Mary Virginia Terhune (“Marion Harland”) was a prolific author of domestic advice books in the late 1800s. Her warmth and humor made her one of the most popular writers of her day, but at times her thinking offers a disquieting glimpse into the early growth of the American eugenics movement. Continue reading
In my last post, “Heart Histories,” I introduced my readers to the nineteenth-century novelist Mary Virginia Terhune (penname Marion Harland). I shared a scene from her second novel, The Hidden Path (1855), in which four young friends contemplate the hidden heroism in the lives of seemingly ordinary people, and conclude that the dramas in the history books would pale beside these “heart-histories,” could they only be recorded. The theoretical Frank and serene Maurice are in agreement on this point. So are the women who complete the quartet, Bella and Isabel, and these two personify another dimension of the dilemma of invisible valiance. Continue reading
While in graduate school I became intrigued with the popular novels written by American women in the early nineteenth century, not only for the historical insights they provided but also for their literary charm. These novelists, once dismissed by literary scholars as “sentimental,” have in more recent years won academic appreciation for their intelligence and talent. While you will not uncover any forgotten Jane Austens or Charlotte Brontes in perusing their works, you may find that their gentle romances infiltrate your imagination. The writers had the wisdom that comes from quiet reflection and humane ideals, and as you turn the pages slowly you will sometimes come across a soft-glowing gem.
One of my favorites is The Hidden Path (1854), the second novel of Virginia writer Mary Virginia Terhune, who published under the pen-name of Marion Harland. As its title suggests, the novel explores the virtue of humility and the moral drama of ordinary life. In chapter 4, four young friends discuss the secret heroism of unpretentious folk. One of the four, Frank, suggests that if the histories of individual human hearts could be written, such “soul-pictures” would make the momentous events of the history books seem dull by comparison. His companion Maurice agrees. “They [historical events] are, in reality, of trifling moment when compared with the revolutions of the microcosm each one of us carries in his bosom.”