Nancy Hale (1908–1988)

.5 extra for craft.

This is the biggest bucket of crap I've read since American psycho. The characters lived around the time my mom and dad were born: late 1920s. I got all the way to page 407 and just couldn't take it anymore. This woman author let's the men characters fuck around all they want, but these same men characters find out that their girlfriends have been to bed with other men, and oh boy! they let them have it: verbal, physical, mental abuse..... and the stupid women characters just take it.

I could have sworn this was a man writing as a woman, but noooooo.

Okay this was written in the early 1940s, but it is no excuse to be writing this enabling crap. Grrrr, I am so angry I wasted all this time trying to see if these asshole characters were going to get theirs.… (mere)

Nancy Hale's (b.1908) parents were both painters, living in or near Boston in the years that Nancy was growing up. She was their only child. Her father was Philip Leslie Hale; her mother, Lilian Westcott Hale. This memoir is about creative people, in this case artists, and how they make their way in the world. For one thing, they must have time alone to do their work. "To the day of her death she [her mother] groaned when the telephone or the doorbell rang," wrote Hale. "The B's have come, and all they want to do is talk."

Hale's memoir is also about coming to terms with the memory of her parents and their loss. Hale was descended from a distinguished New England family: her grandfather was the Unitarian clergyman Edward Everett Hale; her great-aunt was Harriet Beecher Stowe.… (mere)