But She Doesn't Look Like a Fiend . . .

How we get from this rather skimpy framework to the intriguing Lizzie who "took an axe / and gave her mother forty whacks" is the result of many factors, some of which we can trace, and some we can only guess at. They provide a context for the film, which did not emerge from a vacuum, but is part of a coherent body of representations. The historical Lizzie lived in quiet seclusion after the trial and may well have disappeared from the public consciousness if not for Edmund Pearson, a very popular true-crime writer whose books revived interest in her case. The first, Studies in Murder, was published in 1924, during Lizzie's lifetime. Not content to confine himself to one telling, Pearson devoted attention to the case in four more books. He claimed to be writing factual, biographical works, but was actually playing a leading role in creating the Borden legend. His books present a complex image of Lizzie. She is guilty of a monstrous crime, and yet is appealing, even admirable in her strength and cunning. She is fascinating because the murders remain a mystery although he is convinced she did them. She is also quite ordinary, simultaneously an American Lady MacBeth and dull New England spinster. Pearson presents his highly subjective impressions with confident authority. They suggest more about his obsessions and proclivities than they inform about the historical Lizzie. He was a great admirer of Hosea Knowlton, the chief prosecutor in the case, to whom he dedicated his acclaimed book, The Trial of Lizzie Borden.

Another strong influence on his work was the book written in 1893 by Edwin Porter. (This was the first book to appear on the case, but it did not get the wide distribution which Pearson's books enjoyed. In fact, popular wisdom has it that Lizzie bought most of the copies of the book and destroyed them.) Porter's hostility to Lizzie is very likely rooted in the social and economic realities of 1890s Fall River. Edwin Porter worked for the Fall River Globe, the Democrat paper, which regularly ran articles which were very unfavorable to Lizzie. The Yankee elite, to which she belonged, was Republican, and those newspapers treated her with sympathy. The writer Victoria Lincoln, herself a member of this class, tells us that after the trial, Fall River society wanted nothing more than to forget the whole sordid business. (Traces of this sentiment linger to this day.) However, Lizzie's enemies did not want to forget, and did not remain silent. Striking at her was also a blow against the establishment, and hence we get Porter's damning book, and newspaper articles for years on the anniversary of the murders, making insinuations about Lizzie's guilt. These are some of the currents that drive Pearson's accounts of Lizzie, which can hardly be seen as unbiased.

Following in his footsteps, Victoria Lincoln in 1967 published her popular account, A Private Disgrace; Lizzie Borden by Daylight. This highly readable book is still in print, and provides us with the fullest biographical study of Lizzie to date. Lincoln was a member of the Yankee elite, and grew up in a house on "the hill," near Miss Borden, who moved to the posh neighborhood after the trial. Because she was not part of the enemy camp out to attack Lizzie for class reasons, her book seems all the more damning, since she is convinced of Lizzie's guilt. Lincoln refers respectfully to both Porter and Pearson, and adds her own contributions to the legend as well. She theorizes that Lizzie killed while in the grip of an epileptic seizure. More importantly, Lincoln creates a picture of a woman who is memorable and haunting. Drawing on her memories of seeing Lizzie in person and turning also to photographs, Lincoln is enthralled by Lizzie's eyes. She refers to them over and over again, describing those "huge, protruding, pale eyes" (158), "startlingly pale eyes" (199), and a "blank-eyed" Lizzie (266).

This helps to set Lizzie apart, making her sinister and enigmatic, adding a note of horror. I have looked at photographs of Lizzie, and found her, and her eyes, to be quite ordinary looking. Besides, most of us have photos of ourselves (usually driver's licenses) in which we look like potential criminals. Lincoln is using her novelistic skills here to fine effect. But, like authors before her, she claims to search for and present the truth. She even asserts special status as a Fall River insider and as a woman, whose knowledge and understanding of the events are superior to those of men and non-residents writing about the case. Despite these declarations, the distinctions between the historical Lizzie and the legend are blurred and highly suspect. It becomes clear that the "real" Lizzie cannot be recovered from history by her biographers. The most that the biographers can do is create convincing narrative constructs of their subject.

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