Nava Atlas's Blog, page 69
April 15, 2019
Dear Literary Ladies, Part One: Writing Advice From Classic Women Authors
Wouldn’t it be great to get writing advice from women authors — some of the most iconic voices in literature — even (or especially) those who are no longer with us? Here’s your chance! In this first of a multi-part series of roundups we call “Dear Literary Ladies” We’ve “asked” classic women authors some of the universal questions about writing and the writer’s life, and found the answers in their first-person musings.
Peering through the lens of the past is an intriguing way to examine issues and questions that linger into the present. It’s now easier and more acceptable for women to write both for pleasure as well as profit, to be sure. However, it’s still challenging to find the will and focus to do so while raising children, to get that first work published, to make a living by writing, and above all, to have courage to send one’s words into the world.
It’s still painful to face rejection, and daunting to experience writer’s block. Self-doubt is part of the creative process, no matter what the era. There are no hard and fast rules. Louisa May Alcott responded to many of her readers’ letters asking for advice on writing. To these she responded with variations on “Each person’s method is no rule for another. Each must work in [her] own way, and the only drill needed is to keep writing…”
Dear Literary Ladies, Part One Don't you wish you could get writing advice from your favorite women authors, especially those who have created great classics? Here's your chance! We've "asked" some of our classic women authors the burning questions about the writer's life and tools of the trade, and found the answers in their first-person musings.
What's your best advice for beginning writers?What's your best advice for beginning writers, or really, anyone who’s trying to write regularly? Octavia Butler answers ...
Continue Reading Continue Reading
How can a writer balance solitude and camaraderie?When I’m alone working, I feel the need for feedback; and when I’m in the company of other writers and talk about my work, I feel I’m seeking too much outside validation. How can a writer balance the need for quiet and solitude, with the desire for camaraderie? Sarah Orne Jewett answers ...
Continue Reading Continue Reading
Should writers draw characters and plots from real life?How much should real life supply a writer with characters and plots? Should we be looking for people to base our fictional characters on, and stories upon which to model our plots? Ivy Compton-Burnett answers ...
Continue Reading Continue Reading
Should you write for an audience, or to please yourself?Do you write for an audience or market as a work is in progress, or does that ultimately make for a less desirable outcome? Is it better to write to please yourself? Edna Ferber answers ...
Continue Reading Continue Reading
How do you develop the discipline to write?If the words don’t flow right away, I’ll get up and find some fine excuse not to stick with it. How do you develop the discipline to just sit down and write? Madeleine L'Engle answers ...
Continue Reading Continue Reading
Do I have enough wisdom to be a good writer?Sometimes I feel that I don’t have enough life experience to be a good writer. Should I wait until I’ve lived more fully, and gain some wisdom, before I bare my soul to the public in writing, or should I just plow ahead? Zora Neale Hurston answers ...
Continue Reading Continue Reading
Is it better to be a modest success than to risk failure?I admit that I’m afraid to fail— and then look foolish to myself and others. Do you think it’s better to stick with what you do best, rather than stick your neck out and possibly fail? Vita Sackville-West answers ...
Continue Reading Continue Reading
Any quick tips for plot and character development?Can you share some quick insights on how you developed plots and characters? Louisa May Alcott answers ...
Continue Reading Continue Reading
What goes through your mind when you feel blocked?You seem like such a prolific author, but like the rest of us who live by our pen, you likely feel blocked from time to time. How does this uncomfortable and sometimes scary feeling play out in your mind? Fannie Hurst answers ...
Continue Reading Continue Reading
Does one need connections to get published?I’ve often heard it said that “it’s who you know that matters.” Well, I don’t know anyone in the publishing world. Does that mean my work doesn’t stand a chance of being looked at seriously? Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings answers ...
Continue Reading Continue Reading
How can I develop a distinctive writing style?How do I go about developing a distinctive writing style—one that will catch editors' attention, and that readers everywhere will recognize as my unique voice? Katherine Anne Porter answers ...
Continue Reading Continue Reading See more in our Writing Advice from Classic Authors categoryThe post Dear Literary Ladies, Part One: Writing Advice From Classic Women Authors appeared first on Literary Ladies Guide.
April 14, 2019
The Member of the Wedding by Carson McCullers (1946)
The Member of the Wedding (1946) was Carson McCullers’ third novel, published when she she was just twenty-eight. It followed the incredibly successful The Heart is a Loney Hunter (1940), published when McCullers was just twenty-three.
The story centers on a lonely twelve-year-old girl, Frankie Addams, who prefers to be known as F. Jasmine. Her mother has died, and her father, a jeweler, treats her with benign neglect. The story takes place during a hot summer in a small Georgia town, finding Frankie consumed with worry that she doesn’t belong anywhere or with anyone.
For company, Frankie has her six-year-old cousin, John Henry West, and Berenice Sadie Brown, the African-American cook employed by her father. Her dull existence is shaken up when her older brother Jarvis, an army veteran, announces that he is to be married to Janice Evans.
Frankie’s daydreams become ever more vivid and emotionally charged as she imagines that she might not only be a member of the wedding, but that she will be invited to go on the honeymoon with her brother and his bride. She now wants to be called “F. Jasmine,” to share the first two letters of the names of Jarvis and Janice.
The slim novel is a portrait of the interior workings of F. Jasmine’s adolescent mind as she fixates on the wedding and contends with the insular small town that she inhabits.
The Detroit Free Press, in its 1946 concluded, “This is a marvelous study of the agony of adolescence, the fierce desire which breeds fierce denial, the inner loneliness which expresses itself perversely in violence.”
. . . . . . . . .
Learn more about Carson McCullers
. . . . . . . . .
For a more contemporary perspective, in a 2012 installment of The Guardian series, Overlooked American Classics, Tom Cox wrote,
“It’s an innocent, twinkling kind of backstory to accompany what could, from a distance, seem like an innocent, twinkling kind of book. Close inspection reveals it most definitely isn’t. With its portrait of pre-teen awkwardness and self-delusion, The Member Of The Wedding has attracted youthful fans … Much of the activity is interior – either inside Frankie’s head, or in the kitchen, where she tells her family’s black cook, Berenice, of her plans to leave town with Janice and Jarvis. When something that might be construed as ‘action’ does finally occur, it’s shockingly dark: an incident involving a soldier who mistakenly believes Frankie to be much older than she is.”
Here are two reviews from the many that this book received upon its publication in the spring of 1946:
Growing pains
From the original review of The Member of the Wedding by Carson McCullers in Council Bluffs Nonpareil, March 1946: Carson McCullers’ third novel, The Member of the Wedding, is the story of Frankie, a girl on the dizzy edges of becoming a young woman.
The scene is a small Georgia town. Besides Frankie, or F. Jasmine as she later becomes, or Frances as she is named grandly a few weeks later when the novel of which she is the heroine closes, there are also young John Henry West; and Berenice Sadie Brown, who speaks out of the wisdom which can only come to a woman who has had four husbands; Frankie’s father; her brother and his bride.
Frankie is almost five feet and a half tall in the “green and crazy summer” when this story takes place. Shooting up like a beanstalk, adding four inches almost overnight, she is worried.
Being 12 years and 10 months old, she is worried too, about what she has done with Barney; about the way the other girls had suddenly abandoned her to form a club of their own so that practically the only thing left in the whole world for her to be a member of is her brother’s wedding.
