Mata Hari's Last Dance, by Michelle Moran

"Mata Hari" is one of those notorious names that we all recognize from pop culture but, when questioned, few of us could explain this person's identity.  Truthfully, until the past six months or so, I'd had no idea who Mata Hari even was.

My favorite podcast on the planet is Myths and Legends.  I somehow stumbled upon it several years ago and love absolutely everything about it.  Jason Weiser -later joined by his wife Carissa- is a masterful storyteller of some of our planet's greatest hits.  So when I got completely caught up to real time on the current release schedule of new episodes, I turned to one of the Weisers' other podcasts: Scoundrel: History's Forgotten Villains.  It was here that I learned about Matthew Hopkins (Witchfinder General), Cattle Annie & Little Britches (Teen Girl Old West Outlaws), Sarah Wilson (Fake British Princess), Sidney Gottlieb (The Man Who Tried to Control Minds), Sister Virginia Maria (The Murderous Nun of Monza), and Hong Xiuquan (Demon-Slaying Rebel and Brother to Jesus Christ).  It's quite a cast of characters.

Among these interesting -and often deranged- individuals was a young, beautiful Dutch woman named Margaretha Geertruida (Zelle) MacLeod.  Young Margaretha was born in Leeuwarden, Netherlands in 1876 to Adam and Antje (van der Meulen) Zelle.  After falling into financial ruin, Adam abandoned his family and Margaretha's parents later divorced. Antje eventually died in 1891, leaving her four children to essentially fend for themselves or to rely on inconsistent support from relatives.  After a few years and a series of failed attempts at success, a now 18-year-old Margaretha answered an ad that had been posted in a Dutch newspaper: a Dutch colonial army captain 20 years her senior was looking for a wife.

Ahhh, the good ol' days.

Margaretha Zelle married Rudolf MacLeod and the two eventually moved to Java where their marriage continued to suck.  The couple had two children, he drank, was abusive, openly kept a concubine, and was overall just a terrible person.  In an effort to escape the horrors of her everyday life, Margaretha began to pour herself into learning all she could about the culture of Indonesia.  Tragedy struck when, under mysterious (and perhaps sinister) circumstances, both of Margaretha's children fell terribly ill.  Her daughter, Jeanne survived.  Her son, Norman-Jean, was not so lucky.

By this time, Margaretha had joined a local dance company and had continued to study all she could about Javanese/Indonesian culture.  She had even taken the artistic stage name Mata Hari, meaning "eye of the sun". Eventually moving to Paris, Margaretha cast off her old self, claiming to have always been Mata Hari: a princess from Java, born into the Hindu faith and practicing sacred Indian dances all her life.  Given her dark features and deeper complexion (as a European), her public more or less believed her.  Today, we call that cultural appropriation, and it isn't nice.  Our modern sensibilities see her exploitation of a culture for her own gain as an affront, and it is certainly that.  However, one might also consider it a means of survival under the circumstances, and grant a certain measure of forgiveness.  (Or not.  Just the facts.)

But these are not the events most commonly associated with Margaretha Zelle MacLeod.  Mata Hari is known as a seductress, exotic dancer, and femme fatale, perhaps inspiring later artists such as Josephine Baker.  Reading about her life as an exotic dancer and courtesan living in Paris during la Belle Epoque, one cannot help but think of the character of Satine from Moulin Rouge.  Yet even these are not her biggest claims to fame.

Mata Hari was controversial during her time at the beginning of the 20th century.  Her career reached its height when she was in her thirties, late in life for someone in her line of work.  As her performing star began to decline, she gained more work as a courtesan.  But Europe was on the brink of war, and Mata Hari had travelled all over Europe, finding lovers (and bankrollers) nearly everywhere she went: France, Spain...

...and Berlin.

World War I began but, because the Netherlands had remained neutral, Margaretha was able to cross borders with relative freedom as a Dutch citizen.  Still, her movements drew the attention of both sides: Mata Hari had been known to have slept with the enemy.  Was she a spy?  She was eventually arrested and brought before a French military court.  Whether she had been guilty or not, her trial was clearly biased.  There was never any hard evidence provided as to her alleged espionage (beyond her promiscuity and having accepted money from Germans of rank), but she stood accused of causing the deaths of thousands of Allied soldiers.  She vehemently denied all culpability until her dying day stating, "A courtesan, I admit it.  A spy, never!"  Nevertheless, the French military tribunal found her guilty and sentenced her to death within an hour.

