I've never been much for lengthy non-fiction tomes. I can count on one hand the number of biographies I've made it through, and yet, I'm obsessed with history - with the stories and human accounts, not the dry, sterile statistics. However, I was determined to at least skim through this book, because, after just finishing Frankenstein, I've become obsessed with Mary Shelley and her obvious genius. I've always been a poetry lover, but I have come late to the appreciation of the Romantic poets. I've often felt that they were silly, exhausting try-hards who use too many exclamation points as if everything in Nature was part of a Dick and Jane story: "Look! Breathe! Run naked through the daffodils!" Especially Wordsworth, who I still mainly appreciate for his revolutionizing ideas about imaginative writing (and his great capacity for walking...100,000 miles in his lifetime? Seriously?). I do like Coleridge, but admittedly I first liked him because he wrote "Kubla Khan" while stoned and the idea just tickles me pink. My favorite, if I had to choose, would, of course be Lord Byron, because, besides the self-obsessed, hypersexuality, he's FREAKING LORD BYRON! I have come to love Keats for the beauty of his language (and the heartbreak: "When I have Fears That I May Cease To Be" - seriously? Craaaaack! my heart is breaking!) But I honestly always thought Percy Bysshe (how the hell do you even say that?) Shelley was an asshole. His getting kicked out of Oxford for publishing a pamphlet celebrating atheism seems so overly dramatic and staged: give me a break. However - and here I've gone and done it myself - all of these MEN have completely overshadowed the true geniuses and revolutionaries of the 18th and 19th centuries: Mary Wollstonecraft and Mary Shelley. These women are incredible, and without them, I do not believe that much of the social reform ideas would have occurred (thanks, M. Wollstonecraft) and I do not believe that much of the imaginative, science-fiction literature and romantic ideas would have impacted what they have done (thanks, M. Shelley). And I wouldn't know any of this were it not for the exquisite writing and gripping storytelling and meticulous research of Charlotte Gordon. This book is now one of my very favorite books. I've always thought of myself as a feminist, but never a rage-against-the-patriarchy feminist, until now. After reading the frustrating, agonizing story of what these two women went through simply attempting to be true to themselves and their principles, I wanted to rage and tear down pillars and wreak havoc. I'm grateful to them for their bravery and ashamed that I, too, have bought into the commonly held beliefs about them, especially the unbelievably amazing Mary Wollstonecraft: what a life! What stories! I love every page of this beautiful biography and am so grateful to have read it. It has enriched my insights into the body of work of all the writers and philosophers of the time and has helped me understand that time in history in a way that I had not understood it before. For much of the book I was weeping and raging as I was telling Paul about it and he kept apologizing to me for "men- historically." Poor guy :). Ever since finished the book, I've had a favorite poem running through my head, Maya Angelou's poem "Phenomenal Woman" -
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.