Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 328 – Christina Rosetti’s “The Goblin Market” (reprised) - transcript
(Originally aired 2025/11/1)
At the end of this month, the fiction episode is a story that offers an interesting re-imagining of 19th century poet Christina Rosetti’s poem “The Goblin Market.” Because I already have a podcast presenting and analyzing the poem, and because I think familiarity with the poem will significantly enhance enjoyment of the upcoming story, I thought it was a good opportunity to reprise that episode. I also hope to have a discussion with the author in next month’s On the Shelf episode. I’ve edited the beginning of the original version slightly to remove some outdated material, but otherwise the following repeats the show that aired back in 2016.
Rosetti was part of a talented family of Italian immigrants to England in the mid 19th century. Her father was a painter, but the more famous painter in the family was her brother Dante Gabriel Rossetti, who was one of the founders of the Pre-Rafaelite Brotherhood, a movement known for medievalism and sensuality. Another brother and a sister were writers. And Christina’s mother, Frances Polidori, was the sister of John Polidori, a close friend of Lord Byron and the author of what may be the first modern vampire story. (You see, lots of Halloween references.)
The Goblin Market indulges in a number of long flights of description. But before reveling in the beauty of the language, I want to focus specifically on the erotic imagery. So I’ll start by alternating excerpts from the poem with a synopsis of the overall story.
Two sisters, cautious Lizzie and daring Laura, encounter the goblin men who sell mysteriously tempting fruits.
Morning and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
“Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
There is a long catalog of the fruits they sell, and then we meet the sisters:
Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bow’d her head to hear,
Lizzie veil’d her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and finger tips.
“Lie close,” Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:
“We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?”
“Come buy,” call the goblins
Hobbling down the glen.
Lizzie warns her sister not to take the goblins up on their offered wares and continues on home, but...
Laura stretch’d her gleaming neck
Like a rush-imbedded swan,
Like a lily from the beck,
Like a moonlit poplar branch,
Like a vessel at the launch
When its last restraint is gone.
Definitely a description of someone giving in to temptation! Laura doesn’t have a coin to buy the fruit so instead they demand a lock of her golden hair in payment. Hair had a strong sexual symbolism in the Victorian era, and for a girl to give a man a lock of her hair was practically the next thing to handing him her virginity.
She clipp’d a precious golden lock,
She dropp’d a tear more rare than pearl,
Then suck’d their fruit globes fair or red:
Sweeter than honey from the rock,
Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than water flow’d that juice;
She never tasted such before,
How should it cloy with length of use?
She suck’d and suck’d and suck’d the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore;
She suck’d until her lips were sore;
Then flung the emptied rinds away
Lizzie scolds her when she gets home, and reminds her of the cautionary tale of their friend Jeanie:
Do you not remember Jeanie,
How she met them in the moonlight,
Took their gifts both choice and many,
Ate their fruits and wore their flowers
Pluck’d from bowers
Where summer ripens at all hours?
But ever in the noonlight
She pined and pined away;
Sought them by night and day,
Found them no more, but dwindled and grew grey;
This is foreshadowing Laura’s fate. Even as she scoffs at Lizzie’s warning, she says:
I ate and ate my fill,
Yet my mouth waters still;
To-morrow night I will
Buy more;” and kiss’d her:
“Have done with sorrow;
I’ll bring you plums to-morrow
Laura describes for Lizzie all the delicious goblin fruits she’ll bring back to share, and then they go to bed together.
Golden head by golden head,
Like two pigeons in one nest
Folded in each other’s wings,
They lay down in their curtain’d bed:
Like two blossoms on one stem,
Like two flakes of new-fall’n snow,
Like two wands of ivory
Tipp’d with gold for awful kings.
Moon and stars gaz’d in at them,
Wind sang to them lullaby,
Lumbering owls forbore to fly,
Not a bat flapp’d to and fro
Round their rest:
Cheek to cheek and breast to breast
Lock’d together in one nest.
The next day they go about their usual chores, but Laura’s mind is elsewhere. And as they walk home in the evening, she listens for the calls of the goblins in vain. Lizzie can still hear the goblins, which day by day drives Laura to distraction.
So crept to bed, and lay
Silent till Lizzie slept;
Then sat up in a passionate yearning,
And gnash’d her teeth for baulk’d desire, and wept
As if her heart would break.
Laura begins to pine and waste away, just like Jeanie did. Her golden hair grows dull and thin, her spirit fades, she has “sunken eyes and faded mouth”. She stops eating and sits listlessly in a corner.
Lizzie watches her sister decline and decides the only option is to go buy goblin fruit to revive her, even though Lizzie is afraid of what price she might pay.
Till Laura dwindling
Seem’d knocking at Death’s door:
Then Lizzie weigh’d no more
Better and worse;
But put a silver penny in her purse,
Kiss’d Laura, cross’d the heath with clumps of furze
At twilight, halted by the brook:
And for the first time in her life
Began to listen and look.
The goblins come to meet her and not only offer her fruit but harass her physically:
Hugg’d her and kiss’d her:
Squeez’d and caress’d her:
Stretch’d up their dishes,
Panniers, and plates:
“Look at our apples
Russet and dun,
Bob at our cherries,
Bite at our peaches,
Lizzie tosses them her silver coin and holds out her apron for the fruit, but the goblins keep urging her to eat them, right there and then. When she steadfastly refuses, they turn nasty. It’s a bit reminiscent of street harassers when rebuffed. And the goblins try to force Lizzie to consume the fruit in a scene that feels a lot like sexual assault.
One call’d her proud,
Cross-grain’d, uncivil;
Their tones wax’d loud,
Their looks were evil.
Lashing their tails
They trod and hustled her,
Elbow’d and jostled her,
Claw’d with their nails,
Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,
Tore her gown and soil’d her stocking,
Twitch’d her hair out by the roots,
Stamp’d upon her tender feet
Held her hands and squeez’d their fruits
Against her mouth to make her eat.
Lizzie holds steadfast against this assault and is described as a citadel being unsuccessfully besieged.
One may lead a horse to water,
Twenty cannot make him drink.
Though the goblins cuff’d and caught her,
Coax’d and fought her,
Bullied and besought her,
Scratch’d her, pinch’d her black as ink,
Kick’d and knock’d her,
Maul’d and mock’d her,
Lizzie utter’d not a word;
Would not open lip from lip
Lest they should cram a mouthful in:
But laugh’d in heart to feel the drip
Of juice that syrupp’d all her face,
And lodg’d in dimples of her chin,
And streak’d her neck which quaked like curd.
Having successfully resisted eating the fruit, Lizzie hurries homeward because, of course, she does have goblin fruit to bring home to Laura--the fruit that the goblins have smeared all over her while trying to make her eat.
She cried, “Laura,” up the garden,
“Did you miss me?
Come and kiss me.
Never mind my bruises,
Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices
Squeez’d from goblin fruits for you,
Goblin pulp and goblin dew.
Eat me, drink me, love me;
Laura, make much of me;
For your sake I have braved the glen
And had to do with goblin merchant men.”
Somewhat belatedly, Laura realizes that Lizzie might end up sharing her fate for trying to save her.
Laura started from her chair,
Flung her arms up in the air,
Clutch’d her hair:
“Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted
For my sake the fruit forbidden?
And then, not from the addictive hunger for goblin fruit, but in gratitude and fear:
She clung about her sister,
Kiss’d and kiss’d and kiss’d her:
Tears once again
Refresh’d her shrunken eyes,
Dropping like rain
After long sultry drouth;
Shaking with aguish fear, and pain,
She kiss’d and kiss’d her with a hungry mouth.
Laura kisses Lizzie and in the process consumes the juice of the goblin fruits. But that juice has been transformed by Lizzie’s selfless deed.
Her lips began to scorch,
That juice was wormwood to her tongue,
She loath’d the feast:
Writhing as one possess’d she leap’d and sung,
Rent all her robe, and wrung
Her hands in lamentable haste,
And beat her breast.
The fruit burns within her and Laura falls into a swoon. All through the night, Lizzie tends to Laura as if she were in a fever, but when morning comes:
Laura awoke as from a dream,
Laugh’d in the innocent old way,
Hugg’d Lizzie but not twice or thrice;
Her gleaming locks show’d not one thread of grey,
Her breath was sweet as May
And light danced in her eyes.
The poem ends with Lizzie telling the frightening cautionary tale to the next generation. A tale appropriate for a Halloween night.
Laura would call the little ones
And tell them of her early prime,
Those pleasant days long gone
Of not-returning time:
Would talk about the haunted glen,
The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men,
Their fruits like honey to the throat
But poison in the blood;
(Men sell not such in any town):
Would tell them how her sister stood
In deadly peril to do her good,
And win the fiery antidote:
Thus, the fruit-inspired sensuality has been left behind, as in a fever dream. The sisters have settled down to live conventional lives. What remains is the memory of the deep devotion that risks its life for the beloved.
