My Death – Lisa Tuttle

Lately, I had been hearing so many good things about Lisa Tuttle’s My Death that my interest was immediately piqued. There were two other facts in its favour – it is published by one of my favourite publishers NYRB Classics with a striking cover, and it is a novella (105 pages). And the praise is justified; I thoroughly enjoyed this offbeat little book.

Lisa Tuttle’s My Death is a wonderfully uncanny, subversive tale of artists and creativity, identity, and the erasure of women in the world of art.

The novella opens in the Scottish countryside, where our unnamed narrator has been recently widowed. While a writer by profession, our narrator has lost her mojo for conjuring up stories, especially exacerbated by her beloved husband, Allan’s death. Her failing interest in ever picking up the pen again makes her wonder whether she shouldn’t dabble in painting instead.  

Briefly, we learn of our narrator’s background, her parents were self-made, second-generation Americans, while Allan’s circumstances were completely different – he was English and born in a family where lineage and heritage mattered. Allan and our narrator shift to the countryside, living modestly but comfortably on Allan’s investments and our narrator’s scanty writing income. But then, Allan dies unexpectedly of a heart attack and our narrator is left in the lurch.

While she’s in no danger of losing their home, it dawns on our narrator that she must earn her living, but the question is how; the desire to write stories again hasn’t taken hold of her yet. Utterly adrift but realising the need for change, she sets up a meeting with her agent Selwyn in Edinburgh. On the appointed day, our narrator arrives in the city early and to while away time, visits the National Gallery. There, a painting stops her in her tracks.

I knew her, standing there, an imposing female figure in a dark purple robe, crowned with a gold filigreed tiara in her reddish-gold hair, one slim white arm held up commandingly, her pale face stern and angular, not entirely beautiful, but unique, arresting, and as intimately familiar to me as were the fleshy, naked-looking pink and grey swine who scattered and bolted in terror before her. I also knew the pile of stones behind her, and the grove of trees, and, in the middle distance, the sly, crouching figure of her nemesis hiding behind a rock as he watched and waited.

Titled “Circe” and painted by the artist W.E. Logan in 1928, our narrator is pleasantly surprised to come across this portrait, the reproduction of which used to grace the walls of her dormitory room in her youth (“I gazed with wonder at the original painting. It was so much more vivid and alive than the rather dull tones of the reproduction”). A few more details about the painting are fleshed out – We learn that Logan’s muse for this painting was the young art student Helen Ralston who, flattered by Logan’s interest in her, leaves America to study art in Glasgow.

The real Helen Ralston was not only Logan’s muse and inspiration, but went on to become a successful writer herself. She’d written the cult classic In Troy, that amazing, poetic cry of a book, which throughout my twenties had been practically my Bible.

It turns out that the two were also lovers, and shortly after his painting is completed, Helen falls from a window and is grievously injured but survives. Logan, utterly entranced by Helen, leaves his wife and children to take care of Helen and nurse her back to health. That gambit pays off, Helen gradually gets back on her feet, and this incident inspires Logan to pen a book that becomes a popular seller in the 1930s.

It is probably serendipity that brings our narrator face to face with Logan’s painting because fascinated by the slim details of Helen Ralston’s life, the germ of an idea begins to form in our narrator’s mind. As soon as she meets Selwyn at an upscale restaurant serving delicious crab cakes, our narrator on the spur of the moment decides that she will write a biography on Helen Ralston. Selwyn is only pleased that our narrator has a writing project to work on, and to encourage her in her efforts, takes her to the home of an art dealer who has with him a hitherto unknown Helen Ralston painting; a painting that when she sees it greatly unnerves our narrator, making her all the more determined to write about Helen Ralston. Depicting an island landscape, it showcases a nude woman sprawled on the rocks in a highly provocative pose, is titled “My Death” by Ralston, and is set on the very island where Logan loses his eyesight shortly after.

Helen Ralston, it turns out, is quite old, but very much alive and excited at the prospect of being interviewed by our narrator. And it is finally when the meeting between the creator and his subject takes place, do things take a peculiar, unsettling turn, when uncannily the lives of Helen Ralston and our narrator begin to intertwine…

One of the essential themes covered in this singular novella is the erasure of women in the field of art, a theme that greatly reminded me of Doireann Ní Ghríofa’s wonderful A Ghost in the Throat.  As our narrator begins her research on Helen Ralston, she is struck by how little has been written about this talented woman. The only source of information is her lover WE Logan’s memoirs, but even then, barely a chapter has been devoted to her, and again any colour we glean of her is through his lens. Her perspective or version of events remains unknown. Our narrator, through her biography, wishes to bring Ralston alive, to rescue her from the depths of obscurity, to make her voice heard.

This novella also explores the topic of women artists, who as muses and lovers of famous male artists, struggled to emerge from their shadows as artists in their own right and gain recognition, another theme reminiscent of the rather excellent book – Letters to Gwen John written by the artist Celia Paul. For instance, in the novella, Helen Ralston’s talents as a painter and writer are vividly depicted, and yet fame eludes her while it embraces WE Logan.

There could be a slew of interpretations surrounding My Death. One is obviously how the name of the book that we hold in our hands coincides with the name of the painting that disturbs our narrator in the very book we are reading. But what else can My Death mean? Is it the actual event of Helen Ralston’s near-death experience? Does it mean her death as a female artist? But My Death is also about the relationship between artists and their muses or biographers and their subjects – when a biographer’s deep fascination compels him/her to plunge headlong into the intricate lives of their subjects or muses, is it only natural that they unearth much about their subjects that they can identify with? Furthermore, My Death wrestles with the question of identity; who is really writing the story?

Despite its title, My Death also dwells on the idea of re-discovery and rebirth. By writing Helen Ralston’s biography, our narrator is hoping to get her creative juices flowing again, to re-emerge as a writer, while at the same time re-igniting interest in Helen Ralston’s work by showcasing her remarkable life to a wider audience.

Tuttle adds some fine, adroit touches to the novella, particularly in the way she seamlessly blends fact with fiction that makes My Death so delightful. Early on, when delving into Helen Ralston’s work, we learn of her novel “In Troy” which we are told was published by Virago Classics with an introduction by the esteemed author Angela Carter, even Carmen Callil is mentioned.

And yet I’d had no idea, when I’d huddled on my bed and lost myself in the mythic story and compelling, almost ritualistic phrases of In Troy, that its author was staring down at me from the wall. I’d only discovered that in the early 1980s, when I was living in London and In Troy was reprinted as one of those green-backed Virago Classics, with a detail from W. E. Logan’s Circe on the cover. Angela Carter had written the appreciative introduction to the reprint, and it was there that I had learned of Helen Elizabeth Ralston’s relationship with W. E. (Willy) Logan.

There are some wonderful set pieces in the beginning that I particularly enjoyed – the lively conversation between our narrator and her agent Selwyn in a restaurant, to be followed by a visit to his art dealer friend’s home where she first comes across Helen Ralston’s painting. I also liked how the novella transforms into something spooky and sinister in the latter half when the slew of visits to Helen Ralston’s home begins.

Combining themes of identity and feminism with a sprinkle of art mystery and the eerie and supernatural, My Death comes with a strange twist that only heightens the allure of this odd little book. Very much recommended!