The Project has very fuzzy boundaries, but I'll admit this falls outside them. Sometimes a publication is just too interesting to skip.
Ó Síocháin, Tadhg. 2017. The Case of The Abbot of Drimnagh: A Medieval Irish Story of Sex-Change. Cork Studies in Celtic Literatures. ISBN 978-0-9955469-1-2
This slim book presents an edition and analysis of a medieval Irish anecdote involving a magical sex change from male to female and back to male again. The tale doesn’t align well with what a modern person would consider a transgender story, but it does have some interesting angles on ideas about gender roles and the alignment between bodies and gender identity. To a large extent, the themes in this text lie outside the scope of the Lesbian Historic Motif Project, because there is no intersection with the image of a woman-loving woman in any of the permutations of identity. But as with research into John Rykener, it provides a rare glimpse into pre-modern examples of “male-to-female” transformation.
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We start with an overview of the events of the story. A medieval Irish abbot falls asleep on a hill at Easter, wakes up as a woman, encounters a supernatural female figure, goes to a nearby monastery where he meets, marries, and has children with the “erenagh” of the monastery. [Note: “erenagh” was a post, often hereditary, that served as a sort of business manager for the monastery.] On another Easter, he falls asleep on the same hill as previously and wakes up as a man. He returns to his original home and is told by his wife that he’s only been gone an hour. But the erenagh that he married, and their seven children exist at the neighboring monastery and they arrange for shared custody of the children.
The earliest manuscript versions of the tale date to the 14th century, but linguistic and cultural aspects of the text suggest the original date of composition to be in the early 13th century.
There follows a critical edition of the text with English translation. The focus is on trying to untangle the linguistic and cultural nuances of this anecdote. What did it mean in context? How do the supernatural/otherworldly elements contribute?
The protagonist is described as a beautiful and richly-dressed man, carrying a sword. (Keeping in mind that he’s the abbot of a monastery.) When he wakes as a woman, she is equally beautiful, dressed in women’s clothing, and carrying a distaff. [Note: the sword and distaff are both highly gendered attributes.] While the protagonist is trying to figure out what happened, a large, frightening, ugly woman wearing armor comes along and the protagonist explains her predicament, expressing sorrow and gender dysphoria. (The armor-wearing woman then disappears from the story.) The protagonist travels to a nearby monastery and encounters a tall, martial man who falls instantly in love with her and has sex with her. The protagonist refuses to explain her background or history. This new man says he is the erenagh of the monastery and a widower and that it makes sense for them to marry. The protagonist goes to live with him as his wife for seven years and bears seven children.
At the end of seven years, their entire household is invited to an Easter celebration at the original monastery, resulting in the protagonist falling asleep again on the very same hill. This time he wakes up as a man, with his original sword beside him. He goes to his old home and tells his wife the tale, but she says he’d only been gone less than an hour. The tale now jumps to a legal judgement between him and the erenagh, in which it is decided that they would divide custody of the seven children.
[Note: In some ways, this is structured as a “dream story”—a common context for otherworldly tales. Except that the events in the dream appear to have actually occurred in the “real world” through a warping of time.]
The analysis looks at various other folk tales involving sex change, including the Greek myth of Tiresias and an Urdu legend (from India), among others. In general, fanciful tales of female-to-male change focus on the social role of the protagonist, while these tales about male-to-female change focus on sex and the experience of gender. For them, the sex change is presented as a curse or a catastrophe. The Urdu tale has several striking parallels, in the encounter with an ugly woman (who forcibly marries the protagonist during an interim transformation to a different male body) and the motif of discovering a gendered object associated with the change episode.
Sex change is a frequent motif in Hindu tales, especially triggered by bathing in a magical pool. Sometimes the reverse change happens in the same location, similarly to what happens in the Irish tale. In some of the comparable tales, the male-to-female sex change is a divine punishment.
The motif of no time elapsing (despite pregnancy and childbirth) also occurs in comparable material.
More modern Irish and Scottish folk tales with a sex change motif are not close parallels to this medieval text. They lack the monastic context, the ugly woman, and the fairy hill. [Note: The text rather assumes that the reader is familiar with the “fact” that if you spend the night on a fairy hill, weird stuff is going to go down.] Rather than looking for direct transmission connections to these more recent tales, the author suggests that all of the sex-change tales may be elaborating on an “ancient international motif.”
The article spends a while examining the concept of authorship and narrative voice.
The next section of the text looks at the historic/cultural context of the story and what relationship the story’s characters, places, and events might have to historic “reality.” Both the positions of abbot and erenagh had authority over religious institutions, but were not necessarily clerics (in medieval Ireland), but could be held by secular members of families that had hereditary authority over the religious institutions.
The protagonist is described in heroic terms, not religious ones. Despite his initial anxiety and dysphoria, the protagonist embraces (literally) life as a woman, but retains the same internal consciousness and memories through both changes. Despite this, he has no emotional reaction to leaving/losing a spouse at either of the transformations.
The “ugly woman” that the protagonist first encounters serves no obvious narrative role except possibly to signal the shift to the otherworldly setting that the protagonist has clearly entered. Though one may speculate that she may have effected the change as punishment for him trespassing on a fairy mound. (A motif that occurs in other tales.) The time slippage clearly indicates that the seven years were spent in the otherworld. But the “ugly woman” need not be a malevolent figure if she is seen, instead, as precipitating a necessary hero’s adventure, leaving him with the gift of offspring. (There’s no mention of children from his original wife.) [Note: although the author doesn’t say it in as many words, we may be dealing here with a fragmentary text of an original that included more context and details that would make better sense of these points.]
The next section of the article examines the motifs of metamorphosis and how female symbolism is used. Philosophical and religious misogyny are reflected in all types of sex-change motifs. Male-to-female change is humbling and humiliating; female-to-male change is empowering and ennobling.
The next section discusses the motif of marriage and sexual relations and how they function in the story. This is complex in early Irish society, as a variety of types of unions and relationships had legal status and definition, though all might fall under the umbrella of “marriage.” Clerical marriage was allowed in the early church (and even when later discouraged, might be prevalent).
The next section discusses genre distinctions—oral versus literary, Pagan versus Christian, and how they manifest in the text. “Wonder tales” were universally popular, though they might take different forms in Pagan and Christian culture. (E.g., fairy magic versus saints’ miracles.)
A concluding section sums up the author’s take on this text.
