I wanted to like this book a lot more, given how much I adore Sleepless Nights. Some parts I did like: (1) the Bloomsbury essay, which trained my eye to be more attuned to the way Woolf's class prejudices manifest in her writing (Hardwick's juxtaposition of Woolf's handling of the Miss Kilman character in Mrs. Dalloway and Forster's handling of Leonard Bast in Howards End makes a convincing argument), and (2) the "Aha!" moment in the title essay where Hardwick analyzes how readers react differently to the Clyde and Roberta characters in Dreiser's An American Tragedy (Roberta, unlike Clyde, buys into the idea that marriage with Clyde could paper over the wounds inflicted by capitalism and income inequality, and it is this "simplicity" that makes Roberta "unforgivable" to the reader, Hardwick argues). I wish there were more "Aha!" moments like that in this book. I was disappointed in particular at the sparsity of new insights in the essay about the Brontes, but maybe this has to do with me being a huge Bronte aficionada who's read everything that's been thought and said about the Brontes already.

It's interesting to see the range of responses other Goodreads reviewers have had to this book: e.g., how a couple criticize Hardwick for what they perceive as her lack of empathy for the mentally ill in the essays about Woolf, Plath, and Zelda Fitzgerald. Having recently read Kay Redfield Jamison's book detailing Hardwick's marriage to Robert Lowell, I personally find it impossible to attribute any irregularities in these essays to a lack of empathy, per se. The Zelda essay is actually especially fascinating when one considers the parallels Hardwick must have perceived between the Fitzgerald marriage and her own marriage to Lowell: when one recalls how much pain Lowell caused Hardwick by appropriating excerpts from her letters and diaries for use in his books, this context adds significant nuance and irony to Hardwick's observation that "It does not seem of much importance that [Zelda's] diaries and letters were appropriated [by Scott].... Zelda herself did not seem greatly concerned about any of this...." And then one starts to wonder whether Hardwick's restraint in describing FSF's great cruelties to his wife might have been influenced by her own unwillingness to view her own husband as such a villain. In any case, FSF's inhumanity comes across loud and clear without any need for embellishment on Hardwick's part -- one might argue that her restraint makes it come across even louder and clearer.

Here, from an essay about Ibsen's Rosmersholm, is another passage where Hardwick seems to speak with the wisdom of not only literary learnedness but also personal experience: "In a love triangle, brutality on one side and vanity on the other must be present.... Without the heightened sense of importance a man naturally acquires when he is the object of the possessive determinations of two women, nothing interesting could happen.... The triangle demands the cooperation of two in the humiliation of one, along with some period of pretense, suffering, insincerity, or self-delusion."

And from the same essay, this passage about Ibsen's The Master Builder: "Ibsen has not made [the character of Mrs. Solness] appealing enough, not being able to imagine just what an artist's wife, or the wife of a man of great ambition, can do except be jealous, suspicious, and ill."

Alwaya interesting, even when her critical,judgments (as with Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway) seem oddly flawed, or even irrelevant. Especially enjoyed the essays on Jane Carlyle and Dorothy Wordsworth, two women with whom Hardwick has an almost intuitive sympathy.

One reviewer described Hardwick as a "portraitist in miniature" and this seems very apt. In this collection of critical essays (critical only in the sense that they engage in some close reading of texts; I wouldn't consider them academic), she turns an erudite and gently puzzling tone to the work and life of the Bronte sisters and their characters; Sylvia Plath's incantatory "heroine" status in 20th century poetry; Virginia Woolf & Bloomsbury; the female characters of Ibsen; and the complex creative relationships between the Fitzgeralds, the Carlyles, and the Wordsworth siblings. In the title essay, she explores illicit sex as a character-defining act for certain literary characters of a certain era. Throughout, Hardwick explores the intersections between what it means to be a woman, what it means to be a woman writing, what this means for female characters, and what it means to be a muse. I didn't necessarily agree with all of her evaluations, but learned many pertinent biographical facts that do further illuminate these beloved authors and their equally beloved characters. Especially interesting were the essays on the Brontes, Plath, Jane Carlyle (I now have every intention of reading her collected letters), and Ibsen's "A Doll's House." I've always found the character of Nora troubling, and Hardwick does a great job confronting the character from a fresh and sympathetic perspective. All in all, a thumbs up.

Crammed with hot takes and smug flash "biographies" — especially the essays on Zelda Fitzgerald and Sylvia Plath. The final essay, "Seduction and Betrayal" itself, is comprehensive and witty enough to bring a dash of redemption...

The part about Sylvia Plath is a 5, the rest is non sense, repetitive and I do not see what was the point. It is more about men than women.

