Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 42a - On the Shelf for January 2020 - Transcript
(Originally aired 2020/01/04 - listen here)
Welcome to On the Shelf for January 2020.
Saying that, it occurs to me that we’re going to get an entire year of jokes about “20-20 vision.” So what’s my vision for this new year? I wish I knew. I’m just going to keep on keeping on and do my bit to add more diversity, more knowledge, and more understanding to the world. As for the Lesbian Historic Motif Project, I feel like I’ve reached a point of equilibrium with all my projects. I don’t expect any major changes in format or content for the blog or the podcast this year. Maybe some minor additions and shifts.
As you know from the sponsor break text, the Project has a Patreon, in addition to the general Patreon for the TLT podcast group. I’ve been thinking about types of content that would provide value back to Patrons. One experiment I’m going to try is micro-reviews of the new book listings, which I’ll talk about later in the show.
Another type of content I’ve been working on is practical reference material for authors. I’m thinking of things like vocabulary about f/f sexuality, or examples of romantic and sexual language used between women in historic sources. I’m also looking at timelines of types of relationships and identities in historic cultures. This sort of content doesn’t work well for entertaining audio and is the sort of thing you’d want to save off for reference. If you want that sort of content--or simply want to support the podcast--check out the Patreon. I’ll note that show’s expenses are primarily royalties and narrator fees for the fiction series. I don’t expect patrons to support my book habit! And the podcast hosting expenses are under the TLT group as a whole, so support that aspect through the TLT Patreon.
2020 Fiction Series
Since it’s January, submissions are open for the 2020 fiction series! If you’ve been working on a story to submit, I certainly hope you’ll send it in for consideration. If you’ve been dithering and you’re a fast worker, you might still have time to write something. Check out the show notes for the link to the full instructions. If things go like they have the last two years, by the time you listen to this, I’ll be biting my fingernails because people always seem to wait for the last minute to send in their submissions. Mind you, there’s no advantage from getting your submission in early, except for keeping your editor from freaking out.
While we’re on the subject of fiction markets, in addition to the open submissions for the Silk and Steel anthology that I mentioned last month, I’ve run across a new market that has produced some interesting queer historical audio short fiction. The show is “A Story Most Queer” and it’s part of the Mischief Media podcast group, which produces a number of pop culture related shows. The podcast produces audio versions of stories by and about queer people. While the scope of representation is broad and all genres are welcome, they caught my interest not only because the balance of representation is good, but because out of the first 13 episodes, 2 of them involve f/f relationships in historic settings. So whether you’re looking for new podcast listening, or whether you have fiction looking for a home, check out their website. They pay a flat fee of $50 for stories in the 2000-4000 word range, with some flexibility, and they accept reprints. See the show notes for a link.
Publications on the Blog
The blog is being busy with some substantial books mixed in with the articles. In December we covered several papers on Renaissance and Early Modern topics: Valerie Traub’s “The Renaissance of Lesbianism in Early Modern England”, Tim Hitchcock’s "The Reformulation of Sexual Knowledge in Eighteenth-Century England", and Randolph Trumbach’s "The Transformation of Sodomy from the Renaissance to the Modern World and Its General Sexual Consequences.” December finished with John Boswell’s classic Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality: Gay People in Western Europe from the Beginning of the Christian Era to the Fourteenth Century. Then at the beginning of January I rolled right on into Boswell’s other classic work, Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe. His work is simultaneously fascinating and frustrating. Fascinating because he tackled the history of attitudes toward homosexuality in Europe from a personal and sympathetic viewpoint, but frustrating because his work functionally ignores female homosexuality while paying lip service to being a general study. If you want more of my grumpy opinions on that topic, you can find them in the blog.
After that I take a brief breather with two survey articles: Leila Rupp’s “Thinking about ‘Lesbian History’” and Martha Vicinus’s “The History of Lesbian History.” Following those, I grit my teeth and tackle Michel Foucault’s three-volume The History of Sexuality, which I’ll cover in one volume each week. Foucault is a philosopher, not a historian, and I’ll be skimming rather that reading deeply, so this may not be as painful as I anticipate. (I haven’t actually started on it as of drawing up these notes.) I get something of a blog vacation after that, not because I won’t be posting, but because I already have articles written through April!
I hadn’t meant to buy any new books for the blog, but since all the copies of Foucault’s History of Sexuality were checked out of the U.C. Berkeley library, I decided to swing by Moe’s Books on Telegraph Avenue and was relieved to find a used set. My theory was that I’d get that work written up over the holidays, but...well...not yet.
Not a purchase, but while I was poking around in the library, I also checked out Phillips & Reay’s Sex Before Sexuality: A Premodern History which I’ll prioritize since I’ll need to return it soon.
This month’s author guest will be Kate Heartfield who writes some exciting historic fantasy. I connected with her at Worldcon in Ireland this summer but we only just worked out the logistics to record. I’ve had her pair of time-traveling novellas, Alice Payne Arrives and Alice Payne Rides on my radar for a while now.
I hadn’t decided on this month’s essay until I was sitting down to write up my script for this show, but I’d set up a bunch of idea folders and picked the one that seems closest to ripe. So I’ll be doing a show on Iphis and Ianthe, Ovid’s tale of gender disguise, same-sex love, and transformation that inspired many later variants and versions. It’s a story that sits awkwardly at the intersection of lesbian themes and transgender themes and I’ll be talking about how it can be a touch-point for a variety of modern identities. One of the aspects I’ll discuss is how the tale continued to be re-told and re-interpreted from Ovid’s Latin original early in the first century throughout the middle ages and Renaissance and on into the 17th century. When I imagine what models women in those eras might have had for same-sex love, this story is one that was common in pop culture retellings.
Recent Lesbian Historical Fiction
Time for the recent, new, and forthcoming books! In the podcast, I mostly stick to listing the books and giving the cover copy. Every once in a while I’ll mention a recommendation or a content advisory, but I want this part of the podcast to be a neutral service as much as possible. But people regularly ask me for more guidance in which f/f historicals I’d recommend, so I’m trying out a new service on the Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast’s Patreon, where I provide micro-reviews based on preview excerpts. If you’d like to opt in to that sort of content, the Patreon link is in the show notes. Please keep in mind that this is the LHMP Patreon, not the TLT Patreon and these micro-reviews are not in any way affiliated with TLT or with The Lesbian Review.
I start off with a couple of December books and then the rest are coming out in January.
The first title is in competition for the earliest setting in my database: Where There Are Mountains self-published by Sarah Pearlman. The story is inspired by an archaeological find of a grave with two female skeletons embracing.
5000 BCE. Seven thousand years ago. A time of great migrations that took place over hundreds of years and thousands of miles as numerous tribes fled the cold and hunger of their northern homeland to travel a path south. Most were peaceful, wanting only a place where there was food and warmth—struggling past tribes that lived near Mount Olympus and the mountain passes of what would become Hellas. Greece. A matrilineal people that worshiped a female divinity. Celebrating and giving gratitude for the fertility of the land, the birthing of children, and sexual pleasure. Desire without rules. Others on the path were warrior people. Tribes who came to conquer and enslave. Bringing their male gods.
Clara's Way self-published by Roberta R. Carr is one of those books that only hints at sapphic content and I haven’t been able to get solid confirmation.
The year is 1904. Nurse Clara Tyler happily spends her days tending patients in rural Ohio. Her brother, who is working in Panama on the great canal, informs the family he must return home due to illness. Too sick to travel alone, he begs Clara to come and get him. Anxious about going but determined to save her brother, Clara makes her way to the Canal Zone. She is quickly drawn into a web of heartbreak, controversy, and friendship that keeps her there. When her father demands she return, Clara must decide where she belongs in this gripping tale about love and loss, courage, and the unexpected paths that shape our lives.
The next book is rather tenuous on the historic front, being a secondary world fantasy, but inspired by a gender-flipped version of Shakespeare’s Henry IV. Lady Hotspur by Tessa Gratton from Tor Books. Whether you count it as a historical or not, I suspect it will be of interest to readers who like historicals.
STRIKE FAST, LOVE HARD, LIVE FOREVER This is the motto of the Lady Knights―sworn to fealty under a struggling kingdom, promised to defend the prospective heir, Banna Mora. But when a fearsome rebellion overthrows the throne, Mora is faced with an agonizing choice: give up everything she’s been raised to love, and allow a king-killer to be rewarded―or retake the throne, and take up arms against the newest heir, Hal Bolingbrooke, Mora’s own childhood best friend and sworn head of the Lady Knights. Hal loathes being a Prince; she’s much more comfortable instated on the Throne of Misrule, a raucous underground nether-court where passion rules all. She yearns to live up to the wishes of everyone she loves best―but that means sacrificing her own heart, and so she will disappoint everyone until the moment she can rise to prove those expectations wrong. And between these two fierce Princes is the woman who will decide all their fates―Lady Hotspur Persy, the fiery and bold knight whose support will turn the tides of the coming war.
A couple months ago I commented on what seemed like a flood of f/f Robin Hood stories in my forthcoming books spreadsheet. This month’s contribution is Nottingham by Anna Burke from Bywater Books.
Robyn Hood didn’t set out to rob the rich, but in Nottingham, nothing ever goes according to plan. . . . After a fateful hunting accident sends her on the run from the law, Robyn finds herself deep in the heart of Sherwood Forest. All she really wants to do is provide for her family and stay out of trouble, but when the Sheriff of Nottingham levies the largest tax in the history of England, she’s forced to take matters into her own hands. Relying on the help of her band of merry women and the Sheriff’s intriguing—and off limits—daughter, Marian, Robyn must find a way to pull off the biggest heist Sherwood has ever seen. With both heart and freedom at stake, just how much will she risk to ensure the safety of the ones she loves?
This next book combines some interesting cross-time tropes with the paranormal. Spellbound by Jackie D. and Jean Copeland from Bold Strokes Books.
Hazel Abbot spent her whole life unaware she was a witch. When a spell thrusts her great-aunt Sarah Hutchinson forward from the Salem witch trials of 1692 and lands her in Hazel’s bookstore, everything Hazel thought she knew about herself changes. Complicating matters, Raven Dare, a supernatural hunter, informs her that they’ve all been summoned by the Queen Witch, Morgan le Fay. Morgan compels Hazel, Sarah, and Raven to correct the shift in the realms of good and evil by ridding the world of the evil that followed Sarah into modern day. If they fail, the forces of white magic will be extinguished forever. But completing the perilous mission, convincing Sarah to return to Puritan life, and resisting their growing attraction for each other might prove more difficult than Hazel and Raven ever anticipated.
