Brenda Maddox (1932–2019)

As I close the final page of any biography I usually feel a little melancholy, sometimes awe and gladness to have gotten to know a remarkable person. Sometimes too I wish I hadn't learned so much. In the case of the Joyces it was mostly the latter two, in an even mix of awe and dismay. I was glad to know Nora better, less glad to know Joyce (the person, not the writer). The two of them as a couple? Maddox builds a strong case that no one except Nora really had a clue about the man -- which show more he well knew and which, in some ways formed the bedrock basis of their marriage, that is, she knew he was a remarkable genius with language as well as who he was as a man. As well, he knew who Nora was and to him, she wasn't what other people saw (Nora was from Galway! Western Ireland was the back of beyond in a country that was already the back of beyond therefore she had to be rough and stupid.) Nor was Nora Molly Bloom. For one, she was utterly faithful to Joyce. She was intelligent albeit not well educated, a big difference. Joyce loved her voice, and loved the way she put words together, listened intently to her cadences but the most remarkable thing was that she was Herself. Grounded. Solid. Steady. After ten years on the continent, she spoke fluent Italian and German and later in life learned passable French, knew countless operas (which she adored) by heart. She dressed elegantly, could cook perfectly well --- a good deal of the time they lived in horrible rooms in mediocre hotels with no kitchen and so had to eat out -- others assumed they ate out because she couldn't cook. Not so. Joyce found her presence necessary to him to keep him from flying apart and Nora obliged because he never ceased to surprise her with his own wit and observations and she loved his singing voice and, as I said, agreed with him that he was something special. They loved each other. Ah well -- they were also spendthrifts and dreadful parents, really abominable, but clearly loved their children. Once the two reached young adulthood the Joyces couldn't accept it and made bad decision after bad decision to keep them both too close, tough reading. Through it all Joyce wrote and wrote. He died not long after finishing Finnegan's Wake as if once he had emptied himself, he had no further reason to live. Nora went on for another ten years or so, in part to care for her grandchild. I have to say that my vision of the Joyces is one of unrelieved chaos, disturbing and sad overall, but out of which, somehow, came the most remarkable literary work of the 20th century. **** show less

Marian Evans may have written many a Victorian novel under the name George Eliot, but she also has a life that could never be chronicled in one-- too scandalous for the mainstream Victorian audience by far. George Eliot in Love chronicles Evans's life with an emphasis on her relationships especially romantic and other close personal connections.

The book starts out somewhat roughly, soaring through what sound like very painful childhood years. Evans was unattractive (do a Google Image show more Search, and you'll see I speak the truth), and her mother neglected her in favor of her prettier and more feminine sister. She didn't have very many friends, either. I imagine the reason Maddox has to move through this so quickly, though, is that there's not a lot of source material to draw on, no voluminous letters of later life.

The book really starts to shine when Evans becomes a writer and starts to move away from her family. Maddox offers several speculations on early romantic relationships-- or at least, sexual ones. Being both unattractive and very intelligent, Evans found few men interested in her. She eventually fell in a with very intellectual and controversial crowd; with many spouses in affairs or open relationships and even some group marriages, these are not the Victorians you read about, not even in Eliot's own novels. But despite some early heartbreak (and even breaking a heart herself) and being rejected by a man after his wife and mistress objected to a third woman being around, Evans found love with George Henry Lewes. Lewes was himself married, but his wife had had multiple children by another man, yet Lewes could not obtain a divorce; having allowed the children to be knowingly registered under his own name, he had legally "consented" to the adultery and thus could not use adultery as grounds for divorce. Lewes was a bit of rake, though, and it's staggering to see the way her relationship with him was seen in a bad light, hypocritically so by the some of the intellectual crowd she ran with. The two of them seemed to never really care, though, and were married in every way that matters.

A couple points stuck out at me: the absolute and terrible fixation of Evans's unattractiveness. Henry James said she was the ugliest woman he'd ever met (though he he claimed to be in love with her anyway!), and her obituary even mentions how unattractive she was. Alas, though, I doubt that society has progressed much in this regard. The other thing is Maddox's occasional (and odd) mention of Evans's female admirers. I think she was trying to do something with homosexuality (implying that other women may have been in love with her, though not the reverse), but if so, she doesn't really spell it out, and the moments end up seeming isolated and odd.

Maddox packs a lot into this small book; it's filled with anecdotes that I aggravated Hayley (who has never read an Eliot novel) by sharing with her time and again. Yet at 250-some pages, it doesn't outstay its welcome with pedantic detail. Overall, one gets quite a comprehensive feel for Eliot's emotional life. There are times I wished for more detail, but I suspect it simply didn't exist to be provided; none of Evans and Lewes's letters to each other survive.

I have another, longer, more comprehensive Eliot biography that I'll get to someday, but for now, Maddox has provided a strong introduction to a fascinating figure. Highly recommended for anyone who is into George Eliot or the Victorians in general. show less

Loved this - the Joyce family's life is a big sprawling, multinational soap opera complete with sex, alcoholism, madness, war, art, fame, and extremely complicated relationships - all surrounding the mythical pair, the literary genius and his wife/lifelong love, who possessed genius of a kind in her own right, not as an intellectual but as a life force. Joyce may have immortalized his fantasy versions of Nora in various works, but she was clearly smarter and more complex, and at the same show more time more straightforward and genuine than the mythical Everywoman he created. I read this more avidly than any novel- including any of Joyce's own, much as I love them - I can remember reading - it has more fascinating characters and a more gripping story arc than most novels! It also left me intrigued by the other women who were essential to midwifing Joyce's literary career - Sylvia Beach and Harriet Shaw Weaver. show less

Scientist at a time when science was clearly a masculine and sexist world, dedicated to her work and career when women were more expected to be docile housewives, a free spirit, proud and independant (and paying dearly for that!) Rosalind Franklin was remarkable for more than a reason. Yet, her name will be forever associated with a stain: the controversies surrounding the discovery of the structure of DNA.

A stain because, if it was thanks to HER notes, HER work, HER X-Ray pictures consulted show more WITHOUT her consent, interpreted WITHOUT her opinion, that allowed the big 'Eureka!' moment among her male 'colleagues' Watson and Crick, the young woman nearly never benefited of the acknowledgement she deserved.

Of course she died in 1958 and, therefore, could not have received the Nobel Prize (never awarded posthumously)! But, the trio Watson-Crick-Wilkins, with whom she had tempestuous relationship constantly minimised deliberately her contribution, however crucial. They expressed regrets since then but, too late, her reputation suffered badly even long after her death.

Fortunately, far from limiting her to such an episode Brenda Maddox also brings back her other works beyond DNA. None-the-less, her tragic destiny (especially since she died at a relatively young age) cannot but leave quite bitter.

It is, in a way, a sad story but, more than a fair and kind tribute contrasting with a merciless academic universe, it also contributes to save her from being unfairly forgotten. show less