I give five stars for Rachel Carson and three stars for this biographer.
First, know that I’m no Rachel Carson scholar. I’ve read Silent Spring and this biography, and that’s about it. I don’t usually even read biographies, I’m more likely to read a person’s own words about themselves. Sure they’ll tell you only what they want you to know, but at least you get that much.
Everyone views the world through their specific lens. We can’t help but put our own spin on things. Often in reading this, I felt the author intruding. I’d rather know what Rachel thought of the world, not what some straight man many years later interprets. I disagree with Souder on many points.
Souder makes several digressions that would be easier to follow if he tied them back to Rachel. Some, like the lengthy biography of Henry Williamson, a writer Rachel admired, went way beyond what we needed to know. Others, like the history of nuclear testing in the Pacific and Nevada, would have been more interesting if he’d included some of her reactions as a contemporary, rather than waiting till the end of what’s basically an info dump to tie it to her. His history of conservation in America felt like he wasn’t confident there was enough known about Rachel to focus on her alone, so we get a mini-biography of Aldo Leopold, seemingly, because he was also a government worker.
Souder criticizes Rachel for odd things. In college, she uses the phrase “vision splendid.” It’s actually a beautiful line: “Sometimes I lose sight of my goal, then again it flashes into view, filling me with a new determination to keep the ‘vision splendid’ before my eyes.”
He first makes assumptions about the possible source of the phrase, then doesn’t understand why she’d use it. Because he knows the entire history the source poem, he deems her use of it “startling.” “[H]ow a dead soldier’s gaze from heaven could have had any bearing on her hopes of becoming a writer is a mystery.” Phooey. The whole point of poetry, of art, is to make your own way through, to find your own meaning. She did that. Don’t dismiss it because she wasn’t a scholar of the piece.
The great love of Rachel’s life was Dorothy Freeman, a married woman (whose husband may well have known what was going on, but we never get his take on any of it). My biggest beef is that Souder dismisses Rachel and Dorothy’s relationship as “platonic” and a “romantic friendship.” Gag me.
Emma Donoghue, in Passions Between Women: British Lesbian Culture 1668-1801, points out how throughout history, lesbianism has been ignored, avoided, rephrased (romantic friendship, anyone?), anything but acknowledged. Same with Rachel Carson. I do think that they were lovers, or at the very least loved each other romantically, not platonically, as he asserts. Give the women some credit.
Maybe I’m biased because, full disclosure, I’m a lesbian, but Souder seems blind to the obvious. I don’t buy for a moment that Rachel and Dorothy weren’t lovers in a physical sense. Souder quotes from a key letter written by Rachel to Dorothy: “Why did I come to the Head that last night? Why? Because I love you!”
Rather than explore the possible meaning behind this amazing declaration and what sort of rendezvous it involved, he simply moves on to a speech she gave in Boston. Really. But even after that speech, when Dorothy surprises her by showing up, Rachel “impulsively kissed her.” Oh, then they went to Rachel’s hotel room and sat on the bed “smiling at each other” for an hour. Seriously.
Rachel and Dorothy burned hundreds of their letters to each other, so we’ll never know how explicit they might have been. But they spent five days, and nights, alone together in Maine, then two nights in New York City, sharing a hotel room. And nothing more? Whenever have you seen a declaration of love that intense that does not involve touching? Please. They even came up with an elaborate way to hide more personal letters (“apples”) within more general letters that could be shared with family and friends.
Whatever the truth of the relationship, I’m glad Rachel had Dorothy in her life.
For Souder’s part, things pick up once he gets to Silent Spring. It’s chilling is how much was known about the dangers of DDT in the 1940s—Rachel wrote warning pamphlets as part of her job. She was primarily a writer, not a researcher, though she did get a master’s degree and studied some at Woods Hole.
Rachel Carson left an incredible legacy, made more poignant by the fact that we seem to have learned nothing from her. Now it is not DDT we abuse, but endocrine-disruptors. She was vilified for years after Silent Spring, after her death, even into the 1990s when I took a science writing class at Harvard Extension. My classmates, scientists wanting to learn how to write for a lay audience, dismissed her as a hack. The chemical industry and its propaganda machine is more powerful today than in Rachel’s day. She shined a bright light on the abuses by those for whom money is the primary focus. Whether chemicals, tobacco, weapons of mass destruction, or guns, human life is less important than the bottom line on a spreadsheet. Simple. Sad.
There are many good things to take away from this book. How a woman in the 1950s made her mark writing about things only men had written about before. As a writer myself, I need to slap myself whenever I get whiney and complain about how hard writing is. Try doing it while dying from cancer. There’s an irony that she paired twin evils, pesticides and radiation from nuclear bomb testing, then had to undergo radiation treatments herself. She was also treated like an infant by at least one doctor. I think if the biographer had been a woman, this, among other things, might have gotten more emphasis. It wasn’t just in the 1950s that doctors patted women and told them not to worry their pretty little heads. That happened to my best friend in the late 1980s. She’s dead possibly because of it. Maybe not. But we’ll never know.
Rachel Carson died shortly after Silent Spring was published. She was only 56. When people die too young, we often find that they burned bright, hot, and fast. You could say that about Rachel. She was hardly a flashy person, was obviously happy to be alone, writing. But she felt she had something important to say, and boy did she. She suffered greatly from the spreading cancer and numerous other ailments. Her finals months must have been hell, but she carried on. She changed the world for the better. Not that someone else wouldn’t have come along, because someone else would have had to, and many have. That we have not yet annihilated ourselves either through pesticide poisoning or a nuclear holocaust is because of people like her, Anne LaBastille, Sandra Steingraber, Wangari Maathai, and others. The list will continue to grow.
Finally there’s this. Lesbians make important contributions to society, just like straight folks, just like men. I wonder how my life might have been different if I’d grown up in a world where it had been OK for someone like Rachel Carson to be out and proud. What kind of a role model she might have been beyond affirming my love of science and nature. There’s a Peanuts cartoon reproduced in the biography. It’s from 1963. Schroeder is playing his piano, Lucy is going on about Rachel Carson. Schroeder raises his arms in frustration. “Rachel Carson! Rachel Carson! Rachel Carson! You’re always talking about Rachel Carson!” Lucy responds, “We girls need our heroines!”
So do we lesbians. We need to tell our stories. We can’t let others speak for us.