For this next book, I had to poke around a little but was able to confirm that it definitely has queer elements, although I have no idea how it all comes out in the end. The Companion by Kim Taylor Blakemore from Lake Union Publishing
1855, New Hampshire. Lucy Blunt is set to hang for a double murder. Murderess or victim? Only Lucy knows the truth. In the shadow of the gallows, Lucy reflects on the events that led to her bitter downfall—from the moment she arrived at the rambling Burton mansion looking for work and a better life to the grisly murders themselves. In a mysterious household of locked doors and forbidden affections, Lucy slips comfortably into the shadows, where she believes the indiscretions of her past will remain hidden. But when Lucy’s rising status becomes a threat to the mistress’s current companion, the delicate balance of power and loyalty begins to shift, setting into motion a brewing storm of betrayal, suspicion, and rage. Now, with her execution looming closer, Lucy’s allies fight to have her sentence overturned as the tale she’s spinning nears its conclusion. But how much of her story can we trust? After all, Lucy’s been known to bend the truth…
Similarly to the previous, I was able to get confirmation that despite the somewhat ambiguous cover copy, Blood Countess by Lana Popovic from Amulet Books definitely has queer content. This appears to be a purely historical take on Countess Báthory and not a supernatural one.
In 17th century Hungary, Anna Darvulia has just begun working as a scullery maid for the young and glamorous Countess Elizabeth Báthory. When Elizabeth takes a liking to Anna, she’s vaulted to the dream role of chambermaid, a far cry from the filthy servants’ quarters below. She receives wages generous enough to provide for her family, and the Countess begins to groom Anna as her friend and confidante. It’s not long before Anna falls completely under the Countess’s spell—and the Countess takes full advantage. Isolated from her former friends, family, and fiancé, Anna realizes she’s not a friend but a prisoner of the increasingly cruel Elizabeth. Then come the murders, and Anna knows it’s only a matter of time before the Blood Countess turns on her, too.
What Am I Reading?
So what am I reading? After last month’s reading extravaganza, this month was a lot slower. I’ve been reading different books on three different ebook apps: Claire O’Dell’s A Jewel Bright Sea on my phone, my own newest novel Floodtide while testing new ebook apps since iBooks isn’t playing nicely with non-Apple epub files, and in iBooks itself a non-fiction book Romancing the Beat: Story Structure for Romance Novels by Gwen Hayes. I have some thoughts on that last one, because I find that romance novels that follow the structure she promotes as the One True Romance Way fail to work well for me at precisely the points where they adhere most closely to her formula. I may blog about that.
Stat of the Publishing Field
The rest of the podcast is going to be doing some intense numbers geeking about trends in f/f historicals in the past year. If you’re a numbers geek like me, I strongly suggest following the link in the show notes to the transcript of this podcast so you can follow along in print. If you’re not a numbers geek, then I won’t feel the least bit insulted if you skip the rest of this episode. Really. It’s ok. Because if you aren’t a numbers geek, this is going to be really boring.
Last year, I did a separate episode that took my ongoing database of relevant historical fiction and did something of a survey of the field and comparing 2018 to what had come before. It’s a very rough analysis because my data is far from complete, especially for older titles. But now that I’ve had two years of scouring the new releases for historicals featuring queer women, I can start making some sort of comparisons for the current state of the field. I’m alternating between grouping the books based on which year I mentioned them on the podcast and publication date so not all the numbers will match. As usual, I can only talk about the books I know about, and I include historic fantasy as long as the setting is in some way identifiable by time and place.
The numbers of books mentioned on the pocast this year and last are roughly similar 101 in 2019 compared to 83 last year. When you look at date of publication, the groups are essentially identical, around a hundred in both cases.
Let’s start with basic publishing info. This year, 40% of the books were self-published, including through Amazon Digital, while the other 60% had a named publisher. In some cases the named publisher is a one-author imprint, so they’re functionally self-published, but this would take some work to sort out. This year’s 40% figure compares to 20% self-published last year. I suspect this isn’t a true change, but rather a reflection of me getting better at searching for relevant books on Amazon, and thus identifying more Amazon-published books, rather than needing to hear about them through other channels.
Of the books with named publishers, there were 49 different publishers for the 2019 books, but 80% of those publishers only had a single title on the list. This compares very closely with 2018 when I found 46 different publishers and 75% with only a single title. Statistically equivalent.
So for publishers who put out more than one title, that leaves us with 10 publishers in 2019 and 12 in 2018. Five publishers met the threshold both years. This included two mainstream presses (Harper Collins and Tor.com) and three small presses (Bella Books, Bold Strokes Books, and Sapphire Books). Bold Strokes was the clear leader in 2018 with 8 historic titles, but dropped to only 2 titles in 2019. The other publishers held steady in the 2-3 titles range. Five publishers had 2 titles this year after not meeting the threshold last year, while 8 publishers met the threshold last year but not this year.
Publishers with >1 title both years
Moved up into >1
Moved down from >1
I’m hesitant to draw any large conclusions since the numbers we’re dealing with are small, but overall it feels like a slight contraction in the market. What the publisher numbers don’t tell you is one striking trend, which is for historic romance authors who have already made a name for themselves writing m/f or m/m historicals taking on an f/f project. Writers like Cat Sebastian, Olivia Waite, Courtney Milan, and K.J. Charles. Two of them publish with mainstream presses and two are self-published.
Another way to look at the data is to take a set of 8 small lesfic presses as an index, based on long-term presence in the field and current activity in lesfic in general. For this index I use Affinity, Bella, Bold Strokes, Bywater, Regal Crest, Sapphire, Spinsters Ink, and Ylva. They’re also useful because I can check their back catalogs and be fairly confident that I haven’t missed much. If you look at the total number of historicals put out year by year from this index group, it’s averaging barely over 12 books per year for the last half dozen years, with fewer earlier than that. The numbers fluctuate a bit year to year, but not enough to show a current trend up or down.
Total books published by the index group
One clear conclusion that I also mentioned last year is how diffused f/f historicals are throughout the publishing landscape. There is no one publisher or even group of publishers that a reader can rely on to find f/f historicals. And, conversely, there are no f/f publishers who focus on historicals sufficiently to build up a reputation and expertise in the field. One of the things that became clear from the buzz around the mainstream writers entering this genre is that there are a lot of readers out there who would like more well-written f/f historical romances, but that they have no idea how to find them except from their existing social media networks. I keep hoping that this podcast will fill at least some part of that need.
So those are the dry numbers in terms of who’s putting out books. How about settings and themes? This is where I really have fun crunching the numbers! But outside of statistics, some impressions include clusters of Robin Hood retellings, highwaywoman adventures, the usual popularity of Regency romances, but less focus on the US Civil War and wild west settings. The two world wars continue to be a popular setting, but this year the period between them is fairly well populated as well. Now for the details.
The emphasis on stories set in the 19th and 20th centuries is identical to last year’s with about 80% of stories being set in the last two centuries. Earlier settings aren’t quite so badly skewed to the early modern period this year. About equal numbers are set in the medieval-to-Renaissance period as in the 17th and 18th centuries, with a smaller number set even before that, mostly in classical Greece or Rome.
Stories with New World settings are all in the 19-20th century group--no colonial period or Revolutionary War stories. Half the pre-19th century stories are set in the British Isles, which is also similar to last year, and British settings still dominate the early 19th century due to the popularity of the Regency. But this year The British Isles hold their own against American settings from the mid-19th to mid-20th century. This may be related to seeing fewer Civil War and Wild West settings.
Other than those two geographic juggernauts, where are stories being set? About a quarter of the stories have a primary setting that falls outside the US or Great Britain plus Ireland. But this is down from about a third last year. The US settings have also dropped from around 50% to around 40% and it’s been the British settings that have made up the difference. Non-US non-British settings are primarily European, especially France and Germany, with single representatives from the Caribbean, Uruguay, Japan, and Malaysia (which last has much of the action in England).
Looking at the US settings in more detail, we see a drop in stories set in the South (possibly related to the drop in Civil War settings) but otherwise similar regional proportions. I was able to identify 11 specific states in the cover copy, compared to 18 last year, and California edged out Texas for second place after New York this year.
I’ve been trying to do some coding in my database to track things such as whether books are strict history or have fantastic elements, whether they can be classified as romance in a broad sense, whether they have cross-time motifs, and what the sexual content is. Unfortunately this can be difficult when I’m only working from cover copy, so most of those aspects will need to wait until I have some way of crowd-sourcing data. But the question of fantasy elements is relatively easy to identify. Despite my delight at some of the great historic fantasy I’ve been reading, stories with fantasy elements have actually dropped somewhat from 27% last year to 20% this year, though the number of titles where the classification isn’t clear could easily erase that difference.
So there’s my take on the year in f/f historic fiction. I’d be interested in knowing what trends and patterns you’ve been seeing as readers. If you’d like to talk about the f/f historicals you’re enjoying, I’m always looking for people to contribute to my book appreciation interviews. Drop me a note.
Markets and Calls for Submissions
Given that I'm posting this last installment on Boswell's Same-Sex Unions at the same time as I'm reading and writing up Foucault's History of Sexuality, I can't help but make some comparisons between the two presentations. In both cases, the authors are presenting a specific take on a field of historic study that is susceptible of widely varied interpretations. Boswell is a historian while Foucault is a philosopher, but both purport to be dealing with historic observations and practices in their analysis. Whatever one may think of Boswell's suggested conclusions, he backs them up with a vast array of primary documentation, often in the original languages as well as in translation. If you want to challenge his ideas, he provides you with the materials to start on your own analysis. Foucault barely cites his sources, rarely in a way that makes it easy to follow up on where his ideas are coming from. Both men (and I emphasize men) purport to be addressing general human experiences, but in fact are narrowly concerned with the experiences of men, and typically of men's experiences in contexts where women are irrelevant or are mere props to the male experience. Boswell acknowledges this and offers apologies. Foucault doesn't quite seem to realize that this might be a problem. On (re)reading these texts, it's easy to see why Boswell's work stirred up energetic discussion and strong reactions. It is less easy for me to see why people treat Foucault's work as ground-breaking and of vast importance to the field. Maybe this is because I'm solidly entrenched in a historian's view of the pursuit of "truth". Maybe isn't an irritated reaction to feeling that Foucault doesn't really seem to consider women to be a relevant part of the pursuit of "truth", either as active agents or as topics. That a masculine truth can be considered universal. Maybe I feel let down by the contrast in the shadow Foucault has cast across the history of sexualtiy and the apparent thinness of the substance. (Who knows, maybe volume 3 will be bursting with brilliant insights that will change my mind.)
Boswell, John. 1994. Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe. Villard Books, New York. ISBN 0-679-43228-0
Chapter 7 & 8, Epilogue & Appendices
These next two chapters feel like a bit of a random grab-bag, where Boswell included any sort of formal same-sex bond that he could include evidence for. As evidence for the general cultural acceptance of formal same-sex bonds, it’s a useful resource. But there seems to be an implication of cultural continuity between all of the examples, and I’m less convinced of that based on the evidence presented.
