Researching queer history involves embracing ambiguity, but ambiguity is present on many levels with many different purposes. This article, though otherwise somewhat tangential, is a useful exercise in recognizing that.
Pelliccia, Hayden. 1995. “Ambiguity against Ambiguity: Anacreon 13 Again” in Illinois Classical Studies, Vol. 20: 23-34.
In the ages before people fought their academic battles in mailing lists and then blogs, the pages of academic journals often recorded back-and-forth rivalries over such details as the accuracy of translations and interpretations, proper credit for prior publication, and accusations of misunderstanding. This article is one of those: largely a record of detailed pedantic rivalry over whether a prior rebuttal to a previous article had correctly understood the original author’s position. As such, I don’t know how much value it has in absolute terms—especially given that neither the original article nor the rebuttal had previously come to my attention—but it touches on whether a particular turn of phrase in one ancient Greek poem does or does not make lesbianism a punchline.
Perhaps of more general interest, the essay considers questions of ambiguity: not only the ambiguity inherent in trying to decipher and choose among multiple possible meanings in a text for which we are not a contemporary audience, but also trying to discern the deliberate ambiguities built into the text by the original author and how those ambiguities would have been received at the time.
So, that said, the poem in question is Anacreon #13. Superficially it is an old man’s lament that an attractive young woman has no interest in him. Anacreon’s poems tend to be witty epigrams with a theme of “wine, women, and song.”
[Note: if you ever want to go down a peculiar rabbit hole, check out the 18th century English “Anacreontic Society” who chose him for their patron. And in particular their theme song “To Anacreon in Heaven,” whose tune has achieved some small amount of lasting notoriety. But I digress.]
The translation offered in Hubbard 2003 can serve as context. I’ve re-ordered the words in the last line to better match the Greek original, since it will be relevant. (See also Boehringer 2021 for further context on the poem.)
Once again golden-haired Eros,
Hitting me with a purple ball,
Calls me out to play
With a fancy-sandaled maid.
But she, hailing from
Well-endowed Lesbos, finds fault
With my hair, for it’s white.
At another she gapes open-mouthed.
The first key point is that the word “another” in the last line is grammatically feminine, but the word for “hair” is also grammatically feminine. So there is ambiguity in whether the punchline is simply “the girl prefers another type of hair, i.e., someone younger” or refers to an unspecified female person “the girl prefers another girl.”
The reference to the girl being from Lesbos stands out to a modern reader, but as many scholars have pointed out, the women of Lesbos were associated in antiquity with a wide variety of attributes, including beauty (and thus the ability to pick and choose partners), and same-sex desire is far from the most obvious interpretation. (Though Pelliccia seems to lean towards that being a significantly available association at the time.)
The second key point in interpretation is that the structure of the poem demands a “punchline”—a twist of interpretation, and that the phrase “gapes at” has a negative connotation.
The scholarly arguments covered in the article revolve around who has endorsed which possible interpretations of the poem, on what basis, and which interpretations should be ruled out. Three possible readings of the text are discussed by both the author and his adversary:
After much detailed discussion of how the structure of the poem sets up the various possible readings (with examples from similar poems and expressions), Pelliccia offers the conclusion (or at least opinion) that all three readings could be inherent in Anacreon’s intent, with different members of the audience either getting the lesbian reading immediately (#2), not getting the reading at all (#1), or experiencing that twist of meaning when the final words signal to look for it.
Although the context of this article may seem to be a pedantic snit-fit, the deep dive into the meanings and uses of ambiguity and the considerations in how to analyze it, is useful to keep in mind when popularized queer history offers simple and straightforward assertions about historic texts.
Not much of interest here. Just more housecleaning of assorted articles, grouped thematically. (You might guess that I've been working through Classical Greece currently.)
Arkins, Brian. 1994. “Sexuality in Fifth Century Athens” in Classics Ireland, Vol. 1: 18-34.
This article is not particularly relevant, as it presents an overview of the structure of sexual relations from an elite male point of view. There is discussion of the social construction of sexual systems, with some odd anecdotal parallels from more modern cultures. There is a brief discussion of how to understand Sappho’s biography and work within this context (including a perhaps unwarranted assumption that social structures in Lesbos were identical to those in Athens).
I guess I quit too early in Christine Downing's Myths and Mysteries of Same-Sex Love, because this article basically recapitulates a couple of chapters from it. On the other hand, by waiting to summarize this version of the content, I didn't have to wade through the Freudian psychoanalysis.
Downing, Christine. 1994. “Lesbian Mythology” in Historical Reflections / Réflexions Historiques, Vol. 20, No. 2, Lesbian Histories: 169-199.
I’m now going to walk back my claim that Downing 1989 had no relevant content, because Downing 1994 is a slight re-working of several chapters in that book, mostly restricting itself to laying out the mythological and historic material that she analyzed in the earlier publication. In this article, she omits the psychoanalysis and focuses on the texts, interpreting them in the context of a broadly-defined “woman-centered-woman” definition of “lesbian.”
All of this content is more rigorously analyzed in Boehringer 2021, so this is going to be a very superficial catalog of what Downing covers.
Downing begins with Ovid’s story of Iphis and Ianthe, noting how it illustrates “how isolating, confusing and terrifying lesbian desire can be when there are no myths, no models, to follow.” [Note: But since Iphis is a fictional character, written by a male author, within a culture that has other examples of the existence of female same-sex desire—as illustrated by some of the other material presented in this paper—the reading that it represents actual female experience is poetic projection.]
The article continues with a recognition of the variety of understandings of “lesbian” in contemporary culture, and how that informs her decision to include a fairly wide scope of material within this article, not simply texts overtly touching on romantic or erotic relationships.
The next example is the “seeking one’s other half” myth from Plato’s Symposium, compared to Greek attitudes about the moral imperative to avoid “excess” in one’s sexual appetite and how that related to the strictly ritualized aspects of pederastic culture (for men). The texts provide no similar moral or ritual codes for female same-sex relations (omitting to note that since these texts were transmitted via male authors, they reflect masculine interests and concerns).
