Christal
Cooper
Article/Excerpts
4,141 Words
The
Kashmiri Shawl by Joanne Dobson:
The Epiphanies &
Metamorphoses
of Anna Wheeler
Roundtree
She experienced the oddest sense of
having become two different souls inhabiting the same body, the timid writer of
inoffensive verses and emerging as from a cocoon a bolder more self-confident
literary woman
Excerpt from The Kashmiri Shawl
Page 125
Copyright granted by Joanne Dobson
Joanne Dobson’s first historical novel, The
Kashmiri Shawl, published by Cobb Hill Books, is 360 pages, each
individual page a page turner in every sense of the word: Heroine Anna Wheeler
Roundtree is a woman of many secrets who experiences numerous epiphanies and
metamorphoses throughout her 360-page life, the first of which is revealed
within the first five pages of the book.
Joanne Dobson first conceived the idea of The
Kashmiri Shawl in April of 1985.
Dobson had just completed her Ph.D. in American Literature and was in
the process of finding a position as an English Professor, when she came across
a National Geographic illustrated article on nineteenth-century
narrow-gauge Indian railroads, and, thus, Anna Wheeler Roundtree of The
Kashmiri Shawl was conceived.
“The scene came into my
imagination whole: a narrow, sooty, 19th-century steam-railroad
compartment somewhere in India. Anna rode, alone and terrified, fleeing her
husband and the mission compound where they lived. Just when she’s beginning to
feel she’s finally at a safe-enough distance from him, the train is ambushed by
a mob protesting British rule, burning and looting, killing Europeans. I
speed-wrote three or four pages, delighting in the myriad story possibilities.”
Nightfall was sudden as the train sped back
briefly into the jungle, then out into a mountain-enclosed valley. After an immeasurable time, Anna fell into a
muddled sleep, only to jerk awake when, from somewhere down the track came a
sudden crack of gunfire, then another, then a volley of shots. Heavy steps traversed the train’s footboards,
and porters shouted. A mob had destroyed
a railroad bridge directly ahead. Inside
the compartment, the air was thick with humidity and horror. Anna jumped up from her berth and brittle
specks of soot scattered to the floor.
And then the train jolted to an abrupt halt. Anna staggered, righted herself.
In the distance the engine chugged to no
effect. The steam whistle sounded once
again, a long, lamenting cry. Still the
train did not move. Shouts in the
distance. The howl of the mob. A line of torches advancing. Anna would die here, on this train, at the
hands of a people she had worked so hard to heal.
“Oh, my God,” Anna prayed aloud. “Send me to hell – I don’t care. Just let me live . . .” Her sobbing voice trailed off into an
inarticulate wail. Footsteps halted
abruptly on the boards outside her door, and someone tried to turn the handle
of the bolted door. It remained fast
shut.
“Are you English, Madam?” asked an urgent voice.
“American,” she responded, her heart now hoping.
“Open the door, the voice commanded.
Ands thus it was that Ashok Montgomery stood
there, outlined against the lurid light, aghast at the sight of her.
Excerpt from The Kashmiri Shawl
Page 173
Copyright granted by Joanne Dobson
“Then, almost immediately, I got a phone
call. Amherst College was offering me a
teaching job. The four-page scene went into a manila file folder, not to be
seen again for twenty years.”
In 2005, Dobson opened the manila file folder
again and began writing, this time she was also influenced by Charlotte Bronte’s
Jane
Eyre, the same novel she taught in her classes whenever she had the
chance.
She was particularly influenced, not by the
romantic Mr. Rochester, but by Jane’s other suitor, the missionary St John
Rivers. His marriage proposal to Jane doesn’t promise love, but requires duty. He
insists God made her to be a missionary wife, and therefore she should piously
labor by his side in the wilds of India.
“Jane turns him down.
Her reason is interesting: “If I were to marry you, you would kill me. You are
killing me now.” But she deflects the cause of her demise away from the man
himself and onto India: “I am convinced that go when and with whom I would, I
should not live long in that climate.”
