One Writer's Beginnings (William E. Massey Sr. Lectures in the… (edition 1998)

I came to this short book through a friend of my mother’s, who, knowing that I am interested in writing, thought that I might enjoy a peek into the creative maturing of one of her favourite writers. And enjoy it I did, despite not having read any of Welty’s novels or short stories. The book had its origins in three lectures to inaugurate the William E. Massey lecture series in 1983 at Harvard, which explains its length. It is a bit of a non-fictional Künstlerroman, with its focus on how Welty’s childhood and her family influenced the development of her creative writing. It is very well-written, which one would expect, but it is also quite touching – Welty’s evocations of her family’s day-to-day life in early twentieth-century America are poignant and deeply felt, with a touch of sadness that never drops into sentimentality. Growing up in the South (Jackson, Mississippi, to be precise) had a large influence on Welty, but the memoir is more concerned with the personal aspects of family life than public affairs. For instance, Welty mentions the furore caused by Faulkner’s Sanctuary only in passing (in fact, she does not even mention Faulkner’s name), and she says little about racial tensions, that other elephant in the room. I had little trouble with this, as the scope of the book is so personal, with little room for extraneous detail.

Because of this focus on family and personal experiences, the book can seem a bit parochial, but this is a minor caveat. I also found Welty’s densely-knotted family relations somewhat confusing at times. Not because the different people she remembers are not all memorable characters in their own right; I would just like a family tree at the beginning of the book. What I really did enjoy is Welty’s recounting of her and her family’s reading habits. Her mother seems to have been the main influence on Welty’s reading: she once ran into a burning house to save her complete collection of Dickens. And, despite her father’s disdain for fiction (because, unlike fact, it was not ‘true’) he did not stand in Welty’s way of becoming a writer. Unfortunately, he died before she became published, which leads to a sense of regret throughout the book.

Welty’s development as an author is reflected in the titles of the book’s segments: ‘Listening’, ‘Learning to See’, and ‘Finding a Voice’, and is given concrete form through her reflections on events in her young life. How she managed to remember so much in her seventies is beyond me, but it led to a wonderful little book, which I read in two sittings. I think anyone can find something resonant in it, but the book is especially insightful for those bitten by the bugs of reading and writing. ( )

Ms. Welty breaks her brief memoir into three pieces. The first two describe her family and upbringing, with emphasis on its effects on her thinking and chpoice of a career. She inherits her mother's love of books and reading; her sense of place is strong. In the final section, she reflects more on the differences between experience and memory, and how writing tends to reflect memory, in that its order is one of revelation rather than of linear time. A scene is a weaker construct than a situation, which gives the scene context. Very nicely written. Not a writing how-to or an exhaustive autobiography, but some interesting insights into the process of writing and how it is based on seeing and listening. ( )

I confess, I have not read any of Ms. Welty's stories. The only reason I'd even heard of this book was because some famous author listed it as required reading for all aspiring writers. Having read it, I'm not entirely sure why. Sure, it's a lovely painting of life in early 20th century Mississippi, but besides making the point of "good writers can come from any background" there isn't much to be gained in terms of writing advice. So while I may recommend it as a descriptive and nostalgic memoir, I would not include it in my personal list of a writer's essential texts. ( )

The unassuming, delight-filled, unsparingly indulgent prose of Miss Eudora's fiction is surpassed in this expansion and revision of her Massey Lecture in the History of American Civilization, delivered at Harvard in 1983. For anyone unacquainted with Miss Eudora's literary output, I recommend starting with short fiction ("The Bride of the Innisfallen" is a good starter, followed by "Why I Live at the P.O."), moving on to her chef d'ouevre, the novel "The Ponder Heart"; this memoir, all 104pp of it, should come after one knows whether one is able to appreciate the particularities and glories of Miss Eudora's work. While I think she would appeal to any able-minded reader, I know from experience that her beautiful sentences sound like preciosity to some readers: eg, "Over a stronghold of a face, the blue hat of the lady in the raincoat was settled on like an Indian bonnet, or, rather, like an old hat, which it was." ("The Bride of the Innisfallen")

This, to me, is equalled in English by Nabokov's terse clarity, and by little else; but it has been cited to me several times as unendurably cutesy or simply overwritten. I so completely disagree that it's hard to credit the opinion-havers with a shred of taste; however, there are tastes, and there are tastes, so I move on from my digression.

"One Writer's Beginnings" is told in a narrative voice much like her fiction; it is constructed like the linear tale that a life is when it is reflected on at leisure; and there are so many things in her history, from 1909 and her birth until her last entry in the lecture, a trip by train to New York during the Great Depression as a WPA junior publicity agent, that clearly formed a consciousness of time and place and rightness of things that she uses to such telling effect in her stories. An anecdote early in the book of her parents' morning routine of whistling and humming back and forth up and down the stairs phrases from "The Merry Widow Waltz" illuminates for me the means by which this shy, never-married lady "got" the signals of relationship that are so necessary to the parties in happiness. Another moment, the discovery of two nickels preserved in a hidden box, teaches me that Miss Eudora never felt any unmixed emotion (I won't tell that story, it must be read to be understood) and that is why "The Ponder Heart" is such a landmark in Southern ficiton.

The death of Miss Eudora's beloved father in 1931 is simply too painful for her to go into; she elides the details and leaves us to infer her pain. It fits with her lifelong lack of interest in talking about herself, but it leaves the reader without an anchor in what had to be a turbulent passage in her life. I can't fault the lady for her reticence, but in this as in several other areas, it would have behooved Miss Eudora to have let others guide her in preparing these talks so as to answer more questions.

Well, and therein the rub: It was the last thing she ever wanted to do, answer questions, and it's also why she wrote such marvelous stories, to answer them all unasked.

Miss Eudora Welty, thank you for it all, and a safe journey into the future for your gifts to us who follow along behind you. ( )

i see that other readers really liked this one. i really like memoirs but she just seemed too cheerful. her childhood was wonderful. her parents were wonderful. i don't trust people like this. ( )