Though recent writers have devoted more time to the adolescent than the so-called modern parent is ever credited with doing, this is a different kind of story. A knife is thrown, a pistol stolen out of a father’s dresser, a fellow’s head bashed in.
And there’s a macabre touch; it isn’t only what happens that thrills you, but even more, what incessantly threatens to happen. A sword of Damocles, 12-year-old size, hands over this tale from start to finish.
. . . . . . . . .
The Member of the Wedding by Carson McCullers on Amazon
. . . . . . . . . .
The awkwardness and violent emotions of adolescenceFrom the original review in The Palm Beach Post, April 7, 1946: Carson McCullers’ first novel, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter , and her second, Reflections in a Golden Eye ,won great critical acclaim. Their appeal, or lack thereof, was similar to the question of one’s tase for ultra modern trends in art.
For this reader, at least, The Member of the Wedding seems much more readable. There is little action, the characters few and eccentric, but the author definitely evokes a mood and creates an atmosphere. Adolescence is a favored subject, and seldom has an author captured more poignancy the emotional ups and downs of a neglected child, standing at the brink of her teens, unsure of herself, fearful of unpopularity, subject to the unhappiness and despair that comes from lack of perspective by which to judge, and common sense by which to be guided.
Twelve-year-old Frankie is the main character. This is the story of one summer in her life. Her father was away all day, she was at outs with the girls her own age, excluded from their secrets and their clubs, thrown back for companionship on her curious little six-year-old cousin, John Henry, and Berenice, her family’s African-American cook.
The high point of excitement the dull, dreary summer offered was the approaching marriage of her brother, who had been with the Army in Alaska, to an unknown girl in a nearby town. Frankie’s father is taking her to the wedding, and with childish intensity she latches on to this one happening as a great climax in her life. In her imagination she identifies herself has part of the wedding party, determines that she will ask her brother to take her with them on the honeymoon, persuades herself that he will do so.
The great part of the story centers around her preparations for the wedding, her preoccupation with her daydreams, her emergence into the reality of the kitchen with Berenice and John Henry, her despair after the wedding did not turn out as she had made herself believe.
Throughout it all she passes virtually in a daze with the drama of a small Southern city, its tragedies and its daily life, leaving her virtually untouched. At the end with the formation of one tangible friendship, Frankie gains new interests, and shows some signs of reverting to normalcy.
Though the story could hardly be termed typical, Carson McCullers has managed to convey the sensitivity of an exceptional chid, with all the violence of emotion and awkwardness of this age.
. . . . . . . . . .
See also: The Ballad of the Sad Café by Carson McCullers
. . . . . . . . . .
It happened that green and crazy summer when Frankie was twelve years old. This was the summer when for a long time she had not been a member. She belonged to no club and was a member of nothing in the world. Frankie had become an unjoined person who hung around in doorways, and she was afraid.
In June the trees were bright dizzy green, but later the leaves darkened, and the town turned black and shrunken under the glare of the sun. At first Frankie walked around doing one thing and another. The sidewalks of the town were gray in the early morning and at night, but the noon sun put a glaze on them, so that the cement burned and glittered like glass.
The sidewalks finally became too hot for Frankie’s feet, and also she got herself in trouble. She was in so much secret trouble that she thought it was better to stay at home—and at home there was only Berenice Sadie Brown and John Henry West.
The three of them sat at the kitchen table, saying the same things over and over, so that by August the words began to rhyme with each other and sound strange. The world seemed to die each afternoon and nothing moved any longer. At last the summer was like a green sick dream, or like a silent crazy jungle under glass. And then, on the last Friday of August, all this was changed: it was so sudden that Frankie puzzled the whole blank afternoon, and still she did not understand …
. . . . . . . . . .
See also: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers
. . . . . . . . . .
“You have a name and one thing after another happens to you, and you behave in various ways and do things, so that soon the name begins to have a meaning. Things have accumulated around your name.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“She was afraid of these things that made her suddenly wonder who she was, and what she was going to be in the world, and why she was standing at that minute, seeing a light, or listening, or staring up into the sky: alone.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“There are all these people here I don’t know by sight or by name. And we pass alongside each other and don’t have any connection. And they don’t know me and I don’t know them. And now I’m leaving town and there are all these people I will never know.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“The trouble with me is that for a long time I have just been an I person. All people belong to a We except me. Not to belong to a We makes you too lonesome.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“It was better to be in a jail where you could bang the walls than in a jail you could not see.”
. . . . . . . . . .
More about The Member of the Wedding
Wikipedia Reader discussion on Goodreads Film version of The Member of the Wedding. . . . . . . . . .
*This post contains affiliate links. If the product is purchased by linking through, Literary Ladies Guide receives a modest commission, which helps maintain our site and helps it to continue growing!
The post The Member of the Wedding by Carson McCullers (1946) appeared first on Literary Ladies Guide.
April 11, 2019
The Life of Charlotte Brontë by Elizabeth Gaskell (1857)
Charlotte Brontë (1816 – 1855) outlived all five of her siblings, including her literary sisters, Emily and Anne. The grief at losing her sisters at ages thirty and twenty-nine, respectively, may have been easing with the happiness she found as the wife of Arthur Bell Nichols, and the widespread recognition of her talents as a writer.
Jane Eyre, Shirley, and Villette had all been published, and Charlotte was recognized as a major talent. Her books sold well, too. And though she was still known as “Currer Bell,” the male pseudonym she’d use to break into the publishing world, her true identity had been established.
But it was not to last. When Charlotte died of complications due to pregnancy in 1855, she had nearly reached her thirty-ninth birthday. Two years after her death, The Professor, the first novel Charlotte had written, but which remained unpublished in her lifetime first novel, was published. The Life of Charlotte Brontë by Elizabeth Gaskell was also published that same year (1857), helping to seal her legacy and reputation. Mrs. Gaskell, as she was known, was at the time also a respected novelist, having published Mary Barton and Ruth.
The project was approved by Charlotte’s father, Patrick Brontë, a curate, who had by that time outlived all of his six children. He, in fact, made the first overture to Mrs. Gaskell barely three months after Charlotte died. The first edition of The Life of Charlotte Brontë was published by Charlotte’s publisher, Smith, Elder, & Co. Mrs. Gaskell drew much of the material from Charlotte’s letters to her dear friend, Ellen Nussey.
. . . . . . . . . .
Charlotte, in a portrait by George Richmond, 1850
. . . . . . . . . .
Though the biography is considered quite credible and fairly thorough, there were some matters that needed to be downplayed. Notably, one was Charlotte’s years-long one-sided romantic obsession with Constantin Héger. He was the headmaster of the school she had attended in Brussels to train as a teacher while already a young adult, and the inspiration for her first novel, The Professor. To have gone overboard in describing Charlotte’s obsession with this married man would have been considered unseemly for its time.
As recently as 2017, The Life of Charlotte Brontë was listed in The Guardian (UK) as one of the 100 best nonfiction books of all time! Charlotte was a literary star on both sides of the Atlantic, so it was exciting to find this 1857 review published in a Washington, D.C., newspaper:
An 1857 review of The Life of Charlotte Brontë
An original review dated June 4, 1857, The National Era, Washington, D.C.: A sadder book than this we have never read. The very volumes which gave to Charlotte Brontë her brilliant reputation are less sad, less gloomy than this — the true story of her life. It is only through this sorrowful tale that her books can be understood — it is only after reading it, that we can do her justice.
