tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47423700866726890782012-01-08T16:01:40.512-08:00A blog about writing, history, and creating fiction based on the lives of real people from the past.Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.comBlogger711100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-66213809145166702382011-09-07T15:31:00.000-07:002011-09-07T15:31:46.481-07:00

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Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0Washington, DC, USA38.8951118 -77.036365838.7962463 -77.1942943 38.993977300000005 -76.8784373tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-12928064144529871992011-07-29T14:11:00.000-07:002011-07-30T09:30:29.292-07:00

Reading a piece about the opera singer Maria Callas in The New York Times a few days ago has set me thinking about the use of names of real people in fiction. The Times piece discusses the Terence McNally play Master Class, currently on Broadway, which is based on a series of classes Callas gave for aspiring young opera singers almost 40 years ago. Regrettably, I haven't seen the current

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-77829325787463618322011-07-04T15:11:00.000-07:002011-07-04T15:11:02.445-07:00

Some months ago, when I was balking at rewriting the manuscript of my second novel for what felt like the 37th time, my agent accused me of suffering from "fear of success." To her mind, this was the only explanation for my reluctance to come up with a new plot and somehow figure out how to insert it into the existing framework of my novel. To my mind, though, the idea that I was afraid of

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-29715561613134940432011-06-22T15:04:00.000-07:002011-06-22T18:50:06.134-07:00

In my last post, I mentioned that I recently appeared on a panel on historical fiction at the AIW annual writers' conference in Washington, D.C., and that I had a couple of thoughts I didn't get a chance to voice at the session. My last post focused on the wisdom of changing facts--historical or geographic or otherwise--when writing fiction. Now for my second thought, which also relates to both

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-10662898248209782532011-06-14T14:03:00.000-07:002011-06-15T05:25:02.835-07:00

A few days ago I had the pleasure of appearing on a panel on historical fiction at the American Independent Writers Washington conference, held at The Writer's Center in Bethesda, MD. My co-panelists were Barbara Esstman, author of The Other Anna and Night Ride Home (and a former instructor of mine, years ago, in a novel-writing workshop at The Writer's Center); and C.M. Mayo, author of the

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-5470660108001078372011-05-19T13:27:00.000-07:002011-05-19T13:27:11.381-07:00

Just wanted to alert people to a post on another blog -- The CockleBur -- about the difficulty, and the importance, of uncovering the role that women played in the history of the American Revolution and the Early Republic. Full disclosure: the blog post contains a favorable mention of my novel, A More Obedient Wife -- and it was written by someone I know, Palma Strand. (Fuller disclosure: I

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-53339554088351209402011-05-17T11:20:00.000-07:002011-08-09T08:45:14.362-07:00

One of the topics of this blog is "writing," and one aspect of writing -- the most vexing, often -- is getting published. So herewith, my views on the current state of the publishing industry, admittedly offered from my own rather limited vantage point: You'd never know it from the state of most bookstores, cluttered floor to ceiling with books (this is, of course, assuming that you can still

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-33759821697420823322011-05-02T08:01:00.000-07:002011-05-02T08:01:51.992-07:00

"Osama dead!!!" my college-age daughter texted me last night at 11:18. "So I hear," I texted back. "Didn't get details." At 11:30 she texted me again: "waiting for Obama to speak..." I was already in bed. Each time my cell phone dinged with an incoming text message, I had to haul myself out of bed and travel to the end of the walk-in closet where my phone was recharging. "Going to sleep," I

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-17191847190318434732011-04-28T15:17:00.000-07:002011-04-28T15:24:08.036-07:00

Journalism, it is said, is in decline. And one proof being offered is a trend towards deciding which stories to cover based not on what editors think is important, but rather on what readers want to read--which is to be determined by what they're searching for online. The subject came up in a recent, and rather testy, interview with Arianna Huffington that appeared in the Sunday Times Magazine.

