The other Mary Ward

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Newnham Hall students in 1878, Newnham College Archives PH/10/1 (Mary is fourth from left in back row, wearing a white shawl)

Mary Ward (née Martin) was born in Armagh, Northern Ireland on 6 June 1851, the third of a growing family of twelve children. Her father, a Congregationalist minister, found it hard to make ends meet, but Mary’s brothers were able to go to school thanks to scholarships for the sons of the clergy. This must have struck Mary as unjust, but she got a good education from her mother who taught her and her younger siblings and calmly ‘piloted the family ship’ (Lawson Dodd, 39) with a volume of Dante propped up against the mixing bowl and a baby on her lap.

The family moved to England, and when she was 15 Mary left home. She spent a year as a pupil-teacher in Hampstead, and from 16 worked full-time as a governess, teaching and supporting herself while her older brothers studied at Cambridge. But Henry and James did not forget their bright and hardworking sister. Lectures for women had begun at Cambridge, and her brother Henry Newell Martin, by then working as a biologist with Thomas Huxley, promised to support Mary’s studies there if she won the entrance scholarship. She did, and in 1876, ‘a delicately pretty woman of 25, but looking much younger’ (Lawson Dodd, 40), Mary became a student at Newnham Hall, later College.

Her fragile appearance belied her passionately political character. Her ‘quick Irish speech bubbled out when she was excited,’ her daughter observed years later. ‘Life was full of the urge of things to fight for’ (Lawson Dodd, 41). While a student at Newnham, Mary fought for women to have access to university education on equal terms to men, and to take Cambridge’s final examinations as a right, not a courtesy. She was the first woman to gain a first-class honours in moral sciences, albeit unofficially, as women would not be awarded Cambridge degrees for many years to come. But she and Newnham were able to celebrate when in 1881 the University Senate voted by 366 votes to 32 to open its examinations to women. Mary was appointed resident lecturer, and continued to teach and support women students at Newnham after she married and had children. She was a member of the Cambridge Ladies Dining Society 1890-1914.

(If her name sounds vaguely familiar, it might be because of her namesake, Mary Augusta Ward (née Arnold) who was born in Hobart, Tasmania, coincidentally also in June 1851. After moving to England she married an Oxford don and, as Mrs Humphry Ward, became England’s highest-earning novelist after her novel Robert Elsmere was published in 1888. She was also a social reformer who helped to organize the first women’s lectures at Oxford and later began the ‘play centres for children’ movement to enable working-class mothers to go out to work, a legacy that continues in the valuable work of the Mary Ward Centre in London today. But if the ‘Oxford’ Mary Ward, once so famous, is remembered at all today, it is less for her considerable achievements than as (whisper it) a traitor to her sex. In 1908 she became the leading spokesperson for the Women’s National Anti-Suffrage League and ‘the person who impeded women getting the vote for seven long years’, as the critic John Sutherland wrote in his article about her, ‘The suffragettes’ unlikeliest enemy’.)

Coincidentally, it was around this time that the (considerably less famous) Cambridge Mary Ward took up arms on behalf of women’s suffrage. She became Honorary Secretary for the Cambridge Women’s Suffrage Association, galvanising the movement with lively meetings held at her house, and in 1908 (as Mrs James Ward) she published her play Man and Woman: The Question of the Day. It was very popular with suffrage societies for the next few years, with the main character, Helen, converting a female anti-suffragist to the cause by telling her ‘Women may let politics alone, politics don’t let them alone’. Although the Cambridge Mary Ward disagreed with the militant tactics of the suffragettes, in 1913 she resigned her membership of the Liberal Party in protest against the government’s treatment of suffragist prisoners.

Still frail in appearance, and beginning to fail in health, Mary never lost her urge to fight for women’s rights. In July 1913, at the age of 62, she was one of the leaders of the group who marched from Cambridge to London as part of the huge countrywide pilgrimage of pro-women’s suffrage supporters, including many men. She also never lost her Irish accent, her self-deprecating humour, and her interest in others: ‘”now tell me”, she would begin, with shining blue eyes; and then she would listen, appreciatively, relishing all the details, and recounting her own experiences with gusto, all the more gaily if they were disastrous’ (Lawson Dodd, 46).

