osprey_archer: (writing)
Reading Girl Talk did lead to one positive development: it reminded me that I wanted to read Emily Midorikawa and Emma Claire Sweeney’s A Secret Sisterhood: The Literary Friendships of Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, George Eliot, and Virginia Woolf, which I subsequently zoomed through and adored so much that I popped over to the authors’ blog, Something Rhymed.

There, I discovered that they’re taking guest posts about female literary friendships. And, well, I have a list of such friendships that I have collected over the years. Unfortunately I didn’t take notes on most of it, so I’ll need to track down the information again. (But they’re asking for posts of 500-800 words, so I don’t need to go too nuts. NO SELF you do not need to go to Massachusetts to check out the Josephine Preston Peabody papers in the Houghton Library at Harvard to read all 142 letters she exchanged with Abby Farwell Brown.)

A few possibilities:

The aforementioned Josephine Preston Peabody and Abigail Farwell Brown. There are many charming references it Brown in Peabody’s collected diary and letters (I’ve ILLed the volume, because I no longer have access to the North American Women’s Letters and Diaries database), and I once found a laudatory review wrote of a performance of one of Peabody’s verse dramas, The Piper, although like a fool I didn’t print it out and I no longer have access to that database either.

Jean Webster (who wrote Daddy-Long-Legs) and Adelaide Crapsey (who invented the cinquain). They met at Vassar and remained close friends until Crapsey’s death of tuberculosis: Webster was at the deathbed. I think I read about this in Karen Alkalay-Gut’s biography of Crapsey, but I didn’t take notes. Why didn’t I take notes? You never know when notes will be useful.

Susan Coolidge (author of What Katy Did) and Helen Hunt Jackson. I found an edition of Jackson’s novel Ramona with a lengthy preface/eulogy for Jackson written by Coolidge, when she recounts many incidents in their friendship. The book is probably still in that Half-Price Books. I should fetch it.

Annie Fellows Johnston and her Louisville writing group, many of whom achieved great commercial success and had their books adapted into movies: Johnston’s own Little Colonel became a Shirley Temple feature, while Alice Hegan Rice’s Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch has been adapted to film four times. Rice’s aunt, Frances Little (nee Fannie Caldwell), was also a member of the group and wrote The Lady of the Decoration, which was the best-selling novel in the US in 1907. My main source for this one is Johnston’s memoir - which I actually possess!

Yes. I really ought to try to do those guest posts, don’t you think? I mean all this information is just sitting here, waiting to be shared.
osprey_archer: (books)
What I’ve Just Finished Reading

Frances Harper’s Iola Leroy, which, all due respect to the author of Five Best-Selling Female Writers You May Not Have Heard Of, is a forgotten novel for a reason. Harper was an African-American public speaker and author who lectured and wrote on topics like abolition, racial uplift, and temperance, and one gets the strong sense that she cut and pasted a lot of her speeches into this book, giving different paragraphs to different characters because it’s easier to read dialogue than it is to read one big long speech.

It’s weirdly fascinating if you’re into 1890s progressivism (with more emphasis on race and racial equality than many white progressives would have had at the time), but I wouldn’t recommend it as a novel.

I also read Abbie Farwell Brown’s John of the Woods. Brown, a children’s book author, was one of Josephine Preston Peabody’s buddies: Peabody’s letters to her are some of the most charming in the Diary and Letters of Josephine Preston Peabody, and Brown wrote a review of Peabody’s play Marlowe when it was first performed.

But I think that they had a baleful literary influence on each other’s works for children, like maybe they were forever urging each other on to new heights of tweeness. John of the Woods is less twee than Brown’s short stories for children, but probably its tweeness levels are acceptable only if you really, really like early twentieth century children’s fiction, in which case you’ve probably worked up an incredible tweeness tolerance in the first place.

Naturally I found it rather charming. A little lost orphan boy escapes from the troupe of abusive acrobats (and nonetheless retains a silver amulet that the acrobats, despite being dyed-in-the-wool evil, never took from him because I guess they want him to realize his secret heritage someday); he dashes in a panic into a forest, only to be found by a saintly religious hermit’s dog, which leads him to the hermit’s hut, where he spends the next few years learning how to tame wild animals, cure simple diseases, and read the hermit’s Bible. Only for their happy solitude to be interrupted by an evil king and his evil son, out for an evil hunt of the friendly wild creatures of the forest!

