Book Review – Loving Frank by Nancy Horan

Few books are so widely loved, or reviled, or have sparked such interesting book club discussions as Loving Frank, by Nancy Horan—a novel based on the real-life, ripped-from-the-headlines affair of famed architect Frank Lloyd Wright and his beloved mistress-muse Mamah Borthwick Cheney.

Based on years of exacting research, Horan creates vivid portraits of Frank and Mamah, two outcasts, of sorts, who brave public condemnation to carve out a life of their own making. Mamah (pronounced MAY-muh), in particular, is perplexing—some readers find much to admire in her, others much to abhor.

Mamah, a bright, educated woman, just beginning to move past the bounds of marriageable age, is persuaded to marry Edwin Cheney, a kind, honorable, but uninspiring businessman from Chicago. The two settle in Oak Park, Ill., have two children, and lead a seemingly content life. Then in 1903-04 they decide to construct a new home designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. Mamah and Frank fall in love.

The story revolves mostly around Mamah's internal conflict, one still unresolved by women 100 years later—how to justify the desire for self-realization with the traditional role of wife and mother. As she writes in her diary, “I have been standing on the side of life, watching it float by. I want to swim in the river. I want to feel the current.”

In 1909 Mamah decides to plunge into the river. Giving no notice, she leaves her children in the hands of a dear friend in Colorado and joins Frank in Europe. During her two year stay, Mamah meets feminist Ellen Key and studies Swedish in order to translate Key's books into English. In 1911 Frank persuades her to return to the States to the new house he has been building for her in Wisconsin.

From there Mamah attempts to make peace with her children, who have by this time all but forgotten her. So that she (and we) can gauge the devastating impact of her actions, her now ex-husband, reveals that shortly after she abandoned them in Colorado, John, a mere youngster, was lost for hours...only to be found wandering the streets in search of his mother.

Horan writes beautifully, objectively, carefully avoiding the language of judgement. She lays no blame nor condemnation on two people who in many ways were at odds with their own time, Mamah especially. The price Mamah pays for her elopement is dear—and readers are left to ponder, on their own, whether that price was too dear, or not dear enough.