The Open Door

by Elizabeth Maguire

Book Overview

Ruth Ann Smullin's collection, The Open Door, invites the reader to consider the shape of memory, the way we experience our lives as moments and interactions, laden with feeling. Smullin is a... This description may be from another edition of this product.

• Format: Hardcover
• Language: English
• ISBN: 1590512839
• ISBN13: 9781590512838
• Release Date: June 2008
• Publisher: Other Press (NY)
• Length: 236 Pages
• Weight: 0.80 lbs.
• Dimensions: 0.9" x 5.3" x 7.9"

Customer Reviews

Why Women Write: Woolson and Maguire

The Open Door by Elizabeth Maguire is a fictionalized account of the life of Constance Fenimore Woolson (grandniece of James Fenimore Cooper). She was a nineteenth century "women's" writer, and very popular in her time. After the mother she'd cared for and supported for years (with her writing) died, Woolson set off to Europe for adventure and new sights. She also hoped to finally meet her hero, Henry James. They met, they became friends, they were close for years. When Woolson died, James made sure all letters between them were burned. And so we have the makings of a novel. Was Woolson as portrayed by James' fans, a second-rate writer and spinster who wanted James to marry her and hounded him to do so? Or was she as presented here, an independent thinking, free-wheeling and free-loving, wholly honest and admirable, and very American woman? At first it bothered me that I could not tell what was fiction and what was fact but as the novel went on , I didn't care. For me, now, Woolson will always be as Maguire made her for me, an amazing woman I wished I had known, and whose had a fabulous life. Without a man, or kids, or admiration of the literary world, but with what she valued most: her freedom, her independence, and her own true self. According to Maguire, Woolson always kept a copy of the works of the Stoic Epictetus at her side and one favorite quotation was "Is freedom anything else other than the right to live as we wish? Nothing else." Woolson did live as she wished, often solitary, always busy, and wholly herself. Maguire captivated me early on in the novel (but after a somewhat silly scene involving swimming naked off Mackinac Island) by giving me a personal and intimate audience with Woolson. Woolson's thoughts come across as a conversation, a story told with lyrical yet simple phrasing: "Have you ever been heartbroken to finish a book? Has a writer kept whispering in your ear long after the last page is turned? Did you ever long to meet that person who sees the world with your eyes, so that you can continue the conversation?" Yes, Yes, Yes! I yelled. And I understood her explanation of why she set off to Europe to meet Henry James. Maguire imagines scenes between James and Woolson that seem very true and spontaneous. For example, Woolson is excusing her simple apartment in Rome to the visiting James (who has more opulent tastes) by saying, "All I need are the things I love and a table to write on." He responds, "Well, you have surrounded yourself with so many things, Fenimore, that one can only surmise you possess an extremely promiscuous heart." Yes, she loved many things, and people, and places. I think that Maguire (who tragically died at the age of 48 from cancer) had a really good time writing this novel. She seems to have fun with Woolson's words and thoughts and she did a good job giving us the woman and the writer. She has Woolson express so many wishes and desires and satisfactions that I under

A fine novel about real people

A slim, engaging novel about real people -- primarily Constance Fenimore Woolson, who has gone down in history as a minor writer who pursued Henry James. According to this book, she was a lot more and I'd like to believe this version, if only because she seems like a remarkable, determined and admirable woman. It was especially interesting to read this fairly soon after reading "The Five of Hearts" by Patricia O'Toole, which includes several of the same people, especially Clarence King. It may or may not be relevant, but the novel does deal with the main character's awareness of and acceptance of mortality -- and the author reportedly completed it just before she died of ovarian cancer at a way-too-young age.

The last wine from these grapes

This is the story of Constance Fenimore Woolson, a popular fiction writer of the 19th century and grand-niece of James Fenimore Cooper, set free to pursue her vocation only after fulfilling a protracted family obligation. She ventures to Europe at age 40 with a letter of introduction to the estimable Henry James. This is what Truman Capote would have called a non-fiction novel, for most of the actual events depicted happened just as chronicled here (e.g. dates, deaths, addresses and travel itinerary). Indeed, one would be hard pressed to invent characters as rich as Woolson, Henry and Alice James, John Hay and Henry Adams. What has been imagined are the conversations, feelings and motives. Maguire transfuses the elements with equal measures of sense and sensiblity, pride and prejudice. Constance Woolson was a woman of great character and independence. The success she enjoyed during her lifetime enabled her to live an often idyllic expatriate lifestyle. She traveled the world, from Switzerland to Egypt, settling for years at a time in Oxford, Rome and Florence. She enjoyed the society of learned men, and was by no means a virginal spinster. The suigeneris quality of her liaison with Clarence King, is illustrated with impressive sensitivity. It is in Florence where she finally met Henry James, developing a tumultuous friendship that lasted her lifetime: "What some discover in youth, I found in middle age. In the sky of that friendship, I flew high. I was the Constance I most wanted to be. Which meant that when one of us hit the ground......Yet, I would give anything to experience that exhileration again. A marriage not of body, but of mind..." The relationship of these "friends" is the heart of this exquisitely rendered novel. The recognition and acceptance of the imperfections of character in those we love (and even in ourselves) is a central theme. Henry James was erudite and possessed of many charmes and great wit; he was, conversely, the most closeted of homosexuals; a self-absorbed pompous ass who valued the appearence of propriety above all else. Whatever sublime truth beat in his heart, however steadfast a friend, the only matters of consequence were his reputation and the public opinion. I am reminded of Gore Vidal's bon mot: "It is not enough to succeed, others must fail." As depicted here, James was capable of gross professional jealousy, openly contemptuous not only of the critical praise accorded the likes of Thomas Hardy, but the financial success enjoyed by his own "lady scribbler" friemd. Still, there bond endured without incident until Woolson committed the faux pas of acknowledging the Master's true sexual nature. Though she reassuringly asserted that her knowledge of his proclivities would free him to confide feelings repressed for a lifetime, James viewed her revelation as a gross breach of etiquette, resulting in a rift in their friendship. As years passed the two resumed a correspondence. however, the u