49: Gertrude Stein

I am working my way through Gertrude Stein's The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas. Allow me to explain the title for a start: Stein wrote the novel to talk about (1) herself and (2) her time in Paris with lots of famous friends; she used her long-time partner, Toklas, as the narrator.

There are things that I love about Stein's work. Her influence on modernism and her elimination of commas. Her discussion of language and how these thoughts exhibit themselves in the text.

There are things that I cannot get over, that appear frequently in The Autobio of Alice. Her love of herself. Her lists of famous friends. Her life in Paris that I can't have. Okay, I'm digressing and getting a bit bitter.

There are times when Stein's poetry bleed into her prose, and you find yourself wondering What would it be like if, for one day, you heard these words in your head; you felt these thoughts come from your pen onto paper? My favorite example is on page 237 (Modern Library's edition), when she is discussing the people they gave rides during WWI.

It was not only soldiers, a chauffeur would get off the seat of a private car in the place Vendôme and crank Gertrude Stein's old ford for her. Gertrude Stein said that the others looked so efficient, of course nobody would think of doing anything for themselves. Now as for herself she was not efficient, she was good humored, she was democratic, one person was as good as another, and she knew what she wanted done. ...The important thing, she insists, is that you must have deep down as the deepest thing in you a sense of equality.

I will admit, at times I am tired. At times I make it through four pages before the book falls to my lap and I wake up an hour later.

I will admit that I am not yet, at page 250 of 324, sure how I am supposed to feel about the woman who knew long before others, and told them so, that she was a genius. I am not yet sure if I am meant to envy or understand or love or despise the Gertrude Stein so loved by our narrator.

But here's the thing. I am learning much more than expected. This is to be expected with bio/autobio writing. As Joe and I start planning our time in Paris, I'll be referencing The Autobio of Alice to find the hauntings of the Lost Generation. I'll be referencing it when I think of painters, of the rue de Fleurus where they visited and Stein lived, of WWI and the American war effort.

I recommend the oeuvre with its scattered French. I would recommend it on its staying power alone. If you have any interest in the modernist movement of literature or the writers of WWI & WWII or Paris or painting or interesting play with (and at times over-use of) language, The Autobio of Alice will stay with you long after you've stopped being tired and started looking forward to the next page turn, long after you've closed the book and returned it to the bookshelf--indeed, I would say, long after you've gone to and returned from Paris.