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James Tiptree, Jr.: The Double Life of Alice B. Sheldon

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I probably shouldn't have done any driving for a day or two after reading Julie Phillips' biography of James Tiptree, Jr./Alice Sheldon. I was too distracted with thoughts of this life, this complicated amazing person, that had suddenly elbowed itself into my own. I'll never again be able to tell that thrilling, easy story that I've told way too often -- of the woman who wrote under a man's pseudonym and who, when she decided to write under a woman's name, couldn't get published without Tiptree's recommendation. That story now feels like the gloss it is, and so much less interesting that the real one. It's a holographic biography -- At times I felt like I could freeze the action. put down the book, and walk all around this 3-dimensional, fully fleshed out person. Ali revealed slices of herself to most people, seldom letting them see more than the single persona; she was constantly disguising herself, always performing, even for herself. Readers of Julie's biography are privileged to a much wider view: sadly, a view Ali never may never have allowed herself. The room had been lit up and the photo had become a hologram, the voice had become many voices.

This book is a delight. I would go so far as to say it is the best biography I have ever read (not that I've read a great number). Philips has presented an exhaustive but not exhausting account of the life of Alice B. Sheldon, aka James Tiptree Jr., aka Racconna Sheldon. This is a comprehensive work at over 400 pages of smallish print. One gets the feeling that Philips has done the job almost to perfection.

What makes this book so amazing? Firstly, the subject, Alice Sheldon, is fascinating. This is much more than a biography of a science fiction writer (although it is that too); it is a chronicle of a difficult and ultimately tragic life. It would be hard to read this book and not feel for Sheldon, who 'lived inside her body as though inside an alien artifact.' Sheldon's lack of comfort in her own body is palpable in these pages. One can sense her dis-ease. Philips presents this difficult material sympathetically, correctly asserting that Sheldon's life is indicative of the changing landscape of sexual politics in twentieth century America.

The various sections of Sheldon's life are interesting in themselves. For example, the chapters on Africa are fascinating, as is the material on Sheldon's mother, Mary Hastings Bradley (who I'd never heard of, although she was a famous writer in her day). 'Alli's' life is overshadowed by that of her successful mother, and the older woman's presence hangs over these pages. By the time we finally get to Sheldon's own writing career, more than half the book (and half her life) is over. This enables us to see the ephemeral figure of 'James Tiptree Jr.' in the context in which he was concieved.

One funny thing about this book is that Tiptree's writing career is made to seem almost like an afterthought, or a not-entirely successful experiment. This is strange because most readers of this book will come to it thinking of Tiptree as one of the greatest writers in SF history (which 'he' is). But although Tiptree garnered the Hugos and Nebulas in quick time, none of it was much comfort to Sheldon. Here, again, one can sense Sheldon's dissatisfaction with her creations. A slight criticism of this book, in my mind, is that Philips spends little time addressing the themes and ideas in the stories themselves. It is almost as though the author of the biography does not quite appreciate the value of the stories to the extent that many of Tiptree's readers do. Stories like 'A Momentary Taste of Being' and 'Her Smoke Rose Up Forever' are surely some of the greatest in the English language.

It may be that in not coming from a SF background, Philips sees Tiptree's writing in the context that Sheldon herself may have seen it in. OK I am speculating, but Sheldon was clearly not content with having written these fabulous stories. As Philips makes clear, Sheldon 'meant it' when she wrote about death again and again. The ending to this book, which deals with the circumstances of Sheldon's murder of her husband 'Ting' and then her suicide, is simply shocking. Not knowing the details of Sheldon's death in advance, I was floored by this ending. This make me realise that while a reader such as myself finds enlightenment (or even redemption) in Tiptree's fiction, Sheldon herself drew little comfort from it.

This is an essential book, not only for those interested in Tiptree's SF career, but also for anyone interested in twentieth century history. It is useful especially in regard to the history of the so-called 'sexual revolution,' which came a few decades late for Alice B. Sheldon.