The early years of Charlotte Brontë were spent in one of the bleakest portions of Yorkshire Around her were wide stretches of moors.Her home was an old, cheerless parsonage, fronting a gloomy graveyard. In the home, no mother’s gentle voice was heard, for she died when the children were young.
And the father, Patrick Brontë, though possessed of many good qualities, was stern, unapproachable, and unsocial. The house was not a home, as this word is understood. Three sisters and a brother grew up together [two other sisters, who had been the eldest, died around their respective tenth birthdays], isolated from the outside world, with strange views and feelings, and with intellects diseased by their singular mode of life. This was the result of their narrow income and position, and the pure choice of the father.
. . . . . . . . . .
The Brontë Sisters’ Path to Publication
. . . . . . . . . .
The only son, Branwell, grew up without the means to perfect his education, and was seduced from the paths of virtue by a married woman twice his age. He become dissipated at an early age, filling the inebriate’s grave.
Charlotte and her sisters Emily and Anne were subjected to close contact with this ruined young man, and saw him hasten day by day to his horrible end. From the father and brother, the sisters drew their ideas of men, for they saw few others.
In their poverty, the sisters resorted to the occupation of teaching in private families, and experienced all that was cruel, cutting, and degrading, in that sphere of labor. The exertions of such a profession sowed the seeds of consumption in her sisters, who, one after the other, fell into untimely graves — not, however, till each had written a story, as full of gloom and shadows as their own lives had been.
. . . . . . . . . .
The Professor by Charlotte Brontë
. . . . . . . . . .
The first story Charlotte wrote, The Professor, was rejected by six publishers. Jane Eyre first burst upon the world, and, like Byron, Charlotte woke up one morning and found herself famous. But fame did not give her happiness. It was only the last year of her life, when, at the age of nearly thirty-nine, she was married to a man she truly loved, that she was happy. It was her first happiness on earth — and it was quickly taken away.
To read The Life of Charlotte Brontë is to unfold the realities of her novels; for her life was incorporated into her stories. If they were terrible, so was her life. If her characters were in some respects repulsive and shocking, so were the real characters of her life. No one can read these volumes without acknowledging that he or she has been gazing at the lineaments of a strange and wonderful genius.
. . . . . . . . . .
Jane Eyre: A 19th-Century Analysis
. . . . . . . . . .
A woman of heroic character
Charlotte Brontë was a woman of heroic character, of great nobility of heart. Sorrows which would have crushed others, or driven them made, seemed by to sadden her, and add gloom to her soul. Not for a moment did she give way, but continued her steady work, her life of unremitting industry.
The life, so far as its author, Mrs. Gaskell, is concerned, is admirably done. Her style is at once beautiful and concise. With the utmost delicacy, she has told every fact necessary to a just appreciation of the character of the subject of the memoir. The book will take its place among the very best biographies, and will live, with Jane Eyre and Villette, of the English language.
It was not alone to satisfy curiosity or to amuse the book-reading world that it was written, but to justify the character of the gifted woman, who has been so severely criticized in some quarters. Let he or she who has lived without the joys of home, who never saw a mother’s face, who has trod upon the fiery coals of anguish because of ruin and disgrace in the home circle — who has buried, one by one, all but one of a household — who has, through all of this, rarely uttered a word of complaint — be the first to criticize Charlotte Brontë or her works.
. . . . . . . . . . .
The Life of Charlotte Brontë by Elizabeth Gaskell is available on Amazon,
or can be read online at Project Gutenberg and other sources
. . . . . . . . . . .
*This post contains affiliate links. If the product is purchased by linking through, Literary Ladies Guide receives a modest commission, which helps maintain our site and helps it to continue growing!
The post The Life of Charlotte Brontë by Elizabeth Gaskell (1857) appeared first on Literary Ladies Guide.
April 9, 2019
The Mandarins by Simone de Beauvoir
The Mandarins by Simone de Beauvoir is a semi-autobiographical novel published in her native French in 1954, and in English translation in 1956. The same year it was published in France, it won the prestigious literary prize, the Prix Goncourt. When it was published outside of France, de Beauvoir was best known (as she is still today, perhaps) for her 1949 nonfiction book, The Second Sex, a feminist classic.
The Mandarins encompasses many of de Beauvoir’s favored themes, including existentialism, feminism, political structures (including communism), and morality.
The novel portrays a group of a close-knit group of friends who call themselves “the Mandarins” — referring to the scholar-bureaucrats of imperial China. The core group of characters identify as intellectuals, and grapple with what kind of role they might play in post World-War II Europe.
One of the couples portrayed in the book, Anne and Robert Dubreuilh, are supposedly based on de Beauvoir herself and her longtime partner, Jean-Paul Sartre. The fictional couple is married, whereas their real-life counterparts had a long-term open relationship. Not surprisingly, the novel explores the shifting love affairs of its main characters.
The Mandarins received much critical acclaim from major publications like the New York Times (“Much more than a roman a clef … a moving and engrossing novel …”) as well as minor ones like the one following, published upon the book’s American debut:
On the Left Bank, celebrating post-war freedom
From the review by Melva Chernoff of The Mandarins by Simone de Beauvoir in the Argus-Leader, Sioux Falls, SD, July 1, 1956:
It was with her monumental The Second Sex that Simone de Beauvoir achieved the recognition in the U.S. she had already received in Europe. Here, as there, it was hailed as a classic study of what it means to be a woman. With the U.S. publication of She Came to Stay in 1954, de Beauvoir enlarged her reputation as a novelist of the first rank, capturing the praise and acclaim of critics throughout America.
It begins in Paris, Christmas Eve, 1944. In an apartment on the Left Bank are gathered a group of friends who are free again, as Paris is free after World War II, to celebrate, sing, and talk — and to dream and plan a future which will bring them happiness and which will create a fuller, finer world.
Unwilling to leave the fate of France in the hands of politicians and struggling against the lure of communism, these characters bring a new interpretation of post-liberation France to the American who is only casually aware of the political scene.
. . . . . . . . . .
See also: She Came to Stay by Simone de Beauvoir
. . . . . . . . . .
This is an exciting novel, with characters as exciting as they come alive in all their strengths and weaknesses: Henri Perron, successful novelist and journalist, hero of the Resistance, and owner and editor of L’Espoir, and independent newspaper he has founded. Then there is the beautiful Paula, for whom loving Henri is life enough. Finally, there is Robert Dubreuilh, a philosopher and writer, and his psychoanalyst wife, Anne, their daughter Nadine, and those who touch and change their lives.
Remember the story of the blind men who were asked to describe an elephant? As one felt the trunk he termed the elephant a snake. Another man reached around one leg of the beast and said, “Surely, this is a great tree.” The third blind man was sure he was facing a wall as his hands felt along the elephant’s side. So The Mandarins will be many different books to different people coming to it with their personal perspectives.
This is a love story. This is many love stories. Here are tired, waning passions and selfish, youthful love. Anne discovers that middle age is no barrier to a dramatic and moving love affair. This passion alone, described with great frankness and understanding, would make a novel in itself. Of love and what passes in its name, The Mandarins has plenty.
. . . . . . . . . .
The Mandarins by Simone de Beauvoir on Amazon
. . . . . . . . . .
This is also a novel of philosophical conflicts. Mlle. de Beauvoir makes a strong argument for the necessity of compromise. American readers may not fully appreciate the compromises that are made, but they seem inevitable from the viewpoint of the French “mandarins.”
