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Super-Infinite: The Transformations of John Donne by Katherine Rundell (FSG, 2022) is one of the best biographies I’ve read in several years. It doesn’t matter if the only thing you remember about the metaphysical poet John Donne are those tired quotes “no man is an island” and “never send for whom the bell tolls…” This is an electric account of the life of a poet whose brain teemed with brilliant, clever, secular and religious verse and who spent his life trying to find work to support his wife and family of ten children. He started out as a lawyer–one of several careers; went to prison for marrying an underage girl without her father’s permission; converted from Catholicism to Protestantism and became one of the most popular preachers of his day. I wrote an undergraduate thesis on John Donne and this biography embarrassed me for what I missed: the essence of this brilliant poet. Take a look at this poem: “Go and Catch a Falling Star,” which may be familiar to you, but entirely appropriate to read now in our cynical and chaotic times.

A Chance Meeting: American Encounters by Rachel Cohen (2004; NYRB 2024) is catnip for literary readers. In short chapters, Cohen writes about the coincidences that brought together artists, writers, photographers, and poets and how their work flourished from those happy accidents of influence. Henry James, William Dean Howells, Hart Crane, Marianne Moore, James Baldwin, Elizabeth Bishop, Willa Cather, Alfred Stieglitz, Langston Hughes, Norman Mailer, and Richard Avedon are among the many whose life-changing friendships she recounts. The book opens with the eleven-year-old Henry James and his father visiting the lower Manhattan studio of Matthew Brady to have their picture taken. The young James is fascinated by the daguerreotype process; he begins to think about the portrayal of style and class, the notions that would monopolize his fiction all his life.  The chapter that recounts the beginning of the friendship between Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop is remarkable; equally remarkable is the one that tells of the first meeting of the artist Beauford Delaney and James Baldwin. Cohen’s insights into the thoughts and feelings of these artists in pivotal moments of their lives are enchanting and insightful. Sometimes I read several chapters in one sitting; other times I read one chapter and then had to put the book down and think for a while. A delight from beginning to end. 

I recently read a glowing review of Liberty, Equality, Fashion by Anne Higonnet and thought I’d see if I could get a copy from my local library, which, fortunately, is part of a larger network. It arrived in a few days, much to my delight, and fulfilled all of the promises of the review. Higonnet is a lovely writer and–surprisingly–the book is a page-turner, filled with lovely illustrations.

Higonnet tells the story of the changes in fashion during the French Revolution, specifically the Directory period, from 1795-1799, propelled by the radical changes in French politics. All the rules of society (and civility) had been broken and the citizens who hadn’t lost their heads during the Reign of Terror felt liberated by the new order. Three women became what we’d today call “influencers,” and threw out the tight corsets and stays that made women’s clothing so constricting that breathing itself was painful. Gauzy Indian cotton chemises became the thing to wear. 

The women were Rose de Beauharnais, who became Josephine Bonaparte when she married Napoleon in 1796; Tereza Tallien, a fashion icon and political firebrand; and Juliette Recamier, famous for her virginity. This may seem an esoteric topic, but women’s fashion has always been a bellwether for women’s rights. Tereza Tallien invented the chemise when she was imprisoned for her politics and was only allowed to wear a cotton sack. She turned adversity into a fashion statement. Tereza, Josephine, and Juliette were also at the forefront of the social turmoil of that period, hosting salons where politics, arts, and morality were avidly discussed and debated. Their portraits were painted multiple times by the famous painters of the day. 

The new clothing they championed shocked conservatives and prompted outcries of obscenity but the women persisted in wearing their comfortable clothes, cut their hair short, wrapped themselves up in shawls, and did as they pleased. They even invented the handbag. Women all over France and wherever fashion magazines were read followed their lead. Unfortunately, Napoleon championed old styles and old rigidities and Josephine was soon back in brocades, velvets, and tight underclothes. Everyone soon followed. It wasn’t until the 1920s that women regained the freedom these three fashion rebels had championed.

“… would anybody become a writer, if they realized at the outset what the working hours were? There are no hiding places either; there’s nowhere to hang out, figuratively speaking, and sneak a crafty cigarette. You are never safe from the marauding idea, and no matter how dull or drained you feel, your book has eyes everywhere. Sometimes, I daren’t go out of the house in case I see something that starts off a chain of those damned sentences. They have me fettered in their service, and I suspect I would be their servant even if they paid no wages. There are plenty of books that tell you how to become a writer, but not one that suggests how, if you want a normal life, you might reverse the process.”

That’s a great quote from Hilary Mantel’s last book, A Memoir of My Former Self: A Life in Writing, a collection of her essays and reviews from her last forty years. Mantel wrote on so many different subjects, all of them sharply observed. “If you don’t want your words to breed consequences, don’t write at all,” she said. A piece of advice–and maybe a warning–from someone who didn’t suffer fools gladly. Fifteen years ago I read her novel A Change of Climate, which mined her own experiences making the transition from South Africa to England. I barely knew her work then and thought it was an excellent novel: a complex family story written by a writer I needed to follow. Wolf Hall a few years later took me by surprise; I didn’t realize that historical fiction was her calling, but her first novel was A Place of Greater Safety, a panoramic story set during the French Revolution.

There’s lots of material about writing in this new collection of essays, all worthwhile. I’m so sorry she’s gone and we won’t read anything new from her. She had a singular, wide-ranging intellect.

