Sometimes Madness Is Wisdom: Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald: A Marriage (Hardcover)

Through all of my Fitzgerald worship, I viewed Zelda as an "also-ran"--the madcap flapper, the passionate spouse and lover, the quintessential "roaring 20s girl," the great beauty who was her husband's muse-until she went crazy. I never took her seriously as an artist in her own right, and why should I have done so? Certainly until recent years, no biography of Fitzgerald painted her that way, and I found the few biographies of Zelda opinionated and suspect.

Now, with a fascinating work that took author Kendall Taylor 30 years (!!) to write, the tragedy that was Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald finally comes to light as never before. And for the first time, I realize that the incredibly brilliant prose that made up Scott's novels was often lifted VERBATIM from Zelda's most intimate and personal diaries, which Scott viewed as his own property, to be purloined at will. I find that some of his most cunning and original turn of phrase was taken VERBATIM from Zelda's unique, brilliant, colorful, and wholly her own way of speaking (probably, in fact, a precurser of the schizophrenia that was to overtake her). I find that Scott was so possessive of Zelda as his SOURCE that he actively forbade her to write on her own, although she showed great talent. He went so far as to write long letters to her various doctors forbidding them to allow her to write, and they agreed to do so! A highly creative, completely unique human being, Zelda was thwarted at every turn, whether her painting (which Scott ridiculed) her sad attempts to become a prima ballerina (equally ridiculed and the final step to her first breakdown) to anything else she attempted to do.

Scott, a difficult, vain, selfish and jealous human being, viewed Zelda as more than his lover and wife, as more than his helpmate and muse. He felt he owned the very words that fell from her mouth, and strongly resisted any attempt on her part to express herself apart from him, feeling that their mutual story belonged to him and him alone, as the novelist and breadwinner.

We all know the end of the story. Scott died much too young of heart disease and TB brought on by acute alcoholism. Zelda, in and out of mental hospitals from her late twenties on, died in a horrible fire at the institution where she was housed. These two bright flames, these two icons of The Jazz Age, these two physically gorgeous people, the flapper and her swain, were doomed from the start. But until the recent death of their only daughter, Scottie Lanahan, many of their papers, letters, diaries, and so forth, remained unavailable to the public. Taylor was given unprecedented access to these, and tells her tale in as objective a way as she can, given her subject matter. One must commend Ms. Taylor for her Herculean efforts and her fascinating story. Unfortunately, like many authors of today, she has fallen victim to the same bad editing that plagues most paperbacks in today's marketplace. Therefore, the paperback version of this book (which is the version I read) is plagued by silly grammatical mistakes and typos that Scott OR Zelda would have noticed. It isn't fair to Taylor, but so be it. Suffice to say that, upon reading the very last sentence of the very last page, I broke into sobs. I now wish to go on and read Zelda's collected works (available from Amazon!), view all her artwork (ditto) and reread Scott's works-from the viewpoint of all I know now. I commend Ms. Taylor on a simply brilliant job.