These intellectuals find communism the only solution to their political situation. They must, as the Existentialists say, “engage” themselves with responsibility and action. The idea of turning to America is presented as a possibility by only the weak and questionable characters.
France cannot stand alone. Therefore she must turn to communism as a lesser evil, according to some of the characters in the story. In that manner we have in The Mandarins a novel of political interest as well.
A word about the characters: They are real, vivid, and human. You will find in them parts of yourself. And you may find yourself coming back to this powerful novel, in thought and in re-reading — whether you read it as a love story, a political novel, or an intellectual experience.
. . . . . . . . . .
The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir
. . . . . . . . . .
“I could see no reason for being sad. It´s just that it makes me unhappy not to feel happy.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“All the opportunities you let slip by! The idea, the inspiration just doesn´t come fast enough. Instead of being open, you´re closed up tight. That´s the worst sin of all — the sin of omission.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“She was ready to deny the existence of space and time rather than admit that love might not be eternal.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“Surviving one’s own life, living on the other side of it like a spectator, is quite comfortable after all. You no longer expect anything, no longer fear anything, and every hour is like a memory.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“He formed his sentences hesitantly and then threw them at me with such force that I felt as if I were receiving a present each time”
. . . . . . . . . .
More about The Mandarins
Wikipedia Reader discussion on Goodreads An original review translated from French. . . . . . . . . .
*This post contains affiliate links. If the product is purchased by linking through, Literary Ladies Guide receives a modest commission, which helps maintain our site and helps it to continue growing
The post The Mandarins by Simone de Beauvoir appeared first on Literary Ladies Guide.
April 8, 2019
The 1994 Film Adaptation of Little Women, Louisa May Alcott’s Timeless Classic
Little Women, the beloved 1868 novel by Louisa May Alcott (1832 – 1888), follows the lives of the four March sisters — Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. The 1994 film adaptation of Little Women highlighted the coming of age of strong-willed, tomboyish Jo, who was as much of its standout character as she was in the novel.
With a screenplay by Robin Swicord, and directed by Gillian Armstrong (also the director of the wonderful 1979 film version of My Brilliant Career) , this was the fifth feature film adaptation of Alcott’s classic Little Women. It followed silent versions released in 1917 and 1918; director George Cukor’s 1933 film; and a 1949 adaptation by Mervyn LeRoy. The film was released nationwide on Christmas Day of 1994 by Columbia Pictures.
The focus of the film is on the March sisters, growing up in Concord, Massachusetts during and after the American Civil War. As their father is away fighting in the war, the girls struggle with both major and minor problems under the watch of their firm yet loving mother, Marmee. The girls perform romantic plays written by Jo in their attic theater to escape their humdrum reality.
. . . . . . . . . .
You might also like:
10 Writers Who Were Inspired by Jo March of Little Women
. . . . . . . . . .
“Some books are so familiar, reading them is like being home again.” Though Jo March was talking about Shakespeare, we’re all aware that Little Women is a nostalgic novel that gives viewers the same warm feeling.
In the film review “The Gold Standard Girlhood Across America,” by Janet Maslin in The New York Times, December 1994:
“Ladies, get out your hand-hemmed handkerchiefs for the loveliest Little Women ever on screen. Armstrong’s film is enchantingly pretty and so potent that from the start of the opening frame, it prompts a rush of recognition. She clearly demonstrates that she mastered the essence of the book’s sweetness and chose young vibrant actresses who were absolutely right for their famous roles.
The effect of the film on its viewers is magical and for all its unimaginable innocence, the film has a touching naturalness this time.”
Maslin was pleasantly surprised as she said that the film is “sentimental without being saccharine.” She claims that the filmmaker is “too savvy to tell this story in a cultural and historical vacuum.”
. . . . . . . . . .
How Louisa May Alcott Came to Write Little Women
. . . . . . . . . .
Once the March sisters made their introductory embraces, the personalities of their four familiar March sisters emerge. As the film progresses, the audience gradually gets to know their personalities and how they relate to one another.
Winona Ryder plays the tomboy Jo exceptionally well as she performs with spark and confidence. She is the self-proclaimed “man of the family” with just a perfect touch of perseverance. Her presence in the film adds an appealing and refreshing linchpin to the classic film.
The perfect contrast to Jo is scene-steaming Amy, played by Kirsten Dunst. Her character is vain and mischievous, fitting for an 11-year-old rather than the grown-up Joan Bennett from the 1933 movie version of the novel.
Meg has a ladylike composure, which Trini Alvarado captures exceptionally well. Her role as the oldest and most marriageable of the sisters was not only perfect for the 1994 film, but it was also a perfect showcase for her versatility and dramatic ability.
Beth, played by Claire Danes, instantly gains the sympathy of the audience as the sickly one. Throughout the film, Beth is relatively selfless character, and after her somber death, viewers may find themselves reduced to tears.
There may not be much action in the film, but that’s how life typically was for women in the 19th century. They came together and talked endlessly about their hopes, dreams, and mostly, their marital destinies.
. . . . . . . . . .
Little Women: A Book I Come Back to for Comfort and Guidance
. . . . . . . . . .
Robert Ebert of the Chicago Sun-Times wrote in his 1994 review that “Little Women grew on me. At first, I was grumpy, thinking it was going to be too sweet and devout. Gradually, I saw that Gillian Armstrong […] was taking it seriously. And then I began to appreciate the ensemble acting, with the five actresses creating the warmth and familiarity of a real family,” said He awarded the film 3 ½ stars, calling it “a surprisingly sharp and intelligent telling of Alcott’s famous story.”
Edward Guthmann of the San Francisco Chronicle claimed that the film was “meticulously crafted and warmly acted.” He observed it as a rare Hollywood studio film that captivated the interest of the audience with effects and easy manipulation.
Awards and Nominations
This 1994 film was nominated for three Academy Awards, including Best Actress for Winona Ryder, Best Costume Design for Colleen Atwood (also nominated for the BAFTA Award in the same category), and Best Original Score for composer Thomas Newman, who also won the BMI Film Music Award.
Winona Ryder was given the title of Best Actress by the Kansas City Film Critics Circle Awards. Kirsten Dunst was honored for her performance in both Little Women and Interview With the Vampire by the Boston Film Society of Film Critics. Additionally, she was also given the Young Artist Award.
Screenplay creator Robin Swicord was nominated for the Writers Guild of America Award for Best Adapted Screenplay. Unfortunately, he lost to Eric Roth for Forrest Gump.
Among contemporary critics, Little Women has received an impressive and well-deserved 91% score on Rotten Tomatoes saying, “Thanks to a powerhouse lineup of talented actresses, Gillian Armstrong’s take on Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women proves that a timeless story can succeed no matter how many times it’s told.”
And you don’t have to wait too long for another iteration. A new film version of Little Women will be released in December of 2019. What a cast! It will star Saoirse Ronan as Jo; Emma Watson as Meg; Laura Dern as Marmee; Meryl Streep as Aunt March; Timothée Chalamet as Laurie, and many more talents whose names may not be as well known, but whose faces as the supporting characters in Little Women soon will be.
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . .
*This post contains affiliate links. If the product is purchased by linking through, Literary Ladies Guide receives a modest commission, which helps maintain our site and helps it to continue growing!
