves a bit impenetrable – but I suppose that is meant to happen. It is a novel that isn’t really a novel but a ‘playpoem’, and is meant to be hard. I still think it’s brilliant and ingenious though. Of course. I even wrote about it here.

Virginia Woolf. Image: wikipedia.com

Virginia Woolf. Image: wikipedia.com

My older sister once recommended Orlando to me. I read half of it, and got so fed up I gave up on it. It is incredibly dense and longwinded, and frankly, a bit self indulgent. Sorry. Luckily, my reading of Woolf at university, and a brilliant lecturer, means I love her now. The film adaptation of Michael Cunningham’s beautiful novel The Hours was on TV the other night and I caught the last 40 minutes or so. As per, I cried at the end. Oh Meryl! And Julianne Moore… Also I could look at Claire Danes’ face forever.

Claire Danes as Julia and Meryl Streep as Clarissa in The Hours. Image: imbd.com

Claire Danes as Julia and Meryl Streep as Clarissa in The Hours. Image: imbd.com

What Michael Cunningham does is so beautiful; he clearly adores Mrs Dalloway, and in The Hours (named after an early title for Mrs D) he translates the story of that day in June 1923 into the lives of women outside the novel, including Woolf herself. He makes the lives of Mrs Dalloway, her friends, and that of Septimus Smith and his wife Rezia, universal – he demonstrates that the same feelings and thoughts, the same issues, and the same problems, permeate life beyond the pages of Mrs Dalloway. While Woolf’s novel has a wide wingspan, covering all these experiences across London in one day, it is limited by time and place. Cunningham takes us to America, and through the twentieth century, to his world and the possible people within it. The Hours moves us because we recognise elements from Mrs Dalloway; because the stories of Virginia, and of Richard and his mother, are so incredibly sad; but also because we can all relate to something we see in the story, in some small way.

Image: awesomestories.com

Fourth Estate 2003 edition of The Hours. Image: awesomestories.com

Watching the wonderful film adaptation reminded me that I had a long unread copy of Mrs Dalloway in my bookshelf. Having just finished the unsatisfying This Is Paradise, I was unsure of what to read next, and read Elaine Showalter’s introduction to the 2000 Penguin Modern Classics version of Mrs D that I own. I just simply had to keep reading. Showalter’s introduction reintroduced me to Henri Bergson’s theory of human or physical time, as opposed to clock time, and also the feminist issues within the novel. My academic mind was given a prod and I was reassured that literature is wonderful and important. Woolf is simply brilliant at capturing all the little things that fill our lives everyday, that seem insignificant but often mean so much more. Nothing is washed over or forgotten; but then I think she does not over-think things or overanalyse things – she simply pays more attention to what really can make us happy or unhappy.

Penguin Modern Classics edition of Mrs Dalloway. Image: penguin.com.au

Penguin Modern Classics edition of Mrs Dalloway. Image: penguin.com.au

I recently also bought myself a copy of Selected Essays by Virginia Woolf, as I have never read them. It was her birthday on 25th January, and this piece on For Books’ Sake about two of her essays, A Room of One’s Own and Three Guineas, has made me want to read her non-fiction even more. I’ve decided to read more non-fiction this year, and started with Brain on Fire by Susannah Cahalan, and am looking forward to VW’s essays immensely.

I am very glad to have ‘rediscovered’ Virginia. What do you love about her? What other writers like her do you love?

This Is Paradise by Will Eaves

For the first time ever, I am writing the beginning of this review before I have finished the book. I am 169 pages into This Is Paradise by Will Eaves, and, so far, it’s not working for me. But the reason I am going to write this review in two parts is because from the outset, and indeed the opening pages, I really thought I would like this novel.

2013 paperback cover

2013 paperback cover

It is the story of a family, over several decades, and examines the relationships between them. I like stories about families, I like grand sweeping narratives, and examinations of relationships. Don and Emily Allden have four children: Liz, Clive, Lotte, and Benjamin. They are an average family, ‘but then ordinary is special too…

… as the Alldens will discover thirty years later when Emily falls ill and her children come home to say goodbye. Their unforgettable story is an intimate record of survival that is clear-eyed, funny and deeply moving.

So far, to me, they just seem ordinary. Clive is referred to as ‘special’, but the other three children seem like any other children their age. The youngest, Benjamin, seems to have the most depth of character, so I’m interested to see what happens with him. Same goes for Don and Emily, but for different reasons – Don is a father in the background, goading his children but not quite engaging; and Emily is a worrier, afraid of the new tumble dryer and reluctant to get a telephone installed (this is, I’m guessing, in the 1960s). The other thing is the passage of time. It clearly moves on from chapter to chapter, but there are only the vaguest hints as to when this story might be happening, like the family not yet having a phone. At one point Lotte listens to disco music with her boyfriend, and Benjamin is embarrassed that he likes it, so that must be the 1970s. Most of the time I just felt a bit lost.

Like I say, I am only about half way through this book. I might change my mind. Eaves and the Alldens might just surprise me. I’ll let you know.

**********

Well, I’ve now finished This Is Paradise. I must say I liked the character of Benjamin, whom I was happy to spend time with. I also liked the idea of the novel, the intention and the sentiment. It is an excellently conceived novel; the problem came in the execution. To me it seemed like Eaves was a bit unsure about exactly how to make his novel as good as it could be – there is great potential here. Benjamin, for example, is a very well drawn character, with a history and a personality, nuances and opinions; but aside from Emily, he seemed to be the only character with a fully realised personality.

Will Eaves. Image: guardian.co.uk

Will Eaves. Image: guardian.co.uk

The first half of the novel, entitled ‘Bellevue’ after the road the family live on, is a potted history of their life. It is informative and entertaining, but with little depth. The second half, ‘Sunnybrook’, named for the nursing home to which Emily moves, was more intelligent and well developed, with a nice amount of gentle humour to lighten the mood. As the novel progressed, it got a lot better, with poignant reflections back on Emily’s life dotted throughout. Again it was Benjamin that caught my attention the most, trying to maintain his relationship with his ailing mother.

This Is Paradise is a genuinely good novel, but it did not move me. It was a little flat, and the family saga it told was a bit unremarkable, but the book had some genuinely good moments and characters, although I felt that Eaves put in so many characters that he didn’t know what to do with them all. Perhaps I was a bit spoilt by Wise Men! I would still recommend this book to anyone with a love of family sagas and sharp observations of everyday life.

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This Is Paradise was published on 17th January 2013 by Picador. My copy was kindly provided by the publisher for review.