Lillian Hellman
In 1934, a play called The Children's Hour opened to considerable attention, launching the career of a writer who would work across dramatic, cinematic, and literary forms for the next five decades. That playwright was Lillian Hellman, born on June 20, 1905, in New Orleans, and educated at both New York University and Columbia University.
Her professional life extended well beyond the stage. Hellman worked as a screenwriter, a journalist, a librettist, and a dramaturge, and she also pursued work as an autobiographer — a form she returned to in the latter part of her career. Her range of occupations reflected a sustained engagement with American public and cultural life, conducted entirely in English and rooted in her identity as a United States citizen.
That public life was not without its difficulties. Following her appearance before the House Committee on Un-American Activities, Hellman was blacklisted, a consequence that marked a significant rupture in her professional circumstances. The episode became one of the defining experiences associated with her name, representing the pressure that the political climate of the early Cold War era brought to bear on writers and artists. Despite this, her work continued, and the recognition she received was substantial: she was awarded the National Book Award, the Paul Robeson Award, and the Ladies' Home Journal Women of the Year award. She also held the distinction of being a Fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, and received an honorary doctorate from Brandeis University.
Hellman died on June 30, 1984, in Dukes County, having lived nearly the full span of the twentieth century's most turbulent decades. The National Book Award she received stands as a concrete measure of how her writing was assessed by her contemporaries, anchoring an account of a career that moved between the theater, the screen, the page, and the public record of American life.
Quotes by Lillian Hellman
Lillian Hellman's insights on:

The writer’s intention hasn’t anything to do with what he achieves. The intent to earn money or the intent to be famous or the intent to be great doesn’t matter in the end. Just what comes out.

Nobody outside of a baby carriage or a judge’s chamber believes in an unprejudiced point of view.

No one can argue any longer about the rights of women. It’s like arguing about earthquakes.

Unjust. How many times I’ve used that word, scolded myself with it. All I mean by it now is that I don’t have the final courage to say that I refuse to preside over violations against myself, and to hell with justice.

I don’t think many writers like their best-known piece of work, particularly when it was written a long time ago.