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-42220169547954707602011-04-13T15:36:00.000-07:002011-04-13T15:36:59.770-07:00

There's nothing like a trip to the Library of Congress to lift my spirits--and to induce me to ponder the upsides and downsides of modern technology. For those who have never experienced its delights, let me explain that the Library of Congress--and in particular the august Main Reading Room--is a shrine to that now almost obsolete format (or should I say "platform"?), The Book. The high-domed

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-44356972495362867512011-04-05T12:42:00.000-07:002011-04-05T12:44:31.914-07:00

I haven't written for a while, mostly because my 87-year-old mother, who suffers from dementia and cataracts, has broken her right leg for the second time in four months and is now recovering from major surgery. All of which has led me to think about (among other things) the indignities and unpleasantnesses of hospitalization, then and now. By "then" I mean, of course, about 200 years ago -- the

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-20564366965673146272011-03-24T08:56:00.000-07:002011-03-24T10:20:21.067-07:00

I recently had the thoroughly enjoyable experience of seeing the current Broadway production of Tom Stoppard's play Arcadia, and I would encourage everyone who can to go and do likewise.There are so many different things going on in this brilliant play that everyone who sees it is likely to latch onto something different (and I would highly recommend reading the play beforehand so that you have a

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-78902861810648535152011-03-24T08:46:00.000-07:002011-03-24T08:51:39.677-07:00

Note: This blog post was originally posted under the date February 17, 2011, which is the day I started writing it. I saved it as a draft that day and didn't finish and publish it until some weeks later. I assumed it would go up as a new post on the day I published it, but I just realized that it didn't -- it was buried among older posts. So I'm putting it up as a new post in case anyone missed

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-26133240135736596912011-03-09T07:53:00.001-08:002011-03-09T08:38:22.007-08:00

I'm at that juncture in writing a novel when I'd much rather write a blog post. (Some writers would probably point out that one is liable to meet with many such junctures in the course of writing a novel. They would be right.)No doubt it would be better to resist this impulse and just force myself to stare at my computer for the time I'm now spending on this blog post, but I thought if I

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-67124446527646559282011-03-06T12:51:00.000-08:002011-03-15T15:49:41.423-07:00

The other day I traveled to Philadelphia to see an exhibition that the Washington Post has described as "one of the hottest tickets on the East Coast."Hot it may be, but I have to admit that some of the artifacts I saw on display gave me the chills. The exhibit, which is at the Penn Museum, is called "Secrets of the Silk Road." And what's chilling about it is that it includes a number of

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-40923648538046869952011-02-27T14:49:00.000-08:002011-02-27T16:05:42.577-08:00

As the Academy Awards approach--they're now only a breathtaking few hours away--it's interesting to consider that four of the ten nominees for best picture are, as they like to say, "based on a true story."Or are they? Two of them--The Fighter and 127 Hours--are presumably pretty accurate, or at least pretty close to the way the central characters' remember the experience, since we see the real

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-75952660658681500822011-02-18T07:27:00.000-08:002011-02-18T16:27:13.153-08:00

In a stunningly ironic development, this morning's papers bring the news that the author of the best-selling novel The Help is being sued by a maid in Jackson, Mississippi, for allegedly using her name and physical description without permission.Why so ironic? As those who've read The Help know, its plot hinges on the publication of a book that is a thinly disguised portrait of a group of

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-21470834642851299872011-02-10T08:38:00.000-08:002011-02-10T15:18:51.061-08:00

I recently went to a fascinating lecture about the Caton sisters.Who, I hear you ask? Is that like the Kardashian sisters? Well, yes, kind of.The Caton sisters were beautiful and wealthy, and basically famous for being famous. They were, if you will, the celebutantes of their time. But--given that their time was the early 19th century--they were way more discreet. And their parents--unlike the

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-81463390850806297972011-02-05T15:48:00.000-08:002011-02-05T16:43:51.965-08:00