The next section discusses myths of Amazons and Maenads, discussing how they reflect male anxiety about female independence and power, while ascribing perhaps a greater aspect of lesbian sexuality to them than the evidence warrants. Rituals of girlhood transition associated with Artemis are discussed, with speculation about the possible existence of female rites of passage (separate from marriage rituals) associated with Artemis.
The myth of Kallisto and Artemis is solidly offered as evidence for beliefs in f/f relations within Artemis’s circle, which they moves on to a consideration of the evidence for attitudes toward the sexuality of Greek goddesses generally. [Note: Once again, we lack an explicit consideration of the transmission of these myths and how they are more likely to reflect fictionalized versions of femininity in the service of patriarchy.]
The final section of the article discusses Sappho’s poetry and its likely social context, including a chronology of historic framings of Sappho’s life and character across the centuries and how those framings reflect shifts in attitudes toward lesbian possibility. The article concludes by pointing out that the borrowing of language associated with Sappho as the basis for describing female homoeroticism reflects both the hunger for historic connections and Sappho’s unique position within the historic record of providing a positive image.
As noted previously, sometimes I cover publications because I think they'll be useful to the Project; sometimes I cover them to document that they're not useful. And sometimes the way I pre-schedule and write up materials out of order means that I blog things that I might have otherwise just noted as "not useful" in my database. So I blogged Downing 1989 to document that, despite the intriguing title, it isn't really useful for historical study. But I'm blogging this response to that article because I have a couple dozen articles pre-scheduled in a specific order and dropping it would leave an awkward hole in my schedule that would mar the logical symmetry of the blog structure. OK, maybe that's going a bit far, but let's just say it's easier to blog it than to not blog it at this point.
The second Downing-related article does turn out to be relevant (and points out that maybe I quit on Downing 1989 too early?) In the mean time, as I'm typing this, I'm finding mysefl dealing with several random ants crawling across my screen, so the next task is to figure out where they're coming from and deal with it. (Late summer is always "dealing with ants" season.)
Reineke, Martha & Christine Downing. 1993. “Within the Shadow of the Herms: A Critique of "Myths and Mysteries of Same-Sex Love" [with Reply] in Historical Reflections / Réflexions Historiques, Vol. 19, No. 1: 81-101, 103-106
Given that I found Downing 1989 to have little relevance to the goals of the Project, it may be unsurprising that I find Reineke’s critique of it to be similarly of only tangential interest. Reineke begins by spending almost half of her article in a detailed summary and rewording of Downing’s points (something that Downing complements in her reply). Reineke’s critique focuses primarily on modern psychological theoretical interpretations, adding in additional frameworks of analysis. Her one historical critique is that Downing “is insufficiently mindful of [the] androcentrism and misogyny” of the ancient Greek sources and the society they were created in. Glossing over this context includes not recognizing (or at least, not acknowledging) that the women presented in, for example, Plato’s work represent a male-centered fiction and not an accurate reflection of women’s function in society. Downing’s response largely boils down to: “I think we’re closer in our interpretations than you believe, but maybe I was less clear than I could have been.” But, as with Downing 1989, the focus is strongly on modern psychoanalysis, not on history.
Because I have two papers in my to-do folder that follow up on this book, I thought I’d take a look at the book first. Alas, It doesn’t appear to be very useful, so I suspect the followup articles will also be covered very briefly.
Downing, Christine. 1989. Myths and Mysteries of Same-Sex Love. The Continuum Publishing Company, New York. ISBN 0-8264-0445-6
There are some books that have been on my shelves since the earliest years of my interest in the subject without me ever having cracked them open. Indeed, it was the accusatory gaze of those books that helped spur me on to starting the Project. But not all of those books are actually relevant to the study of history. And this is one of them. To be fair, once I skimmed through the first few chapters, it became clear that Downing was not attempting or claiming to do history. She's doing Freudian psychology. The book is also, in many ways, a memoir of her own sexual journey and her experiences as part of the queer community during the AIDS crisis. But even to the extent that myths and images from Classical Greece are discussed, it is in terms of what they mean to 20th century people who are trying to frame their own sexuality in mythic terms (as mediated by Freud's peculiar ideas about same-sex attraction). It's very much "of its time"--the author's previous book was feminist-goddess-imagery explorations. But at least I can tick it off from my list now.
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This is not a book about history. The author’s area of focus is religious studies and psychology and the book primarily concerns itself with interpreting Greek and Roman mythological references to same-sex relations through a Freudian and Jungian lens. (Indeed, half the book is a discussion of Freud’s and Jung’s writings on same-sex relations and the development of their theories.) The conclusions are entirely concerned with modern Freudian understandings of Greek myth and how those might inform the experiences of modern people. Therefore I’m not going to summarize or analyze the book in detail as it doesn’t speak to the experiences or understandings of historic individuals.
As noted previously, I'm working through a bunch of articles in my "to do" folder that got deprioritized for various reasons. This one is focused primarily on male relations, but does toss in an appendix with brief mentions of f/f possibilities.
Bremmer, Jan. 1980. “An Enigmatic Indo-European Rite: Paederasty” in Arethusa, Vol. 13, No. 2, Indo-European Roots of Classical Culture: 279-298.
Bremmer presents some anecdotal, cross-cultural evidence for classical Greek pederasty having structural similarities to some generational-initiation ceremonies or systems in “primitive” cultures, positing that it is, perhaps, a relic of a more widespread Indo-European practice. The body of the article is focused exclusively on male relations, however a very brief appendix reviews three brief references to a possible female parallel in Sparta that could expand understanding of the context of Sappho’s love poetry. The references are:
(Originally aired 2025/09/20 - listen here)
[This episode is an interview with Heckscher Museum curator Karli Wurzelbacher about her upcoming exhibition of the work of American sculptor Emma Stebbins. A transcript will be posted when available.]
In this episode we interview Heckscher Museum curator Karli Wurzelbacher about her upcoming exhibition of the work of American sculptor Emma Stebbins:
A transcript of this podcast will be added here when available.
Links to the Lesbian Historic Motif Project Online
Links to Heather Online
Links to the Heckscher Museum of Art Online

