Biography of Edna St. Vincent Millay

Here I am in Camden, Maine, birthplace of Edna St. Vincent Millay with her statue.  I'm 5-7, she was only 5-1, so you see she's bigger than life --which she often wished to be in real life. Her biography Savage Beauty, by Nancy Milford has been on my bedside table for over a month. She was beautiful, everyone said so and her pictures are lovely up to her 40s. The book is 400 pages long and  dense and I usually read only 10 or 29 pages just before going to bed. Her poetry is not read much now, it's a style that is no longer popular.

I knew almost nothing about her when I started the book. It is very detailed and quotes many of her poems. (She especially wrote sonnets - or 14 line poems that do not necessary fit into usual sonnet definition). She had a very, very difficult childhood. The oldest of three sisters, she was often, from age 10 or so, left in charge of the little ones in a big cold house, with very little money for food or anything. Her mother was nurse who took live-in jobs that might last a couple of weeks. Her father  deserted after the youngest was born and rarely sent any money.  

She was undoubtedly a genius with words and created a reputation very early and was for many years the most popular poet in America (more so than Frost). Her life was largely chaos.  After various lesbian affairs at Vassar she discovered men and could have been called a nymphomaniac. After a long time she married a Dutchman who totally adored her. His family had a fortune from import/export business but he devoted himself to Edna (or Vincent as she was very often called). Her poetry had the kind of sales best selling novelists enjoy today. Her stage presence (and radio readings) were apparently magnificent.

The further I got into the book the more I realized that she was a monster of selfishness and whimsicality. She smoked constantly and drank hugely and by the last ten years of her life had become a serious alcoholic, morphine addict (as well as many other drugs). She pulled herself out of drug stupors late in life to write propagandistic poetry about why America should NOT be isolationist but should fight Hitler. I am not a strong historian but I was shocked how extremely isolationist America was even after Hitler invaded Holland and Paris.

The book was always an interesting read but also distressing to follow her self-destruction, her utter lack of self-control or understanding about people or finances, her manipulation of people and final irresponsibility.  (And her family was not much better although her husband was almost a saint.)

I've been given the even larger biography of Leonardo di Vinci to read next.  I won't be writing about that book for a long time yet.