The Short Stories of Leonora Carrington

A quick dive into Leonora Carrington as a writer

Leonora Carrington - Lee Miller (1939) I wrote a bit about Lee Miller here

I like to think I’ve grown up, but the reality is that my childhood dreams are the same dreams I have now. If I could do anything with my life, I would be an artist and a writer. I would write stories and illustrate them, but I’d also show my work at galleries separate from my writing. Most people, when I tell this to them, make an instant connection: Comics!And yes, I did pursue comics for some time. It was incredible actually, because I was just as gratified by the journey as the results that came from building up my portfolio.

Unfortunately, a hand injury and the need to care for my parents have dashed those. I gave up on my portfolio and desire to pursue art and writing. I don’t mean to sound like a Debbie Downer, especially as I don’t believe my life is over. It’s just on pause like Hilma af Klimt’s was for a time.

But for this reason, I’m always drawn to those who have done what I wanted to do because I want to understand the ups and downs of their struggle. I’m fascinated by BROM, the horror writer and artist who not only writes terrifying stories (or so I’m told, I haven’t read their work yet) but also provides gorgeous pieces to accompany them. I jumped on the chance to buy the self-published version of Olivie Blake’s The Atlas Six when I found out it had illustrations of the characters by an artist (and frequent collaborator of Blake’s) who goes by the name Little Chmura. And, of course, I instantly bought the complete short stories of Leonora Carrington when I discovered she not only painted surrealist masterpieces but also wrote short stories in three languages. (English, French, and Spanish)

BROM’s book Slewfoot because it’s Halloween and also how gorgeous???

I realize I could read more from André Breton and write on that since I have devoted several posts so far to the women of Surrealism, buuuuuut I don’t want to. I’m also not going to do a deep dive as frankly, my brain is starting to hurt from these long posts. I’m simply going to share three stories from her collection and give you an overview.

For those unfamiliar with Leonora Carrington, while it’s not vital to know her life to appreciate her work, it does shed light on what may have inspired some of her pieces.

Leonora Carrington, born Mary Leonora Carrington, was born on April 6th, 1917 in Clayton-le-Woods, Lancashire, England to a wealthy Catholic family. From a young age, she had a rebellious nature and opposed the strictures of her family life. Leonora fell into the surrealists, entering into a relationship with Max Ernst (which I alluded to in my last post), and joined the movement. She eventually broke away from her family and escaped to Mexico where she eventually became one of the most beloved artists in all of Mexico. This is all a gross oversimplification, but I recommend reading up on Leonora or listening to a podcast on her.

So now that we understand a bit of her background, what insights can we gain from her short stories?

Cover of the short story collection. Notice the Hyena peeking at us.

The collection (via Dorothy Press, which I believe is an offshoot of the NYRB) starts with the short story The Debutante, which makes perfect sense given well… everything. Carrington was known to take inspiration from the hyena, using the animal as a symbol for herself, and this story takes that far more literally.

What starts as a seemingly lighthearted and even humorous tale turns dark very suddenly. I’ve mentioned before that Surrealism always has a darkness to it, a sense not just of the world of the Id, but like one is on the edge of the world of dreams and death.

Our protagonist (likely a stand-in for Carrington), doesn’t wish to go to a debutante ball and gets the idea to have a hyena go in her place. The problem, however, is how to hide her face. The following exchange occurs:

“Ring for your maid, and when she comes in we'll pounce upon her and tear off her face. I’ll wear her face tonight instead of mine.”

“It’s not practical,” I said. “She’ll probably die if she hasn’t got a face. Somebody will certainly find the corpse, and we’ll be put in prison.”

That this exchange is rather light-hearted but dealing with a serious topic is a common occurrence in the writings of Carrington. A character casually suggesting something as macabre as wearing a dead woman’s face to a ball isn’t strange in her world, and it’s not questioned with horror. Notice how the protagonist isn’t terrified and questioning, “How could you think of something so evil?” Instead, she lightly brushes it off as ‘impractical.’ A woman’s life is in the balance here, but that's not her concern.

This betrays something of an ironic juxtaposition in this story: Carrington’s protagonist detests being part of the upper class and feels restricted by it, but doesn’t put a lot of thought or concern into the lives of the lower class. She just cares about whether or not she is ultimately going to be inconvenienced.

I don’t mean this to be a criticism of Carrington. She’s not saying she doesn’t care for the lower class (though maybe she does, I can't say for sure), she’s telling a ridiculous story about a hyena trying to pass for a debutante at a ball. It’s a matter of priorities, but this story sets us up for what we should expect from Carrington’s writing.

“La maja del Tarot” - Leonora Carrington (1965)

One could perhaps do a deep dive into the short story, which is a grand total of 4 pages, but I think that’s missing the major point. How exactly would a hyena do at a fancy party? I think we can all guess. That she chose a hyena and had it go in her place may reveal something of the inner workings of Carrington and how she views her interior self, but it also just makes for a good time.

I think it would be naive to say she doesn’t pull from her life, because she absolutely does. Often her characters are pushing back against societal expectations, whether that is terrible gossip ruined their family reputation, a ball they don’t want to go to, or a life in the wild that is disturbed. Whether serious or silly, her characters are often forced to confront the strictures of society that Carrington herself felt confined to.