The post The 1994 Film Adaptation of Little Women, Louisa May Alcott’s Timeless Classic appeared first on Literary Ladies Guide.
April 5, 2019
12 Poems by Christina Rossetti, Victorian Poet
Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830 – 1894) is one of the most enduring and beloved of Victorian poets. Born in London, she was youngest of four artistic and literary siblings, the best known of whom is the pre-Raphaelite poet and painter Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
Her long poem Goblin Market, is perhaps her most famous work. She was praised by her contemporaries, including Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and was considered by some as the natural successor to Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Christina Rossetti’s poetry reflected her devotion, passion, pensiveness, and occasionally, playfulness.
Symbolism and lyricism used in her work expressed earthly love and divine inspiration. Her poetry touched on themes of nature, death, and sexuality. Being deeply religious, she took much inspiration from the Bible and the lives of the saints. Rossetti began writing poetry at a young age; by sixteen she had written more than fifty poems. She wrote prolifically throughout her life, experimenting with various forms such as hymns, sonnets, and ballads.
Though she wrote several works of fiction and nonfiction, it’s for her poetry that Christina Rossetti is best remembered. In her lifetime as well as posthumously she had several collections of poetry published, including:
Following is a sampling of poems by Christina Rossetti, a small taste of her vast body of work:
. . . . . . . . . .
EchoCome to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream;
Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love of finished years.
O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet;
Where thirsting longing eyes
Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.
Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live
My very life again though cold in death:
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
Speak low, lean low
As long ago, my love, how long ago.
. . . . . . . . . .
You might also like: Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti
. . . . . . . . . .
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann’d:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
. . . . . . . . . .
Fata MorganaA blue-eyed phantom far before
Is laughing, leaping toward the sun:
Like lead I chase it evermore,
I pant and run.
It breaks the sunlight bound on bound:
Goes singing as it leaps along
To sheep-bells with a dreamy sound
A dreamy song.
I laugh, it is so brisk and gay;
It is so far before, I weep:
I hope I shall lie down some day,
Lie down and sleep.
. . . . . . . . . .
Fluttered WingsThe splendour of the kindling day,
The splendor of the setting sun,
These move my soul to wend its way,
And have done
With all we grasp and toil amongst and say.
The paling roses of a cloud,
The fading bow that arches space,
These woo my fancy toward my shroud,
Toward the place
Of faces veil’d, and heads discrown’d and bow’d.
The nation of the awful stars,
The wandering star whose blaze is brief,
These make me beat against the bars
Of my grief;
My tedious grief, twin to the life it mars.
O fretted heart toss’d to and fro,
So fain to flee, so fain to rest!
All glories that are high or low,
East or west,
Grow dim to thee who art so fain to go.
. . . . . . . . . .
Dream LandWhere sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star,
She came from very far
To seek where shadows are
Her pleasant lot.
She left the rosy morn,
She left the fields of corn,
For twilight cold and lorn
And water springs.
Through sleep, as through a veil,
She sees the sky look pale,
And hears the nightingale
That sadly sings.
Rest, rest, a perfect rest
Shed over brow and breast;
Her face is toward the west,
The purple land.
She cannot see the grain
Ripening on hill and plain;
She cannot feel the rain
Upon her hand.
Rest, rest, for evermore
Upon a mossy shore;
Rest, rest at the heart’s core
Till time shall cease:
Sleep that no pain shall wake;
Night that no morn shall break
Till joy shall overtake
Her perfect peace.
. . . . . . . . . .
Eve‘While I sit at the door
Sick to gaze within
Mine eye weepeth sore
For sorrow and sin:
As a tree my sin stands
To darken all lands;
Death is the fruit it bore.
‘How have Eden bowers grown
Without Adam to bend them!
How have Eden flowers blown
Squandering their sweet breath
Without me to tend them!
The Tree of Life was ours,
Tree twelvefold-fruited,
Most lofty tree that flowers,
Most deeply rooted:
I chose the tree of death.
‘Hadst thou but said me nay,
Adam, my brother,
I might have pined away;
I, but none other:
God might have let thee stay
Safe in our garden,
By putting me away
Beyond all pardon.
‘I, Eve, sad mother
Of all who must live,
I, not another
Plucked bitterest fruit to give
My friend, husband, lover—
O wanton eyes, run over;
Who but I should grieve?—
Cain hath slain his brother:
Of all who must die mother,
Miserable Eve!’
Thus she sat weeping,
Thus Eve our mother,
Where one lay sleeping
Slain by his brother.
Greatest and least
Each piteous beast
To hear her voice
Forgot his joys
And set aside his feast.
The mouse paused in his walk
And dropped his wheaten stalk;
Grave cattle wagged their heads
In rumination;
The eagle gave a cry
From his cloud station;
Larks on thyme beds
Forbore to mount or sing;
Bees drooped upon the wing;
The raven perched on high
Forgot his ration;
The conies in their rock,
A feeble nation,
Quaked sympathetical;
The mocking-bird left off to mock;
Huge camels knelt as if
In deprecation;
The kind hart’s tears were falling;
Chattered the wistful stork;
Dove-voices with a dying fall
Cooed desolation
Answering grief by grief.
Only the serpent in the dust
Wriggling and crawling,
Grinned an evil grin and thrust
His tongue out with its fork.
. . . . . . . . . .
A Daughter of EveA fool I was to sleep at noon,
And wake when night is chilly
Beneath the comfortless cold moon;
A fool to pluck my rose too soon,
A fool to snap my lily.
My garden-plot I have not kept;
Faded and all-forsaken,
I weep as I have never wept:
Oh it was summer when I slept,
It’s winter now I waken.
Talk what you please of future spring
And sun-warm’d sweet to-morrow:
Stripp’d bare of hope and everything,
No more to laugh, no more to sing,
I sit alone with sorrow.
. . . . . . . . . .
A BirthdayMy heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water’d shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.
Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
. . . . . . . . . .
A Bruised Reed He Shall Not BreakI will accept thy will to do and be,
Thy hatred and intolerance of sin,
Thy will at least to love, that burns within
And thirsteth after Me:
So will I render fruitful, blessing still,
The germs and small beginnings in thy heart,
Because thy will cleaves to the better part.—
Alas, I cannot will.
Dost not thou will, poor soul? Yet I receive
The inner unseen longings of the soul,
I guide them turning towards Me; I control
And charm hearts till they grieve:
If thou desire, it yet shall come to pass,
Though thou but wish indeed to choose My love;
For I have power in earth and heaven above.—
I cannot wish, alas!
What, neither choose nor wish to choose? and yet
I still must strive to win thee and constrain:
For thee I hung upon the cross in pain,
How then can I forget?
If thou as yet dost neither love, nor hate,
Nor choose, nor wish,—resign thyself, be still
Till I infuse love, hatred, longing, will.—
I do not deprecate.
. . . . . . . . . .
A Chilly NightI rose at the dead of night
And went to the lattice alone
To look for my Mother’s ghost
Where the ghostly moonlight shone.
My friends had failed one by one,
Middle aged, young, and old,
Till the ghosts were warmer to me
Than my friends that had grown cold.
I looked and I saw the ghosts
Dotting plain and mound:
They stood in the blank moonlight
But no shadow lay on the ground;
They spoke without a voice
And they leapt without a sound.
