08 May 2012
Sheila Rowbotham: Joseph Ishill, Free Vistas
A secret delight of being in a great library is the arrival on one’s desk of a book which is not really what you are looking for, but proves completely fascinating.
I was pursuing J. William Lloyd an American anarchist-socialist who believed in free love and drugless medicine, when I ordered Joseph Ishill’s, Free Vistas: An Anthology of Life and Letters, Oriole Press, 1933.
I had come across Lloyd while writing my biography of Edward Carpenter. He visited Carpenter’s home at Millthorpe near Sheffield in 1913 while on a knapsack tour of Britain, dropping in on the Bolton followers of Walt Whitman en route.
Left politics and the many varieties of love were causes Lloyd embraced with enthusiasm , so he arrived as a pilgrim at the home of the advocate of homosexual freedom. He was, however, shocked to find Edward Carpenter smoking a cigarette!
It was David Sachs, a profoundly knowledgable second hand book dealer in Oakland, who told me that one of the women I am currently researching, Helena Born, was in contact with Lloyd after she migrated from Bristol to Boston in the 1890s. Helena ,along with her friend Helen Tufts, went to meetings of Lloyd’s Comradeship of Free Socialists in Boston.
Initially an anarchist, Lloyd became convinced that both anarchism and socialism were needed in society. Liberty, and individual variation needed to combine with ‘cooperation, sympathy and solidarity’ (Anarchist Socialism).
In his novel, The Dwellers in Vale Sunrise, Lloyd’s dwellers are ‘simplicists’ who dress in brilliant colours and wear strange barbaric jewellery, growing their hair long. They are early twentieth century hippies who live Lloyd’s ideal of free socialism.
Well there was no sign of Lloyd in the 1933 edition of Ishill’s, Free Vistas. There were, however, fascinating traces of Carpenter’s networks: the vegetarian Henry Salt who influenced Gandhi, the radical journalist, Henry Nevinson, the French novelist Romain Rolland as well as his friend who translated Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass into French, Leon Bazalgette.
Ishill gathered together a series of pamphlets, all of differing shapes and sizes and all lovingly crafted. So it was a magical experience to turn the pages decorated with woodcuts by John Buckland Wright as well as drawings by Bernard Sleigh and Lucienne Bloch, not to mention linoleum cuts and drypoint.
I found myself pausing to marvel that I could sit in a library and be able touch such a book. William J.Lloyd may not have been in that particular edition but his Free Socialism was there nonetheless in spirit.
[S.B.]
Sheila Rowbotham is an Eccles Centre for American Studies Writer in Residence at the British Library. Selections from most of Ishill's major works published by the Oriole Press can be seen online via the University of Michigan library. Read Sheila's first post here.
29 April 2012
They were happy, these Americans, to be in Paris
James Joyce with Sylvia Beach at Shakespeare & Co, Paris, 1920, Image Yale University, via Wiki Commons
This week I’ve been researching Hemingway’s life during the Second World War and I’ve come across two treasures in the British Library: Sylvia Beach’s memoirs, and the catalogue to a 1959 Paris exhibition of Beach’s collections.
Hemingway and Sylvia Beach were firm and fast friends. This was unusual enough in two ways: first, that he didn’t sleep with her, and second, that their friendship continued uninterrupted until his death. In her memoir, called Shakespeare and Company, Sylvia writes, ‘I felt the warmest friendship for Ernest Hemingway from the day we met’.
Sylvia had managed to keep her famous bookshop open during the Paris occupation until one day in 1941 when a German officer demanded her last copy of Joyce’s Finnegans Wake. Sylvia did see the funny side of the fascist’s interest in this decadent book, but she told the officer it was not for sale. She was keeping it. For whom? asked the officer. ‘For myself,’ she said. Peeved, the officer advised her he would be back in two hours to close down the shop.
In those two hours Sylvia Beach completely emptied out her bookshop. Using boxes and baskets, she transported 5000 books, letters and all of the shop fittings up three flights of stairs. When the German officer returned a couple of hours later, even the shop sign had been painted over. Everything had gone. The books ‘remained hidden, a secret until after the liberation.’
Three years later, in 1944, Hemingway returned to Paris as the city welcomed its liberators. Sylvia remembers, ‘We asked [Hemingway] if he could do something about the Nazi snipers on the roof tops in our street… He got his company out of the jeeps and took them up to the roof. We heard firing for the last time in the rue de l’Odéon. Hemingway and his men came down again and rode off in their jeeps – “to liberate” according to Hemingway, “the cellar at the Ritz.”’
