Edwards

MILAN — Laila Edwards finally got out from under the spotlight and onto the ice for the U.S. women’s hockey team Thursday. It was a simple act, but one that made history.

Yet for Edwards, it was just another day at the office.

“It didn’t feel different at all,” she said. “It’s still hockey at the end of the day. Even though it’s the highest level, it’s still hockey.”

With her first shift in Thursday’s 5-1 win over Czechia, on the first day of hockey at the Milan-Cortina Winter Games, Edwards became the first Black woman to play for the U.S. national team in an Olympic tournament. On a team full of record-breakers, it was a significant milestone, one that has become a storyline for the world’s top-ranked team.

“Cameras constantly in her face. She does a good job of whatever she needs to do,” said teammate Tessa Janecke, who had two second-period assists. “It’s very inspiring for us as her teammates, but as well as the next generation.”

And that, of course, is the point.

“Representation matters,” Edwards said. “There’s been a lot of young kids or parents of young kids who have reached out or I’ve run into that say, ‘You know, my daughter plays sports because of you. And she feels seen and represented,’ and that’s just really motivating.”

Just 22, Edwards is already accustomed to breaking barriers and being the youngest this or the first that.

In 2023, she became the first Black player on the women’s senior national team in any competition; a year later, she became, at 20, the youngest player to win the MVP award in the World Championship.

But if doing that has been easy, talking about it has taken some work.

“I could not do interviews or not talk about it, but then the story doesn’t get out there,” she said. “And maybe a little girl doesn’t see me, who looks like her. So I think that’s what’s more important.”

On Thursday, playing before Vice President JD Vance, Secretary of State Marco Rubio and a packed house at the Milano Rho Ice Hockey Arena, Edwards marked her Olympic debut by helping put the Americans ahead to stay, feeding Megan Keller in the high slot for a slap shot that Alex Carpenter redirected in a first-period power-play goal.

Second-period goals from Joy Dunne and Hayley Scamurra — both on assists from Janecke — and third-period goals from Scamurra and Hilary Knight, sandwiched around one from Czechia’s Barbora Jurickova, accounted for the final score in a game in which the top-ranked Americans outshot the fourth-ranked Czechs 42-14.

Still, the night belonged to Edwards, a player Knight calls “the future of the sport.” But she’s doing pretty well in the present too, having already won two national championships with Wisconsin and two world championship medals with Team USA.

Edwards started skating shortly after she learned to walk, then switched to hockey before starting kindergarten, when her father Robert, who played the game as a child, enrolled her and three siblings in a youth hockey program. By 8, she was so advanced she was playing with boys’ teams and for high school she left her native Cleveland Heights, Ohio, for the elite girls’ hockey program at Bishop Kearney High School in Rochester, N.Y.

Although she was a high-scoring forward in high school and college — she led the nation with 35 goals as a junior at Wisconsin — she’s proven versatile enough to play on the blue line in the Olympics. That’s a little like playing a running back at right guard.

“I couldn’t even imagine that,” forward Abbey Murphy said of Edwards, who skated a team-high 25 shifts Thursday. “She took it and she just kind of ate it up and she made defenseman look easy. She’s magic on the blue line.”

At 6-foot-1 and 185 pounds — making her the biggest and most physical player on the U.S. team — Edwards was well-suited for the move.

“She’s so dynamic, so athletic, you could put her in goal and she would perform,” said Caroline Harvey, a teammate in high school, college and now with the national team. “She’s just adjusted so well. It’s seamless. It doesn’t even seem like she’s switched positions.”

Edwards hasn’t made her journey to the Olympics alone, however, a fact she acknowledged after Thursday’s game. Although her father is responsible for her start in hockey, it looked like he wouldn’t be able to travel to Milan to see his daughter make history. So Edwards’ parents started a crowdfunding campaign to pay for flights and accommodations.

Jason and Travis Kelce, brothers and former Super Bowl players who also grew up in Cleveland Heights, learned of the campaign and quickly kicked in $10,000, allowing 14 members of Edwards’ family to come to Italy — where their cheers were audible every time her name was announced.

“They show support,” Edwards said. “And they’re really cool guys.”

After her Olympic debut Thursday, there are a lot of little girls who can say the same about Edwards.

Two figures will always haunt the human imagination: the woman in ecstasy, and the woman in madness. This enduring fascination may stem as much from the paper-thin line that separates the two states as it does from our deep-seated fear of both. If the devoted nun resembles the raving patient, does that not justify locking them away, protecting ourselves from their unsettling power?

Two recent novels go behind the walls of anchorite and lunatic cells in different centuries and for different purposes, yet wind up demonstrating how women forced by circumstance behind walls influence the lives of others into the future. In “Canticle,” a debut from Janet Rich Edwards, a young woman named Aleys enters religious life in 13th-century Bruges, Belgium, after a Franciscan, Brother Lukas, witnesses her fervor. A series of unfortunate events ultimately lead to her permanent cloister, a tiny cell built into the wall of a cathedral. Paula McLain’s new book, “Skylark,” spans several centuries in Paris, beginning in the 17th when Alouette Voland is sentenced to the Salpetrière asylum after protesting the arrest of her father, an expert fabric dyer, from prison, for the brilliant blue hue he has concocted — actually his daughter’s recipe, which contains dangerous arsenic. Alouette’s attempts to reclaim her work as her own instead of her father’s result in her consignment to Salpêtrière.

