I first came across Margaret Cavendish when one of my best friends wrote their undergraduate dissertation about her. She is sometimes considered the mother of science fiction, thanks to her 1666 book [b:The Blazing World|18982581|The Blazing World|Margaret Cavendish|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1385508911s/18982581.jpg|51879212]. In this, a girl survives a shipwreck and finds herself in a strange and fanciful other world of talking animals. Cavendish is a fascinating and unusual figure: an eccentric intellectual woman in an era when that was vanishingly rare. I was thus delighted to come across a review of this book, a fictionalised account of her life. It’s a brief read, with short chapters and effervescent use of language. Cavendish comes across as a quixotic, thoughtful, and sympathetic figure. I found this paragraph particularly astute:

But Margaret wanted the whole house to move three feet to the left. It was indescribable what she wanted. She was restless. She wanted to work. She wanted to be thirty people. She wanted to wear a cap of pearls and a coat of bright blue diamonds. To live as nature does, in many ages, in many brains.

“I want my crates” was all she said.

The descriptions of her clothing are also a joy. She designed wonderful gowns, variously inspired by forest floors and amazons. I wish there were pictures of them all. The only faults I would find with this book are occasional Americanisms (I have an irrationally intense hatred of the word ‘snuck’) and its short length. What’s there is beautiful, though, and re-piqued my interest in Margaret Cavendish. Although my dissertation-writing friend warned me that [b:The Blazing World|18982581|The Blazing World|Margaret Cavendish|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1385508911s/18982581.jpg|51879212] is very difficult to read, perhaps I’ll give it a try. Or maybe find a more substantive biography. ( )

Dull. Only struggled to the end because it was short. ( )

Dutton has successfully convinced me that Margaret Cavendish was a remarkable woman ahead of her time, a writer of philosophy, politics, science, plays, riddles, fantasy fiction, and a sensational figure in the London scene. What the author has not done is convinced me that you can fit an entire creative life into a novella, and certainly not one whose publishers have used the description to summarize Cavendish's life--and, therefore, the plot. Though Dutton does use lovely literary language and techniques, there is a list-like quality to this slim little volume that doesn't do this complex personality any favors.

I'm a very empathetic person so I read a lot of emotion into Cavendish's life whether it was there or not: her inability to have children, her frequent retreats to isolation even as her husband begged her to participate in society. Here is a portrait of depression if I ever saw one. But while Dutton seems able to convey both sadness and love of writing, she doesn't do much to speculate about the times when Cavendish splashed so spectacularly onto the scene: how she acquired and dared to display high and eccentric fashion sense when she spent so much of her life in isolation, and what drove her to finally engage in person with the scientific and philosophical minds of the day. Her later-in-life entry to society seems to come out of nowhere and is riddled only with her anxieties, not whatever it was that she must have liked about going about town if she continued to scandalize everyone.

Dutton integrates snippets of Cavendish's writings into the narrative to great effect, demonstrating how her spelling and grammar improved over time with her growing access to English-language reading. Summaries of Cavendish's plays and books, artistically done rather than sounding like the rote Wikipedia article that we get when famous personalities troop through her life, help us appreciate how her slice-of-life subjects, feminist vs. contemporary misogynist discourses, speculative fiction, and interrogation of the purpose of scientific discovery where so far ahead of her time. Dutton also, as she says in her author's note, integrates pieces of Virginia Woolfe's writing about Cavendish, to my frustration. Which pieces of Margaret the First are Dutton and which are Woolfe? Are the more literary passages that lean toward stream of consciousness or repeat sentences during the most monotonous days of Cavendish's life a product of Dutton's creativity or Woolfe's? True, I lean toward Dutton--but taking inspiration rather than direct (unmarked) quotation might have made me feel a bit less, well, inferior for how little I remember of "A Room of One's Own".

There is also a remarkable lack of invented characters in Cavendish's life. Historical fiction often speculates about the people neglected in the historical record, such as, ya know, women. But aside from Lucy, Cavendish's housemaid, and the historical records of women mention her in letters--accounts probably shaped by the intended recipients--we experience almost no speculation about her relationships with women. Considering that she wrote about how a marriage between women might be superior to a marriage between men (see below), this feels like a major oversight.

I do admire Margaret the First for what it does: introduce us to an often-overlooked woman actually allowed (yes, allowed) to express herself and her complex thoughts publicly in writing. But if there was ever a time when a book ought to be longer and more introspective, well, this is it.

Summary for self:

Margaret is one of the youngest (the youngest?) in a noble family. She is highly imaginative but also very shy and awkward. She writes funny little stories and binds them up, but her mother suggests she ought to set them aside once she hits puberty. Her Royalist family is at risk in the brewing English Civil War, so for safety she suggests that she join the Queen's court in Oxford. This turns out to be wise, as her family's estate is overrun. Marget then travels to Paris with the Queen and stays in the Louvre--though she is still largely solitary.

Eventually she makes a couple friends, and through them is introduced to her future husband, William Cavendish. He is quite a bit older than she is, but they form a quick attachment, and he woos her with poetry. Like many handsome, popular, literary men, his financials are wobbly at best, not least because his ancestral land has been claimed by the Parliamentarians. They live first in Paris, then in Amsterdam, where they entertain much high society and many intellectuals; Margaret listens and writes her own fancies but does not contribute much. As the years pass without children (despite William's children by a previous wife), Margaret turns more to writting--sometimes for her lady friends, sometimes for herself--poems, riddles, and plays. She seems to fall into a deep depression, rejecting society. Ultimately, she publishes her first book, though it does not make as much of a splash as she'd like. But William supports her writing, both the act and the publication.

When Cromwell dies and Charles reclaimes his father's throne, Margaret and William return to England...but her trunks, which included her life's work, are missing. This, along with their grim, poor lodgings, throws her into another depression, though she continues to write. When William's lands are finally restored, they retreat to the country where Margaret writes all the more. She revises her prevoius book (her spelling has greatly improved now that she can read books in English) and publishes new ones: plays, responses to the scientists of the day, and a grand philosophical work that some totally dismiss and others consider a rival to Utopia.

William's social climbing ambitions take them back to London, and it is here that I had the most difficulty with how scant the story seemed. Our shy, depressed Margaret is suddenly the scandal of the town, decked out in ostentatious finery and revealing clothing. Where did this come from? Ironically, after years of having her work attributed to William, his own anonymous play is then attributed to Margaret, to his great dissatisfaction. Margaret wants more: she asks to be invited to the Royal Society, and ultimately is...but once there, contributes nothing. Again, I'd have liked a little more reflection on this.

Margaret and William return to the countryside. Soon after, barely into her 40s, Margaret dies. We're told she's in the garden wearing men's clothes--which, again, seemed to come out of nowhere. Did she often dress eccentrically when not in town?

I'm glad I read this book and learned about Margaret...I just wish there'd been a little more fiction/speculation into her personal life. ( )

Margaret the First is a fictionalized novella of real-life figure Margaret Canvendish, known for being an eccentric (for the time) renaissance woman. The book is short and written in a way that gives you an inside look into Margaret’s prose-like contemplation on women, writing, fashion and nature. Given more time, more substance, I feel like I could’ve grown to love Margaret and her peculiar way of looking at things but I’m never really given the chance. The book is enjoyable but way too short and cheeky to make a lasting impact. ( )

Slight and very personal (as opposed to impersonal). It fits in with my not so recent reading about Pepys. What a very particular personality. Reminds me of a friend who is prickly and tender at the same time. ( )