To All the Writers I Have Loved Before: A Love Letter To The Women Who Have Shaped Me
I had the epiphany some time ago that all my favorite writers were women. This fact has been true for as long as I’ve been a reader, as I have always been inherently drawn to the words drafted by my female counterparts. To discover, at thirteen, that Sylvia Plath had similarly felt the hollow darkness of life was both a comfort and a revelation. There were people in the world who felt like me, and had thought similar things, long before I was born. I couldn’t comprehend this idea before Plath—I didn’t find myself in Gatsby’s luxurious parties or see myself reflected in the burnt-out gaze of Guy Montag. While I loved Fitzgerald and Bradbury, Poe and King, I was a step removed from their writing because I did not discover even a shred of myself among their pages. The closest I had been was to Clarisse in Fahrenheit 451, a vivid female character who wanted to look at people as they spoke to her, much like I did. But despite my love of female characters, I couldn’t find a place for myself among the worlds created by men. It was not until I picked up a weathered copy of The Bell Jar that I truly understood what it was like to belong.
When Esther, the main character of the story, finds herself shrouded by a veil of anxiety when faced with the presence of death, she says, “I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.” She is reassuring herself that she is alive, she’s alive, she’s here. These words acted like a beacon to me, and they still do, as I often find myself taking a deep breath and repeating I am, I am, I am, over and over in my mind until a wave of anxiousness passes over me. I have always been fearful of death—of the thought that one day my mind will go blank, and lay dormant, and that I will cease to be the person I have loved being for so long. To know that Plath understood this fear, while acknowledging the fact that sometimes the lure of that quiet solitude was enticing, was revelatory. I felt understood in a way I had not felt during any prior reading experience. One could not simply speak to the darkness in their heart as easily when I was a teenager. These sentences caught in your throat, dried up on your exhaling breath of air before you ever had the chance to speak them out loud. When I read Sylvia Plath, I gained the advantage of using her words in place of my own. Transformed, I became the puppet mouthpiece through which her writing flowed.
And because I have always been a lover of gothic yet earnest ideals, I found myself falling in love with other female writers who brilliantly captured both the dark and light sides of life much like Plath did. Mary Shelley and Daphne du Maurier are the two pillars of this constructed institution, in my mind, because both women created stories that have effectively stood up against the test of time. In Frankenstein, Shelley created an iconic tale of monsters and madness, but more so than that, she created a story of insight and forewarning. Pushing someone to the outskirts of civilization and refusing to accept them because they are different bears destructive fruit. Turning away from things you have created because you are ashamed of the execution of your own vision is more debilitating than simply facing your frustration head on. I love Frankenstein because it is both complicated and yet wildly simple. Shelley artfully outlines a thousand sacred messages within a few lines of text, all while working through the personal pain of losing a child and losing a part of herself in the process. Her writing reflects feminine life—the strive to create, the immense sorrow when you lose your creation, the unending crawl back toward the light when you can no longer bear the darkness. Mary Shelley was a force to be reckoned with, and she allowed herself to express her most intimate feelings through her writing during a time when only men were really permitted to do so.
Like Mary Shelley, Daphne du Maurier was an expert in the macabre. My first soiree into her world came in the form of Rebecca. One of the most intoxicating novels I’ve ever read, Rebecca is a portrait of what happens when one woman lives in the shadow of another. I read this book obsessively, greedily, as I became more transfixed with the story du Maurier cleverly created. When you pick up Rebecca, you’re hooked from the first sentence. As the story unfolds, you work your way through shadowy figures and long-kept secrets to discover the truth of what happened to the titular character. I love du Maurier’s novels because she creates an elevated level of suspense in such a profound and unique way, and she writes female characters that are truthful reflections of the real thing. Many of the thoughts that cross the narrator’s mind in Rebecca felt familiar like they were thoughts that had passed through my own mind earlier in life. Even though the stories are haunting, and sometimes deal with supernatural elements, du Maurier’s writing never feels inauthentic. The conviction with which she wrote makes you convince yourself that it is possible for ghosts to linger in forgotten corners of beautiful mansions.