I've spent a good part of the last three days at the annual AWP Conference. AWP is an organization of writers and teachers of writing (the acronym supposedly stands for "Association of Writers & Writing Programs," in which case it should really be "AWWP," but never mind), and I had no idea there were so many writers in the United States. It was completely overwhelming. And exhilarating (look at

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-66162265324083626242011-02-02T09:12:00.000-08:002011-02-02T09:44:52.417-08:00

"I just didn't fall in love with it."So ran the bottom line of a recent rejection of a novel my agent is shopping around. I cringed: I was suddenly inundated with extremely unpleasant memories of the last time an agent sent out a novel of mine--when, as I recalled, this was the standard rejection line,usually preceded (as this one was) with a few moderately flattering comments about my

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-4862464761214877852011-01-29T07:01:00.000-08:002011-01-29T07:24:07.520-08:00

I actually had another blog topic in mind, but I just read Gail Collins' op-ed on Michele Bachmann in today's New York Times, and I couldn't resist saying a few words, since--a rare occurrence in the pages of the Times, and the annals of political history--a historical novel figures in it prominently.It seems that Michele Bachmann's turn to the right started when she was in college and she read

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-15060076464433114702011-01-24T14:01:00.000-08:002011-01-24T14:46:54.837-08:00

There are no dearth of commentators who are taking a crack at the new book by Amy Chua, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. But so far, at least, I haven't seen any who have really dealt with it from a late-18th-century perspective.I should say, first, that I'm about a third of the way into the book, and so far, I don't think Chua is quite the child-abusing witch that others have made her out to be.

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-29089291374397020962011-01-17T13:42:00.001-08:002011-01-17T14:52:51.169-08:00

Do the protagonists of novels always have to be sympathetic?Certainly there are examples in literature of protagonists who are hard to like, sometimes even repellent. Just look at Lolita: Humbert Humbert isn't anyone's idea of warm and fuzzy. And while Olive Kitteredge--the central figure in the eponymous Pulitzer-Prize-winning collection of stories--is no child molester, she's pretty

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-50907481202405180492011-01-13T08:13:00.000-08:002011-01-13T09:43:41.853-08:00

One of the problems with writing fiction based on real historical figures is that you have to deal with reality--their reality, which often doesn't come neatly packaged to correspond to our own. In other words, real people, especially real people who lived a long time ago, don't always come equipped with opinions and sentiments that we in the 21st century can easily relate to.With my first novel,

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-3714568065259177822011-01-09T14:52:00.002-08:002011-01-09T16:13:28.959-08:00

It used to be that when a book was published, the text was more or less set in stone. Authors might fiddle with their words or punctuation to their hearts' content (or perhaps their editors' content) before publication; but once the book came out, it was a fixed text. So when we talk about Moby Dick or Pride and Prejudice or Great Expectations--name your classic--we're all talking about the

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-61255354943727925362011-01-04T13:35:00.000-08:002011-01-08T13:39:39.065-08:00

Well, once more into the fray, after a rather lengthy absence. My explanation is that I've been paralyzed in a continuing limbo, hovering between two writing projects, one of which is historical and the other not. But I've decided that's no excuse not to continue posting, if I can think of something to say that's relevant to the ostensible themes of this blog -- history, fiction, and the

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-18683270200000037862010-09-24T17:35:00.000-07:002010-09-29T09:41:05.797-07:00

I realize there's been something of a gap between my last post and this, and that I may have left my readers (if any there be) hanging. Plus, anyone who has gone looking for my article about Eliza Anderson in the summer issue of Maryland Historical Magazine will have been disappointed: despite the fact that it is no longer summer, the summer issue is still not out. (Of course, given that the

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-86802308003189684802010-08-18T14:30:00.000-07:002010-08-18T15:35:19.662-07:00