I read a few stories by James Tiptree Jr., but I never went out of my way to do so. If you're wondering how much you'd get out of reading this biography if, like me, you didn't know enough to be a fan... don't worry. The book is fascinating enough on its own.

Julie Phillips did a remarkably good job of collecting the details of Alice Sheldon's life, and in presenting them in a way that brought this woman to life. Ali was interesting in her own right: independent (yet overwhelmed by her accomplished mother), creative and artistic (but somewhat directionless), willing to take risks (some foolhardy, others courageous). Some of the story is disturbing, because this woman was -- in a bunch of ways -- rather screwed up. But it's also a positive story, because she didn't let herself be a victim to her weaknesses.

What struck me particularly about Ali Sheldon's story was the woman's need to separate her identities into very different personae. After struggling with the social roles available to her, she remarkably managed to turn the prism of her personality conflicts and sexual confusion into the most creative of efforts: to create new and groundbreaking science fiction stories that, ironically enough, often dealt with "women's issues" from the outside.

Tiptree lived only in his/her writing, either as an author or as a snail-mail correspondent. (Just imagine what "he" would have done with e-mail and online forums.) Tiptree created close friendships that respected the author's desire for anonymity (though most people thought it was because he worked for the CIA or another government agency) -- raising good navel-gazing questions about how one can be close to another person and not know the most "intimate" facts about them.

And it's that issue of "identity" and "who are we, when all people know of us is what we present?" that's so compelling... even if you could care less about the science fiction literary scene.

This is an excellent book if you're intersted in SF history, and obviously if you're a fan of James Tiptree Jr.'s fiction. But it's a darned good read if your only interest is in how creative people get that way... and what it may cost them.

A few weeks ago, Julie Phillips published James Tiptree, Jr.: The Double Life of Alice B. Sheldon.

Last week I spotted Richard Ellmann scouting the MLA conference for penniless, amoral grad students who might be willing to swap a hit for a really good letter of recommendation.

Just kidding: he's been dead for almost 20 years. Nevertheless, the premiere literary biographer of our day has a serious rival. His specialty was bringing difficult figures to luminous life on the page. Julie Phillips has done the same for a character who seems too far-fetched to be real: the blonde Chicago debutante who became a chicken farmer, the first white child to trek through the Congo who grew up to be a suicidally depressed devotee of Dexedrine, the Army major and CIA analyst who was also a gifted artist, the battered teenage bride who earned a PhD in psychology, the reclusive male SF writer who turned out to be a middle-aged housewife in McLean, VA.

It would be easy for a biographer to get lost among the many masks of Alice B. Sheldon, or to be dazzled into idolatry by her flashing surfaces. Or, most likely, to choose one mask, one surface, as the Real or True or Important one, relegating the others to obscurity. Phillips never makes this mistake: she deals fairly with all the faces she mentions, and she examines the interplay of masks, emotions, gender identity, sexuality, and behavior with genuine insight.

Alice Bradley's parents were characters straight out of a 1920s film: dashing socialites who were also daring explorers. Her mother, Mary Hastings Bradley, was a superb raconteuse, expert markswoman, noted beauty, and very successful writer of both popular fiction and travel/adventure books. (I wonder if this book will bring her writing back into fashion.) Alice's father was a prosperous lawyer and a naturalist.

Their expeditions took them through Africa and India, mostly on foot, and they brought their small daughter Alice along. Generally 6-year-old Alice was carried in a litter; she learned early to say, "Put me down!" in a number of local languages. Less excusably, Mary used her daughter as a central figure in two books about their safaris. (Alice in Jungleland and Alice in Elephantland, which young Alice herself illustrated.)

