An eerie quality

*Non-fiction

I, Mary MacLane

by Mary MACLANE (1881 - 1929)

Described as "the first blogger", Mary MacLane lived a tortured life, ahead of her time. Her beloved father died when she was a young child, and at the age of 8, her stepfather moved the family from its home in Winnipeg, Canada to Montana in the United States, where young Mary had a hard time making friends. Her sensational autobiographical style of writing was considered scandalous, as she told of her bohemian lifestyle, feminist politics and open bisexuality. Although popular during her lifetime, among a sensation-seeking public, and being credited with influencing such writers as Scott Fitzgerald and Edith Wharton, her work lost its popularity after her death at the age of 48. - Summary by Lynne Thompson

Listen next episodes of I, Mary MacLane:
A comfortably vicious person , A damned spider , A dark bright fierce fire , A deathly pathos , A familiar sharp twist , A fascinating creature , A fluttering-moth wish , A helliad , A life-long lonely word , A mountebank’s cloak , A prayer-feeling , A profoundly delicious idea , A right shape and size , A thousand kisses , A white liner , A wild mare , A working diaphragm , An ancient witch-light , Bastard lacy valentines , Beneficent bedlam , Black-browed Wednesdays , By the blood of dead Americans , Eye when I mean tooth , Food and fire , God compensates me , God’s kindly caprice , Ice-water, corrosive acid and human breath , In my black dress and my still room , Instinct—a ‘first law’ , Just beneath my skin , Knitting or plaiting straw , Late afternoon , Loose twos , Lot’s wife , My damns , My echoing footsteps , No resonance , Not quite voilà-tout , Rhythm , Slyly garbling and cross-purposing , Stickily mad , Sweet fine sweatings of blood , Swift go my days , The conscious analyst , The edge of mist-and-silver , The gray-purple , The mist , The necklace , The sleep of the dead , The strange braveness , The subdivided cell , Their little shoes , Their voices , To express me , To God, care of the whistling winds , To wander and hang and float about , Twenty inches of ajarness