Newspaper reporters took pleasure in taunting Stein’s style in their pun-riddled copy, but the author’s celebrity status and carefully orchestrated interviews drew enormous crowds to her events. Her first lecture was about her most recent book, The Making of Americans. In the semiautobiographical novel, Stein chronicled three generations of a family. She described how the characters’ personalities were formed by their choice to repeat the actions of their parents. Those repetitions shaped their own lives and the lives of their children. Like wave after wave, each generation was formed by the previous generation, which created a collective family culture. The next generation had the choice to carry on the family’s culture or break away. Breaking away was difficult because it fragmented the family.
Margaret had been deeply moved by Stein’s book. It clarified for her why her own family was so broken. Her parents’ individual personalities had been formed long before they met and were influenced by their very different families. They once loved each other enough to overlook those differences, but now her father lived on his boat and her mother was alone in the house on Long Island. There were no plans for family gatherings on Thanksgiving or Christmas. Even so, Margaret missed the structure of holiday breaks that had been a part of her college life. She also missed her friends from Hollins. The summer after she graduated, she served as a bridesmaid in four weddings, but as each friend left the church on the arm of her new husband, Margaret knew the couple was walking off into a life that eventually left her behind. The things she and her now married girlfriends once had in common would erode, especially when children came along. Before long, Margaret knew the letters that bridged her and her friends’ distance would cease and they would lose touch completely.
She tried not to think too hard about the future and kept herself busy. There was always something to do in the city. She visited museums and took classes at The Art Students League of New York. Her instructor had her paint only color with no shape or intention so she could understand the moods colors could evoke. Then she molded forms with clay to get a feel for dimension. After days of that, she painted still lifes and nude model after nude model. This soon bored her. She decided to save money by quitting the class and painting her own pile of fruits and vegetables.
After that, she took a short story course at Columbia University, where Basil Rauch, her new brother-in-law, was earning his doctorate in history. Basil was far too serious for Margaret’s taste, but he suited her docile sister. Basil and Roberta lived close by, and the sisters had become closer in recent months. Margaret teased Basil about his somber dark brown tweed suits, and he considered it an amusing challenge to find interesting dinner companions for Margaret. A parade of professors, writers, and editors were served at his and Roberta’s table, but Margaret found most of them too gentle and dreary. She had no trouble finding good-looking young men with more money than intellect to accompany her to plays, movies, and restaurants around the city. Inevitably, though, she would cast them off, too. They were fun but unable to hold a decent conversation.
She loved living in the city. At night, she lay in her bed and listened to the city grow so quiet she could hear the click of heels on sidewalks and the shutter of the traffic lights as they changed from red to green. She woke early to write and watch the city come to life. When she walked through her Greenwich Village neighborhood, she chatted with street vendors and shopkeepers around Washington Square Park. She helped the French baker around the corner with his English, and he gave her lessons on the French horn in return. Every week, she bought a bouquet of flowers to liven her tiny apartment. She loved how almost anything could be found in the city. In the depths of winter, she discovered white narcissus for sale in the subway, and for a few cents, she bought the memory of spring.
*
The Great Depression still gripped most of the nation, but the Browns saw no changes in their lifestyles due to the economic downturn. Margaret continued to receive a healthy allowance, and the Browns went on vacations across the country and to Europe. On a family skiing vacation in Lausanne, Switzerland, Margaret met the pretender to the defunct Spanish crown, Infante Juan, count of Barcelona. They dined and skied, and although their relationship wasn’t serious, it was often mentioned by her family that she once dated the prince of Spain.
Margaret’s father had grown tired of waiting for her to marry or find permanent work. He threatened to cut off her allowance and force her to move home if she didn’t find a full-time job or a husband soon.
Margaret was desperate to stay in the city. She confessed her hopes and exasperation in letters to her former English professor Marguerite Hearsey. In one, Margaret shared her dream to write great literature and in the next was resigned that she might as well give up and marry a good man. Dr. Hearsey encouraged Margaret to continue to write—her talent and literary foundation would eventually open the necessary doors.
Margaret wasn’t so sure. A year after graduating, she had convinced her father to pay for her to take a couple of graduate courses at the University of Virginia. There she rented a charming house from Stringfellow Barr, a lauded history professor who allowed Margaret to sit in on his renowned literary salon. She made many editorial connections through Stringfellow and pressed her new friends to consider her short stories for publication. No one, though, wanted to buy, and she wasn’t quite sure why.
As Margaret sat in Stein’s lecture, listening to the famous author discuss repetition in writing as a way to reinforce understanding, Margaret felt inspired. The author had stepped onto the stage in heavy, low-heeled shoes. She wore her signature long tweed skirt topped by a white collared shirt and black vest and approached the lectern without looking at the crowded auditorium. She launched into her speech and kept her eyes on the papers in front of her. After several minutes, she lifted her gaze and asked the audience if they understood what she was saying. Polite nods assured her they did.
This was particularly true for Margaret, who listened to Stein speak and instantly recognized the simple beauty of the great author’s style. Stein’s reliable rhythms created a cadence that bound the reader to the page. Repetition allowed readers to grasp a basic premise, and then, by turning phrases over and over, successive layers of understanding were peeled away.