Despite the rather striking homoerotic imagery in her poem, there is no evidence that Rossetti’s relationships with women went beyond sisterly devotion. On the other hand, she received three proposals of marriage from men and rejected them all so who knows? But my interest here isn’t on Rossetti’s personal life, rather on the strongly sensual imagery in her poem, depicting an intense devotion between two sisters that is expressed in language more suited to lovers.
The Goblin Market’s sensuality--not only the intense kissing and the more subdued scenes of cuddling in bed or “clasping arms and tingling finger tips”--occurs not only in the context of sisterly devotion, but also in scenes where the goblins tempt the women with their sinister fruit, or even try to force it on them. There isn’t a clear correspondence of the sensual with the forbidden.
This was an era when the trope of decadent lesbian sensuality tinged with the supernatural was becoming “a thing”, though primarily among male writers. Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “Christabel” is a long supernatural-themed poem with lesbian elements that were strong enough to get it condemned as obscene. The content falls in the “monstrous seductress” genre where the noble maiden Christabel encounters the mysterious Geraldine in the forest and brings her home to her father’s castle where Geraldine has a strange and sinister influence on all she encounters. Christabel shares her bed with Geraldine and the significance of this is emphasized with descriptions of disrobing and embraces.
Beneath the lamp the lady bowed,
And slowly rolled her eyes around;
Then drawing in her breath aloud,
Like one that shuddered, she unbound
The cincture from beneath her breast:
Her silken robe, and inner vest,
Dropt to her feet, and full in view,
Behold! her bosom and half her side—
A sight to dream of, not to tell!
O shield her! shield sweet Christabel!
Yet Geraldine nor speaks nor stirs;
Ah! what a stricken look was hers!
Deep from within she seems half-way
To lift some weight with sick assay,
And eyes the maid and seeks delay;
Then suddenly, as one defied,
Collects herself in scorn and pride,
And lay down by the Maiden's side!—
And in her arms the maid she took,
But Geraldine’s eventual goal is not to win Christabel but to supplant her in her father’s affections. The poem shares with the Goblin Market a supernatural force that causes the innocent woman to waste away. But here there is no sister to save her.
The same process of wasting away by the influence of a supernatural intruder who feigns same-sex affection occurs in Sheridan LeFanu’s vampire novel Carmilla. Carmilla appears at the residence of the protagonist in the guise of a young woman, said to be something of an invalid. Despite Carmilla telling little of her background, the two girls become close.
She used to place her pretty arms about my neck, draw me to her, and laying her cheek to mine, murmur with her lips near my ear, "Dearest, your little heart is wounded; think me not cruel because I obey the irresistible law of my strength and weakness; if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours. In the rapture of my enormous humiliation I live in your warm life, and you shall die--die, sweetly die--into mine. I cannot help it; as I draw near to you, you, in your turn, will draw near to others, and learn the rapture of that cruelty, which yet is love; so, for a while, seek to know no more of me and mine, but trust me with all your loving spirit."
And when she had spoken such a rhapsody, she would press me more closely in her trembling embrace, and her lips in soft kisses gently glow upon my cheek.
...
In these mysterious moods I did not like her. I experienced a strange tumultuous excitement that was pleasurable, ever and anon, mingled with a vague sense of fear and disgust. I had no distinct thoughts about her while such scenes lasted, but I was conscious of a love growing into adoration, and also of abhorrence. This I know is paradox, but I can make no other attempt to explain the feeling.
...
Sometimes after an hour of apathy, my strange and beautiful companion would take my hand and hold it with a fond pressure, renewed again and again; blushing softly, gazing in my face with languid and burning eyes, and breathing so fast that her dress rose and fell with the tumultuous respiration. It was like the ardor of a lover; it embarrassed me; it was hateful and yet over-powering; and with gloating eyes she drew me to her, and her hot lips traveled along my cheek in kisses; and she would whisper, almost in sobs, "You are mine, you shall be mine, you and I are one for ever." Then she had thrown herself back in her chair, with her small hands over her eyes, leaving me trembling.
Other works from the mid 19th century that carry this association of sensuality between women tinged with a mysterious and malevolent decadence include Honoré de Balzac’s The Girl with the Golden Eyes, and Théophile Gautier’s Mademoiselle de Maupin. All these works have two things in common that contrast with The Goblin Market: they are written by men, and the sensual relationship shown between the women is destructive and a source of guilt rather than being a source of redemption.
Christina Rossetti’s work comes out of an entirely different tradition: that of Romantic Friendship, where close emotional relationships between women were idealized and valorized. Such relationships were not considered to partake of sexuality--though we know that in some cases they did. Within the Romantic Friendship tradition, descriptions of sisters cuddling together in bed or kissing passionately would not have been considered sexual, as such, and so could be portrayed without any sense of self-consciousness or guilt.
The Goblin Market is easily interpreted as an allegory--though an allegory for what is debatable. A Christian interpretation is certainly possible, with its themes of temptation, of a fall, and of redemption through an innocent person’s suffering on behalf of another. It’s also possible to see it as an allegory for drug addiction, and it’s thought that that part of the poem may have been inspired by Rossetti’s work at a charity house for former prostitutes--a context where she may have seen the effects of addiction to drugs or alcohol. Alternately, it can be viewed as an allegory of predatory male sexuality and sexual trauma. It’s worth noting that the goblins are referred to consistently as male and no other male characters figure in the poem.
Given all these considerations, interpreting the sensual imagery and passionate embraces of the poem as depicting lesbian eroticism is not entirely unproblematic. These complexities are always present when modern readers try to find connections with literature from another era.
And now, an entertainment for the night of Halloween, when pathways open up between the worlds, and someone who lingers on the path at twilight may hear goblins calling out, “Come buy, come buy.”
The Goblin Market, by Christina Rossetti, published in 1862 and read by Heather Rose Jones
[The text of the poem has not been included in this transcript. It can be found in many places on the web, including the following page belonging to the Poetry Foundation: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44996/goblin-market]
This is an analysis and recitation of the poem “The Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti, with special attention to its homoerotic themes.
Links to the Lesbian Historic Motif Project Online
Links to Heather Online
Back when I was collecting material for a trope podcast about the theater, I added a number of articles to my shopping list that I didn't get to at the time. This (and the next) are leftovers from that list. There isn't substantially new material here for me, but the author offers more background for gender-crossing in a theatrical context in general.
Friedman-Rommell, Beth. 1995. “Breaking the Code: Towards a Reception Theory of Theatrical Cross-Dressing in Eighteenth-Century London” in Theatre Journal 47, no.4: 459-79.
The focus of this article is how 18th century English audiences perceived and experienced cross-dressing on stage. A large part of the article involves a detailed dissection of the 1713 play The Humours of the Army; or, The Female Officer, by Charles Shadwell. A major theme is the interplay not only between female performers taking on male roles (and its implications off stage), but characters who—within the scope of the performance—perform cross-gender roles. Another aspect of the analysis is a comparison of male versus female stage cross-dressing. There is a focus on the potential variability in reception, depending on context and individual background.
The article spends a while presenting and discussing the shift in understanding of sex/gender between the “one-sex” system (women are imperfect men) and the “two-sex” system (women and men are different species), while noting that both models were prevalent in the 18th century, offering different understandings of the “meaning” of gender-crossing.
There is a discussion of how lesbian possibilities have largely been overlooked in this field, while reviewing the evidence that such possibilities existed in the 18th century. But concerns about women cross-dressing were largely focused on her rejection of a normative domestic role, not the possibility of her embracing something entirely different.
A taxonomy of female cross-dressing contexts is offered, distinguishing between roles in which a woman cross-dresses specifically to pursue (or avenge) an existing heterosexual relationship, versus situations in which the actress cross-dresses for a purpose not related to the role, such as to use or show off specific performance skills, or to provide titillation to the audience.
In contrast to earlier theatrical conventions around cross-dressing, 18th century male cross-dressing on stage was primarily for comic effect, presenting a parody of femininity. In contrast, when female cross-dressing was done for comic effect it was to emphasize female inadequacy, not to parody men. But female cross-dressing was used for other purposes, and prominent actresses who took breeches parts were often lauded as performing the roles better than a man would. This offered more options for audience identification (especially for the female audience).
There is a digression into connections and distinctions between the stage and the cross-dressing done as part of public masquerades. (See Castle 1983)
The remainder of the article is the detailed analysis of The Humours of the Army which involves a woman cross-dressing to join the army in order to take revenge on the lover who (she believes) jilted her, which in the end follows a standard marriage plot with them getting back together.
Most years, I aspire (but often don't manage) to have at least one item that would hypothetically be eligible for award nominations of some sort. My collection Skin-Singer is this year's publication, of which the novelette "Hide-bound" is the only previously unpublished work. (I have submitted the collection for consideration for the Golden Crown awards, as it has a category for collections or anthologies.)