Chapter 7: The History of Same-Sex Unions in Medieval Europe
The history of actual performance of same-sex unions is harder to trace than the textual history of the liturgies and the visual history of depictions of same-sex couples. Question: to what extent are same-sex union ceremonies a carryover of pagan unions (e.g., Roman fraternal adoption) versus a new (and perhaps specifically Christian?) concept?
There are legal discussion of restraint on adoptive brotherhood that assigned mutual property rights when there was a wife and/or child involved (who would otherwise be the primary heir). References to adoptive brotherhood imply that it was created by a written contract.There are regular Byzantine references to same-sex partners (adelphopoietos) of prominent men. (Detailed discussion of examples of known same-sex pairs.)
When there are prohibitions on specific types of same-sex pairs or for particular types of men to engage in same-sex bonds, these are similar to the context in which male-female bonds are forbidden, e.g., for monks or unions between clergy and lay people. Same-sex unions might also be prohibited between persons within the same degree of relationship that would bar male-female marriage.
There is a discussion of penances for specific types of sexual behavior, including same-sex practices (finally including some more female examples). The context is that same-sex acts are not specially singled out for prohibition.
Various Slavic historical accounts mention male-male unions (sometimes in contexts where the participants were also in male-female marriages), treating them as ordinary practice. These unions regularly assume emotional closeness as a motivating factor.
Examples are presented of some surviving contracts of brotherhood from Western Europe dating to the 8-12th centuries. There is also a description of an Irish ritual (mentioned previously) recorded by Gerald of Wales that he specifically compares to marriage, though in a derogatory fashion. It involves some features similar to the Eastern ceremonies but also includes blood-sharing which isn’t a feature of the liturgical unions. [Note: This is the case I mentioned above where I feel there is insufficient evidence to conclude a continuous unified tradition, as opposed to an independent and specifically Irish tradition that possibly borrowed some elements from marriage ceremonies.]
Chapter 8: Subsequent Developments
From the 14th century on, Europe was preoccupied with a negative view of homosexuality as the worst imaginable sin. Same-sex union rites disappeared during this period where this feeling predominated. In some cases, there is evidence that the texts for same-sex rites were physically removed form existing codexes. There continue to be references to same-sex union rites in the 16-17th century that include an expectation that they were sexual in nature.
But beside this, there are also examples where same-sex union ceremonies were viewed (at least by the local culture) as positive. Examples are given from Dalmatia of a living tradition of “sworn brotherhood or sisterhood”, including a specific eyewitness account of two young women celebrating their union in church in the early 17th century. In Eastern liturgical collections, there continue to be references to same-sex unions being compared to marriage. And in Ottoman-dominated areas in the 16-17th century, there are references to the complications of same-sex unions across religious lines, similar to concerns over marriages across religious lines.
Boswell provides a number of more modern and/or anthropological examples of same-sex unions, all male-male. In general these unions are not viewed as primarily erotic, but are recognized as having erotic potential. He asserts that “artificial sibling relationships occur less commonly between females” without questioning whether this is an accurate demographic observation or simply an imbalance in the documentary evidence. There is a discussion of popular/folk understandings of “blood brothers” and how both the reality and the mythology differ from formal same-sex unions. He speculates on the possibility that the Albanian tradition of cross-gender “sworn virgins” might be relatable to same-sex unions, but provides no evidence.
The epilogue lays out the basic facts of the same-sex union ceremonies.
The appendices provide translations and in some cases the original texts of same-sex union ceremonies, alongside some of the male-female ceremonies from the same documents for comparison. Several other topics are present in appendices: Jewish perspectives, a list of relevant manuscripts, the Life of Saints Serge and Bacchus.
One of the fascinating aspects of the development of (western) marriage as a socio-religious-legal structure is the extent to which it derived legitimacy from symbolic performative acts by the parties to the marriage. (Those parties might be only the two people getting married, or their families might be considered "parties to the marriage" with required actions. It depended.) If the correct set of things were said and done (with "the correct set" altering over time and by local culture) then one was married. The idea that an external authority had the right to determine whether or not a marriage existed was rather late in developing. If a man and a woman of appropriate age and with no pre-existing impediments made a present-tense statement of consent to marry, that could (in some places/times) be sufficient to create the fact of marriage.
The requirement that it be "a man and a woman" was, to a large extent, an implcit rather than explicit pre-requisite.
This symbolic/performative aspect of the creation of the married state is what Boswell is focusing on in the current section. Because if you have a union between two people of the same sex that uses the same core set of performative acts as is used for m/f marriage (though perhaps not always the full set of performative acts), what is it that makes the two resulting unions qualitatively different? (As opposed to different in secondary consequences, such as those involving descendents and inheritance.) If we're going to say that a ceremony of adelphopoiesis between two men--which uses the same language and symbolism as a marriage--is not a marriage, wherein lies the difference except in the self-referential definition by gender?
This is where a broader study in time and gender could benefit from looking at the self-developed ceremonies of union that women created together in more recent times--ceremonies that deliberately invoked the performative acts of marriage such as an exchange of rings and vows. One big difference is that those f/f ceremonies belong largely to an era where state (or church) approval of a union had become required for it to be a marriage. It isn't necessary to have an absolute legal prohibition on two people of the same sex marrying if one has a social understanding that the state or the church will refuse to record such a union as a marriage, as long as the act of recording the marriage has taken over as the "performative act." To continue my theme of tying this book in with the marriage equality movement in the USA, this state gate-keeping function became a key aspect. If there is no explicit prohibition on the state recording a marriage between two persons of the same sex--because it was expected that the implicit social prohibition needed no additional back-up--then how can it be invalid for a duly appointed official of the state to upend everything by simply choosing to "open the gate"? When Gavin Newsom, as mayer of San Francisco, directed government officials to record same-sex unions as marriages, opponents scrambled to identify some other means of putting a lock on the gate that they hadn't expected anyone to open.
In 18th century England, there are more than a few marriage registers that record either the marriage of two persons with female names, the marriage of two persons who were later determined to be both female (or where the recorded noted a belief that both were female), or the refusal to record a marriage for a couple where it was believed that both were female. (See Donoghue 1996 ch. 2) Setting aside the question (which would have been legally irrelevant at the time) of couples involving a woman and a trans man, under what legal context would a properly recorded marriage of this type be valid? Under what pretext would it be invalidated? When additional information is available on specific cases (such as the late 17th century marriage between Amy Poulter and Arabella Hunt) it is curious that the "obvious" argument that a marriage of two women could not possibly be valid was not necessarily used. (In the case of Poulter and Hunt, the marriage was declared invalid because Poulter was already married at the time and it was therefore bigamy, which certainly suggests that the women's marriage could have been valid otherwise. Though one suspects another ruse would have been found to invalidate it.)
Boswell, John. 1994. Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe. Villard Books, New York. ISBN 0-679-43228-0
Chapter 5 & 6
Chapter 5: The Development of Nuptial Offices
Before 1000, priestly blessing of a marriage was an optional favor. Its absence (or refusal) didn’t make the marriage invalid. There was no standard form for this blessing. It was only considered an expected part of the ceremony for the clergy (priests could marry until the 11th century). Often the blessing was only for the bride, not for the couple as a unit.
Though various themes developed earlier, not until the 12th century did a systematic canon law of marriage develop. One feature (not always previously present) was the expressed consent of both parties. The Eastern church had been more active in oversight of marriage at an earlier date, as part of a greater overall involvement of the church in state affairs. But church involvement was still not required for a valid marriage if mutual consent were exchanged.
In local practice, other symbols besides the statement of consent might be used in the marriage contract, such as the transfer of a dowry and ritual abduction. Concubinage was still a recognized arrangement. But by the 12th century, the concept was developing that marriage should arise out of love, rather than love being a later consequence. The hypothetical Christian prohibition on divorce did not prevent it from being accepted up through the early medieval period.
Specific religious ceremonies for unions arose first in the East. An 8th century set of religious offices (i.e., rituals) includes one for male-female betrothal, two for male-female marriage, and one for “uniting” a male-male pair. The offices include similar structures and wording. (There is a detailed discussion of this comparison.)
The male-male ceremony invoked archetypal male pairs such as saints Serge and Bacchus and uses the language of “brothers.” Boswell reminds us of the examples of fraternal language being used for male-female married pairs.
There are seven other known pre-12th century examples of same-sex union ceremonies, mostly from Eastern sources. Many more are known beginning in the 12th century and tapering off slightly in the 13-14th century, with a resurgence in the 15-16th centuries. [Note: I didn’t notice any discussion of overall statistics for manuscript production across this period, so it’s hard to know whether these fluctuations are driven by the specific content or by overall patterns in manuscript culture.]
Most of these texts are in Greek, a few in Slavic liturgical languages, and none in Latin even though there is some evidence that similar ceremonies were performed in the West. [Note: Boswell specifically adduces an Irish example as support for “performed in the West” but I have questions about whether that example--discussed below--is clearly part of the same liturgical tradition as opposed to a similar but distinct local tradition.]
With the shift to printing in the 17th century, these same-sex rituals were rarely included in new versions of existing liturgical collections. In some cases, when included, it was noted that their use was forbidden.
Over the course of the textual tradition, the ceremony evolved from a simple set of prayers to an elaborate ceremony that could include candles, the joining and binding of hands, covering the heads with a stole, prayer, communion, a kiss, and circling the altar together.
There is a discussion of the manuscript contexts and philosophical questions about the nature and purpose of the ceremony. There is a consideration of theories and arguments about what these ceremonies don’t represent.
Chapter 6: Comparison of Same-Sex and Heterosexual Ceremonies of Union
This chapter does a detailed “compare and contrast” of the structure and features of Christian male-female marriage ceremonies and the same-sex union ceremonies in these liturgical collections. Both include an appeal to “peace and love (agape)” that is taken from the language of “Apostolic peace.” Both can include the symbolism of crowning. This is a common marriage symbol in Eastern ceremonies for male-female couples and is also seen for pairs of saints and martyrs. Both sets of rituals can include a prayer over a common cup that the couple drink from. This was not originally related to the taking of communion.
The same-sex union litany can include:
Crowning was originally part of the betrothal ceremony and was only shifted to the marriage ceremony later. It was less common in same-sex rites while the taking of communion together was less common in male-female rites.
A banquet was a common follower for all manner of formal ceremonies, though it was rarely mentioned specifically in the ritual for either type. (More often it is mentioned in descriptions of specific union ceremonies.)
After sharing the common cup, the priest leads the couple around the altar three times. This does not appear in the earliest rites but was common both types by the end of the Middle Ages.
Use of a symbolic cross and ring are common in male-female ceremonies but not for same-sex ones. More rare in both (and with uncertain purpose) was the presence of an unsheathed sword.
A key element in both types of ceremony was the joining of right hands, which derives from pre-Christian Roman practice. By the Middle Ages, the joining of right hands has become the primary iconic symbol of the act of marriage and appears frequently in both sacred and secular art.
Same-sex rituals do not mention rings and do not include a ritual expression of consent, but this is not common in male-female rituals either until the 12th century.
