Troubles of Biographers: W is for Wild Wilder, Part II

A-Z List 6 tackles the problems of biographies. Most of the problems have addressed the writing process: Should a biographer link a specific event to a subject's personality? What does a biographer do in the absence of primary sources? 

The final books on this list will mostly tackle what a biography is. What makes a book a biography rather than a memoir, a survivor story, a treatise, a lesson (see Von Trapps), or a non-fiction book about a time period rather than a person (see just about every Shakespeare biography ever). 

In other words, I'm going "meta." The connotation here, at least, is deliberate.

Trouble: Can a biography afford to ignore the reputation or aura or cultural iconic value of the person?

Many biographies will attempt to "correct" the false views and attitudes that arise about the person--but is that a biography? A negative (so-and-so was not like that) as opposed to positive argument? Isn't perception still the controlling narrative here? (See every Cary Grant biography ever.) 

Consequently, this time around, I didn't read a biography. Rather, I (re)read a memoir about the phenomenon of Laura Ingalls Wilder:

McClure, Wendy. The Wilder Life. Riverhead, 2011. 

The book covers McClure's encounters with the cultural phenomenon of Laura Ingalls Wilder. It begins a year after her mother's death when McClure reread the series, which her mother did not read to her as a child. McClure became enthralled by the idea of "really exploring Laura World." 

The book details visits to various sites alongside McClure's thoughts about the historical reality of members of the Wilder family, the historical reality of the time period, the meaning and cultural impact of the books, and her personal experiments with crafts, like churning butter. 

She is well-aware of the "play-acting" aspect of her experience. At one point she describes buying a jar of molasses...

at Whole Foods, oddly enough, since it was the only place I could find it. The irony of going to a place with an olive bar and an artisanal cheese counter just to find the humblest pantry staple ever, practically the official condiment of The Grapes of Wrath, was not lost on me. Who knows what Ma would've thought of organic Swiss chard that probably cost more per pound than all the fabric of her green delaine dress?

Nevertheless, McClure forges on. She discusses the books' contexts. She discusses the television show. She visits most of  the extant historical sites. 

Most importantly, for the purposes of this post, she encounters reader after reader and viewer after viewer who has taken to the books and the television show for some reason other than "I want to learn more about Laura Ingalls Wilder, the person." 

She encounters a blogger who reviews the television show as part of a critique of historical family-viewing practices. She encounters essays by school children at the Little House on the Prairie replica cabin, which site was in the middle of a lawsuit. She describes the "meticulous research" by those who actually, finally, located where the cabin likely was built (page 124). She reports her conversation with the site manager who agrees that there are few Native American souvenirs. The site brings in "tribal dancers for Prairie Days Festival though she admitted that they were awfully expensive" (especially for a place in the middle of a lawsuit). "'But you know, you gotta have them come,'" the manager adds. McClure reflects, "I knew what she meant: it seems necessary to show that we all know better--better than Ma and better than [the neighbors in the book]" (133). 

McClure meets an architectural historian fascinated by pantries. She meet others like herself, excited to visit all Laura sites for their history. She meets homeschooling parents. She meets a woman who was inspired by Laura to write about her experience with her mother who had Alzheimer's. She meets little girls who think that wearing a long skirt is the equivalent of "dressing up" like a pioneer.

She meets those who definitely see the books as containing Message. She reports:

I know there are a lot of folks who can easily see Christian messages in the books, lessons about trusting and accepting the will of God in times of hardship, and relying on the bedrock of one's faith to get through...But the Ingalls family in the books didn't appear to be much the praying types...I suppose I'm inclined to see it that way because that's how my family did things--went to church sporadically and understately. (163-164). 

She continues, "I don't mind that it's this way for other people, especially if it makes the books more meaningful for them," but points out the dissonance, especially when current media renderings include religious flourishes not referenced in the books. "Suddenly it wasn't enough that they were good people, they had to be the right kind of good" (164).   

Towards the end of the book, McClure--whose politics might be described as middle-left (she doesn't go into detail)--is startled to find herself at the equivalent of a right-wing, end of times, revivalist, cult-like overnight stay. Based on the little McClure lets drop, I think she would have been less startled but just as lacking in enthusiasm to find herself at the equivalent of a nudist colony run by "love yourself/love nature" hippies. She and her boyfriend--who informs her that he "got an F in blacksmithing"--politely finish out the first day, then leave. 

Even amongst the survivalists, McClure finds differing expectations. "[C]learly, [the husband] thought the weekend would be more Soldier of Fortune magazine than Country Living. I wondered what kind of world he thought he was preparing for" (201). 

McClure's experience inspired the idea for the survey. But it also instantly raised other considerations. McClure honestly admits that her journey was fueled by her mother's death. In the final chapter, she discusses frankly the idea that Laura herself used the books to "unremember" tough events, such as "being hungry." 

As one respondent points out, "[W]hen I reread LHITBW as an adult, I realized, this book is all about food! Ma and Pa are either growing food or hunting food or gathering food or smoking food or storing food or, sometimes, preparing food for eating. Everyone has a connection to food."

If one's childhood is brushed by hunger, those times of feasting will stand out. They would form a narrative, links across the past. 

McClure makes the connection between Laura's unremembering and her own mourning process (which link she didn't perceive when she started the process): 

"I unremembered my mom's cancer and death in the Burr Oak cemetery. You don't deny something when you unremember it, you just give it a place to live." The houses of her own childhood become moments in which she and her brother knew everything about that particular house, "a bright now" in every one. (304, 307).

About halfway through the book, McClure tackles the difficult relationship between Laura and Rose, her daughter and editor--specifically,  Rose's perception of Laura. McClure complains about On the Way Home, edited by Rose, to her boyfriend, Chris. 

"[Rose] felt the need to dump all her weird mother issues on us, [the fans]."

"But it was her experience."

"But it's not about her. It's supposed to be about Laura."

And yet, McClure ruefully allows, maybe it is about the different "personas" of Laura. 

Maybe, I postulate, it is about even more than that. What if, in truth, biographies are like Star Trek episodes. They purport to be about the past (or, in the case of Star Trek, about the future) but really, ultimately, always, they are about us, the person we see, the person we understand, the person we reinterpret. 

The final post of "W is for Wild Wilder" will tackle my own experience with Laura Ingalls Wilder with input from the survey.