at 21 and had two children soon afterward. Her (first) husband, John Blume, earned a good living as a lawyer. They relocated to the suburbs. Hers seemed set to be a life of homemaking and volunteer work. She asked herself if this is all there is. She dabbled in making and selling felt crafts. Betty Friedan, the American Jewish feminist most as- sociated with highlighting suburban mid-century ano- mie, is never mentioned in Oppenheimer’s depiction of these stages of Blume’s life. But there’s a wistful, Feminine Mystique –ready anecdote about Blume, newly married and having babies, hanging her college diploma above her washing machine. Blume’s younger child was born in 1963, the year Mystique was published. Then, approximately five minutes pass, and Blume is a renowned and prolific children’s book author. Was this a case of against-all-odds success? In many ways, Blume’s mid-century milieu was rough on women. A would-be mentor gives Blume condescend- ing advice. A local newspaper profiles her as a housewife
tow. All of this happened only after she had established herself as an author, and, in historical terms, after the countercultural wave had crested. Oppenheimer describes this period as the liber- tine oat-sowing era she had not been able to have when younger. This is relevant to her work, as it may have been her lens into adolescent yearning. That said, she had not spent her pre-John years in a convent. There were boy- friends, including a “handsome to the point of being irresistible” man with the last name “Seeman.” The nerve of Judy Blume, being so talented and also such fun .
JUDY BLUME: A CONUNDRUM
THE PARADOX OF JUDY BLUME is that the initial seeming setback of being relegated to housewifery is what sets her on her path to stardom. Writing appeals
Blume’s frank writing about girls and women was spurred by an early 1970s feminist awakening; it con- tinues to inform the generations that have followed .
with a little writing hobby. Her first husband prioritizes playing golf over looking after their kids. He makes a snide remark about how it’s good she’s discovered writing, be- cause otherwise she’d be shopping at Saks, the upscale department store. But there were ways that the life of an upper-middle- class stay-at-home mom of her era made it possible for Blume’s talent to blossom. That Blume did not have a day job—but did have a housekeeper—meant she could write while her children were at school. She may have found New Jersey country club life dull, but she used that leisure time to read novels by Philip Roth and John Updike. It’s not just that she was privileged relative to many of her contem- poraries; she may have also been better positioned for the career she wound up having than would be a woman of her class living today. Blume’s suburban housewife era was, at any rate, short- lived. Spurred by Ms. Magazine and Erica Jong’s novel Fear of Flying , she had an early-1970s feminist awakening, which the reader of Judy Blume will have seen coming. She cheated on her surprisingly understanding first husband; got a divorce; then remarried and globe-trotted, kids in
because it’s work she can do from home. She winds up creating children’s literature because of the role read- ing and telling stories to her kids plays in her life: she’s comfortable writing dialogue involving children because she’s constantly around them. Had mid-century sexism not kept a bright woman like her out of the professions, Blume might have had another illustrious career, but this body of work would not exist. There would be no Margaret, no Fudge. The work extends beyond the publications themselves. Blume corresponded with countless readers, mainly young women who’d read her books at formative ages, who used her as a confidante. (Writes Oppenheimer: “Is there another contemporary author who has so collapsed the distance between herself and her readership? I surely have not captured the amount of emotional energy Judy has expended worrying about the mental health of young people who have written to her.”) One could lament this as a sort of unpaid labour asked only of women. Or one could look at this as a form of care that only a woman author, writing the sorts of books she did, with the reach they’ve had, might provide.
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