The Biblical passages specified to be read during the ceremony are different for the two types of rituals, although there is some overlap.
Systematic studies of medieval heterosexual marriage ceremonies have identified two recurring symbols, not all of which are necessarily present. Some relate specifically to dowry/bride-price and thus would not be expected to be included in a same-sex ceremony. Those elements that are regularly present in both are: joining hands, joining with the veil/stole, a kiss, a feast.
In chapter 4, the polemical nature of this book becomes most evident. In tracing the development of Christian attitudes toward--and forms of--marriage, Boswell’s through-line is that there is no logical way to integrate Christian approaches to heterosexual marriage with a blanket prohibition on same-sex marriage. Some of the criticism of both this book and CST&H are that both books feel too much like a supplicant begging for acceptance, thinking that if only the right logical argument were offered, Christianity would suddenly realize, “OMG, we’ve been wrong all along! We’re so sorry! We’ll stop persecuting gays now!” But religious doctrine has never been logically consistent, even when it uses the trappings of logic and philosophy. Similar criticisms were made of Bernadette Brooten’s work on female same-sex love in the early Christian era, with the additional critique that Brooten sometimes seems to throw gay men under the bus in arguing that scripture-based arguments really only applied to exploitive age-differentiated male-male relations and not to cozy, love-based female-female ones. I exaggerate, of course. But both authors were working from a place of desiring acceptance within a religious context that they were deeply emotionally invested in. And that colored how they presented their arguments.
Boswell, John. 1994. Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe. Villard Books, New York. ISBN 0-679-43228-0
Chapter 4: Views of the New Religion
The rise of Christianity in Europe was not the driver of changes in sexual and romantic relations that we often imagine it was. The most significant changes--such as the predominance of monogamy and the expectation of sexual fidelity between married partners--either were already i process or were not closely tied to core Christian teachings.
Christian ascetic ideals got a lot of attention, but were not embraced by the majority. The ascetic ideals, however, meant the church took a long time to focus on marriage as being within the scope of clerical interest. Marriage wasn’t proclaimed a sacrament and therefore an act that required church involvement until 1215. The official position was that the best excuse for marriage was to avoid fornication, and the only acceptable purpose for sex was procreation. These grudging allowances colored Christian attitudes to other types of unions and erotic activities.
At the same time, the language and symbolism of marriage were transferred to other institutions and relationships, such as the Christ-church relationship and the image of dedicated virgins as “brides of Christ.” Another transfer of relational terminology and concepts was fraternal imagery for relations based on affection or common purpose. Thus all Christians were “brothers and sisters” in a sense. This produced conflicts of imagery with respect to marriage (contradicting anti-incest concepts) though in another sense it followed some older traditions that had treated marriage as a type of “collateral adoption”, turning a wife into a sister.
The chapter explores other examples of both marital and fraternal imagery in the Old and New Testaments. Examples of same-sex bonds in that imagery include David & Jonathan, Ruth & Naomi, Jesus & John.
Post-Biblical same-sex pairs featured in Christian iconography include the martyr saints Perpetua and Felicitas (who were in an owner-slave relation). Their story places an emphasis on their status as mothers, each having an infant at the time of their martyrdom, but there is no mention in the legend of a husband for Perpetua. (As a slave, Felicitas would not necessarily be expected to have a spouse.)
Male pairs described in the language of brotherly/fraternal bonds incude the saints Serge and Bacchus who were martyred as a bonded pair. The chapter includes a discussion of the language and symbolism used in depicting these paired martyrs.
While re-reading this chapter for the blog, I had a lot of flashbacks to the period after 2008 when California (my home state) first legalized same-sex marriage, then took it away under a ballot proposition, then ruled against the results of the proposition in the state supreme court, then waited for the parallel US Supreme Court decision that legalized same-sex marriage throughout the USA. The fight isn't over--we are seeing how easy it is for rights to be eroded, roadblocked, or de facto reversed under a hostile regime. Through all that period, there was the constant wave of frustration at how the "one man + one woman" crowd were unable to come up with a coherent logical argument for their model as the sole valid one. I read through the arguments before the California Supreme Court in detail and they rehearse a lot of points similar to what Boswell explores in this chapter -- the long and constantly shifting concept that is "marriage" which has never aligned with the supposed ideal that marriage-conservatives claim to support.
I have a novel outline (one of my few near-contemporary ideas) in which one subplot involves that process in California and the emotional whiplash that potential access to same-sex marriage created. I still remember vividly the day the CA Supreme Court decision was announced (before Prop 8 snatched it away again, temporarily) and that overwhelming euphoria of, "If I had a had a girlfriend and we wanted to spend our lives together, today we could get marriage. Just like anyone else." And however I may nitpick aspects of Boswell's gender-blindness in Same-Sex Unions, I'm pretty certain that this book was a major contributor to the process tha made that moment possible.
Chapter 2 & 3
Chapter 2: Heterosexual Matrimony in the Greco-Roman World
This chapter explains the structures and functions of various male-female relationships, as a prelude to expanding the focus more generally. There were different types of relationships for sexual fulfillment, property contracts, and production of children.
Of these, property arrangements were the most important in upper class marriages. Marriage might also provide sexual fulfillment or companionship, but these were not the focus. Emotional bonds might happen after marriage but weren’t considered a prerequisite. There is no pre-modern heterosexual union that corresponds in attributes and expectations to the 20th century view of marriage.
The attributes and expectations of heterosexual marriage shifted and altered over time, and not unidirectionally. The properties inherited by the Christian marriage tradition were, in many ways, arbitrary rather than relating logically to Christian theology. A new form of Roman marriage was developing in the later empire that emphasized slightly more equality between the partners and the importance of female consent to the union. Some restrictions developed on the power and rights of the male partner.
Though real-life marriage contracts were very business-oriented, literature began to develop the idea that romantic love might be a spur to marriage.
This chapter discusses four basic types of heterosexual union, including marriage, concubinage, and ownership. [Note: despite the reference to “four types” I couldn’t find a clear list of what the four were.]
Chapter 3: Same-Sex Unions in the Greco-Roman World
In the same period covered by the preceding chapter, there were four general types of same-sex relationships roughly parallel to the heterosexual unions. [Note: Of course, what this means is four types of male-male relationships. In this book and this summary, one should always understand “same-sex” as “male-male” unless specifically contradicted.] The same-sex relationships were more flexible and less legalistic. Here we’re talking about “relationships” that include sexual or romantic bonds.
As with heterosexual relationships, one form is ownership, though the sexual nature of such a relationship tends to be mentioned only in casual records. [Note: this is an example of how “same-sex” does not necessarily include female-female, as there were social and legal restrictions on whether a woman owned her slaves directly or whether they technically belonged to some male relative.]
Same-sex concubinage was similar to heterosexual concubinage in being a recognized long-term bond focused on emotional and physical relations where both parties were free. Male-male concubinage was less common than the heterosexual type, but it was not rare. There are references in poetry to how a male concubine was expected to be dismissed at his partner’s (heterosexual) marriage.
When the partners had equal social standing, something best described as “lovers” might be recognized where there was no legal tie but the partners were united by affection and desire. This is well known from Greek contexts. Modern commentary sometimes focuses on the expectation of an age difference in these relationships, but a similar age difference was expected in heterosexual relationships and the expectations for the roles played within the union were similar. But the demographics were more variable than the common stereotype for these unions. The language used for them was similar to that used for heterosexual pairs. Specific examples of male-male lovers contradict the image that the “beloved” was necessarily an adolescent.
Detailed examples are provided showing different types of relationships with examples of the language used for them. All the examples are male couples.
The fourth type is a formal union, recognized publicly and involving a change in status for one or both men. Examples are given of male-male unions in Rome that are discussed in the language of marriage, although the discussion somewhat glosses over the satirical or political context of some of these examples.
Examples of female same-sex unions are given from the Dialogues of the Courtesans [Note: I’ve reproduced a translation of the dialogue in this podcast] and Iamblichos’ story of Berenice and Mesopotamia. [Note: see this LHMP entry for the text.]
Bowell posits that same-sex “marriage” would not have been a concept before the empire with the rise of the concept of “romantic marriage”. Before that, marriage was solely an economic and dynastic arrangement. Using heterosexual models posed some problems for same-sex unions as the former presupposed unequal roles. A 4th century law forbade same-sex marriage if male-female gender roles were involved. But in some historic contexts, similar laws were promulgated against adultery and against certain types of heterosexual marriage with little evidence of enforcement.
[Note: Boswell’s point here, and in other similar passages, is to point out that the simple existence of prohibitions shouldn’t be taken as a special animus against same-sex unions, or for that matter as evidence that such unions were suppressed, when similar prohibitions existed against types of heterosexual activity that clearly continued to flourish.]
Same-sex marriages were less common in the late empire, but other types of same-sex unions became popular and were referenced in literature. These rituals included swearing pledges and ritual “abductions” similar to those used in heterosexual marriage. Examples of these are given, all male-male.
Another type of formal same-sex union was “collateral adoption” using the language of siblings. These adoptions created rights to inheritance without subjugating one party as a “child” of the other. Boswell notes that Roman law sometimes treated heterosexual marriage as a type of collateral adoption, specifically using language of the wife becoming a sister of the groom.
There is a discussion of the social understandings of “fraternal adoption” and multiple contexts in which it was used. One window on understanding its relation to marriage comes from the concept of “conubium”, that is, the right to marry a Roman citizen. In one law case involving a fraternal adoption, a concept similar to conubium was invoked to assert that a Roman citizen had no ability to enter a fraternal adoption with a non-Roman man.
Like Boswell’s Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality, I read this book back when it first came out and had not yet generated the intense discussion that marked its reception. (In fact, on checking the publication information, I appear to have picked up a first edition of the original hardcover.) Looking back in the context of this re-read, two things come back to me that still hold.
Firstly, although Boswell’s clear intent was to provide data for, and stimulate discussion of, the topic of same-sex marriage in modern American society, he really did frame his material very carefully and precisely. He doesn’t claim that the “same-sex union” ceremonies and customs in his research were considered marriage, or were a type of marriage. He does provide evidence that people at the time regularly compared them to marriage, as well as pointing out in great detail that many types of formal heterosexual unions, and many details of heterosexual marriage at that time, bear no relationship to our modern concept. And yet, when it first came out, so much of the negative reception of this book (not only from homophobes, but from critical historians) appeared to reacting as if it had claimed "adelphopoiesis is medieval gay marriage." Which, in fact, was what many enthusiastic non-historians took away from the book. Whether that mistaken reaction was within Boswell's intent or not is open to question and I suspect he may have provided the answer at some point.
The second thing that comes back to me--and which still holds--is the depth of my anger over Boswell’s blythe assertion that his overwhelmingly male-focused data can--of course!--be extrapolated to women’s lives. The wrong-headedness of this position should be blindingly obvious, and yet time and again we find male scholars of the history of homosexuality taking the position that male experiences are universal and that women’s experiences are, at most, a minor variant thereof. If they address the topic at all.
