Reading Jackie is a fresh new perspective on a woman who has been written about ad nauseam. It focuses on her work as an editor -a career that spanned nineteen years, longer than the combined two marriages that made her a celebrity- and how she revealed herself in the books she published.
There’s no question that her interests informed the projects she chose: her lifelong love for dancing manifested itself in commissioning autobiographies from Martha Graham and Judith Jamison, as well as biographies about George Balanchine and Fred Astaire. Due to her interest in fashion, she collaborated with Diana Vreeland and even edited a book under her own name, In the Russian Style, about fashion in Imperial Russia. It was eviscerated by a prominent reviewer, who called it the work of a dilettante, and the experience discouraged the already insecure Jackie from publishing her writing.
But at times, the author’s thesis becomes implausible. Here’s an example: Through her championing of Barbara Chase-Riboud’s novel Sally Hemings, about Thomas Jefferson’s slave and mother of at least six of his children, William Kuhn claims that Jackie felt sympathetic towards presidential mistresses due to her own experiences. That may be so, since Jackie sometimes displayed unexpected compassion -in America’s Queen, a friend remembers that she was angry at Arthur Miller for his portrayal of ex-wife Marilyn Monroe in his plays-, but it’s more likely that she thought it would make for a great story and didn’t draw parallels to her life. Indeed, one cannot think of two more different people than Sally Hemings and Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, to say the least.
Other theories are more credible, such as Jackie’s identification with Florence Adele Sloane, a wealthy New York socialite who lived through the Gilded Age, an era immortalized in the books of Edith Wharton and Henry James: by outward appearance, she seemed to have it all, but was trapped by the restricted world she inhabited, the impossible expectations placed upon her, and experienced the unbearable pain of losing a child - something that Jackie, whose first pregnancy ended in miscarriage and who lost two newborn babies, could very well understand. Jackie and Louis Auchincloss put together Florence’s diary, which was eventually published as Maverick in Mauve. These glimpses into women’s history are fascinating.
However, the author repeats himself more than necessary to make his points and is perhaps a little too enamoured with Jackie to regard her accomplishments objectively. From Chapter 12:
If Jackie was a more imperious figure than we had known before, American twentieth-century history has yet to acknowledge that she was also a more intellectual, better-read, and better-informed woman that we had known before. To have worked on about a hundred books in a career she came to only late in life certainly raises her stature not only among American first ladies but also among all people in American public life. Who else in the public life of the twentieth-century could come close to her personal elegance combined with her knowledge of European and American history, manners and fashion, dance and photography, civil rights and children’s books, historic architecture and historic preservation, women’s history and women’s fiction, as well as the art and archaeology of India and Egypt?
Now, I don’t doubt Jackie’s intellect or the worth of her work as an editor - her notes to her authors reveal her intuition for what worked and for what did not, which could only have been the result of being a great reader. But elevating her to the pantheon of American heroes is ridiculous. I suspect that if the assassination of John F. Kennedy hadn’t happened, she would have faded into obscurity. All in all, I enjoyed reading about this lesser-known side of Jackie; it has provided more insight into her complicated character than any other biography I’ve ever read, with the exception of Sarah Bradford’s excellent America’s Queen. It has also made me want to expand my horizons, as any good book should.