by Kate Chopin
Mrs. Chopin has also written a second novel, which a few favored friends have been permitted to read, and which, in the estimation of some, is her very strongest work. It is to be hoped that it will soon see the light.
She is particularly favored in not being obliged to depend upon her writing for her livelihood. There is, consequently, no trace of hack writing in any of her work. When the theme of a story occurs to her she writes it out immediately, often at one sitting, then, after a little, copies it out carefully, seldom making corrections. She never retouches after that.
Personally, Mrs. Chopin is a most interesting and attractive woman. She has a charming face, with regular features and very expressive brown eyes, which show to great advantage beneath the beautiful hair, prematurely gray, which she arranges in a very becoming fashion. Her manner is exceedingly quiet, and one realizes only afterward how many good and witty things she has said in the course of the conversation.
While not pretending to be a student, she still keeps well informed of the leading movements of the age, and in literature she decidedly leans to the French school. She reads with pleasure Moliere, Alphonse Daudet, and especially De Maupassant. Zola, in her opinion, while colossal in his bigness, takes life too clumsily and seriously, which is the fault she also finds with Ibsen. Americans, in their artistic insight and treatment, are, she thinks, well up with the French; and, with the advantage which they enjoy of a wider and more variegated field for observation, would, perhaps, surpass them, were it not that the limitations imposed upon their art by their environment hamper a full and spontaneous expression. Mrs. Chopin has little to say of the English workers. She treats rather condescendingly a certain class of contemporary English women writers, whose novels are now the vogue. She calls them a lot of clever women gone wrong, and thinks that a well-directed course of scientific study might help to make clearer their vision; might, anyhow, bring them a little closer to Nature, with whom at present they seem to have not even a bowing acquaintance. She has great respect for Mrs. Humphry Ward’s achievements; but Mrs. Ward is, au fond, a reformer, and such tendency in a novelist she considers a crime against good taste — only the genius of a Dickens or a Thackeray can excuse it.
From time to time Mrs. Chopin returns to Natchitoches to look after her business affairs, and also to refresh her recollections of that land of creoles and ‘Cadians. The people of Natchitoches always receive her enthusiastically, since they thoroughly endorse her artistic presentation of their locality and its population; for Mrs. Chopin is not, like most prophets, without honor in her own country.
From: The Alienist and Neurologist, April 1894. Page 303.
Bayou Folk. By Kate Chopin. — This is a charming brochure, illustrative of Southern life, by a charming and accomplished writer, of St. Louis. Though “Bayou Folk” is the title of the book the volume is really an aggregation of entertaining personal histories of Louisiana people, adroitly blended into one volume by the gifted authoress, cleverly and naturally showing the home life and dialect of the Pelican State. Lovers of such reminiscences will find much to charm and to admire in this book. Cleverly, tranquilly and sweetly it carries the “Southron” back to Dixie in the days of the war and before; and the Creole dialect, as portrayed in the book, is as natural as if it had been written by a native, and we should not be surprised if it had.
From: Belford’s Monthly and Democratic Review, September 1891. Page 120.
At Fault: A novel. By Kate Chopin. (Nixon-Jones Printing Co.)
An ever-thronging variety of characters, scenes, and circumstances, of shreds and patches, without respect to color or art, is always indicative of that class of writers who have nothing to say and too much to say it with, who mistake quantity for quality, and who believe “A book’s a book, although there’s nothing in’t.” And yet that we are able at times to gain from some special illustration, in even this description of literature, a moral hint of real value is evidenced by the work now under brief consideration; and this hint is imbodied in the presentation of a young wife who has fallen into the evil habit of drink, and who was never able to resist the temptation when her besetting sin was placed within her reach. All the characters and circumstances, however, seem as if they had been shaken out of a dice-box, if we except that of Mrs. Therese Lafirme and David Hosmer, and even these are far from satisfactory. David, having become separated or divorced from his intemperate wife, falls in love with Mrs. Lafirme, a wealthy widow, who becomes smitten with him in turn. Yet, because she thinks that his divorced wife had been driven to drink through his neglect of her, she in her inexplicable magnanimity and generosity prevails upon him to remarry her, which ne does, simply because she desires it! Finally, however, the poor inebriate meets with an accidental death, when, in due course, Mrs. Lafirme becomes Mrs. Hosmer, after having, like her husband, shown, what I am sure will be considered a very unusual phase of the human heart.
The story being Southern, we must, of course, expect an indefinite amount of ebony mixed up with the ivory, and this we have with a vengeance, and without much show of difficulty; for, once we are able to master the dialect and age, all negroes may be said to put on the same mental or psychological appearance Still, the easy-going and uncritical reader may find enough in this volume to interest and amuse him; for it is difficult to say how many may not be in sympathy with its unkempt characters or its unsophisticated methods.
James McCarroll.
From: The Writer, November 1890. Page 259
AT FAULT. A Novel. By Kate Chopin. 218 pp. Paper, 50 cents. St. Louis: Nickson-Jones Printing Company. 1890.
