The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas (by Gertrude Stein)
I am of two minds about this book. One the one hand, Gertrude Stein was undeniably a genius in every sense. There are nuggets of wisdom in this book that make me want to read everything she's ever written. And her sense of rhythm is so true to itself, the way it gets inside your brain. (At one point the narrator says that she, Stein, learned the difference between sentences and paragraphs by listening to the rhythm of her dog drinking water.)
And on the other hand, this book gets tiresome. It is the most name-droppy book I've ever read. It's basically an account of every single person Stein met during the time period of 1903-1932. "And then she met so-and-so, whom she didn't like. But through so-and-so she met other person, and she liked other person very much and they became friends. Here is an anecdote that may or may not be interesting. And now let me name some other people..."
On the third hand, I think this might be my own failing as a reader. Because she mentions many people in whom I am intensely interested-- from T.S. Eliot to Ford Madox Ford to Picasso of course-- and her opinions about them and anecdotes about them are interesting. And some of the anecdotes are interesting even if you don't know who the person is. But she doesn't take a lot of time to describe any one person; it's like a diary, where the reader is assumed to be familiar with the Stein social circle. If you don't have a sense of who the people are, you sort of wish she'd slow down and help you understand.
Also, there's almost nothing in this autobiography about Alice B. Toklas or about their relationship. It's unclear how she ended up living with Gertrude Stein; it's not even addressed obliquely. Suddenly she's just there. The reader doesn't really catch a glimpse of the love between them, or even the personality of Alice B. Toklas. Which, given the title of the book, is a little disconcerting to one's sense of expectation!
"Bruce, Patrick Henry Bruce, was one of the early and most ardent Matisse pupils and soon he made little Matisses, but he was not happy. In explaining the unhappiness he told Gertrude Stein, they talk about the sorrows of great artists, the tragic unhappiness of great artists but after all they are great artists. A little artist has all the tragic unhappiness and the sorrows of a great artist and he is not a great artist." (Page 107-8)
And on the other hand, this book gets tiresome. It is the most name-droppy book I've ever read. It's basically an account of every single person Stein met during the time period of 1903-1932. "And then she met so-and-so, whom she didn't like. But through so-and-so she met other person, and she liked other person very much and they became friends. Here is an anecdote that may or may not be interesting. And now let me name some other people..."
On the third hand, I think this might be my own failing as a reader. Because she mentions many people in whom I am intensely interested-- from T.S. Eliot to Ford Madox Ford to Picasso of course-- and her opinions about them and anecdotes about them are interesting. And some of the anecdotes are interesting even if you don't know who the person is. But she doesn't take a lot of time to describe any one person; it's like a diary, where the reader is assumed to be familiar with the Stein social circle. If you don't have a sense of who the people are, you sort of wish she'd slow down and help you understand.
Also, there's almost nothing in this autobiography about Alice B. Toklas or about their relationship. It's unclear how she ended up living with Gertrude Stein; it's not even addressed obliquely. Suddenly she's just there. The reader doesn't really catch a glimpse of the love between them, or even the personality of Alice B. Toklas. Which, given the title of the book, is a little disconcerting to one's sense of expectation!
"Bruce, Patrick Henry Bruce, was one of the early and most ardent Matisse pupils and soon he made little Matisses, but he was not happy. In explaining the unhappiness he told Gertrude Stein, they talk about the sorrows of great artists, the tragic unhappiness of great artists but after all they are great artists. A little artist has all the tragic unhappiness and the sorrows of a great artist and he is not a great artist." (Page 107-8)
posted by mo pie at 10:45 AM
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