There is even less woman-focused material in this book than in CST&H. And, as noted by several authors in the collection The Lesbian Pre-Modern, there has been an unfortunate tendency in the rise of Queer Studies for this centering of male narratives to continue, even as the use of the term “queer” stakes a moral claim to universal coverage. Marginalized groups are never de-marginalized by dominant groups deigning to include them. Indeed, works like this that focus on the male experience with the excuse that “the data is overwhelmingly male” will never be capable of redressing that imbalance because they have no incentive to dig beyond a few familiar examples, but then turn around and imply that those examples are all that exist.
Just as a random example, becasue Boswell is focusing on "sworn partner" relationships that follow the adelphopoiesis model, it's outside the scope of his study to consider historic traditions like "female husbands" or Boston marriages--phenomena that did not have a corresponding male version, and that therefore are invisible under his search for “female correlates of male-recorded and male-centered phenomena.”
Anyway. This is a useful and valuable book, but it can make no genuine claim to being about “same-sex unions”. It is about male-male unions, focusing on the types of social arrangements made between people with social, political, and economic power, who have the ability (and sometimes the inclination) to exclude the concerns of women from the central focus of their lives. Take it for that and look elsewhere for historic data about the arrangements that women made among themselves.
Introduction and Chapter 1
The modern West has a peculiar fascination with the topic of romantic love as it existed in older cultures, projecting the 19-20th century cultural obsession with romance onto the past. Other cultures and societies have had entirely different cultural preoccupations to a similar degree, such as personal fame, family lineage, etc. Romantic love does appear as a similar preoccupation in certain other eras, though not always with the odd expectation that love and marriage are tied together. Projecting this concept onto older eras and cultures creates deep misunderstandings of those cultures.
Even within Christian culture, views on marriage have varied widely. There is no single set of necessary and sufficient conditions to explain attitudes toward love and marriage in Western history.
When Western prejudice against same-sex relations collides with this chaotic definition of marriage, the structural issues are even clearer. [Note: To tie this point to more recent politics, a certain amount of the argumentation that led to the legalization of same-sex marriage in the USA involved pointed out these structural issues: that there are no logical arguments that support excluding all same-sex marriages that would not also invalidate large numbers of heterosexual marriages.]
This preoccupation + prejudice means that the question modern Western society asks about the same-sex unions discussed in this work is “were they homosexual?” But this question makes little sense in the historic context. Formalized same-sex unions have existed in many cultures in many eras. But the anti-gay attitude in Western culture demands that we make a clear distinction between erotic and non-erotic relations within them.
Boswell makes the usual apology for the predominance of male data over female. He says he made a special effort to examine “female correlates of male-recorded and male-centered phenomena.” [Note: but this assumes that they correlate, as opposed to involving qualitatively different phenomena.]
Chapter 1: The Vocabulary of Love and Marriage
This chapter provides a detailed discussion of various words used for the love/passion range of meanings and their nuances of meaning and use. A similar analysis of vocabulary is provided for marriage-like concepts. The focus is on Greek and Latin and how Greek and Latin vocabulary were translated into English (especially in Biblical contexts) Boswell discusses the problems of translating contextual of “slang” meanings of words. The purpose of this chapter is to shake up the reader’s premise that words must be read and understood in their “literal” meanings. [Note: This is not material that can be summarized in brief. If this summary intrigues you, I highly recommend just going out and reading the whole book.]
I am continuing my self-invented tradition of posting a year-end summary of my activity on this blog an other writing activities. It reminds me that--no matter how it sometimes feels--I really have been productive. It also makes a convenient reference for things like what books I've read and movies I've enjoyed--although it's become less useful for that since I've gotten much spottier about posting media reviews and am badly behind on my book reviews. It's also interesting to see the shifts in content. Am I focusing primarily on the Lesbian Historic Motif Project? Am I blogging about writing? Do I have a book I'm promoting?
The process of compiling my annual output can make me feel accomplished, but it can also leave me despondent about whether all that effort is being read by more than a very few people. (The down side of reviewing my Google Analytics stats is that the "time on page" data tells me just how many of the visits are bots and spiders.) As I mentioned on facebook the other day, the biggest secondary purpose of my online activity is the equivalent of small talk at a cocktail party: am I convincing people that I'm an interesting person they'd like to have conversations with? My online emotional equilibrium would be easier to maintain if I were measuring everything by monetization. At least that involves hard numbers. Am I really so peculiar for hoping to have conversations with online friends and potential friends that revolve around research, writing, and thinking thinky thoughts? (I mean, cat pictures are all very well, but woman does not live by cat pictures alone.)
This review covers January 1, 2019 through December 31, 2019 because the next few blogs are already drafted and ready to go. It can be fun to compare it to my 2018 review or the 2017 one and for the full set, click on the Year-End Summary tag at the bottom of the post. (Unfortunately, the early ones are migrated from LiveJournal and the links to the specific blogs may be dead, due to having migrated that material to DreamWidth.)
Here's the high-level summary:
The fourth Alpennia novel, Floodtide, came out in November. Last year I noted that I hoped to be able to say something about my novella "The Language of Roses" in this year's summary, but it spent the entire year sitting in a slush pile. Although I won't have a new novel next year, I'm working on some short fiction, and once again I have every intention of self-publishing the collected Skinsinger stories (with new concluding novelette). Real soon now. I put out an audio version of my historic short story "Where My Heart Goes" to celebrate the 100th episode of my podcast. (I do hope that at some point the Alpennia books will be available in audio, but it isn't something my publisher actively pursues and I'm dubious that I could get an agent interested in tackling only that aspect.) I also listed a spontaneous photo-story posted originally on Facebook and Twitter (then collated for easier reading) "Not that you’d call mermaids in the strictest sense."
I blogged a lot about Floodtide: at least 4 items about publication milestones (omitting a bunch of minor promotional stuff), 32 teaser posts with a snippet from each chapter and a discussion of the writing process, and 16 guest posts and interviews appearing on other people’s sites. In non-Floodtide essays, I posted 5 items in my “Alpennia FAQ” series and 6 posts on assorted book-related topics. One of the highlights of my year was being a guest on the Smart Bitches Trashy Books podcast.
Lesbian Historic Motif Project
The history blog covered 49 books or articles for a total of 64 separate posts. This brings the total publications up to 278. (The cumulative publication database has 734 entries, but that includes items that I decided not to cover and a few “master entry” listings for collections of articles that aren’t blogged separately. But as a rough estimate, that leaves about 450 publications on my “to do” list at the present time.)
Perhaps the most significant change in the podcast is that I've been "reprising" older shows more often, with 8 episodes being re-runs. I do this for a variety of reasons: to provide background for another topic or interview, to create a thematic set of shows, or--all too often--because I'm in a time crunch and need content. But even that isn't purely selfish. In the first year of the podcast, each episode was getting maybe 300-400 listens. Now it's averaging more than 1000 downloads. So reprising an older show means that I'm often more than doubling the number of people who've had a chance to listen to it. There were, of course, new essays--7 of them--covering historic topics or discussing historic understandings of gender and sexuality. My number of author interviews is down a bit, largely because the logistics of contacting people and arranging for recording is the part of the podcast that gets dropped when my life is too crowded. But I still had 7 author interviews and 6 book appreciation interviews, as well as 3 shows that discussed movies that either included guest reviewers or text input from the TLT facebook group. I also included more shows on the "state of the field" talking about trends in publishing or in content. The monthly summary shows have been shifting a little in content, dropping the mini "Ask Sappho" essays as a regular feature, but adding in more news-of-the-field items, including conferences and calls for submissions that listeners might find interesting. And I'm proud to have completed the LHMP's second fiction series, publishing 5 brand-new original stories, plus airing an audio version of one of my previously published works.
I reviewed 8 books or anthologies under SFF, 12 in the LGBTQ+ category, and 2 “other.” I finally accepted that I didn't have time to do reviews for the SFF Reviews website (which I regret, but I simply wasn't getting to it and it was becoming and emotional weight). I've continued to review for The Lesbian Review and had 12 reviews (or additions to existing reviews) posted there. Among my backlog of "things I've read but haven't reviewed yet" are several tagged for that site, but those will count next year.
My blogging of conferences and associated travel was confined to the Medieval Congress (10 sessions of papers, 6 posts of my book shopping haul, and a blog with the text examples used in the paper I presented) and Worldcon in Dublin Ireland (a dozen posts, mostly just “what I did on my vacation” summaries).
So let’s sum up how 2019 compares to 2018
Detailed List with Links
It occurs to me that the following counts as new fiction, even though I published it on facebook/twitter.
About My Writing
Floodtide Life Events
Floodtide promotional guest-blogs
Lesbian Historic Motif Project (Blog)
Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast
Reviews Books/Fiction - SFF
Reviews Books/Fiction - Queer
Kalamazoo Medieval Congress Sessions
Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 41d - Lesbian Vikings - transcript
(Originally aired 2019/12/28 - listen here)
I love it when people ask me to research a specific topic. But sometimes the short answer to their question is “We know next to nothing about this topic.” That doesn’t mean that that the long answer isn’t interesting. Someone once asked me what I could tell them about Pictish personal names and I spent fifty pages explaining that we know almost nothing about Pictish personal names, and presenting that “almost nothing” in great detail.
So when a friend on Twitter asked me if I could do a show about lesbian Vikings, I didn’t let the knowledge that we have almost no information about non-normative sexuality in the Viking era stop me from putting a show together. I have a somewhat personal stake in the topic because one of my writing project files is for a story I short-hand as “Viking girl kidnaps Welsh princess.” So I’ve done a fair amount of background reading on relevant subjects.
But perhaps the best summary on the topic of homosexuality in the Viking era and culture has been put together by Christie Ward-Wieland who has a research blog aimed at historic re-enactment under the name “The Viking Answer Lady”. She has a very detailed analysis of the available data and interpretation, though most of it is concerned with men rather than women. I’ll be summarizing her work and then moving on to discussing various themes and tropes of interest to writing historical fiction. Then I’ll finish the show with a survey of Viking-themed f/f historical fiction that I’ve been able to find, although I’ll note in advance that most of them are much more on the fantasy side than the historical side.
What do we mean by “Viking”?
To start out with, what exactly do we mean by “Viking”? As pedants will cheerfully point out, Viking isn’t an ethnicity, it’s a job description. Loosely speaking, the Vikings were early medieval Scandinavians who supplemented their agricultural and merchant activities by using maritime superiority to plunder coastal communities (and some not so coastal) around northern Europe.
The Viking era is generally considered to run from the late 8th to the late 11th centuries. Although the core base of operations for the Vikings began in Scandinavia, their explorations, settlements, and cultural interactions spread into Russia in the east, Byzantium and northern Africa in the south, and in the west, on past the British Isles to settle Iceland, claim Greenland, and even try some unsuccessful settlements in North America.
