The Hawaiian star. [volume] (Honolulu [Oahu]) 1893-1912, 1902-07-19
CHICAGO WITH HER
LIFE'S STORY.
Girl Writes Book That is Bolder Than
Diary of Marie Bashliirtsaf Aad
Causes Much Criticism

DlaIN Oh MARIE baShkllLSe Alu
Causes Much Criticism.
A Chicago publisher issued recently a
book that is intended to create a SEN
sation. In the idiomatic language of
the day, it is the limit" presupposing
that the publishing house is reputable
and intends to issue books to be read
by decent people.
The name to the book is THE Story
of Mary Mac Lane" The title page
says it is written by Herself" There
is frOntispiece picture of the author,
but although it is a reproduction Of a
photograph, it is safe to say that it is
not a portrait of the writer.
The story is in the form of a dairy
written at Butte, Mont. 1t purports to
be a full and frank portrayal of self,
after the fashion of Marie Bashkirtseff
only more so. Whether or not it is
frank, it certainly leaves little to the
imagination. Its contents range wide.
1t is nasty, vulgar, clever and eloquent
by turns, and almost always original
and well written.
The dominant note of the book is
passion. In real life men and women
who have emotions and imaginings like
these of Mary Mac Lane keep them
book is unquotable, and much is not
worth quoting Here are a few OK
tracts, selected with care:
BUTTE, Mont, Jan 10. 1901, of
womankind and of ID years, will now
begin to set down as full and frank a
portrayal as l am able of myself Mary
Mac Lane, for whom the world con-
tains not a parallel.
Il am convinced of this, for 1 am odd
Il am distinctly original innately and
in development.
Il have in me a quite unusual inten-
sity of life.
Il can feel.
Il have a marvellous capacity for
misery and for happiness.
Il am broad minded.
Il am a genius.
II am a philosopher of my own good
| peripatetic school.
Il care neither for right nor for
wrong-my conscience is nil.
| My brain is a conglomeration of ag-
gressive versatility.
Il have reached a truly wonderful
state of miserable morbid unhappiness.
Il know myself, oh, very well.
Il have attained an egotism that is
rare indeed,
81 have gone into the deep shadows. =
January III have in me the germs
of intense life. If l could live, and if
could succeed in writing out my living,
/ the world itself would feel the heavy
! intensity of it.
Had l been born a man 1 would by
now have made a deep impression of
myself on the wOrld-on some part of
it. But l am a woman, and God, or the
Devil, or Fate, or whatever it was, has
! hayed me of the thick outer skin and
thrown me out into the midst of life
has left me a lonely, damned thing fill
ed with the red, red blood of ambition
and desire, but afraid to be touched
for there is no thick skin between my
sensitive flesh and the worlds fingers
But IL have acquired the art OF
eating an olive.
Nov listen, and l will tell you the
art of eating an olive:
Il take the olive in my fingers, and
contemplate it's green oval richness. II
makes me think at once of the lane
where the green citron groWS-whert
the cypress and myrtle are emblems;
of the land of the sun WHERE hImar
beings are delightfully."- enchantingly
wicked, where the men are eager anC
passionate, and the woman gracefully
developed in mind and in body, anG
their two breast show round and full
perry.
Il set my teeth and my tongue upon
the olive, and bite it. 1t is bitter, salt
delicious. The saliva rushes to meet il
and my tongue is a happy tongue. AS
the mOrsel of olive rests in my mouth
and is crushed and squeezed lusciously
! among my teeth, a quick, temporary
change takes place in my character,
think of some adorable lines of the
Persian poet: Give myself up to joy
for thy grief will be infinite. The stars
shall again meet together at the same
point in the armament, but of thy
body shall bricks be made for palace
wall.
II think my style of writing has a
wonderful intensity in it, and it is ad-
mirably suited to the creature it por-
trays. What sort of portrayal of my
self would | produce if l wrote with
the long, elaborate periods of Henry
James, or with the pleasant, ladylike
phrasing of Howells? 1t would be
rather like little tin photograph troll
ling out floWery poetry at breaknecll
speed, or like a deep toned church or
gan pouring forth 'GOo-Goo Eyes with
I ponderous feeling.
I'm this house where I drag out my
accused. devilish, weary existence, up
stairs in the bathroom, on the little
led6e at the top of the wain-scoting,
there are six toothbrushes-an ordin-
airy white bone-handled one that is my
younger brothers.; a white twisted
handled one that is my sisters a fiat
handled one that is my older broth
ers; a celluloid-handled one that is my
step-fathers; a silver-handled one that
is mine, and another ordinary one
that is my mothers. The sight of these
| q
week. and always, is one of the most
crushingly maddenning circumstances
in my FOOLS life.
II long hopelessly for will power
resolution, to take my life into my own
hands, to walk away from this house