The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid: A review

In Daisy Jones and the Six, Taylor Jenkins Reid wrote of a number of very strong women in the rock music field. In The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, she writes the story of one very strong woman who refused to let society dictate the kind of life she should lead.

Evelyn Hugo became an actress and she was determined to chart her own course in life. She married her first husband to escape the life that she had and then dumped him when she needed to in the furtherance of her career. And that was essentially the pattern that was repeated throughout her seven marriages.

We meet Evelyn when she is at the end of her life. She is 79 and has decided that it is time that her biography is written. To write it, she calls on a fairly unknown journalist named Monica Grant who works for a magazine in Los Angeles called "Vivant." Both Monica and her editor are surprised by the request, but Evelyn has her reasons. Reasons that will only be revealed near the end of this story.

Evelyn Hugo was born Evelyn Elena Herrera, the daughter of Cuban immigrants. She grew up in poverty in New York's Hell's Kitchen but she had one asset: her incredible beauty. That's not quite true. Although her beauty was the main asset, she also had a radiant energy that drew people to her. She was competitive and determined and she saw the road out of her poverty as leading through Hollywood. And so she headed there. She dyed her hair, learned to expose her body on camera while looking at that camera with her beautiful almond-shaped eyes under long lashes and soon she was launched and directors and the camera wanted more. So did all the seven men she married. They all got their money's worth but Evelyn always kept something back, something for herself.

Evelyn's grand passion was not for any of the men she married nor for the career that she fashioned for herself; it was for a woman. But this was Hollywood in the '60s and two women loving each other was not a story that it was willing to tell. Evelyn's life story as she tells it to Monica was not simply one of this forbidden love, however. It is also the story of her own ruthless ambition to be a star and of an enduring friendship that sustained her through all the trials of her life.

Reid expertly captures the atmosphere of Hollywood in the '50s and '60s or at least Hollywood as I imagine it was in the '50s and '60s, a world that thrived on fantasy and giving the audience the story that they wanted regardless of the truth. Thus, the audience was perfectly capable of accepting a woman who serially married seven different men, but would not have been able to accept a woman who through all of those marriages was in love with one woman. The Evelyn that Reid describes used her asset - her beauty and her body - to get what she wanted. She worked in an industry rife with blatant sexism but she was able in some ways to use that. She took the world as she found it and manipulated it to her advantage. It is an engrossing tale on many levels and as Reid tells it, it is a real page-turner.

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

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