The modern image of the Vikings as uncouth barbarians is hard to shake, but the truths of early medieval Scandinavian culture is much more complex and fascinating. I wish I had time to go into more detail, but let’s just say that while Hollywood Vikings make a big splash in the historical fiction field, there are even more fascinating stories to be told.
Some essential background will be useful. One of the big reasons for Viking expansion and raiding comes from the realities of an agricultural economy in the far north of Europe. The growing season is short, the land is often poor, and the opportunities for an expanding population are mostly elsewhere. Ship voyages--whether for trade or for pillaging--took place in the summer which was also prime growing season. The most common pattern was gendered, with men traveling away with the intent of bringing back portable wealth, and women running the economy at home, including looking after the crops and livestock, producing food and clothing. Women did sometimes travel with the ships, and Norse settlements in Iceland and Greenland certainly depended on entire families going on the voyage. But it is both inescapable and relevant that early medieval Norse society was organized along gendered lines. Those lines were crossed--both historically and in literature--and the ways the culture reacted to those crossings tells us much about the possibilities for variant sexuality.
Homosexuality in Viking Culture
In Ward-Wieland’s article on how Viking-era Norse societies viewed homosexuality, the vast majority of her discussion concerns men. And, as with most historic societies, we can’t assume that attitudes toward male and female homosexuality were parallel. A great deal of the Norse data we have regarding men focuses around anxieties about being seen as a passive participant in anal sex within the context of a society deeply concerned with reputation and manly honor.
As these concerns were strongly gendered and did not apply to women, there’s no reason to extrapolate and conclude that Norse society felt that a woman participating in same-sex activity in any role would necessarily be shamed by it. But that isn’t the same thing as having positive evidence for women’s same-sex relations. (The historic evidence shows that women did have concerns about honor and reputation, but they didn’t involve having sex with other women.)
In terms of direct, overt references to women’s homosexuality, we’re pretty much limited to a late 12th century Icelandic penitential manual, which included a penance for “women [who] satisfy each other [sexually]” which is assigned the same penance as adultery or bestiality. This handbook of penances, written by the Icelandic bishop Thorlak Thorhallson of Skaholt, is not necessarily a reflection of the specific concerns of Icelandic society. Penitential manuals were based on common shared models, not drawn up in response to local custom and practice, and the passage about female homosexuality is closely parallel to material found throughout Europe. It’s also worth noting that, having been written in the late 12th century, the reference falls outside the Viking era proper. And since significant parts of Viking culture were before the spread of Christianity, it would be a mistake to assume that some of the specifically Christian attitudes toward homosexuality must have been present earlier.
So if we know of negative words for male homosexuality, are there parallels that apply to women? Yes, and no. There’s a word “argr” that means “effeminate” or “unmanly” when applied to men. But the feminine form of the word “org”, applied to women, means something like “lecherous” or “immodest” but without indicating a desire for women. This is a pattern seen elsewhere in Europe, where being “unmanly” means allowing yourself to be perceived as a woman, while being “unfeminine” means having an assertive sexuality associated with men.
There’s another bit of vocabulary that is somewhat more suggestive, though it points up the default societal expectation that everyone will participate in heterosexual marriage. A man who avoided marriage was called “fuðflogi”, roughly “flee-cunt”, while a woman who avoided marriage was called “flannfluga”, or equivalently “flee-prick”. While one might see this as simply having the sex act stand in for the state of marriage, one might also interpret it as recognizing that there were people who were strongly disinterested in heterosexual sex.
The only other potential concrete evidence for women in same-sex relationships comes from a type of decorative metalwork called “guldgubber” from the very beginning of the Viking era. These are small gold foil plaques with embossed decorations of human figures. About 3000 of them have been found in archaeological contexts throughout Scandinavia, though most from Denmark. The majority of these images show a man and woman embracing, a few show a single human figure or an animal. The purpose of these ornaments is unclear, but archaeologists and historians originally interpreted them as representing the mythological couple Frey and Gerdh the giant-maiden, and that they served some symbolic purpose at weddings or as a fertility symbol. (If you know archaeologist-speak, you’ll interpret this as, “We actually have no idea but if you have male-female couples, it must have to do with sex in some fashion.)
This interpretation began to be questioned when a new very large find of the ornaments turned out to be primarily single figures and two examples turned up with same-sex pairs embracing, one a male pair and one a female pair. Of course, embraces occur in many cultures representing other types of interactions than romantic or sexual attraction. And archaeologists are quick to re-examine their conclusions when the data starts contradicting traditional stereotypes of gender and sexuality. But whatever it is that they do represent, the statistical distribution indicates that it’s something most commonly envisioned as involving a man and a woman, but in rare cases involving two men or two women. Take that for what it’s worth.
So if we can’t find clear and solid documentation of women in same-sex relationships in Viking-era Norse culture, what can we find in the way of tropes and motifs that are beloved of writers of lesbian historical fiction? I want to be clear here that the following discussion isn’t in any way evidence of lesbian relationships, it’s examples of story building blocks that one might use to construct a story about lesbian Vikings that integrates with historical fact.
One aspect I’ve already mentioned is that Viking-era Scandinavian society drew strict gender lines in work and socializing. In addition to the seasonal departure of men on sailing voyages, women of all social classes in the household gathered in the “kvenna hús”, the women’s quarters, and textile production was so strongly associated with women, that a man who so much as entered the weaving room could lose reputation. In any society where women’s time and activities are primarily spent in the company of other women, emotional and social bonds between women have great significance.
The social status of women in Viking society is an interesting puzzle. Of course, in this era the primary aspect of status was whether one was free or unfree, whether one belonged to a powerful family or one with fewer resources, whether one was the mistress of a household or a servant in it. But women were simultaneously considered of low value--when infants were abandoned to die to preserve resources, it was far more often girls than boys--but had social and familial power far about the norms for Europe in that era. Married women could gain divorces on a variety of pretexts, had significant legal rights, and could be in complete charge of the household if the men were away. But this leverage centered entirely around their roles in heterosexual marriage. There were few options for an unmarried woman, and significant pressure to marry due to skewed gender ratios, especially during the settlements of Iceland and Greenland. The flip side of this is that if a married woman did also have sexual relations with women, it’s likely that there wasn’t much a husband could do to object if he wanted her to stick around. (The reverse wasn’t true, and one ground for easy divorce was a woman presenting evidence that her husband was “unmanly.”)
Stories of Women Warriors and Cross-Gender Performance
Ah, but what about all those stories of Valkyries and women warriors in Viking culture? Well, let’s examine those motifs a bit more closely. The Valkyries were, of course, fictional characters, part of the non-Christian mythos of northern Europe. Perhaps more interesting is the genre of cross-gender saga characters that Carol Clover discusses in her article “Maiden Warriors and Other Sons”. These are stories in which female characters take up arms, and sometimes a complete male identity, in order to carry out a quest or take vengeance on an enemy.
We need to keep in mind that fictional depictions aren’t necessarily a useful guide to actual historic behavior. Since we’ve already moved into the “imagining fictional stories” part of this podcast, I won’t harp on that too much, except to note that one collection of medieval Icelandic laws, whose earliest texts date to the 10th century, specifically prohibit a woman from wearing male clothing, from cutting her hair like a man, from bearing arms, or in general behaving “like a man”, although sexual behavior is not specifically mentioned. There are references in the sagas to types of garments that were considered effeminate enough to bring shame on a man if he wore them, though this seems to be a matter of style rather than of entire female-coded garments. And, as I’ve noted previously, the misogynistic nature of early Norse society means that male and female experiences aren’t comparable. But conversely, if a society sets up laws that are that specifically explicit, it means, firstly, that they could imagine women wearing male clothing, cutting her hair like a man, bearing arms, and in general “behaving like a man,” and secondly, that this idea made them anxious enough to have laws against it. It isn’t actual proof that women were actually doing those things, but it’s proof that they could imagine doing so.
The cross-gender stories that Clover talks about set up a context that may well reflect a real-life exception to these prohibitions that she calls the “maiden warrior” motif, as exemplified by the character of Hervör in Hervarar saga ok Heidhreks which lays out the characteristic context for this particular version of the warrior woman motif.
The outline of Hervör’s story (which is complex and part of a much longer “family saga”) identifies her as the only and posthumous child of the warrior Angantyr. Raised by her mother’s family, she gravitates toward weapons rather than women’s work. She is “as strong as a man” and “trained herself more with bow and shield and sword than with needlework and embroidery”. In other words, a classic case of “not like other girls!” But it isn’t until she is taunted with her father’s identity and the facts of his death that she puts on male garments and sets off to avenge him, taking up the profession of robber as a first step. The text has her say:
"I will swiftly take linen headgear from off my hair, before I hasten away--much rests on it. When morning comes let cloak and kirtle be cut for me.” She tells her mother, “As quick as you can, equip me in all ways as you would your son, taking the gear and weapons of a man.”
She both does and does not pass as male. For the most part, she is accepted as a man. But there is one episode where she’s involved in an altercation with a comrade that comes close to a duel when their host takes the other man aside and tells him that he wouldn’t get any glory if he defeated his opponent because he suspected Hervör was actually a woman.
As a fictional motif, this tells us several different things. That a woman was expected to be able to pass as male successfully for the most part. And that someone in authority might be willing to accept that passing even if he suspected the truth.
Eventually Hervör decides to seek out her father’s grave to retrieve his sword. Because it’s important to avenge one’s father with the ancestral sword. In her travels she joins and becomes leader of a band of Vikings, eventually accomplishing her quest, during which she debates her father’s ghost (in verse, no less) for the right to claim the sword. After this, she continues having masculine-style adventures until eventually settling down to marriage and motherhood.
This is a key point in all the Norse cross-gender sagas. They are, above all, family sagas--the story of a lineage, often being told by people who claimed descent from the characters. This means that the literary genre has little place for a central female character who does not, eventually, marry a man and produce children.
Clover situates this story as part of a tradition involving women who are the sole representative of a lineage--Hervör was an only child and her father’s brothers all perished with him--and who therefore are expected to play a son’s part, whether to avenge a father or simply to continue that lineage, with the “son’s role” exemplified by characteristically masculine activities, especially martial ones.
It’s worth reviewing a catalog of other examples of this motif to see some of the variations.
Skadhi (in the legendary Eddas) takes up armor and weapons to go to Asgard to avenge her father.
Thornbjörg (in The Saga of Hrólf Gautreksson) is the only child of a king of Sweden who takes up martial activities in childhood (defending the choice as justified because due to the lack of siblings). When Thornbjörg’s father provides lands and followers Thornbjörg takes on a male name and dress to reign as a king. Thornbjörg’s very deliberate and insistent masculine performance strongly suggests interpretation as transgender rather than as a temporary gender disguise. This is emphasized by the central theme of the story where Hrolf, after whom the saga is named, is challenged to prove his manhood by forcibly marrying Thornbjörg.