I came away from my
reading of Jane Eyre with the
assumption that the Indian climate must be even deadlier than Jane’s would-be
husband. What, I asked myself in a frenzy of inspiration, would have happened
to Jane if she’d said yes to St. John Rivers and gone to India as his wife?
And thus was the second
birth of Anna Wheeler, missionary wife, fleeing her own “deadly” husband by
train through a lethal Indian landscape.
But though in Josiah’s eyes Anna does not
flourish as his wife, much less as a human being, she actually does flourish in
India – falling in love with the people, their land, their religion, their
customs, and even the country’s climate—and all of India falls in love with
her.
“Anna Wheeler thrives in
India. And so, too, with her intelligence, determination, and integrity might
have her inspiration, Jane Eyre.”
Having at last returned to New York, Anna
Wheeler Roundtree struggles to survive as a poet, barely making ends meet, only
able to afford renting a room at the unfashionable Manhattan house owned by
Mrs. Chapman.
It’s August of 1860 and Anna is in the
process of sharpening her quill with a penknife when she hears banging at her
door.
She is annoyed – part of the appeal of Mrs.
Chapman’s boarding house is its obscurity and isolation –so why would anyone be
pounding at her door? She tries to
ignore it but the pounding persists and she has no choice but to open the door,
to be is greeted by the young redhead Irish woman Bridget O’Neill.
Anna doesn’t recognize Bridget until Bridget
tells Anna that’s she’s a midwife. She also tells Anna something else . . .
“A
girl?” Something caught in Anna’s chest,
a fist on her heart. “A girl? And . . . crying?” She could still feel the coarse weave of the
birthing sheet between fingers cold and strained. “Bridey, you must be mistaken. Miss Parker said the infant never took a
breath.”
“And sure that lie has been on my soul
ever since that day. I’ve never seen a child so full of life. But it was just that--” She averted her gaze
as if about to address a most shameful issue.
“Well, Miss Parker and the housekeeper was all big-eyed, ye know –
hissing to each other in corners, like I didn’t have ears to hear.” Then she looked directly at Anna. “If I can speak plainly t’ye, Mrs. Wheeler,
from the looks on their faces ye’d of thought yourself had give birth to a
dog. But she was a pretty little thing,
that child. Looked me right in the eye
smart-like when I was washing her up.
Like she’d know me again if she seed me.
Soon’s I got her clean and wrapped, Miss Parker grabbed me arm and
dragged me into the back room. ‘Too bad
the child’s so poorly,’ she blathered.
And when I give her the fish eye, she pulls out her purse and pays me
off –double. ‘Far’s poor Mrs. Wheeler
knows, this child was born dead,’ she says, and stands n the front door and
watches me till I turn down Worth Street.
Later that night I was out to the grocery for . . . for a growler.” She cast Anna a sideways glance. “And I seen her slipping around the corner of
the Mission with a bundle clutched to her chest.” Bridey’s eyes were bright with meaning. “Just so.”
And she crossed her arms loosely as if she were cradling an infant. “And it were screetchin’ fit to beat the
band.”
“But –“
“Twas just, ye see, she couldn’t
understand it – and, mind ye, I’m not saying how it come about . . .” Her gaze left Anna’s face uneasily and
migrated to the beautiful Kashmiri shawl she clutched. “Ye see, I’m not one who
has a right to cast blame on any other woman – if ye understand what I’m about
saying. But somehow, for whatever
reason…” Her eyes snapped back to
Anna’s. “. . .that child was born a darky.”
Excerpt from The Kashmiri Shawl
Pages 5- 6
Copyright by Joanne Dobson
Anna, then, pursues her daughter, whom
she christens India Elizabeth, and it is through this search that her secret
love affair is revealed and her epiphanies and metamorphoses are experienced
and realized.
She also relives her past, that of being crushed
by her domineering and, now, supposedly dead husband Reverend Josiah Roundtree
for ten full years, while he led a mission in India.
To escape the domination of her husband, Anna
writes poetry in notebooks that she successfully hides from her husband in her
petticoat pocket. It is during one of
her husband’s sermons that she experiences another epiphany, not because of
what he preaches but because of a miraculous green lizard.