Ann Kennedy Smith

Please reference as follows: Ann Kennedy Smith, ‘The other Mary Ward’ https://akennedysmith.wordpress.com/(Accessed: day/month/year)

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Mary Ward in Newnham College Roll Newsletter, January 1934, frontispiece

Sources: H.M. Lawson Dodd and others, ‘Mrs James Ward (Mary Jane Martin) Newnham Hall 1876-1879’ Newnham College Roll Newsletter, January 1934, pp. 38-47; ‘Ward, Mrs Mary (1851-1933) in E. Crawford, The Women’s Suffrage Movement: A Reference Guide 1866-1928 (1999); ‘A Petticoat Pilgrimage’ Cambridge Daily News (21 July 1913); Cambridgeshire Archives CWSA Papers 1884 –1919. With thanks to Newnham College for permission to use the photographs of Mary Ward.

The Cambridge Psychics

In January 1882, 135 years ago, the idea began for the Society for Psychical Research. One of the founder members, Eleanor Sidgwick (née Balfour, see portrait below) was a member of the Ladies Dining Society (1890-1914). She and her husband Henry Sidgwick (see photograph below) contributed significantly to women’s education in Cambridge. This is a guest blog by the writer Jane Dismore

‘It was a dark and stormy night….’ This famous opening to a Victorian novel is today considered purple prose and often used humorously to start a spine-chilling story. Its author was the acclaimed and hugely popular novelist Edward Bulwer Lytton (1803-1873), a friend of Charles Dickens, and the book was Paul Clifford (1830). The novel was not in fact a chiller, although the author’s literary career would come to include science fiction and occult fiction, for Bulwer Lytton was a respected occultist. His interest began when he was an undergraduate at Trinity College, Cambridge (where he also won the Chancellor’s Gold Medal for English Verse), and he became known for his passion for predictions using a crystal ball, and for the casting of horoscopes. In 1854 Bulwer Lytton was visited by Eliphas Levi, a French occult author and magician, who considered him to be one of the principal exponents of occult studies in Britain. At around that time there began a huge increase in the practice of spiritualism and a resulting explosion of paranormal claims throughout the Western world and in all parts of society. Now mediums made their first appearance, claiming contact with the dead. At the same time science-based naturalistic explanations increasingly challenged the old religious world view. Lively debate raged, which pondered whether these alleged phenomena could be fully accounted for in naturalistic terms or whether they pointed to aspects of consciousness which were not yet known to science.

Bulwer Lytton did not live long enough to see where the debate led but he surely would have been gratified to see that it was taken seriously, and at his alma mater, too. Exactly 135 years ago, in January 1882, a conference was held in London to consider the viability of setting up an organisation to carry out formal scientific research into alleged paranormal phenomena. In February the Society for Psychical Research (SPR) was founded, the first organisation to conduct scholarly research into human experiences that challenge contemporary scientific models. Its first President was Henry Sidgwick (1838-1900), Professor of Moral Philosophy at Trinity College and a man of great standing in intellectual circles. His chief associates in the early stages were Frederic Myers, a classical scholar with wide-ranging interests, and Edmund Gurney, who would develop a pioneering interest in hypnotism and psychological automatisms.

Prominent early members of the SPR included the Balfour brothers: Arthur (Britain’s Prime Minister from 1902-1905), who had been Sidgwick’s pupil at Trinity; and Gerald, a Trinity Classics scholar and later MP and President of the Board of Trade. In 1884 their sister Eleanor, a mathematician, joined the SPR. With Arthur she had been a member of a group set up before the SPR to investigate spiritualism claims. Through the group she met Henry Sidgwick, whom she married in 1876; along with the paranormal, they shared a passion for women’s education. Henry had helped found Newnham College in 1871, of which Eleanor served as Vice Principal, then Principal, and between them they succeeded in enabling women to sit University examinations, although lost their fight to allow them to take degrees. All three Balfours served as President of the SPR: Arthur in 1893; Gerald 1906-1907; and Eleanor 1908-1909 and again later. Another sister, Evelyn, married the Nobel Prize winner (for physics), John William Strutt, Lord Rayleigh. He was another graduate of Trinity and became President of the SPR in 1919.

Shortly after its creation the SPR created a methodological and administrative framework, including a scholarly journal in which psychical research could be reported and debated worldwide, to which the Sidgwicks and the Balfours made significant contributions. In July 1882 another Balfour sibling, Francis, was killed while climbing Mont Blanc. He was 30 and regarded as a brilliant biologist, a successor to Darwin. Francis appears in psychical research literature as a communicator in an important case investigated by the SPR, ‘The Palm Sunday Case’, which focussed on Arthur Balfour and his dead lover.

