For something that I picked up on a whim, this book was surprisingly moving. Gordon is a fierce admirer of Mary Wollstonecraft in a way that I found off-putting in the beginning, when she seems to defensively fixate on proving Wollingscraft's status as a "great". "Rarer creature", she calls her. A "germ of a new genus". "The great are ordinary as well as great" she reminds us at one point. But when she moves on to the meat of the biography, this fierceness turns into a worthy advocacy that seeks to uncover the truth of Mary's life and character amidst all the scandal and misinterpretation of the past 200+ years. After all, Mary's greatness lays especially in her confused, complicated moments, when she is grappling with the challenges of her life with intelligence and purpose.
In the acknowledgements, Gordon thanks an editor who proposed the idea of the biography reaching across multiple generations to reveal Wollstonecraft's influence on not just her daughters but also those who her life touched in direct or indirect ways. It's a wonderful choice, and beautifully echoes the author's overall purpose: to clarify and celebrate Wollstonecraft's consequence.
This is a beautiful and passionate biography. Anyone who seeks to understand more about this under-appreciated woman or the kernels of the modern feminist movement would find this book inspiring and illuminating.
Annotations
How did she shed, one by one, the stale plots that leach the ‘real life’ out of us? A ‘new genus’ needs a new plot of existence. Mary Wollstonecraft is, in this sense, rewriting her life for lives to come. Though she speaks of ‘improvement’ in the acceptable terms of her day, it’s a grand design and, as such, vulnerable to those with the power to plunge her back into familiar scenes of wasted lives - wasted like her mother, prime victim of violence at home, the person for whom Mary the child felt her earliest, most instinctive and desperate pity. Virginia Woolf pictures a dauntless biographic creator: Every day she made theories by which life should be lived; and every day she came smack against the rock of other people’s prejudices. Every day too - for she was no pedant, no cold blooded theorist - something was born in her that thrist aside her theories and modeled them afresh.’ ... We are tempted to criticize her inconsistency - and then remember that ‘a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds’. To see Mary as shifting and rash would be to scale her down. Dimly, through the glare of celebrity and slander, it’s possible to make out the shape of the new genus reading, testing, growing, but still uncategorized.
Pg. 3
‘A young mind looks around for love and friendship,’ she thought, ‘but love and friendship fly from poverty... The mind must then accommodate itself to its new state, or dare to be unhappy.’
Pg. 21
… [G]irls were taught to memorise, not to think. She mocks one of Mrs Barbauld’s poems, a cascade of cliches which likens women to ‘DELICATE’ flowers, free from toil, ‘born for pleasure and delight ALONG’. Mrs Barbauld’s concluding lesson is that ‘Your BEST, your SWEETEST empire is — TO PLEASE.’ Even Hannah More, a purveyor of popular pieties and leading member of the ‘Blues’, believed that the ‘bold, independent, enterprising spirit’ encouraged in boys should be suppressed in girls. Wollstonecraft recognized that it was through such misteaching that ‘daughters’ internalised their subjection. Education was therefore central to her message.
Pg. 76
‘I think and think, and these reveries do not tend to fit me for enjoying the common pleasures of this world,’ she had scribbled in March. Failing biographic plots crumple around ‘Mary’s’ soliloquies, as she ruminates on life’s purpose, on eternity, immateriality and happiness, in the long shadow of her friend’s death: ‘Still does my panting soul push forward and, and live in futurity, in the deep shades o’er which darkness hangs. — I try to pierce the gloom, and find a resting-place, where my thirst knowledge will by gratified, and my ardent effections find an object to fix them.’ Fiction was a strategic choice: ‘‘Without arguing physically about possibilities — in a fiction, such a being may be allowed to exist.’
Pg. 120
Mary Wollstonecraft may best be seen as she saw herself, a 'solitary walker'...
Pg. 132
Blake's illustration for Real Life have the purity of his poem 'Visions of the Daughters of Albion', a protest against the existing order that 'inclos'd [a woman's] infinite brain into a narrow circle'.
Pg. 133
Women's bodies were not only turned into sites for public morality, they were also pathologised. Wollstonecraft opposed a system which defined women as weak, and women themselves for foolish complicity. They tended to pore over such nonsense as The Ladies Dispensatory; or, Every Woman her own Physician (1740, republished many times): 'The delicate Texture of a Woman's constitution... subjects her to an infinite Number of Maladies, to which Man is an utter Stranger,' women were told. 'That lax and pliant Habit, capable of being dilated and contracted on every Occasion, must necessarily want that Degree of Heat and Firmness which is the Characteristick of Man.'
Pg. 147
Women who asked for rights were now 'Amazons', in contrast to virtuous homebodies; to be 'daring' and 'restless' was to be 'unprincipled'. The result was to polarise women in the old way as saints or sinners, wives or wantons, negating Wollstonecraft's fusion of rights and domesticity.
Pg. 245
[A]ddiction to commerce could debase the new national character. 'England and America owe their liberty to commerce,' she said, 'which created a new species of power to undermine the feudal system. But... the tyranny of wealth is still more galling and debasing than that of rank.'
Pg. 274
The next day he [Godwin] read the first seventy-eight pages of the Travels... his dislike of the 'harsh' feminist dissolved 'in tenderness' for her sorrows; at the same time, he recognized 'a genius which commands all our imagination'. Perhaps there had never been a book of travels 'that so irresistibly seizes on the heart'. It was 'calculated to make a man fall in love with the author'.
Pg. 290
Her marriage was, in Virginia Woolf's words, 'an experiment, as Mary's life had been an experiment from the start, an attempt to make human conventions conform more closely to human needs.' At times it seemed to Mary, as she mused in the shade of her green blind, that her experiment in marriage was not the new narrative she had meant to forge. 'I am... thrown out of my track,' she thought, 'and have not traced another.'
Pg. 351
'History is in reality a tissue of fables,' Godwin concludes, a year before he devised one of his own.
Pg. 385
The image of reckless intemperance persists to this day, varied by accusations of prudery. Both judgments perpetuate the prude/whore caricature of womanhood, oddly unwilling to engage with a woman who accepts our nuanced sexual nature – its romance, its modesty, its warmth its capacity for pleasure – as nature's endowment... 'Self-centeredness' over the course of her life can't be denied – all art, all endeavour, is selfish to some extent... So it happens that an untrue 'self-centeredness' slips in to confirm the failure narratives imposed on Mary Wollstonecraft's life: the doom of the fallen woman; the comedy of the dizzy enthusiast who presumes to pick up a pen – ephemeral fame, bound to come with grief; and the Victorian melodrama...
Pg. 387
Mary Shelley defends her attempt to act out women's desires despite the prospect of disappointment: 'the most contemptible of all lives is where you life in the world & none of your passions or affections are called into action'.
Pg. 437