"Hide-bound" is a fantasy novelette and thus could be nominated, e.g., for the relevant Hugo Award or Nebula Award categories, if readers considered it worthy.
I'm aware that these days works in the short story and novelette range are far more likely to be nominated if they are available for free online in some fashion. I will be making it available to SFWA members in the relevant forum for Nebula consideration. But since the story is (in theory) the main driver for enticing people to buy the collection, I don't see my way to making it freely available to the general public at this time. On the other hand, the ebook of the collection is only $2.99. You can't even get a coffee for that.
This post launches a mini-grouping of articles on theatrical cross-dressing, whether at public masquerades or on stage. While reading this article I kept thinking about the use of masquerades as a dangerous liminal space in the historic romances of Georgette Heyer. Her examples sometimes post-date the masquerade era identified in this article and align solidly with the cautionary fiction of the 18th century that saw them as Not The Thing. But for a story solidly set in the early/mid 18th century, it's easy to see the possibilities of a masquerade setting for sapphic encounters.
Castle, T. 1983-4. “Eros and Liberty at the English Masquerade, 1710-90” in Eighteenth-Century Studies, XVII, 2: 156-76.
This article looks at the culture of public masquerade entertainments in 18th century England (primarily London), especially in how they promoted and supported an atmosphere of sexual liberty. This reputation of masquerades is solidly documented in social commentary and fiction of the time, such as the works of Pope, Hogarth, Fielding, and others.
Public masquerades were open to anyone who paid the entrance fee and thus were attended by people of a wide variety of social classes. This, combined with the effects of costume and masks to conceal the identity (including concealing the gender) of the attendees made them an ideal setting for assignations, casual hook-ups, and comedies of errors. Popular costumes included historic dress, “exotic” foreign costume, especially Turkish outfits, religious costumes, outfits depicting various working-class occupations, and theatrical characters such as Harlequin. In addition to dancing, gaming, and social mingling, they offered food and drink. They were typically held at night, in an elaborately decorated space, and lasted until morning.
Masquerades were the targets of moralistic pamphlets, as well as the cautionary writings of advice manuals and popular fiction. Like many “vices” they were attacked as being a foreign import, echoing the famous carnivals of Mediterranean regions. Both their threat and their appeal derived from a sort of “institutionalized disorder” in which social norms and barriers were cast aside and social hierarchies of class and gender could be inverted.
Within the sexual realm, masquerades offered the opportunity not only for cross-dressing, but for engaging in non-normative liaisons under the fiction displayed by the costumes. At the same time, the theatrical and performative nature of the events provided cover and excuse for sexual liberties. Anti-masquerade literature hinted obliquely at the presence of (male) homosexual encounters, alongside heterosexual liaisons.
Public masquerades were inspired by several roots—Continental carnival traditions, as well as local English festival traditions. [Note: The article doesn’t directly discuss the tradition of court masques as an inspiration for the use of character costumes, but I have to think it was another strand.] They became popular in the 1710s, initially sponsored in private venues by socially prominent figures, but then as more commercial productions in public venues also used for dramatic performance. In the 1720s and 1730s, the weekly masquerades held at the Haymarket had attendance between 700-1000 people.
There was a brief dip in the fashion in mid-century, then a return to popularity in the 1760s and 1770s. In addition to the regular ticketed masquerades, even larger outdoor events were sometimes held for special occasions. After the 1780s, the popularity of masquerades began to wane with a general shift to social conservatism in the wake of the French Revolution, although occasional ones were held during the Regency era. But by the early 19th century, the public masked assembly had functionally disappeared as an institution. (Though private masked/costumed events continued to be part of English society.)
For women, the masquerade offered both opportunity and danger. Anonymity and the conventions of the event gave women the freedom to mingle and to initiate interactions with strangers. This freedom was also available regardless of rank, and anti-masquerade literature railed against the social leveling as well as the licentiousness. The crowds could also include thieves, card sharps, highwaymen, and sex workers, all taking advantage of both the anonymity and distracted targets. But in particular, women had a freedom unavailable in their ordinary lives to attend as free agents, without chaperones or concern for their reputations as long as they remained masked. (Though conversely, a woman known to attend masquerades was assumed to have damaged her reputation, regardless of her actual actions.) This was a key factor in criticism of masquerades. In an era when “good” women were expected not to make a spectacle of themselves, masquerades were all about becoming part of the spectacle. Masquerade costumes could be extremely revealing (for both women and men). And both women and men regularly took on cross-gender costumes.
The hazards were just as real as the benefits. Aside from the usual hazards of unsanctioned sexual liaisons for women, masquerade anonymity (and the assumption that you knew what you were getting into) offered little redress in cases of sexual assault or abduction, or even simply the consequences of mistaken identity.
The article discusses references to homosexual encounters at masquerades, but if one can read through the euphemistic language, the concern was for male homosexuality (this was also the era in which “molly clubs” emerged, also featuring cross-dressing). Concerns about cross-dressing women are generally framed as being about rebellion against “women’s place,” although Henry Fielding’s anti-masquerade writings can also be linked to his work The Female Husband, in which female cross-dressing leads to sex between women.
The article speculates on the extent to which the experience of cross-gender exploration at masquerades might have contributed to the feminist movement of the later 18th century, as well as to what extent reactions against masquerade licentiousness provoked the reactionary turn to repressive gender roles in the 19th century.
As I mentioned in the intro to the previous post, trying to interpolate the historic realities of f/f desire in the classical era is extremely difficult. Ovid's Iphis and Ianthe is multiply distanced from the internal reality of his characters. He is a man discussing f/f desire (in a context where men were not culturally expected to have any interest in the interiority of female desire), he sets his characters in a mythic past, and he places them in a Greek setting while he himself was a product of Imperial Rome. All of this might lead us to discount the opinions and positions taken by his characters in relation to any actual historic culture (his or his characters'). And yet, even though the overt theme of the work is "f/f love is impossible," the story if full of evidence contradicting that claim. Perhaps we should instead read the moral of the story as "f/f love is not officially recognized by society," in which case it might have something useful to tell us.
Walker, J. 2006. “Before the Name: Ovid’s Deformulated Lesbianism” in Comparative Literature 58.3, pp.205-222.
The basic theme of this article is how, even as the overt message of Ovid’s Iphis and Ianthe denies the possibility or imaginability of female same-sex love, the way in which it does so creates and reinforces that possibility in the audience’s reception. The article starts with a detailed synopsis (for which you could see my podcast on the topic). Then there is a review of studies of Roman attitudes towards female same-sex erotics that consistently try to displace it from contemporary reality. (See, e.g., Hallett 1997)
The article then moves on to presenting the argument that Ovid “formulates the thought of the possibility of lesbianism” even as the text continually proclaims its impossibility. But the textual claim of “impossibility” is not a simple reflection of the author’s position (or that of his society) but rather attempts to dictate what counts as culturally legible by claiming ignorance of the very thing that is being described. The general topic here is how to examine “active ignorance” in historic texts. Walker cautions that the standard “magical sex-change” ending of this genre of story shouldn’t be given too much weight in terms of what the audience could envision, as it is dictated by social rules about what type of outcome is recognizable. [Note: compare to how lesbian pulp novels of the 1950s were required to have a “tragic” ending, regardless of how that diverged from the lived experience of their lesbian readership.]
Overall, this article is very theory-heavy, but has some interesting things to say about the interplay of “natural” versus “cultural” rules within Iphis’s internal debate. There is also a discussion of the ways in which f/f desire had no structural place within Roman sexual hierarchies and rules, except to the extent that one member of the could “become male” either physically or behaviorally. At the same time, the text undermines the notion of how gender is determined, by emphasizing the initial similarity between Iphis and Ianthe (despite Iphis being read as male by those around her), but then noting how the “magical sex-change” is not simply the attachment of a penis, but the appearance of a whole menu of masculine attributes and behaviors, whose previous absence somehow failed to raise suspicion about Iphis’s pre-metamorphosis status. Furthermore, the story focuses intensely on female-female bonds and relationships (Iphis and her mother, both of them and the goddess Isis, Iphis and Ianthe) and the depiction, discussion, and experience of love and desire between Iphis and Ianthe is entirely restricted to the time when Iphis is physically female, with only the marriage and consummation briefly presented after the transformation. Thus the content of the tale argues continuously in contradiction to the official message of impossibility.
Trying to get at the possible experiences of female homoeroticism in Classical Rome requires a lot of interpolation from data that doesn't address that specific conjunction of identities. Here's one interesting angle.
Levin-Richardson, Sarah. 2013. “Fututa Sum Hic: Female Subjectivity and Agency in Pompeian Sexual Graffiti” in The Classical Journal, 1083. pp.319-45.
