i've been reading
the mitfords: letters between six sisters for the last few weeks (it's not something you power through; it's dense and massive and i need a breather every now and then) and today it almost made me cry which is actually ridiculous and i feel like a goof.
following someone's entire life from their childhood to their death, in their own words that they sent to intimates -- not some edited autobiography -- is an experience that can't really be matched by any other sort of book, i think.
the mitford sisters were fascinating and charming people, and their lives intersected with some of the most dramatic and important events of the 20th century, which make the letters interesting for historical purposes. but they weren't immensely
likable people, especially when you're privy to their private letters in which they have no need for filters and make it very clear that they grew up in privilege in the very early 20th century and consequently have a lot of awful opinions and deep-seated prejudices.
but something about their wit and their respective inner strengths is irresistible, and i found myself developing a particular soft spot for nancy -- tragic, unloved, brilliant but caustic, two-faced because she felt she had to be, terrified of the political extremism her sisters gravitated towards -- just a really remarkable woman.
nancy is, again, not the most likable person. she's a bit cold, a bit crueler than she needs to be, a bit jealous and selfish. but reading her letters from childhood all the way up through to the initial success of her novels while she was working for pennies in a dress shop... there is nothing like this format to draw you in, and i honestly felt like i
knew this woman, who in fact died when my parents were thirteen. when i read a letter she wrote in her later years to her sister jessica, proclaiming how beautiful jessica's biracial grandson was sure to be due to the strong mixture of genes -- something she would
never have said in her youth -- it was like watching a closed-minded relative of my
own start to come around and become more progressive.
i read fifteen years' worth of letters today but i just
could not continue when i got to the letter from diana (avowed and unrepentant fascist) to jessica (militant communist and civil rights activist) informing the latter of nancy's funeral -- the two had not spoken formally in decades due to their political differences, and would never speak again -- i almost started sobbing in the middle of starbucks.
i don't even know. it's just an incredible thing to read, and i'm so grateful that the family preserved these letters. the commentary by the editor -- diana's daughter-in-law -- is sort of
embarrassingly pro-diana and anti-nancy, but the letters speak for themselves and are just. gorgeous, even when they’re disquieting (unity's glowing letters to diana about adolf hitler, with whom she was in love, are particularly repellent yet fascinating). i recommend this book so highly, you guys.
optimistic
organized
contemplative
enthralled
accomplished
happy
melancholy