Review of : Noon at Tiffany’s

by Jessica de Vreeze

Reading Noon at Tiffany’s  by Echo Heron felt like opening several doors at once. Taking place in the USA, NYC mostly end of the 19ths century beginning of 20th, this book works on many levels: a reflection on women and how they were treated, an immersion into the life of an artist, an education in craft and business, and a portrait of a world that was both inventive and profoundly unjust.

One of the strongest impressions the book leaves is the condition of women at the time. Women were paid less than men, even when their work was essential. Marriage could mean the end of employment. Independence was fragile, conditional, and constantly negotiated. And yet, despite these constraints, women worked, organized, led teams, and created. Their contribution was undeniable, even if recognition and fair compensation were not.

At the center of the story stands Clara Wolcott Driscoll, whose journey is as inspiring as it is revealing. What struck me deeply is that she was encouraged by her family—her talent was recognized early, her passion taken seriously. She was allowed to study art, to believe in it, and to embrace it as a profession. That support was everything. It reminds us how many women never received that permission, and how much talent history has quietly lost.

What the book kept bringing me back to is this question: how much does a woman need to accept, to bend, in order to keep doing what she loves and to progress in what she wants? Is this a gender issue? It certainly was—especially at that time—but it is not only that. It is also about power, access, money, and who gets to decide the rules. Clara’s story sits precisely in that tension: between talent and compromise, ambition and dignity, opportunity and self-respect. Where is the line? And who draws it?

The book also exposes a dynamic that still feels painfully familiar: the relationship between artists and businessmen. The artist brings vision, labor, intelligence, and soul; the businessman controls the means, the name, the profits. Artists are used without being properly paid or credited, while enormous financial gains are made elsewhere. The imbalance is striking—and timeless.

On the side of Louis Comfort Tiffany, the portrait is nuanced. His temper and greed are evident, yet the book also shows moments when he protected his employees—often because their well-being was essential to his business. Even his feelings for Clara are layered: admiration, dependence, desire, and possession intertwined. He wanted all of her—her talent, her loyalty, her availability—but she refused. That refusal feels like a quiet, powerful act of self-respect.

Beyond the personal stories, the book is rich in what it teaches. I learned so much about stained glass and mosaic work—the process, the techniques, the precision, the teamwork. It is art, but it is also labor. Stained glass becomes a way of seeing the world in fragments that assemble into meaning, much like mosaics—scenes of life, nature, and movement filtered through color and light. At the same time, the book offers insight into how a creative company is run: managing people, deadlines, commissions, expectations. Beauty here is never accidental.

What also stayed with me is the broader context of daily life. In a world with barely any phones—and certainly not everywhere—mail was the primary form of communication. Letters were not just practical; they were emotional presence. The Round Robin letters were a brilliant idea, allowing conversation, support, and connection to circulate among women. Community moved slowly, but deeply.

Entertainment, too, required imagination. No television, no constant distraction. People relied on other ways to divert themselves: creating plays, gathering, making music. Life demanded participation rather than consumption. Even freedom came through unexpected means—like the bicycle. The book describes how women riding bicycles gained a new sense of independence, mobility, and bodily freedom. And yet, women were not allowed to learn how to swim—a striking reminder of how control over women’s bodies and safety was enforced.

The physical conditions of life are impossible to ignore: the absence of medication, people dying young from illnesses we now consider simple, the poor and limited light. Darkness was not romantic—it was restrictive. In that context, Clara’s lamps take on a deeper meaning. They did more than illuminate a room. They brought warmth, amusement, and happiness into homes. Light became an experience.

The book does not look away from the deeper injustices of the era either: the dehumanization of Black people, the antisemitism faced by Jewish communities, the normalization of exclusion. These realities coexist with artistic innovation, reminding us that beauty and cruelty often advance side by side.

Noon at Tiffany is a gem of a book. Because it shows it honestly—how much it takes, how much is under our control and out of our control, through art, constraint, resilience, and choice. How much courage it takes—then and now—for a woman to stand upright when the world expects her to bend. It also reminds us that throughout times there were always men to stand by support encourage and respect women as well. Thank you Echo Heron for your incredible work and contribution to us all. And bravo Mrs Clara …