Research into sexuality in classical Rome often gives the impression that the attitudes of elite men that are our primary source material represent universal cultural attitudes. And while it’s true that there is a tendency for the opinions of culturally powerful demographics to influence how the less powerful view themselves, I have to wonder whether it’s worth challenging that understanding. Just because the elite men who wrote about sexual hierarchies (for example) are over-represented in the available source material, does that make it reasonable to believe (or presume) that their opinions were universal? This is particularly frustrating in the context of women, and especially hypothetical women who loved women.
The Roman sexual system placed women, especially unfree women, at the bottom of the sexual hierarchy—people whose agency and right to sexual pleasure was considered to be non-existent. People whom the very structure of the language categorized as passive and inferior. But did women believe that or simply accept that it was a system they were subject to? Similarly, did women who loved women in classical Rome have the same beliefs and understandings of themselves as how elite men portrayed them? Or are we dealing with the equivalent of false social stereotypes that bear no relation to people’s actual lives.
One can ask even more detailed questions. Did women have the same negative attitude toward cunnilingus that men did? The elite male attitude toward oral sex was that it degraded and defiled the person performing it. But for those who were expected to perform oral sex as part of the sexual hierarchy, did they find it more degrading than any other sexual technique that they were expected to accept? And would a woman—as the recipient of pleasure from cunnilingus—have the same negative attitude toward the act (regardless of her partner’s gender) that an elite man would (for whom there are two disjunctions from the sexual hierarch, in that his penis is not involved and his pleasure is not assumed).
We can do little more than speculate, but even asking the questions is a useful challenge. This article doesn’t touch at all on potential female same-sex scenarios, however it does address women experiencing sexual agency.
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This article considers the question of if and how Roman women used the writing and reading of sexual graffiti to claim sexual agency within a culture that officially denied them such agency. There are many complications to trying to assess this topic. There isn’t always direct evidence for the gender of the person who wrote a particular text, and never direct evidence for who was reading it. But Levin-Richardson sets up a plausible basis for making conjectures. The article works through three main topics: evidence for women’s literacy, an analysis of sexual graffiti plausibly written by women, and speculation (the author’s term) on how women might experience a type of sexual agency by reading sexual graffiti that defamed men.
Evidence for literate women among the elite is plentiful, whether taught by private tutors or sometimes schooled together with their brothers. Education for daughters could be seen as a status marker. Education was sometimes noted as an accomplishment on funerary inscriptions, not only for the elite but across social classes. Portraits of women sometimes depict them with writing implements. Business women required literacy for record keeping and correspondence, while women working as secretaries or bookkeepers necessarily were literate. Women are depicted as literate in fictional texts and even the depiction of sex workers as literate, e.g., in Lucian, does not appear to be intended as unbelievable. Not only do we have evidence of elite women composing poetry and writing letters, but artifacts such as the Vindolanda tablets show women of relatively low status writing their own correspondence, or in some cases adding a personal postscript to the work of a professional scribe.
Graffiti was unlikely to have been written by a professional, therefore texts that are written from a female perspective (identifying the author with a female name, or using grammatically feminine descriptions) can reasonably be assumed to have been written by a woman. (Note, of course, that a great deal of graffiti had no overt gender markers, but has traditionally been assumed to have been written by men unless there is irrefutable evidence to the contrary.)
Levin-Richardson uses the following criteria to evaluate probably female authorship of graffiti. A first-person statement combined with a feminine adjective or title. Given that graffiti often represents the author in the third person [note: think “Kilroy was here”] a third-person statement combined with a feminine subject strongly suggests a female author. Texts in groups where multiple texts address other women, but no texts address men, is strongly suggestive of women writing to each other (sometimes as simply as “Hi so-and-so”).
As the sexual graffiti under consideration is from Pompeii, it’s also worth noting that Pompeii had a strong culture of literacy among all classes, to varying degrees, therefore estimates of literacy rates elsewhere in the empire may underestimate the Pompeiian situation. All this taken together supports the conclusion that female authorship of graffiti is not simply plausible but probable.
This brings the article to specific examples of sexual graffiti. The article’s title is a clear example “fututa sum hic,” with its first-person statement “I was fucked here” and a grammatically feminine form of the participle. Not all of the examples have the same level of proof of authorship, but Levin-Richardson, having established that women of all classes could be literate, and that at least some sexual graffiti was written by a woman, looks for examples of sexual graffiti that provide a strong case for female authorship.
One type of evidence is the grammar of sexual acts, in which men normally appear as the agents of “insertive” verbs while women (and low-status men) appear as the recipients. [Note: Most identifiable sex acts in Latin vocabulary occur in matched pairs, one focusing on the insertive partner, one on the recipient. Thus, not only can the “active-passive” dichotomy in Roman sex be indicated by grammatically active versus passive verb forms, but also by word choice where the “recipient” of a hierarchical sex act can also be the agent of the active form of a verb for being the recipient of that act.] However being the subject/recipient of a penetrative sex act was treated as degrading even if it was part of normative sexual practice. I.e., women were degraded by being fucked even as they were expected to consider it the normal state of affairs.
This is all background to examining the grammar of sex in graffiti. Our first example is “Fortunata fellat” (Fortunata [a female name] sucks [dick]). [Note: Levin-Richardson makes creative use of sexual slang as well as of deliberate spelling “errors” to represent the emotional impact and literacy competence of individual inscriptions.] The graffiti examples for this article were identified by searching for forms of the verbs futuere (fuck), fellare (suck-dick), pedicare (ass-fuck), irrumare (mouth-fuck, i.e., the active mirror to fellare), and the most common nouns for the male and female genitals and the anus. A significant subset of the likely-female-authored graffiti involve forms of fellare, making the woman the grammatically active subject, despite being “sexually passive.” In contrast, there are no graffiti examples in the data assigning a woman the grammatically-passive and sexually-passive role of irrumare. Versions like Fortunata’s are common, either alone or sometimes including a price (thus likely being a form of business advertising). Other graffiti use a (feminine) agentive noun “fellatrix” again highlighting the agency of the female participants. Levin-Richardson suggests that this was a way of “fashioning identity” as a professional specialist.
A somewhat less logical use of an agentive noun is an inscription identifying a named woman as “fututrix.” This construction appears both in private houses and brothels. A straightforward literal reading would be “woman who is the active and insertive partner in penetrative sex” however the suggestion in this article is that it was claiming a role as a willing and eager participant in the act, rather than claiming a penetrative role. [Note: Levin-Richardson along with a co-author have a much more detailed discussion of this conundrum in Kamen & Levin-Richardson 2015.]
In the last (and most speculative) section of the article, the author discusses the motivations and experience of women reading aloud from graffiti that sexually denigrates men, identifying them as “fellator” (cock-sucker), or as performing cunnilingus. In cases where the inscription doesn’t contain a specific name, reading off the inscription could be experienced as accusing any random man in the vicinity of the act. In the case of the cunnilingus inscriptions, this experience could be compounded by the female reader positioning herself as the socially dominant recipient of pleasure. A handful of inscriptions parallel the fellatio + price format, stating that a named man performs cunnilingus for a stated price. As with the fututrix example, this offers a perplexing question of whether there were actual male sex workers selling their oral services to female clients, or whether the inscription is simply meant as the worst insult someone could think of.
Similarly, it is suggested that women could “try on” sexual agency vis-à-vis men by reading graffiti where the author is represented as the sexual agent of a socially degrading penetration of a man (in the mouth or anus).
Women’s interactions with sexual graffiti create a tension between claiming sexual agency and supporting a social system that considered normative female roles in sex to be inherently degrading.
(Originally aired 2025/11/01)
Welcome to On the Shelf for November 2025.
Is everyone enjoying the season of spooky stories and pumpkin-spice lattes? We’ll have a seasonal story later this month as the fourth quarter fiction episode, but first I’ll be setting up some background in the mid-month episode. Back when I was doing an episode every week—and how I managed that I no longer remember—I’d occasionally reprise a previous episode to give myself a little break. It’s been about five years since I did a reprise and this time it isn’t for lack of content but to provide context for the fiction. Our story will be an alternate view of Christina Rossetti’s classic poem “The Goblin Market”—a view that addresses the shadows of prejudice and anti-Semitism that haunt the poem’s imagery. Maya Dworsky-Rocha’s story “Ma’am This is a Fruit Stand” rather assumes that the audience is familiar with Rossetti’s work, so to create the optimal context for its reception, I decided to repeat the Goblin Market episode before airing it.
This month’s story won’t be the last I have on tap—I have a pair of shorter works already lined up to air in January. But January is also when submissions will be open for next year’s fiction series. I’m always delighted by the quality of work I have to choose from, but I’m also always deeply anxious when the majority of submitters wait until the last few days of the month to send their work in. There’s no absolute benefit to submitting earlier or later, but you’ll make this podcast host much happier if I’m not spending most of the month freaking out that I won’t get enough submissions. So spread the word, read the submissions guidelines (linked in the show notes), and get those stories in as early in January as you can so I can relax!
