A review by kmg365
The Letters of Shirley Jackson by Shirley Jackson

4.0

Aside from the insight into Shirley's personal life, there are tidbits here about life in the 1930s thru 50s that made me pause and reflect. The liberal use of and references to alcohol consumption, even back when Shirley was 21 and still living with her parents, made me think about the fact that the first letters reproduced here were written just five years after the end of prohibition. Later, there's a reference to someone from the college where Stanley Hyman taught who died after only four days of sickness... from polio, which caused a local panic. I'm thankful that panic over polio was no longer the norm by the time I was born.

Mostly, though, it was the everyday life stuff that got me. While Stanley usually had a job of one sort or another-- with New Yorker magazine, at a college, writing books, etc, Shirley was like one of those plate spinners I used to watch on the Ed Sullivan Show. Shirley wrote stories and novels, hosted huge parties for neighbors and friends from the literary world, raised 4 kids, marveled at the wonder of finally having a washing machine or a working refrigerator, chauffeured the family (Stanley refused to learn how to drive), and read voraciously. There were at least half a dozen references in her letters to Stanley complaining that she was spending too much time on letters, when she should be writing something that would make some money. Not once does Shirley admit to replying “Shut up, Stanley, and incidentally, feel free to make the lion's share of the family income yourself, if you think you can manage it” but I hope she did. Oh, and the last straw concerning Stanley: He did not like cats, or at least would not hold them or let them sit on his lap. Stanley would have hated the internet, I guess.

It was startling how normal the letters were, from such an extraordinary writer. Kids, malfunctioning cars and appliances, moving house, new jobs, new cars. Even the last letter, written only 8 days before she died, was heartrendingly mundane. Her agoraphobia was always described in a matter-of-fact style that never delved into how it made her feel. Just “I can't leave the house”, and “the doctor gave me pills”, and then it was back to complaining about her typewriter, or the weather.

Reading Shirley's work, or reading about her, automatically makes me sad, because I think of all the magnificent novels and stories she could have written had she lived longer. But there are a lot of smiles to be found in this compilation as well. When she was under contract at Farrar Straus, she mentioned having lunch with a Mr. Giroux, with whom she was unfamiliar. I'll bet he did okay for himself in the publishing biz. Shirley and Stanley seemed to primarily listen to jazz (although they discovered a love for Elvis), but my heart went pitter pat when she mentioned loving the duo Flanders and Swann. Now I will think of Shirley every time I hear "The Hippopotamus Song".

Recommended for anyone who has more than a passing interest in her novels or stories.