I got whiplash from reading this. Gordon’s tactic of alternating chapters about Mary Wollstonecraft with chapters about Mary Shelley was too much to bear. I couldn’t keep track of which Mary I was reading about, and which baby had just died, and which husband was off philandering and messing things up in general. After sucking it up and suffering all the way through to the end, I can appreciate the twinned structure in two areas—where she does back-to-back chapters of Shelley’s death by drowning against Mary Wollstonecraft’s death in childbirth pushing Mary Shelley into the world; also in the similar mangling that took place posthumously– Godwin forever ruining Wollestonecraft’s reputation by publishing bits she had excised from her own writing and Mary Shelley tightening up Shelley’s posthumous recollections to be acceptable to the greater world.
I’m happy to have learned a bit about both women, and extraneous bits picked up along the way, such as the utter solitude that the Shelleys experienced in Rome at the Baths of Caracalla where Shelley proclaimed “Never was any desolation more sublime and lovely.” I cannot imagine this spot not overrun by tourists, but life in 1819 was much different. Then again, there have been some improvements over the last 200 years, such as in birth control methods. It was appalling to read page after page of devastation and drama brought on by the ladies being yet again pregnant. Also appalling was Godwin’s pecuniary motives in writing to his daughter, always wheedling for money out of Shelley even after Godwin had shunned her for the impropriety of her relationship.