Cant believe the story ends that way, with an fanatical or Utopian love indeed, in what Ernestine draws in her picture of Karl, of love, of light. But it was a young Susan Glaspell, herself ready to flame anytime when such a soul-reaching and mind-lifting love occurs. It was her first Utopian dream of love, her maiden novel The Glory of the Conquered, when she was in her early thirties.And soon she was more or less to live up to such a glory, at the death of her husband Jig Cook.

Was i let down then, as the many Susan Glaspell readers, to see her succumb to such a glory, when she could have otherwise? Yes, i was...But i could also be presupposing for her, like others do. Hope more readings will throw more light on the amazing woman a century earlier with whom i strangely feel close. Her obsession with the life and its essentials overthrew my earlier building of contemporary women playwrights and took me by the heart.

Now i am ready to go back to her, to what life could mean for women when they just barely began to realize they had been ill-fated in history and did what they could in reaction.

From Ann Bradstreet who first defied her hand 'needle work fits better' to Susan Glaspell, i have at least marched almost 200 hundred years, though some 'gossiping' tongues never really grow more generous up till today. So there is this a long way to go before women can sleep in peace.
i am trying what i can, aint i? for the time being. And i wont want to see more glory of the conquered as SG writes or Marius Jean Antonin Mercie paints in his Gloria Victis.