Gerald Balfour’s wife, Elizabeth, was a granddaughter of Edward Bulwer Lytton. Evidence of Bulwer Lytton’s interest in the occult can be seen in the gothic and sometimes unsettling features of his home, Knebworth House in Hertfordshire, still occupied by his descendants. Eleanor Sidgwick’s active involvement in the SPR continued into the 1930s, long after Henry’s death in 1900. The SPR continues to be active today, promoting and supporting the main areas of psychical research.

© Jane Dismore, January 2017 (Please reference as follows: Jane Dismore ‘The Cambridge Psychics’ https://akennedysmith.wordpress.com/(Accessed: day/month/year)

The author is a freelance writer and biographer. Details of her work can be found at www.janedismore.com . She was briefly a member of the SPR while at Cambridge. More information on Eleanor Sidgwick can be found here.

The Gift

japanese-fan‘My Christmas is a bright one enough, and I have great hopes of a happy New Year.’

The letter Caroline Jebb wrote to her sister on 25 December 1874 was cheerful, but her first Christmas in Cambridge was a pretty miserable one. She missed her family back in west Philadelphia, and the happy chaos of exchanging gifts with her young nieces and nephews. When she sailed to England the previous summer to marry the Classics scholar Richard Jebb, it had seemed at first, she told her sister, ‘just like the novels we read of English life’. Now she was living far from her friends and family in a remote university town, sharing a cold house with a man who was either out at his lectures or in his study working so hard that she rarely saw him.

There were other problems with the marriage. In America, Caroline was used to being in charge of her own finances, living on her U.S. Civil War widow’s pension and a small inheritance, and budgeting carefully. When she moved to England to marry Richard, she was put under pressure by his family to hand over her money to him, in accordance with English law at the time. Richard told her that he was interested in her, not her money, but in any case Caroline was determined to hold on to her financial independence. At the beginning of December she even refused to ask her husband for a loan to buy the winter clothes she badly needed.

‘I never like to mix up my money and Dick’s in any way and I don’t like to borrow from him just now while his balance at the bank is so low. His fellowship comes in some time this month and then if all the bills are once paid I shall see my way clear.’

A week later Richard’s fellowship – the term’s payment for his university teaching – came in, but so did his bills, and Caroline was shocked to discover how much he owed. Richard loved clothes and took pride in his appearance, but paid little attention to how much he could afford. ‘Fancy fourteen pounds for your hair-dresser, twenty to your boot-maker, twenty-seven to your flower-merchant, as many more to your hat-man, &c, just for your little bills,’ she wrote to her sister. Richard loved clothes and fashion, and did not mind borrowing beyond his means. Caroline did, very much.  ‘Think of fifty pounds for piano hire, and the same for cigars, and double that for books!’ In total, the bills came to £500, five times as much as Richard had estimated in their marriage settlement the previous August, and much more than he earned for his lectures.

Caroline’s way of punishing him was to refuse to allow him to spend money on her. On Christmas Day they exchanged politely restrained gifts: she presented him with a gold pencil for his waistcoat pocket, and he gave her a butter dish. She would not permit anything more. But on Boxing Day, Caroline’s birthday, Richard managed to find a way around the financial embargo and presented her with an enormous Japanese black satin fan. Caroline could not resist. ‘These fans are all the fashion in London, nobody carries anything else,’ she told her sister. The craze for all things Japanese, known as japonisme, had spread from Paris to England. A few months later, in May 1875, Arthur Liberty would open his department store on Regent Street selling ornaments, fabric and rare objects from Japan and the East. Richard’s gift of a Japanese fan shows how far he was ahead of mainstream fashion, and how even though they were both ‘as poor as church mice’ that Christmas, he knew that she would love it. More importantly, he promised to hand over control of all money matters to her, which for Caroline was the best gift she could have wished for.

Ann Kennedy Smith

Please reference as follows: Ann Kennedy Smith, ‘The Gift’ https://akennedysmith.wordpress.com/(Accessed: day/month/year)

Sources: Lady Caroline Lane Reynolds Slemmer Jebb Papers at the Sophia Smith Collection, Smith College, Northampton, Massachusetts; Mary Reed Bobbitt With Dearest Love to All: The Life and Letters of Lady Jebb (Faber & Faber, 1960); ‘The Victorian vision of China and Japan’ at the Victorian & Albert Museum here. Mimi Matthews has written blogs on  Victorian gifts here and Japanese fashion here. Lesley Downer’s novel The Shogun’s Queen examines the darker aspects of the 19th century’s ‘opening of Japan’ here.