Bird-watching is more of a supplementary hobby for me—something I’m always doing regardless of what else is going on, but not something I tend to plan as a specific event. So I was eagerly anticipating learning a bunch of new birds, but there was only one line-item in our trip brainstorming that was specifically a bird-watching event (and as it happened, we weren’t able to do that thing). So this is the bird-watching layer of the trip. (I’ll get to the non-bird-watching parts later.)
At first I was going to rely on iPhone apps for ID purposes. I picked up a free app, Twitcher, that was nice in that the menu had mini-images of the birds, to make it easier to skim for possibilities. But actually accessing the full details on each bird was an “in-app purchase” thing, which pisses me off. So instead I paid off the top for Birds of New Zealand, which is more extensive (includes a lot of rare visitors), all content is part of the app, and includes a checklist where you can note where and when you saw each bird. The down side is that the menu includes only names (grouped alphabetically either by taxonomy or by the common name). So unless you already have an idea what type of bird a mollymawk or a prion or a Pukeko is, you’re going to spend a lot of time clicking through. Oh, another feature of the app is that you can display names either by Anglo common names, Maori common names, IOC names, or genus+species
Eventually I found a print guidebook in a tourist shop, which make things a bit easier for the leafing through, and it was even small enough to fit in my purse easily: Birds of New Zealand by Geoff Moon. Includes photos of different ages, sexes, and seasonal plumage. Very useful.
Before I found that book, I got a smaller booklet: A Mini Guide to the Identification of New Zealand’s Land Birds by Andrew Crowe. (How’s that for nominative determinism?) Land birds only, illustrations rather than photos, but clearly shows distribution maps and color-coded tags for whether the bird is endemic (NZ only), native, or introduced. I’ll do a summary of that data at the end.
8/31 (Driving from Auckland to Rotorua) My very first bird ID was a Common Myna in a little village on Lake Waikare where we stopped for lunch. Also a Swamp Harrier (of which I’d see many). (No photos) At Tanner’s Point – scenic beach on the east coast (North Island). Lots of bird calls in the trees, but hard to spot the birds. I was able to ID my first Tui which eventually became my favorite bird. (It also seems to be a local favorite and shows up in a lot of art.) Thie header photo is from the aviary in Auckland zoo, because that’s my best shot, but I saw lots of them in the wild. Also depicted: large-scale street art in Rotorua.