From a History Channel article by Evan Andrews:

The question of Mata Hari’s guilt continues to fascinate historians to this day. The documents from her trial were sealed for several decades, but many of the researchers who’ve since studied them have concluded that the case against her was flimsy. Most of the prosecution’s evidence was circumstantial, and her defense attorney was prevented from introducing witnesses that might have backed up her claims. While many scholars remain convinced that Mata Hari was indeed a spy, others contend that she was scapegoated or even framed in order to raise French morale during one of the darkest periods of the war. Nevertheless, the true extent of her espionage may never be known for certain.

So what about the book, Mata Hari's Last Dance by Michelle Moran?

I would probably never have given this book a second look had it not been for the episode of Scoundrel that I listened to on Mata Hari (Exotic Dancer War Criminal).  I was so intrigued and saddened by her story that I was hungry to know more.  I found myself researching her and eventually landed on this novel.  No, it isn't all factual -it is a novel, after all- but it cast a new light based on the author's research on Margaretha Zelle.  Michelle Moran presents us with the story of Mata Hari on the eve of her success through her ultimate demise, using her relationship with Edouard Clunet, the man who would eventually act as her defense attorney, to propel the plot.  (I'm not sure how much of this relationship is fact or fiction, but Clunet was indeed a real person.)  Flashbacks to Margaretha's past fill in the blanks of her history without sacrificing continuity.  As a work of fiction, it's good.  Great?  Maybe not, but certainly intriguing. 

Personally, I'm inclined to believe she was neglected by her family after her father left and her mother died.  She struggled to find her way and, with no guidance or support (and perhaps attachment issues?), she made some bad decisions...like, really bad decisions.  Bereft after the death of her son and the loss of her daughter (that's a separate story), she made more bad decisions.  As a single, fatherless, divorcee in a time when women weren't even allowed to vote (in France), she adopted a lifestyle that afforded her both power and security.  Can you really fault her for that?  I think she was a fool who made foolish choices, but I struggle to see her as a spy.  If she was, she was the worst spy in human history.

Guilty or not, Margaretha Zelle MacLeod (aka Mata Hari) was executed by a firing squad of 12 French soldiers early in the morning of October 15, 1917.  A reporter who witnessed the execution stated that she blew a kiss to the firing squad before they took her life.

Maybe not a spy, but definitely a badass.

Hester, by Laurie Lico Albanese

Since I started listening to a lot more books in audio format, I've been able to actually start chipping away at my long list of books to read.  One book that happened upon my list (I forget where I heard of it) was Hester, by Laurie Lico Albanese. 

After reading my previous book, I wanted something lighter.  I did not find it.  

OK, I take that back.  Hester is lighter in the sense that it is a novel that will sweep you into another world, but it isn't lighter in terms of subject matter...something I ought to have known based on the premise!

The story is a complete fictionalization of the woman who would come to influence Hester Prynne of Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter.  In her novel, author Laurie Lico Albanese imagines Isobel Gamble, a young newlywed Scottish immigrant who crosses the Atlantic with her husband, Edward, to begin a new life in Salem, Massachusetts.  Edward leaves her almost immediately to go back to sea as the ship's doctor/apothecary.  As Isobel remains alone in Salem, she meets a young Nathaniel Hawthorne, becoming his muse.

As she comes to learn, Nathaniel's history is one of guilt and shame that did indeed burden the writer in reality.  [Fact: The staunchly Puritan Hathorne family was instrumental in the convictions at the Salem witch trials of the 1600s.  Nathaniel Hawthorne was so ashamed of this history within his own family, that he even added the "w" to his name in an effort to distance himself from that dark aspect of his past.]  Yet Isobel has family secrets of her own.  Centuries past, her own "ancestress" was an accused and convicted witch who, with the help of friends (and perhaps the fairies of the Scottish highlands), was able to escape her own execution.

