I wanted to like this book a lot more than I do. Abbott was a great and influential photographer and her story is inspirational.

This book, though... I’m sorry to say that I found Sarah Coleman’s turgid writing too often bland and the storytelling is heavy-handed and simplistic. She tells the reader that Abbott was heroic, more often than showing her as heroic.

One of the clearest examples of Coleman's heavy-handed writing comes late in the book, early on in the section headed: New York & Ohio, 1951. Abbott is in the waiting room of a doctor's office with her partner Elizabeth McCausland and the reception calls McCausland's name.

"Instinctively, Berenice rises too, only to be frowned at. 'Just Miss McCausland, ma'am.'

" 'I'm her--' Berenice starts, then falters and sits down again. She can't say it, even now. The cowardice makes her feel like a traitor."

Almost 70 years ago, nearly twenty years before the 1969 Stonewall riots in Greenwich Village, there is literally NO word or phrase that Berenice could use to simply identify herself as a person with an unquestionable right to see the doctor with her partner without some ongoing relation with the doctor 's practice. Coleman's attempt to demonstrate this, is undercut by her unwillingness to just let it be a cruel fact of the times. Instead, with the description "She can't say it, even now," Coleman turns what could be a dramatic moment into simplistic, ahistorical gibberish. There are other historical gaffs. And Coleman's treatment of famous artists and other historical figures at crowded events is too often limited by her use of simple name checks and the most cliched character details.

Despite my overall dislike for The Realist, I've added an extra star to my rating because the book inspired me to look at Abbott’s photography again. ( )