The Two Selves:
From early on, Maud wrote of feeling like an outsider at school and at home. She was raised by her grandparents, who having already raised their children, were not interested in indulging a spirited, curious, social child. At school, where she was often at the top of her class, she felt separate from her classmates intellectually. Though loved by her grandparents and extended family, they found her book love and imagination both strange and obsessive. As a result, Maud learned to keep her true nature largely to herself. There are certainly parallels between her life and her characters, Anne and Emily, to be sure.
I have grown years older in this past month. Grief and worry and heartbreak have done their work thoroughly. Sometimes I ask myself if the pale, sad-eyed woman I see in my glass can really be the merry girl of olden days or if she be some altogether new creature, born of sorrow and baptized of suffering, who is the sister and companion of regret and hopeless longing.
Before taking her third school (1897-1898), Maud became engaged to Edwin Simpson, a decision she immediately regretted that threw her into months of turmoil. At the same time she started a secret relationship with her landlord’s son, Herman Leard. This portion of her life was a turning point, where her two selves became — and continued — to be more separate than they ever had been before.
The pressure she felt, both real and (possibly) imagined, to keep a calm external life continued to dog her for the rest of her life. In the years she cared for her grandmother, she was often lonely, stifled by the old woman’s set habits (which included heating only the kitchen through terrible winters), and overwhelmed by depression that often abated in warmer months but could attack at any time without any warning.
It was difficult for me to read of her depression this time through, knowing things would only become darker. As she corresponded with her fiance and future husband, Ewan MacDonald, she was distressed to read of his own mental and emotional anguish, something that played a huge role in their future marriage and his future calling as a minister.
The Journal:
Maud often described her journal as a place to record and make sense of things (a place to “write it out”) and a “grumble book” — somewhere she could honestly, privately share her frustrations and woe. As an occasional journaler, I can relate to both of these and often wonder, as Maud sometimes expressed, of the skewed picture such a journal paints. How much of the true person can be known when a journal is used this way?
As readers will discover in future volumes, Maud made considerable effort to re-copy and organize older entries, transferring all volumes into the same standard blank books she was to keep for the rest of her life. While there is the possibility cuts were made in the process, she let the honest, the unflattering, the heartbreaking, the sometimes unkind entries stand. She allowed, I think, as much honestly into her records as a person can bring.
Things to consider as we continue reading volumes II-V:
- At what point did Maud decide she was writing for an audience and not just herself?
- Did she knowingly edit as she wrote, softening or omitting things?
- How much honesty and transparency is a person capable of in recording a life?
- In regard to her depression: do you think there were ways she could have asked for help with those she trusted or was the taboo of mental illness too strong?
- Would her books have changed if her life were different?
I just started Volume II…I think there’s a striking difference from the very beginning….
I can’t say how much I appreciate the insights into her depression that her journals give. I’ve struggled occasionally with depression myself (pregnancy hormones aren’t always very good to me), but mostly I am grateful for the chance to understand a little better some of my very good friends and close family members who have dealt with it and will deal with it all their lives. It’s heartbreaking to see how much Maud tried to handle herself, especially because it reminds me of the times when I would have jumped at the opportunity to help my friends if they had told me what they were going through. I still feel guilty at not being there for them like I should have been…
I haven’t started volume ii yet, but I remember feeling the same, Faith. This is the volume that covers WWI, correct? I remember the agony she felt as a result of the war, the deep heartache and distress at the magnitude of it all.
I lived with depression for a number of years and know our current culture is much more understanding of mental illness (though there are certainly strides yet to be made). Maud had so many things stacked against her: the local doctor at the end of volume one who had a hard time keeping patients’ ailments to himself, an unsupportive housemate in her grandmother, and the happy books she produced (such a contrast to her anguish — I would think if she tried to reach out, she might have a hard time finding support). Then later, as a pastor’s wife, she had to hide her own pain and her husband’s. I can say nowadays there is more transparency with the pastorate: ideally those in need can find safe people to share with — and yet. There are strides that can be made in this respect, too. I both understand her situation and feel for her.
What is you take on accurately capturing a life through a journal?
That’s a good question, and one I thought about frequently reading the first volume. I remember the first time I read it I took Maud’s word for everything, but this time–with the knowledge of what was to come, I realized Maud was a rather unreliable narrator…or, rather, an incomplete narrator.
I found my answer in the beginning of Volume II, when Maud looks back at her previous entries and actually says how unbalanced they were: that the early ones tend to focus on all the “gadding about” and don’t accurately reveal the introspective, studious child she was; whereas the later ones focus on all the “grumbling” that she couldn’t release anywhere else, and thus fail to show much of the joy she had during those times. I feel like Volume II is giving me a better picture, although I still have questions from time to time.
And it’s interesting for me to think about, since I’m trying to be better at journaling myself, for myself but also for my family in the future. I am quite certain they will never be published, thank goodness! But isn’t that interesting, too? Even fairly early on you get the idea that Maud knew others would find her journals interesting, and I do think she kept that in mind as she wrote.
Um…I think I had better stop. I can get really long-winded about things which excite me!
I don’t think it’s fully possible through journaling for a person to present a true picture of themselves. There will be intentional or unintentional filters used. The timing or purpose of recording an event (“writing it out” and “grumble book” entries are types that give us specific but not whole glimpses of a person) will show limitations, biases, and the like. That said, I am impressed by the the totality of things Maud chose to include, especially the aspects of her world that weren’t so pretty. This is a true attempt at recording a life by letting it all “stand”, as she says. It’s fascinating and commendable.
By the way, I feel this way about memoir and autobiography, and I wonder about it with biography (not to say I don’t enjoy these genres. I’m just not sure how able anyone is to truly capture a life without letting other things influence or limit the telling).
It is so hard to journal accurately. In general, each entry captures only a mood. And these fluctuate so much. There is always quite a bit more going on besides what is written. And I sympathize with the inaccurate picture she feels her journals paint. I had seasons in which I only wrote when I was supremely happy. That’s not a very accurate overall picture either! In the end, I’m not sure I care. Although I always consider posterity, journal-writing for me is more about the moment. It’s such a good way to center.
I like this idea abou it being about the moment. Well said and true.