Ladgerda appears in the legendary histories of Saxo Grammaticus as the sole surviving child of the dead king of Norway. Ladgerda and a group of female companions all put on male dress and take up weapons for protection. In the context of the story, Ladgerda is not depicted as trying to disguise her gender, although people who saw her in battle assumed she was male until they saw her long flowing hair. She was wooed by a man who was required to prove his dedication in battle, but he later divorced her when angry about how Ladgerda had initially resisted him. Nevertheless, later when he was hard pressed in battle, Ladgerda showed up at the head of an army and rescued him. It didn’t last. They quarrelled again, she killed him, and took over his lands. Go Ladgerda! She is, at least to some extent, the inspiration for the character of Ladgertha in the Vikings tv series, who does end up in a same-sex relationship at one point.
Another character from the legendary histories of Saxo Grammaticus is Alfhild, who takes up male dress and weapons to escape an unwanted suitor. Breaking the pattern somewhat, she has living brothers at the time, however attrition due to warfare eventually leaves her daughter Gyrid as the sole survivor of her line. Gyrid later takes up arms in male clothing to do battle alongside her son. So, something of a family tradition there.
The valkyrie Brynhildr may fit the pattern of “maiden warrior” to some degree as well, but the many versions of her story that have come down to us have muddled whatever may have been her thematic origins.
Note that many of these “substitute son” characters, although they not only take up martial activities but also often wear male clothing or even take on a male name, are not necessarily trying to pass as men, but rather perform masculinity as a visual symbol of their status and social role. Their stories generally conclude with marriage to a man and the begetting of children. In fact, Clover asserts that it is precisely the provision of a genealogical link between generations that gives them the license to take on a masculine role.
Although these examples are all literary, there is a passage in early Icelandic law that treats a brotherless woman as if she were a son, in the context of the paying and receiving of wergild (the payment for a death) but only if she is unmarried. Similar clauses can be found in early Norwegian law.
Although very different in era and location, one can compare these “avenging maiden warrior” motifs to the phenomenon of gender-crossing “sworn virgins” in Albania, who had social license to take up a male social role (including male dress) under certain specific circumstances, including the need to pursue a feud in the absence of male relatives. In the Albanian custom, this role-change was expected to be for life.
It’s worth emphasizing that what we don’t see in any of these sagas or legendary accounts is examples of women warriors having romantic relationships with women. In case it needs saying, gender performance does not automatically determine sexual orientation. This contrasts with one genre of female warrior stories in later medieval Europe where gender disguise did sometimes lead to same-sex relationships, at least on a temporary basis. One can’t untangle the Norse female warriors from the context that these are sagas of lineage and are primarily focused around men’s exploits and fame. Warrior women existed in these stories either to substitute for missing male relatives in the maintenance or transmission of family lines, or they existed as a prize for men to defeat and win. This doesn’t mean that the woman warrior motif can’t be re-purposed in f/f historical fiction, but the same-sex aspect simply isn’t there in the source material.
Warrior Women and the Archaeology of Gender
I’ve made something of a point of the preceding examples being fictional creations, but is there any more concrete evidence for women taking a martial role or even for cross-gender performance or transgender identity in Viking-era Scandinavia? Funny you should ask.
It’s something of a standing joke, even among archaeologists, that interpretations of archaeological finds are shaped by what people expect to find. Random objects are identified as having a “ritual purpose”. Existing theories about history are used to interpret finds that then are used as evidence for those theories. If you ever want to see some good poking fun at this tendency, read Motel of the Mysteries by David Macaulay.
For most of the history of archaeology as a profession, the ability to identify the physiological sex of people in burials has relied on certain statistical distributions of bone size and shape, and stereotyped assumptions about the gendering of grave goods. It’s true that there are statistical patterns in skeletal remains that correspond to physiological sex. But it’s also true that there’s a significant overlap in the middle where the sex of a specific skeleton can’t be determined with certainty. And that’s without considering the potential presence of intersex people in the population.
So, traditionally, when a Viking-era burial has been found with socially-gendered artifacts like weapons, clothing, and specific types of jewelry and other artifacts considered to be masculine, the body in that burial has been assumed to be male. And traditionally when a Viking-era burial has been found with socially-gendered artifacts like weaving or cooking equipment and paired brooches and other things considered to be feminine, the body in that burial has been assumed to be female.
So, for example, chamber grave number 581 at the Swedish Viking settlement of Birka has long been considered to belong to a male warrior. And not just any warrior, but a high-status warrior of some importance. The grave included two horses with riding equipment, a large number of weapons including spear, sword, axe, arrows, and shield, a game board with a full set of gaming tokens. Clothing fragments included silver ornaments for a tasseled cap associated with other male burials. There was no jewelry, no beads, no craft or domestic implements. It was an absolutely certain and uncontroversial opinion--ever since the burial was first explored in 1878--that the body found in that grave belonged to a man.
But archaeologists have new tools at their disposal, thanks to advances in molecular biology and genetics. Old bones are being given new scrutiny to learn things about diet, age, geographic origin and other attributes that previously could only be guessed at. Among the attributes that can now be studied scientifically, is DNA. And the DNA of the body in that high-status warrior grave at Birka indicates that the person was physiologically female.
This isn’t the only example of DNA analysis upending assumptions about the people in archaeological finds. It isn’t even the only Viking-era example. It also doesn’t tell us anything definitive about how that person understood themself in relation to the gendered structure of society. There are even foot-dragging traditional archaeologists who are now arguing that maybe grave goods don’t tell us definitive things about the people buried with them, and maybe being buried with a sword could mean lots of other things and not that the person buried there had used a sword during their life. In the realm of “usable history” there’s a lot of enthusiasm from the transgender community to identify with a figure out of the past who certainly fits the general definitions of transgender, in the sense of moving through the world performing a different gender than the one society would assign based on physiology. So was Birka 581 a Thornbjörg who was willing to fight to the death to avoid being forced back into a conventional female role? Or were they a Hervör who slipped into the social role of masculinity because there was no one else in their family to assume it? It isn’t important to try to come to a definitive answer--indeed, I think it’s better to allow as many people as possible to imagine how Birka 581 expands their identification with the past. The point is that maybe those sagas and legends weren’t entirely as fictional as they seem.
I’ve put something of an undue emphasis on the idea of gender-crossing and women warriors, simply because the evidence is fascinating and it makes for good click-bait. But I don’t want to suggest that the only possible way to imagine a f/f Viking-era story is to have one of the characters take on a transmasculine role. If you’re flexible about your characters being situationally bisexual, then there’s a lot of scope of relationships between women during the sailing season when many men are away. I haven’t specifically gone looking for discussions of singlewomen during the Viking era, though I suspect the concrete evidence is scanty.
There were types of magic practiced in pre-Christian Norse society that were specific to women--specific enough that it was shameful for men to practice them, while other types of magic were more associated with men. While the topic is too complex to get into here, this gender-segregation of magical practices offers the same opportunities for framing a story within a women-only space that the textile crafts do on a more everyday basis.
And given the significance and amount of labor women spent on textile production, as well as the necessary teamwork for many aspects of it, that’s another activity that provides an excellent context for developing women’s relationships for a story. The point is that it’s quite possible to construct stories about women’s relationships in early Norse society that aren’t driven by transgressing gender roles.
It is true, however, that the majority of Norse themed f/f stories that I was able to find do set up one character as taking on a male social role in some way. So let’s move on to considering some of those stories. I crowd-sourced suggestions on Twitter and various facebook groups and divvied the results up into four general categories: stories presented as being set in ordinary history, historical settings with fantasy elements, Norse elements appearing in what is essentially a secondary-world setting, and mythological stories. I did filter out a few where there didn’t seem to be any actual Norse elements in the story except for a character being presented as a Viking. I haven’t actually read the vast majority of the stories listed here, but I have looked at the available previews to get a sense of the content and style.
F/F Fiction with Viking Themes
One of the few exceptions to the use of a Viking butch-femme scenario is a short story that I chose for the podcast’s fiction series back in 2018: “Peace-weaver” by Jennifer Nestoiko. The story explores a “second chance romance” between two women who have outlived family responsibilities and are reunited after being pulled apart by duty. It’s loosely inspired by some of the characters in Beowulf.
The rest of the stories in the “ordinary history” group all involve at least one warrior woman.
Natalie Debrabandere’s Thyra’s Promise involves a rather ahistorical lack of gendered expectations for occupations. In a 9th century Norse settlement in Scotland, Thyra has been raised as a Viking warrior. Frustrated by her brother’s refusal to take her seriously, she becomes the student and lover of Kari, the woman who leads a neighboring clan. But their two families have a bitter history and there is conflict in their future. The writing is basically competent, though the prose style is weak. The available excerpt gets us to the first sex scene so it’s hard to evaluate what the plot-to-erotics ratio is going to be.
That ratio doesn’t seem to be in doubt for Taken By the Shield Maiden by Echo Stardust, which is subtitled “A bawdy tale of lust.” This book seems to take the closest parallel to the usual plot of straight Viking romances, with the beautiful Viking raider Gunhilde kidnapping an innocent young nun from a convent who, of course, reluctantly succumbs to her captor’s charms. It’s pretty clear from the available excerpt that this is a bare minimum of story to set up a lot of sex scenes. The writing is fairly awkward and needs some basic editing. But if that’s what you’re here for, it’s here for you.
The next title turned up when I was searching in the Amazon category “Viking Romance” and is in German. There doesn’t appear to be an English edition. This is Raw: Dein Leben vor Meinem or “Your Life Before Mine” by Jolene Walker. It’s set in the late 8th century when Juna, a princess of the Franks and war leader is sent to make a marriage of alliance with a Norse leader. Her husband provides her with a woman warrior, Skadi, as a bodyguard and the two find their hearts in conflict with their loyalties. My German isn’t up to evaluating the nuances of writing style, but the prose looks fairly solid and interesting, so if you’re interested in tackling a German text, this one might be rewarding to try.
Moving outside the realm of books, the TV series Vikings includes an f/f encounter between the main female lead, Lagertha and a woman named Astrid. Lagertha is clearly inspired by the figure of Ladgertha in historic literature. I don’t know how prominent or lasting the relationship is in the series (and Wikipedia indicates that their sex scene was censored in the US release of the series).
The next several stories have a recognizable real-world Norse setting but introduce some fantasy elements.
Julia Ember has written a pair of linked but independent books The Seafarer’s Kiss and The Navigator’s Touch. Both feature the shield-maiden Ragna who is on a quest to avenge her family’s murder. The fantasy elements come in the form of the mermaid who falls in love with her and then aids her in her quest, and the intervention of the Norse gods in human affairs. The writing is solid. The combination of the significant presence of the fantasy elements and the isolated nature of the settings pull the stories away from being deeply grounded in everyday history. The books are marketed as Young Adult and my impression is that there is romance but not significant sexual content.