When I have a bunch of items written up in advance, I usually like to space them out to give the appearance of having a regular blog schedule. But the way life has gone lately, if I don't roll these out one after the other, I have half a chance of forgetting entirely that I've written them up. Life is just fighting with one bureaucracy after another these days. Still trying to get all my retirement ducks in a row. Only 35 days to go and some of those ducks are still running around quacking.
Choma, Anne. 2019. Gentleman Jack: The Real Anne Lister. Penguin Books, New York. ISBN 978-0-14-313456-5
I don’t usually consume books for the blog via audiobook -- makes it hard to take notes! It made sense in this case because it’s more of a narrative history rather than a scholarly analysis. As such, this is more in the line of a book review than my usual factual summary.
This is a narrative history of Anne Lister’s life between November 1831 and March 1834, the period covered by the tv series Gentleman Jack. The book was written specifically as a companion to the tv series, giving the actual details of Anne’s life during that period, which differs in various details from the tv series. (The tv series both omitted and invented significant details.) Interspersed in the narrative are extensive quotes from Anne’s diaries.
The account is very readable and will give you a solid background of Anne’s life and times. It is neither a scholarly historical analysis (for that, you might try Jill Liddington) nor an extensive and contextualized survey of significant portions of the diaries (for which you want Helena Whitbread). But it hits a sweet spot for the general reader. And if you’re a fan of the tv series, it makes an interesting “compare and contrast” to understand how history gets adapted for the requirements of drama.
There's a whole genre of "a general history of lesbians/homosexuality in Britain" with approaches ranging from lighthearted (and often inaccurate) pop history to very serious academic studies and sourcebooks. (This genre may also exist for other countries -- I've collected a smaller set for the USA -- but I haven't run across them as often.) This one falls in the mid-range, probably intended as a textbook for a non-specialist social history course.
Oram, Alison & Annmarie Turnbull. 2001. The Lesbian History Sourcebook: love and sex between women in Britain from 1780 to 1970. Routledge, New York. ISBN 9-78-0-415-11485-3
The book, rather than being a “general history of lesbianism” (of which there are numerous examples) is intended for the study of specific historic texts speaking to particular aspects of lesbian history. Each chapter has an introduction and then a series of extracts from relevant sources. Due to the nature of the material, some chapters focus primarily on 20th century material, and so are largely out of scope for the Project. So I will spend less focus on those. As with many sourcebook type works, rather than trying to summarize all the content, I’ll give a high-level overview of what is included. The specific pre-20th century source material will be indicated by my index keywords. If there is no keyword (e.g., because I don’t view the material as relevant, or because it is too anonymous), I’ll list it within the chapter.
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Introduction: Who is the Lesbian?
For the purposes of this book, “British lesbian history” begins in the late 18th century. It was unclear to me if this was simply a chosen scope based on the source material they wanted to present, or if the authors believe there is no lesbian history prior to that date. They assert that “lesbian identity” is a late 20th century concept. “Women…did not necessarily have a language to describe themselves as lovers of women.” [Note: we can take it as given that I disagree with that position.]
The book’s definition “ideally includes some evidence of eroticism” but somewhat broadly defined. They’re looking for evidence of sexual activity with the caveat that “sexual” is often defined in male-centered terms. Secondly, their definition includes “the transgressing of gender roles,” with the caveat that gender transgression is more socially visible than femme lesbians. Somewhat less clearly, they are looking for evidence of self-knowledge by women who desire women.
The book is structured first to examine two archetypes (roughly: female husbands and romantic friendships), then public “expert” commentary in the fields of medicine, education, and law, followed by the cultural construction of lesbian identity (primarily restricted to the 20th century.
They discuss the history of lesbian history, the importance of developing a sense of lesbian history to social movements, and the development of a body of scholarship. They are interested in a broad scope of sources, not only the writings of the elite, but this interest is primarily found in the 20th century sources.
There is a discussion of the nature of the evidence: published sources (media, government publications, edited collections of personal papers), much of which is poorly indexed from the point of view of lesbian history. Documentation of women’s sex lives is rare, in part because personal papers were often deliberately destroyed. The documentation of working-class women’s lives is most often by outside observers, who typically are unsympathetic.
Somewhat more common than personal data is general commentary on the idea of the lesbian, especially by professionals. In every era, social norms constrained how people understood and discussed the topic.
The introduction closes with the importance of interrogating the sources and reading them in their historic context.
Part I: Archetypes of Love Between Women
Chapter 1: Cross-Dressing Women
The chapter begins with a survey of the motivations, contexts, and reception of gender-crossing. This is followed by excerpts from historic documents illustrating the subject, with brief contextual introductions.
Chapter 2: Romantic Friends and Lesbian Couples
This archetype is associated with middle and upper class women (although the authors note that this may be due to the skewed nature of the sources, and evidence for working class romantic friendships may not have been recorded or preserved). They assert that romantic friendship belongs to the 18-19th centuries. [Note: This is incorrect, as there are early versions of the archetype at least as early as the 17th century.]
The texts in this chapter document shifts in how this archetype was framed. There is a contrast between the acceptance of f/f partnership and the difficulty of economic independence to enjoy it. The motif interacts with the theme of “surplus women” and female alliances within the women’s movement (the “New Women”). Both the expressions and the probably reality of romantic friendships existed across a continuum. There is a discussion of lesbian theorists regarding that continuum and how that idea expands the scope of interest. There are conflicting opinions on erotic aspects of romantic friendship. The example of Anne Lister acted substantially to break the image that all romantic friendships were non-sexual.
Part II: Professional Commentaries
Chapter 3: Medicine
The next 3 chapters look at professional discourse and how it reflects larger social attitudes toward lesbianism, as well as other social trends that the popular mind connected with that subject. 19th century British medical writing didn’t really address lesbianism much, or for that matter female sexuality in general. The texts that did exist tend to associate lesbianism with foreign practices or sex workers. Sexological writing arrived relatively late in Britain and only barely overlaps the very end of the 19th century. The texts do include a couple of references from the mid 19th century to lesbianism among sex workers or schoolgirls, or—later in the century—among actresses.
Chapter 4: Education
The texts in this chapter touch on school friendships that have a romantic or erotic component.None date to much before the turn of the 20th century, which reflects the era when such friendships came to be pathologized.
Chapter 5: Law
Other than an extended excerpt from the Pirie & Woods trial, this chapter is focused entirely on the 20th century, reflecting shifts in legal approaches.
Part III: Making Lesbianism in Culture
Chapter 6: The Well of Loneliness
This chapter concerns reactions to the publication of The Well of Loneliness and its content. By definition, entirely 20th century.