Another female writer who is capable of convincing you of the presence of ghosts is the incomparable Donna Tartt. I, admittedly, discovered Donna Tartt much later than most, as I only became familiar with her work when The Goldfinch was published. I visited my local Barnes & Noble not long after it was released and was immediately drawn to the arresting portrait of the tiny goldfinch that adorns the cover of this novel. The book itself was beautiful, with finely printed pages that were soft to the touch. I began reading The Goldfinch on a trip to London, and I found myself getting deeply lost in the story. I would cast my eyes down and begin reading, and when twenty odd pages had passed, I would look up from The Goldfinch and have no idea how much time had passed. Stepping away from the story felt like waking up from a dream. Tartt’s detailing is so exquisite, so descriptive, that you can imagine every piece of furniture, every strand of hair, every location she mentions in her books. After I finished The Goldfinch, I picked up her other two novels, The Secret History and The Little Friend. Both were beautifully written, but The Secret History changed my life. I had always known I wanted to be a writer, but I never wanted to be a writer until I read this book. The idea that someone could sit down and write a novel of this caliber, through sheer determination, astounded me. I was inherently drawn to the idea of pursuing a life as a writer because of the way that Donna Tartt led this life herself. Tartt is somewhat reclusive, preferring to keep to herself on her farm in Virginia, where she spends ten years writing each of her novels. What a blissful life to lead.
On the note of blissful lives, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Joan Didion. I’ve written about Didion in the past and will likely spend the rest of my life writing about her, because she has had the biggest impact on my journey to become a writer. I learned that anything was possible because of Joan Didion. Petite women could get into the trenches and learn about wars, drugs, and crime just as easily as robust men could. Joan Didion is fearless, and she writes fearlessly, choosing to use the blank page as an intimate diary for her expansive thoughts. She writes truthfully, clearly, and with such immense passion that it’s difficult to read her work and not walk away transformed. She has lived along the coast in California and in the heart of New York City. She has covered profoundly personal topics, groundbreaking revelations, and enigmatic eras of our shared human experience. There is no one cooler than Joan Didion. There is no one I would rather emulate. I am who I am as a writer because of Joan Didion.
And as a final, sweeping interlude to my somewhat scattered and unstructured love letter to the female writers who have changed my life, I want to mention both Tana French and Jessie Burton. I discovered Tana French’s Dublin Murder Squad series soon after the first book, In the Woods, was published. French writes her characters in such a realistic fashion; you feel as though they’re people you know in your own life. Her female leads are brilliant, badass, and unafraid. They’re women who are strong-minded, strong-willed, and they are incredibly intelligent. Tana French helped me discover that thrillers were my favorite genre, and she writes about raw human emotion in such a beautiful way that I find myself compelled to revisit her books time and time again. And to take a moment to express my undying commitment to Jessie Burton—I have loved few books as much as I loved The Muse. What an amazing, enticing journey of a story. Centered around numerous female characters, The Muse affected me on a profoundly emotional level. When I read the final page, I found myself taking a deep breath as my mind raced to connect the dots and comprehend the interwoven secret that had finally been revealed. The Muse is the type of book you immediately want to pick up and start from the beginning again once you’ve finished it, just to see if you can catch things this time around that you missed the first time. Burton is naturally gifted, and she spends her free time interacting with her fans on Instagram, which is such a delight to see.
Sylvia Plath. Mary Shelley. Daphne du Maurier. Donna Tartt. Joan Didion. Tana French. Jessie Burton. Where would I be without you? Each of you has taught me how to be a better writer, how to describe things more vividly, and to write from the innermost workings of my heart. You have made me feel less alone and more accepted. You have given me the gift of ambition, and you have shown me that anything is possible. I have loved you, I love you still, I’ll love you forever. Thank you for creating a path so that the rest of us may follow.
About Sam Cohen
Sam Cohen is a writer and editor based in New England. She lives with her wonderful partner Caleb, and enjoys learning new languages, drinking lattes, and spending time with her loved ones. Sam is an avid reader who practices yoga and tries to laugh as often as possible. She hopes to be a published author one day. She can be found on Twitter and Instagram.