In my last post, I hinted that in 1807 Eliza Anderson may have been up to something--something that led observers to speculate that her translation of the scandalous novel Clara d'Albe was actually autobiographical. (Of course, as Eliza pointed out, if it was a translation, how could it be autobiographical?)At some point in late 1806 or 1807, Eliza met a French artist and architect living in

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-79566287688671078232010-08-10T13:11:00.000-07:002010-08-10T14:54:08.722-07:00

Let's say you're the editor of a magazine in Baltimore in 1807. Now, to complicate things a bit, let's say you're a woman--which is to say you've taken on a position that perhaps no other woman in the United States has assumed before (editing a magazine, that is), and you've noticed you've already come in for some abuse on that score. And let's say you've recently been criticized for--among other

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-32454974245525687382010-07-24T12:25:00.000-07:002010-07-24T13:44:20.863-07:00

As I mentioned in my last post, Eliza's mockery of poor Mr. Webster--the singer whose grimaces had given him the appearance of someone "labouring under the operation of a strong Emetic"--was to come back to haunt her.Actually, it was some renewed mockery that started the trouble. In October--some months after his performance at Mr. Nenninger's concert--Mr. Webster had the temerity to perform

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-59154253800893471252010-07-05T08:48:00.000-07:002010-07-05T10:49:45.486-07:00

In her arts criticism for the magazine she edited in Baltimore in 1807--the Observer--Eliza Anderson frequently sounded two themes: the superior taste and appreciation for the arts exhibited in Europe, and the inferiority of homegrown, often amateur, artists. Neither of these themes enhanced her popularity with her fellow Baltimoreans.In a review of a concert published in the Observer in early

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-63127538964424187622010-06-24T12:54:00.000-07:002010-06-24T14:19:35.451-07:00

As I mentioned in my last post, one reason Eliza Anderson undertook the editorship of a weekly publication in Baltimore was to raise the level of culture in her hometown, which she appears to have considered a backwater of tackiness and bad taste. (I'm not even going to speculate on what she would think of John Waters!)So here we have one of those paradoxes that history often presents us with: On

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-6588657144714748322010-06-09T14:42:00.000-07:002010-06-09T15:44:37.670-07:00

Should any reader of this blog want to read the story of Eliza Anderson and "The Observer" in a less staccato--and more scholarly--format, I'd like to announce that an article I wrote about her will be published in the Summer 2010 issue of Maryland Historical Magazine, a publication of the Maryland Historical Society. Alas, while back issues are online, current issues are available online only to

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-415576477425843892010-05-19T08:31:00.000-07:002010-05-19T09:37:27.452-07:00

Is there any headier experience than running your own publication when you're still in your twenties? Perhaps it isn't everyone's cup of tea, but for those of us bitten by the journalism bug, it may well be the best time of our lives. And having been on both ends of the journalism transaction--writer and editor--I know that it's way more fun to be in the driver's seat than to be the hitch-hiker

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-62472322537211809062010-04-25T13:25:00.000-07:002010-04-25T14:00:42.858-07:00

The January 31, 1807 issue of the Observer--the one that carried Benjamin Bickerstaff's resignation and the riposte of the editor, Eliza Anderson--was also the first one to introduce the name "Beatrice Ironside." Like Benjamin Bickerstaff, this was a pseudonym--in this case, a pseudonym for Anderson herself. But in the January 31 issue, it appeared only as a name under the masthead, which for the

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-45464202830838065802010-04-07T15:07:00.000-07:002010-04-07T15:40:55.235-07:00

When I first came across the fact that Eliza Anderson had founded and edited a magazine at the age of 26 in 1807, I thought: hmmm, that seems unusual. But at that point I didn't realize how unusual it really was.I started doing some research into the history of women editors and journalists, and I was startled to discover that (a) nobody knew about Eliza Anderson, and (b) the secondary sources

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-89363752601442971082010-03-17T14:13:00.000-07:002010-03-17T14:47:03.865-07:00

