This post is in two parts. The first part is my personal reaction to reading this book, and the second part is a rumination on history and who tells it. They bleed together; it’s true that the personal is political, but it’s equally true that the political is personal. I am thinking about history and biography because of my personal reaction, and vice versa. However, for the purposes of structuring this review, two parts it is.

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I have an ongoing interest in women’s stories, which is only intensifying as I grow older, crabbier, and more feminist. I also have a specific interest in Ada Byron Lovelace* and read Sydney Padua’s lovely The Thrilling Adventures of Babbage and Lovelace last year. Then this year my librarian book club, which is the best book club, decided to read Padua’s book together. Lady Byron, Ada’s mother, is a shadowy figure throughout the book and in the middle of rereading I decided to see if there was a biography of her; there was. I put it on hold and read it in about two days straight, with lots of burning anger towards Lord Byron and tears for everyone else.

Annabella Milbanke Byron is a fascinating, complex figure, and Markus does a great job of treating her with respect while also not overlooking her flaws. Rather than either put her on a pedestal or vilify her, Markus attempts to paint a picture of a woman who was both progressive and conservative, both generous and selfish. At the same time, she uses this particular case to make some well-deserved points about who we decide is worthy of praise and remembrance.

I also just flat out cried quarts and quarts, particularly but not limited to the part of the book dealing with Ada’s final illness and death. I am getting teary THINKING about it. It seems like something out of a novel: a deathbed reconciliation between the brilliant, troubled child and the stern, loving mother. But it’s also a scene that modern readers may distrust, and Markus handles it carefully, with care for both Ada and Annabella.

Also, let me tell you how many feelings I had about this: “Lady Byron was a woman who had many close female friends, a loyal band, actually…” (SO MANY. Ladies being friends forever!) Lady Byron is presented throughout the book as a woman who cared a great deal about other women, who had complex and thorny relationships with several of them, and who spent much of her life engaging with their concerns and activities.

Fundamentally, I think, this is a biography that I loved, because it’s a biography written for readers like me. Readers who are interested in the stories we tell and who they’re about, who are interested in women’s stories. We think and talk about this a lot with regards to fiction, but it is just as important, if not more so, when we discuss biographies.

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Several times during this book, I thought about one of my favorite lines from Hamilton: “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?” This is a book that is significantly about who tells your story, because Lady Byron’s story has been told largely, both during and after her life, by men. By men who assume that male geniuses must be right, and that women telling a different story must be wrong. Not only wrong. They must be discounted and discredited.

In the Foreword, Markus writes: “The good she did, however, lies interred under the barrage of Lord Byron’s brilliant poetic spite and later critics’ overwhelming devotion to male genius.” She later quotes several times from older biographies, both of Lord Byron and of Lady Byron herself, which paint her in the worst possible light, wholesale repeating outright slander from Lord Byron. Who, of course, can hardly be supposed to be in any way an objective source, and yet for some reason is considered entirely trustworthy.

But in fact, as Markus lays out in the beginning of the book, Byron was not only extremely untrustworthy and biased. He was also a terrible person, an abusive husband (mentally, emotionally, and possibly physically), and a manipulative jerk. (I am not objective on the subject of Lord Byron.) He passionately hated Annabella, especially after the end of their marriage. And yet, because he is a Great (Male) Poet, he must be right.

Oddly enough, it was Harriet Beecher Stowe who mounted one of the earliest and most strident defenses of Lady Byron. Stowe points out that “The world may finally forgive the man of genius anything; but for a woman there is no mercy and no redemption.” (Dorothy Sayers would echo this almost a century later: “Women geniuses don’t get coddled…so they learn not to expect it.” Which is all too apt when we consider, for instance, Ada Byron Lovelace herself.) For her pains, Stowe’s reputation was torn to shreds.

