In Jane Bowles’s correspondence runs an unceasing lament about not-writing: “I have decided not to become hysterical, however. If I cannot write my book, then I shall give up writing, that’s all. Then either suicide or another life. It is rather frightening to think of. I don’t believe I would commit suicide, though intellectually it seems the only way out.”
The book, Out in the World, a follow-up to Two Serious Ladies, remained unfinished, though she completed a single play, In the Summer House, and a handful of stories. Some argue she stands equal to Gertrude Stein or Djuna Barnes. Such comparisons matter little; what remains significant is that Jane Bowles is profoundly underrated. Two Serious Ladies and each meticulously crafted, unique story demonstrates a vital force. Her fiction confronts life and death with open eyes: dark humour wrapped around the anguish of living in the face of death.
This weekend I finished a volume of selected letters, titled Out in the World, edited by Millicent Dillon, also Jane Bowles’s biographer (of whom Paul Bowles said “She managed to do exhaustive research. She never knew Jane, and I think that she never understood that the most important thing about Jane was her sense of humour.”)
To read these letters knowing Jane Bowles’s fate imbues them with painful predictability as the combination of drink and prescription drugs reaches its conclusion. As Stacey D’Erasmo wrote in her superb essay on Bowles: “You know, Jane, I think with some sourness as I go through these scant pages, some with only doodles of sad faces on them, it might have been better if you had stopped drinking.” Amid endless worry about writing, money, love, loneliness and drinking, Bowles’s wit comes through; what emerges from these letters is her kindness and understated warmth, which, together with her enigmatic and beautiful stories, remains enough.
Two Serious Ladies deserves much wider recognition
Yes, she is a talented, serious writer.
You have made me want to read Jane Bowles. I had never heard of her before, but now I am most intrigued. Thank you.
That makes me very happy, Amy. Thanks for letting me know and please let me know how you get on with Two Serious Ladies.
I must read Two Serious Ladies. I bought it several years ago when it was reissued in the States (where I live) with an introduction by Claire Messud. So many people have praised this novel.
As an aside, I continue to read posts in your archives, and you really have such interesting taste in books–and your blog has added to my TBR pile! I am reading Compass right now–very much enjoying it!–along with another highly praised work of foreign literature (Belladonna by Dasa Drnidic). They both use language in inventive ways and I am greatly enjoying both.
Please do read Two Serious Ladies and let me know what you make of it. It is such a strange book.
All of Mathias Enard is worth reading. Compass is my favourite but I do intend to re-read all three this year. I keep pondering Daša Drndic’s work so pleased to hear you are enjoying Belladonna. There is a sequel due later this year.
Yes, I will let you know what I think of it. I read somewhere that Edith Wharton (one of my favorite writers of all time–I have read The House of Mirth, The Age of Innocence, Ethan Frome, and The Custom of the Country) was not a fan, but I see so many others praising the book highly.
I will read Enard’s other work after I finish Compass. In the past I did not enjoy reading digressive novels like Compass and Belladonna, but now I find such books compelling. Belladonna took a while to pull me in, but now I am enjoying it. However, I find that it is not an easy read for me. I am not well versed in the politics and history of Eastern Europe despite majoring in history in college so I am finding myself checking many of the references online. And it most definitely is not a plot driven novel, but on a sentence level it is so interesting. Reading Compass is similar in that I am not well versed with regard to music or the Orient, but I can follow the story line (what there is of one, at least) a little better. But challenging works of literature are the most rewarding, as I know you are aware, so these books are very, very good.
Half the fun with Compass is following as many of Enard’s digressions as possible.
I’ve vaguely heard of her but not read anything by her (and it sounds like it’s not a vast undertaking. Now, where to find her?
She isn’t too hard to find. I have a Collected Works from Peter Owen.
You shouldn’t have said that, Anthony. It made me investigate further and … (mumble mumble) I may have ordered a little something. Which after going mad and buying 27 books this past weekend is NOT good! I blame you entirely for this!
27? You sound like me. I happily take the blame. For Jane.
I’ve always been intrigued by this book, as well as by Dillon’s biography (having already read everything I could find by Bowles herself). But I’d also read Paul Bowles’ somewhat dismissive comment about Dillon having missed his spouse’s sense of humor, and I suspected that her letters, despite that, might be something of a dreary slog. I’m going to look up the D’Erasmo essay now. A writer whom I do think did Jane Bowles justice is Sherill Tippins, in her book February House, about the Brooklyn Heights residence shared by Jane and Paul, W. H. Auden, Benjamin Britten, Carson McCullers and Gypsy Rose Lee, among others.
It is all too easy I think to be swayed by the second part of Paul Bowles’s dismissive comment and miss the first part saying that Dillon’s biography was well researched. The letters are far from essential. For me they are essential in the same way that I wish to read every word that oozed from Denton Welch’s pen, both brilliant writers of whom we have too little. The letters are far from dreary, especially if you indulge in the back stories of Jane Bowles’s correspondents, especially people like Libby Holman. I will definitely get hold of February House. Thanks.