Pick one:
1) A queen
2) English Country Gent- JA’s heroines, eat your heart out
3) The Wandering Child
4) Lover of Women
5) Lover of Men
6) The Mysterious, Distant Lord of the Manor
6) Get Off My Lawn Recluse
7) Heathcliff, But Better
8) Mother
… have you picked one?
… If you answer to that was “No!” then you should read this book. You and Vita are likely to get along very well. Vita was all and none of these things at various points in her life, which was fascinating from beginning to the end. True, she did have certain advantages in her story that gave her more of a start than some others: Vita was born at Knole, an enormous old castle that looks like a whole village in one building, to the son and heir of the house, Lionel Sackville and his wife Victoria Sackville-West. Her father was a handsome young romantic blade, her mother was an enthralling termagant, conducting all her relationships like love affairs (something Vita would pick up from her)- she was also her husband’s first cousin- the illegitimate daughter of Lord Sackville’s diplomat brother and his Spanish flamenco dancer mistress, Pepita. Victoria served as his hostess while he was posted to Washington, and made a great success of it against all odds. Unfortunately, she and her husband fell out of love with each other within a few years of their marriage- the relationship was full of raging and storming and walkouts, with the blanks filled in with parties…. with little Vita left alone to stare.
If I were Vita, I would have written a different story for myself, too. Which is exactly what Vita proceeded to do for the rest of her life- she wrote and lived out very different lives, trying them on for size. She started with the documents and objects that recorded the lives of her ancestors “the records of centuries of Sackvilles- letters, wills, marriage settlements, accounts, menus, diaries, glass, plate and armour”- she played on the rocking horse of the fourth Duke of Dorset, fell in love with her dashing ancestor Edward Sackville, found trunks whose locks had been broken by Roundheads- and put it all into histories, novels, plays and poems. She spent her (lonely, significantly) childhood and adolescence building for herself fully realized, different worlds, over and over again. The creation was near constant- she always needed to be immersed in some sort of story.
She needn’t have worried about that. As she grew older, it seemed somehow that most of the people who knew her projected some sort of fantasy onto her. It’s hard to pin down what it was about her, but everyone seemed to have an image of her that they could describe in detail, from childhood friends to vague dinner party acquaintances. But what really struck me was how often she seemed to just fall into these fantasies, seduced by seeing herself in an image or a story without really thinking very much about how it suited her (her husband Harold often accused her of “drifting into things” without thinking about the consequences- he was very often right). These fantasies allowed Vita a crucial link between the romanticized worlds she had created for herself at Knole to get through her childhood and the Real Life she was about to enter. It’s just fascinating to watch the mix of fantasy and reality in her relationships. For instance, Rosamund Grosvenor, a proper and clean young lady, cast Vita in the mold of her Spanish grandmother and addressed her as “Carmen” or “Princess”, writing to her that: “it is a good thing you are living in a civilized time because there is no knowing what you might not do if anything aroused your Spanish blood…,” or Mary Campbell, one of her later lovers, escaping from an abusive, alcoholic husband, who appealed to Vita as her “St. Anne, her Demeter, lover, mother, everything in women that I most need and love,” People gave Vita incredibly tall orders to live up to.
But none so much as Violet Trefusis, the one woman who nearly convinced Vita to consider the entire real world well lost. A mesmerizing whirlwind of a person herself, she fell in love with Vita when they were teenagers. Vita, however, fell in love with Harold Nicolson, rather against her will. For the first time in her life, was very anchored to the every day round of life by her life with him, his career, their marriage and children. At that point in her life, Vita believed in total commitment- in playing her roles to the hilt, like one of the characters in her novel. There was no halfsies with her. Then Harold informed her of his homosexual relationships- and the sexual nature of them (he had no choice- he had a venereal disease and she needed to get tested)- and it seems like when she found out that she was not everything to Harold, all of the other stories inside her came rushing out again. Violet was right there waiting. Vita still didn’t believe in halfsies- they had a violent, raging, crazy, out of control love affair that went on for four years- during this time Vita went entirely the other way, wrapping herself up entirely in her fantasies, showing them off in the real world: she walked around in public and attended dances as a man, “Julian,” which is how Violet addressed her. It was only very gradually and painfully that Vita realized that she could not live entirely inside her fantasy, that there were in fact other sides to her than the “rackety” bit that enjoyed thumbing his (always his) nose at convention and spitting upon responsibility- something Violet never accepted. But there was more to Vita than what Violet saw of her- there was always more to Vita, something that the image could never quite capture (as Virginia Woolf found out later creating her likeness in Orlando- everyone said it was the perfect likeness, Vita herself fell in love with it “a new form of narcissism” as she herself said- but Vita could never love Virginia the same way after it was published).