This biography itself is not objective, but it is also not meant to be. It is meant to be a revelation and defense of Lady Byron, asking us to revisit the old assumptions and look at the evidence with fresh eyes, and also an excoriation of the older biographers who were so little able to see past those assumptions. It is partisan, but it is also open about being partisan, rather than pretending to being unbiased. If it’s a choice between Markus and, say, Malcolm Elwin, I know who I would pick.

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Markus ends with a short paean to Lady Byron, which I don’t think I could possibly top: “Lady Byron took her own advice. She made no attempt to censure records and never attempted to shape her life in order to find favor with the world. She was herself. She remained herself.” I am very glad that this biography exists, and that it shines a light on a woman who was complex, brilliant, flawed, and utterly human.

* not in actual fact her name, but the one by which she’s most recognized

Title: Under the Tuscan Sun Author: Frances Mayes Publisher: Trade Paperback Reviewed By: Arlena Dean Rating: Five Review: "Under The Tuscan Sun" by Frances Mayes My Thoughts.... What a interesting delightful read that was definitely well written by this author that will keep your attention with all of its very detail descriptions of the 'local and lifestyle of Tuscany.' I found the writing style very relaxing and very descriptive. There were even some inspiring scrumptious recipes [Italian food] that were included in this read that one may what to even try out and for anyone interested in visiting this place on a trip to Tuscany, Italy would definitely benefit from this read especially since it is a true story that will lift your spirits. I did even find some comedy and a little drama that added so well in this story even making you feel that you are there as the people seem to come alive. By end the read I felt I got one beautiful look at Tuscany and YES I would recommend this novel as a good read.

I read Moorehead’s Village of Secrets last year and liked it, so when I was looking for some good non-fiction recently, I decided to try another of her books. Dancing to the Precipice is also about French history,, but in this case it’s about Lucie de la Tour du Pin, an 18th and 19th century memoirist. Lucie was there for, or connected to, apparently everything that happened in France, or the UK, or the US during this period.

I mean–she and her husband escaped the Revolution (both of their fathers were executed during the Terror) and promptly ended up in the US living with General Philip Schuyler. Yes. That General Philip Schuyler. They knew the Hamiltons well during their stay in the US. Lucie was also a lady in waiting to Marie Antoinette and knew Wellington when they were young. They were in Brussels during Waterloo, and Lucie’s half sister lived with her family on both Elba and St. Helena during Napoleon’s exiles.

All of this connectedness gives us a personal view into these huge international events. Lucie’s memoir has apparently been a staple of scholarship for ages, but Moorehead fills in the gaps of the memoir with details from her letters and background from other characters. We see everything quite clearly from Lucie’s point of view, but we also are given the context. It makes for some interesting reading.

However, I do have to say that the treatment of racial, and to a certain extent class, issues is not good. Moorehead is British and may not grasp some of the problems with the representation of Indians in US culture. But the section when Lucie and family are in New York was particularly grating–as is the French print of Lucie interacting with a noble savage, reproduced for us. In general, I felt that Moorehead tended to repeat 18th century prejudices without the counterbalance of commentary. If she can point out when Lucie is being snobbish, she can also point out that the Hottentot Venus is not neutral or okay.

So, enjoyment of this book probably depends on the degree to which one can accept the fact that its subject was an 18th century French aristocrat–granted one with liberal, reform tendencies. I did find it a fascinating window into the time and place, while also remembering that the perspective was a limited one. If nothing else, Moorehead gives a sense of the women–both Lucie and others–who made up part of the landscape of that time and place; a vivid, complex, argumentative group, who certainly were not the prim dolls we tend to make of women from the past.

In short, while far from perfect, Dancing to the Precipice is also engaging and thoughtful, and I’m glad to have read it.

Book source: public library

Book information: 2009, HarperCollins; adult non-fiction

I appreciated Harman’s insights into Charlotte, and she does a great job of interpreting without going beyond the evidence. Mostly, I want to go back in time and punch both Patrick and Branwell. UGH. THE WORST.

I’m reading this one ages after everyone else. I’d like to find some reactions from an African-American perspective, although I did think Skloot did a reasonably good job at acknowledging her own status as an outsider.