It has been suggested by an astute reader of this blog that Eliza Anderson, confronted with Benjamin Bickerstaff's revelation in the pages of the Observer that its editor (Eliza herself) was a "she," could simply have edited out the indiscreet pronoun.Indeed, she could have -- and one might have expected her to, given the effort to conceal her gender in the first few issues. But in fact, Anderson

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-2916040495069784112010-03-09T17:24:00.000-08:002010-03-09T17:59:15.409-08:00

It was a pretty extraordinary thing for a woman to found and edit a magazine in 1807. Hence, I suppose, the subterfuge masking the true sex of the editor of the Observer in its very early days. Benjamin Latrobe, who clearly knew he was writing for the magazine edited by "Mrs. Anderson," nevertheless addressed the editor as "my dear Sir." And a columnist known to us by the pseudonym "Benjamin

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-75311035287781339012010-02-21T14:48:00.000-08:002010-02-21T15:20:21.803-08:00

So how did Baltimore react to this news of a female editor in 1806, at a time when such a thing was generally unheard of?Initially, at least--as far as can be determined--there wasn't much of a reaction at all. But in the same editorial quoted in the previous post, the new female editor (later female editors would embrace the term "editress," but this one didn't) announced that there would soon

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-86355502654428396582010-02-15T13:53:00.000-08:002010-02-16T14:39:37.818-08:00

So, what of this early 19th-century magazine, the Companion? This much we know: It was founded in Baltimore towards the end of 1804 and continued to publish until October 1806--a fairly long run for a "literary miscellany" of the time (the Companion's full title was The Companion and Weekly Miscellany). Apparently these journals would often spring up and then vanish a few weeks or months later.In

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-46602337521105466602010-02-09T12:50:00.001-08:002010-02-09T14:04:01.933-08:00

As I sit here anticipating a winter storm--the second in a week--that may knock out power, I feel a particular kinship with the people of the early 19th century who I'm writing about here. Imagine a world with no electricity, no internet, no central heating, no cable TV ... Sounds a lot like the world they inhabited. At least we'll still have indoor plumbing. And even if I'm reduced to writing

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-55443405391154860132010-02-03T12:58:00.000-08:002010-02-09T12:44:24.641-08:00

So much for Eliza's brother Thomas. What of her father, Dr. John Crawford? Alas, poor Crawford. Like his daughter, he suffered for being ahead of his time.Crawford's learning went beyond his medical expertise. According to the eulogist at his funeral, he was well read, conversant in French and German, and well acquainted with Latin and Greek. But medicine was his profession and his primary

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-55699978847715973382010-02-02T14:08:00.001-08:002010-02-06T14:45:50.678-08:00

Before we turn to Eliza's next adventure, let's pause to examine the rest of her family--which will allow me to unburden myself of some information I've come across only in the last week or so.As I mentioned, Eliza--after a disastrous early marriage that effectively left her the single parent of an infant daughter--lived with her father, Dr. John Crawford, in Baltimore. What I've only just

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-80109824747847156502010-01-27T15:10:00.000-08:002010-01-27T15:41:59.563-08:00

Eliza, at least, was undoubtedly delighted to arrive back home safely after her adventures with Betsy in Europe, and to be reunited with her father and her little girl.Betsy was presumably bitterly disappointed that her mission had failed: she now had an infant son--a putative heir to the Bonaparte throne--but her husband was missing in action. She didn't know yet whether Napoleon would be

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-29364606279012947802010-01-22T18:36:00.000-08:002010-01-22T19:13:06.416-08:00

Sorry if I've left anyone hanging, but my Internet was out for a few days (not the whole explanation, but I'm not above resorting to it as an excuse).In any event, after Betsy announced that "Mrs. Anderson" would be departing from England while the rest of the party wintered in London, there was an abrupt reversal. Betsy wrote to her father the next day, rather tersely, "Our plans are changed

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-57717867738879514872010-01-06T11:28:00.000-08:002010-01-06T12:12:23.079-08:00