The scene of “At Fault “ is laid in Louisiana, and the creole dialect used by Therese and her friends is much more agreeable than the slang indulged in by the wealthy St. Louis women. The tale has a somewhat pleasant flavor, and the local color seems to be well preserved. The story ends happily in the orthodox fashion.
From: The Nation, October 1, 1891. Page 264
It is not quite clear who is cast for the title role in ‘At Fault,’ since all the characters have valid pretensions to the part; There is the lady who drinks and the gentleman who gets a divorce from her, the widow who loves at d is beloved by him, but who persuades him to remarry his divorced partner and bring her to the Louisiana plantation, where she (the widow) may have a fostering care of the two and help them do their, duty to each other. There is also the young lady of many engagements, the negro who commits arson, the young gentleman who shoots him, the Colonel who shoots the young gentleman, the St Louis lady who goes to matinees and runs off with the matinee-going gentleman. It may not be amiss, in deciding who is “At Fault,” to consider as well the claims of the author, the publisher, and the reader. The reverse side to all this is a graphic description of life on a cotton plantation, an aptitude for seizing dialects of whites and blacks alike, no little skill in perceiving and defining character, and a touch which shows that the array of disagreeables was born rather of literary crudity than of want of refinement.
From: The Literary World, December 20, 1890. Page 495
At Fault.
We are not quite sure whose particular fault gives its title to this novel. It may be that of David Hosmer, the hero, in first divorcing his drunken wife and then falling in love with another woman. But as, in obedience to the mandate of the other woman, he remarries his unpleasant Fanny and treats her thenceforward to her life’s end with the utmost kindness and forbearance, he cannot be considered all culpable. If Melicent be meant, it may be said that though she is an impulsive coquette, she meant no harm, and many girls are worse than she. But whomsoever and whatsoever Mrs. Chopin had in mind, it is to her credit that she has dealt carefully with a somewhat risky situation, and that no one can find serious fault with her story, except in regard to a certain commonness of tone which is, perhaps, rather a feature of the environment of the characters than of the author’s mind. — St. Louis: Nixon Jones Printing Co.
From: The Book Buyer, September 1899. Pages 122-123
The Awakening is a tragedy of self-assertion. In Edna Pontellier a restrained, undeveloped nature is roused from an acceptance of the conditions of her life to a knowledge of her right to some tenderness of devotion, some recognition of her own individual needs, some genuine warmth of love. Her husband is fond of her as he is fond of all the well-selected furnishings of his home. He is generous and unquestioning to a fault, with futile generosity which doubles itself after an injustice, and with trust devoid of understanding. If he had found her, the night after he had scolded her, crying until the sleeve of her peignoir is too wet to wipe away any more tears, he would have been polite and patient, but he could not have believed that she was crying neither from anger with him nor from self-reproach, but from a longing so vague that even in her own heart it had no words. Its satisfaction is a gradual abandonment of all restraint. First there is Robert Lebrun, a boyish fellow, idling through his summer vacation, but at heart a man of honor; the sweetness of his love leaves Edna restless and capricious; she is pitifully unguided; her nature is as unwise and at first as unconscious as a child’s; it chances to be a sensual nature, and the tragedy is completed by her disregard of every claim upon her life except her own. Robert Lebrun goes away and Alcée Arobin comes. When Arobin kisses Edna one’s heart sickens.
“He leaned upon the lounge with his arm extended across her, while the other hand still rested upon her hair. They continued silently to look into each other’s eyes. When he leaned forward and kissed her, she clasped his head, holding his lips to hers.
“It was the first kiss of her life to which her nature had really responded. It was a flaming torch that kindled desire.
“Edna cried a little that night after Arobin left her. It was only one phase of the multitudinous emotions which had assailed her. There was with her an overwhelming feeling of irresponsibility. There was the shock of the unexpected and the unaccustomed. There was her husband’s reproach looking at her from the external things around her which he had provided for her external existence. There was Robert’s reproach making itself felt by a quicker, fiercer, more overpowering love, which had awakened within her toward him. Above all there was understanding. She felt as if a mist had been lifted from her eyes, enabling her to look upon and comprehend the significance of life, that monster made up of beauty and brutality. But among the conflicting sensations which assailed her, there was neither shame nor remorse. There was a dull pang of regret because it was not the kiss of love which had inflamed her, because it was not love which had held this cup of life to her lips.”
No extract can convey the welling up of revolt with which the latter part of the book is read. Edna drowns herself in the end; she has finally recognized that her children have a claim upon her which there is no denying if she lives, and she chooses to die rather than to sacrifice herself for them. The unfailing, exquisite art of it all is swallowed up in the heaviness of sorrow with which the book is closed.
After having seen The Awakening, mere stories, no matter how good, seem a little forced.