Chapter 7: Social Perceptions
As public discourse around lesbianism became more explicit, there is a wider range of texts reflecting that awareness. All included material is 20th century.
Chapter 8: Identities and Networks
In contrast to the preceding few chapters, this one dips back to the early 19th century to document personal writings of women expressing self-conscious desire for women and something resembling a lesbian identity. These texts also trace the connections and networks of like-minded women that their authors created, as well as details of how those connections were established. We begin, naturally, with Anne Lister and her circle of lovers in Yorkshire. But other diarists and letter writers of the Victorian era are reflected here, speaking of love and wooing, discussing such passions with others who shared them. But the majority of the material is 20th century.
This is the last article from this collection and brings the topic up to the late 19th and early 20th century, as well as focusing on the working classes and others who aren't well documented in earlier ages.
Sautman, Francesca Canadé. 1996. “Invisible Women: Lesbian Working-class Culture in Ferance, 1880-1930” in Homosexuality in Modern France ed. by Jeffrey Merrick and Bryant T. Ragan, Jr. Oxford University Press, New York. ISBN 0-19-509304-6
Sautman 1996 Invisible Women
This article looks at French working-class lesbian culture from 1882-1930 and notes that a lot of previous coverage of French culture in this era has focused on the demi-monde, artists, and salon culture. The author challenges the assertion by some historians that a history of this sort—at the intersection of gender and class—is impossible to write. The decadent esthetic and visions of the Belle Epoque stand in contrast to the experiences of the working class. This was an era of union and feminist movements. WWI stepped up women’s participation in the industrial workforce. At the same time, both psychological and political theory created feminized images of disorder and deviance. (The author explains how she is using the terms “lesbian,” “same-sex,” and “homosexual” in the article to make certain distinctions without implying “identities.”) The author claims that the terms “tribade” and “sapphist” were used in this era to indicate specific sexual practices (frottage and cunnilingus respectively) but gives no citation for this claim. Letters written by working class women that alluded to their same-sex desires used phrases like “being for women” or “feminine loves” as well as a variety of slang terms. [Note: I’m gradually assembling a database of terminology from primary sources—this article has a good chunk of examples to add to it.]
The author challenges the claim that lesbians of this era faced, at worst, mockery and were not taken seriously. This may have been true of upper-class lesbians, while working-class lesbians were often portrayed as old, ugly, rough in manners, and addicted to vice. The medical pathologization of lesbianism could also be used against women whose desires were seen as problematic.
Technically speaking, lesbianism was not illegal in France in this era, though public sex and cross-dressing were. Moral crusades against lesbianism ran into this barrier in not having legal tools at their disposal. [Note: This absence of laws against homosexuality also applied to men, though men were more likely to run afoul of the laws against public sex.]
Feminist activists sometimes deliberately shunned an association with lesbianism, perhaps the more so due to leaning towards “mannish” clothing. Artists and authors walked a tightrope of plausible deniability, depicting same-sex desire and affection while relying on a general social acceptance of non-sexual physicality between women.
There is an extensive discussion of women in the union movement and gender discrimination in unionized trades. Restriction to low-paying jobs contributed to a pervasive reliance on sex work. Homophobia was pervasive in leftist political circles, even those supporting “free love.”
Despite and because of this, we can find references to working class lesbians tucked away in records and letters: the audible lovemaking overheard between a cook and a maid, letters with sexual advances between servants in different households, an affair made legible by the results of a suicide pact. Other lesbian lives have been made visible by diligent research, such as artist’s model and painter Victoire Meurent. Women who publicly denied lesbian relationships might be contradicted in memoirs by their friends and lovers.
There was a regular association in the popular imagination between lesbians and sex workers. This existed side by side with the stereotype of the working class as moral and “innocent” unless debauched by encounters with the upper classes. A similar stereotype asserting that homosexuality was absent from high society and the middle classes pretty much narrowed the possibilities (in the popular imagination) to “café society and the theater.” [Note: What this means is that visible lesbianism tended to be restricted to these stereotypes, not that lesbianism itself wasn’t present.]
A contrasting theory was that gender transgression in dress or appearance would itself lead to homosexuality. (There is more discussion of contradictory psychological and popular theories associated with lesbianism.)
This image of lesbian sex workers (including those asserted to have a wealthy female clientele) was exploited by pornographers and those promoting “sex tourism” in Paris. The complex dynamics and attitudes around lesbian sex workers are a poplar theme in literature of the time. Regardless of popular imagery, lesbian relationships and domestic arrangements among sex workers were common. (A number of brief biographical sketches are offered.)
The article concludes with a discussion of lesbian culture within women’s prisons.
Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 309 – Lesbians and Sex Work - transcript
(Originally aired 2025/03/22 - listen here)
Introduction
There are a number of interesting themes that intersect with women loving women across history, but one that might seem, at first, to be unexpected is the association of lesbianism with sex work. I mean, here you are thinking, “Isn’t sex work mostly about women providing sexual services for men? And isn’t that a bit in conflict with women loving women?” And yet we find this association repeatedly in many different contexts. So what’s going on?
Obviously a significant underlayer is simple misogyny, whereby all women who stand outside the approved sexual norm get lumped together. But when we start sorting through the data, we find four distinct motifs. I should note that these motifs don’t necessarily reflect patterns of women’s experience, as opposed to social archetypes. And the ways in which these motifs are framed are sometimes informed by other models of gender and sexuality embedded in a particular era.
The four motifs can be summed up first as “some women are oversexed and they incline both towards sex work and lesbianism;” second as “women are trained into sex work by being seduced by an established female sex worker;” third “female sex workers view men as a job and therefore turn to women for their own love and pleasure;” and fourth “there is a specific marketplace for women providing sexual services to women.”
When I do this sort of historic survey, usually I try to organize it by culture and then by era, but in this case the data is so sparse and scattered that I’m going to organize it by those four themes.
Over-Sexed
The first motif stems from the idea that if a woman transgresses approved sexual norms in one manner, she is likely to transgress other norms. But in some eras, we also find an explanation that the reason why women might turn to sex work or to sex with other women is because they have an excessive sex drive that can’t be satisfied by sticking to approved objects and relationships. This motif doesn’t necessarily treat sex work and lesbianism as distinct concepts. Perhaps the most direct expression of this idea is in derogatory language where a woman might be insulted by simultaneously calling her a whore, a slut, and a lesbian—something we find in early modern English drama. So we might see this not so much a conflation of sex workers and lesbians as a failure to distinguish them.
