Judith Thurman – författare

A scandalously talented stage performer, a practiced seductress of both men and women, and the flamboyant author of some of the greatest works of twentieth-century literature, Colette was our first true superstar. Now, in Judith Thurman''s Secrets of the Flesh, Colette at last has a biography worthy of her dazzling reputation.Having spent her childhood in the shadow of an overpowering mother, Colette escaped at age twenty into a turbulent marriage with the sexy, unscrupulous Willy--a literary charlatan who took credit for her bestselling Claudine novels. Weary of Willy''s sexual domination, Colette pursued an extremely public lesbian love affair with a niece of Napoleon''s. At forty, she gave birth to a daughter who bored her, at forty-seven she seduced her teenage stepson, and in her seventies she flirted with the Nazi occupiers of Paris, even though her beloved third husband, a Jew, had been arrested by the Gestapo. And all the while, this incomparable woman poured forth a torrent of masterpieces, including Gigi, Sido, Cheri, and Break of Day. Judith Thurman, author of the National Book Award-winning biography of Isak Dinesen, portrays Colette as a thoroughly modern woman: frank in her desires, fierce in her passions, forever reinventing herself. Rich with delicious gossip and intimate revelations, shimmering with grace and intelligence, Secrets of the Flesh is one of the great biographies of our time.NOTE: This edition does not include a photo insert.

A new feminist biography of the incomparably influential English historian Edward Gibbon, author of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. The Enlightenment-era, six-volume epic The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire is to history what In Search of Lost Time is to fiction. Edward Gibbon’s chronicle of the late Roman period continues to be, nearly 250 years after its original publication, the best-known work of history written in the English language. Gibbon’s flights of lyricism, his ironic observations, his unflagging devotion to reason over piety, come to form a captivating history of the Imperial Roman world and an epochal model of historiography with which all subsequent historians must contend. In The Conversions of Edward Gibbon, the last work of the celebrated feminist historian Martha Saxton, we come to know the man and the methods. Saxton’s illuminating biography follows Gibbon from his unhappy childhood, to his time at Oxford, through his writing life and his physical suffering in later age. He is in some respects everything Saxton seeks to turn against in her own work, and while she writes unsparingly of the historian’s foibles and cruelties, her interest comes from a place of deep curiosity: why did Gibbon, unlike the many other Enlightenment thinkers who regarded their female contemporaries as allies in building an equitable civil society, remain so personally barbed and cold to the women in his life and work? What emerges is a portrait of a complex historian and a decaying antique empire, all bathed in the light of the tumultuous eighteenth century.

Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette was this century's first modern woman. She arrived in Paris around 1900 as the provincial child bride of a notorious rake and brilliant literary impressario, Willy, who signed her first novels, the Claudines, as his own. They invented the erotically reckless teenage girl as we know her, and became the greatest French bestsellers of all time. When this tumultuous marriage ended, Colette went off with a high-born woman lover, the virile Marquise de Belboeuf, and embarked on a flamboyant stage career. She bared her breast to raucous applause in the French music-hall and became a celebrity of the lesbian demimonde. Until her death in 1954, she continued to rewrite the rules for loving, working, and aging. At the end of the century, her life and work still have the power to challenge the norms.

In his 1989 book on Balthus—the storied and controversial artist who worked in Paris throughout the twentieth century—Guy Davenport gives one of the most nuanced, literary, and compelling readings of the work of this master. Reading it today highlights the change in perspectives on sexuality and nudity in art in the past thirty years.Written over several years in his notebooks, Davenport’s distinct reflections on Balthus’s paintings try to explain why his work is so radical, and why it has so often come under scrutiny for its depiction of girls and women. Davenport throws the lens back on the viewer and asks: is it us or Balthus who reads sexuality into these paintings? For Davenport, the answer is clear: Balthus may indeed show us periods in adolescent development that are uncomfortable to view, but the eroticization exists primarily on the part of the viewer. Arguing that Balthus’s figures are erotic only if we make them so, and that their innocence is more present than anything pornographic in them, Davenport posits that the paintings hold up a mirror to our own perversities and force us, difficultly, to confront them. He writes, “The nearer an artist works to the erotic politics of his own culture, the more he gets its concerned attention. Gauguin’s naked Polynesian girls, brown and remote, escape the scandal of Balthus’s, although a Martian observer would not see the distinction.” Davenport’s critique helps us understand Balthus in our times—something we need more than ever as we crucially confront sexual politics in visual art.