And these are all going to be sideways, aren't they? Grr. Well, I can either spend a couple hours fiddling with the photos or I can just go for it.
Rotorua is on the shore of an enormous lake with scattered sulfer springs. There’s a large bird sanctuary both on shore and the small offshore islands. Birds ID’ed:
A large nesting colony of Red-billed gulls.

Black swans (close up from a later date, swans with cygnets from Hobbiton)

The Pukeko is ubiquitous in urban parks. A gorgeous bird with iridescent blue and green feathers and a red bill. The closely related Takahe (no photo) has very similar coloration but is larger, heavier, and flightless. It’s also seriously endangered (remember: flightless). I saw some Takahe in the Auckland zoo, but in the wild they’re restricted to the South Island.

Many graylag geese, but it’s hard to know whether to call this introduced species “wild” since they’re interbred with domestic geese, resulting in variable coloration.

Large flock of New Zealand Scaup, a type of duck.

I got internet help on ID’ing this shag (a type of cormorant). Hard to see in this photo, but the back and lower breast are black with a white bib reaching down to mid-breast. The guidebook showed species entirely black, or with an entirely white throat and belly, or with a weird racing-stripe pattern on the sides of the neck and head, but nothing that matched what I saw. Fortunately a Bluesky NZ birding acquaintance noted that the Little Shag can have a wide variety of breast colorings, and I found a variant that matched my pattern.

Also ubiquitous are the New Zealand fantail (another bird popular in local iconography) which has a flycatcher habit, swooping out from a perch and darting about acrobatically to catch insects.