This conflation may be present in Plato’s invention of the word “hetairistria” in the Symposium dialogue about the origin of sexual orientation in the separation of two-bodied creatures who are forever trying to find their “other half.” As Boehringer explains, the root “hetair-” covers a cluster of meanings in the sense “friend, companion” but with gendered nuances. The masculine “hetairos” only ever has a neutral sense of “friend” whereas the feminine “hetaira” developed a contextual meaning of “courtesan, mistress.” A verb derived from the same root occurs in the context of male prostitution. While Plato’s invention “hetairistria” clearly refers in some way to women loving women, though the context suggests that it may mean specifically “a woman whose love for women goes beyond the accepted norm.” However Plato intended the word, it was later interpreted and used to mean a woman-loving woman generally, used in parallel with tribade and lesbian. But the connection with hetaira as courtesan also anchored this sense in the semantic realm of sex work.
We see this same evolution of overlapping meanings in the shifting images of Sappho where she is reimagined as a courtesan in combination with her reputation for loving women.
Taking a somewhat different angle we see a connection between gender transgression and sex work in the popular association of the latter with cross-dressing. On the 16th century Italian stage, characters depicting courtesans are often given cross-dressing scenes, mirroring habits attributed to real life courtesans. In English court records of the 15th and 16th centuries, cross-dressing women were assumed to be sex workers, whether because cross-dressing gave them the freedom to be out on the streets illicitly or because their clients may have found it titillating. While this isn’t to say that most sex workers cross-dressed, the law assumed that a cross-dressed woman was engaged in sexual transgression of some type. There are specific records of a woman being “enticed to whoredom” in a process that included cutting her hair short and dressing her in men’s clothing. The women in this category were not assumed to be engaging in sex with other women, but the motif links via the cross-dressing theme. Notorious 17th century gender outlaw Mary Frith was accused of being involved in prostitution purely on the basis of her mix of male and female garments, and dramatic characters based on her were also depicted as bisexual. It’s also worth noting that in this era calling a woman a whore or prostitute didn’t depend on whether she accepted money, but could simply refer to any sex outside marriage.
This motif of prostitutes wearing masculine clothing as an advertising statement continues into the 19th century in the American West, alongside other types of signifiers such as wearing overly sumptuous dress.
During the same era in France, writers and artists documenting the demi-monde associated lesbians with the spheres of sex work and theater. These depictions echoed the developing medical theories of homosexuality, which viewed it as a direct byproduct of criminality and prostitution.
Lesbianism as Training
Male anxiety about lesbian relations among sex workers was defused, to some extent, in the motif of same-sex seduction as a means to provide an erotic awakening for prospective sex workers. In this scenario, an older, experienced woman introduces an innocent young girl to the pleasures of sex and then—in the male-centered context of this motif—leaves her eager for the supposedly more enjoyable encounters with male clients.
This is a popular motif in dramas and novels of the 16th through 18th centuries, such as the 16th century Spanish dialogue La Celestina and its many derivatives such as the English translation as The Spanish Bawd. The theme is strongly implied in the 17th century English play The Three Ladies of London and is overt in the 18th century French pornographic novel Thérèse the Philosophe, though in the latter case the supposed ingenue already has a lesbian history before being taken under the wing of a procuress. Perhaps the most widely known example is in John Cleland’s 18th century novel Fanny Hill, in which the innocent Fanny is initiated into sexual pleasure by an older prostitute. Her mentor is described as having a preferred taste for female partners, while Fanny is eager to move on to men.
The motif of lesbian seduction into sex work may not have been entirely restricted to fiction. In one 17th century Spanish court case, a lesbian couple on trial are also accused of collecting a group of “wayward” young women supposedly to deliver them to a convent for reformed sex workers, but believed to be instead recruiting them to set up a brothel. Though in this case there isn’t direct evidence that the couple were engaging in sex with their recruits.
Women for Love
But what if, like Fanny Hill’s mentor, a sex worker actually prefers to take her pleasure with other women? Then we have our third motif. This one provokes a bit more male anxiety than the “seduction into sex work” motif, because it undermines the necessary fiction that sex workers have a more-than-commercial relationship to their clients. It also undermines the fiction that women turn to other women for sex only because men aren’t available. As Brantôme laments in 16th century France, “Even courtesans, who have men at their disposal at all hours, yet have recourse to these fricarelles, seek each other out and love each other, as I have heard of sundry doing in Italy and in Spain.
Among the various myths that arose about Sappho, one strand turned her into a courtesan—perhaps from the misapprehension that only courtesans would have the education and sophistication to be poets. There are images of Sappho on Greek pottery that depict her as a part of a symposium of courtesans participating in a female pederastic tradition.
A genre of teasing and satirical poetry in medieval Spain includes references to homosexual relations, including three verses that make clear and explicit reference to female same-sex encounters by sex workers serving military camps.
Brantôme, along with some of his contemporaries even name names in this context, contrasting the “chaste” love between two female aristocrats with the more lascivious desires of “the great prostitute Cecilia Venetiana” and a famous Spanish courtesan in Rome, Isabella de Luna, who herself kept another courtesan named Pandora as her mistress.
In an era when women on stage found it difficult to escape a second career as mistresses to wealthy theater patrons, a number of prominent actresses were famous for their female lovers, including 18th century French actress Mademoiselle de Raucourt who was said to have “married” her lover, the singer Sophie Arnould and had succession of other female lovers. (Though Raucourt is perhaps not an ideal example of the category as she struggled to avoid the need for having male clients.) The motif of actresses competing with men for the affections of courtesans and mistresses was prevalent enough to become a standard trope in French comic media.
Sometimes these relationships were complicated. Betty Rizzo explores one 18th century couple who combined a romantic and (probably) sexual relationship with a business partnership, Sophia Baddeley being a sometime actress and courtesan, and Elizabeth Steele being her companion, lover, pimp, and business manager.
Guy de Maupassant’s late 19th century French novel “Paul’s Mistress” features the protagonist’s suicidal despair when his mistress deserts him for the “more certain affections” of a band of lesbians.
A Russian psychiatrist’s case study of the late 19th century tells of a female couple who met while working together in a brothel and were fired for neglecting their customers in favor of each other. After the two eventually broke up, one of the women returned to working in the brothel, picked up another girlfriend, and again was kicked out, taking her new girlfriend with her.