I called: ‘ O my Mother dear, ‘ —
I sobbed: ‘ O my Mother kind,
Make a lonely bed for me
And shelter it from the wind:
‘ Tell the others not to come
To see me night or day;
But I need not tell my friends
To be sure to keep away. ‘
My Mother raised her eyes,
They were blank and could not see;
Yet they held me with their stare
While they seemed to look at me.
She opened her mouth and spoke,
I could not hear a word
While my flesh crept on my bones
And every hair was stirred.
She knew that I could not hear
The message that she told
Whether I had long to wait
Or soon should sleep in the mould:
I saw her toss her shadowless hair
And wring her hands in the cold.
I strained to catch her words
And she strained to make me hear,
But never a sound of words
Fell on my straining ear.
From midnight to the cockcrow
I kept my watch in pain
While the subtle ghosts grew subtler
In the sad night on the wane.
From midnight to the cockcrow
I watched till all were gone,
Some to sleep in the shifting sea
And some under turf and stone:
Living had failed and dead had failed
And I was indeed alone.
. . . . . . . . . .
A ChillWhat can lambkins do
All the keen night through?
Nestle by their woolly mother
The careful ewe.
What can nestlings do
In the nightly dew?
Sleep beneath their mother’s wing
Till day breaks anew.
If in a field or tree
There might only be
Such a warm soft sleeping-place
Found for me!
. . . . . . . . . .
Christina Rossetti page on Amazon
. . . . . . . . . .
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
. . . . . . . . . .
*This post contains affiliate links. If the product is purchased by linking through, Literary Ladies Guide receives a modest commission, which helps maintain our site and helps it to continue growing!
The post 12 Poems by Christina Rossetti, Victorian Poet appeared first on Literary Ladies Guide.
April 3, 2019
Jessie Tarbox Beals, America’s First Female Photojournalist
Though Jessie Tarbox Beals (1870 – 1942) wasn’t a literary figure, we’ve been highlighting pioneering female journalists here on Literary Ladies Guide, and she was a true trailblazer. Though she rarely contributed the texts to the news stories she took, she was a storyteller with her camera. As America’s first woman news photographer, she broke many barriers and encouraged other women to follow suit.
Jessie was the first woman to be hired as a staff photographer on a U.S. newspaper and the first American woman to get a byline as a photojournalist. She herself found nothing extraordinary about the pursuit, claiming that photography was a profession that could be mastered by any woman who “has good health, perseverance, and a nose for news.”
Enjoying a lavish childhood, losing everythingAs a young girl growing up in Ontario, Canada, in the 1870s, Jessie observed firsthand how fleeting success could be. Thanks to her father’s invention of a portable sewing machine, her family enjoyed a lavish lifestyle, complete with a mansion and beautiful gardens.
It all came crashing down when his patents expired, plunging his business into bankruptcy and driving him to drink. Jessie’s mother threw him out and found ways to support the family herself. Taking after her resourceful mother, Jessie earned a teaching certificate by age seventeen.
. . . . . . . . . .
This is the kind of camera Jessie used for much of her career.
This photo is from around 1905
. . . . . . . . . .
After a decade of teaching in Massachusetts, Jessie won a camera as a prize for selling magazine subscriptions. At first a hobby, photography became a passion. Jessie worked on her first professional assignment in 1899 when The Boston Post sent her to photograph the Massachusetts state prison. That same year, got her first credit byline for her photographs in the Windham County Reformer.
At age thirty, in 1900, she gave up teaching to pursue photography as a profession. By then, she’d married Alfred Tennyson Beals, moved to Buffalo, New York, and set up a portrait studio. In a rare reversal of roles, her husband was her assistant, doing much of the darkroom work. Jessie taught Alfred the basics of photography.
. . . . . . . . . .
One of Jessie Tarbox Beals’ most famous photos,
depicting President Theodore Roosevelt (front left)
. . . . . . . . . .
Being a successful female portrait photographer in the early 1900s was quite a feat. And when she was hired as a full-time news photographer for Buffalo’s two newspapers in 1902, it was an unheard of profession for women. That’s when she cemented her legacy as America’s first female photojournalist.
But none of this was enough for restless Jessie. In 1905, she moved to New York City, determined to become a news photographer in America’s biggest city. But no newspaper would hire a woman, so once again, she open a portrait studio as a way to make a living.
Street child photo by Jessie Tarbox Beals, a series she became known for
. . . . . . . . . .
It wasn’t for nothing that Jessie was called “aggressive” and a “daredevil,” though neither were meant as compliments. Not willing to give up, she took photos she found newsworthy, printed them, and sold them newspaper editors. Afterwards, reporters would be assigned to write up the stories to go with them. Freelancing in this unique way helped her gain a reputation.
In 1905 Jessie opened her own photo studio on Sixth Avenue in New York City. At the same time, she took whatever assignments came her way, from capturing the burgeoning Bohemian atmosphere of Greenwich Village to her signature photos of the inhabitants of the city’s slums. She also did portraits of presidents (Coolidge, Hoover, and Taft) and literary figures including Edna St. Vincent Millay and Mark Twain.
In 1911, Jessie had a daughter, Nanette, who was frail from the effects of rheumatoid arthritis. She was the apple of her mother’s eye. Jessie and Alfred, who may not have been Nanette’s father, often lived apart and eventually divorced in 1917.
One of her best-known photo essays, featured in the The New York Times in 1913, documented the poor living conditions of immigrant families.
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . .
Photojournalism was a demanding, risky profession — as it still remains. But nothing, not even hauling around a box camera weighing fifty pounds wearing full skirts and big hats got in the way of Jessie’s determination to get the best angles for her photos. She climbed ladders and bookcases, and even jumped into hot air balloons.
Her first major “climb” was perching at the top of a bookcase to get shots of a 1903 murder trial through a transom window. Photographers were barred from the courtroom, so Jessie’s photos became exclusive.
. . . . . . . . . .
She became known for documenting living conditions of the poor
. . . . . . . . . .
A full career with some misstepsJessie took every assignment that came her way — news events, celebrity and political portraits, even homes and gardens. She loved to work and needed to make a living. In hindsight, she came to regret her versatility, which made her work harder to recognize and to become known for.
By the 1920s, she was no longer as much of a novelty as a woman photographer. Others, like Dorothea Lange and Margaret Bourke-White were coming up fast behind her. Jessie tried to stay afloat by becoming a public speaker and shifted her focus to giving public talks and specializing in photographing suburban gardens and the estates of the wealthy.
In the late 1920s, she and Nanette moved to Hollywood to ply her trade, but returned to New York City in 1933 — the depths of the depression. Things went downhill from there. Jessie neglected to save money for her later years. Like her father, she lived too lavishly, and sadly, ended up destitute when she could no longer work.
Legacy
As America’s first female news photographer, Jessie Tarbox Beals is considered one of the pioneers of the photo essay — a series of photos with captions to document newsworthy subjects. Jessie didn’t write, but she thought like a reporter, which was why she was able to sell photos before a single word of a news story had been written. Her example encouraged other women to pursue professional photography.
Though Jessie made mistakes, but they don’t diminish her accomplishments. To become America’s first female photojournalist, she refused to let gender be a barrier. She took pride in crafting excellent photographs and used her moxie to get them into major publications. Most admirably of all, she created her own opportunities, rather than waiting for men to give her permission.
The archives of Jessie Tarbox Beals are now housed at the Schlesinger Library at Radcliffe College in Massachusetts. The papers and photographs were gift by her daughter Nanette in 1982, long after Jessie’s death in 1942 at the age of seventy-one.