The premise of the book is certainly intriguing, particularly for those who have read The Scarlet Letter and will recognize the parallels.  While addressing the topics of witches, insanity, and moral ethics, the story also features a great deal of synesthesia and its role in individuals who did not understand it as a pathology/condition/gift (however you wish to define it).  I was surprised at the liberties taken by the author when it came to the character of Hawthorne, and wonder how he might take her rendition of him.  It's probably a good thing he's dead and not around to read it.

Once I realized the direction that the book was going with Hawthorne's character, the story became somewhat contrived and predictable.  While he was certainly no angel in real life, I felt it a somewhat unfair portrayal of him...unless she knows something I don't, perhaps?

Regardless, Hester is not a particularly cerebral book.  It has equal measures of intrigue, mystery, history, and romance, and makes for a good escape from the mundane.  Enjoyable, though perhaps not for everyone.

The Woman They Could Not Silence, by Kate Moore

It has been a minute!  I started this space about a year ago by playing catch-up on the books that I had already read in 2023, and I'm beginning 2024 in the same way.  Illness, injury, a dozen or so holidays, and a move to a new home have all catapulted to the center of my family priorities, and I'm just now beginning to exhale for the first time since mid-October.

As a result of all of the tumult, I have resorted to listening to a lot more books in audio format.  Sit-down reading time has been quite limited with all of the activity and appointments pertaining to the above excuses and, to be honest, my current hard copy selection is a slow moving one.  In spite of its haunting and intriguing plotline, The Marble Faun is tough to get into.  I believe I began it last fall, and am not quite halfway through it.  (I'll get there...)

But audiobooks!  While I'm certainly not new to this format (I've been listening to books since they were available on cassette), I haven't listened to a recorded reading of a book in perhaps a decade or more.  I know I'm behind the times, but a couple of friends recently introduced me to the Libby app, and now I'm hooked.  Months and months ago, one of these friends recommended that I read (listen to) a historical book about an individual whose name was entirely unfamiliar to me. Having never even heard the name Elizabeth Packard, I was not entirely certain what to expect...that is, until I read the book's description:

"...another dark and dramatic but ultimately uplifting tale of a forgotten woman whose inspirational journey sparked lasting change for women's rights and exposed injustices that still resonate today.

1860:  As the clash between the states rolls slowly to a boil, Elizabeth Packard, housewife and mother of six, is facing her own battle.  The enemy sits across the table and sleeps in the next room.  Her husband of twenty-one years is plotting against her because he feels increasingly threatened -- by Elizabeth's intellect, independence, and unwillingness to stifle her own thoughts.  So Theophilus makes a plan to put his wife back in her place.  One summer morning, he has her committed to an insane asylum.

The horrific conditions inside the Illinois State Hospital in Jacksonville, Illinois are overseen by Dr. Andrew McFarland, a man who will prove to be even more dangerous to Elizabeth than her traitorous husband.  But most disturbing is that Elizabeth is not the only sane woman confined to the institution.  There are many rational women on her ward who tell the same story:  they've been committed not because they need medical treatment, but to keep them in line -- conveniently labeled 'crazy' so their voices are ignored.

No one is willing to fight for their freedom and, disenfranchised both by gender and the stigma of their supposed madness, they cannot possibly fight for themselves.  But Elizabeth is about to discover that the merit of losing everything is that you then have nothing to lose..."

What more could I add to that description?  But what baffles me most is how have we never heard this story before?  

If you read the book, you will clearly see that "Dr." Andrew McFarland is a monstrous asshole yet, from 1968 to 2023, he had a mental health center named after him in Illinois.  (Spoiler alert:  They justly renamed the hospital the Elizabeth Parsons Ware Packard Mental Health Center in August 2023.)  How?  How is it possible for a man who openly accepted -sometimes encouraged- the physical and mental abuse of patients (I'll save the sordid details for the book) to be so renowned that it took us nearly two centuries to recognize that he should not have a mental hospital named after him?  A man who once said that patients were never to be trusted, and who openly stole their mail?  A man who willingly admitted people (women) to the institution who were not insane and attempted to hold them incarcerated indefinitely? 

I'll tell you how.  Andrew McFarland was powerful and celebrated.  He was a doctor who answered to no one.  He operated with impunity.  He was white in mid-nineteenth century America.  He was a man.

