The most important relationship that either F. Scott or Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald had was that with each other; it was the catalyst for and foremost theme of much of their fiction. The letters they exchanged tell the story of this central relationship in their own words; those that have been previously published in editions of Scott’s correspondence and in Zelda’s Collected Writings have never before appeared together in one volume. In addition, there are many unpublished letters in the Princeton University library, and these deserve to be part of the record, as well. The Fitzgeralds’ courtship and marriage has become a compelling and enduring part of our literary history. The new letters, placed chronologically with those collected previously, allow us to view their relationship in a more evenhanded manner than heretofore has been possible.
The most detailed and accurate account of the Fitzgeralds’ relationship is still Nancy Milford’s best-selling Zelda: A Biography (1970). Milford was the first not only to explore the many letters Zelda wrote to Scott but also to attempt putting them in some kind of order. In the prologue to Zelda, Milford recalls how she and her husband read the letters aloud to each other “as if they had just arrived, not knowing from what terrain of their lives they had been written or what the next one would say. They were hopelessly mixed up and undated, without, in most cases, envelopes to give them dates. . . . I had somewhat innocently . . . entered into something I neither could nor would put down for six years . . .” (xiii). Much of Milford’s account is based on these letters, from which she quotes extensively; yet only a sampling of them could appear in her biography, and even then only in a highly truncated form. Now, for the first time, we can read those intriguing letters from Zelda to Scott for ourselves.
Over thirty years have passed since the Milford biography, and, as a society, we have learned much (though still not enough) about the nature of mental illness (from which Zelda suffered) and alcoholism (from which Scott suffered). Yet this knowledge has not been reflected in what has been written about the Fitzgeralds. The tendency has been to sensationalize their lives and illnesses.
Scott and Zelda’s lives were indisputably dramatic and tragic, and therefore all too easy to distort. Perhaps the most sensational myth of all is the persistent claim that Scott, jealous of his wife’s creativity, suppressed her talents and drove her mad. Koula Svokos Hartnett’s view of the Fitzgeralds’ marriage, in Zelda Fitzgerald and the Failure of the American Dream for Women (1991), regrettably is all too representative: “As his appendage, [Zelda] was to become the victim of [Scott’s] self-destructive urge. In denying her the right to be her own person . . . , by refusing to permit her the use of her own material . . . , by rebuking her for attempting to create a life of her own—he gradually causes her to emotionally wither and die” (187). Such an assertion defies common sense as well as even the most fundamental understanding of mental illness; yet it has gained some general acceptance. For further evidence that this view persists, one has only to look at the most recent biography of the Fitzgeralds, published in 2001 and claiming to be definitive, in which Kendall Taylor asserts:
She [Zelda] had used up her life providing material for a writer who to this day is considered one of America’s greatest, yet as a man and husband was cunningly controlling. When she finally tried to make a life for herself, apart from the marriage, it was too late. She had scant resources left. The only way out was through the insanity to which her family was prone. In writing the epigram “sometimes madness is wisdom”1 she was revealing the paradigm of her life. (Sometimes Madness Is Wisdom 372–373)
The suggestion of mental illness as an escape (“[t]he only way out”) echoes this passage from Zelda in which Milford makes the same suggestion when discussing Zelda’s first breakdown in 1930:
Ahead of them [Scott and Zelda] would be the slow agony of putting the pieces of their lives together again. . . . She was diagnosed . . . as a schizophrenic, and not simply as a neurotic or hysterical woman. It was as if once Zelda had collapsed there was no escape other than her spiraling descent into madness. . . . To record her breakdown is to give witness to her helplessness and terror, as well as to explore again the bonds that inextricably linked the Fitzgeralds. (161)
Despite this somewhat vague insinuation, Milford’s biography remains well researched and the most trustworthy exploration of Zelda’s side of the Fitzgeralds’ relationship to date, far more careful and accurate than Taylor’s, which contains factual errors as well as insupportable assertions.
The new Taylor biography probably is not all that important in itself, but it does represent for the first time a full-length study guided by a viewpoint that has ridden the wave of contemporary criticism for the past thirty years. The Fitzgeralds’ marriage was a chaotic one, but it is no more reasonable to say that Scott drove his wife mad than it is to say that Zelda drove her husband to drink. Although Zelda and Scott married young, their inherited predispositions to mental illness and alcoholism, respectively, were already present. These traits were apparent in the impulsive behavior that characterized their courtship and actually fed their attraction for each other from the beginning. Although stories of the descent into madness and alcoholic binges may create exciting reading, they do little to further our understanding and appreciation of these two gifted and troubled human beings who have captured and held our attention as readers all these years.
Even more disturbing is Taylor’s statement that her argument is substantiated by Zelda’s letters, indicating that her biography presents Zelda’s point of view regarding the marriage:
Nowhere is the reality of the Fitzgeralds’ marital situation more evident than in Zelda’s superbly crafted letters to Scott. These number in the thousands, and Fitzgerald saved all of them. Much of my book has been drawn from them, because they provide the greatest understanding of Zelda’s character. (xiv)
This assertion is disturbing because it is inaccurate. The total number of Zelda’s letters to Scott that survive at Princeton is closer to five hundred than to thousands; and although we agree that the letters are superb, they are not “crafted”: Zelda wrote spontaneously, impressionistically, and quickly. Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda, which features virtually all of Zelda’s previously published letters, along with a substantial selection of those previously unpublished, allows readers to see for themselves just how Zelda viewed her marriage to Scott at each stage of the relationship.
At times, the Fitzgeralds did blame each other for the things that went wrong in their lives, including problems in their marriage. During the years 1932 through 1934, they often had bitter arguments over who had the right to fictionalize material based on their lives. Their letters certainly represent these periods of anger, but the greater portion express concern over the hardships endured by the other and an appreciation of each other’s accomplishments despite formidable obstacles. Although conflict is an important aspect of their relationship, and not to be minimized, when we look at the entire relationship, we can see that it is not competition that emerges as the defining characteristic of their marriage, but love and mutual support, hampered as that support might have been by the serious illnesses the Fitzgeralds struggled with, which, unfortunately, did dominate their lives.
Although Zelda’s painful struggle with mental illness has been viewed sympathetically, such has not been the case with Fitzgerald’s alcoholism (and the deterioration of his physical health it caused), which has often been viewed as disgraceful behavior on his part, not as the devastating disease we understand it to be today. Scott himself, of course, did not understand the disease, either, only the humiliation it caused. In addition to being insensitive to Scott’s alcoholism, the view that he cruelly stifled Zelda’s creativity neglects the dire position he was in, struggling to pay bills (including those for Zelda’s doctors and hospitalizations) by practicing the only profession he knew—writing. Despite the decline of his reputation and health, he somehow continued to write, just as Zelda, despite the crippling disintegration of her personality, continued to write and paint, and to dream of getting a job and being able to support herself. Ironically, the central value this sensationalized couple held in common was the work ethic; as their letters attest, it was the guiding principle they ultimately valued above all others. Perhaps the most enduring impression of the Fitzgeralds that emerges from their letters is the courage, beauty, and insight born of their deep but tormented love.