So Betsy and Eliza settled in--first at a London hotel and then in some sort of rented quarters in the London suburb of Camberwell--to await (a) word from the errant Jerome, and (b) the birth of Betsy's baby.The second of these came sooner than the first. On July 7, 1805, Jerome Napoleon Bonaparte arrived in the world, with his birth certificate attested by a number of dignitaries, including the

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-34264459924565114942009-12-30T11:01:00.000-08:002009-12-30T11:41:42.072-08:00

On May 18, 1805, the ship Erin--with Betsy Bonaparte and the rest of her party aboard--dropped anchor off the coast of Dover and apparently sent someone ashore to procure passports. In a sign of how slowly news traveled in the early 19th century, that same day the London Morning Courier reported--in an item dated "Madrid, April 10"--that Betsy had just embarked from Lisbon on her way to

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-68389011135101912272009-12-28T15:00:00.000-08:002009-12-28T15:38:23.814-08:00

It was now clear to Betsy Bonaparte and her traveling companions--which included her friend Eliza Anderson--that, despite the fact that Betsy was pregnant with his niece or nephew, Napoleon wasn't going to let them land in any port that he controlled. That would include Amsterdam, where they were currently moored, under armed guard. The same day that the ship Erin finally received fresh

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-88077638848967602512009-12-24T14:00:00.000-08:002009-12-24T14:47:06.220-08:00

So, back to Betsy and Eliza and their party, hovering near the mouth of the Amsterdam harbor in May of 1805...According to the captain of the ship, Stephenson (whose journal is transcribed in a 1953 article in Maryland Historical Magazine by Dorthy Quynn and Frank White), a few hours after the incident with the confused pilot, the Erin was forcibly put under guard between two armed warships. And,

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-51740300923560985702009-12-19T11:37:00.000-08:002009-12-19T12:50:52.769-08:00

After the elderly pilot scampered off into the Amsterdam harbor--fearing for his life because he had almost disobeyed Napoleon's orders to prevent the ship Erin from landing--Betsy Bonaparte and her little traveling party (including her friend Eliza Anderson) were somewhat demoralized, to say the least. When the circumstances were explained to Betsy, the ship's captain said, "they afflicted her

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-4145315104488854442009-12-15T08:15:00.000-08:002009-12-15T08:49:46.770-08:00

So: On April 9, 1805, Jerome Bonaparte went off to see his brother Napoleon, who was then in Northern Italy, leaving his wife Betsy and her companion Eliza Anderson behind in Lisbon. "Mon mari est parti," Betsy wrote in her notebook, adopting the language of what she hoped would soon become her adoptive country.At this point Betsy was 5 or 6 months pregnant. Originally the young couple may have

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-48799153501855987352009-12-13T11:49:00.001-08:002009-12-13T12:22:18.916-08:00

I was regaling friends at a dinner party last night with tales of Betsy and Eliza -- and it reminded me that I've left my readers (whoever you may be) hanging. So, what kinds of adventures did Eliza encounter when she sailed across the Atlantic with Jerome and Betsy Bonaparte?They left Baltimore in a merchant ship called the Erin, apparently chartered by Betsy's wealthy father. As I've mentioned,

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-71657732797764460232009-12-05T14:29:00.000-08:002009-12-05T15:05:49.827-08:00

So, as I was saying, Betsy and her husband Jerome Bonaparte decided to try once more to sail from Baltimore to Europe to try to convince Jerome's brother--the Emperor Napoleon--to recognize the validity of their marriage.On at least one of the previous abortive attempts at crossing the Atlantic--the one that ended in a shipwreck--Betsy had brought along an unmarried female relative of hers, Nancy

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-84730000497669429932009-11-27T08:32:00.000-08:002009-11-27T09:14:13.243-08:00