Alice's experience of those early travels included helplessness in the face of constant danger (she alone of the party had no gun) and unspeakable terror at the death she saw all around her. In contrast, she was treated with wonder by the Africans, who had never seen a white child before, much less an adorable blonde Shirley Temple, and with patronizing affection by the various white dignitaries who entertained the explorers whenever they reached a city. (Yes, they packed plenty of evening clothes for these festivities. This was before the days of excess baggage charges.)

That disconnect between how Alice experienced the world and how others saw her role would have been difficult enough, but her parents subscribed to the Victorian ideal of presenting a tough and cheerful front in any adversity. Alice could not share or show her feelings, and it apparently never occurred to her parents that she might be frightened or disturbed.

Back in Chicago, Alice grew up to be a debutante so impatient with the process that she eloped five days after her presentation to society. She and her husband (an aspiring novelist) moved to Berkeley, where she worked seriously at painting until the marriage crashed and burned. After World War II started; she joined the WAACs, traveled, used her administrative talents, and became one of the first photointelligence analysts. She also met Huntington "Ting" Sheldon, a divorced father of three a dozen years older than herself, whom she married.

The couple spent four years raising chickens, then joined the CIA. Alice, now called Alli, was still restless. She became increasingly fascinated by visual psychology and after several years went back to school, earning a PhD with her research into the psychological appeal of novelty and familiarity. But teaching drained her, and research funds were hard to get. She'd hit another dead end.

Then she turned into a man.

James Tiptree, Jr., was born of a jar of Tiptree's jam and Alli's obsessive need for camouflage. Already a published writer (she'd had a story in the New Yorker, no less), now Alli was writing something light and playful: science fiction. She didn't have to take it seriously, and she had a male identity that would allow her to simultaneously mask and reveal her real self.

Becoming Tip allowed her to say things women were not permitted to say--everything from potty humor to bleak, despairing visions of death. It gave her authority and camaraderie and respect, all in short supply for women in the 1960s. And it allowed her to express her long-burning, long-frustrated desire for women.

The masquerade went well beyond just publishing stories; she kept up lengthy and intimate correspondence with other SF writers and fans, all the while speaking as a man. Yet she told the truth in almost every other way--drew on her own biography, for example, to create Tiptree's life and interests. For most of ten years she managed to maintain the illusion.

Tiptree wrote a series of blistering short stories that won SF's highest awards. He was lauded as a rare male feminist. But eventually the disguise became a burden. After creating a female alter ego (Raccoona Sheldon, a pleasantly dotty retired schoolteacher to whom she assigned a family-fettered life in Wisconsin), Alli was still dissatisfied.

Then her seriously ailing mother, now well into her nineties, died in Chicago. The obituaries made it easy to link the reclusive SF writer whose mother had been a writer/explorer with the lone listed survivor. Tip's secret, Alli's secret was out.

After that, writing became more and more difficult for Alli, although the weight of awards and being taken seriously had dragged at her for a while. As she and Ting grew older, frailer, her depressions continued. He had agreed to a suicide pact when they couldn't go on. One night in May 1987 Alli decided it was time for them to go: he was blind, she was despairing, and the suicide note had been waiting for almost eight years.

She called friends to let them know her plans, but the police arrived before she could do anything. She must have been a hell of an actress, because she persuaded them to leave. Ting (apparently) went to sleep. She shot him in the head.

Then she called his son to tell him the news.

As the police scrambled to return, Alli wrapped a towel around her own head (she'd been bothered by the messiness of Ting's death), lay down next to her husband, took his hand, and shot herself dead.

Everyone should read this book. I don't mean "all SF fans" or "all readers" or "all people who think about gender." Everybody. This biography is that good.

A first quality piece of writing. The details of Sheldon's Tiptree persona are laid out with elegance and clarity. If you care about science fiction, you need to know Tiptree. To do that you need to read this biography. Be aware some story endings are revealed.
Enjoyable from start to finish, most elucidating. Don't miss this impressive result of Julie Phillips' ten year archiological dig.