Lest I give the impression that these motifs are restricted to Western culture—honestly, it’s the old problem that the vast majority of my research sources have that focus—I’ll offer two other items. Among a 9th century collection of songs and stories from the Islamicate world, there is an anecdote of the famous courtesan Bathal daringly singing a song about her preference for sex with women.
And in India, within the curious genre of Rekhti poetry—an Urdu genre in which a typically male poet writes in a female voice addressing a female beloved—there is evidence of courtesans performing these poems for each other.
Lesbian Sex Work
Our fourth motif is a bit harder to pin down, especially with regard to whether it existed in real life as opposed to literature. Were there circumstances in which women provided sexual services to other women as a commercial enterprise? What sort of evidence would that leave? What is the dividing line between a woman providing financial support to her female lover, and sex as a financial transaction? In this essay, I’ve been treating a wide variety of non-marital heterosexual liaisons as falling within the category of sex work, including ones where the women are characterized as “courtesans” or “mistresses.” But female couples didn’t have the option of formal marriage; is it fair to apply the same definitions to them? These are some of the complications.
In Lucian’s fictional Dialogues of the Courtesans, we have a clear example of a professional courtesan (who appears to be much more on the “sex worker” end of the scale than the “intellectual companion” end) hired to entertain a female couple, including engaging in sex with both of them. (For the moment we’re going to skate over the question of whether the character of Megilla should be treated as transgender, because Lucian clearly intended her to be read as female.) This courtesan’s profession includes providing entertainment to her clients, that entertainment clearly is expected to include sexual services, and while she is a bit surprised to be asked to provide those services for women, she is perfectly willing and appears to be continuing to engage with these clients. Was this an actual feature of 2nd century Greek culture? Not proven, but neither does Lucian present it as something the reader is expected to disbelieve.
In late 15th century English legal records, there is one tantalizing reference to a woman named Thomasina keeping in her household a cross-dressed woman who was a concubine. While there’s enough ambiguity in the record for doubt as to whose concubine the woman was, the most straightforward reading is that she was Thomasina’s concubine. However there’s even more doubt as to whether the relationship should be read as transactional, as “concubine” simply meant a non-marital relationship and may have been the only word available to the clerk to describe the situation.
Less ambiguous, though not clearly certain, is an inquisition record from mid-17th century Spain in which one member of a female couple was recorded as having boasted that her girlfriend was willing to pay her for sex (but evidently was not actually doing so). The most straightforward interpretation would be a culture where sex work for a female client was understood as a possibility. But in the specific case, this is a long-term couple, although with a stormy relationship, where neither woman is considered by the court to be a sex worker.
Returning to the realm of fiction, Delariviere Manley’s early 18th century novel The New Atalantis includes an anecdote in which a female couple—one crossdressing as a man—together engaged the services of “Creatures of Hire” who were happy in “obliging [their] peculiar taste.” A similar event occurs in Eliza Haywood’s mid-18th century novel The History of Jemmy and Jenny Jessamy, where a character named Lady Fisk goes on a cross-dressed adventure in Covent Garden that ends in picking up a (female) prostitute, though in this case the sex worker was not amenable once she learned Fisk’s assigned sex.
Interacting with sex workers while in gender disguise does add another twist to interpretative difficulty, especially if one is viewing the situation through trans possibilities. 18th century English actress Charlotte Charke’s autobiography records flirtations with sex workers while crossdressing, though the demands of her audience meant that she generally depicts it as attracting not-entirely-wanted attention and that the sex workers were not aware of her assigned sex.
Another complication? Where is the dividing line between a brothel, where women go to pay for sex, and a sex club, where they gather to have encounters with other women? The potentially fictitious 18th century Anandrine Sect in France is clearly a sex club rather than a house of prostitution, and the description by a German visitor to London in the 1780s of organized societies for “females who avoid all intimate intercourse with the opposite sex, confining themselves to their own sex” similarly sounds non-commercial.
A complaint in 18th century Amsterdam against 4 women who shared a house “where disreputable people gathered” is unclear on the nature of the establishment. The house was said to be one where women came to caress and kiss one another and feel under each other’s skirts. While one of the women said she was “seduced with coffee and alcohol,” it isn’t clear that the house was a commercial establishment as opposed to a meeting place.
The most explicit descriptions I’ve found of English brothels catering to lesbians have turned out to be an elaborate game of telephone, with sources citing each other in circular fashion, adding ever more specific details as they go. If you’re interested in going down that rabbit hole, check out my podcast on “Researching the Origins of Lesbian Myths, Legends, and Symbols” (linked in the show notes). But in the end I could find no verifiable evidence for lesbian bordellos in 18th century London.
Summary
So as you can see the question of a historic connection between lesbians and sex workers is complex and full of uncertainties, not only due to the nature of the sources and the biases of the people recording them, but due to the often ambiguous nature of sex work itself within societies where even relationships with official imprimatur are transactional in nature. But perhaps this exploration has offered new ideas for historic stories and characters.
In this episode we talk about:
Links to the Lesbian Historic Motif Project Online
Links to Heather Online
I'm not quite sure why I keep forgetting that I have blogs all written up and ready to post. (This is why I plan to have a posted work schedule in retirement: so everything gets pushed along the path at regular intervals.)
Colwill, Elizabeth. 1996. “Pass as a Woman, Act like a Man: Marie-Antoinette as Tribade in the Pornography of the French Revolution” in Homosexuality in Modern France ed. by Jeffrey Merrick and Bryant T. Ragan, Jr. Oxford University Press, New York. ISBN 0-19-509304-6
Colwill 1996 Pass as a Woman, Act like a Man
Among the political propaganda published during the French Revolution against Queen Marie-Antoinette (MA, for convenience) was a prominent theme of her sexual profligacy, and in particular the charge that she engaged in lesbian sex (as well as other sexual charges). In this context, her lesbian relations were depicted, not an accompaniment or “appetizer” to heterosexual acts (as often presented in pornography of the time), but as a preference.
This association of MA with sapphic relations informed her public image—though not always overtly sexually—in succeeding centuries. But as much as lesbianism was used as a weapon against MA, MA’s alleged lesbianism tells us much about attitudes toward lesbians in her era. The intersection of these two themes can make a study of both subjects a bit fraught from a historian’s point of view. Political tracts are deliberately exaggerated and use parody, making it impossible to separate fact from fiction. Was MA a lesbian, with the satirists fastening on this as a weapon against her, thus creating an atmosphere of anti-lesbian sentiment deriving from animus against the queen? Or was there a general social anxiety about lesbianism, leading satirists to choose it as a weapon against the queen? Was there an actual lesbian subculture in France that provided the framework for the specifics of the charges? Or was the alleged network of lesbians among the queen’s circle entirely an invention of her enemies?
