Reading the reviews below reminds me that there are no feuds as acrimonious and petty as academic ones. Apparently, a disagreement between Lyndall Gordon and other Dickinson biographers regarding whether Dickinson had epilepsy has inspired those dissenting biographers to trash her book on Amazon.com. Did Gordon have the temerity to disregard their advice? Well, we'll have none of that; in the interests of scholarship (yeah, sure) we'll make sure that the world knows how right we were, and how wrong she was to ignore our criticism.
Now -- the book. Lyndall Gordon has written a fascinating account of the feud between the Dickinsons and Mabel Loomis Todd, the extramarital lover of Dickinson's brother, that delayed the publication of much of Dickinson's work for over 50 years. Extending through two generations, and possibly a contributing factor in the deaths of some of the players, the feud began when Dickinson's brother, Austin, embarked on a mid-life, adulterous romance with Todd, the young wife of an Amherst science professor. As Dickinson's poems and letters lay hidden away in the pages of books, locked trunks, and dust-filled boxes, the protagonists of this extraordinary tale battled for recognition and vindication and -- not incidentally -- to destroy one another's claims to Emily Dickinson's affections
Gordon describes, not merely the feud, but also the way in which the competing narratives spun by the adversaries -- including the putative "editors" of Dickinson's work, her betrayed sister-in-law, Susan and her sister, Lavinia, and the actual editor, Mabel Todd -- misrepresented their own characters and motives, and also those of the poet herself, who had an emotional vitality and network of relationship that belied the myth of the frail recluse of Amherst. Public attitudes, Gordon demonstrates, played an active role in such dramas, eagerly embracing the myth of the "frail" and emotionally chaste Dickinson and, during a trial in Amherst in the years after Dickinson's death, thwarting the adulterous Mabel Todd's attempts to have her rights to a portion of Dickinson land validated. Gordon shows that, in life as in literature, there is no "binary right or wrong, guilty or not guilty," (p. 312), and that truth is elusive and must be approached inclusively, taking into account the stories that individuals tell, and often believe, about themselves and one another.
Perhaps that is the lesson that those who criticize Gordon's scholarship might learn. True, Dickinson may not have been an epileptic. Taking all the factors that Gordon describes into account, however, some sort of seizure disorder might have been included among her ailments. Certainly, the theory is plausible, and provides readers (including this one) with an additional, intriguing interpretation of Dickinson's poems. Yet the nature of Dickinson's illness is not what this book is about. Instead, the book is about the enduring power of art, emotion, and need: a great poet's work is nearly swallowed up by, but survives, a love that is so powerful that it gives rise to an everlasting hatred -- a hatred so powerful that it creates a perverse kind of art -- narratives -- of its own.
As a college instructor and a practicing attorney, I found this work on Dickinson enjoyable on many levels, and give it "five stars." How ironic that a book about a feud should spark antagonisms that, in their own way, prove the author's points.