Well.
I mean, who am I to comment on Gertrude Stein, right? The wildly inventive mother of modernism, the wellspring of so much of modern American poetry (and painting, and dance, and sculpture, and …). Stein’s Everybody’s Autobiography was published in 1937, following and chronicling her life after the spectacular success of The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas.
There are several modes throughout the book: moments of Stein’s fractured language spilling meaning across the page in prose highly evocative of her poetry; moments of pure autobiography, shedding illumination on her life in the (somewhat unanticipated, somewhat puzzling to her) spotlight; meditations of the meaning of fame and popularity; and then, most problematic of all, expressions both implicit and explicit of her political and social ideals.
I believe neither in the need to rehabilitate historical figures against their will nor in their needing to be exemplary across all dimensions of life. As such, I have no problem with Stein being both a radical figure and hopelessly naïve politically, both an advocate for lesbian and women’s rights and a racist with highly suspicious views on class and status.
To the degree that stance is tolerable for you, Everybody’s Autobiography is fascinating as a window into the urban elite in Europe and America in the years leading up to WW II, and is equally interesting in its pure language. Stein’s skill as an inventive writer willing to push the boundaries of language are on full display, as is her archness and sublime ability to pass both backhanded compliments and outright insults.
I’m glad to have read it; although I am unsure I could heartily recommend it for everyone.