Florence Ladd

Sarah’s Psalm

(Orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished in Boston Mag­a­zine, June 1996)

Flo­rence Ladd, direc­tor of the Bunting Insti­tute, Rad­cliffe Col­lege’s mul­ti­dis­ci­pli­nary cen­ter for advanced study for women, has writ­ten a sur­pris­ing­ly roman­tic first novel. Sarah’s Psalm tells the sto­ry of Sarah, a woman who leaves behind her fam­i­ly’s aspi­ra­tions to a prop­er mar­riage and aca­d­e­m­ic suc­cess to fol­low her dream — to Senegal.

“I had been think­ing about women in my circumstances,” says Ladd, a dig­ni­fied, ele­gant, soft-spo­ken woman of a cer­tain age, with pale brown skin and sparkling brown eyes. “Educated, priv­i­leged African-Amer­i­can women—with a mea­sure of priv­i­lege, that is—living pro­duc­tive, well-sup­port­ed lives.

“At first I thought of doing a case study of some women I know. Then, on an aca­d­e­m­ic mis­sion, I met a woman in Dakar, an Amer­i­can woman in Africa, and my first sketch was a sketch of her. When I went back to Sene­gal, I want­ed to inter­view her, but she did­n’t wish to be inter­viewed. She told me that what I imag­ined about her life was more inter­est­ing than her life—that it was not her sto­ry, but my sto­ry. So she pushed me toward fic­tion, and she freed me to incor­po­rate some of myself.”

Like Sarah, Ladd grew up in a well-edu­cat­ed, upper-mid­dle-class fam­i­ly in Wash­ing­ton, D.C., and pur­sued an aca­d­e­m­ic career. Lad­d’s first hus­band was the inspi­ra­tion for Sarah’s first hus­band, a civ­il-rights activist.  In the ear­ly six­ties they lives in Istan­bul, where James Bald­win, who also lived there, was a fre­quent vis­i­tor to their home. “But the book is fic­tion, fab­ri­cat­ed and imag­ined,” says Ladd, who pur­sued a dis­tin­guished aca­d­e­m­ic career—she was dean of stu­dents at Welles­ley Col­lege before becom­ing direc­tor of the Bunting. In the nov­el, Sarah leaves that life behind when she falls in love with a great African poet, Ibrahim Man­gane, and moves to Africa to share his life.

Ladd is a true sto­ry­teller, and Sarah’s sto­ry has the mak­ing of a mod­ern myth. Sarah’s inde­pen­dent spir­it and strong sense of her­self is repeat­ed­ly revealed in the book through color—the turquoise dress­es she wears as a stu­dent, the coral col­or she paints the walls of her apart­ment in Boston, the bril­liant tones of the boubous that she sees and wears in Africa. Water is anoth­er recur­ring reflec­tion of Sarah’s inner life; her romance with Man­gane begins by the sea.

“The sea is a metaphor for trans­for­ma­tion, the pos­si­bil­i­ty of cross­ing over, for becom­ing some­one else, for change. Every time Sarah cross­es the sea, it changes her. I believe in the uncon­scious and the way the uncon­scious enrich­es our inter­pre­ta­tions of life.”

Sarah’s Psalm has a cin­e­mat­ic feel: Years flow by, back­lit by real his­tor­i­cal events, height­ened by moments of intense emo­tion. “The sto­ry was there—the core of the sto­ry was some­thing I under­stood from the begin­ning. I had only my one month in the sum­mer to work on it; it took six or sev­en Julys.” says Ladd, ges­tur­ing with her large, strong hands; the big opal ring on her right hand looks like pale green frag­ment of the sea.

“I cried when I was writ­ing the book—the pow­er of some of those moments made me cry.”

by Rebec­ca Nemser for rebeccanemser.com

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