The Poppies of Terra #33 - A Literary Tastemaker

In the Introduction to The Editor: How Publishing Legend Judith Jones Shaped Culture in America, Sara B. Franklin notes that “rather than exhaustive, I’ve been selective in attempting to show the full arc of Judith’s life from her childhood until her final days.” The approach works well. Judith Jones’ life was long (1924-2017) and, up until almost the very end, vigorous and productive. 

Franklin met Jones when Jones was eighty-eight and conducted a long series of interviews with her. As Franklin recounts it:

“On some matters, Judith was forthcoming, barely needing my prompting. On others, she remained guarded and reticent. Our conversations were hours long and full of digressions, intimate details, and active reflection on past events. Many of Judith’s revelations surprised me. Judith told me they surprised her, too.”

Drawing on these primary records and a lot of supporting research, Franklin has penned a lively and informative account of Jones, capturing the pivotal phases of her life and striking an elegant balance between depth and breadth when relating Jones’ numerous accomplishments. Jones worked with over a hundred authors during her long editorial career–which started with Doubleday and was followed by a half-century plus reign at the distinguished literary house Alfred A. Knopf–, and in some cases developed close collaborative relationships with her writers. Franklin wisely doesn’t try to detail this vast catalog of editorial achievement, avoiding the kinds of minutiae that can swamp books attempting to be definitive. Indeed, Franklin intends her book to be an “intimate portrait” rather than a “definitive biography” of her subject, highlighting Judith Jones’ “prescience and outsize influence on American culture,” and in these goals she succeeds.

From a historical perspective, it’s fascinating to trace Jones’ life in the context of the changing role of editors in American letters, starting in the 1940s. Major publishers essentially transitioned from printing books as they were submitted to molding jointly them with authors, as Keith Jennison is quoted saying, working “to ask more of the book.” In the early chapters we learn of Jones’ attraction towards and relationship with the highly celebrated poet Theodore Roethke; his intellect, creativity, independence, and dark moods proved an irresistible combination to Jones, but, combined with heavy drinking and a somewhat mercurial temperament, did not make for a happy long-term relationship, finally also interfering with their professional writer-editor dynamic. Jones’ trip to and stay in Paris intersects with a who’s who of important writers and intellectuals. Most notably during this period, Jones played an instrumental role in the English-language publication of the timeless The Diary of a Young Girl/The Diary of Anne Frank in 1952; Doubleday was ready to reject the book, but at Jones’ behest reconsidered. 

Franklin breaks up the more standard fact-driven biographical interludes with descriptive passages such as this:

“One warm August afternoon, Judith wandered through the Jardin des Tuileries. The sun and the wine she’d had with lunch made her sleepy. She found an empty bench, hung her purse on its back, and set her book on her lap. Judith sat awhile, reading and looking up every so often to take in the beauty of the scene. Before leaving the Tuileries, she turned her face up to the sun and closed her eyes in its warmth, easing out of her reverie.”

Memorable, to be sure–though we should probably take it with a pinch, rather than the standard grain, of salt. Even if sourced directly from Jones’ recollections, memories are notoriously unreliable purveyors of detail, and the sensory flourishes wouldn’t be out of place in a novel. In other instances, as when Franklin recreates personal scenes, as with Jones’ later relationship with Dick, we may likewise wonder how much is strictly factual. On Amazon.com, a reviewer who self-identifies as “Judith’s ersatz daughter,” says, “I am saddened by the falsehoods in this book. Comments about me as a child and the tragedy that brought us to the Jones’s world are false and very damaging. Retelling our family story with delusions of a loving marriage and family harmony are unfortunate, and frankly, cruel to those who lived it.” Without necessarily affirming these statements, we can nevertheless be quite certain that in these matters the exact truth may be out of our reach.

Following Jones’ return to New York and work for Knopf, we’re treated to a brief history of the publisher, and explore Jones’ work with masters like Elizabeth Bowen, William Maxwell, Sylvia Plath, Peter Taylor, and John Updike. Jones edited the first novel by Anne Tyler and would go on to cultivate, as with Updike, a decades-spanning rapport with the renowned author. Perhaps most significant in terms of cultural influence, Jones championed Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Simone Beck, Louisette Bertholle, and Julia Child, a complex process from a production standpoint that generated paradigm-shifting sales numbers. The first cookbook chosen by the Book Club, and supported by the first modern book tour, this publishing event changed how Americans thought about French cuisine and home cooking in general, while making Julia Child a household name. Eventually, other books in this genre, many brought to a publishing boil by Jones herself–by authors like Claudia Roden, Edna Lewis, Marion Cunningham, Irene Kuo, Marcella Hazan, Madhur Jaffrey, Joan Nathan, M. F. K. Fisher, Lidia Bastianich, and James Beard–along with a seemingly endless appetite for recipes and cooking techniques by the public, led to the Food Network. 

As time passes in Jones’ life Franklin doesn’t shy away from more difficult topics, like Jones’ 1972 hysterectomy, meant to resolve ongoing issues resulting from endometriosis, and the use of synthetic hormones in the therapy that followed, which eventually (as predicted by Julia Child) led to Jones developing breast cancer and undergoing a mastectomy. Franklin captures too the changes in the publishing landscape, which saw many independent bookstores close, while presses underwent a process of conglomeration. Jones wrote to a friend in 1978: “It is a rough business, trying to do good books, to get them the audience they deserve, to keep them in stores, keep them in print. More and more it’s the good, solid, marginal book that is getting hurt in these days of bigness.” No doubt, many would feel this observation even more apt today.  

Lack of pay parity with men in the publishing business is brought to the fore by Jones’ experiences. And in case it sounds like Franklin risks hagiography, she does clearly call out some of Jones’ shortcomings, insensitivities and blind spots. Still, despite these confirmations that she was human, her journey is one from which to take inspiration, and one to relish. When she was eighty-one, Jones published an essay in Vogue titled “A Recipe for Life: A Ripe Old Age,” espousing anti-ageism and celebrating the perspective of experience. Jones expanded on this, in 2007 penning a short memoir, The Tenth Muse: My Life in Food, and continued writing, and cooking, long after ceasing her editorial post, releasing a new book when she was ninety years old.

Anyone interested in the history of New York publishing, in the story of cookbooks in America, and in the singular difficulties faced by a woman born a century ago while rising through the ranks and becoming a central figure of letters, will find plenty to savor in this engaging book. “I do think that Americans love to create heroes for themselves,” Judith Jones once observed. With life stories like hers as the template, it’s hard not to indulge.