From outside came the familiar tweet
and trill of a bird, one she knew was small and green, but for which she had no
name. And with the sure and certain note
of that green song, something akin to a miracle came to pass in Anna’s soul: In the breathless air, between one pass of
the punkah and the next, a green
lizard jumped from the wall and flickered across the toe of Anna’s buttoned
boot, and it was as if all things changed, as if she had woken with a start from
a long, cold New England dream to find herself here in the midst of a life so
fecund it spoke not in the print on Josiah’s page, but in the scent of
bougainvillea, in birdsong.
She shuddered, cold and hot at the same
moment. She felt momentarily lifted out
of her body.
A lifetime’s doctrine drained from her
as wine might spill from a cast-off communion cup, only to be replaced by a new
revelation. Life! Here! Life!
Now! Life!
She had heard of Christians who had
lost their faith; now, in “the twinkling of an eye,” as the Bible said,
something equally cataclysmic had happened to her. She felt as if she’d been stunned by a
celestial hammer. It was all she could
do to keep herself seated in the pew, all she could do to keep from shouting
out: Life. Here.
Life. Now. Life.
It was as if her mind had leapt beyond
its education and entered a larger sphere.
As if she hadn’t lost faith, but had simply been liberated from icy dogma.
As if finally she knew what she’d been born to know: life was not simply some anxious, sin-fraught
anteroom to salvation or damnation; existence was itself salvation, warm and bright, throbbing with energy.
In that moment, after years of numb
obedience, she decided to leave Josiah, and the dry closed universe of his
world.
Excerpt from The Kashmiri Shawl
Pages 141 – 142
Copyright granted by Joanne Dobson
Anna escapes, but barely, the violent Indian
Rebellion in 1857, and finds herself impoverished living in that boarding house
in lower Manhattan where she writes voraciously in her three notebooks: one dedicated to poetry that only her religious
readers will read; the other dedicated to her experiences in India; and the
last dedicated to her innermost secrets and thoughts.
Anna is faced with a dilemma – to earn
some much-needed money, she must come up with 12 new poems within a month to
submit to Larkin & Bierce Publishers.
The only problem is she has no new “moral,” conventional poems; only
poems from her secret notebooks.
She would write only what poems she
knew she could sell to Larkin & Bierce.
But how could she possibly come up with a dozen within a month? She hesitated. Did she dare use the unguarded lines she had
written in India? No. Never.
But as soon as she wrapped herself
comfortably in Ashok’s shawl, his memory enfolded her. Covering the cherished wrap with a writer’s
smock against the inevitable ink stains, she began to write.
Simoom
As
murk as midnight is the sky, sultry and still the air.
Dust
flings death’s veil around them, the lost and wandering pair
She
looks at him with frightened eye. He
says, “We are together.
The
only storms to kill us now will be the heart – not weather.”
So
deep a darkness neither knew. They brave
it, hand in hand.
Until,
at last, deliverance viewed – the sun through floating sand.
The
song of bird is heard again. Heav’n’s
air restored to earth.
And
they who thought that they would die, now taste each other’s breath.
Even as she wrote, she understood that
this poem was not for Mr. Larkin.
Although – she must say – she doubted that the poor man would recognize
passion if he saw it. But, no, she could
not risk discovery; she set the poem aside.
At the moment Anna could do nothing
about finding her child. She must
concentrate on her poetry. Caroline was
going to ask Mrs. Fiske to make inquiries in the city’s African community.
Leaving her desk only for a few
fugitive hours of sleep and a snatched meal provided by Nancy, the Irish house
girl, she wrote for the next two days straight.
She wrote until her arm ached, her ink-stained fingers cramped around
the scratchy steel-nib pen, and the words swam upon her retinas. Eventually she did find herself plundering
the Indian notebooks – for monsoon, suttee, and creeping scorpion. For the savior of ginger, turmeric, and
cardamom. For images of jasmine and
languid evenings in the mountain air.
She wrote until she could write no
longer.