In Uncle Sam Carrington this couldn’t be any clearer, if somewhat silly. This story may feature her name, and may even pull from people she knows, but it certainly cannot be taken at face value for being factual. The story makes this clear from the start, reading:

Whenever Uncle Sam Carrington saw the full moon he couldn’t stop laughing.

The story, quick but very odd, literally mentions a woman named Lady Cholmendly-Bottom. It reminds me a bit of Edgar Allan Poe and his story following Hans Pfall (which features such characters as Professor Rub-a-Dub). The story also features a battle between cabbages. Yes, cabbages. Why? Well, why not?

In comparison to The Debutante, Uncle Sam Carrington has an almost childlike quality to it. Leonora begins the story by detailing that she couldn't count past ten, and we’re led to believe much of this experience ‘happened’ in her childhood. One could argue it reads more like an elaborate dream of a child.

We follow a child Carrington (presumably anyway) as she sets out to help her family from their failing reputation. Where the journey takes her doesn’t seem to address this at all, but rather follows the whims of a child’s imagination. It has the sort of charm one could expect from a child, lacking in the structure you would get from say The Lego Movie (which for those who haven’t seen it, attempts to tell a story constructed by a child). In leaning to her Surrealist background, Carrington is perhaps better able to tell a childlike story.

And frankly, Carrington’s stories are weird. Plain and simple. They’re very weird. They’re not weird in the way that David Lynch is weird, though one wouldn’t be surprised if Lynch was inspired by her work. Some seem to be straight from the mouth of a child. Others are more serious, dark even, or more lived in. They occupy a world that is darker, and deadlier, but never sinking into despair. Instead, Carrington accepts this fact. Life contains death. Life can be dark. What more is there to say?

“And Then We Saw the Daughter of the Minotaur!” - Leonora Carrington (1953) (an almost childlike perspective is shown here)

The final story I wanted to bring up is As They Rode Along the Edge. This, by contrast, is not childlike and features some violence, and some questionable sexual escapades. But, most importantly, it’s really really funny. I was laughing aloud as I read it.

The story features a ‘wild woman’ named Virginia Fur who lives away from people and among her many cats. The story features a gorgeous boar, a talkative dying woman, lots of cats, and a Saint who wears underwear made of concrete. It’s a story of revenge, lust, and surprising humor. If I were to judge Carrington off of this story alone, I would want to be her friend instantly.

Here’s a particular jewel that had me cackling, showcasing not only Carrington’s humor, but her ability to poke fun at her strict Catholic upbringing:

Saint Alexander showed off his garden one object at a time, with a certain pride. “Little Theresa never thought of underwear of reinforced concrete,” he said. “In fact I can’t at the moment think of anybody who had the idea. But then, we can’t all be geniuses.”

I think with fine art, we’re often afraid to admit that it can be funny. Magritte is perhaps one of the best examples of a fine artist with an incredible sense of humor. He liked to pull pranks, and much of his work was meant to be humorous rather than deep and serious. Dali, of course, would be another example, but as I’ve said, I’m not a fan. I would argue that Leonora Carrington shares this trait.

I don’t believe humor is an attribute only found in the Surrealists. Andy Warhol was on Saturday Night Live, and much of his persona was centered on parody. Marisol Escobar, my queen, was the master of humor. It can be easy to miss this when we consider her quiet nature and deep thoughtful gaze, but much of her work is in fact humorous. So much of what she is creating is a commentary that pokes fun at society.

While I wouldn’t say Carrington’s paintings are humorous, I’m not surprised her stories are. There is a sense that she’s not taking herself too seriously. While it would be impossible to deny the way she implements Surrealism into her writing, Carrington almost gives off the impression that she’s not here to sell you on Surrealism. She’s not always interested in creating deep thought-provoking narratives, but in simply telling a story and having a good time.

part of the cover for Mood Indigo by Boris Vian, using a still from the film adaptation directed by Michel Gondry

Does that mean some of her writing is a bit lackluster? Yes, I can fully admit that. I can honestly tell you I sometimes had a hard time with it, particularly when I went in expecting something truly profound. If that’s what you want, I would rather steer you towards Boris Vian, the French writer most famous for Froth of the Daydream or Mood Indigo (I prefer this title). Vian manages to create a world where the impossible seems possible, but his work is often a commentary on society, capitalism, youth, death, addiction, and most terribly, cancer.

While I fully believe Carrington is capable of hitting these themes, I don’t think she sees the need. At least, I don’t think she sees the need most of the time. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing either. We can dissect The Debutante. We can seek out the hidden meaning in Uncle Sam Carrington, and we could certainly discuss some of the messaging behind As They Rode Along the Edge, but I think we’d be denying ourselves the pure joy of taking them at face value.

I’m kind of glad I haven’t read them all, as now I have something to look forward to. Whether you decide to dive into her work, or simply want to get lost in the narratives in her paintings, one can't deny that Leonora Carrington is always ready to grab our attention and make us dip into our imagination somehow.

“Portrait of Leonora Carrington” - Kati Horna (ca. 1960s)