'I support democracy. I like to think I do so to the extent of willingness to fight and perhaps die for it. This is not so extravagant a claim, within living memory the men in my family were called upon to do exactly that.
Universal suffrage is consequently my birth-right, but what is it that I am being permitted to do with my vote, when the political parties have so adjusted the system to suit themselves?'
The Independent 21 April 2006
The Times 1 August 2005
The Times 15 March 2005
No Modernism Without Lesbians
by Diana Souhami
Head of Zeus pp456 £25
This is a piece I did for one of the literary magazines which was commissioned before the Great Beastliness which is Covid-19. By the time the piece was submitted there were fewer advertisers, fewer pages, fewer buyers, and this review never ran. This was a shame because it was one of the better books of 2020 so I am giving it all the life I can by running it here.
It was said there were two things you must never ask Gertrude Stein: about being a lesbian and what her writing meant. She probably wouldn’t have liked this book which takes lesbians and modernism as a theme, the latest in the series by Diana Souhami that she refers to as ‘Di’s dykes.’
Souhami suggest that throwing off patriarchal authority in personal relationships meant walking through a door leading towards the dismantling of nineteenth century artistic structures which is the basis of modernism. She depicts Paris between the wars as fostering the birth of the modernist movement, led by renegades who took to Paris to escape the disapproval of fathers and of censors.
The hero of such disapproval who emerges from this book is Bryher, the wealthy patron who said, ‘I have rushed to the penniless young not with bowls of soup but with typewriters.’ She made contributions to subsidising modernism in literature, painting, magazines, film-making and architecture and helped scores of Jews, including Sigmund Freud, to escape the Nazis.
The daughter of a British shipping magnate, she early on cut her hair short and abandoned ‘Annie Winifred Ellerman’ to become known by the single name Bryher. ‘She was sure if she hoped enough she would turn into a boy,’ she wrote of her younger self. As an adult she was not exactly feminine; when her mother bought her a floral chiffon dress she turned up at Drury Lane to take her place in the royal box wearing it inside out and back to front.
At 27, Bryher married Robert McAlmon, an impoverished, homosexual, poet, so she could leave her parents’ home and receive an enhanced income under a trust fund that she was due only on marriage. The parents were delighted she had at last turned out normal and forced upon the couple ‘a cascade of gifts and other unimaginable bridal atrocities.’
She was enamoured of Hilda Doolittle, the poet H.D., who was, ‘the most beautiful figure that I have ever seen with a face that came directly from a Greek statue, and the body of an athlete.’ H.D. was bisexual, but was unable to give Bryher the love she required, even though they lived together for many years.
In a bid to make sense of H.D.’s sexuality, Bryher introduced her to Havelock Ellis and she began analysis with him. His contribution to her sexual education was to have her piss on him: ‘a large stream gushed afar in the glistering liquid arch’ as he put it. Souhami notes, ‘the therapeutic value of this to H.D. was unclear.’ H.D. was later analysed by Freud who she told of his rival’s penchant for urolagnia at which he, ‘bust his cat-whiskers with joy,’ she recollected.
Another of Souhami’s lesbians essential to modernism was Sylvia Beach who started the progressive bookshop Shakespeare and Company on the Left Bank where she was visited by James Joyce. As she put it, ‘he put his limp, boneless hand in my tough little paw.’ Undeterred by a lack of capital, experience and all the requisites of a publisher, she determined to publish Joyce’s Ulysses when no one else would do so. Joyce sponged off Beach for years (taking money given to her by Bryher), and almost sent her mad with revisions to his manuscript. Once it was a success, he started doing deals with other publishers to get the book out abroad, which undercut her market.
Beach’s bookshop was the centre of modernist life where she welcomed Americans fleeing censorship and prohibition at home where, ‘They couldn’t get Ulysses and they couldn’t get a drink.’ Sometimes visitors just wanted directions to Gertrude Stein’s place at 27 rue de Fleurus where she used to sit in her drawing room surrounded by adoring young men. Her partner Alice B. Toklas entertained women in the kitchen at her own instigation: she was pathologically jealous and wanted to be the only woman near her beloved. This did not of itself keep sex away from Stein; Ernest Hemingway said, ‘I always wanted to fuck her and she knew it and it was a good healthy feeling.’ He both mused on the weight of her breasts and said she was like a brother to him; it was an emotional state of affairs which Souhami describes, with her customary restraint, as ‘unusual.’
Stein is one of the women in what Souhami calls her ‘daisy-chain of famous lesbians’ to whom she has previously paid attention, in Gertrude and Alice of 1991. Her Wild Girls of 2004 looked at the life of Natalie Barney who also appears here with her ambition to make Paris the sapphic centre of the western world.
Barney was American, as were Stein, Toklas, Beach and H.D. She shared bed, couchette, polar bear rug, riverbank or wooded glade with many women, and not always one at a time. ‘Love has always been the main business of my life’ she explained. Weaker women would ‘bathe vicariously in Natalie’s Amazonian power;’ most mornings she could be seen galloping bareback in the Bois de Boulogne. She called her Friday salon at the rue Jacob the Adadémie des Femmes, a response to the Academie Française whish excluded women.
It is an open question whether the book proves its point that there would have been no modernism without lesbians. Natalie Barney was undoubtedly lesbian but was less of a modernist than a decadent. Sylvia Beach and Gertrude Stein were both lesbian and modernist. H.D. was definitely modernist but there was a lot more sex with men than woman, calling her ‘lesbian’ is a stretch. Bryher would doubtless have been, had the medical expertise existed, a female to male transsexual.
Regardless of sexual labels, this is an easy-going, delicious confection of a book, fascinating for its insights and anecdotes about these artistic and sexual pioneers and is full of quotes, not all of them intentionally funny. To leave the last word to Gertrude Stein: ‘go go go go go go, go. Go go. Not guessed. Go go. Toasted susie is my ice-cream.’