UNKNOWN
NO MORE: RECOVERING SANORA BABB
Edited by Joanne Dearcopp and Christine Hill Smith
University of Oklahoma Press. 209 pages. £21.50. ISBN
978-0-8061-6936-1
Reviewed by Jim Burns
At some point in the early-1960s I was in Collett’s Bookshop on
Charing Cross Road and bought an anthology called
The American Century: 34
Short Stories by 34 American Authors. It was edited by Maxim
Lieber and published by Seven Seas Books in 1960 from what was then
East Berlin. Its left-wing leanings were plain to see. Lieber had
been a literary agent in New York, but when the Alger Hiss/Whittaker
Chambers confrontations hit the headlines in the late-1940s he was
accused of being a Soviet spy and fled to Poland. And many of the
writers in the anthology were identifiable as having left-wing
inclinations. A few – Albert Maltz, Alvah Bessie, Philip Stevenson –
had been caught up in the anti-communist purges in Hollywood, and
others – Jack Conroy, Nelson Algren, Ben Field – had written radical
novels.
A name that stood out was that of Sanora Babb. I knew little about
her beyond the notes in the anthology, and those in
Cross Section 1945 (L.B.
Fischer, New York, 1945)
that I’d come across in a second-hand bookshop and which had a story
by Babb. Again, the
liberal/left-wing leanings of the editor, Edwin Seaver and many of
the contributors were in evidence. All
this was long before the Internet and I didn’t follow up on finding
out more about Babb, though I came across references to her in books
by Alan Wald and others. There was a story in
Writers in Revolt :
The Anvil Anthology 1933-1940
(Lawrence Hill, Westport,1973) reprinted from a 1934 issue of Jack
Conroy’s magazine, The Anvil.
Curiously, she was omitted from what is otherwise an excellent
collection, Writing Red: An
Anthology of American Women Writers 1930-1940, edited by
Charlotte Nekola and Paula Rabinowitz (Feminist Press, New York,
1987).
More recent years have seen a revival of Interest in Babb and
reprints of most of her work. So, who was she? She was born in 1907
in Oklahoma and grew up there and in Colorado where the family moved
to when she was seven. They lived with Babb’s grandfather in a
one-room dug-out. Her
father, a failed farmer, was a professional gambler. Babb’s early
education seems to have been sporadic, though she did eventually
leave school with qualifications, taught at a one-room schoolhouse,
and obtained a job on a local newspaper. It’s worth noting that
“Babb’s grandfather took the
Appeal to Reason, a weekly socialist newspaper out of Kansas”.
By 1929 she was living in Los Angeles, where she experienced
“poverty and often homelessness” while writing poems and stories
that were published in magazines and newspapers, especially those
with a left-wing policy. The collection,
The Dark Earth and Selected
Prose from the Great Depression (Muse Ink Press, Old Greenwich,
2021) has material from the 1930s, with publications such as
The Anvil, New Masses,
Outlander, and The
Midland credited. It’s doubtful that she earned much from these
magazines and she took various jobs, including one “writing copy for
the Warner Brothers radio station KFWB”.
She was also mixing with many young writers such as Tillie Olsen,
Carlos Bulosan, William Saroyan, John Howard Lawson, and Ray
Bradbury. Saroyan and Bradbury both became successful fiction
writers, Lawson was a playwright, screenwriter and, as a leading
communist in Hollywood, later one of the Hollywood Ten. Olson
struggled to balance writing with family and political involvements.
Bulosan was a Filipino-American who was encouraged to write by Babb
and her sister, Dorothy. His
American Is in the Heart (Penguin Books, New York, 2019) is a
classic account of what it was like to be drawn to American ideals
but come up against the violence and prejudice that immigrants
experienced. The account of working in the fields and factories of
Southern California parallels some of Babb’s stories of the harsh
practices that applied in such occupations. Attempts to form unions
and strike for better pay and conditions could result in injuries
and even deaths as local police, vigilante groups and hired thugs
attacked strikers and their families.
Babb’s “immersion in the milieu of diversely radical and untamed
artists and writers who were pulled to the Communist-led John Reed
Clubs in the early 1930s” quickened her commitment to communism as a
possible solution to the social, economic, and political problems
then evident in America and the world at large. In 1935 she attended
the First American Writers Congress in New York, an event organised
by the League of American Writers, a Communist “front” organisation.
She would have heard speeches by, among others, Malcolm Cowley,
Waldo Frank, James T. Farrell, John Dos Passos, Meridel Le Sueur and
Kenneth Burke.
And there was Jack Conroy talking about “The Worker as Writer” and
offering the opinion that “To me a strike bulletin or an impassioned
leaflet are of more moment than three hundred prettily and
faultlessly written pages about the private woes of a gigolo or the
biological ferment of a society dame as useful to society as the
buck brush that infests Missouri cow pastures and takes all the
sustenance out of the soil”. A fictional account of the Conference
can be found in Farrell’s novel,
Yet Other Waters
(Vanguard Press, New York, 1952), where Conroy is satirised as a
somewhat blustering and not very intelligent novelist and activist.
