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Web-Exclusive Books Blog
The Story Behind the Book
By Jesse Kornbluth, April 6, 2007
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You finish a book you love and it seems—for a moment, at least—like the greatest story ever told. Guess what? The author's story is often even better.
I first thought this some decades ago, when I interviewed Judith Rossner, author of Looking for Mr. Goodbar. If you didn't read the novel, you probably caught the movie: Diane Keaton as a promiscuous New York Catholic school teacher and Richard Gere as the cokehead who kills her. The book was a hit, the movie was a smash; when I met Rossner, she was renting the kind of small but chic house in East Hampton that makes writers quiver in envy.
Then she told me how she wrote the book.
She was divorced. Broke. A mother. She supported herself in a dead-end office job. So she wrote each day from 5 to 7—in the morning. "You do your best work," she said, "when your back is to the wall."
I'm disciplined, but nothing like that—the image of Rossner typing fast in the predawn hours seemed far more fantastic to me than anything she could have written.
Even more unusual is the story behind Black Beauty, a novel that has been beloved ever since its publication in 1877. The book was a novel about a horse with a brilliant gimmick—the narrator was a horse. And that made it more powerful; the public had heard about cruelty to horses, but told this way, it was an unforgettable reminder. Every girl I know who loves horses—which is to say, just about every female I've ever known—has read it. I bet you have too.
The story of Anna Sewell, who wrote Black Beauty and no other book, is much less known.
Sewell's was a life of mysterious illness. At 14, she injured her ankles and was lame for the rest of her 58 years—getting around on horse-drawn carriages gave her lots of opportunity to chat up the drivers and warehouse the knowledge she'd ultimately use for her novel. Her mother wrote children's books; for something to do, Anna helped her with them.
Anna Sewell didn't start writing Black Beauty until she was 51. By then, she was more or less a total invalid. It took her six years to write the book, in large part, I'd guess, because she was so weak. Sometimes it was a struggle to get out of bed; sometimes she had to write on scraps of paper that her mother would then transcribe.
Again, what a scene that is: the invalid marshalling all her strength to tell the only story that means anything to her. This goes way beyond Proust, scribbling all night in bed. It's heroic.
Sewell sold the book for a pittance and lived just five months past its publication—long enough to see it was going to be a great success. I doubt the money mattered. And I imagine that the prospect of fame and fortune was secondary.
"My troubles are over," Black Beauty says. And with good reason: he has a kind owner, he anticipates a good death. I think what mattered to Anna Sewell was what she wrote as a conclusion to her book: a good end. And I think, like Black Beauty, she found one.
With this blog, I say farewell to regular publication in this space. It's been a privilege to share my musings—and rantings—about books here; it's been inspiring to work with such talented and patient editors. Along the way, I not only learned a lot, I enjoyed myself immensely. I hope you did too.
Jesse Kornbluth is the editor of HeadButler.com, a cultural concierge service
that recommends books, movies and music. He has published seven books and has
written for many major magazines.
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