{"id":138346,"date":"2019-07-30T11:00:19","date_gmt":"2019-07-30T15:00:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=138346"},"modified":"2019-08-01T11:33:33","modified_gmt":"2019-08-01T15:33:33","slug":"the-ordinary-woman-theory","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/07\/30\/the-ordinary-woman-theory\/","title":{"rendered":"The Ordinary Woman Theory"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

In fifth grade, I picked Abigail Adams from a list of American history topics because I wanted to find out what this woman had done to land herself, nearly alone, on a list of men. I soon despaired to learn that she hadn\u2019t actually done all that much, at least not in the ways that I understood \u201cdoing.\u201d She ran the family farm and raised the kids while her husband, John Adams, was off signing the Declaration of Independence. She followed him to France, then Philadelphia and Washington, D.C., then back to the farm. I chronicled these relocations, while thinking that I must be missing the point. Defeated, I turned in my report, aware that it was, as grandiose as this sounds, my first intellectual failure.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d gotten plenty of spelling words wrong before, but those were failures of memorization, not comprehension. That a life might be valued in terms other than battles won or lost, institutions raised or razed, was alien to me. The \u201cgreat man\u201d kind of history was the only kind I\u2019d been taught, and the only kind I knew how to value.<\/p>\n

I unlearned that lesson gradually. In another American history class I reread some of Adams\u2019s letters and could recognize their significance: \u201cRemember all Men would be tyrants if they could. If particular attention is not paid to the Ladies we are determined to foment a Rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any Laws in which we have no Voice, or Representation.\u201d She was one of the earliest advocates for the rights and education of women in the United States, although neither representation nor rebellion would came to pass until long after her lifetime. I learned that beyond great deeds, what people thought or said\u2014or sometimes didn\u2019t or couldn\u2019t say\u2014had value.<\/p>\n

Or at least, I thought I had learned this. Then I found myself, years later, waist deep in a novel inspired by the life of the eccentric French composer Erik Satie, dully chronicling actions: first he did this. Then he did that. I showed the first chapter too early, to someone in whose opinion I placed too much stock. \u201cIs there a reason you aren\u2019t just writing a biography?\u201d he asked, and I cringed.<\/p>\n

What was<\/em> I writing, and why? I\u2019d been fixated to the point of paralysis on the question of what fiction owes to history, tangled up in the impossibility of knowing every single thing about Satie\u2019s biography, his music, let alone the entire time span of 1866\u20131925. Then I started asking, what does fiction offer to the historical record?<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cThe historian will tell you what happened. The novelist will tell you what it felt like,\u201d E.L. Doctorow famously remarked. The Satie in my novel is an act of creation, not resurrection. And yet, I can confidently tell you that it did not feel particularly comfortable to be Erik Satie. He was a prickly mix of generosity and cruelty, ambition and self-sabotage. He could be by turns a lovable prankster and a toxic misanthrope. He was his own worst victim, and the career renaissance he experienced late in his life came alongside his most extreme social isolation, when he stopped speaking to the brother who had steadfastly supported him. I thought of Satie at the end of Hannah Gadsby\u2019s Nanette<\/em>, when she asks, \u201cDo you know why we have the sunflowers? It\u2019s not because Vincent van Gogh suffered. It\u2019s because Vincent van Gogh had a brother who loved him. Through all the pain, he had a tether, a connection to the world. And that is the focus of the story we need. Connection.\u201d<\/p>\n

The \u201cgreat man\u201d narrative, whether biographical or fictional, is a story about exceptionalism, not connection. I realized partway through writing The Vexations<\/em> that I am less interested in the pole stars than in the constellations, and in the dark spaces between the lights. I finally started asking the questions about Satie and his associates that I hadn\u2019t known how to ask about poor Abigail Adams. Beyond what they did, what did they say or leave unsaid, what did they feel or imagine? Who transcended the expectations of place and time, and who lived within them, by choice or force or the limits of their resources?<\/p>\n

The characters around Erik stepped up and carried off sections of the book; I pictured them like ants at a picnic, marching away with chapters on their backs. First I wondered whether I should try and stop them. Then I cheered them on. They were full of observations about Erik, but eager to narrate their own stories, too. Suzanne Valadon, Satie\u2019s only known romantic partner, was a force of nature. She was one of few professional female painters of the era, and the only one self-taught and self-made, without inherited wealth. The life of Satie\u2019s sister, Louise-Olga-Jeannie, on the other hand, was a chronicle of the ways in which women were legally vulnerable; she had no way to win the courtroom disputes in which she was entangled, and which ultimately drove her to leave France and emigrate to Buenos Aires.<\/p>\n

A recent request on Twitter for suggestions of movies about female geniuses was answered with a host of dubious nominations: Moana<\/em>, Matilda<\/em>, Captain Marvel<\/em>. These are, as the phrase goes, strong female characters, but I don\u2019t think anyone would respond to a query for movies about male geniuses by recommending Harry Potter. They\u2019d respond with biopics about tortured geniuses, because that is a recognized genre, and the genre is male. I felt indignant about the lack of tortured female genius biopics, and then realized my indignation had the blurry outline of my old Abigail Adams\u2013shaped blind spot. The \u201cgreat woman\u201d narrative (or the \u201csassy princess\u201d narrative, or the \u201cbadass female warrior\u201d narrative) is a corrective but it is also yet another way to tell the isolated life of an individual through her actions. Someone out there should absolutely make a female genius biopic about Suzanne Valadon. But when I was writing The Vexations<\/em>, my admiration for Satie\u2019s sister\u2019s life grew to match the very different admiration I feel for Valadon, or for Satie\u2019s music and his uncompromising dedication to it.<\/p>\n

An answer I wish I\u2019d had ready when asked why I wasn\u2019t writing a biography: Novels have always been a genre occupied with both extraordinary and ordinary lives, able to illuminate living rooms and rehearsal rooms in addition to battlefields or concert stages. Adams wasn\u2019t a politician or president; Satie\u2019s siblings and friends weren\u2019t (with some exceptions) geniuses. And yet they were parts of his story, the stars of their own, all in the same constellation. We live in nets, not points, of light, and fiction can illuminate the whole web.<\/p>\n

There was much I had to learn to write this book, but there was an unlearning to be done as well: of the primacy of the great man narrative, of a kind of story, and of a kind of history, whose traditional expression would exclude me and nearly everyone I know. Some people transcend history; others barely survive it. Both are indispensable, to each other and to us. It\u2019s a lesson I\u2019ve been learning since fifth grade, and it finally stuck.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Caitlin<\/span>\u00a0Horrocks<\/span>\u00a0is the author of<\/em>\u00a0The Vexations\u00a0and the short story collection <\/em>This Is Not Your City. She is the\u00a0recipient of the O. Henry Prize, the Pushcart Prize, and the Plimpton Prize<\/a>, and her fiction has appeared in\u00a0<\/em>The New Yorker,<\/em>\u00a0The Atlantic,<\/em> The Paris Review<\/a>,<\/em> Tin House,\u00a0<\/em>One Story, and has been included in\u00a0The Best American Short Stories.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The \u201cgreat man\u201d narrative, whether biographical or fictional, is a story about exceptionalism, not connection. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1810,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[419],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-138346","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-arts-culture"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nThe Ordinary Woman Theory by Caitlin Horrocks<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"July 30, 2019 \u2013 The \u201cgreat man\u201d narrative, whether biographical or fictional, is a story about exceptionalism, not connection.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/07\/30\/the-ordinary-woman-theory\/\" \/>\n<meta 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