Historians of sexuality have conflicting ideas and chronologies of models of sexual difference, but generally agree that the 18th century was an era when older metaphysical models were shifting to medical and “scientific” models, in line with the Enlightenment in general. Many of the underlying ideas remained the same, only the superficial explanation changed—such as “women’s sinful nature” shifting to “woman’s inherent weakness and hysteria.” With a shift to same-sex desire and activity no longer being ascribed to sexual natures existing on a continuum between male and female, new identities must be posited (Trumbach’s “four genders”) to account for desire that broke heterosexual models.
In France, public discourse around gender and sexual non-conformity was increasing across the 18th century and became intertwined with ideas about the state, rather than merely being individual foibles. MA complicated ideas about gender and sexuality, at once being seen as hyper-feminine and dangerously masculine. She “passes as a woman but acts like a man.” The authors of this article assert that MA cannot be pinned down to one specific reading precisely because the frameworks for understanding sex and gender were in flux. Official structures and opinions were intolerant of anything “unnatural” by older models, but Enlightenment ideas were challenging the definition and boundaries of “natural.” Political pornography attacking MA as lesbian did not merely reflect understandings, but shaped them.
One thread of the hatred for MA was the image of her as wielding inappropriate political power. This bled over into the image of her ceding that power to sexual partners (in much the same way that kings’ mistresses became targets if thought to have too much influence). King Louis’ well-known sexual failings generated the image of a frustrated and thus sexually voracious MA. While accusations against MA included several men of the court, sex with women was framed as superior and inexhaustible.
Another thread was a shift in the social and economic place of pornography. Previously intersecting several other genres (medical, philosophical), after the Revolution pornography came to be seen and defined as a distinct genre. This segregation of the sexual from the philosophical and political turned pornography from public discourse into private vice. It became apolitical and focused on personal sexual arousal—a shift that had not yet taken place during the propaganda campaign against MA. Before that shift, pornography was one of the tools used for establishing and maintaining political and social order, by helping define the boundaries of the acceptable.
This article has an extensive analysis of the symbolic hierarchies inherent in depictions of various sexual pairings and acts.
Within this context, satires against MA focused on her supposed relations with the comtesse de Polignac and the princesse de Lamballe (who were, objectively, her closest friends and confidantes in the court). The net expanded outside the aristocracy to artists patronized by the queen, including singer Arnould, actress Raucourt, and painter Vigée-Lebrun. These rumors circulated before the Revolution. Early in the Revolution, royalists might try to displace criticism of the queen onto these favorites who had “led her astray.” But a focus on the queen herself overwhelmed ever these efforts. Eventually, the alleged sexual depravity of the queen became the supposed proof that monarchy itself was unsupportable.
In contrast to Renaissance pornography that celebrated pleasure, these publications served as a warning to police morality and a rationale for the queen’s execution.
Interestingly, the subjects, treatment, preoccupations, and tone of the political sexual satires closely parallel those of libertine pornography by authors such as Sade, even to the fascination with lesbianism. Within the context of political attacks on women who stepped outside “proper” role, lesbianism was primarily charged against aristocrats, even when charges of “masculinity” were in play against others—primarily, but not exclusively, as some women pushing for equal rights were added to the roster of MA’s alleged lovers. Overall, a contrast was established between the immoral, libertine, sapphic aristocrat and the moral, domestic, heterosexual bourgeoise woman—a contrast that reverberated into the 19th century.
Revolutionary attacks on MA were scarcely uniform or coherent. Beside the continuing theme of lesbianism were allegations of more broad-ranging sexual transgressions, and pamphleteers often inserted their own personal preoccupations into the attacks. MA’s alleged abandonment of material impulses fed into anxiety about declining birthrates.
The article concludes with a discussion of the image of the “hermaphrodite” both physiological and behavioral, and how MA was fitted into this tradition.
[Note: Although some historians have defined “tribade” (the term generally used in these documents) as being associated with the motif of the macro-clitoral woman, the specific sex acts described in this political pornography focus on manual stimulation, dildos, and sometimes oral sex.]
Mademoiselle de Raucourt is on my short list for "historic lesbians who deserve a major media property about them.
Merrick, Jeffrey. 1996. “The Marquis de Villette and Mademoiselle de Raucourt: Representations of Male and Female Sexual Deviance in Late Eighteenth-Century France” in Homosexuality in Modern France ed. by Jeffrey Merrick and Bryant T. Ragan, Jr. Oxford University Press, New York. ISBN 0-19-509304-6
Merrick 1996 The Marquis de Villette and Mademoiselle de Raucourt
While this article purports to compare differences in reception for male and female homosexuals in later 18th century France, there are more differences between the two focal characters than just gender. One is an aristocrat, one an actress. One had the option to use marriage as a "beard", for the other, marriage would have been a snare. One could dabble in various professions, the other relied on her profession for her livelihood. But the differences in how they were talked about and treated is still worth comparing on a gendered basis.
# # #
Following a long tradition of framing f/f sex as “something newly prominent,” the French Mémoires Secrets of 1784 asserted it had “never been flaunted with as much scandal and show as today.” But while male homosexuals were arrested by the hundreds, far less attention was given to women, leaving fewer traces for historians to reconstruct. One notable exception is the actress Mademoiselle de Raucourt. This article compares her context to that of the Marquis de Villette to examine difference in the treatment and reception of male and female homosexuality among social prominent figures. [Note: My summary of this, as usual, will focus primarily on Raucourt.]
Villette was a wealthy aristocrat with philosophical and literary interests. He dabbled in both legal and military careers, but ran into trouble over a misrepresented duel, as well as his notoriety for homosexual relations. This notoriety took the form of gossip and satire, but despite occasional encounters with the police (and being the subject of investigations) he did not face legal penalties.
His marriage in middle age went some way to changing his reputation. During the Revolution, he took something of a moderate position, which resulted in more radical voices linking his sexuality to the decadence of the court.
Raucourt was the daughter of an actor and began her own career at the Comédie Française at the age of 16. Early mentions of her praised her beauty and intellect. Sexual speculation began with guesses as to which aristocrat would take (or had already taken) her virginity, as actresses were assumed to all moonlight as mistresses to the wealthy. Her disinterest in that path resulted in her becoming notorious for her romantic affairs with women. Her rejection of the career of paid mistress, combined with a profligate lifestyle, led her into bankruptcy four years into her career, though she was rumored to have income from some female aristocratic admirers.