The first Tiptree story I ever read, long ago, was "The Women Men Don't See." There was no blood, no gore but the effect was nonetheless like the proverbial bucket of cold water. "Who IS this person," I thought, to write like this? And then there was "Love is the Plan and the Plan is Death" and I was hooked, permanently, on the intellect behind these stories.

And so, now, thirty years later, I at last get to meet this person, and finally have some dim understanding of who James Tiptree, Jr. really was. I say "dim understanding" because as good as this biography is it still leaves the reader haunted, haunted by the dramatic yet tragic life of U.S. mid-westerner Alice Sheldon, who saw things the rest of us didn't see, and then tried to tell us about them.

**

Alice Sheldon was a loner and her science fiction reflected that aloneness. It also makes this biography a bit elusive as she had few friends, avoided publicity and kept to herself. Her decision to write under the pen-name of James Tiptree, Jr. was a liberating one as she became the best short story writer within science fiction. It also meant that she hid her identity for a decade. Ms. Phillips makes it clear that the Alice Sheldon battled against sexism her entire life and hated the limitations that her culture placed upon her. At nearly 500 pages, this book will be considered the definative biography.

"It has been suggested that Tiptree is female, a theory that I find absurd, for there is something ineluctably masculine about Tiptree's writing." - Robert Silverberg

I had been lusting after James Tiptree Jr: The Double Life of Alice B. Sheldon for awhile, and in `celebration' of my decision to read more women's biographies decided to finally grab a copy. I know, so counter-intuitive, you would think I would have done so after actually having read a few but I find all sorts of excuses to buy books....

So... onto this book in which all lavish adjectives of praise fall short. I picked it up the day it arrived to read "a page or two" and never put it down. From the very first page, Phillips successfully envelops one in Sheldon's life. It was my "go-to" book until I had about 100 pages left. At that point I began rationing it every night "wanting to spend a little time with Alli." A little nuts maybe, but this book is such a perfect synthesis of the words of Sheldon's through letters and journals, the relationships she built with writers and fans of science fiction and Phillips' narration of her life. Of particular interest are her exchanges with women sci-fi authors such as Ursula le Guin and Joanna Russ (both of whom I want to know more about now) and reading their own efforts at navigating the genre as women.

"The terrible thing is, when I get a letter (or a reaction) like that - from a man - I tend not to grow 10' teeth but to start crying. Which makes me feel muddled, humiliated, grateful, humiliated that I feel grateful, and most of all - recognized." - Joanna Russ on the cachet that praise from men has, despite being fully aware of the power dynamic at play.

I feel like I "know" Sheldon, and what a beautiful, complex, flawed person. I felt utterly captivated and my heart ached for her as the book drew to a close. While one is aware throughout the book that she ends up committing suicide, I still couldn't help but mourn, the breath knocked out of me as I read about it, feeling sick inside by the loss of someone I had just "met."

While there is the opportunity to think about gender and writing throughout much of the book, Phillips weaves in a pointed meditation about the subject in its final pages. It goes to show how one's opinions of gender inform the way one reads or receives a work (I can call up a particularly long winded critique about this after seven years of working in the book world.) and to my ultimate chagrin, is a conversation that rarely seems to go beyond feminist circles. In addition, it truly saddens me that Sheldon had so much trouble acknowledging her incredible accomplishments as a woman. She seemed a vibrant, passionate and intensely curious person (Gardner Dozois: "one of the most fascinating conversationalists I've ever met, brilliant, theatrical, far-ranging, strikingly perceptive.") and yet she believed she was nothing without the veneer of a male persona. While I am certainly not foolish enough to believe it would have vanquished all of her demons, I wonder how things would be different if she had been much younger when the feminist movement occurred. She was incredibly perceptive about the structure of society and the way things work and yet lacked the affirmation that while patriarchy does not deem it as such, HER activities carried just as much merit as a man's. Two of the passages that were such striking examples of this are below:

"Moreover I suspect that most of the organised world activities are male-structured (as well as male-dominated) so I can't believe that simply filling in the personnel-slots with women means anything real. And I don't think things would get much different unless women had a chance to build their own world... which ends up like Russ' "When it changed" and not Beyond Equality at all (My note: Beyond Equality was a sci-fi anthology of stories imagining what the world would be like once equality between the sexes had been achieved that Tiptree and Russ had been asked to contribute to.). Everything else I try just ends up with Golda Meier running a space station, the Heinlein jocks-in-skirts thing. [...] I REFUSE to fancy some stereotype like Women-Have-ESP or Only-Women-can-understand-aliens etc. etc." - James Tiptree Jr. in a letter to Vonda McIntyre.

"The distasteful proof that my sexuality is bound up with masochistic fantasies of helplessness [...] depressed me profoundly. I am not a man, I am not the do-er, the penetrator. And Tiptree was "magical" manhood, his pen my prick. I had through him all the power and prestige of masculinity, I was - though an aging intellectual - of those who own the world. How I loathe being a woman. Wanting to be done to. [...]

Tiptree's "death" has made me face - what I never really went into with Bob [Harper] (my note: Sheldon's therapist) - my self-hate as a woman. And my view of the world as structured by raw power. [...] I want power. I want to be listened to. [...] And I'll never have it. I'm stuck with this perverse, second-rate body; my life." - Dr. Alice B. Sheldon

It frustrates me that she did not have the benefit of a therapist that could help her explore what it is to be a woman in patriarchy but rather a man who seemed to regard her as an oddity, completely uncomfortable with a woman expressing or being angry. There is also the question of her sexual orientation, and it couldn't have helped to be at a loss as to what one was feeling in a society that was(is) simply intolerant and did not allow language for that expression. I also wonder truly if she suffered from agoraphobic anxiety. I feel like this brilliant woman was completely failed by the time she lived in, and it makes me so sad.

I hadn't been interested in reading her work as James Tiptree Jr. before reading this book, but now I will be sure to pick it up. *The title of this entry is the name of one of Tiptree's stories.

I was quite surprised to see a biography of James Tiptree, Jr. at all, let alone such a magnificent one. Ms. Phillips has done an amazing job at bringing both the woman and the writer into clear focus. I can't imagine that any details of Tiptree/Sheldon's life are not captured here. Certainly a must read for true sci-fi fans and well as those curious about the history of women's role in our society. This bio will win several awards, no doubt about it. Quite simply all you could ask for in one volume.

This is a very good biography of Alice B. Sheldon, an incredibly talented female SF author who did the only thing she could do to survive as an intelligent woman in a world of follow-alongs--she adopted a male persona. James Tiptree, Jr. (Alice got the name "Tiptree" from a jar of jam) wrote some of the most accomplished science fiction the world had ever seen. She wowed Harlan Ellison, Bob Silverberg, Barry Malzberg, Ursula LeGuin, and many others who were at the top of their game during the sixties, seventies, and eighties. No one had seen anything quite like Tiptree's work. The male speculative fiction crowd admired her talent, though some could not figure why "James" had no interest in participating in the male bonding and back slapping that was so much a part of the SF scene. Many writer's and fans admired Tiptree as a sensitive man. Tiptree/Sheldon was so sensitive that some (particularly LeGuin) started to suspect that Tiptree could be female. The mention of a family death--and the connexions that followed--finally lead to Alice being outed as Tiptree. From this moment on, Sheldon's work seemed to suffer, and she finally ended her life (and her husband's) in a murder/suicide.

Phillips shoves nothing about Sheldon's life under the rug. In this book you will learn of Alice's early adventures in Africa, about her service as a WAC in WWII, about her education and attainment of a Ph.D, about her drug abuse, her epistolary relationships with other writers (male and female, from Philip K. Dick to Joanna Russ), her relationships with other family members, her husband(s), her struggles with sexual orientation, and much more. Highly recommended.