Katherine Mansfield, a short-story writer from the early 1900s, was an interesting character. In her lifetime, she changed her name (which was actually Kathleen) on a regular basis; her class shifted when she left behind her wealthy family; she moved from being an English colonist in New Zealand to living in London; she had intimate relations with both men and women; her appearance changed radically (famously, she went through a stint of wearing kimonos) and she even abandoned a husband before marrying again. Given her vast wealth of life experiences, it is surprising to hear that Mansfield died at only 34 years old, from tuberculosis, but I suppose that spending years fearing death must have made her hungry to experience all elements of life before she left it.
Yet, going through constant change meant that Mansfield did not truly ‘fit’ in any social groups or circles, even amongst her fellow writers. At the heart of the literary scene at the time was the Bloomsbury Group in London, a number of authors who were famous for their use of free indirect discourse and stream of consciousness, a technique which allowed the reader to hear the thoughts of the characters whilst the piece was also written in third person narration. Yet even though Mansfield’s writing style and location aligned with these authors, she was not welcome in the Bloomsbury Group. Whilst the quality of her writing was impeccable, with even Virginia Woolf commenting that Mansfield’s was ‘the only writing I have ever been jealous of,’ being an outsider left her name fading into obscurity.
I think all of this had a profound impact on her writing. Not belonging to a single group but wanting to sample all life had to offer, Mansfield provided us with snapshots of ordinary moments through the eyes of people from all walks of life. When I read one of her short stories for the first time, I couldn’t help but notice that, despite the brevity of each story, the characters were so multidimensional that they felt like real people. The story was ‘The Wind Blows,’ a flashback to when the character, Mathilda was a young girl, exploring the process of maturing into an adult. I was intrigued by the small details that, if I hadn’t been paying attention, I could have so easily passed over. Mansfield made me look twice at the newspaper flying through the air ‘like a lost kite,’ contrasting the news of the adult world and the innocence of childhood. And when the flashback ends, and we see Mathilda’s adult self, I realised that it is impossible to pinpoint the exact moment this time shift happens. I had to stop and think: maybe Mansfield creates ambiguity because it is impossible to truly know when we are an adult? Is there a single moment in which we mature? Is it based on numerical age? Mansfield’s work does what, in my opinion, any writer should strive for: it makes us think twice about the minute details of her work, but also about broader questions about the world around us.
While Mansfield may have been in outsider in life, through her literary legacy, Mansfield uses minute details to help her readers see the inner-workings of the human mind. Different classes, genders, professions, ages, and world-views converge in her work. And so, just as Mansfield got to experience all kinds of lives, her reader does too.
