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Mad Madge

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Is the previous reviewer talking about the writing or the subject of the book? Hello! If you don't like the person you're reading about, then stop reading, yes she was pretty awful, but what about how it was written, what about the research, what about the author?

Great book, great subject! Read it, really!

We 21st century women should never stop being grateful for having been born at this historical juncture. So much of what we take for granted was denied to many, many women in history, as the story of Margaret Newcastle makes abundantly clear.

17th century women were supposed to be self-effacing and obedient to the males in their family --- fathers and brothers while unmarried, husbands after marriage, male children in widowhood. Any attempts at intellectual pursuits ---or any kind of personal achievement or merit outside the domestic sphere--- stood a serious risk of being ridiculed or scorned. Interestingly, it was other females who were sometimes the harshest critics of those who dared to flout convention.

But Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle, was not an ordinary woman. She was fascinated by the world around her --- colours, shapes, sounds, textures, human beings and animals, celestial bodies... she hungered for knowledge and information. By her own admission, she also yearned for approval and recognition. And, despite her poor education (common to most women of her time) and possible dyslexia or some similar problem, she was a prolific writer. She wrote plays, physics and philosophy tracts, memoirs, poetry, a biography of her husband. And, far from modestly circulating these works among friends, as other women writers did, she actively sought publication and recognition, sending her books to scholars and universities and debating with learned men about current discoveries and issues. Some considered her a wonder, some thought her an eccentric --- but there can be no doubt that she made an impression on many of her contemporaries.

In choosing the life of a 'learned woman' and deliberately turning her back on traditional female roles and activities, Margaret was lucky to have the continued encouragement and support of her much older husband, a royalist nobleman with similar intellectual interests. Indeed, like a previous reviewer said, her high social status and her husband's continued support ensured that opposition was never too outspoken or vocal.

The merit of her works is rather questionable --- I adhere to the opinion that, had it not been for William's endorsement of her books, she would have undergone humiliations much worse than the mild mockery and skepticism she sometimes encountered. One of the flaws of Katie Whitaker's otherwise painstaking essay is that it curiously omits any clear or balanced assessment of the value of Margaret's output. Margaret, who confessed that she (at least in the early years of her writing career) could not be bothered to read much, and whose scientific training was reduced to conversations with her husband and other noblemen who dabbled in physics and chemistry, did not think it arrogant to write lengthy books expounding on her opinions, or to debate with scientists and philosophers. One gets the definite feeling that she enjoyed writing more than she did studying. Certainly she is not taken seriously, either as a scientific or philosophical writer, by anyone today --- and her plays and stories don't seem to have made it across the centuries either.

Whitaker also chooses not to dwell on her greed and the avid and unkindly way in which she sought to deprive her husband's children of their rightful inheritance --- or on her harsh treatment of her husband's impoverished tenants, for that matter. These are barely mentioned, with no critical judgment. Yet I felt that, as the less appealing traits of an otherwise commendable woman, they should have been analyzed.

Another problem I had with this book (admittedly not the author's fault) was the extremely small and cramped print, which made it very difficult to read. It's a pity that such an interesting story should be disseminated in such a cheap, sloppy edition.

But my overall assessment of the book is positive. The story is well told --- and, whether or not her works had any real merit, or at least serious study behind them, the woman herself was no doubt fascinating. No less fascinating is the extraordinary husband who defied ridicule and contempt by his constant encouragement of her. The story of Margaret Cavendish is, in that sense, a moving story, and one that should make every woman grateful for equality and other things we take for granted. Especially since there are still, in our 'modern' world, millions of women who don't enjoy them.

Having just finished reading the epilogue at the end of `Mad Madge' I must confess that Katie Whitaker's intentions were entirely lost upon me for I agree wholeheartedly with Samuel Pepys who is credited as describing Margaret Cavendish as "a mad, conceited, ridiculous woman". I believe that Whitaker's purpose was to portray Margaret as being a woman to be admired and so forth as her hordes of flatterers in the seventeenth century had for reasons that I still do not understand. Of all the women in history to research so avidly and thoroughly as Whitaker obviously researched Margaret, I have no idea why she would choose to write a biography about a woman who considered herself inferior to not only her husband and male relatives (both blood-related and related by marriage) but all men with the exclusion of those she loathed for political reasons. Margaret not only supposedly thought of herself as not as consequential as those men she held in high esteem but she was basically a naive child given a woman's place in the world. She was described as being generous many times over, kind even, yet when in exile her husband, servants and she all lived in splendour receiving numerous loans that varied in amounts from 300 pounds into the thousands. All of this money was of course used to supply her with the finest clothing, silks and rugs to decorate her bedchamber in, and grand coaches in which to travel everywhere she went whenever she deemed it necessary to leave her home. Not once did I read of her giving to anyone who was left penniless even a breadcrumb. For someone who was said to be so outstanding she held her tongue an awful lot. If she was someone so great then why did she never protest, why remain silent and only create fictional works about the realities of the political situation if she cared so much about what was going on? If she were so generous why not give to those who were much less fortunate than her? I speak, of course, of those who were not lucky enough to live in a home of grandeur and receive fantastic entertainments. The evidence suggests that Margaret Cavendish was truly a very good little actress. After making her success by producing several supposedly original works of fiction and otherwise she began to throw more lavish get-togethers with various personages of the seventeenth century such as philosophers and poets whom if she were to be seen in the company of would greatly improve her own social status, even in exile. She claimed to be obsessed with originality, yet she was not original in the slightest. She followed the ideas that were popular during the times. She herself admits numerous times to only gaining knowledge of the topics on which she wrote by listening to the conversation between her husband and his visitors, who she later used to her advantage. All she had to do to leave her mark on the world, which she too was obsessed with, was take her husband's opinions, put them into her own words and publish the work. Fairly simple, not to mention manipulative. All she cared about, and she made this abundantly clear too many times to begin to count, was being known. She wanted to be a celebrity and she used her husband to become one. She was nothing but a scheming, hypocritical, self-important, and untalented fraud. To quote from the epilogue `Louisa Costello's Memoirs of Eminent Englishwomen charged Margaret with self-sufficiency, presumption, and arrogance. She was "a kind of overgrown, spoilt girl," added Eric Robertson.' I could not agree more.

The only reason I read this book was because it was recommended to me in a magazine called Victoria. I had not read any book reviews written on it so I had no way of knowing that that review was extremely biased. I realise now that the only reason this book was reviewed and suggested to the readers of the magazine was because of Whitaker's writing and the fact that it was written about a supposed "heroic feminine" who lived and wrote poetry and such in seventeenth century Europe. I do not disagree that this book was written and researched very well. In fact, I found the wording to be very inspiring. However, the subject on which the book was written, Margaret Cavendish's life, of course, was not extraordinary and therefore very dull. The only time I ever found myself growing passionate during the course of reading this biography was at the end when, finally arriving at the conclusion, I was able to begin to gather my thoughts in preparation to write this very book review. Needless to say, I feel as if I wasted my time. I do not wish for anyone else to make the same mistake that I did. I highly recommend that you do not read this book for any reason. I would not even recommend this book to an enemy or friend as a practical joke. No one should be submitted to the foolishness and lack of intellect that Margaret embodied. She fancied herself as a witty, unique person. I assure you that she proved multiple times that that was all a facade to conceal the fact that she was merely looking to make her mark on the world in anyway possible. I pity those that were forced to flatter her so excessively simply because her social status called for it. I doubt that any of them truly believed a word they offered her, but if any did they were as simple-minded and mad as Margaret.