Another entry in this category is The Northland Saga by Dallas Jessica Owen, featuring two books Wolf and Raven and The Last Shaman. They pair Yngrid, a woman warrior, and Kari, the village shaman, who must face and overcome magical enemies or their world will perish. The writing is competent, if not particularly compelling, but the historic grounding feels weak to me in a way that’s common to many of these books--as if the setting is based on third-hand rumors of what Viking culture was like, with a big dose of Hollywood movies.
When taking the look-and-feel of Norse culture and embedding it in a setting that is clearly not our world, there’s less expectation of more than a passing connection to history. Barbara Ann Wright’s Thrall: Beyond Gold and Glory is clearly inspired by motifs from Viking and other northern European cultures, without an expectation that it will align closely. Instead it’s all about the sailing and raiding and no need to situate an f/f relationship within a specific historic context. The writing in this one is quite good.
My last category is works with a Norse mythological setting, in other words, stories about gods and heroes rather than about ordinary people.
The first example--according to report--weaves a historic mythological story in with a present-day one. This is The Amber Necklace by Alex Pyott, involving a character who appears to be an incarnation of the goddess Freya and her romance with a contemporary journalist. I’m not sure that I’d class this as a particularly historic work, even with that background, but the themes are there.
And my last example, for a shift in medium, is the graphic novel series Heathen by Natasha Alterici, which follows the adventures of a warrior woman who takes on the gods of Asgard with the help of some female pirates and a Valkyrie or two. Oh, and with various female romantic complications along the way. I really enjoyed the first volume and writing this up inspired me to go buy volume 2. The series has also been targeted for big screen treatment, which would be awesome if they keep all the queer aspects intact.
So there you have it: the closest we can come to lesbian Vikings, either in history or in historical fiction. I have to confess that I wish there were more offerings that both take a purely historical angle on setting and are solidly grounded in current research. It’s probably a lot to ask, given that straight Viking romances aren’t exactly paragons of historicity. But once you start digging into the actual culture and archaeology of the Viking era, it’s very inspiring. As I mentioned at the beginning of the show, I have a lesbian Viking romance of my own that’s been percolating in my head ever since we were assigned to read Hervör’s Saga when I studied Old Norse. One of these days I’ll have the time to put it out into the world and see what people think.
I've been meaning to put up a link post of all the promotional guest-blogs and interviews I've done for Floodtide. I've been tweeting them as they came out, but if you haven't had the time to check them out and are interested in all sorts of background information about my writing and my books, enjoy the links.
Collected all together, I'm still rather startled at the response I got when I put myself out there. It's unfair to compare my Floodtide promo with what happened when Mother of Souls was released because so many things are different. But if I can point to one positive difference (as opposed to all the factors I have no control over), I suspect what I'm seeing is the payoff for the Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast. Not the blog, so much. The blog had been around for a couple years at my last book release. But the podcast has been a context for interacting with people directly and for gaining a bit more visibility. I'm always a bit desperate for concrete evidence that the podcast is worth the effort I put into it. So I'm going to keep telling myself that it's what made the difference. (It'll be at least a year before I know whether it made a significant difference in book sales for Floodtide, as opposed to simple visibility. But everything in its own time.)
I've listed these in order of appearance, simply because I had to pick some arbitrary order. There are still a couple that haven't come out yet and I'll add the links here just for historic reference when they do.
There are two basic parts to Boswell's book on homosexuality and tolerance: 1) that Christian society was not always and inevitable intolerant of homosexuality; and 2) that the shift to intolerance can be localized to a particular historic period and related to other significant cultural and political shifts during that period. Perhaps the present day is an opportunity for understanding just how a conjunction of unrelated forces can combine to create apparently illogical shifts in popular thinking. Or at least apparent shifts in popular thinking. How, in the space of only a few decades, could a culture shift from an apparent trend towards embracing diversity, plurality, and not just tolerance but understanding and acceptance, to an apparent reversal of all those things? And not just in terms of sexuality and gender, but with respect to ethnicity, religion, immigration status, and so on?
Two factors come to my mind (and this is not a product of deep long-term thought, but just passing thoughts as I write up this introduction on the spur of the moment). The first is that the superficial trends that we identify as "popular culture" as often a matter of whose voices are being heard and promoted. Who feels comfortable talking about their attitudes and acting on them? It doesn't necessarily take any significant shift in the opinions of individual people for the public performance of those opinions to change drastically. If, in the 13th century, there were changes in who felt authorized to have opinions on homosexuality, and whose opinions were promulgated and elevated by the church and state authorities, then the long-term effects needn't require a sea change on an individual level, only a passive assumption that those "thought leaders" must be valid because they were the ones whose opinions you were now encountering everywhere.
The second factor that comes to my mind is the age-old question of cui bono? Who benefits from such a shift from tolerance to intolerance? In the contemporary political climate, the answer to that is far from obvious. And those who are truly benefitting are deeply invested in making sure their interests are kept hidden. Under Boswell's theory of a critical shift in tolerance, not only regarding sexuality, but regarding religious plurality and other social diversities, it seems like a key to understanding the when and why would be to examine those questions of who benefitted from the rise of more narrow and rigid controls on individual behavior. But as in the current day, such questions are complicated and the indviduals whose actions created the shift may themselves not have been consciously aware of the forces at work.
Touching back to the always-present question of how such things relate to the writing of queer historical fiction, we can ask how shifts in tolerance would have been experienced and understood by the queer people living through them. Would the change have been gradual enough to be imperceptible during an individual life? Some of Boswell's biographic examples are of men who appear to have enjoyed intense intimate same-sex relationships freely during their own lifetimes, but whose lives were later revised to be held up for condemnation. Or might someone spend part of their life considering a same-sex relationship to be a joyous and positive force, only to see the world shift around them and feel that joy slip away? What might be the experience of a man in the church hierarchy who was part of that earlier world of homosocial and homoerotic bonds who finds himself pressured to support philosophical changes that condemn what he felt in his heart to be pure and good? Does he resist? Does he fall to self-doubt? Does he turn to a type of closeting? (I'm using male pronouns here despite my blog's focus on women because the experiences and lives that Boswell explores are male and women would experience the before and after in entirely different ways.)
While I grumble about Boswell's blythe indifference to how his study really speaks only to male lives, the underlying philosophical questions can be generalized, even if the specifics of experience may not. How does the public performance of tolerance or intolerance toward women's same-sex relationships relate to individual experience? Can we untangle the difference between whose voices are heard in the public (and historic) record, as opposed to what the everyday experiences of individual people were? When we see shifts in that public record, do they reflect actual changes in popular (and individual) opinion or do they reflect the strategic needs and goals of the Powers That Be (which aren't always the nominal civic and religious powers)?
If Boswell's work sometimes feels flawed due to his emotional goals (i.e., "proving" that Christianity need not be hostile to homosexuality), we should acknowledge that we, as writers of historical fiction, have similarly skewed emotional goals. We similarly want to take the basic observable facts and documents of the past and understand them in a way that allows us to create an emotional truth that we can feel at home in. This is, perhaps, more forgivable in a novelist than a historian, but it has been historians who were driven by the emotional goal of a "usable history" that have brought many of htose observable facts and documents to light in a way that give us the necessary understanding and access for making our own histories.
Boswell, John. 1980. Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality: Gay People in Western Europe from the Beginning of the Christian Era to the Fourteenth Century. University of Chicago Press, Chicago. ISBN 0-226-06711-4
Part IV: The Rise of Intolerance
Part IV: The Rise of Intolerance
Chapter 10: Social Change
The fanaticism and intolerance popularly associated with the “medieval” period date primarily to the later middle ages. Prior to the 13th century, social and religious tolerance were more typical. In the 13-14th century this changed, though historians are unclear on the exact reasons. Among the forces that are considered relevant: the rise in absolute government, both secular and clerical, and movements to reform, regularize and enforce power systems.
Laws sought to enforce conformity and consolidation, which inherently marginalized minorities of all types. The Crusades both reflect and intensified these trends. Anti-Jewish and anti-Muslim activity was prominent as well as persecution of non-conforming Christian religious movements under the label of heresy.
Increasing intolerance of sodomy accompanied the narrowing of what that term covered, from all non-procreative sex to specifically implying anal sex between men. And sodomy became associated in the popular mind with “infidels” and heretics. Law codes increasingly included severe and violent penalties for sodomy (castration, death) though it’s unclear how consistently they were enforced.
In the wake of this, sodomy became a useful charge against political opponents, whether individuals (e.g., King Edward II) or groups (e.g., the Templars).
Chapter 11: Intellectual Change
This chapter looks at the evolution of various theological arguments against homosexuality. Arguments from myths (or in rare cases, reality) about animal behavior spread with the popularity of bestiaries (picture books about animals). This was part of the general flowering of learning, especially from Arabic sources, in the 12-13th centuries. There were inherent contradictions between these texts that identified certain animals as “naturally” engaging in homosexual behavior, and texts that claimed that homosexuality was unnatural specifically because animals never engaged in it.
Arguments about “nature” and “natural” appeared in many philosophical works, but the image of Nature (personified) was bent to the author’s preconceived goals and rarely formed a coherent concept. In the realm of gender and sexuality, Nature was always used to support heteroseuxality and traditional binary gender roles. These texts glossed over the implication that arguing morality from Nature suggested that morality arose from the majority opinion (e.g., most animals do X, therefore X is moral). Philosophical/theological texts alternated between condemning homosexuality because it was an unnatural sin, because it was a contagious disease, because it was natural only to (by definition) unclean beasts, or that it was natural but undesirable because it hindered procreation.
All these arguments can be seen at work in the Summa Theologia of Thomas Aquinas, which stood as a foundation of Christian theology thereafter. Boswell attributes much of the shift to anti-gay attitudes in ecclesiastical literature to the prominence of Aquinas just at the time when the church was moving to enforce orthodoxy. He makes comparisons to other practices where are even more strongly condemned in early church literature (such as usury) that did not attract the same lasting animosity in the later middle ages.
This chronology should not be interpreted as learned theology causing anti-gay prejudice, rather that it reflected and then enshrined existing prejudice into established tradition with legal and moral force.
Chapter 12: Conclusions
The final chapter provides a summary of the evolution of thought and the data that supports it. Early Christian literature was fairly silent on homosexuality, and anti-gay sentiments at that time were typically unrelated to religion. Hostility to homosexuality became noticeable with the shift in power from urban to rural elites. This hostility was later incorporated into Christian thought which in turn was used to justify prejudice and persecution of gay people. Gay people (at least, the male ones) were prominent and influential in medieval society, but the lack of a stable cultural transmission for pro-gay attitudes left them at the mercy of popular opinion when that opinion turned as part of a general increase in intolerance in the 12-13th century.
Appendix 1 is a deep dive into the texts of Saint Paul and their interpretation.
Appendix 2 provides translations (and sometimes the original language) for a variety of the texts used as examples in the book, with copious notes on meaning and context.