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Hell Hath No Fury
Editor Creates Anthology of Letters Ending Affairs
 Listen to Jackie Lyden's interview with Anna Holmes.
 Read excerpts from letters featured in Hell Hath No Fury.
Oct. 28, 2002 -- Twice stood up by a man she was dating, New York-based editor and writer Anna Holmes sent him an impassioned breakup letter. The experience, she says, was both frustrating and enlightening.
"The triumph of my tell-off lasted only a day or so. The hurt and anger resurfaced and stayed for weeks afterwards -- but it did spawn a number of ideas. The idea that I was most taken with was the idea of an anthology of the best and most famous breakup letters in history."
The result, she tells All Things Considered guest host Jacki Lyden, is a book "born out of anger, humiliation, disbelief and disgust." Hell Hath No Fury: Women's Letters From the End of the Affair chronicles more than a millennia of romances gone awry, and the letters women send to their men to vent their rage, confusion and derision.
The letters in the collection are by women -- both well-known and unknown, real and fictional. The letters are also organized along themes: the tell-off, the other man, the marriage refusal, the string-along. The book features the letter Agnes Von Kurowsky sent to Ernest Hemingway, the missive Rebecca West sent to H. G. Wells -- even the letter Monica Lewinsky sent to Bill Clinton.
Here are excerpts from letters featured in Hell Hath No Fury, with introductions by Holmes and selected by her exclusively for npr.org.
Anne Boleyn (about 1501-1536), the second wife of Henry VIII and mother to the future Queen Elizabeth, grew unpopular among subjects who blamed her for unfavorable tax policies and political troubles. But it was after her second miscarriage that Henry VIII began to turn on her, suspecting that God was denying him a son and that Anne had roped him into marriage by witchcraft. After news of a romantic spat with a Sir Henry Norris and rumors that she was planning to bring about the king's death in order to marry Norris, Anne was put on trial, locked up, and eventually beheaded. The following are excerpts of a May 1536 letter that was believed to be (though never completely authenticated as) the last letter she wrote before her execution.
Your grace's displeasure and my imprisonment are things so strange to me, that what to write, or what to excuse, I am altogether ignorant. Whereas you send to me (willing me to confess a truth and so obtain your favour), by such a one, whom you know to be mine ancient professed enemy, I no sooner received this message by him, than I rightly conceived your meaning; and if, as you say, confessing a truth indeed may procure my safety, I shall with all willingness and duty, perform your command. But let not your grace ever imagine that your poor wife will be brought to acknowledge a fault, where not so much as a thought ever proceeded. And to speak a truth, never a prince had wife more loyal in all duty, and in all true affection, than you have ever found in Anne... .
You have chosen me from low estate to be your queen and companion, far beyond my desert or desire; if, then, you found me worthy of such honour, good your grace, let not any light fancy or bad counsel of my enemies withdraw your princely favour from me; neither let that stain, that unworthy stain of a disloyal heart, towards your good grace ever cast so foul a blot on me, and on the infant princess your daughter.
Try me, good king, but let me have a lawful trial, and let not my sworn enemies sit as my accusers and as my judges; yeah, let me receive an open trial, for my truth shall fear no open shames. Then you shall see either my innocency cleared, your suspicions and conscience satisfied, the ignominy and slander of the world stopped, or my guilt openly declared. So that, whatever God and you may determine of, your grace may be freed from an open censure; and my offence being so lawfully proved, your grace may be at
liberty, both before God and man, not only to execute worthy punishment on me as an unfaithful wife but to follow your affection already settled on that party [Jane Seymour] for whose sake I am now as I am...
Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797) was an author of books including From Vindication of the Rights of Women; Gilbert Imlay (1754-1828) was a writer whose works included The Emigrants, and an officer during the American Revolution. Wollstonecraft met Imlay in Paris in 1793 and, although they never officially married, Imlay registered Wollstonecraft as his wife at the American embassy in France. The two had a child together in July 1793, named Fanny; but the relationship soon turned sour, with Imlay traveling extensively, behaving icily, and conducting affairs with other women. Deeply hurt, Wollstonecraft attempted suicide in October 1795 by flinging herself into the Thames. Wollstonecraft later married William Godwin, and gave birth to a daughter who became Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, author of Frankenstein. Following is a letter (with original spelling) that Wollstonecraft wrote to Imlay, believed to have been sent from London circa March 1796.
You must do as you please with respect to the child. I could wish that it might be done soon, that my name may be no more mentioned to you. It is now finished. Convinced that you have neither regard nor friendship, I distain to utter a reproach, though I have had reason to think, that the "forbearance" talked of, has not been very delicate. It is however of no consequence. I am glad you are satisfied with your own conduct.
I now solemnly assure you, that this is an eternal farewell. Yet I flinch not from the duties which tie me to life. That there is sophistry on one side or other, is certain; but now it matters not on which. On my part it has not been a question of words. Yet your understanding or mine must be strangely warped; for what you term "delicacy" appears to me to be exactly the contrary. I have no criterion for morality, and have thought in vain if the sensations which lead you to follow an ancle or step, be the sacred foundation of principle and affection. Mine has been of a very different nature, or it would not have stood the brunt of your sarcasms.
The sentiment in me is still sacred. If there be any part of me that will survive the sense of my misfortunes, it is the purity of my affections. The impetuosity of your senses may have led you to term mere animal desire the source of principle; and it may give zest to some years to come. Whether you will always think so, I shall never know.
It is strange that, in spite of all you do, something like conviction forces me to believe that you are not what you appear to be.
I part with you in peace.
Jessica met Scott in 1997 when she was 16 and he was 26, and he
was the manager of a restaurant at which she waitressed. In summer 1998, following a year-long affair, Jessica wrote a letter to Scott after she discovered he was married. Excerpts follow (with the original spellings).
Dear Scott,
I hope you realize that you lost the best thing that you ever had, me, and no matter how many apologies you give me, or flowers you send you'll never win me back. You'll never get to listen to my voice or see my face ever again. You have lost that priveledge for forever. Granted you'll probabally come begging me for a job in the future when kharma comes and bites you in the ass and you can be the fella who scrapes gum off the carpet because I am gonna be the bigger person. In fact, out of the two of us, you make me seem god-like. You are like four steps below me on the food chain. I still don't understand why I allowed you into my life in the first place... .
I am done being your doctor, your mom, your psychologist and I am through being your friend. You put me through hell and back and no matter if I grant you "forgiveness" I will never forget what you did to me. You have left a permanent stain in my life, and I am going to try to foster nice thoughts about you, but you leave me no choice but to hit the "eject" button from our relationship. Miss me yet? You should. You will. I'd put money on it. No one makes Mac and Cheese quite like I do or makes chocolate milk better. No one would listen to you yap about nothing like I did and no one will ever tickle that spot right behind your knee that makes you laugh for hours like I used to. No one will be a more loyal friend or trustwhorthy friend like I was. You know that. That's why you cried. That's why you called. You called 27 times in two days. What part of "It's over" don't you understand?...
I don't even know why I am bothering writing this. I don't care about you. I don't miss you. I don't care where you are right now or who you are with. I don't care anymore, I don't have the energy anymore and its just not worth it. When it finally sinks into your thick skull that you blew it, you don't need to call, or write, or show up at my front door!! Respect me. Respect my space and respect the fact that I would rather have my eyebrows singed than ever see you again...
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