Daily Beast catching up with me

Gay and Lesbian Review worldwide

I have already reviewed this here for all Romaine Brooks followers. The British lesbian author Diana Souhami has spent a life time restoring women writers who have loved women to the modernist literary canon. She deserves kudos despite excluding opinions, authors and fresh, if unflattering to some of her subjects.

I, on the other hand do nothing cringe on giving the facts even when revealing our idols feet of clay. We are, all of us, all too human if not always humane, empathetic and kind. Romaine and her circle could be all of the above but they could also be cruel, gossipy, insensitive to the pain of others, jealous and simple-minded when it came to politics.

The Next Time You Admire a Picasso, Thank a Lesbian

HELPING HANDS

Reviewer makes some excellent points in her article for the Daily Beast below.

Reading her review and comparing it to mine for The Gay&Lesbian Review (formally Harvard G&LR) will allow readers to have a comprehensive overview view when they read the American edition of No Modernism Without Lesbians

Diana Souhami’s new book, “No Modernism Without Lesbians,” spotlights the women who ensured history would remember artists like Picasso, Joyce, and Eliot.

Perfection may be the enemy of good enough—but apparently nobody told that to James Joyce. In Paris in 1920, with the printing of his modernist masterpiece Ulysses already underway, Joyce continued making changes to his 600-page novel, over which he had already labored for seven years. He reworked the manuscript daily, then continued reworking the printer’s proofs—meant to set the novel for printing—as if they were mere drafts, adding about a third of the book after it was already ostensibly complete. The handwritten changes not only necessitated the assistance of a typist to make sense of Joyce’s scrawling, but required rearranging the printing press one letter at a time. Two years of seemingly endless changes drove half a dozen typists to quit and added additional printing costs that ate into nearly 5 percent of what the entire first run was expected to net.

Joyce’s publisher, Sylvia Beach, bore these last-minute alterations as no other publisher likely would have. “The patience she gave to him was female, was even quasi maternal in relation to his book,” said Janet Flanner, The New Yorker’s Paris correspondent, of Beach and Joyce. The publication of Ulysses is just one of the many cases that author Diana Souhami marshals in her book No Modernism Without Lesbians, to effectively argue that, without women like Beach, there would be no modernist men like Joyce.

No Modernism Without Lesbians is a collection of four biographies of women who were instrumental to the modernist movement in literature and art: Shakespeare and Co. proprietor and publisher Sylvia Beach, patron of the arts Bryher, author and art collector Gertrude Stein, and socialite Natalie Barney.

Souhami convincingly illustrates how these four women are responsible for the modernist movement, despite it being typically associated with men, such as Joyce and Pablo Picasso. Through Close Up, a magazine about film launched by Bryher, the Western world was exposed to the revolutionary pictures of Soviet filmmaker Sergei Eisenstein, whose Battleship Potemkin is still considered one of the greatest movies of all time. Besides writing her own books like The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas and Tender Buttons, Stein was one of Pablo Picasso’s earliest collectors and a lifelong champion of his work. Barney’s weekly salons brought together up-and-coming writers—including T. S. Eliot, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sinclair Lewis, William Carlos Williams, and Rainer Maria Rilke—with the French Academy, helping win recognition for the former by the latter. And Beach, of course, had Ulysses as her cross to bear. In that light, No Modernism Without Lesbianscould be considered revisionist in the best sense of the word: that of setting the record straight.

“I wanted to turn the issue around,” says Souhami of women’s contributions to modernism, “gain the upper hand, move from campaign and argument for acceptance and civil rights, and show what women in same-sex relationships achieved—singly and, even more so, collectively—in that crucial twentieth-century transition to new ways of seeing.”

The women that Souhami profiles are likewise united by their love of other women: Beach and Adrienne Monnier, Bryher and Hilda Doolittle, Stein and Alice B. Toklas, Barney and, as the author writes, “all her lovers, too many to list.” Despite these well-documented relationships, Souhami acknowledges the difficulty presented by semantics when describing these women, who lived at a time when society prevented them from openly naming their lovers as such, relegating them to mere “friends.” The author opts for the term lesbian, but other identities along the spectrum of sexual orientation and gender could also be applicable—such as trans in the case of Bryher, who rejected her birth name and gender from a young age.“The freedom that these four women had found for themselves in Paris extended from their personal lives to their artistic endeavors.”

Bryher, Beach, Stein, and Barney were further united by their love of interwar Paris. All were expatriates—Bryher from the United Kingdom, the latter three from the United States—who found their way to France in the 1920s. All were pushed from their homes by prevailing efforts to suppress “indecency” in private life and the arts, as typified by Prohibition and censorship. On the other hand, Paris was cheap, as France was still recovering from the carnage of World War I, and Parisian society placed few expectations on expatriates. A comment from Picasso about Beach could stand in for Paris’ perspective of them all: “They are not men, they are not women, they are Americans.”

The freedom that these four women had found for themselves in Paris extended from their personal lives to their artistic endeavors. In Paris, Beach not only found and fell in love with Moore, she published Ulysses, which had previously been thwarted by censors in London and New York. There, as in Paris, publication of the novel was supported by lesbians who were challenging society’s control of what they could read as well as whom they could love. Yet it was only in Paris, where self-actualization and artistic advancement were unfettered by patriarchal control, that modernism could fully bloom. Souhami’s lesbians were seeing themselves differently—as independent, rather than as the daughters, wives, or mothers of men—so why shouldn’t they see the world differently too—through stream-of-consciousness in literature or cubism in painting? The personal and political, the romantic and artistic did not need to be divorced in Paris. As Souhami writes in No Modernism Without Lesbians:

They gravitated to Paris and each other, turned their backs on patriarchy and created their own society. Rather than staying where they were born and struggling against censorship and outrageous denials and inequalities enforced by male legislators, they took their own power and authority and defied the stigma that conservative society tried to impose on them. Individually, each made a contribution; collectively, they were a revolutionary force in the breakaway movement of modernism, the shock of the new, the innovations in art, writing, film, and lifestyle and the fracture from nineteenth-century orthodoxies.

