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Beatrix Potter: A Life in Nature
Apr. 12th, 2010 09:52 amI can't remember if I read the Peter Rabbit books when I was a child. Possibly yes, since I liked rabbits, and two of my favorite stuffed animals, Mr. Bunny and Rabbity, were rabbits, if their names didn't give that away. But although The Velveteen Rabbit has lingered on in my memory – I can still see the illustrations, and still remember looking at Mr. Bunny and Rabbity and wondering if they would hop off in the night and then get eaten by a dog, which was worrisome (and not a fate that the Velveteen Rabbit worried enough about, if you ask me), along with my all time favorite image of a rabbit, E.H. Shepherd's brilliant picture of Rabbit hanging dishtowels on Winnie-the-Pooh's legs after Pooh gets stuck in the rabbit hole, I can't remember Peter Rabbit. I have seen Beatrix Potter's little books elsewhere, of course, along with various Peter Rabbit teacups and toys and wallpaper and so on.
But I was still curious enough to read Linda Lear's Beatrix Potter: A Life in Nature, which can only be called "charming." I'm not sure if the biography is charming because Lear was overwhelmed by the adorableness of Potter's animal pictures, of if Potter's life really just was that charming. Maybe both.
Beatrix Potter grew up in a very traditional Victorian family, which for various social reasons was rather socially isolated. (Her parents were too wealthy to associate overmuch with their roots, and too low down on the social scale to associate overmuch with their financial peers, although socialize they did, a socialization that utterly bored the teenage and older Potter.) If she did not get along well with her mother, a relationship that only soured through the years, she did remain a traditionally obedient, dutiful daughter remaining at home well until her late thirties, even after she had become a bestselling author. And her parents kindly allowed her to indulge her love for little animals, of which there seem to have been a frightening amount: rabbits, hedgehogs, frogs, lizards, bugs and so on were happily dragged by Beatrix to a third story room where she could play with them and more critically, draw them.
Her family was not the only barrier in her life: Potter faced extreme sexism when she attempted to enter the field of mycology, drawing rather lovely pictures of mushrooms and spores, studies that led her to correct but rejected theories about fungal germination and symbiosis. Had she succeeded and been accepted as a naturalist, we might never have had the Beatrix Potter books. But she was not, and so she turned from detailed scientific observations of mushrooms to delightful little pictures of mushrooms in her bunny and other animal books.
The books also brought her into close contact with her editor, Norman Warne, who not only encouraged her to write and draw more, but also fell in love with her. In a pure Victorian manner, Potter's parents reacted badly – even though Beatrix was now in her late 30s and a successful author who could be said to know her own mind, her parents strenuously objected to Warne's social status as a publisher and refused to allow a public engagement. Warne died; Beatrix continued to wear his little ring, and stayed with her publishers, despite their more than occasional incompetence, in his memory.
This is depressing. But Potter had, and took, a second chance. She bought a house up in the Lake District, met and, after several years, married a solicitor, William Heelis, who shared her love for the land and old farms, and moved on to a second career in restoration, farming, and land preservation. The second marriage was a delightfully happy and solid one, stressed only by issues with sheep and outside wars.
About those sheep and one of the most delightful things about this biography: When I read about most authors, I generally find that I learn something about the period in which they live, something about their lives, something about history, but rarely anything entirely new. By the end of this biography, I felt that I had learned quite a lot about sheep, and about things that go wrong with sheep, and about herding sheep, and Hardwick sheep. None of this has made me particularly interested in learning more, mind you (and I'm positive that people who actually know about sheep would assure you that I still don't know more) but it was a nice glimpse into the sheep world. It was also satisfying to read about a woman who took her earned money to do something about her passions for preserving the land (and sheep!), and proving to herself, at least, that she could ignore her mother's disapproving voice.
But I was still curious enough to read Linda Lear's Beatrix Potter: A Life in Nature, which can only be called "charming." I'm not sure if the biography is charming because Lear was overwhelmed by the adorableness of Potter's animal pictures, of if Potter's life really just was that charming. Maybe both.
Beatrix Potter grew up in a very traditional Victorian family, which for various social reasons was rather socially isolated. (Her parents were too wealthy to associate overmuch with their roots, and too low down on the social scale to associate overmuch with their financial peers, although socialize they did, a socialization that utterly bored the teenage and older Potter.) If she did not get along well with her mother, a relationship that only soured through the years, she did remain a traditionally obedient, dutiful daughter remaining at home well until her late thirties, even after she had become a bestselling author. And her parents kindly allowed her to indulge her love for little animals, of which there seem to have been a frightening amount: rabbits, hedgehogs, frogs, lizards, bugs and so on were happily dragged by Beatrix to a third story room where she could play with them and more critically, draw them.
Her family was not the only barrier in her life: Potter faced extreme sexism when she attempted to enter the field of mycology, drawing rather lovely pictures of mushrooms and spores, studies that led her to correct but rejected theories about fungal germination and symbiosis. Had she succeeded and been accepted as a naturalist, we might never have had the Beatrix Potter books. But she was not, and so she turned from detailed scientific observations of mushrooms to delightful little pictures of mushrooms in her bunny and other animal books.
The books also brought her into close contact with her editor, Norman Warne, who not only encouraged her to write and draw more, but also fell in love with her. In a pure Victorian manner, Potter's parents reacted badly – even though Beatrix was now in her late 30s and a successful author who could be said to know her own mind, her parents strenuously objected to Warne's social status as a publisher and refused to allow a public engagement. Warne died; Beatrix continued to wear his little ring, and stayed with her publishers, despite their more than occasional incompetence, in his memory.
This is depressing. But Potter had, and took, a second chance. She bought a house up in the Lake District, met and, after several years, married a solicitor, William Heelis, who shared her love for the land and old farms, and moved on to a second career in restoration, farming, and land preservation. The second marriage was a delightfully happy and solid one, stressed only by issues with sheep and outside wars.
About those sheep and one of the most delightful things about this biography: When I read about most authors, I generally find that I learn something about the period in which they live, something about their lives, something about history, but rarely anything entirely new. By the end of this biography, I felt that I had learned quite a lot about sheep, and about things that go wrong with sheep, and about herding sheep, and Hardwick sheep. None of this has made me particularly interested in learning more, mind you (and I'm positive that people who actually know about sheep would assure you that I still don't know more) but it was a nice glimpse into the sheep world. It was also satisfying to read about a woman who took her earned money to do something about her passions for preserving the land (and sheep!), and proving to herself, at least, that she could ignore her mother's disapproving voice.
