Book Review: A Room of Their Own

The existence of this book brought together two things that I hold sacred: historic homes and women. While many highly regard these women's contributions, one could argue that their greatest legacy is the homes they left behind. The home is like the heart - a space that carries our deepest, fullest selves. It is (hopefully) a haven where we can shed who we think we ought to be and embrace who we truly are.

Every woman needs a room of their own; a sanctuary that is entirely their own. A place where they can embrace the mess, frolic through their thoughts, and create freely, without burden. Although these women led very different lives, a common thread ties them together: they carved out space for themselves in a world that demanded much from them—and at times, mistreated them.

As a lover of historic homes, what makes them so special is their unmistakable “lived-in" quality. Instead of flickering through galleries, you are stepping into the home’s very essence, experiencing it as it was when it was lived in. This gives it an eternal quality—as if it has always existed this way, and you are merely a guest in its story. 

The book is essentially a biographical anthology, capturing the lives of these women and the homes they created. What I appreciated about this book was how it fearlessly revealed the nuances and circumstances of each woman's life—no one was spared from the thorns. I might even argue that the lives these women led—perhaps even many of us today—were shaped by the thorns they endured. Their homes were a synthesis of comfort and chaos. While they may have found passion in their homes, there was also profound loss; the flame was both kindled and extinguished by the same force.

In reading each of the biographies and glimpsing their homes, I felt as if these women weren’t so far from me; I could see parts of myself reflected in their stories. It was humbling to see how, despite having “achieved" so much, each of these women faced their own set of challenges that could have easily deterred them from becoming the legends that they are. 

Recently I have been coming to terms with my own womanhood. The membrane between being a girl and a woman feels incredibly thin. As a girl, I felt objectified, as if I were a woman. As a woman, I feel patronized, as if I were still a little girl. Why can't a woman simply occupy space without it being turned into a projection of what others want from her? I have to remind myself that I am a woman, and a powerful one at that. 

There is something profoundly beautiful about a woman taking up space in the world without any conditions or limitations imposed by others or by herself. Perhaps these historic homes are just that—a physical manifestation that these women existed, boldly and unapologetically. Their homes are a container for their souls, holding all that they brought into this world. It's so important to continue telling women's stories, not just through the lens of their achievements, but even more so through the lens of them simply being. What sensations did Beatrice Wood experience as her hands dug into clay, and how did Frida Kahlo's eyes move as they darted across the canvas? These are the questions on my mind. 

Fearlessly Occupying Space

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