Excerpt from The Kashmiri Shawl
Page 87-88
Copyright granted by Joanne Dobson
Anna is just as obsessed and passionate about
her writing as she is about reading but due to her impoverished state she has
only four volumes of books: a three
volume edition of Jane Eyre; the blue cloth covered copy of Elizabeth Barrett
Browning’s poems; a dime copy of Charlotte Temple; and Leaves
of Grass by Walt Whitman.
She experiences another epiphany as she
stands in front of the Appleton Bookstore on Broadway. Even after she understands the cruelty she’s
experienced in her life and the damaging deception in the loss of her daughter,
Anna finds hope in books, particularly the expensive Lydia Sigourney’s poems
and Mrs. Southworth’s The Curse of Clifton.
She tries to resist the temptation of spending
her advance money from the publisher on books, but some force is driving
her to purchase these two books, and she does. Purchasing the books is more than a book
shopping spree, but permission to be independent, self sufficient, and to
recognize the power of words, even words that are not her own.
Stepping out of the shop with her
impulsive purchase added to her other parcels, she felt an energy radiating
into her, as if it were through the soles of her boots in their contact with
the sidewalk paving. At the corner of
Catherine Lane, with its mint sellers, buttermilk stands and hot corn vendors,
she purchased a paper cone of grapes and popped one in her mouth. For a moment she felt totally mindful of all
around her: the deep, rich hue of the
fruit, the stark lettering of the signs on the buildings, the rank smell of the
gutters, the cries of the vendors, the bold aspirations of the people. For a moment she saw herself not as an
isolated being, but as part of the teeming multitudes of this great city. For a moment, in spite of her fears for India
Elizabeth, she felt almost giddy with life.
Excerpt from The Kashmiri Shawl
Page 128
Copyright granted by Joanne Dobson
Anna searches for her daughter for
months, walking all over New York City, from Five Points, to Broadway, to the
East River waterfront, but she finds no sign of the child. Then she experiences another metamorphosis.
And, then one February morning, footsore,
Anna woke up to the tap-tap of small, mean snowflakes on her windowpane. Something had altered; Anna didn’t know
precisely what. She was stronger. It was as if steel had entered her soul as solid
as that framing Manhattan’s great new buildings. That day she ceased walking and, in her
clean, comfortable fourth-floor room, she began to write again.
She sat down at the cherry-wood desk,
and the lines that emerged from her pen she did not recognize as poems. They were not rhymed. Their meter was neither iambic nor trochaic
nor spondaic. The words flowed; they came out cold and bright, obdurate and
angry.
Thirty
long years, and countless spinning centuries,
Gabriel
shining by the bedside,
The
fear of being smothered in his wings.
It
seems there was a birth
And
swaddling clothes
Being
bound, or binding,
Shepherds
with uncomprehending eyes,
A
star and no lack of wise men
But
that was endless cycles of stars ago.
For
this nativity I am alone.
Anna recognized a new genius to her
work, but these were not pieces for Mr. Larkin or for Godey’s Ladies book. They were
neither inspirational nor comforting.
They were poems for herself, and she kept them to herself, hiding the
fragments of verse away in the secret compartment of the travel desk.
Excerpt from The Kashmiri Shawl
Pages 271-272
Copyright granted by Joanne Dobson
The greatest epiphanies and
metamorphosis - romantically, motherly, and poetically - Anna Wheeler Roundtree
experiences are bountiful and not shared in this article, in order to avoid
spoil alerts for would be readers.
Just like it took Anna Wheeler
Roundtree ten years to face the light and leave her husband, it took Joanne
Dobson ten years to finish The Kashmiri Shawl, a rare faceted
gem with lightning constantly running through its veins.
“Anna and I are both
born writers, and one thing we have in common is that it took each of us a long
time to realize that writing was a vocation as well as simply a talent. I write
because it’s what I want to do. I feel happiest when I have a writing project
going on. Anna, poor thing, writes out of desperation, both emotional and
financial. In some ways she writes for her life, and her writing saves her.
When she found a forgotten Indian diary full of poetic writings in her dresser
drawer, I almost shrieked for joy; I wasn’t expecting that!”
