Remembering L. M. Montgomery
Parts of the blogosphere are lit up with discussion about revelations provided by L. M. Montgomery's family and their belief that she committed suicide at the age of 67 with a drug overdose. The story broke with Montgomery’s granddaughter last week in Canada’s Globe and Mail.
The original article here:
The heartbreaking truth about Anne's creator
Here’s my original comments to sartorias’s comment of a few days ago:
I'm not at all surprised after reading her journals over the years. Her double life is very apparent, as well as the many health problems and drugs she was taking to treat them, highly addictive substances that only worsened her conditions.
It's those struggles that thread lightly through her literature though, grounding it, making it real despite its romanticism. The depth of feeling and experience is there, ringing true.
Depression is nothing to ignore or belittle. I've been blessed to somewhat adapt my life to making it manageable. Fortunately to the point where I don't need chemical help at this time. Still, the memories of the most debilitating bouts hover in the background, reminding me to be aware and proactive, very proactive in staving them off. Even when life is good and positive, productive and well, the threat is there, tempering it all.
Of course, for every theory there are at least two opinions, if not a hundred. Mary Rubio, one of Montgomery’s biographers and editor of her journals, questions the suicide belief. She’s not denying it may have happened that way; she just thinks that the circumstances are more confusing and open to more interpretations. You can read her explanation here:
Lucy Maud suffered 'unbearable psychological pain'
Is this Lucy Maud's suicide note?
Interesting stuff and of course especially pertinent to me right now on the heels of our recent trip to PEI. I’m glad I didn’t read about it while I was there since I didn’t want the sadness of Montgomery’s life to overwhelm the trip. I am very aware, as a reader of her journals, of her struggles. I read most of them while I was myself going through my worst bouts of depression, during my college years. I finally had to give them up at that time because my own depression could no longer handle the burden of hers, long past.
I was aware of her sorrows during our trip. I stood where she was married and compared my own happy marriage to her horrific one, counting my blessings, especially the man standing beside me. Nevertheless, I was also aware of her joys. She had great bouts of happiness--her flashes of inspiration, her writing, and her success. Her marriage also brought her the children she craved, although she struggled especially in her relationship with one son. Those wonderful bits got expressed in her literature, the rest was unburdened in her journals and letters. As time passed, the depression grew through the uneducated usage (based on the times, not her own fault) of medications as well as the burden of a husband who was even more mentally ill. It’s tragedy at its most real.
Either way, most fans and readers are sympathetic, their love for Montgomery’s body of work enduring, sometimes enhanced with the knowledge that Montgomery was depressed, overwhelmed and still brought joy to the lives of thousands of readers. Her legacy is great and can teach us all if we pay attention.
'Anne' fans applaud disclosure of author's suicide
Behind Green Gables
Rubio’s biography is due out next month, Lucy Maud Montgomery: The Gift of Wings. If you are mostly a fan of Montgomery’s work and are interested in how her life tied into it, I recommend Elizabeth Waterston’s new book, Magic Island. It’s essentially a biography of Montgomery’s body of work, primarily her novels, from first to last, discussing them in context of her life. It’s wonderfully documented with references to journal entries and letters. Montgomery was a prolific journal keeper-she also edited them herself over the years-but the information about her novel writing gives insights into her process. Yes, it’s still Waterston’s interpretation of the situations and journals, but it’s overall sound scholarship with excellent presentation.
I say this because I have been a lifelong journal writer, too. One of the creeds of a journal keeper, one who is honest and reveals inner thoughts as Montgomery did, is that journals represent the then and now. We’re all human with quicksilver experiences and emotions. Our thoughts about an event often change within days of the moment, never mind the lens and focus change brought about by years of further living. The intensity lessens or increases, seldom staying the same. It’s the most subjective kind of writing with the most unreliable of narrators. Except for when it’s completely accurate. Ah, the complexity of it all.
In the end, suicide or not, I still consider it a mystery, I love Montgomery’s work, novels that have held me up in difficult times as well as journals that have helped me understand depression, while solitary and isolating when manifested, is not a unique experience, but all too frequent in our world. I hope those suffering from it seek help. We are blessed to live in a time when understandings and medications have improved although plenty of misunderstanding and stigmas are still rampant. Despite the feelings, we are not alone. Suicide is painful, for those contemplating and again especially to those left behind, left to struggle with the legacy for decades, compounded by guilt and anger. There are other answers, better ones.