And so, to pick up where I left off -- alas, some weeks ago now -- I decided to try to find out more about this woman Eliza Anderson, the author of these three delightful and intriguing letters to Betsy Bonaparte in 1808. Nothing much had been written about her in recent times, but the magazine of the Maryland Historical Society had published three articles about her: one in 1934, one in 1941,

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-46687400045642444392009-11-09T13:32:00.001-08:002009-11-27T08:32:22.249-08:00

Okay, I think it's time to say a few more words about Eliza Anderson Godefroy, the woman I mentioned a few blog posts back.I stumbled across her while researching what I thought was going to be a historical novel about a woman named Betsy Bonaparte, a Baltimore heiress who married Napoleon Bonaparte's youngest brother, Jerome, in 1803 (she was 18, he was 19). Betsy's correspondence and papers are

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-42192257708270579162009-11-04T08:05:00.001-08:002009-11-04T08:43:52.176-08:00

Sometimes ignorance is, if not bliss, at least a state that makes it more likely you'll engage in that willing suspension of disbelief that is so crucial to immersion in someone else's imagination.Last night I saw the movie Bright Star, which is set in the 1820s and based on the romance between John Keats and, literally, the girl next door, a young woman named Fanny Brawne. (I realize my previous

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-85210380626293662422009-11-02T08:28:00.000-08:002009-11-11T14:24:08.171-08:00

Watching the movie The Soloist this weekend put me in mind of an encounter I had recently, one that continues to haunt me.The Soloist -- which I highly recommend, by the way -- is a true story about the relationship between a journalist, Steve Lopez, and a homeless man, Nathaniel Ayers. When Ayers, who is playing a two-stringed violin on the street and is pretty obviously schizophrenic, mentions

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-90861682456816240192009-10-29T14:00:00.001-07:002009-10-29T14:13:42.011-07:00

So, faithful readers ("reader"? anyone?) are dying to know: who IS the historically significant, hitherto unknown woman I mentioned in my last post? Actually, really faithful readers will find the revelation to be old news, since I've mentioned her before in this space.Her name was Eliza Anderson -- or, to be more complete, Eliza Crawford Anderson Godefroy, and she lived from 1780 to 1839. That

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-13940715960354520232009-10-28T15:06:00.001-07:002009-10-28T15:23:43.803-07:00

Once again, it's been quite a while since my last post -- and every once in a while I get a reminder that someone is actually reading this blog, or trying to! At which point I feel guilty for not providing them with fresh material. So here goes ... and, as I've been advised by more experienced bloggers, I'll try to keep it light and breezy. And short.So, what have I been doing since I last posted

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-74470531758556233112009-08-13T14:19:00.000-07:002009-08-13T14:30:20.432-07:00

Sometimes life throws you better plot twists than fiction.The other day I saw the new movie "Julie & Julia," which is about (among other things) writing and the satisfaction of having your writing efforts acknowledged. As most people probably know by now, it’s the dual story of Julia Child, the woman who brought French cuisine to a meat-loaf-and-jello-mold America in the early sixties, and Julie

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-21909305966494000122009-08-13T10:08:00.000-07:002009-08-13T10:32:04.562-07:00

Anyone who's keeping track may notice a gap of several months between my last blog post and this one. I'd like to say it's only because I've been so busy writing a novel these last few months, but that would only be partly true. Given that this blog is ostensibly devoted to the interchange between history and fiction, and given that the novel I've been working is distinctly non-historical, I

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-11074915500640048822009-05-25T10:12:00.000-07:002009-05-25T10:18:52.143-07:00

Some time ago a friend told me about something called National Novel Writing Month. The idea is that participants set aside one month–the month of November–and try to crank out a 175-page novel.My reaction was: you’ve got to be kidding. It took me eight years to write my first novel, a historical one. I’ve been researching and writing my second for at least a year and a half, and I’ve only got

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-22292772309230074072009-04-30T18:10:00.000-07:002009-04-30T18:21:54.112-07:00