Dobson not only writes a compelling story
but also uses the real New York City of 1860s as its backdrop – no tourist
attractions are mentioned but only places that real New Yorkers would be aware
of, New York City at its most authentic.
Dobson, a New Yorker herself, accomplished this by intense research in
her own family of New Yorkers and New York archives.
“I did an enormous
amount of research for The Kashmiri
Shawl. My scholarly specialization is in 19th-century American
women’s literature, so I had a good jumping-off place.
Then I was granted a
Research Fellowship for Creative Writers at the wonderful American Antiquarian
Society in Worcester, Massachusetts.
For four weeks, I
immersed myself in their comprehensive collection of American books, magazines,
broadsides, posters, etc. I read original copies of 19th-century
books with titles such as Hindoo Life:
With Pictures (1866) and The
Mysteries and Miseries of the Great Metropolis (1874). After that delightful
plunge into the past, I had, of course, the Internet to fill in the gaps.
While I was doing
on-site research in New York, I felt like I was walking the streets of
Manhattan in two different centuries at the same time. I loved it! I’m a New
Yorker. I was born in Manhattan, raised in the Bronx until I was 12, when we
moved to Peekskill, New York. It’s a railroad town about 30 miles north of the
city (or The City. I always think of it capitalized!), so Manhattan was always
only an easy train ride away.”
Dobson completed the first draft of The
Kashmiri Shawl, originally titled The Missionary’s Wife, in 2009, but
she was not pleased, and the rough-draft manuscript lived in her filing cabinet
for several years.
It wasn’t until she was back at Amherst College
teaching a two-week course on Emily Dickinson that she rescued the manuscript from
her filing cabinet and began writing it again, this time with scissors,
staples, luck, and note cards.
“Alone, in
a small faculty-housing apartment, I literally (not philosophically)
deconstructed the manuscript tome—with scissors.
Taking it apart, scene-by-scene,
and stapling the pages of each scene together, I reduced the doorstop to a
multitude of variegated stapled sections.
Then, sucking in a deep, terrified breath, I tossed those sections high in the air and let them fall, higgledy-piggledy, all over the scarred maple dining-room table.
Once chaos—the true element of creation—was
Then, sucking in a deep, terrified breath, I tossed those sections high in the air and let them fall, higgledy-piggledy, all over the scarred maple dining-room table.
Once chaos—the true element of creation—was
achieved, I began to
make index cards briefly describing each scene, and attempted to organize those
cards into a completely new structure, with plot development and suspense in
mind. And the second incarnation of The Kashmiri Shawl began.”
It took her another two years to reach the final
editing process; but she still faced one dilemma: her character Satish Ghosh, Anna’s banian, who assists Anna in her search
for her daughter, would not come to life for her.
“On the page he was
paper-thin. Since the banian’s presence
was so very important to the crucial final chapters of the story, I was in
despair; I needed a character capable of guiding Anna through this vast alien
country.
Then, one day, I was
shopping at Target, when a short, plump Indian man caught my attention. He was
standing in the toiletries aisle studying the various brands of condoms,
picking the boxes up one by one, reading the descriptions. Finally he was down
to two particular brands, reading first the one package, then the other,
weighing them in his hands. Such scrupulous attention to detail … such
fussiness.
Yes! This was Satish
Ghosh! In my imagination, this stranger was whirled back to the mid-19th-century,
had five daughters, was desperate to provide dowries for them, and was … fussy.
At that moment he came alive for me—knowledgeable and scrupulously attentive to
detail, as well as fussy, but with a good heart, and I had a great deal of fun
writing him.”
“’The memsahib
without a soul.’ That is what the missionary wallahs are calling you,” Satish Ghosh, said, as he and Anna walked
in the garden of her Farrukhabad hotel. All around them oleander bushes hung
lush with clusters of pink and white blossoms and a delicate perfume suffused
the air. “Or so the kansamah at the Baptist Mission House is telling me he has heard as
he waits upon the dinner table.”
“Without a soul?” She frowned, perplexed,
then gave a short, bitter laugh. “Ah, a lost
soul!” The missionaries think I am a lost
soul! That must be what the butler heard.”