Kathleen and Virginia

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‘I don’t in the least want Mrs L.’s candid criticism; I want her cheque!’

So wrote the 22-year old Virginia Stephen in November 1904 about an essay she had just sent to the Guardian, a weekly clerical journal for governesses, maiden ladies and high-church parsons. It was not the ideal vehicle for Virginia’s strong views, but she badly wanted to be published and to be paid for her writing. ‘Mrs L.’ was Kathleen Lyttelton, pictured left, the 47-year old editor of the Guardian‘s women’s pages. Although her name is little known today, we should pay tribute to her as the woman who set Virginia Woolf on her published writing career.

Kathleen, formally known as Mrs Arthur Lyttelton, was a social reformer, writer, suffrage campaigner and one of the founder members of the Cambridge Ladies Dining Society. She was a practical person with a mission to help the female sex. In 1884 she co-founded the Cambridge Women’s Suffrage Association (C.W.S.A.) and served on its executive from 1885–1890. In 1888, encouraged by her friend Millicent Fawcett, she joined the executive committee of the Central Society for Women’s Suffrage to work for suffrage at a national level.  A committed Anglican with high ideals, she felt compelled to engage in the struggle for women’s franchise and to help the poor, women in trouble and women workers, and to use her writing as a means of educating them. In 1901 she published her views in her book Women and their Work, intended as a manual for women at a time when society was changing. In February 1903, her husband Arthur, then Bishop of Southampton, died prematurely, and Kathleen was forced to move, but she was determined to continue with her writing career. She joined The Guardian as editor in June 1904 after the paper amalgamated with The Churchwoman, a journal she is likely to have written for beforehand.

1904 had been a traumatic year for Virginia. Her father, Sir Leslie Stephen, died from cancer in February, and she had her second serious nervous breakdown followed by a slow and painful recovery between April and October. In the autumn she and her siblings, Vanessa, Thoby, and Adrian moved to 46 Gordon Square, Bloomsbury. Bills needed to be paid, and Virginia’s close older friend and mentor Violet Dickinson encouraged her to try to publish her work as a way of making money and, more importantly, establishing herself as a writer.

It was Violet who suggested that Virginia send an essay to Kathleen Lyttelton. Violet knew the Lyttelton family well through her clerical connections, and had already introduced Virginia to Margaret, Kathleen’s daughter. Virginia had not warmed to Margaret, and was doubtful that her mother would like her writing. ‘I dont in the least expect Mrs Lyttelton to take that article’, she told Violet on 11 November 1904. She was right in one sense. Her essay on Manorbier was never published and has since been lost, but Kathleen offered something better: she invited  Virginia to contribute 1,500 words on any subject she liked, a remarkably generous offer to such a young and unknown writer. ‘Mrs Lyttelton must be a very sensible woman’ Virginia wrote gratefully to Violet on 14 November, ‘she is very generous to allow me any subject… D’you think Mrs Lyttelton will let me write fairly often?’ She did. In December 1904 The Guardian published Virginia’s review of W.D. Howell’s novel The Son of Royal Langbrith, and an essay ‘Haworth, November 1904’, written after her visit to the Brontë parsonage in November that year, in which she wrote: ‘Haworth expresses the Brontës; the Brontës express Haworth…They fit like a snail to its shell.’

In January 1905 Virginia told Violet how well she was getting on with ‘My Editress’. ‘Mrs Lyttelton has just been – she is a delightful big sensible woman. I wish she would pet me! I think she has possibilities that way!’ Her friendship with Kathleen’s daughter Margaret, even though they were the same age, was much less cordial, as Virginia wrote a month later: ‘We had Margaret L. yesterday, who did her best to talk, but she is a rather stiff and starched young woman.’ (Curiously, the editors of Virginia Woolf’s Letters and Essays, along with subsequent Woolf biographers, have merged the Lyttelton mother and daughter’s identities, wrongly referring to Margaret as the editor of the Guardian‘s women’s supplement.)

Although Virginia liked and respected Kathleen, she was understandably frustrated when she wielded her editor’s red pen too heavily. ‘I could wish that she had a finer literary taste sometimes’ Virginia complained to Violet in December 1905, ‘she sticks her broad thumb into the middle of my sentences and improves the moral tone. If I could get enough work elsewhere I dont think I should bother about the Guardian.’ There was worse to come. Kathleen insisted on reducing the word count of her review of Henry James’ The Golden Bowl so much that she made it ‘worthless’ in Virginia’s eyes.