You may have read Colm Toibin’s novel Brooklyn, when it came out in 2015 and enjoyed the character study of a young Irish girl in Brooklyn in the 1950s. Eilis Lacey is serious and intelligent and there’s nothing much for her in her hometown of Enniscorthy. Her mother, her beloved sister Rose, and the local priest arrange for her to move to Brooklyn. She leaves behind some unfinished business with a handsome young man and finds herself a shopgirl in a strange country. No one, least of all Eilis, anticipates that an Italian boy, Tony, will persuade her to marry and move to Long Island in the years of the rush to the suburbs. Tony and his brothers plan to catch the post-war construction boom and make a sweet life for everyone. Without her family, Eilis is unmoored and Tony’s affection carries her along. That’s a drive-by version of the story. 

In Long Island we meet up with Eilis again, now in her forties, the mother of two teenagers. Her life is circumscribed by the family compound where she lives, next door to Tony’s two brothers, their wives and children, and her in-laws. Navigating the boisterous weekly family get-togethers is still a trial for the reserved Eilis and the family senses her discomfort. She is still the same private, thoughtful person we met in Brooklyn. When the novel opens, there’s a knock on the door with bad news: Tony will shortly be the father of another woman’s child, a child who will be deposited on Eilis’s doorstep when it is born. Eilis has no intention of raising this child. Tony’s family doesn’t feel the same way: the new baby must be accepted as a precious addition, despite Tony’s transgression. Angry and devastated, Eilis returns to Enniscorthy for the summer to avoid the late August date when the baby will be brought to her door, and to underscore her determination to have nothing to do with the infant. She’s not at all sure what the future holds for her. Maybe she won’t return to Long Island. What she finds when she returns to Enniscorthy is not at all what she expected. 

Toibin works very slowly, with a plaintive and impatient Eilis discovering that some things in Enniscorthy have changed but most have not, especially for women. The same social mores exist as when she lived there. She can’t confide in anyone and expect to receive sympathetic support. As the days pass, her dilemma is complicated by the reawakened emotional ties with her old boyfriend, Jim. Toibin doesn’t let the reader completely into Eilis’s thoughts; it’s through her actions that we sense her hopes and plans. Like Brooklyn, there is a constant sense that Eilis can’t live her life on her own terms. No spoilers here and in fact, Toibin leaves us guessing about Eilis’s future. A sequel? I hope not; I’d rather imagine for myself what this strong-minded woman will do.

On April 11th I’ll be interviewing author Marnie Mueller on Zoom at 7pm EDT. Marnie’s new book is a surprising story, a combined memoir and biography (maybe a new genre?) about her own life and a life-changing friendship. Here’s a link to register; it’s free.

I met Marnie a few years ago, and she kept me posted about the book she was working on. It always sounded fascinating, so when it was published, I bought a copy. The full title is The Showgirl and the Writer: A Friendship Forged in the Aftermath of the Japanese Incarceration (Peace Corps Writers Press). It’s a great story and I knew right away that I had to write about it for this blog and interview her as well. Sometimes a book deserves to be read by a wide audience. As you can tell from the subtitle, it’s not a novel, but a memoir plus a biography. Keep reading…

Marnie tells the remarkable true story of two women, one white (herself) and one Asian (Mary Mon Toy), who forged a deep friendship based on the secrets they carried. Marnie, a Caucasian, was born in a Japanese incarceration camp during World War II because her parents had moved there to help make life more tolerable for the internees. Later, when her family moved to New England, Marnie learned that it was not a good idea to say she was born at Tule Lake Japanese Incarceration Camp. Many people didn’t know about the camps and were confused, convinced this little girl was fantasizing. It wasn’t much better to admit that you were Jewish. After the War, rampant anti-Semitism marked her in another way as an outsider. What experiences defined Marnie? It was hard for her to know. After college, she spent two years as a Peace Corps volunteer in Ecuador; worked in New York City as a community organizer; spent time as a folk and rock concert promoter; and was the program director for WBAI. She married and did her best to move on despite a persistent feeling of loss and disorientation.

In 1994, Marnie attended a meeting of a Japanese-American cultural organization where she met Mary Mon Toy, who had a successful Broadway and nightclub career as a Chinese actress and singer. Mary was beautiful, ambitious, and determined. Their friendship, born of shared experiences, was life-changing for both women, a chance to learn about each other and maybe to heal. Marnie became Mary Mon Toy’s friend and caregiver in her last years but as much as she thought she knew, there were secrets Mary kept even from her. The last section of the book reveals those secrets and the research journey that led Marnie to uncover Mary Mon Toy’s real life as the survivor of a Japanese internment camp who “passed” as a Chinese woman to avoid discrimination. 

You may not know much about the incarceration of the Japanese population on the West Coast during World War II. This shameful episode is not generally taught in American history classes. Maybe you read about it in Snow Falling on Cedars or Farewell to Manzanar. Concentration camps in the U.S.? Unthinkable but true. Join me on April 11th and learn more.

After I wrote that last blog post about Rita Dove’s poem for the Folger Shakespeare Library, I started thinking about the quote that I love on the main branch of the Brooklyn Public Library. Dove’s words about crafting a poem that would be inscribed on stone rather than read on the page made me see that BPL poem in a new light. It’s a perfect example of what she spoke about, how writing within constraints can produce something wonderful.

I first saw the poem when I was in high school and started visiting the main library to do research. The entrance to the building is so dramatic, taking charge of a busy corner on Grand Army Plaza. It’s still such a handsome building. There are several poems on the front–this one is on the right-hand side. When I read it, I had shivers, right from the first line. I was a voracious reader in my teens and it spoke to my love of literature. It made me feel that just by reading I was part of something important.

“Here are enshrined the longings of great hearts

And noble things that tower above the tide,

The magic word that winged wonder starts,

The garnered wisdom that has never died.”

—-by Roscoe C. Brown, a Trustee of the library