These last few days, I’ve had my head stuck in a book, “The Peabody Sisters [1],” by Megan Marshall, a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in nonfiction. It profiles Elizabeth, Mary and Sophia Peabody, three extraordinary women born into a prominent, yet impoverished New England family in the 19th century.
I’m fascinated by the eldest sister, Elizabeth, who was the intellectual dynamo of the clan and the most ambitious. She had a remarkable impact on the cultural landscape, carving out a luminous career as a writer, publisher, translator and educator, and established the first American kindergarten. Elizabeth was an impresario of sorts, and owned a bookstore, which served as a nightly “salon,” and hub for the great reformers and literary figures of the day.
None of the Peabody sisters viewed marriage as their primary goal, although Sophia and Mary ended up with famous husbands (Sophia wed Nathanial Hawthorne, and Mary married Horace Mann, considered the father of public education). Elizabeth had her share of suitors and romantic longings (Nathaniel and Horace among them, and that’s a story for another day), but she vowed to “be myself and act” and stayed single during her long and productive life.