It’s like early twentieth children’s literature bingo. An orphan! With abusive caregivers! And an unlikely proof of his identity! Reverence for nature, books, and Jesus! Generic Middle Ages! Magic powers that aren’t actually magic because early twentieth century children’s authors seem to have been chary of having actual magical occurrences in their stories! Except for George MacDonald, but who knows what the fuck is up with him.

What I’m Reading Now

I’m working on Rosemary Taylor’s Chicken Every Sunday: My Life with Mother’s Boarders, which is a memoir about growing up in a boarding house in the early decades of the twentieth century, and charming in a Cheaper by the Dozen sort of way: lots of funny anecdotes about the boarders and the author’s parents.

What I Plan to Read Next

I went on a bit of a Kindle free book spree, as I periodically do, and made out like a bandit with a couple of old girls’ series books - the The Wide Awake Girls in Winsted and Blue Bonnet’s Ranch Party - as well as (my biggest prize) Sara Jeannette Duncan’s A Daughter of To-Day. Kindle continues not to have the Duncan book that I want most of all, A Social Departure: How Orthodocia and I Went Around the World By Ourselves, a fictionalized memoir about, well, what it says in the title. Someday!
osprey_archer: (books)
What I’ve Just Finished Reading

Mistress Pat, but I already wrote about that at length yesterday.

And I read Josephine Preston Peabody’s The Book of the Little Past, which is a short collection of poems from the point of view of a child. And it is, well, pretty twee: think Robert Louis Stevenson’s “My Shadow,” only a bit more so.

It’s too bad, because I really love Peabody’s published diaries and letters, but her poetry never works for me. Every time I read it I can only think what a shame it is that she never wrote a novel - or a memoir - because her prose is so much less mannered and more passionate and alive than her poetry.

What I’m Reading Now

I’ve been reading Frances Harper’s Iola Leroy: Or, Shadows Uplifted, which was on a list [livejournal.com profile] tamsinwillougby linked of Five Best-Selling Female Writers You May Not Have Heard Of. (They’re all nineteenth-century American female writers, which I feel the title perhaps ought to have shared.)

Being an aficionado of nineteenth-century American female writers, of course I had to try some of them out, and Frances Harper got first dibs because she’s one of the earliest female African-American novelists. Iola Leroy is basically a tract thinly disguised as a novel, really, so I can’t say I recommend it, but it is interesting from a historical point of view.

What I Plan to Read Next

I’ve been thinking about reading Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s Gift from the Sea. Anybody read it? Worth it?

My mother and I both read Molly Guptill Manning’s When Books Went to War, and both independently decided that we really must read two of the books that Manning mentioned: Rosemary Taylor’s Chicken Every Sunday: Life with My Mother’s Boarders and Henry Beetle Hough’s Country Editor.

This synchonity is perhaps less impressive than it sounds, as these were two of the books most popular with World War II troops. If they’re so engrossing that they can distract a soldier from the battlefield or even give wounded, shell-shocked soldiers a new will to live (many soldiers wrote letters to the authors telling them that these books helped them start to feel again when they felt numb and broken after battle), clearly they must be pretty great.

Ghost Tea

Feb. 19th, 2013 11:05 pm
osprey_archer: (tea)
I have discovered a solution to my research proposal woes! I shall focus my project on Josephine Preston Peabody. Now I just need to come up with an explanation of this more research-y than "She is my historical BFF!"

Actually that won't be too hard: JPP published a volume of World War I poetry, Harvest Moon, which bids fair to be more to my taste than her other poetry, which tends to be utterly unmoored from...anything, really. When even Progressive Era critics charge that someone's poetry contains "an impalpability, an airy insubstantiality, which renders it elusive and unconvincing" (Jessie B. Rittenhouse, The Younger American Poets, 125), then you know that there's a problem, because "airy insubstantiality" pretty much describes all Progressive Era poetry aside from maybe Edwin Arlington Robinson.

Robinson published a book of poetry called Merlin in 1917. I wonder if that counts as WWI related...?