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . .
“Newspaper photography as a vocation for women is somewhat of an innovation, but is one that offers great inducements in the way of interest as well as profit. If one is the possessor of health and strength, a good news instinct … and the ability to hustle, which is the most necessary qualification, one can be a news photographer.” — From an interview in The Focus, St. Louis, Missouri, 1904
More about Jessie Tarbox Beals
Wikipedia First Behind the Camera, photojournalist Jessie Tarbox Beals Women photojournalists at the Library of CongressThe post Jessie Tarbox Beals, America’s First Female Photojournalist appeared first on Literary Ladies Guide.
April 2, 2019
Quotes from Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery
Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery (1874 – 1942) has been a classic children’s novel almost from the time it was first published in 1908. It’s the first of a series of novels detailing the adventures of an orphan girl named Anne Shirley from the age of eleven through adulthood.
Anne is mistakenly sent to two siblings, Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert interested in adopting a boy to help them on their farm. The novel takes place in the fictional town of Avonlea on Prince Edward Island and follows Anne as she makes her way through life with the Cuthbert siblings, school friends, and townspeople.
Since the year of its publication, Anne of Green Gables has sold more than fifty million copies and has been translated into thirty-six languages as well. Montgomery wrote numerous sequels and since her death, another sequel has been published as well as an authorized prequel — Marilla of Green Gables. In addition, the novel has been adapted into films, television shows, and a live-action and animated television series. Musicals and plays have also been created and are produced annually in Japan and Europe.
Anne of Green Gables has captured the hearts of many all over the world, and has been honored universally. A “Green Gables” building has been named in Australia, Canada Post issued Anne of Green Gables-inspired stamps, and curiously, the Anne franchise has a devoted following in Japan. Here is a selection of quotes from Anne of Green Gables, the beloved classic novel:
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . .
“There’s such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I’m such a troublesome person. If I was just the one Anne it would be ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn’t be half so interesting.”
“Oh, it’s delightful to have ambitions. I’m so glad I have such a lot. And there never seems to be an end to them– that’s the best of it. Just as soon as you attain to one ambition you see another one glittering higher up still. It does make life so interesting.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“Because when you are imagining, you might as well imagine something worth.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“Isn’t it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive–it’s such an interesting world. It wouldn’t be half so interesting if we know all about everything, would it? There’d be no scope for imagination then, would there? But am I talking too much? People are always telling me I do. Would you rather I didn’t talk? If you say so I’ll stop. I can STOP when I make up my mind to it, although it’s difficult.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“It’s delightful when your imaginations come true, isn’t it?”
. . . . . . . . . .
“We pay a price for everything we get or take in this world; and although ambitions are well worth having, they are not to be cheaply won, but exact their dues of work and self-denial, anxiety and discouragement.”
. . . . . . . . . .
Witty and Wise Quotes from L.M. Montgomery’s Novels
. . . . . . . . . .
“That’s the worst of growing up, and I’m beginning to realize it. The things you wanted so much when you were a child don’t seem half so wonderful to you when you get them.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“Next to trying and winning, the best thing is trying and failing.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“I wouldn’t want to marry anybody who was wicked, but I think I’d like it if he could be wicked and wouldn’t.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“You’re never safe from being surprised until you’re dead.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“I’ve just been imagining that it was really me you wanted after all and that I was to stay here forever and ever. It was a great comfort while it lasted. But the worst of imagining things is that the time comes when you have to stop and that hurts.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it…well with no mistakes in it yet.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“Life is worth living as long as there’s a laugh in it.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It’s splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“It’s been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will.”
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . .
“Don’t you just love poetry that gives you a crinkly feeling up and down your back?”
. . . . . . . . . .
“Look at that sea, girls–all silver and shadow and vision of things not seen. We couldn’t enjoy its loveliness any more if we had millions of dollars and ropes of diamonds.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“It’s all very well to read about sorrows and imagine yourself living through them heroically, but it’s not so nice when you really come to have them, is it?”
. . . . . . . . . .
The world looks like something God had imagined for his own pleasure, doesn’t it?
. . . . . . . . . .
“Why must people kneel down to pray? If I really wanted to pray I’ll tell you what I’d do. I’d go out into a great big field all alone or in the deep, deep woods and I’d look up into the sky—up—up—up—into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was no end to its blueness. And then I’d just feel a prayer.”
. . . . . . . . . .
Anne of Green Gables and its sequels on Amazon
. . . . . . . . . .
“Which would you rather be if you had the choice–divinely beautiful or dazzlingly clever or angelically good?”
. . . . . . . . . .
“Pretty? Oh, pretty doesn’t seem the right word to use. Nor beautiful, either. They don’t go far enough. Oh, it was wonderful—wonderful. It’s the first thing I ever saw that couldn’t be improved upon by imagination. It just satisfied me here”—she put one hand on her breast—”it made a queer funny ache and yet it was a pleasant ache.”
. . . . . . . . . .
*This post contains affiliate links. If the product is purchased by linking through, Literary Ladies Guide receives a modest commission, which helps maintain our site and helps it to continue growing!
The post Quotes from Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery appeared first on Literary Ladies Guide.
April 1, 2019
America Day by Day by Simone de Beauvoir
In January of 1947, Simone de Beauvoir, existentialist philosopher, novelist, and author of feminist classic The Second Sex, landed at La Guardia airport. From there she embarked on a months-long journey from one end of the U.S. to the other. Immersing herself in American culture, customs, and vistas, she kept a detailed diary that was published in France in 1948. It was first published in an American edition in 1954.
The University of California Press published a more recent edition in 1999, describing it as “one of the most intimate, warm, and compulsively readable texts from the great writer’s pen.” The publisher’s description continued:
“Fascinating passages are devoted to Hollywood, the Grand Canyon, New Orleans, Las Vegas, and San Antonio. We see de Beauvoir gambling in a Reno casino, smoking her first marijuana cigarette in the Plaza Hotel, donning rain gear to view Niagara Falls, lecturing at Vassar College, and learning firsthand about the Chicago underworld of morphine addicts and petty thieves with her lover Nelson Algren as her guide.
This fresh, faithful translation superbly captures the essence of Simone de Beauvoir’s distinctive voice. It demonstrates once again why she is one of the most profound, original, and influential writers and thinkers of the twentieth century.”
. . . . . . . . . .
See also: The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir
. . . . . . . . . .
How much of the American cultural landscape has changed since Simone de Beauvoir observed it in 1947? Doubtless, this is a fascinating read. Here is how one reviewer saw her efforts when the book first appeared in the U.S.:
Visitor From France Found Much to Dislike in U.S.A.From the original review by Helen K. Fairall in the Des Moines Register, January 10, 1954, of America Day by Day by Simone de Beauvoir:
It was bound to happen — that a vocal Frenchwoman would turn the tables (and not the other cheek) on the many critical American women who have “done” France to a crisp after they returned to the U.S. Simone de Beauvoir is an extremely thoughtful observer but she has her phobias.
She came to New York, then covered the United States by train, plane, bus, and automobiles belonging to friends who she contacted wherever she stopped.
. . . . . . . . . .
You might also like: Philosophical Quotes by Simone de Beauvoir
. . . . . . . . . .
Chicago to her was the most depressing city, with its lake front a false facade to hide its miseries. Paradoxically she found Chicago, as well as New York, to be “the most stimulating” cities.