There are some lives that don’t need to be turned into historical fiction because they already read like a novel, if not a movie. And there are some historical figures that are alluring to us because they seem ... well, so modern.Mary Wollstonecraft, the author of a Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792), is a case in point. She was well ahead of her time, advocating things that don’t seem so

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-59752776122358570522009-04-13T17:52:00.000-07:002009-04-14T14:29:08.384-07:00

I’m a big fan of Jill Lepore’s articles for The New Yorker, and I was particularly intrigued by one she wrote back in March 2008, called "Just the Facts, Ma’am." Lepore, who is a professor of history at Harvard, made a number of points that echoed my own thoughts, but what really struck me was her observation that fiction "can do what history doesn’t but should: it can tell the story of ordinary

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-83133930378405159992009-03-30T14:58:00.000-07:002009-03-30T15:08:57.916-07:00

When I stumbled across one of the two main characters in the novel I’m currently working on–Betsy Patterson Bonaparte–at an exhibit of Gilbert Stuart portraits some years back, I was intrigued. Here was a clearly fascinating historical character languishing in obscurity.Yes, her beauty and her marriage to Napoleon’s youngest brother in 1803 had catapulted her to celebrity status in the 19th

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-65261030381312593772009-03-18T13:31:00.000-07:002009-03-24T14:27:36.656-07:00

The novel I’m currently working on has led me to contemplate the phenomenon of celebrity: one of my characters, Betsy Bonaparte, was catapulted into the public eye after her marriage to Napoleon’s youngest brother in 1803. In a way, she was the Paris Hilton of the early 19th century: young, beautiful, fabulously wealthy, and famous for being famous. (She also had a formidable intellect, but that’

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-2911864329868505102009-03-04T18:56:00.000-08:002009-03-04T19:36:42.171-08:00

"People don't write letters any more!" When I go around speaking about my novel, A More Obedient Wife -- which is based on letters written in the 18th century -- I almost inevitably hear this comment. E-mail, cell phones, Facebook: they've all replaced good old-fashioned letter-writing, goes the lament.I'm not saying people are wrong about this (although there's something to be said for email,

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-45865416645602085672009-03-02T12:39:00.000-08:002009-03-02T13:42:22.044-08:00

I've noticed that bloggers--and others who have a presence on the Internet--often go by pseudonyms. Sometimes they're clever (a friend of mine who started a blog on English usage chose the moniker "Kitty Literate"). Sometimes they're just puzzling to the uninitiated (several people have asked me why my son blogs as "Vicente" -- it's a long story). And, as with so many things, this phenomenon puts

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-75627910441135965042009-02-17T13:47:00.000-08:002009-02-17T14:47:53.799-08:00

A couple of nights ago I went to see the movie Revolutionary Road, which was both excellent and thought-provoking. And one of the thoughts it provoked was how amazingly persistent the allure of Paris has been for Americans through the years.The movie (and the book by Richard Yates on which it's based) centers on Frank and April Wheeler, a couple in 1950s suburbia who recall their youthful

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-72700190497990884032009-02-07T09:03:00.000-08:002009-02-07T09:20:35.902-08:00

After a recent light snowfall here in Washington–light, at least, by Chicago standards–our new President was heard to marvel that his daughters’ school (which is also my daughter’s school) was closed. "For what?" he asked. "Some ice?" Welcome to Washington, Mr. President. But would you believe there was a time when snow actually improved the quality of the roads around here?That would have been

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4742370086672689078.post-48262316987375870402009-02-01T11:09:00.000-08:002009-02-01T12:09:33.238-08:00

I spend a good deal of my time these days in the early 19th century (at the moment I'm immersed in the spring of 1804), so it feels a little weird to be dipping my toe into the very 21st century arena of the blogosphere. Let's just say it's a bit of a stretch. But I've been posting what I've called a "blog" on my website for the last year or so, and I've found that I've enjoyed it. And others

Natalie Wexlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03062775931106570850noreply@blogger.com7