Unlike the Brontës and Haworth, Virginia and the Guardian never did fit like a snail to its shell, and she would find a more natural home for her essays at the Times Literary Supplement. But she continued to write regularly for the Guardian for two years, earning an estimated £17, 10 s.0d, a respectable sum. Whatever might be said about her over-zealous editorial cuts, Mrs L.’s cheque – and her acceptance of the young Virginia Woolf as a writer – reveals Kathleen Lyttelton to have been an editor of some distinction.

Carolyn Ferguson and Ann Kennedy Smith (Please reference as follows: Carolyn Ferguson and Ann Kennedy Smith, ‘Kathleen and Virginia’ (November 25, 2016) https://akennedysmith.wordpress.com/(Accessed: day/month/year)

Sources: All quotations from letters are from The Letters of Virginia Woolf eds. Nigel Nicolson & Joanne Trautmann, Volume 1 (The Hogarth Press, London, 1975). The essay ‘Haworth, November 1904’ is included in The Essays of Virginia Woolf, ed. Andrew Mc Neillie Volume 1, 1904-1912 (The Hogarth Press, London), and his estimate of her earnings is on p. xviii. See also James King, Virginia Woolf (Hamish Hamilton Ltd., 1994); Hermione Lee Virginia Woolf (Vintage, 1997); Frances Spalding Virginia Woolf: Art, Life and Vision (National Portrait Gallery, 2014). With thanks to Andrew Wallis for his generous assistance, and his permission to reproduce the photograph of Kathleen Lyttelton.

 

Caroline’s War (Part 2)

http://hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/ds.00360

From January until April 1861 Lieutenant Adam Slemmer and his garrison defended Fort Pickens in Florida against repeated attempts by the Southern militia to seize it. They had a pretty miserable time of it. The dilapidated old fort, on tiny Santa Rosa Island in the Gulf of Mexico, was infested with rattlesnakes and vipers and food supplies were limited. When the long awaited federal reinforcements arrived, many of the men were suffering from scurvy.

The first shots of the American Civil War were fired at Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbour 600 miles away, which was seized by Confederate forces after a fierce battle in April 1861. Thanks to Adam and his men, Fort Pickens was one of the few Southern forts retained by the North throughout the Civil War, and was an important naval base during the blockade of the Southern states.

Back in Washington, Caroline Slemmer was disappointed to discover after the siege that her husband had not been promoted, especially since less experienced men were being given commissions in the hastily formed new military regiments. On 10 May 1861 she wrote to President Abraham Lincoln directly about it, and was given an appointment to see him.

Accompanied by her two brothers-in-law, Caroline went along to the arranged interview. The president was busy working at his writing table, and they found it difficult to get his attention. So she did something very simple and very effective. She moved closer, put her hand lightly on his shoulder, and gently spoke to him about her husband’s bravery at Fort Pickens. Lincoln looked up, placed his hand on hers for a moment, and listened.

Adam Slemmer was made a Major soon afterwards. In the Abraham Lincoln papers at the Library of Congress there is a list in Lincoln’s handwriting of the names of the officers he wished to promote in July 1861. After the name Lieutenant Slemmer, Lincoln has scribbled a note: ‘his pretty wife says a Major or First Captain.’ Caroline had managed to charm the most important man in the land.

Sources: Lady Caroline Lane Slemmer Reynolds Jebb Papers at the Sophia Smith Collection, Smith College, Northampton MA; Mary Reed Bobbitt With Dearest Love to All: The Life and Letters of Lady Jebb (London: Faber, 1960); Gwen Raverat’s Period Piece: The Cambridge Childhood of Darwin’s Granddaughter (London: Faber 1960). The Abraham Lincoln Papers at the Library of Congress for July 1861 can be found here.

Please reference as follows: Ann Kennedy Smith, ‘Caroline’s War (Part 2)’ https://akennedysmith.wordpress.com/(Accessed: day/month/year)

‘Written with the heart’s blood’: Ellen Darwin and Amy Levy

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In summer 1888 Ellen Darwin told her sister-in-law Ida that her friend Amy Levy was coming to visit. She confided that she had some concerns about Amy’s new novel:

‘She has written a novel, in which the heroine is partly me. I have not read it yet, but I don’t expect much: her stories and novels are rather saddening.’