Countless photographs and souvenirs were saved from the war up these three flights of stairs. A sample of these were shown at an exhibition in Paris in 1959: Les Années Vingt: Les Ecrivains Américains A Paris et Leurs Amis – the catalogue of which is available at the British Library. As well as wonderful photographs of Sylvia’s coterie, including T.S. Eliot, Djuna Barnes and William Carlos Williams, we also get another view on the Lost Generation Sylvia fostered in Paris.
‘Ils étaient heureux, ces Américains, d’être à Paris,’ Sylvia writes in the preface to the catalogue – ‘They were happy, these Americans, to be in Paris.’ She continues, ‘I do not understand why we still call them the “Lost Generation”. It seems to me that after thirty years, that this generation of authors were the most recognized.’
Whether it is Gertrude and Alice sitting morosely under a Picasso, Joyce discussing Ulysses with his editors, or the original letter of introduction that shepherded an unknown couple called Mr and Mrs Hemingway from Chicago to Paris in 1921, the catalogue illuminates the woman and her world in les années vingts.
For me, Sylvia Beach carries extra interest because it is highly likely she met all four Mrs Hemingways, and because she was the only woman – and only friend – with whom Ernest had no serious bust-ups. It seems she knew how to temper some of Ernest’s more bullish moods, and that she understood the quick of him. As she so smartly put it: ‘the first trouble is he wants to marry everybody.’
Not only is Sylvia an interesting character who doesn’t globe-hop too much, she also provides me with a character who, through virtue of her own, has stayed in everybody’s good books. One of the hurdles I’ve had in writing about this era for my novel, Mrs Hemingway, is that spats ruin friendships every decade or so; that, or people die. Moving the chapters on with the same cast of people has proved difficult. And so constant Sylvia has proved a bit of a hidden treasure herself.
[NW]
Naomi Wood is one of the British Library's Eccles Centre Writers in Residence for 2012.
17 April 2012
Sheila Rowbotham, Writer in Residence: From Whitman to The Wire
Prof. Rowbotham
Sheila Rowbotham is one of the two Eccles Centre Writers in Residence at the British Library for 2012. Professor Rowbotham has written widely on women's history and is working on her next book, Rebel Crossings: New Women, Free Lovers and Radicals in the US and Britain 1880 to 1910, which will trace a small network of British and American radicals during the turn of the century. Together with the other Writer in Residence, Naomi Wood, she will be posting to the Team Americas blog during her stay.
Four decades ago I discovered a book in the Reader’s Room of the British Museum, as it was then, edited by an American anarchist and Whitman enthusiast, Helen Tufts, in memory of her English friend from Bristol, Helena Born. It was called Helena Born: Whitman’s Ideal Democracy and printed in Boston in 1902. Helen Tufts had only 500 copies done. Her friend was not a celebrity, but she was determined that a memory would live on.
I was researching the British socialist campaigner for homosexual rights, Edward Carpenter, and was intrigued by the account of how Helena Born bees-waxed her home in 9 Louisa Street, St Phillips, a poor working class area where she had chosen to live when Carpenter visited early in 1890. She was trying to live simply, absorbed in a great surge of union militancy in the city which brought women cotton workers out on strike.
Later that year Born migrated to Boston with her friend Miriam Daniell, along with Daniell’s lover Robert Allan Nicol . Their baby, ‘Sunrise’ was born out of wedlock in the US and they became involved in a circle of Individualist anarchists around the journal Liberty.
I could not imagine back in the 1970s that so many years on I would still be pursuing them as an Eccles Centre/British Library Writer in Residence and writing a book about them called Rebel Crossings for Verso Books.
I kept coming across small pieces of information about Helena Born, Miriam Daniell and other new women who joined the socialist movement in Bristol in the late 1880s and 90s.
They would re-enter my life through Carpenter again when I began writing a biography of him. But even when Edward Carpenter: A Life of Liberty and Love was published I had no plan to write about the Bristol rebels who migrated to the States.
I was pulled in gradually, intrigued by the growing files I was accumulating on them and encouraged by the enthusiasm and help of friends in both countries. The drama of their lives fascinated me, so did the ‘crossings’ between countries, political boundaries, social classes and conventions. Ideas as well as people migrated, travelling by word of mouth, letters, journals, books.