If Souhami’s revisionism succeeds in reintroducing the role of women in the history of modernism, it leaves other questions yet begging. The first is the less flattering aspects of some of her subjects—for example, Stein’s relationship with, and early support for, fascists in Spain and France, which Janet Malcolm details in her biography Two Lives: Gertrude and Alice, but Souhami mentions only in passing. The second is the question of women of color, who make occasional appearances in No Modernism Without Lesbians—such as Josephine Baker, who was redefining dance in Paris in the ’20s—but whose general absence becomes especially noticeable when Souhami begins tracing Barney’s lovers, and Barney’s lover’s lovers, a long list of white women.

“Availability of research material was one limiting factor,” says Souhami in explaining the absence of women of color in her work. “Another was the reluctance of mainstream publishers to commission books about little-known people. I hope, despite this, I’ve made a contribution.”

No Modernism Without Lesbians is undoubtedly a contribution, correcting the history of modernism to more accurately account for the women who made possible such a lasting transformation in literature and art. Yet despite the strides taken by Bryher, Beach, Stein, and Barney, it’s evident that there’s still a way to go. Souhami says that, after decades of her writing about lesbians, this was the first time that a mainstream publisher was open to using the word on a book cover. With No Modernism Without Lesbians, Souhami has opened the door to history a little further, creating more precious space for the whole truth to enter.

Paris:the movers and shakers that readers of my blog are familiar with. Souhami tells her truth slant and ignores more resent research that calls her “slant” into question as well as work, ie Barbara Will’s book on Gertrude’s conservatism that borders on fascism, surprising as this may seem coming from a Jewish lesbian. I cite all of these élisions in my earlier reading of her slant on lesbians and their enormous contributions to modernism’s in culture, literature and the arts

Romaine Brooks Lives

Romaine and her circle are alive and doing their thing in this lively and entertaining yet serious farce by Francesco Rapazzini.

Award winning screen writer and creative Suzanne Stroh gives a dazzling interpretation of more than sixteen voices;male and female who make Natalie’s birthday party so entertaining, full of delicious gossip, and fraught with tension.

Lovers of Romaine will find her voiced by Suzanne based on the only known recording of her voice. This is an incredibly easy and enjoyable way to get more familiar with the Paris of the 1920s through this remarkable group of free thinking and living people. Naturally, I loved it!

A writer’s life

Romaine Brooks biographer Cassandra LangerA writer’s life is simple. We go through our daily lives in the flow, letting life flow through us. I write every day. I get up early in the morning. Feed the newly adopted rescue. Put up the coffee, get some cereal, and sit down on the couch and just let the words and ideas and connections flow. I rarely, almost never, have writer’s block and am as happy as a clam just being able to have the time to get my thoughts and impressions down on paper. Writers — contrary to what many may think — do not necessarily lead glamorous lives (although some may). Generally we simply sit down (now with our computers and tablets) and go to work. It little matters whether we get paid. Although we do want to get paid for our work, that we write is the main thing — to get our ideas out there and let our audiences come as they may if they have an interest and like what we say and how we say it.  So, for now, that’s my writer’s life. How about yours?

Cherry Blossoms in Jackson Heights

Cherry Blossoms

Every Spring, without fail, this tree puts out for all to see.

As a writer I am incredibly grateful that I can take a break from being chained to the computer to enjoy these early spring days when things are just beginning to put out flowers. I don’t even mind my allergies kicking into full gear because beauty is the inspiration that drives this writing engine.

Take a break, get out, and smell the flowers.

Take in the beauty. It’s still free.

Be Careful What You Wish For

 

ImageRight now, my brain is burnt out. Just when I thought I had completed the manuscript for my forthcoming book, Romaine Brooks: A Life, I stumbled across a treasure trove of primary source documentation that is a game changer. The Chinese were right. I had always wished I could solve some vexing questions about Brooks’ last years because so many riddles still remained. Now that I have turned over the rock, I am entangled in what lies beneath. Tune in for more in the adventures of a scribbler.

A writer’s revisions seem endless

First you get interested, then you do the research, then you write the book, then you go in search of a publisher — and when you succeed in getting one, the fun starts! This is truly what a writer’s life is. Chained to the computer until everything is in place. It’s true one can get lost in the process, but there is a world outside our individual bubbles.

Every time I pick up a newspaper or magazine or go online, I am bombarded with that reality. I try to remember we are the world; we make up the world we live in, and it is all part of what makes us human and united.

At Last

Hi, all, and welcome to the new CassandraLanger.com!

Violet Caprice moments cellos293At last I have finished the draft manuscript for my Romaine Brooks book. I await editorial comments and am finalizing the manuscript to send to my agent. If all goes well, she will be pitching it in September. You can look forward to seeing the book sometime in 2015.

mask & Vulture168On the art-critic-and-book-reviewer front, my reviews of Joan Schenkar’s The Talented Miss Highsmith and Bette Davis: Larger than Life by Richard Schickel and George Perry are out from The Gay & Lesbian Review. I’m happy with them both. It was a lot of work, but I had fun reading both books.

Upcoming will be my Barbara Hammer interview, which will be out in time for Barbara’s retrospective opening in September at the Museum of Modern Art in NYC. After New York that show will be traveling to other venues, including the Tate on the other side of the pond in London. I’ll follow that up with a piece on recently retired poet Laureate (2008-2010) Kay Ryan for The Gay & Lesbian Review. All in all, a lot of good and productive work!