From: Godey’s Magazine, April 1895, by Maibelle Justice. Page 432
“Bayou Folk,” by Kate Chopin. A collection of short stories distinguished by crispness of dialogue, teemed with charm and tenderness and glowing with all the intensity and passion of the Creole race. There is not a dull page in the book, for the simple reason that the author knows how to tell a story and is able to gauge her speed by the nature of her events.
From: The Nation, June 28, 1894. Page 488
Of writing many stories of Louisiana life there is no end. It is not surprising, for the material embraces all that is most picturesque, whether the scenes of action be New Orleans or the inland parishes, whether Creoles or negroes be the actors. Kate Chopin has written of the ‘Bayou Folk’ dwelling in Natchitoches Parish, who are of every race and admixture of race that can be evolved from stems American, French, Spanish, Indian, Negro. Her stories are among the most clever and charming that have seen the light. Her pen is an artist’s in choice of subject, in touch, and in forbearance. There is never a word nor an idea too much, and in the score of sketches in which the same names often recur, there is no repetition, nevertheless, of herself or of others. Hers is good work, and as interesting as the good often is not.
From: The Outlook, April 14, 1894. Page 678
The studies of creoles, “‘Cadians,” and negroes in Kate Chopin’s Bayou Folk are careful and sympathetic. The dialect is well managed, the alternate passion and languor of the types portrayed are clearly indicated, the slender plots of the little stories are thoroughly dramatic. Humor and pathos are genuine, and it is rare to find a touch of exaggeration. Several of the tales have had a favorable reading in the magazines. The author’s name must certainly be added to the already long list of American writers who are “specializing” fiction by locality through the literary methods of the Maupassant school.
From: The Review of Reviews, May 1894. Page 625
Bayou Folk. By Kate Chopin.
This is decidedly one of the best volumes of short stories which has appeared for some time. It deals in a very realistic way and with intimate knowledge of various aspects of Creole and negro life in Louisiana, mainly in the Natchitoches region near the central part of the State. The narrative is largely in dialect and of sufficient variety of sentiment to make interesting reading throughout. The length of the pieces is all the way from a two-page episode to the opening story. “A No-Account Creole, which occupies some fifty pages. The chapters are exceedingly direct and written simply, without comment. They might remind some readers of certain of finished bits of Maupassant and other French “short story” masters.
From: The Literary News, May 1894. Pages 142-143
Bayou Folk.
The Acadian land of Louisiana, of which Kate Chopin writes, is flat, and has the color of Peruvian gold. The Mississippi is like the Nile — lavish and deadly. The bayous are grayish, under large, dark trees in forests inextricably entangled. Trees, plants, flowers, and people grow riotously. There is extravagance of life, but if the people had an architecture it would be, as was the ancient Egyptian art, emblematic of immobility. The river is their Medusa.
The Acadians went to Louisiana when England won her war with France in America, Chateaubriand, Cooper, and Longfellow obtained for them recruits of good quality, but they were not men of affairs. The Catholic Church never abandoned them. They are still Frenchmen of the seventeenth century, and there are among them in a descending numerical scale, negroes, Spaniards, Indians, and Americans.
One may find a hut near a plantation palace built with a peristyle like a Greek temple. There are barbarians softened by Catholicism, and Catholics showing the pagan primitiveness of the pious personages in Jacques de Voragine’s “Legenda Aurea.” They have known each other for 200 years. They are a family, and the most respected of them, who may stand under the most brilliant light, has a kinsman who is under a cloud. All the passions are reflected in their faces, which are not trained to impassibility. They are in a solitude, and they form a world. It is a world easily understood, because it is not in the least affected, A thousand and one tales are in its atmosphere. A writer needs only the art to let these stories tell themselves. It is not an art easily acquired, but Kate Chopin has practised it with force and charm in the several stories of her agreeable book. (Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $1.25.) — N. Y. Times.
From: The Critic, May 5, 1894. Pages 299-300
“Bayou Folk” by Kate Chopin. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.
The Bayous of Louisiana are among the most characteristic features of its watery landscape — deep gullies or miniature canyons through which a stream, now sluggish, now abundant, now almost invisible, flows beneath huge overhanging trees draped in funereal barbe espagnole, the Spanish moss of the tropics. They are the abodes of humidity, shadiness, shy sylvan life, the terrifying alligator, the cane-brake, the melodious mosquito. Along these Acherontian streams used to wander the Chacta Indians, and villages of t
hem may still be seen here and there, while the silent pirogue or the ‘Cadjen bateau steals over the sombre waters and occasionally scares up a dazzling heron, a whirring poule d’eau or a flashing “ parrokeet.” alter some color, green, or blue, or anything else? We preferred yellow, and then, as to the name ‘ Book,’ why, that’s also very simple. The quarterly is to be a book, a thing to be put in the library just like any other volume, a complete book. Hence ‘ Yellow’ and ‘Book’ — The Yellow Book, and, please, you see that the name formed itself entirely apart from the suggestion of Japan’s yellow books — official reports.”
