“Raise high the roofbeams”, Sappho’s poem begins for the coming of a bridegroom to the bridal chamber. Reading the few surviving bits of Sappho’s poetry is, to me, like seeing the remains of a column or arch on one of the beautiful greek islands. There is a delicious melancholy in experiencing something mostly obliterated, but still evocative, transformed by imaginative interpretation.

Born Florence Freidman, with her first husband she became Florence Klapper, by the time she got to her third, she was Fleur Cowles. Self-invented Fleur created an amazing magazine, “Flair”. It was the acme of 1950’s sophistication: contributors such as Salvator Dali (the Spanish surrealist), overlapping cut-out pages, minimal advertising. Only 12 issues. It was financially untenable.

When the Moghuls ruled India, the court artists created extraordinary small paintings notable for a close visual observation of nature: Perfumed blossoming gardens, gazelles, exotic birds, holy men, hunters, dancing girls, elephants, tigers, white-towered palaces and pavilions. This was Nur Jahan’s world. She was the 19th and “favorite” wife of a drug-addled and alcoholic sultan.

Bessie and Sadie, were sisters, the daughters of a freed slave. Bessie became a dentist for both Harlem Renaissance figures and the poor alike. As centenarians in the 1980’s, together they became best-selling authors of “Having our Say” and the subject of a Broadway play. Witty, feisty, active, spirited and charming they became media-darlings and role models for everyone.

Because she applied by post and made excuses to avoid the job interviews, not showing up until the first school day, Sadie was able to obtain the position of a School Superintendent in 1920’s segregated NYC. Both Sadie and her younger sister, Bessie, decided not to marry and banded together for a life based on love, resilience, discipline, grace and determination. When Bessie died, at age 104, Sadie treasured Bessie’s garden until her own death, at age 110, in 1999.

At a time when the idea of the “divine” right of kings prevailed, Catherine, a banker’s daughter, became Queen of France! Granted, her progenitors were not ordinary bankers–her grandfather was Lorenzo the Magnificent, ruler of Florence and patron of artists. As Queen, Catherine would continue the family tradition of extravagant art patronage. Did the Florentines change history by way of poisoning?

Ms. Trimarco’s daughter, Anna, was snatched from the street in Buenos Aries in 2002. Ms. Trimarco was nominated for the Nobel peace prize in 2014 for the work she has done freeing and giving shelter to women reclaimed from slavery in brothels. She found and rescued these women while searching,
without success, for her own daughter. She has been the target of misogynistic fury–violent and cruel–by thugs in reprisal.

Joan of Arc astounds. Within a brief time, she created discipline, order and respect–even to veneration–both from a motley, disorganized group of French foot soldiers as well as from noble knights. Joan led them to a stunning upset victory. Her English, and French, enemies worked through the religious court to destroy her. Her words and poise are largely forgotten. Among the most notable of all humanity.

Among Oscar awards ceremony moments that have passed into lore is that of the Native American princess/activist who accepted the statuette for an absent Marlon Brando (best actor (“The Godfather”)) in 1972. Sacheen read a prepared speech, imploring a dignified treatment of Native Americans in movies and reviling the bowdlerized version of history that prevailed. The movie to chronicle the Native American experience has yet to be made.

Suchmita, a Hindu, married her beloved, an Afghani Muslim. They lived in Afghanistan during the era of Taliban dominance. Often persecuted for not conforming, Suchmita wrote a book about her experiences. The book became a best-seller in India, and then was adapted as a Bollywood movie, becoming a box office smash-hit. She was kidnapped and murdered by members of the Taliban–who thought she had made them look bad.

Marie Curie always made the famous-women-list in my school days — along with Betsy Ross (flag sewer). Initially stymied by gender discrimination in her native Poland, Marie worked her way to Paris to pursue her dream of advanced scientific research. Her methods were not always safe (her notebooks are still radioactive); she was unfazed by personal danger. Her brilliance and her humanitarian work are her legacy. New ideas were her passion.

Among the various early female aviation pioneers, Amelia was lucky to have movie star charisma, gamine charm and an influential husband to promote her career. Finally, she was tragically unlucky to be unaware of a malfunctioning 2-way radio as she set off across a vast remote stretch of the Pacific Ocean. Her final landing was likely to have been her most challenging. She passionately loved flying.

Austen’s characters became intermeshed with people I knew as I frequently mined her novels to achieve the proper amused resignation to the social pills in my own circle. Where is her peer as a writer for wickedly funny skewering of human foibles, done without caricature? The first reading of Austen’s novels is usually focused on the romance. Her incomparable eye makes rereading endlessly enriching.