I, Mary MacLane by Mary MacLane (1881 - 1929)

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Episodes: 77

Description

Described as "the first blogger", Mary MacLane lived a tortured life, ahead of her time. Her beloved father died when she was a young child, and at the age of 8, her stepfather moved the family from its home in Winnipeg, Canada to Montana in the United States, where young Mary had a hard time making friends. Her sensational autobiographical style of writing was considered scandalous, as she told of her bohemian lifestyle, feminist politics and open bisexuality. Although popular during her lifetime, among a sensation-seeking public, and being credited with influencing such writers as Scott Fitzgerald and Edith Wharton, her work lost its popularity after her death at the age of 48. - Summary by Lynne Thompson

Episode Date
A prayer-feeling
Jan 01, 1970
Rhythm
Jan 01, 1970
Ice-water, corrosive acid and human breath
Jan 01, 1970
A right shape and size
Jan 01, 1970
The edge of mist-and-silver
Jan 01, 1970
Food and fire
Jan 01, 1970
The subdivided cell
Jan 01, 1970
The gray-purple
Jan 01, 1970
An ancient witch-light
Jan 01, 1970
Late afternoon
Jan 01, 1970
A dark bright fierce fire
Jan 01, 1970
A familiar sharp twist
Jan 01, 1970
A mountebank’s cloak
Jan 01, 1970
A profoundly delicious idea
Jan 01, 1970
Twenty inches of ajarness
Jan 01, 1970
A fluttering-moth wish
Jan 01, 1970
A thousand kisses
Jan 01, 1970
To wander and hang and float about
Jan 01, 1970
A damned spider
Jan 01, 1970
Not quite voilà-tout
Jan 01, 1970
Slyly garbling and cross-purposing
Jan 01, 1970
The necklace
Jan 01, 1970
A deathly pathos
Jan 01, 1970
Beneficent bedlam
Jan 01, 1970
A white liner
Jan 01, 1970
The mist
Jan 01, 1970
A wild mare
Jan 01, 1970
Eye when I mean tooth
Jan 01, 1970
The conscious analyst
Jan 01, 1970
Black-browed Wednesdays
Jan 01, 1970
No resonance
Jan 01, 1970
A fascinating creature
Jan 01, 1970
God’s kindly caprice
Jan 01, 1970
Just beneath my skin
Jan 01, 1970
The strange braveness
Jan 01, 1970
God compensates me
Jan 01, 1970
Stickily mad
Jan 01, 1970
The sleep of the dead
Jan 01, 1970
Their little shoes
Jan 01, 1970
In my black dress and my still room
Jan 01, 1970
A comfortably vicious person
Jan 01, 1970
My echoing footsteps
Jan 01, 1970
Lot’s wife
Jan 01, 1970
A working diaphragm
Jan 01, 1970
To God, care of the whistling winds
Jan 01, 1970
My damns
Jan 01, 1970
Their voices
Jan 01, 1970
A life-long lonely word
Jan 01, 1970
Knitting or plaiting straw
Jan 01, 1970
Loose twos
Jan 01, 1970
Instinct—a ‘first law’
Jan 01, 1970
Sweet fine sweatings of blood
Jan 01, 1970
Bastard lacy valentines
Jan 01, 1970
To express me
Jan 01, 1970
By the blood of dead Americans
Jan 01, 1970
Swift go my days
Jan 01, 1970
A helliad
Jan 01, 1970
An eerie quality
Jan 01, 1970
My shoes
Jan 01, 1970
The merciless beauty
Jan 01, 1970
A human prerogative
Jan 01, 1970
It’s not death
Jan 01, 1970
Sincerity and despair
Jan 01, 1970
A someway separate individual
Jan 01, 1970
A strongly-windy Saturday
Jan 01, 1970
The harp of worn strings
Jan 01, 1970
The Dover road
Jan 01, 1970
A winding sheet
Jan 01, 1970
A prison of self
Jan 01, 1970
A thin damnedness
Jan 01, 1970
A lost person
Jan 01, 1970
My neat blue chair
Jan 01, 1970
A mathematic dead-wall
Jan 01, 1970
Everyday and to-morrow
Jan 01, 1970
A twisted moral
Jan 01, 1970
Half inevitably, half by choice
Jan 01, 1970
A crucible of my own making
Jan 01, 1970