Satish looked at her sideways with his dark
eyes. “Soulful, I am thinking. Not soul-lost. Madame is filled with soul.”
She laughed again, this time without the
bitterness. “Thank you, Satish.” She smiled at him.
He looked astonished. Thanking me? For what, Madame?”
“You have just said a lovely thing.”
“Ah. I am meaning it.”
Excerpt from The Kashmiri Shawl
Page 329
Copyright granted by Joanne Dobson
Some readers might view Anna’s epiphanies and
metamorphoses as the abandonment of her Christian faith, but Dobson insists
that is not the case.
“I think
Anna has grown into a new understanding of Christian life, even if she might
not yet see it that way. She’s been traumatized by the institutionalized
Christianity of her childhood—a strict, literalistic Puritan dogma of fear and
hellfire. Rather than rejecting the teachings of Christ, however, the mature
Anna has evolved into a more transcendent understanding of Christianity as a
religion of love, compassion, and spiritual healing.”
Unlike most literary novels, The
Kashmiri Shawl has a happy ending – Anna in the end returns home triumphantly
– but that triumph is not complete – for there is still the battle against the
enemy that is never ending – the enemy being sexism and racism.
The only unfortunate thing about Joanne
Dobson’s The Kashmiri Shawl is that the same battle and the same enemies
are still being fought today.
Dobson presently lives in Brewster, New
York, which she described as quiet, woodsy, beautiful, and more country than
suburb. She commuted from Brewster to
New York City’s Fordham University for 20 years where she taught American
literature and Creative Writing.
Presently Dobson teaches fiction
writing at the Hudson Valley Writers’ Center, which is located right on the
Hudson River in Sleepy Hollow, the birthplace of American fiction.
Photograph
Description And Copyright Information
Photo
1
Joanne
Dobson
Copyright
granted by Joanne Dobson
Photo
2
Front
jacket cover of The Kashmiri Shawl
Photo
3
Back
jacket cover of The Kashmiri Shawl
Photo
5
Jacket
cover of National Geographic issue June 1984
Photo
6
Troops of the Native Allies', 1857-1858 (c).
Coloured lithograph from 'The Campaign in India 1857-58', a
series of 26 coloured lithographs by William Simpson, E Walker and others,
after G F Atkinson, published by Day and Son, 1857-1858.
Although the Bengal Army rebelled during the Indian Mutiny
(1857-1859), the East India Company's Madras and Bombay Armies were relatively
unaffected and other regiments, including Sikhs, Punjabi Moslems and Gurkhas,
remained loyal, partly due to their fear of a return to Mughal rule. They also
had little in common with the Hindu sepoys of the Bengal Army. All three groups
helped capture Delhi and took part in its subsequent looting. They were helped
by the soldiers of those native states that opted to support the British. NAM
Accession Number
NAM. 1971-02-33-495-20 Copyright/Ownership
National Army Museum Copyright Location
National Army Museum, Study Collection
Public
Domain
Photo
7
Front
jacket cover of The Kashmiri Shawl
Photo 8
Photo
9a
Charlotte
Bronte
Public
Domain
Photo
9b
Three
volume edition of Jane Eyre
1847
2nd edition
Photo
10
St
John Rivers admits Jane to Moorehouse
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
Photo
11
Jane
turns down St. John Rivers’s marriage proposal
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law.
Photo
12
Jane
Eyre
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
Photo
13
Train
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
Photo
14
Chromolithograph
of Delhi, India published in The Illustrated News in November of
1857
Public
Domain
Photo
15
19th
century painting of woman with shawl
Public
Domain
Photo
16
The
kind of boarding house (hers is on Liberty Street) in which she hears momentous
news and begins her quest.