News of the Field
If you follow the podcast through my blog, I’m working on a minor update to the site. Podbean, my podcast host, provides a player widget for each episode, which I’ve been noting down but not using because I couldn’t just plug them into the existing blog structure. Well, after a very productive work session with my web consultants, I now have a field for entering the player widget. So going forward, you can play the episode directly from the blog with the transcript. It’ll take me a while to go back and add the widgets to the back catalog—all 325 episodes!
Another thing we started working on for the website is more on my authorial side and will take a while to set up, but I hope to have my own storefront eventually, to sell my self-published work as well as autographed copies of my other books. And who knows? Maybe someday there will be podcast merch. If I ever figure out what people might be interested in. What would you love to have in the way of Lesbian Historic Motif Project merchandise?
Speaking of books, I’ve been putting in some serious work on the book version of the Project, though there’s still a very long way to go. At the moment I’ve been working through the introductory material, talking about what the purpose of the book is, what the content will be, and setting out some background for understanding my approach to lesbian and sapphic history. It’ll probably be a couple years before I’ll have a finished draft, despite having a lot of existing text to work with already. You have to keep in mind that I’m also writing some novels at the same time.
Publications on the Blog
And, of course, even as I work to codify my research in fixed form, I continue to read and process research articles and books. I find it entirely too easy to spend all my time working on blogs for the Project and let my other projects languish, so I’m trying to restrict myself to only a couple of posts per week. That makes 8 articles since I last reported. I’ve been organizing my most recent haul of downloaded articles into thematic groups, and this month was all ancient Greece all the time.
There were two articles analyzing the ambiguous possible lesbian hints in Anacreon’s poem 13: Hayden Pelliccia’s “Ambiguity against Ambiguity: Anacreon 13 Again” and J.F. Davidson’s “Anacreon, Homer and the Young Woman from Lesbos.” Four articles add to the body of Sappho scholarship. I rather liked J.C.B. Petropoulos’s “Sappho the Sorceress: Another Look at fr. 1 (LP)” which compares one of the poems to the texts of love magic. In contrast, I hated George Deverux’s “The Nature of Sappho's Seizure in Fr. 31 LP as Evidence of Her Inversion” which claims Sappho’s description of her physical responses to be proof of her internalized homophobia and deviance. Yeah. Two articles—André Lardinois’ “Subject and Circumstance in Sappho's Poetry” and Glenn W. Most’s “Reflecting Sappho” are more conventional studies of the content and reception of Sappho’s work. Sappho is presented as inspiration and touchstone in the work of another female poet in M.B. Skinner’s “Sapphic Nossis”. And finally Ruby Blondell and Sandra Boehringer analyze Lucian’s courtesan dialogue as a satire of philosophical discourse in “Revenge of the Hetairistria: The Reception of Plato’s Symposium in Lucian’s Fifth Dialogue of the Courtesans.”
Book Shopping!
I haven’t picked up any new books for the project, but I did acquire two lovely publications from the London Topographical Society that will be valuable for my Restoration-era series: The A to Z of Charles II’s London 1682 and The Whitehall Palace Plan of 1670. My fiction work has involved some intensive map work as I’ve sought out and studied maps of Marseille and Paris for the next Alpennia book. Given the rather drastic changes Paris went through in the early 19th century, I’m incredibly lucky to have a map and some tourist guidebooks dating to within a couple years of my setting. At this point I’ve mapped out all the most important locations in Paris for my story. Have I mentioned that a great deal of Mistress of Shadows will be taking place in Paris? It’s a bit terrifying to be working with an actual location rather than being able to make things up.
Recent Lesbian/Sapphic Historical Fiction
One way or another, making things up is the most fun part of fiction, so here are the books that authors have made up for you in the past few months.
I have three September books that only just came to my attention. Kerri Reeves’ No Love for an Outlaw looks like it has a bit of a southern gothic feel.
1931, North Georgia.
Silvia Copeland just buried her mama. The mill is breaking her down, the town is choking her spirit, and there’s nothing left to hold her in Briarsville but grief and sawdust. When her oldest friends drag her into a backwoods bootlegging operation, she sees a chance to escape for money, danger, and the open road.
But the ridge has teeth. Bodies are turning up nailed to trees, gutted and marked with strange symbols. Black-eyed hounds stalk the woods. And something older than sin itself is stirring beneath the mountain.
Caught between loyalty to her makeshift family and a growing, complicated love for a woman who seems bound to the land itself, Silvia is forced to decide how far she’ll go and what she’s willing to sacrifice before the ridge takes everything.
It’s always a delight to reimagine traditional stories in sapphic versions—the “what ifs” of history. Velis Aenora transforms the traditional Korean love story of Chunhyang and Cheong into sapphic form in Twin Flames of Namwon.
In this bold reimagining of Korea’s most cherished folktales, Chunhyang, famed for her defiance of corrupt power, and Cheong, remembered for her selfless sacrifice, discover not only resilience—but each other.
Bound together as Twin Flames, they resist tyranny, confront the hunger of the serpent, and vow their love beneath the willow by the Namwon river. This is not the story of maidens waiting to be saved. This is the story of two women who burn against shadow, rewriting legend with the fire of their bond.
The repressive mid 20th century is the setting for Neon Nights by William Ellison.
In the smoky heart of 1950s Chinatown, where neon signs flicker with secrets and jazz pulses through hidden lounges, Ellie Chen navigates a world of forbidden love and perilous intrigue. Caught between family duty and her electrifying bond with Maggie, a daring rebel with a knack for forgery, Ellie defies a society that demands conformity. As corrupt agent Baxter tightens his grip, threatening raids and deportation, their romance blooms in stolen glances and heated caresses, each moment a rebellion against a world poised to crush them. From underground safehouses to chaotic dance floors, the community weaves a tapestry of resistance, laced with dark humor—slipping disguises, bumbling spies, and shattered heirlooms sparking laughter amid danger. Ellie uncovers family secrets tying her to wartime legacies, while betrayals from kin and allies unravel a conspiracy that could topple empires or tear her world apart. With every kiss a vow and every escape a gamble, Ellie and Maggie race through fog-lit alleys, their love a beacon in the neon night, promising futures uncertain but fiercely claimed.
Just as they slip into the mist, a cryptic note from a vanished ally surfaces, hinting at a final trap. Will their defiance outshine the shadows, or will Baxter’s vendetta claim them first?
The October releases are delightfully diverse in settings and content. First up is Raised for the Sword by Aimée, which I’m currently in the middle of reading. (I should add the disclaimer that the author was the translator for the French edition of my Daughter of Mystery so I may be a bit biased.)
France, 1560. The wars of Religion are tearing the kingdom apart. Being a Huguenot is more often than not a death sentence. Meanwhile, at court, nobles play and scheme. To that court comes Isaure de Montfaucon, sent by her father to become part of Catherine de Médicis’ entourage, and hopefully to find a husband.
Another father sends his child to the French court, but all is not as it seems. Enguerrande de Vaubernier has never worn a skirt and has been raised as a boy. As a Huguenot, and as a woman disguised, she could be executed at any time. A fateful duel puts an end to aspirations, and Enguerrande has to flee, but not without the young woman who has unwittingly stolen her heart, even though a future together seems impossible.
Isaure and Enguerrande travel through France to Navarre, looking for safety in a country where being different can cost you your life. When the mask falls, will everything change, or will they feel closer than ever?
I held over The Salvage by Anbara Salam from Tin House Books from last month’s listings because Anbara is our author guest this month. Check out the interview later in the podcast.
It is 1962, and Marta Khoury, a trailblazing marine archaeologist, has been called to Cairnroch, a small island off the east coast of Scotland. A Victorian shipwreck, dragged from arctic waters, holds the remains of a celebrated explorer and the treasures of his final expedition. But on her first dive down to the ship, Marta becomes convinced she has seen a dark figure lurking amid the wreckage.
When the Cuban Missile Crisis and the deep chill of a record-breaking winter keeps Marta stranded on Cairnroch, she forms a relationship with Elsie, a local woman working in the island’s only hotel. When the ship's artefacts inexplicably disappear, Marta and Elsie have to brave the freezing conditions to search for the missing objects before anyone else catches on. As something eerie seems to follow her at every step, Marta must confront if the haunting is a figment of her imagination, the repercussions from a terrible mistake from her past, or if something more sinister is at play that will trap her and everyone on the island―and their secrets―in an icy wilderness.
I don’t usually include re-issues in these listings, but every rule has its exceptions. Dani Collins has a out-of-print collection of sort spicy historic romance stories entitled Lovers and Liaisons and has now issued them as individual titles. Only one of the stories is sapphic: A Lady for a Highwayman.
Robbing aristocrats at pistol-point is a last resort for Velvet. Her fortunes have fallen and she has no choice. She really shouldn’t have stolen a kiss when she stole a young woman’s locket, though. Especially because that young woman was resourceful enough to track her down!