Reuben Sachs: A Sketch, Amy Levy’s second novel, was published a few months later. It attracted controversy, both for its satirical depiction of an affluent Anglo-Jewish community and its critique of the Victorian marriage market. It is also a poignant love story about two people who love each other, but money and ambition get in the way.

Ellen Darwin was not Jewish, and her Yorkshire upbringing was very different from the fictional Judith Quixano’s Portuguese connections. Why did Amy have Ellen in mind when she wrote about Judith? Possibly Ellen shared Judith’s  beauty and ‘deep, serious gaze of the wonderful eyes’ as seen in the photograph above; certainly she had her passionate nature and her almost austere adherence to truthfulness.

Ellen and Amy met almost ten years earlier at Newnham, the new women’s college in Cambridge. Ellen Crofts, as she was then, was 25 and the college’s only lecturer, teaching history and English literature; before that she had been one of its first students. Amy Levy, the second Jewish woman to study at Cambridge, was 17 and had already shown early promise as a writer.

Two years later, Amy left Cambridge without taking her final exams. Perhaps this was because she wanted to devote more time to her writing: her first poetry collection, Xantippe and Other Verse, published while she was still a student, had been generously praised. But Amy also suffered from bouts of clinical depression and was often deeply unhappy at Cambridge. Ellen Crofts, her young tutor, was the one of the few people that she could turn to for sympathy, and, according to a contemporary, encouragement to keep on writing:

 ‘…she from the first recognized genius in a student who, extremely unpopular, was shunned by co-mates and dons alike until Ellen made a friend of her, and so helped to draw out talents that the literary world have since acknowledged.’

Was Amy this unpopular, unhappy student, and Ellen her only friend and literary champion? It seems very likely.

Ellen and Amy’s friendship continued after Amy left Cambridge. Ellen married Frank Darwin and left her lecturing post at Newnham, but stayed in Cambridge. Their daughter Frances was born in 1886. Amy moved back to her parents’ house in Bloomsbury and published poetry, short stories and articles. After Oscar Wilde read a short story of hers in 1887 he declared that it had ‘a touch of genius’ and commissioned more work from her, including her article ‘Women and Club Life’ for Woman’s World, the magazine that he edited. In 1888, Amy’s first novel The Romance of a Shop was published, and she was among the 20 leading female authors invited to take part in the first Women’s Literary Dinner at Piccadilly in May 1889, an annual event until 1914.

Amy had achieved literary success, but not the emotional stability she craved, and just over three months later she took her own life, aged 27. Her last poetry collection, A London Plane-Tree and Other Verse, was published soon after she died, and in January 1890 Ellen Darwin reviewed it for the Cambridge Review. Although this poetry’s range is narrow, Ellen writes, its power comes from ‘the personal struggle for life and joy continually beaten back’, and she compares Amy Levy’s poetry to that of Emily Bronte:

‘It is as different as their natures were different, but it has this one thing in common – it was written with the heart’s blood.’

Perhaps Ellen knew better than anyone Amy’s ‘eager vital temperament’, and her constant, heroic struggle to live under the shadow of depression.

Sources: My thanks to Anne Thomson and Newnham College for permission to reproduce Ellen Darwin’s photograph (Newnham PH/10/4 Chrystal Album no.2), and for access to the archives. For more on Amy Levy, see Eleanor Fitzsimons’s excellent Wilde’s Women: How Oscar Wilde Was Shaped by the Women He Knew (Duckworth Overlook, 2015) and blog article here. I also consulted Ellen’s letter to Ida Darwin at the Cambridge University Library (Add.9368.1:3543); Linda Hunt Beckman, Amy Levy: her life and letters (Ohio, 2000); B.A. Clough, ‘In Memoriam-Ellen Wordsworth Darwin’ Newnham College Roll Newsletter 1903; Ellen Darwin, ‘The Poems of Amy Levy’, Cambridge Review, 23 Jan 1890; and ‘Amy Levy’ on the Victorian Web here. The Persephone Books website has more information on Amy and links to her books herePlease reference as follows: Ann Kennedy Smith, ‘Written with the heart’s blood: Ellen Darwin and Amy Levy'(October 14, 2016) https://akennedysmith.wordpress.com/(Accessed: day/month/year)

Fictional speculations

I recently reviewed two new books for the ‘Bookbuzz’ section of the book reviews website Shiny New Books here. Natasha Walter’s A Quiet Life and Gavin McCrea’s Mrs Engels are both novels that draw their inspiration from their authors’ research into the lives of real women, but re-imagine their stories in brilliant fictional ways.