Since I became a Writer in Residence this January I have been discovering the extent of the British Library’s North American holdings which the Eccles Centre for American Studies aims to promote. These are vast. Along with newspapers and periodicals there are collections on women, immigration, Anti-Slavery, the West... the list could go on and on.
At first I roamed through catalogues, eventually settling down to explore the broader context of Boston in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
Jean Petrovic’s Selective Guide to Materials at the British Library, 'The American City in the Twentieth Century' proved invaluable. See http://www.bl.uk/eccles/americancity.html.
I have embarked on the geography, social composition, architecture, race relations, politics and culture of the city my rebels migrated into through reading books and Boston newspapers online.
When not travelling in my head to Boston, I have been checking into Baltimore. Belatedly through my son I have become a fan of ‘The Wire’. I resisted when everyone else was watching it. No, I wasn’t interested in cops and robbers stories. I struggled with the plots and difficult sentence construction at first but then was hooked. These police in ‘The Wire’ are just like historians after all slowly piecing together all those bits of information. Oh for a Wire on nineteenth century Bostons anarchists, socialists, new women and Whitmanites!
[SR]
16 March 2012
Naomi Wood, Writer in Residence: Martha Gellhorn & The Great Depression
Naomi Wood, Eccles Centre Writer in Residence
Naomi Wood is the author of The Godless Boys (2011) and is an Eccles Centre writer in residence at the British Library for 2012, working on a novel on Hemingway's wives. She will be posting an account of her time here on the Team Americas blog over the coming months.
This is her post for March.
As an Eccles Centre Writer in Residence, I wanted to share some of the treasures I’ve found in the British Library’s North American collections over the course of my residency. These research ramblings may be rather dispirate, but they will broadly follow the course of my research as I write my novel!
The novel is historical fiction and looks at Hemingway’s wives. It is written from the perspective of each wife: having written Hadley and Pauline, (wife one and two) and been up to my elbows in their lover-letters, hate-mail and other billet-doux, I now find myself in the BL looking at his third wife: Martha Gellhorn.
Martha Gellhorn was the only wife to leave Hemingway rather than be left. She was also the only wife who was also a fiction-writer, and it’s her fiction which has really been making me think this week.
A short time before she met Hemingway, in a bar called Sloppy Joe’s in Key West in 1936, Gellhorn had been touring the States to collect data for Roosevelt’s Federal Emergency Relief Administration. Her remit was to report back to Washington about how the Depression affected ordinary people.
On her travels, which took her from North Carolina to Rhode Island, Gellhorn was outraged by the poverty she saw and the bureaucracy that frustrated relief efforts. Her reports to the White House described in plain but vivid terms the ‘houses shot with holes, windows broken, no sewerage, rats,’ the children malnourished and syphilitic, the land dead and hope extinguished. From Boston she wrote that families were gripped by a ‘fear driving them into a state of semi-collapse; cracking nerves; and an overpowering terror of the future.’
After her tour, Gellhorn collected her observations and published them as a series of eye-watering short-stories in the 1936 bestseller The Trouble I’ve Seen.
I don’t say it lightly when I say reading her stories have made me appreciate that we are living in the recession of 2012 rather than the 1930s.
With tender clarity, Gellhorn writes about characters who have come beyond endurance. There is Mrs Maddison: a woman whose house it ‘shot with holes’ and so papers the walls of her shack with magazine advertisements for skin creams and cars. Then there is Jim, an unemployed man forced into begging, who has to compete with a blindman for the pitch.
But for me, the most remarkable moment I came across can be found in the short-story ‘Joe and Pete’. A woman comes into Joe’s office ostensibly to talk about the city strikes, but in reality she comes seeking warmth. She can no longer afford heating, nor can she afford to eat. It was this paragraph which stunned me and stopped me in my reading. Americans weren’t just hungry. They were starving:
Whatever reasons had moved him to bring her here were forgotten: her poverty and his, and the senseless waiting of their lives. He held her body with his hands, and drew her towards him. And, then, suddenly, he realised without wanting to that the bones of her naked body were an outrage. This was a half-starved woman, no matter how crisply and mockingly she might talk of her life.
‘The bones of her naked body were an outrage’. I think I will remember that phrase for a long time. The Troubles I’ve Seen certainly casts the economic troubles we see in the twenty-first century in an altogether different light.
Because Gellhorn was, first and foremost, a journalist, I’d recommend this book to historians and literature-lovers alike; it’s a fascinating sketch of the period as well as a deeply empathetic take on human endurance through difficulty.
[NW]
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