I was very disappointed with this book. A previous reviewer quoted the introduction, and I decided to quote her review:

" 'In the introduction, Joan Didion says: "Elizabeth Hardwick is the only writer I have ever read whose perception of what it means to be a woman and a writer seems in every way authentic, revelatory, entirely original and yet acutely recognizable.' That's nice."

I wasn't sure if this reviewers "That's nice" comment was meant to be factitious or cutting, but I second her comment but infuse my tone with disdain, sarcasm, and patronization. Further, despite Joan Didion's comments, Hardwick clearly doesn't understand what it means to be a writer or a woman in many instances, as is patently clear from her book.

There is nothing new in any of these articles, even considering the fact that the book was originally published in 1974. This short book is incredibly devoid of substance. It's like a Wikipedia article that needs to be culled due to bias in the author. Elizabeth Hardwick shows an astounding lack of nuance and insight in these extremely shallow essays. For example, in the article about Ibsen she says something like "He has the hardheartedness of all people who are unable to reconcile themselves to their family." To me, this in an incredibly weird statement, some strange bias the author has and believes to be universal and deep. Her essay on Sylvia Plath shows that Hardwick has CLEARLY never struggled with depression, and doesn't understand what it means to feel numb because of it. Her essay on Zelda Fitzgerald is almost insane in it's inability to critically think about how abusive Scott Fitzgerald was to Zelda, and how the repressive culture and backwards views of mental health practitioners exacerbated her issues. Further, she directly states that Zelda is "no Scott" when it comes to her talents. This is demonstrably false, with many critics have been re-engaging with her works--both written and artistic--and have deemed her worthy as a writer and artist on her own merits. In fact, critics began discussing her work as legitimate as early as the 1950's----so Hardwick should have been aware of and at least mentioned this discourse.

Ultimately, I'm disappointed by the essays (being mere recitals of facts, except when the book falls into obvious, unsubstantiated and plain stupid bias) but more so because I mistakenly thought Elizabeth Hardwick was a feminist--and that's my own bad for assuming so. Her book CLEARLY demonstrates that she is neither a feminist, nor a strong literary critic capable of the supposed "universality" her the introduction accuses her of.

A complete failure if it is meant to be read as a serious academic book, and merely uninteresting and uninspiring when read as the petty musings of a literary critic.

I seldom read essays as fiction is my thing, however, I loved Seduction and Betrayal. This could be due to Hardwick's perspective on the Brontes, Woolf, and Plath, and the new information I picked up on writers I've been studying for years. She also takes a deep dive into the male portrayal of women and how seduction, when one doesn't want to be seduced, has been the ruin or death of many a female protagonist.

Elisabeth Hardwick is blijkbaar aan herontdekking toe. Eerst was er de heruitgave van ‘Sleepless nights’, nu zijn haar essays aan de beurt die ze ooit voor The New York Review of Books schreef. Daar deze essays louter handelen over de grote klassiekers uit de literatuur (de gezusters Brontë, Ibsen, Plath, Woolf, …) hebben ze nog maar weinig aan relevantie ingeboet. In de inleiding wordt vooral Hardwick haar bijdrage over de gezusters Brontë hoog aangeslagen, maar vreemd genoeg sprak die me minst van al aan. Misschien komt dit doordat ik bij Maarten ’t Hart al eerder over hen las en die kreeg me een stuk enthousiaster om hun oeuvre te verkennen. Het punt is, dat Hardwick een heel eigen schrijfstijl heeft en die moet je liggen. Helderheid is niet steeds haar sterkste punt en ook van de psychologische duidingen moet je houden, maar toch weet ze vaak heel rake dingen te formuleren. Bijzonder knap vind ik bijvoorbeeld de manier waar ze Sylvia Plath op heel bondige manier typeert en tot leven te brengt, maar daarbij toch recht doet aan de complexiteit van deze getormenteerde vrouw. Alleen al dit essay maakte dit boek voor mij de moeite waard.
Tot slot: de inleiding bij deze uitgave werd geschreven door Deborah Levy. Hoewel ik die, sinds haar recente trilogie, reken tot mijn lievelingsschrijfsters, vond ik haar bijdrage maar matig interessant. Hier had meer ingezeten.

that's right!

‘Biology is destiny only for girls.’

Hardwick is a gifted critic, and I did enjoy her book a bundle. Keep in mind that Seduction and Betrayal is soley focused on examining female authors, and the wives of some famous male authors. Because of this, it seemed repetitive sometimes, although there were some stand out essays such as her pieces on Plath, and Fitzgerald's wife Zelda. The long title essay is also one of the better works in this collection.

I thought I would like them more, but these essays are just not as... erudite as I expected them to be. Hardwick is readable though, insightful enough, funny at moments (especially in the Bronte chapter), the essay on Plath particularly lovely.