Facing a marriage she doesn’t want, Annabelle finally experiences passion—in an unexpected kiss. She wants more, but meeting Velvet again--for a passionate encounter--is only half the battle. Annabelle is still expected to marry and Velvet will never survive being exposed as a thief.
Time is running out, what options do they have, beyond living the life of fugitives?
Ishtar Watson specializes in imagining queer lives in ancient history. In My Mother's Spear from Dark Elves LLC she tackles the cultural mixing in 2nd century Roman Britain.
Cynna is a Sarmatian horse archer with no hope or future, who fights for an empire she despises. Meala is a Caledonian warrior who carries her mother's spear and father's shield into battle to fight for her people, claim her warrior birthright, and escape her parents' will that she marry a man. These two brave women will meet upon the field of battle, where they will find themselves, each other, and learn who their true enemy is.
Set in what is now southern Scotland along the Antonine Wall, this story brings the ancient world of Iron Age Scotland alive through the eyes of two women fighting to find their places in the world while they struggled against the Roman steel and their own inner turmoil. Can they escape the might of Rome and their own traumatic pasts?
Phoenix is the 9th Intertwined Souls novel by Mary Dee from AUSXIP Publishing.
1958. Sydney, Australia. When Zoe becomes the target of a vicious smear campaign by Australia's revered decorated war hero turned radio host, she’s quickly plunged into a battle of public opinion to defend her art and wartime service. Recovering from a grueling surgery and with her 30th birthday fast approaching, Zoe fights to protect her integrity.
Meanwhile, Eva's company, Lambros Industries, is under siege. With their professional reputation on the line after a slew of government contracts mysteriously disappear or are outbid, Eva can’t escape the creeping suspicion that someone is targeting them. Their adversary has been playing the long game... to what end?
Combining the trends of gothic novels and roaring 20s, S.M. Namkoong gives us Ophelia.
After a brief stint in Italy working under a master painter, Lawrence Stoner returns to America craving inspiration. Drawn to the wild coast of Maine, she takes up residence in a seaside hut, hoping to secure a commission from one of the wealthy summer elites.
Shortly after putting out an ad, Lawrence receives an invitation to dine at Ashmore Hall. Despite the whispered warnings and ghost stories, Lawrence accepts and is immediately captivated by its enigmatic and beautiful mistress, Ophelia Aldane.
The number of dead continues to rise, but Lawrence finds herself hopelessly ensnared in Ophelia’s web of allure. As those closest to her begin to fall prey, Lawrence feels Death drawing nearer with every passing day. Lawrence must confront the darkness or risk being consumed as well.
Between Two Silences by Shanon O'Brien is set in 1943 Stockholm during the height of World War II.
Neutral Sweden is a cold, quiet sanctuary, but for war refugee Rivka Weiss, every silence holds a memory she can't escape. After fleeing unimaginable horrors—marked by the fading numbers on her forearm—she is placed in the care of a Swedish stranger. All Rivka wants is a place to stop moving.
Ingrid Björklund is a woman of rigorous order (Ice Lady!). Her world is meticulously measured by thick-cut bread slices, four clockwise coffee stirs, and a front door bolted out of discipline. When the guarded, silent Rivka arrives on her doorstep, Ingrid is forced to confront a life she has systematically kept simple. She sees the scar through Rivka's eyebrow and the pain in her eyes, yet she says nothing.
What begins as distance soon feels like a thread drawn taut, threatening to break the quiet order of Ingrid’s life and the protective shell around Rivka’s heart. From the deep cold of January to the bloom of May, their connection becomes a dangerous necessity.
World War II is also the setting for The Secret War (Hattie James #3) by Stacy Lynn Miller from Severn River Publishing.
In a factory hidden deep in the Brazilian jungle, the Germans are developing a long-range bomber capable of reaching the United States—a weapon that could tip the scales of World War II in their favor. With the clock ticking down to a sneak attack on American soil, singer-spy Hattie James’s mission becomes clear: she must gather intelligence and stop the Nazis before it’s too late.
But when a failed assassination attempt in Rio on the American Vice President puts her loved ones in jeopardy, Hattie realizes both developments are connected and that the price of failure is more than she can bear. With betrayal hiding around every corner, Hattie must confront the brutal reality of war as even those she once trusted—her fellow spies and closest allies—might have their own deadly agendas.
As alliances shift and enemies close in, she faces a desperate battle in the heart of the jungle—a fight to destroy the Nazi threat and save the lives of those she loves. The stakes are higher than ever, and Hattie must use all her wit, charm, and courage to survive.
The November books start with a rather intriguing alternate Regency novel in which the handsome dukes are women—or at least one of them is: The Duke by Anna Cowan from MacMillan.
Kate, Duke of Howard, is known throughout Europe as a merciless autocrat not to be crossed. Consumed by a bitter rivalry, she avoids society and has vowed never to trap a woman into marriage with a monster like herself.
The beautiful, ambitious courtesan Celine Genet once threw herself on the mercy of the visiting Duke of Howard. She was desperate to escape the guillotine. But after a night of searing passion, the duke left her to the ravages of Revolutionary Paris and didn’t look back. Now Celine is in London and in possession of a dangerous letter that proves the Duke of Howard committed treason as a child - and possibly even murder.
Celine wants a titled husband in return for keeping the duke’s secret, leaving Kate no choice but to parade her around the most fashionable ballrooms. But as Celine takes society by storm, Kate finds herself growing fond of the woman set on destroying her. And as their attraction mounts, Kate faces an impossible choice: keep her childhood secret, or win the woman she loves.
Genta Sebastian takes up the popular Western motif of gender-crossing as the context for a sapphic romance in My Darling Clementine (Clementine #1) from Macoii Publishing
Clem Dennison, 23, lives as a man among men, passing as a male prospector in California where she is a respected author writing popular articles about the gold rush and the colorful people of the wild west. After a disturbing visit back east, she makes plans to return to the gold fields, joining a late-season wagon train headed for Sacramento. On the long train ride from Boston, she notices a fascinating young lady.
Kizzy Walker, 18, escapes her life in dreary Rocheport as the minister’s scandalous daughter, and jumps on the next train leaving. She arrives in Independence, Missouri as a single woman, alone, her only plan to chase the gold fever driving her west. While considering her limited options, she sees Clem and recognizes her as a woman who is passing. Kizzy chases her into the dark night to confront her, making herself a target for ruthless men.
Clem rescues the inexperienced, beautiful, impulsive woman, and finds herself in a passionate embrace. Kizzy gives her a key to her hotel room and invites her to visit after everyone’s asleep. She takes that chance and meets a woman unlike any other. No one else has ever seen through Clem before, much less thrown themselves into her arms.
She agrees to take Kizzy with her to California and teach her how to pan for gold, if the fascinating woman will marry her the next day, so they can travel in the wagon train as man and wife.
The publicity for Where There's Room for Us by Hayley Kiyoko from Wednesday Books says it’s set in a “reimagined 1880s England” though it isn’t clear from the description just how much it diverges from our timeline.
When her brother unexpectedly inherits an English estate, the outspoken and infamously daring poet, Ivy, swaps her lively New York life for the prim and proper world of high society, and quickly faces the challenges of its revered traditions–especially once she meets the most sought-after socialite of the courting season: Freya Tallon.
Freya’s life has always been mapped out for her: marry a wealthy lord, produce heirs, and protect the family’s noble status. But when she unexpectedly takes her sister’s place on a date with Ivy, everything changes. For the first time, she feels the kind of spark she’s always dreamed of.
As Ivy and Freya’s connection deepens, both are caught between desire and duty. How much are they willing to risk to be true to themselves—and to each other?
Other Books of Interest
I have two titles in the “other books of interest” group.
The Fault Mirror by Catherine Fearns from Quill & Crow Publishing House is a dual-timeline story in which the framing story is not sapphic, but the embedded one is. That makes it hard to tell how prominent the sapphic content is and how central the historic setting is.
Everyone sees the house they want to see... Paris, 1900: Amidst the decadence of the Belle Époque, American heiress Lydia Temple falls in love with ethereal aristocrat Séraphine de Valleiry, and builds her a whimsical castle in the Swiss mountains. The Chateau des Miroirs becomes a bastion of spiritualism until it is taken over by sinister forces during the First World War. And then it disappears. Or did it ever really exist? Oxford, 2035: Elderly professor Cyrus Field is rapidly losing his sight and his will to live, when student Haydn Young presents him with a collection of letters previously lost to history. These letters may contain the answer to the philosophical problem that has been his life’s work. But does he really want to know the truth? With war closing in, Cyrus and Haydn must decide whether to risk everything in the quest for knowledge. The mystery of the Chateau des Miroirs reverberates through the generations, connecting two souls that are destined to find each other.
The second title is even a bit more marginal as a historical, relying on magic and reincarnation: As Many Souls as Stars by Natasha Siegel from William Morrow Paperbacks.