A trip to Russia in 1936 persuaded Babb to take a positive view of
communist achievements. She claimed that no restrictions were placed
on her movements and she was allowed to talk freely to the people
she met. In “Dr Fera of Moscow”, a piece published in the left-wing
magazine The Clipper in
1941, she wrote about the fact that “In Russia, women were competing
equally with men in every field of work. I rode on a train
completely run by women. I talked to a 22-year-old woman engineer
who was directing a crew of a hundred men in the construction of a
bridge. I visited the home of a collective-farm woman, who, freed of
the drudgery of housework and baby-raising by co-operative effort
and the amazing social care of children, had in middle-age become an
expert in horticulture”. She also wrote about Dr Fera, a peasant
girl who, after many misadventures, was encouraged to train to
become a doctor.
In 1938 she took the plunge and joined the American Communist Party.
It was also the year that she volunteered to work in one of the
California Migrant Camps set up to try to provide basic forms of
sanitation and housing for at least some of the families who had
fled from the great dust storms in the Midwest. Many of them had
lost everything as the drought, winds, and storms destroyed their
farms. Interestingly, the
Camp she worked at was the one under the supervision of Tom Collins,
and it was also visited by John Steinbeck when he was writing
The Grapes of Wrath, his
powerful story of the plight of the “Okies”, the name given to the
migrants. Babb herself wrote about them in her novel,
Whose Names Are Unknown,
which was initially intended for publication by a major New York
house, but was dropped when Steinbeck’s book appeared and became a
popular success. The would-be publishers of Babb’s book did not
think there would be a viable market for another novel on the same
subject.
Babb worked for The Clipper
and The California
Quarterly, both radical magazines, continued to write, and
helped run a restaurant with her husband, the noted Chinese-American
Hollywood cameraman, James Wong Howe. When the anti-communist purges
started in the film capital in the late-1940s and early-1950s, Babb
immediately fell under suspicion. As a Communist Party member and
contributor to left-wing publications, her name and activities would
have been known to the FBI and HUAC. She moved to Mexico around 1950
in order to draw attention away from Howe. Quite a few Americans
found it convenient to spend time in Mexico as HUAC widened its
investigations and the mood in America turned to one of hostility
towards anything that smacked of Un-Americanism. What that meant
precisely could depend on circumstances, and it was used as a weapon
against the unconventional not only in politics but also in the arts
and even personal behaviour.
Like many people, Babb drifted away from the Communist Party in the
early- 1950s. She had become disillusioned by the levels of
conformity and control, and even earlier, in 1946, she had expressed
support for Albert Maltz when he was condemned by Party hardliners
for suggesting that writers should be free to choose their own
topics and how to write about them. She continued to write and
publish poems and short fiction in a variety of magazines. And there
were extended works such as
An Owl on Every Post (Muse Ink Press, 2012) and
The Lost Traveler (Muse
Ink Press, 2013). Her
1930s novel, Whose Names are
Unknown, continued to be hidden away until renewed interest in
her work caused it to be “discovered” and finally published by the
University of Oklahoma Press in 2004.
It perhaps could be said of Babb’s work as a whole that she
essentially located most of it in the period prior to 1950. Her
childhood in the Mid-West and her experiences in the 1930s seem to
me to encompass many of her stories, memoirs, and longer works.
Whose Names are Unknown
is in two parts, the first of which deals with hard times in the
Oklahoma Panhandle, and the second with the struggle to survive in
California. The “Okies” (not all of them from Oklahoma) follow the
fruit and other harvests, often residing temporarily in company
shacks and forced to shop at company stores. When they try to
organise and strike for better wages and conditions they’re harassed
by police and company guards, and evicted. There is a vivid
description of a union activist being falsely accused of getting
“fresh” with a local’s wife and subjected to a beating by
vigilantes.
The same sense of violent oppression is evident in “The Terror”, an
account of a secret night-time visit to striking miners in New
Mexico which originally appeared in a 1935 issue of
International Literature,
published in Moscow. It has recently been included in
The Dark Earth and Selected
Prose from the Great Depression. This is an excellent selection
of fiction and reportage from a range of magazines. A story, “A Good
Straight Game”, seems to have its basis in the activities of Babb’s
father as the male character, despite previous promises, succumbs to
the lure of a game of cards. Another, “The Old One”, from
The Midland in 1933,
tells of the sudden death of an old man and how the neighbours come
together for his funeral.
The non-fictional items include a piece about the way in which those
working as “extras” in Hollywood struggle to survive in the face of
low wages and fierce competition for the available work. But should
anyone think that all of Babb’s writing focused on social and
political matters, they might have a look at the story, “Femme
Fatale” which, to my mind, would not seem out of place in a
collection of New Yorker
short fiction from the Forties and Fifties. It was actually
published in Masses &
Mainstream, a communist journal, in 1954. They might also look
at the stories in Cry of the
Tinamou (Muse Ink Press, 2021), some of which appeared in widely
circulated publications like
Seventeen and The
Saturday Evening Post.
Unknown No More
is a collection of essays looking at different aspects of Babb’s
writing. I haven’t wanted to single out individual pieces because
they all seem to me of value in terms of drawing attention to an
under-rated writer. I am tempted to refer to Christine Hill Smith’s
“The Radical Voice of Sandra Babb” because it reflects my own
interest in what Babb did. But that would be unfair to the other
contributors and to Babb who clearly wanted her writing to encompass
more than the specific world of left-wing politics and proceedings.
She seems to me a writer well worth reviving.
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