The colleges and universities she visited were failing to develop thinkers, in her view. In the students she found apathy toward world problems, an unawareness of future responsibilities, and ignorance of Europe’s complexities.
The hundreds of towns strung across the country were all alike — but with different names — until she reached California.
Observed hatreds
The sunshine, dust, and noise of Los Angeles had the ugliness of a Paris fair and the traffic was frightening, apparently not recalling to her the traffic jams and speed in Paris.
Texas opened her eyes to the “hatreds of the South” which she found from there to Charleston. New Orleans, with its legendary beauty, she knew to be “one of the most wretched cities in America — its stagnant luxury ambiguous.”
American drugstores fascinated her. They embraced all the bizarre qualities of the general stores of the pioneer west. The opulence of the overheated hotels crushed her.
. . . . . . . . . .
America Day by Day on Amazon
. . . . . . . . . .
The good will and helpfulness of the people attracted yet irritated Simone de Beauvoir. They identified virtue with prosperity and loved to impose upon others all that was good. What distressed her most was the average American’s inclination to seek the source of valued “in things, not in themselves.”
Some of her criticism is valid. Her observations on the cities and the ways of American life are pointed. What this reviewer objects to is her use of a personal bias to exploit controversial American problems. Perhaps a continental understands them as poorly as Americans understand French politics.
Quotes from America Day by Day
“There’s something in the New York air that makes sleep useless.”
. . . . . . . . . .
” … Americans love speed, alcohol, film thrills and sensational news. They feverishly demand something more and, again, something more, never able to quell their restlessness. Yet here, as everywhere else, life repeats itself day after day, so people amuse themselves with gadgets, and lacking real projects, they cultivate hobbies.
These manias allow them to pretend to take responsibility, by choice, for their daily habits. Sports, movies, and comics all offer distractions. But in the end, people are always faced with what they wanted to escape: the arid basis of American life—boredom.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“I hope I am not fated to live in Rochester.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“[Americans] respect the past, but as an embalmed monument; the idea of a living past integrated with the present is alien to them. They want to know only a present that’s cut off from the flow of time, and the future they project is one that can be mechanically deduced from it, not one whose slow ripening or abrupt explosion implies unpredictable risks.”
. . . . . . . . . .
*This post contains affiliate links. If the product is purchased by linking through, Literary Ladies Guide receives a modest commission, which helps maintain our site and helps it to continue growing!
The post America Day by Day by Simone de Beauvoir appeared first on Literary Ladies Guide.
March 31, 2019
The Song of the Lark by Willa Cather (1915)
The Song of the Lark by Willa Cather, published in 1915, was the third of her twelve novels. It traces the artistic growth of Thea Kronberg, the novel’s heroine, from her hometown in the desert of Colorado to the stage of New York’s Metropolitan Opera House. Though Cather herself didn’t follow the path of a performer, some of the elements of the novel are autobiographical, mirroring the trajectory from an early life in a pioneering region to one of creative fulfillment as a woman.
Thea Kronborg has a dream of becoming a world-class singer. Born into the family of a Swedish Methodist minister in the Colorado village of moonstone, she has a beautiful voice, a driving ambition, and an innate sense of what is true and fine. She sees the surroundings in which she is growing up in as cheap and tawdry, though it’s a part of the booming American West.
The novel’s trajectory follows Thea from her girlhood, when her ambition takes root, to her becoming a prima donna at the age of thirty. Thea’s sole focus is on her aspiration to artistic perfection. Her passion and desire for artistic achievement color everything in her life.
The fictional Thea’s professional achievements were inspired by the real-life career of the Wagnerian soprano Olive Fremstad. In 1913, Willa Cather was assigned to write an article for McClure’s magazine about three American opera singers, Louise Homer, Geraldine Farrar, and Olive Fremstad.
Willa had already been planning to write a book about an opera singer, and it was fortuitous that she got to meet the three singers for her interviews. Of the three women, it was Fremstad who interested her most, and she zeroed in on trying to discern what it had taken from the Swedish Fremstad to become a true artist.
. . . . . . . . . .
Willa Cather’s inspiration for The Song of the Lark, Olive Fremstad
. . . . . . . . .
Penguin Random House’s Readers Guide encapsulates the novel: “The Song of the Lark is the story of an artist’s growth and development from childhood to maturity. More particularly—and decidedly more rarely—it traces the development of a female artist supported by a series of male characters willing to serve her career. Inspired by Willa Cather’s own development as a novelist and by the career of an opera diva, The Song of the Lark examines the themes of the artist’s relationship with family and society, themes that would dominate all of Cather’s best fiction.”
An original 1915 review of Song of the Lark
From the original review in The State Journal, Raleigh, NC, December, 1915: Willa Cather‘s The Song of the Lark is a book which merits more than ordinary notice. The story is easy to summarize, because it is so simple, so entirely the story of the development of a single personality.
Thea Kronborg, born into the family of a Swedish Methodist minister in a Colorado village, has a voice, an ambition, and a native sense of the true and fine — qualities all in contrast with the cheapness and tawdriness about her.
Two or three childhood friends who have faith in her suffice to fix her determination. From the time in her early girlhood, when her ambition takes definite form, to her triumph as a prima donna at thirty, her whole life is moulded by her supreme desired for artistic perfection.
Obstacles to overcomeShe has the help of a few sympathetic friends; but she also has oppressive discouragements — her own crudeness and ignorance, criticism and lack of understanding on the part of her family, poverty, and, perhaps worst of all, the cheap success around her, the eclat of superficial art, of voices without brains or artistic feeling behind them.
Through it all she clings to her ideal, and in the end has the satisfaction of winning not only the recognition of the larger public, but also the unstinted praise of the few who really know and understand her and her ideal.
. . . . . . . . . .
Song of the Lark on Amazon
. . . . . . . . . .
The story has its blemishes. The characterization is sometimes labored; the concluding section is too long-drawn-out; the duplicity of Thea’s lover is inconsistent and has the effect of an artificial device.
But these are faults that are easily forgiven in consideration of the story’s merits: its seriousness and utter sincerity, its painstaking workmanship, its large free pictures of the Western plains and the Arizona canyons, the simplicity and restraint with which the more emotional parts are handled.
The faults are of the kind that can be overcome; the merits are of the kind that make fine things in fiction.
. . . . . . . . . .
The Novels of Willa Cather, Master of American Literature
. . . . . . . . . .
Quotes from The Song of the Lark“Nothing is far and nothing is near, if one desires. The world is little, people are little, human life is little. There is only one big thing—desire. And before it, when it is big, all is little.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“Her secret? It is every artist’s secret — passion. That is all. It is an open secret, and perfectly safe.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“I only want impossible things,” she said roughly. “The others don’t interest me.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“Artistic growth is, more than it is anything else, a refining of the sense of truthfulness. The stupid believe that to be truthful is easy; only the artist, the great artist, knows how difficult it is.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“People live through such pain only once. Pain comes again—but it finds a tougher surface.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.”
. . . . . . . . . .
“The world is little, people are little, human life is little. There is only one big thing — desire.”
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . .
*This post contains affiliate links. If the product is purchased by linking through, Literary Ladies Guide receives a modest commission, which helps maintain our site and helps it to continue growing!
The post The Song of the Lark by Willa Cather (1915) appeared first on Literary Ladies Guide.