Due to finances, she temporarily fled France for several years in company with her lover Mademoiselle Souck. She returned under the sponsorship of Marie-Antoinette, and this later resulted in Raucourt being named as one of the queen’s female lovers in political pamphlets that framed Marie-Antoinette as a lesbian.
Gossip also linked Raucourt’s name with singer Sophie Arnould, with one source claiming the two had “married.” Arnould had both male and female lovers and several of the latter moved between her bed and that of Raucourt.
In pornographic literature, Raucourt was cast in the role of leader of a secret society of lesbians, known as the Anandrine Sect. These texts also referenced Arnould and Souck as part of the Sect. This fictionalized version of Raucourt proclaimed the long history of lesbianism and promoted it as a better choice and option for women. These pornographic texts, however, typically ended with a young female protagonist at risk of being seduced into the Anandrine Sect being “rescued” by a male lover.
Raucourt was said to sometimes dress as a man, not only for stage roles, but when visiting her female lovers. Raucourt had no revolutionary sympathies, and political pamphleteers once again depicted her as leader of a band of lesbians and sodomites against the prostitutes of Paris, which latter were framed as representing the Revolution. Raucourt, along with other actors of suspect politics, was arrested but eventually revived her career, with some (perhaps surprising) support from Napoleon, who included her in a group of entertainers traveling with him.
She spent her last years in company with a woman she had met in prison and had engaged in long correspondence with.
Both Villette and Raucourt were used as examples of the decadence of the Ancien Régime. Their sexuality was a theme of personal attacks, but also as a context for political attacks. Due to the nature and purpose of these attacks, they do not represent reliable history, but represent prevalent attitudes toward sexuality.
I've had the several relevant articles in this collection written up for a couple weeks, but somehow kept not getting around to uploading them to the blog. But I have a "free" day today, so it was on my to-do list. The other main thing on my to-do list today is to contact the financial services company that has my 401K and start getting things arranged for my retirement income. It is not a comfortable time for this process. The instability of the markets mean that the balance in my 401K has been fluctuating wildly. It's hard to hold on to confidence in the long term when you see yourself "losing" thousands of dollars overnight. I'm also still waiting for the Social Security Administration to approve and start my payouts. I never entirely believed the "30 days" they advertised on the website, even before (waves hands wildly) all this. But since I allowed for 4 months from application until my salary stops (5 if you count my unused vacation payout) one might hope it would be enough.
I got a lovely fan email (for my fiction) this week from a reader in Romania. (Romania!) I also had a wonderful fan email in February. Never doubt that dropping a note to an author you enjoy will make their day. (Fan mail for the blog and podcast are also greatly appreciated, though less common.)
Ragan, Bryant T. Jr. 1996. “The Enlightenment Confronts Homosexuality” in Homosexuality in Modern France ed. by Jeffrey Merrick and Bryant T. Ragan, Jr. Oxford University Press, New York. ISBN 0-19-509304-6
Ragan 1996 The Enlightenment Confronts Homosexuality
In general, this article feels like a fairly superficial survey/overview, rather than an exploration and presentation of new conclusions.
# # #
In 18th century France, philosophy and pornography intersected to a degree such that “philosophical texts” became a euphemism for sexual content, including a regular interest in same-sex relations. Among critiques of society and politics, enlightenment philosophers debated traditional understandings and condemnation of homosexuality. This included the radical idea that all sexuality was natural and morally neutral, and that the state should not regulate it.
Moral traditionalists cited biblical references while being hampered by a suspicion that being too explicit about what they were condemning might induce people to try it. Sodomy was characterized as a type of heresy.
Legal authorities discussed sodomy in much more specific and detailed terms, focusing on same-sex relations, rather than the alternate definition of sodomy as anal sex regardless of gender. The traditional penalty for sodomy was death by burning.
The traditionalist philosophical position was that same-sex relations were “un-natural” because they were unique to human beings and not found in nature among animals. [Note: Of course, this was a flawed premise.] Another theme was the necessity of a contrast of difference in the participants for love and sexual reproduction.
Religious and legal prohibitions had less practical effect to discourage same-sex relations than theory would suggest, in part due to a French tradition of anti-clerical sentiment, and a disinterest by the courts in fully prosecuting the existing laws, especially against the nobility, where libertine attitudes were prevalent. A study of executions for sodomy indicates that many involved some other violent crime. To some extent, the courts were more interested in regulating m/f sex, especially around the consequences of illegitimate births. [Note: The author suggests that people deliberately turned to same-sex outlets as a strategy to avoid pregnancy, but this feels speculative.]
Examination of m/m behavior in France between the Renaissance and the 18th century shows a similar path to what is seen elsewhere. Such relations were common, though rarely exclusive, and required strict hierarchies of age and class to be considered acceptable. Information about women is less accessible. Reasons involve fewer court cases, a lower public profile, and an overlay of prurient interest on the part of those writing on the subject. During this era, women who engaged in same-sex activity were not perceived as being unfeminine.
The article embraces Randolph Trumbach’s model of the emergence of a “four gender” model across the 18th century. This included the idea of fixed preference in desired partners, and a shift away from age-based hierarchies. One eventual result was that exclusive sodomites became viewed as effeminate, and exclusive sapphists as masculine.
Among men, social subcultures emerged, focusing on pick-up locations already associated with prostitutes, such as the gardens of the Tuileries, Palais Royal, and Luxembourg. In-group jargon, rituals, and practices developed. This was the context for the emergence in the 18th century of a philosophical/pornographic genre of literature.
By the late 18th century, the idea of exclusive orientation had become well established, invoking Plato’s symposium for support. This distinction was less prevalent in pornography, which often celebrated bisexuality. Pornographic works often involved characters discussing and debating various sexual acts and experiences.
As pornography was primarily written by men, this affected how f/f relations were depicted. The women are presented as being focused on m/f sex even when in the middle of f/f acts, and m/f sex is usually presented as a preferred option, when available. The attraction of one woman for another is considered understandable and natural, because the authors themselves desired women, and the attributes that they described women as finding attractive in each other (in the texts) were those feminine attributes that men found attractive. These attitudes also underlay pornographic texts that treated f/f sex as desirable while deprecating m/m sex. As the trope of the “masculine sapphist” was not yet prevalent, f/f sex did not at this time challenge gender roles.