While both novels feature terrific and authentic detail about the rough confines Aleys and Alouette endure, the message beneath the descriptions is far more terrifying and authentic: for centuries, the fear of female agency and non-male approaches to power has led to deep trauma, not just for individual women, but for Western civilization itself. For instance, Aleys’s late mother cherished books, even though common people rarely knew how to read and write, let alone owned books. Aleys cherishes the tiny, exquisite psalter her mother inherited from an abbess aunt. Although Aleys’s mother cannot read, she knows the stories of the saints and relishes embroidering them with “goriest” details to keep her children interested. Yet, even as Aleys’s world begins to change with the rise of lay literacy, those lay people are almost entirely men. Women, whether secular or religious, remain forbidden to read, write or tell stories.

“Canticle” author Janet Rich Edwards.

(Laura Rich)

Aleys, at first, seems to be on a path toward personal enlightenment. Brother Lukas declares her a Franciscan, convincing his superior, Bishop of Tournai Jaan Metz, that the young woman possesses special spiritual gifts. The Bishop agrees, but insists that since no other Franciscans are female, Aleys must be sent to the nearby Beguines—laywomen who take no vows, live in community, and work to support the church. While Aleys initially finds the Beguines “wanton” due to their “strange rites,” including casual dress and meetings, their charismatic leader, Grand Mistress Sophia Vermeulen, convinces Aleys of the group’s higher purpose.

Aleys later discovers that a beguine named Katrijn Janssens has been secretly translating Latin scripture into Dutch. In the evenings, the women often perform ecstatic dances while someone reads from the “Canticle of Canticles” (also known as the “Song of Songs”). Aleys already has a strong mystical bent, and after some time in the Begijnhof, she supposedly cures a young boy’s illness. Unfortunately, she’s unable to do the same when Sophia becomes sick. Her subsequent eviction from the Beguines leads to her accepting the Bishop’s offer of sanctuary—as an anchorite, destined to live out her days in a tiny stone outcropping. Her only contact with other humans is a slit through which she can hear daily mass, save for Marte, the low-ranking Beguine assigned to deliver her meals and empty her slop bucket.

Meanwhile, Alouette has become an adept of dye recipes. Even though she and other women are able to read, write, and keep ledgerbooks by this date, the complicated and often secret tinctures concocted for fabrics remain the province of men.

Like Aleys, Alouette forms alliances with other women, Sylvine and Marguerite, the latter of whom carefully documents the guards’ abuses in a ledger. These abuses include the murder of inmates’ infants, a fact that galvanizes the pregnant Alouette (the father of her child, Étienne, is a quarryman) into joining a plan for escape through the Paris sewers. The women find refuge in a convent and, ultimately, in a seaside town where some measure of peace awaits them.

It’s a far happier ending than Aleys’s, who is met with a darker fate. That is partly because McLain’s novel doesn’t end with Alouette’s relatively soft landing; “Skylark” continues in 1939 through the perspective of Kristof Larsen, a Dutch psychiatrist in Paris. His relationship with his Jewish neighbors, the Brodskys, grows closer as Nazi power corrupts France. Despite his ties to the resistance, Kristof cannot save the entire family during the 1942 Vélodrome d’Hiver roundup, but he takes responsibility for their 15-year-old daughter Sasha. Along with his compatriot Ursula, they are guided to safety through the same Paris tunnels that sheltered Alouette centuries earlier.

“Skylark” author Paula McLain.

(Simon & Schuster)

The fragile tie between Alouette and Sasha rests in a tiny piece of glass found during the restoration of Notre Dame de Paris after the 2019 fire. A conservator uncovers the shard, which bears an intense blue figure of a skylark — evidence, at least to the reader, that Alouette’s recipe endured, and a symbol of how both she and Sasha escaped. Female creation and resistance, the novel suggests, endure, too.

At first, that seems at odds with Aleys’s tragic fate. “As the crowd parts before her, Aleys sees the path of gray cobblestones receding to the stake. Parchment is piled high at its base. Smaller fires have already been lit, dotting the plaza. They’re burning her words, too. . . ” Yet, it’s no spoiler to reveal that during her long weeks and months as an anchorite, Aleys found the means to slowly and secretly teach Marte, lowliest of the Beguines, how to read and write. “They write words on the sill between them and wipe them off, their palms and feet dark with dust.” Just as Aleys’s mother passed on her passion for books and Alouette pursued her passion for beauty, Marte will carry on a passion for stories.

More important, however, and something that ties “Skylark” to “Canticle,” is that Aleys and Alouette, Marte and Sasha, live on through work done by and with women. Whether it’s a recipe for dye, a hunger for divine knowledge, or the means to freedom, the main characters in both novels believe deeply in women’s full humanity. Aleys acknowledges the contentment of the Beguines, understanding that their communal labors knit their “hopes, their labor, even their disagreements” as “strands in a single weave. Kristof says of Ursula that she “charts her course in full light with eyes wide open, and still she chooses danger. Chooses–over and over–not to surrender.”

It’s true that the authors of these novels live in 21st-century North America, where many people believe in equality even if the full humanity of others is under attack, but neither Edwards nor McLain indulges in anachronisms. Aleys yearns for divine ecstasy but does not come across as a would-be influencer, let alone as a Mother Ann Lee fomenting spiritual revolution; she believes in the church, even if not fully in its leadership, until her end. Alouette and her comrades pursue a different life but do not seek it for everyone, which feels right not just for their era but for their experience of trauma. Even Ursula and Sasha rely on men for their escape, accepting that whoever has the correct experience and expertise should lead the way.

What “Canticle” and “Skylark” get right about their very different heroines and time periods is that change doesn’t happen overnight, nor does it benefit everyone. Aleys teaches Marte to read, but Aleys will suffer for her ideas. Sasha will escape Vichy France, but her family will still die in the concentration camps. Switch the clauses in those sentences around, however, and you’ll be reminded that change can and does happen, one determined woman at a time.

Patrick is a freelance critic and author of the memoir “Life B.”