What the heck, it's Arthurian, of course I have to read it. I am an academic! I can relate it to the war and JPP somehow!

I don't mean this paper to be a biography of Josephine Preston Peabody, you see: she is my window onto World War I era America, its ideas about poetry and politics and femininity, and how these things intertwined to create the identity of the genteel poetess - which was brutally dashed by modernist ideas that linked masculinity and creativity. (Ugh, but then I'll have to read about modernism. Maybe I'll just ignore that part...)

Seriously, though, JPP is my historical BFF. Her diaries are splendid: it's just too bad she never captured that grace and power in her poetry. Someday - when I've brushed up on my Shakespeare and Keats - we will have a ghost tea party.
osprey_archer: (flying)
If you had a time machine, where would you go? Right now, I'm gunning for Coney Island; I've been reading John Kasson's Amusing the Million and Luna Park sounds simply irresistible, the fairy tale architecture limned in electric lights at night.

(Note to self: must stop using the word 'limned' all the time.)

But the Chicago World's Fair of 1893 pioneered that use of electric lights; and it too has a strong pull on me. It would be a splendid place to take a time machine.

And if I'm going back to the 1890s, most of all I'd want take a train to Boston to visit Josephine Preston Peabody, dreamer, poet, and delightfully wry diarist. “I doubt not that the time will come when, instead of going to a Symphony, even on a stand-up, I shall derive immense spiritual joy from dusting the whole lower floor with a smile upon my face."

I'm having trouble deciding what to quote. An outburst of proto-feminist outrage? Or the overflow of joy at an accepted poem, an unexpected trip to England, even just a beautiful day? Wistful longing after companionship - or a whimsical letter outlining for a friend a lovely outing they should take - or exultation in the bliss of solitude?

Or almost all of the above?

“But how a walk on a day like this shows me that delight of – what? Dryad-life?...I only mean that, walking in the wind, over the snow, the opal wintry sky smiling at one – one cannot understand how people ever wish to fall in love – how they can ever be married. ‘Oh,’ I said to myself -- ‘Even if you loved any one enough, it would be imprisonment in a garden! How can you belong to anybody, anybody!’”

I want to make Peabody a centerpoint of my dissertation. I have no idea how to do this, or how to justify it; but damn, I really want to.
osprey_archer: (history)
Forty-one pages.

Forty-four references.

12,075 words.

And the draft of my history capstone is complete!

(For now. I need a mere twenty more pages to make it an honors project. Piece of cake, y/y?)

And for your delectation, a quote from the immortal Josephine Preston Peabody. (In the introduction to JPP's diary, the editor notes that "In this book...emphasis has been put upon the growth of a creative artist, in the hope that young artists may here find a companion." I may feel this with a certain over-literalness.)

"The reason why I never read anything in the Athenaeum is because I have too many books around me and I’m so greedy and so disquieted by the look of all the unread, and the vague summons of the two floors above and the two galleries to a floor, that my mind is incapacitated and I flutter helplessly between destiny and free will and get nothing from either; only lose a train or two and come home late to tea."

Door County

Mar. 7th, 2010 11:04 pm
osprey_archer: (travel)
Away this weekend, in Door County - on the shore of Lake Michigan, where the ice covers the water for a hundred feet out. Crunch to the edge of the ice shelf; the waves rush against the blue-white edge of snow, which is the only thing visible but for the stars (so many - so faint - the brash city stars outnumbered) and the ragged silhouettes of birches and pines.

We tried to pick out constellations, but no one was acquainted, so we stood and looked instead.

Three shooting stars.

***

No work done, of course, but I've been reading the diary of a turn of the century poet: Josephine Preston Peabody, who was published very young and to much acclaim. Some snatches of her poems are on the internet, and I must confess I don't care for them; but her diary is a prose poem, and I love it.

"You would like to harness up the Crab, the Serpent, the Bear and the Scorpion to the wain of Bootes: you would like to don Orion's belt and take a long-tailed comet for a lash and go racing meteors in August - wouldn't you?

(Yes, I would.)"

Or this, of a meeting with a friend - "We reminisced, expounded, related, and anticipated until we were breathless and reduced to small shrieks of joy."

Drat the vagaries of time and space! I'd love to have coffee with her.

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