Not pictured: at the Waiotapu hot springs, a sign noted the presence of Pied Stilts so I did a lot of looking to see if I could spot one. In the middle of a large sulfer flat, there was something that I thought might be a bird. Or it might be a piece of wood. Or… no, it moved. And sure enough it was a Pied Stilt. But it was too far away for a good photo. Also spotted a Welcome Swallow
9/2 Rotorua – Mostly exploring around town. No new birds
9/3 Rotorua, forest hike. Spotted an endemic Tomtit, ID thanks to the white wing patches. But moved too quickly for a photo.
9/4 Hobbiton tour, so there was a lot of rural driving and then the Hobbiton site itself to spot things. Multiple introduced species:
Eurasian blackbird

The English sparrow is so common I wouldn’t have bothered taking a picture except it was being photogenic.

Also (not pictured) Australian magpie (which has flashy black and white coloring, but not the long tail I normally associate with magpies), Common Chaffinch, Eurasian Coot, Mallard Duck. Native birds included the White-faced heron. Several of these in the millpond at Hobbiton but I couldn’t get a good picture.
9/5 Driving from Rotorua to Wellington by way of Tongariro Park. Birds spotted by not photographed: Black-billed Gull, European Greenfinch. Bird not spotted even though the Tongariro information center said that was the best place to spot them: Blue Duck (though I did see them at the Auckland Zoo).
9/6 Wellington – No new birds, although I suppose I should mention that pigeons are everywhere. So common I didn’t even bother to note them on my checklist until now.
9/7 Wellington – No new birds, but had an amusing encounter with the very aggressive Red-Billed Gulls at an outdoor café, where I had to warn another diner that his lunch was about to be snatched.
9/8 Wellington – No new birds. At this point in the trip, we were doing a lot more relaxing than running around.
9/9 Day-trip to Kaitoke Park (site of the Rivendell set). No bird photos, but spotted the following: European goldfinch (in a small flock), Paradise Shelduck (unusually for ducks, the female is easier to ID, having a russet body and white head, but it also helps that they tend to work in m/f pairs, so you can see the contrast with the dark-headed male).
9/10 Drive from Wellington to Auckland. Spotted on the way (but no photos): introduced ring-neck pheasant and wild turkey.
Spotted the flashy New Zealand Pigeon, which I illustrate with a more photogenic one from the Auckland Zoo.

9/11 Auckland – We went to the zoo and stuck mostly to the NZ section. The big attraction was the kiwi exhibit (in a darkened enclosure where they’ve swapped day and night so they’ll be active for visitors). I got a video, but it’s really too dim to be work trying to pull a still from. I believe these are Brown Kiwis. Other birds seen in zoo enclosures: Bellbird, Grey Teal, Little Owl, Little Penguin, North Island Saddleback (surprised I didn’t see these in the wild), Sacred Kingfisher, Takehe, Yellow-Crowned Parakeet. And a Kea. Have a Kea, showing off its under-wings.