Public
Domain
Photo
18
19th
century quill and pen knife
Public
Domain
Photo
19
Jo, The Beautiful Irish
Girl
1860
Attributed
to Gustave Courbet
Public
Domain
Photo
20
Front
jacket cover of The Kashmiri Shawl
Photo 21a
The Epiphanies & Metamorphoses of Anna Wheeler Roundtree
Modeled by Janlyn Diggs
Photographed by Christal Rice Cooper
PHoto 21b
Wesleyan Mission Chapel in Bangalore, India in 1864
Attributed to J. Rozairio
Public Domain
Photo 21a
The Epiphanies & Metamorphoses of Anna Wheeler Roundtree
Modeled by Janlyn Diggs
Photographed by Christal Rice Cooper
PHoto 21b
Wesleyan Mission Chapel in Bangalore, India in 1864
Attributed to J. Rozairio
Public Domain
Photo
22
Lizard
– bronchocela cristatella
Public
Domain
Photo
23
Front
Jacket cover of The Kashmiri Shawl
Photo
24
19th
Century portrait of woman writing at desk
Public
Domain
Photo
25
Front
Jacket cover of The Kashmiri Shawl
Photo
26a
Three
volume edition of Jane Eyre
Public
Domain
Photo
26b
Jacket
cover of Poems Before Congress by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Photo
26c
Elizabeth
Barrett Browning
Public
Domain
Photo
26d
1814
Edition of Charlotte Temple
Photo
26e
Walt
Whitman (age 37) photo in the inside cover of Leaves of Grass
Public
Domain
Photo
26f
1883
Edition of Leaves of Grass with Walt Whitman on cover.
Photo
27a
Appleton’s
Building on Broadway belwo Grant Street
1860
Albumen
print
Photo
27b
Lydia
Sigourney (9/01/1791 - 06/10/1865)
Photo
by Matthew Brody
Photograph
taken somewhere between 1855-1865
Public
Domain
Photo
27c
Emma
Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth
Quarter
plate daguerreotype in 1860
Public
Domain
Photo
27d
Jacket
cover of The Curse of Clifton
Photo
28
Front
jacket cover of The Kashmiri Shawl
Photo
29a
Five
Point sin 1859
Public
Domain
Photo
29b
1860
New York City Street Scene of Broadway looking north from Broome Street. The intersection in the center of the photo
is Spring Street.
Public
Domain
Photo
29c
Image
of the frozen East River from New York to Brooklyn
1871
Public
Domain
Photo
30
Front
jacket cover of The Kashmiri Shawl
Photo
31
19th
Century painting of woman with shawl
Public
Domain
Photo
32
Joanne
Dobson
Copyright
granted by Joanne Dobson
Photo
33
Image
of Ally Heathcote’s 1874 diary
Public
Domain
Photo
34
Joanne
Dobson’s mother, Mildred Abele, who worked as a private duty nurse in New York
City and left a treasure trove of letters she wrote to her family in Canada
about what it was like to live In Ne York City.
Copyright
granted by Joanne Dobson
Photo
36
The
American Antiquarian Society building in Worcester, Massachusetts.
Public
Domain
Photo
37a
Jacket
cover of Hindoo Life: With Pictures
Photo
37b
Jacket
cover of The Mysteries and Miseries of the Great Metropolis
Photo
38
1940s
or 1950s Photograph of woman walking in New York City
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
Photo
44
19th
Century Painting of woman wearing a shawl.
Public
Domain
Photo
45
Sage Jajali is honoured by the Vaishya Tuladhara.
Attributed to Ramanarayanadatta astri Volume: 5 Publisher:
Photo 46
Photograph
of India in the 1860s
Public
Domain
Photo
47
India
man in 1860s photograph
Photo
48
Front
jacket cover of The Kashmiri Shawl
Photo
49
Joanne
Dobson
Copyright
granted by Joanne Dobson
Photo 50
The Spiritual Healing of Anna Wheeler Roundtree
Modeled by Janlynn Diggs
Photograph by Christal Rice Cooper
Photo 50
The Spiritual Healing of Anna Wheeler Roundtree
Modeled by Janlynn Diggs
Photograph by Christal Rice Cooper
Photo
51
Little
India Girl
Public
Domai
Photo
53
Joanne
Dobson
Copyright
granted by Joanne Dobson
Photo
54
Drawing
of The Hudson Valley Writer’s Center
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
