Tom's Two Cents: "Georgia" by Dawn Tripp

In recent years a number of novels have been written about the wives of famous men--Hadley Hemingway and Zelda Fitzgerald for two--but seldom do we have a book about a couple of equally famous people (unless they are both "celebrities") such as Georgia O'Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz.  Even today, of course, O'Keeffe is still far better known and revered as a modern artist than Alfred Stieglitz, but that was certainly not the case when they first met, around 1917.

In the world of artistic photography Stieglitz was second to none in America, anyway, just after the turn of the 20th century, with his famous gallery of modern art, "291", in New York City.  Dawn Tripp's new novel, "Georgia," is, as the title indicates, O'Keeffe's story first and foremost, but Alfred Stieglitz could hardly be called a secondary character.  In many respects, he fulfills the role of antagonist in this novel to O'Keefe's role as protagonist.  Indeed, the story is told throughout from her viewpoint in first person narrative; thus we see Stieglitz primarily through her eyes; nonetheless, he is forever looming larger than life.

Their relationship, lasting from about 1916 to his death in 1946, is certainly one of the most complex in the history of modern art. I use the word "history" advisedly here because never, or hardly ever, does Tripp take this story outside the realm of the personal.  It is far more a timeless story than a story of the times, despite the centrality of abstract art to the time in which it took place.  It is about two extraordinarily strong-willed people, both of them artistic geniuses, who cannot in any real sense of the word play "second fiddle" to each other.  In a very real sense their love story (and it is a great one) is a fight to the finish.  We will leave it to you, the reader, to determine which (if either) of the two emerges victorious.

Although the novel is framed by retrospection (chapters after and before the relationship begins and ends) it is clearly, and wisely, not the story of O'Keeffe's entire life or career.  Tripp very carefully avoids even a mention of Juan Hamilton, the other great male influence in O'Keeffe's life, until near the end of the book, and he never actually makes an appearance.  There is probably another novel here, and it could become a sequel to this one, if it is as commercially successful as I suspect it will be.  In fact, I smell a movie on the horizon, largely because of the immense personal conflict and explicit sexuality that this book generates. (Let's hope that Brad and Angelina don't get ahold of it, though she certainly could be made to exude the O'Keeffe persona!)

I did not care for the style of this book (lean and fragmentary), though it's probably written in a voice eminently suited to its protagonist, or its deliberately limited point of view, though the choice of first person seems logical enough.  I also object to the endless use of present tense (it starts appropriately enough in past tense and, in my opinion, should have stayed there), but I know I'm the one who's out of sync with today's trends.  With these reservations, I do recommend the book.