Spotted while at the zoo, but not in the exhibits so I get to count them for real: Eastern Rosella, Song Thrush.
9/12 We'd planned to take a ferry out to Tiritiri Matangi island bird sanctuary, but the ferry was cancelled due to weather conditions, alas. There are a LOT of seabirds in the bird books, but most are found on the outlying islands.
Summary (41 species: 23 native, 18 introduced)
Endemic or Native (13 species)
Introduced (or recently migrated) from Australia (4 species)
Introduced from Europe (11 species)
Introduced from elsewhere (2 species)
Zoo (11 species, native except as noted)
Sometimes, when I've done a podcast episode on a topic, I tend to deprioritize other publications on that topic in order to keep myself fresh with new material. And there are some topics where there's so many publications that each one adds relatively little new information, so I'd rather focus on expanding the overall content. But sometimes its just worth getting caught up on various topics that aren't "top priority" simply because they're there in the to-do folder. Which is why I'm currently working through a number of journal articles that fall in the aforementioned categories. Some of them feel like just housekeeping with not much substantial interest. But some of them--like this one--add significantly to the understanding of those topics.
Nelson, Max. 2000. “A Note on the ὄλισβος” in Glotta, 76. Bd., 1./2. H.:75-82
I hadn't gotten my hands on this article when I wrote "The Dildo Episode" for the podcast. It could have added a little nuance to some of the early material.
This is one of those delightful linguistic deep-dives so beloved of classical philologists. Nelson considers the use of classical Greek ὄλισβος (olisbos) as meaning “dildo” within the context of its other meanings and of other words for dildo and concludes that not only was “dildo” not the primary meaning for the word, but that it also wasn’t the standard/default term for such an instrument. Rather, the modern scholarly assumption that olisbos=dildo derives from the use of the word in Aristophanes and the tendency of the works of Aristophanes to dominate understandings of Greek usage of his time.
The article starts with a chronology of glosses and explanations for Aristophanes’ “olisbos” starting with late classical glosses of it as “leather penis”, including non-sexual (or perhaps anti-sexual) interpretations as “pessary,” and leading to a universal assumption in the 19th and early 20th centuries that the word meant a leather dildo.
To counter this, he notes various appearances of the word in music performance contexts, where it is paralleled by “plectrum,” where it indicates a stiff, oblong object used with stringed instruments. (This is likely the context for the appearance of olisbos in a poem fragment attributed by some to Sappho—by others to Alcaeus—which has generated the claim that Sappho’s use of a dildo supports understandings of her sexual activity.)
The article continues with a detailed discussion of the etymology and parallels for olisbos. The root means “slider” which, in a musical context, evokes an object slid along the strings. [Note: I’m not quite sure how that would work with a lyre—the usual context—but perhaps a deeper dive into ancient Greek musicology would provide enlightenment.]
But olisbos did also clearly appear as a euphemism for a dildo (presumably due to its shape). And evidently “plectrum” could also have this meaning, as seen in a drama by Herodas in which two women discuss the output of a leather worker who “could not even stitch the plectrum for a lyre” which makes no sense in a musical context, as a musical plectrum would be made of a hard substance such as horn, ivory, or wood. [Note: All of which are also substances noted in other ages as materials used for dildos.] “Plectrum” comes from a root meaning “to hit, strike” indicating how it was used musically, but also lending itself to sexual innuendo. There are at least two other texts where a clear double-entendre between musical-plectrum and sexual-plectrum appear.
Olisbos is rare in the surviving literature after the date of the possible-Sappho poem, but one of the authors who uses it is Aristophanes, commentaries on whom perpetuated and amplified familiarity with the sexual sense of the word. The author suggests that this could have been an idiosyncratic use in his work rather that representing a standard and accepted term for the object.
Nelson catalogs a number of other words used for dildos in ancient Greek, including the genre of comic drama where olisbos typically appears. Excluding words whose primary meaning is “penis,” he notes (I’ll skip the Greek versions and do a rough transliteration):
The ancient author who wrote most extensively on the dildo (Herodas) didn’t use “olisbos” at all, but rather the isolated term “baubon.”
Nelson, in my opinion, has made a solid argument for his conclusions that, while “olisbos” was one of many ancient Greek euphemisms for a dildo, this was not its primary meaning, nor was it the primary term for the sex toy. Rather, this impression has been given by an accident of historiography. (On the other hand, this article impressively demonstrates the pervasive presence of dildos in the ancient Greek imagination.)
While I cast about for an organizing theme for the next bout of LHMP blogging, I think I'll do some housecleaning on loose threads in the files, like this book which simply gets a note that--however intriguing the title--is not useful for lesbian topics.
Bray, Alan. 1996. Homosexuality in Renaissance England. Columbia University Press, New York. ISBN 9780231102896
As part of the purpose of this blog is to help researchers determine which publications are worth examining in more detail. I’m going ahead and blogging this item simply to note that it explicitly declines to consider women at all. This is all too common for histories of homosexuality written by male scholars. I feel that Bray is giving excuses for his simple disinterest in claiming that popular thought made no connection between female and male homosexuality. But I intend to address that topic on its own at some point.
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In the introductory matter for this book, Bray states: “I have...restricted the scope of the book to questions of male homosexuality. Female homosexuality was rarely linked in popular thought with male homosexuality, if indeed it was recognised at all. Its history is, I believe, best to be understood as part of the developing recognition of a specifically female sexuality.”