Most of you who read this newsletter know that I own two used book stores in Seattle with my husband Chris, Magus Books and Magus Annex. Every week we buy thousands of books from the public on the three days a week we call “buying days.” People bring their books in on hand trucks in boxes or bags and we sort through them, select the books we want, price them out, make offers, pay for them, sticker, shelve and sell. Rinse and repeat every Tuesday, Friday and Saturday. The same process but different books every day, which keeps it exciting and fun.
Last Friday two women of a certain age, as my mother would say, dragged in ten shopping bags of books, went for a walk and I said I’d call them when we were done. Interesting and valuable art books mostly, and a pile of books about Grey Gardens. Grey Gardens you say? What’s that? I too said the same. I was moving fast as is my mode at work, registered the books had some value, priced them, paid for them and moved on. Hours later when the buying had stopped for the day and I took a few deep breaths, I picked up one of the books and read the back. Holy shit, I said. Who were these women? And later on, with the help of Google, determined there was a documentary about them, made in 1975. Chris and I rushed home to watch it. Truth be told I said “We are watching this tonight!” Chris joined for the dinner I cooked and to be amenable. I was mesmerized by Edith and Edie Beale, mother and daughter, who stripped of their accustomed financial security, lived in squalor in a dilapidated mansion in East Hampton, New York. While they lived together, primarily in one room with two single beds, they retained absolute commitment to singing, and dancing and costuming their way through their days. They lived in their memories but don’t seem particularly lonely. They have each other, and a few characters who move in and out of their lives at Grey Gardens. In addition to the 1975 documentary there is a release of previously unseen footage in 2006, and a dramatization of their lives, played by Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange in 2009. There has even been a Broadway musical of Grey Gardens.
Much ink has been spilled about these women, their backgrounds as New York socialites, cousins to the Kennedys (on the Jackie side), their dependence on men as sole providers, who when the money dwindled due to The Great Depression and divorce, fell into what can best be described as bizarre, reclusive lives. From socialites to near solitude, from caviar and canapes to eating cat food, the contrast is stark, and disturbing. The bond between mother and daughter was deep and codependent, full of affection, disdain and sometimes cruelty.
What on earth could the Beale women have to do with The Chariot? On the surface they almost seem like opposites, the Charioteer all buttoned up, the Beales falling to pieces. However, they both make us ponder the meaning of success, what it means to achieve it, or to lose it. They both ask us to question our relationship and dependence on the outside world for accolades and support. They both make me think about social structures and models of capitalism, and what happens when it doesn’t work out.
In tarot church last Sunday Jessica reminded me that our Charioteer is stuck in cement in his Chariot. For some reason I had never noticed, which is why tarot church on Sundays is sooo good.
The Chariot represents all the trappings of action and success in the material world. He is strong and moving forward with his goals. He has already achieved outward success as is demonstrated with his crown and armor. The structures of the city behind him and the pillars to his sides show stability and security. But what do we make of the water beneath the pillars? Or the riddling sphynxes who replace the traditional horses of the Marseilles deck? Whether from Waite or Smith’s mind I’m not sure, the depiction here suggests there is a fragility to what we call success, what we rely on to make it in this difficukt world. The sheet can be pulled out from beneath us at any time. And more importantly, we can be stuck in the cement of holding our own value as reflected in what the world tells us we should look like and be.
I’m reminded briefly of when my son Ben was diagnosed with brain cancer, when all structure and stability was suddenly and immediately ripped away from our lives. But the kind of structure which collapsed with Big and Little Edie, as they were called, seems to have been a slower decline, a kind of continuous erosion. As wealthy New York socialites, they had butlers and chauffeurs, cooks and maids, gardeners and nannies to maintain the mansion and property on Long Island, to maintain their lives. As wealthy women, they were told to forget their dreams of artistic expression, marry into the social structure of what was essentially American royalty, play by the rules and live a life of success.
When Edith was divorced from her husband, Phelan Beale in 1946, she retained the home but received no alimony, a zero sum game, unless she sold the property and lived on the profit, which she refused to do. She loved Grey Gardens and installed herself there. In some ways Big Edie seems humiliated and angry, rarely leaving her bed, cooking occasionally on a hot plate next to it, mostly seeming to subsist on wine and ice cream. The dirt and mess, the dozens of cats everywhere keeping her company, alternately feel like a rebellion and a surrender. And when she opens her mouth to sing it is apparent that she was meant for a life in music but was shut down. She did sing some in society before she retired to Grey Gardens, but it wasn’t taken seriously as a possible career. Women didn’t have careers. Women managed staff in their homes, and went to parties, and obeyed the rules. Big Edie is following no rules at Grey Gardens. When Little Edie moves in in 1952, also giving up on finding a husband (i.e. financial stability), and staying until her mother’s death in 1981, she also gives up on the rules, both because there isn’t money to pay for them, but mostly it seems because she just doesn’t give a shit any more. She spends her days singing and dancing, changing costume ten times a day, wearing head scarves which cover the remnants of her hair fallen out from alopecia, entertaining her demanding mother.
I binged everything I could this week about the Beales. There is so much more. They captured my heart, as Little Edie scattered Wonder Bread for the ever growing raccoon colony in the attic, as Big Edie cared for litter after litter of kittens. They were both so broken, yet so strong, I couldn’t look away. They needed to be seen and I saw. Chris said that the 1975 documentary was a precursor to reality tv, which we know isn’t reality. So there’s that. We saw what they let us see, or at least what the men behind the cameras let us see. Was it made to be sensational? Probably. But I don’t care.
We see throughout our country what happens when the social structures of capitalism fall away and are denied to people. We see it every day on the streets, on television, on social media. The Beales are almost a caricature of this plight. The Chariot, notably a male figure, isn’t giving up. But what does he sacrifice in order to keep going? Is that the question the sphynxes are asking us. We can’t forget as well, that the illustrator of The Chariot, died in poverty in an unmarked grave, because she was both denied access to the fruits of capitalism, and because she rebelled against this denial.
The Beales. A high recommend.
xo Hanna