Whether you consider yourself a bra burner, a Mennonite, a raging lesbian who loves hiking a little too much, or a devout Muslim, one thing is true for us all.  Women have been denied our own history.  In the past couple of years, I have been poring over books and publications that tell the stories of women who, until that moment, were completely foreign to me.  Sure, we've all heard of Susan B. Anthony and Nellie Bly, but how much do we really know about these women?  A paragraph in a history book is hardly enough to explain.  These are the names we glossed over in school for their contributions to society during their respective times, but do any of us know exactly how they changed their worlds -and subsequently ours- for the better?  What did they change?  How did they do it?  What was the cost?  

Perhaps another way of considering the question of how well we know our own history is to consider all of the names we can list of famous men of the past.  Go ahead.  Write them down.  Now list the famous historical women.  There's no comparison when it comes to sheer volume of one over the other.  But let's take it a step further.  How many of those people -men or women- were ostracized?  How many of them were considered heroes?  How do we view them today?  Are they represented as bold world changers or as villains?

Elizabeth Packard had her flaws.  In my opinion, the most glaring fault she had was to be too forgiving of those who had destroyed her life and viciously ripped her children from her.  She was well liked by her community, an excellent homemaker, a doting mother, a devoted wife, and a cook of high praise - even Theophilus (her prick of a husband) said she had no equal.  But perhaps all these learned men were right.  She was, after all, a slightly different shade of Christian than Theophilus (he was Presbyterian, she attended the Methodist church), so she probably was insane and deserved to be locked up for life.

Crazy.  Insane.  Hysterical.  Witch.  All words that are almost exclusively applied to women throughout history, and even today.

I found myself able to identify with Elizabeth in so many ways.  From the first pages of the book, I knew we had a lot in common: moms who fiercely love our kids and genuinely enjoy teaching them and watching them grow; a love of reading, writing, and intellectual discourse; mouthy and outspoken; compelled to defend the underdog; creatures of habit and routine, even in the face of darkness.  We're both stubborn and stalwart Midwestern bitches who enjoy a good flex (readers will note her unwillingness to walk to her demise whilst still maintaining her dignity and propriety as defined by the time period).  At the time of her incarceration, she was close to my current age.  Even her diminutive stature, dark hair, and long features remind me of my own.  I feel like we could have been friends were it not for the 170 years separating our births.

And yet, unlike me, Elizabeth lived in a time where women, minorities, and the mentally ill genuinely did not have a voice.  Sure, it's an ongoing struggle that we all face today, but it pales in comparison to the norms of Civil War America.  Once she finally got out of the asylum, she could not afford to go scorched earth.  In order to enact the changes that she desired (amounting to dozens of legislative bills and laws at the federal level, as well as in numerous states across the country), she had to do so operating under the same set of rules and principles that existed prior to her imprisonment.  The reality was bleak: one wrong word, one wrong look and she could be sent back to the asylum to wither and die, forgotten by family, friends, and history.

So why is it that I had never heard of her?  I'm not a historian, but should that be a prerequisite for knowing about major players in history?  Elizabeth Packard's track record certainly qualifies her as a major player.  I had a public school education and attended a state university, but should I have to take a women's history course in order to learn about some of these people?  Why?  Aren't they important enough for regular history?  Or is "regular" history reserved only for the history of presidents and generals and the occasional token woman?  If that's the case, then maybe we ought to call them men's history classes.  (Now now, don't be absurd.)

The Woman They Could Not Silence was nothing short of inspirational.  Author Kate Moore masterfully crafts the book to read more like a novel than a biography, never suffering the reader (listener) to lose interest.  The adversities Elizabeth Packard faced were noteworthy by any metric, and this "little woman" conquered every single one.  I'm sure she struggled within herself and among trusted loved ones.  I know she dealt with depression brought on by the realities of her existence.  And yet she persevered eloquently and righteously, making real changes all over the country for the forgotten people who suffered in silence behind the iron doors of the asylums.

And Andrew McFarland?  Well, that bastard continued successfully for a time before choosing that "same-day shipping to the Lord" (my friend's words, not mine).  He hanged himself at the asylum where he worked.  But he was the one with the mental health center named for him.

Until now.