I adore this woman for both her passion and for the balance that she found- managing to ultimately live her life in a way that honored all parts of her in turn, and doing her very best to maintain her “self” in the face of everyone and everything that wanted to categorize her and make her stay as the one part of her that they wanted- only she chose who she wanted to be that day. She was even capable of being different people to the same person. One of the many things that fascinated me about her was the complex code that seemed to develop in her relationships, especially as she grew older- especially in her letters. In print, she had codes and keys with people, telling them who they were addressing at that moment, as they told her who they wanted to speak to. Her most intimate letters spoke of herself and her correspondent in the third person, as if they were characters in one of her stories- characters that changed throughout their lives. Some wonderful examples: She and Harold spoke of each other as, “the Mars” all through their lives, (Sackville family word for children) she called him “Hadji”, during their years as lovers, she called Virginia Woolf “Potto” (a man) and spoke of herself as Orlando or “Towser” (a dog image-usually used when she was apologizing to Virginia for something), Violet was “Lushka” she was “Julian” or “Mitya.” One of the more touching moments in her correspondence happens in 1940, at a moment where invasion seemed imminent and Vita was at the end of her rope. She wrote to Violet again then, for the first time in twenty years, saying that she will come to her if ever she needs her and signs her name, again for the first time in twenty years, as Mitya. She would never have said most of these things out loud- in fact her in the flesh interactions with her correspondents were often awkward, distant, never approaching the intimacy of print. If they did, they were unlikely to last for long. Vita called them, after Violet, her beguins, brief interludes that she needed, but which she would soon end and then return to Harold. (Virginia Woolf was the only exception to this rule.)
The flip side of the coin of this woman with the complex, intense and ever changing relationships was the woman with an intense need for solitude- the hermit. It is this side of her that I adored even more than the fascinating aristocratic images of her that most were fascinated with. She wrote, starting even at a very young age, of how people chipped away at her- how interacting with them took and took from her and gave her nothing back. Every little social engagement, visitor, or even time with her children was time away from living the life she wanted to live. Harold didn’t like this part of her- he needed to see her as essentially motherly, warm, loving, good. I think it was this part of her that inspired the other thing that made her famous: her gardening. She and Harold bought Sissinghurst, a run down old castle complex and grounds, in 1930- they spent the rest of their lives turning it into one of the most famous gardens in England- Vita had a long running column on gardening, frequently gave talks on the BBC about it (these soon outstripped those on literature). Some might see this as her giving up or giving in- which isn’t true. She continued to create fiction all her life- her gardening expressed so many other things about her. Some of my favorite pictures of her in the book were those of her as a rugged old lady with her Wellies on and a cigarette in her hand, looking totally confident- Mistress Of All She Surveys at last- the way she never could be at Knole, in any of Harold’s Foreign Office postings (she hated them), in Bloomsbury, or even at smart parties of her upper class friends.
I identify with her for so many reasons: she was never quite smart enough for her smart friends (Virginia called her dumb or too traditional on several occasions), her family found her “slow” or illogical a lot of the time, she was a lonely girl who grew up into a longing for loneliness woman, she very inconveniently found a man she couldn’t live without even while she had so many other things she couldn’t live without doing, managed to be both a mother and have a career, she did not follow Harold’s drum to his various diplomatic postings- only visiting him and making what she could of it, using it for her own ends, even, her motherly side and her rackety side, her insecurity and her distant side, her intense need for solitude, and her lifelong, dogged pursuit of finding herself.
I think everything I’m saying here, everything I admire really boils down to this: “God damn this energy, and thank God for it!” She wrote that to Virginia, right after she finished writing Passenger to Teheran (her book about her first visit to Persia, one of Harold’s postings). She was so self aware of how harmful her passions could be, and just as aware that she could never give them up. She found a way to deal with life so that she could live out that paradox every day.
How many people manage to do that?
Virginia called Vita “a real woman.” Of course, leave it to her to find the best way of saying in three words what I’ve just written your ears off (if I can murder a metaphor) to say. Yeah. That’s it. Thanks, Virginia.
(As an addendum to this review, I should probably note that the biography itself is not five star. My reasons: Glendinning has very definite opinions about Vita's actions and those of the people around her-she dismisses Violet as a "damaging and damaged young woman" for instance-, and she allows her prose to be infected by the archaic style of her subjects. Both of these things are incredibly annoying. But I do think she also gave me enough stellar information to argue with her if I chose, so that's fine. Five stars for the story and the person, probably more like 4 for the book itself.)