A Different Woman

All that is known about Edna Gertrude Beasley is that she was born the ninth of thirteen children in 1895, she grew up on farms in rural Texas, she was the first in her family to attend university, and in 1925, she published her memoirs, My First Thirty Years. When the autobiography hit the stands, it was widely condemned and banned as obscene: in it, she bluntly wrote about her family's penchant for violence, rape, incest, and bestiality. Ignoring the uplifting tale of a woman rising above her lot in life, Beasley's detractors focused instead on the more scandalous and shocking angles of the narrative, and destroyed almost all copies of the book in the name of decency. By 1930, Beasley herself had vanished, and is all but forgotten today, except as a coda in the occasional essay or collection.

Fortunately for posterity, Veronica Russell learned of Beasley's status as one of the first banned female American writers, and tracked down a copy of My First Thirty Years (an effort that took nearly a year to accomplish). With lamentably limited resources, Ms. Russell has adapted the autobiography for the stage, and the culmination of her efforts, now entitled A Different Woman, is part of this year's Fringe Festival. Simultaneously horrifying and uplifting, A Different Woman accomplishes what My First Thirty Years could not do in Beasley's time, presenting this fascinating woman to a world that needs to hear of such trailblazers.

A Different Woman does not shy away from the more scandalous angles of Beasley's life story, but these angles are not the heart of the drama. Instead, the incest and graphic violence simply become hurdles for young Gertrude to overcome as she rises above her humble beginnings, as much as her poverty or her own gender. The frank depictions of rape and bestiality are certainly shocking, of course, and might render the play unsuitable for younger audience members, but they are necessary to understand the odds stacked against this fierce spirit.

And that spirit, really, is what drives this play, and makes it such a strong theatrical experience. For all the shock value, this is ultimately a story of fortitude and determination, and, as humorously and smartly performed by Ms. Russell, Gertrude's story is more uplifting than offensive. Perry Martin takes a great risk in his direction, having Ms. Russell sit calmly in a chair and simply talk for most of the play. In the hands of a weaker director, this staging would be unbearably boring, but Mr. Martin wisely trusts Ms. Russell's rich voice and commanding stage presence, and the neither the narrative nor the performer ever overwhelm each other. The result is a quietly powerful mix of horror, humor, and perseverance, and an intense journey into a world few New Yorkers get to experience by a first-hand source.