1592. Cybil Harding is a First Daughter. Cursed to bring disaster to those around her, she is trapped in a house with a mother paralyzed by grief and a father willing to sacrifice everything in pursuit of magic.
Miriam Richter is a creature of shadow. Forged by the dark arts many years ago, she is doomed to exist for eternity and destined to be alone—killing mortals and consuming their souls for sustenance. Everything changes when she meets Cybil, whose soul shines with a light so bright, she must claim it for herself. She offers a bargain: she will grant Cybil reincarnation in exchange for her soul.
Thus begins a dance across centuries as Miriam seeks Cybil in every lifetime to claim her prize. Cybil isn’t inclined to play by the rules, but when it becomes clear that Miriam holds the key to breaking her family curse, Cybil finds that—for the first time in her many lives—she might have the upper hand. As they circle each other, drawn together inescapably as light and dark, the bond forged between them grows stronger. In their battle for dominance, only one of them can win—but perhaps they can’t survive without each other.
What Am I Reading?
And what have I been reading? I’m back to mostly audiobooks and coming to rely more and more on what I can borrow from Libby.
I had started reading Angel Maker by Elizabeth Bear in print but kept getting slowed down by the dialect-heavy writing style. As with poetry embedded in stories (like Tolkien) I find I have to sub-vocalize dialect in order to parse it, which is an entirely different reading style than usual. So I switched over to audio and enjoyed this fun romp through alternate history with all the steampunk bells and whistles but that addresses real historic social issues as well.
In general, I’m not a fan of horror, so even though T. Kingfisher is an auto-read for me, I sometimes shy away from the titles marketed as horror. But although A House with Good Bones is pervaded with a sense of growing menace, it never felt too scary for me. There is artful depiction of the everyday awfulness of ordinary people.
I’ve been continuing my read-through of Martha Wells’ Murderbot series. This month I listened to Rogue Protocol, Exit Strategy, and Fugitive Telemetry, finally catching up to re-listen to Network Effect. On re-listen, I think my original impression of Network Effect was skewed by listening to it out of order, because a lot of the interpersonal stuff made far less sense when I was coming in at the middle of the series. On the other hand, my impression stands that the story is very heavy on the blow-by-blow combat descriptions, which just isn’t my thing.
I’ve also started a re-read of my own Alpennia series to help get my brain in the right space for working on Mistress of Shadows.
Author Guest
As mentioned previously, this month we’re happy to welcome Anbara Salam to the show.
In this episode we talk about:
A transcript of this podcast is available here. (Interview transcripts added when available.)
Links to the Lesbian Historic Motif Project Online
Links to Heather Online
Links to Anbara Salam Online
As this article points out, historians of sexuality put a lot of weight on the depiction of women-loving-women in Lucian's Dialogues of the Courtesans #5, simply because of the scarcity of references to female homoeroticism in the classical era. But Lucian's fictional episode can't be read as a realistic description of anything and must be interpreted through multiple layers of context, symbolism, and cross-reference. These can make it even more valuable as a piece of data, but much more difficult to read as a mirror of historic f/f sexuality.
Blondell, Ruby and Sandra Boehringer. 2014. “Revenge of the Hetairistria: The Reception of Plato’s Symposium in Lucian’s Fifth DIalogue of the Courtesans.” Arethusa 47: 231-64.
This article considers the position that Lucian’s Dialogues of the Courtesans, and in particular the 5th dialogue, should be read as satire of philosophical literature. Or perhaps, satire as philosophical literature, specifically, the Platonic dialogue as comedy due to being assigned to non-elevated characters. Though, as the authors note, Plato himself drew on comedic elements. In Lucian, the dialogue format itself is one cue to the audience to look for philosophical resonances.
One aspect of Lucian’s dialogues that isn’t always emphasized in articles discussing them is that they are a form of “historical fiction.” Lucian, writing in the 2nd century CE, set his dialogues within an imagined demimonde of Plato’s time (5-4th c BCE). That is, they are intended as a fictional low-culture mirror to the symposiums that Plato depicted. The current article argues that this is essential context for understanding the purpose of the Dialogues. To do this, it begins by reviewing ancient understandings of same-sex desire especially as depicted by Plato, then there is an exploration of the role of “philosophical eros” as depicted in the 10th Dialogue, finally the article returns to the 5th Dialogue and draws thematic parallels with Plato’s Symposium.
The first section points out that the paiderastic relationships presented in the Symposium was itself an idealized debating ground for his philosophical theories, rather than reflecting actual everyday practice in Athens. For example, the symposium features a celebration of age-matched adults and downplays physical eroticism in favor of philosophical bonds. Indeed, within the context of philosophical study, the Symposium depicts Socrates as being simultaneously erastes and eromenos: the older mentor and at the same time the courted, desired object. In the speech assigned to Aristophanes about the “other half” origins of human desire, the philosophical structure that the story proposes again does not map to actual Athenian culture. (E.g., it depicts fixed gender-based orientations, rather than the hierarchical active/passive role-based structure that prevailed.)
One unusual connection between Plato and Lucian is that Plato’s dialogues are the only classical Athenian texts that reference sex between women, and the earliest record of the word hetairistria, which it is generally believed that Plato invented—the next known occurrence being the 5th Dialogue. Due to the word's rarity, it’s difficult to determine its intended meaning. (Boehringer 2021 has a detailed analysis of the possibilities.) One strong theory is that it means “a woman with immoderate desire for a woman” rather than any and all same-sex desire. [Note: If true, this would imply that there was a concept of "a woman with moderate and appropriate desire that included women" as a contrast. An interesting possibility to ponder.]
This brings us back to the Dialogues. First we look at Dialogue 10, in which one courtesan complains to another that her lover has been forbidden to visit her by his philosophy teacher who considers their relationship to be incompatible with “the pursuit of virtue.” A different explanation for the prohibition is offered: that the philosopher sexually desires his student and wants to warn off female competition. The dialogue is packed with allusions to themes from Plato. But what Lucian’s philosophy teacher desires is very different from the supposedly high-minded relations depicted in Plato. Excluding women of any sort from the sphere of philosophy is one thing (and “normal”) but the courtesan can get her revenge by spreading the gossip that the teacher is ”corrupting” his pupil. The dynamics of philosophical instruction are satirized by viewing them from the point of view of outsiders with whom we are led to identify.
The Platonic connections of the 5th dialogue are more complex. It, too, involves a conversation between two courtesans about a sexual relationship one experienced (that appears to be ongoing), initiated at a party where she was hired to entertain two women who revealed that they were “married” and had a sexual relationship. The courtesan was drawn into a three-way with them and describes details of the experience to her friend, stopping just short of specific sexual techniques. The depiction of the couple doesn’t correspond to any known Athenian demographic. They are not courtesans themselves but rather hire courtesans. They are rich, though no occupation or source of the wealth is noted. This article considers the scenario to be utterly fictional and intended to be unbelievable.
The “Platonic dialogue” aspect of the story is in the structure of how the one courtesan attempts to elicit details of the encounter from her friend by asking a series of questions and offering hypothetical framings for understanding the events. Because of the rarity of references to sex between women in classical sources, a great deal of scholarly weight has been put on this depiction, but this article points out that even taken at face value it doesn’t present a clear or coherent picture. One could view Megilla/us as representing a hierarchical, active/passive, heteronormative model of sex between women (or some subset of these features), but each interpretation is contradicted by other elements of the scenario. (More on this below.) Instead, it is proposed that it represents a parody of a philosophical debate regarding what makes someone “manly” without ever providing a conclusive answer.
But aside from the specific content, the structure of Dialogue 5 mimics that of the Symposium in using a conversational framing narrative that encloses an inner story. Furthermore, an unconventional drinking party (symposium) is a key setting. But Lucian’s all-female symposium features multiple elements that Plato’s specifically excludes: women, music, drunkenness, and sex. Like Dialogue 10, it involves those normally excluded from philosophy engaging with the forms and topics of philosophy and claiming their right to do so. And in Dialogue 5, women are doing this in a way that shows men to be irrelevant to the experience.
Perhaps the final key connection between Plato’s Symposium and Lucian’s Dialogue 5 is the appearance of the word hetairistria, but unlike Plato, whose character provides no clear definition for it, Lucian’s character explains that there are such women in Lesbos who aren’t willing to have sex with men but prefer to associate with women as men do. This is part of a speculative explanation by the friend, rather than a description of the symposium couple by the courtesan they hired, so the word isn’t definitively applied to the couple.
Contrary to some interpretations of Megilla/us as transmasculine (which is supported by some of the things she says) the dialogue doesn’t depict her as presenting as masculine. The courtesan doesn’t perceive her as masculine until she removes her wig showing an “athlete-like” shaved head. Further, her partner Demonassa is not described as being either physically or behaviorally “masculine” and yet also engages in sex with the courtesan, contradicting a heteronormative framing. The sexual encounter—to the extent that it is described—doesn’t consistently follow a hierarchical active/passive model. And the intensity of pleasure experienced by Megilla/us aligns more with stereotypes of feminine excess than masculine experience. Overall, the sexual scripts involved here are not coherent with the expected models for Greek (or Roman) society. As it cannot be read as a simple gender role reversal, it also cannot serve as an answer to the question “what makes someone manly?”
The article ends by reiterating that neither Plato’s Symposium nor Lucian’s Dialogues present a realistic or coherent picture of sexual practices and categories of the time (in Lucian’s case, either his time or that of his setting), but rather are using the forms of philosophical discussion in a satiric way to provide entertainment.
We know, in the long term, that Sappho left a reputation as a poet. And much of what we have of her work is because it was quoted and cited by other authors--primarily male authors. But in Nossis we have evidence that other women poets of ancient Greece not only considered her great, but found her an inspiration for their own work.
Skinner, M.B. 1989. “Sapphic Nossis” in Arethusa 22:5-18.
Nossis was a female poet of the Greek Hellenistic period (approximately 2 centuries after Sappho), 11 of whose poems have survived. This article discusses how her work reflects a self-conscious identity specifically as a female poet and as one who sees herself as following in the tradition of Sappho.
Two of the poems are believed to be end-pieces to what was originally a collection of her work. The first uses literary allusion to invoke Sappho while the second calls her out by name. Other of her poems emphasize Nossis’s function within female traditions of poetry and religious performance. Skinner considers the body of work to offer evidence for a homoerotic understanding of the lost body of her love poems, emphasizing the sweetness of eros.
(Note: This article works on the assumption that its audience will not need to have any of the Greek translated, so some of the evidence for the arguments can be hard to follow.)
There is an extensive examination of the metaphors of poems as roses, or as honey that emerges from the poet’s mouth, as well as comparisons of the sweetness of eros to that of honey. In this, Nossis positions herself within the tradition of feminine poetry, exemplified by Sappho, which concerned itself with the celebration of beauty and love, in contrast to the themes of male-authored poetry.
The poem considered a conclusion to Nossis’s collection is a mock funerary inscription, asking the reader, if they sail to Mitylene in Lesbos to be inspired by Sappho’s work, to tell people there that Nossis, too, loved (philia) Sappho and the Muses.
Although the “bookends” of the collection indicate that its contents focused on eros, the other surviving poems do not reflect this. They are, however focused on female activities, especially the dedication of votive offerings to Aphrodite. The female maker or subject of the offering is praised for skill, beauty, or grace, and the poems indicate that the expected audience of them poems is female. All these themes find parallels in Sappho’s work.
Ancient writers with access to a greater surviving corpus of Nossis’s work described it as strongly female-oriented, even more so than typically expected as a woman poet. This is one basis for Skinner proposing that the lost erotic epigrams are likely to have been addressed to women (similarly to Sappho). In turn, this hypothetical content is suggested as a reason why her love poetry was not preserved through the ages, as literary opinions were beginning to turn against female homoeroticism in poetry, affecting even Sappho’s reputation. And similarly to Sappho’s fate in Athenian comic theater, Nossis was turned into a comic character in theater who rejected heterosexual relations.
When an article is primarily about the later reception of a historic figure, often it isn't that relevant to the Project. But when that "later" falls solidly in our scope, and the "reception" is concerned with the historic figure's queerness, then the discussion is solidly relevant, as in this article.
Most, Glenn W. 1995. “Reflecting Sappho” in Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies, Vol. 40: 15-38.
Rather than investigating the original context of Sappho’s life and work, this article reviews the chronology of popular understandings and theories about that topic. The chronology jumps around a little in the article so bear with me. [Note: Also, I think the chronology misses some elements.]
In the 18th century, the primary “facts” associated with Sappho were Ovid’s story of her failed romance with Phaon and her subsequent suicide. This is exemplified in various novelizations of her life, including Alessandro Verri’s 1781 work, among others. Verri’s text specifically denies any homoerotic elements to her life, claiming they were slanders by poetic rivals, while other 18th century treatments don’t bother mentioning this topic at all.
Beginning in the early 19th century, a hypothesis arose to account for the conflict between the content of Sappho’s poetry (including its homoerotic themes) and the treatment of Sappho as a character in Athenian comedy (as heterosexually promiscuous), alleging that by the time of the comic treatment, nothing was remembered about Sappho’s work except that she was a famous poet, and the comic persona was simply invented to attach to that reputation. (This has the obvious problem that there’s plenty of evidence for Sappho’s body of work being very well known during that era.)
Skipping back to the image of Sappho during antiquity, the problem is complicated, including not only the content of her poetry, but the attribution of a husband (identified as “Kerkylas from Andros”, i.e., “Penis from Man-land”), a daughter, various brothers, many female companions (some of whom were specifically identified as her lovers), a number of male lovers, and a failed heterosexual relationship that led to her suicide. Over the centuries then and following, several strategies have attempted to make sense of these themes via “duplication, narrativisation, and condensation.”
Duplication solved the problem of incompatibility by positing two women of the same name who later became conflated. (This theory is found as early as the 3rd c BCE.) The usual division is into the poet Sappho, with the specified family members and female coterie, and a prostitute named Sappho, who takes ownership of the many male lovers and inspires the comedic character. Other divisions also appear. An 11th c Byzantine version of her biography separates out only a harp-playing Sappho who died for the love of Phaon, and assigns all the other attributes to another Sappho, include the highly detailed account of her family members and list of female lovers and pupils. The reduplicated Sappho continues to appear in Renaissance interpretations, though there is little coherency in how her characteristics are divided.
A minority approach among ancient authors (not included in the three themes mentioned above) was to reject certain details as fictional. More common was the “narrativization” approach, which organized the elements chronologically in such a way that they could all happen in a single lifetime. Ovid’s treatment in the Heroides is the earliest known version of this, where the poet Sappho has long since lost or become estranged from her family, has left the love of women behind, and late in life falls for Phaon to her detriment. A few Renaissance scholars adopted this approach but it came to dominate the discourse in late 17th century France, as in the biographical prefacy to Madame Dacier’s edition of Sappho’s poetry. In this version, Sappho’s homoerotic encounters might be dismissed or ignored according to the preferences of the biographer (and their concern for her reputation). Madame Dacier’s father, Tanneguy LeFevre, had imagined a rather more licentious Sappho, not having the handicap of literary identification that Dacier felt. But even those who included the homoerotic elements in this era, focused solidly on the heterosexual plot.
The primary logical flaw in following Ovid’s version of Sappho’s life is that Ovid also downplayed her poetic accomplishments, presenting her literary efforts as mediocre verses inspired by her doomed love for Phaon. This presented the contradiction of a famous poet who came to poetry late and badly.
The condensation strategy was seized on in the early 19th century by the Romantics, who re-centered Sappho’s poetry and envisioned her specifically as a Romantic poet, talented by tormented and doomed to tragedy because her fragile feminine nature was not capable of supporting the magnitude of her genius. Her sexuality is sidelined. At the same time, other writers take up the challenge of touching on her homoerotic reputation only in order to establish her innocence. (An interesting tactic given that her homoeroticism had scarcely been part of the debate in the previous century.) Earlier versions of Sappho as libertine were discredited in favor of “Sappho the schoolmistress.” This movement did tackle the task of tracing all the individual elements of her reputation back to their sources in order to refute the undesirable ones, but it also brought in an element of duplication: the poet Sappho versus the fictional character in Attic stage comedy. The “schoolmistress” theory required the reinterpretation her Sappho’s erotic language as idealized and non-sensual (an approach that aligned with the rise of romantic friendship culture).
The re-focusing on Sappho’s poetry (rather than the Phaon fiction) led, later in the 19th century, to a re-acceptance of the poetry’s homoeroticism, positioning Sappho as the banner-bearer and namesake of female homosexuality. [Note: This is one of the aspects where I feel Most is leaving out some essential chronology. Most says “we should remember that [the idea that Sappho was a female homosexual] was never widespread before our century,” but here I feel he’s overstating the case because references to Sappho as an icon of f/f sexuality occur regularly from at least the 16th century, even when other narratives were also popular.]
In conclusion, Most notes that while the complexity and contradictions of the source materials have contributed to the shifts in the dominant narratives about Sappho, those shifts have also reflected “contingent and temporarily fashionable prejudices about the nature of women, of sexuality, of poetry, and so on” which I think has solidly been demonstrated. It has been difficult to ignore the intensity of the emotion expressed in her poetry, even though much of the corpus has been lost, but the highly personal focus of the poems has made it possible to question the target of those emotions, either in general (men vs women) or in specific (her feelings about specific named persons). The aspects of her poetry that contributed to her popularity also made it easier for later ages to reinterpret those poems according to their own circumstances, and reinvent their own version of Sappho in parallel.