The association of philosophy and pornography also influenced an assumed association of philosophers and homosexuals, leading to euphemisms like “the philosophical vice” for homosexuality.
There is an extended discussion of how philosophers analyzed different sexual attitudes in other cultures. This consideration did not inevitably lead to promotion of tolerance, but some did conclude that morality was simply a matter of arbitrary social agreement. If the idea of the “natural rights of man” were extended to sexuality, there could be no basis for prosecuting acts that were consensual and affected no one else’s rights.
(Originally aired 2025/03/02 - listen here)
Welcome to On the Shelf for March 2025.
If you’ll forgive me for obsessing about it: it is exactly two months until my retirement date. Currently it’s a bit hard for me to think much about anything but getting all my day-job projects finished or handed off, getting all my retirement financial arrangements in place, and…well, there are other significant distractions in the world at the moment. So I feel like these “on the shelf” episodes have been stripped down to the bare bones lately. No new book shopping, no author interviews, no special book appreciation discussions, not much in the way of news of the field. I promise I’ll have more brain and energy for enriching these round-up shows very soon. (I do have an interview planned for next month, as it happens.)
But there is one exciting piece of news, in case you haven’t visited the blog to see it. We have a fiction line-up! When I had my choices narrowed down to the top six, I realized that I could take them all. Two stories were short enough that, when combined, they still met the 5000 word limit of my budget. And when I checked the calendar, I realized that I also needed a story for January 2026 (a month with 5 Saturdays, which is when I air fiction). So here is the line-up, in alphabetical order by title. (The release schedule has yet to be determined, but since the first story airs at the end of this month, it will be one that I do the narration for.)
The settings range from ancient Crete to the Victorian era. We have touches of fantasy, scenes of adventure and peril, and through it all lives revolving around connections and loyalties and love. And there were so many stories I wished I could include. As I’ve mentioned on previous occasions, the surest way to get into the “yes” pile when I’m reading submissions is for the story to have exquisite writing that grabs me by the throat. Each of the stories in this year’s season did just that.
Publications on the Blog
In February, the blog covered several articles in the collection Queer Iberia: Sexualities, Cultures, and Crossings from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance edited by Josiah Blackmore and Gregory S. Hutcheson. Much like the collection Queering the Middle Ages, which I blogged last month, there was a disappointing lack of articles focused on women’s same-sex relationships—the closest being two articles focusing on transmasculine figures which were perceived as women by their societies.
In the current month, I have lined up several articles from the collection Homosexuality in Modern France edited by Jeffrey Merrick and Bryant T. Ragan, Jr. By “modern” France, the editors mean the 18th through 20th centuries, so definitely within the Project’s scope. I’m also listening to the audiobook version of Anne Choma’s tv tie-in book Gentleman Jack: The Real Anne Lister, so I’ll be blogging that as well, though not in the sort of detail I apply to academic works.
Expect the blog to ramp up significantly in the coming months. Soon. Soon.
Recent Lesbian/Sapphic Historical Fiction
So you know how last month I commented on how few new fiction titles I’d found and how I expected there would be some catch-up on February books this month? Well, I only have 3 March titles, but a total of 22 new listings. A lot of that is due to multiple releases by only a couple of authors and I have some discussion on that, so I’ll save those books for the end of the segment.
In fact, let’s start off with a group of short stories that have been released in e-book format.
Canvas of Desire by Pippa Farthingale has a rather long cover copy for a short story.
In the heart of a sleepy mid-western town, where the rhythm of life was dictated by the rise and fall of the sun and the predictable cadence of gossip, Eleanor Vance felt an ache for something more. Cloaked in the constraints of her genteel upbringing, she drifted through gardens of roses and neatly trimmed hedges, struggling to reconcile the expectations of society with the powerful longing that stirred within her. Little did she know that a single art exhibit would shatter the facade of her everyday existence and lead her to the vibrant, uncharted territory of passion and self-discovery.
As Eleanor stepped into the town hall that warm summer evening, the air thick with anticipation, she was drawn not only to the brushstrokes and colours that adorned the walls but also to a captivating artist whose very presence seemed to ignite the space. Clara Dubois, a name whispered among the town’s elite with both intrigue and disapproval, wielded her palette like a key, unlocking the desires stifled beneath the surface of propriety. In that moment, surrounded by the murmurs of the elite, Eleanor would find herself at a crossroads, poised between conformity and the exhilarating allure of forbidden love. What transpired next would forever alter the trajectories of their lives, casting them into a whirlwind of emotions that neither could have anticipated. Thus began the journey on the canvas of desire, where art became the transformative bridge between a constrained world and the untamed realm of the heart.
My Heart On Your Sleeve by April Klasen takes place in the 18th century but the setting isn’t entirely clear.
At sixteen, Anne was in love with her best friend Isa. But Isa left her mantua maker apprenticeship to start a family with her new husband. Leaving Anne heartbroken. Thirteen years later, Anne never expected it to be recently widowed Isa coming into her dressmaker shop to apply for the apprenticeship on offer. Friendships are rekindled. And so are old feelings of love. But is Anne brave enough to give Isa her heart this time?
Taking advantage of a February release, we have Petals and Pages by T. Albright.
For Theresa, more is riding on this Valentine’s Day than the state of her heart. She’s entrusted the fate of her struggling stationary store to the new craze for handmade Valentine’s Day cards. Once a passionate artist, now all her focus is on making cards that people want to buy so she can keep her shop afloat for another week. But Theresa has also been secretly working on a Valentine’s Day card for her sweetheart Susan, to finally express the depths of her affection. When her project goes awry, Theresa’s insecurities surface and threaten to ruin their evening. Will Theresa find the words to voice what’s in her heart?
Moving on to the novel-length works, The Art of Unmaking by Parker Lennox from ONYX Publishing should have been included in last month’s listings, but it took me more time to track down a buy link for the book.
In 1922 York, England, Clara Bennett knows exactly who she's supposed to be. Or at least she thinks she does. As a promising young artist at the prestigious Fleming Academy, she perfects her style through classical training. Her days are filled with strict rules, proper techniques, and the weight of her mother's expectations. But when she encounters the mysterious Evelyn Price at a controversial exhibition, Clara's carefully ordered world begins to unravel.
Drawn into the mysterious Blackwood Society, Clara discovers art that defies reality itself. Torn between her rigid training and an intoxicating new freedom, she finds herself questioning everything she once believed. But the price of this freedom may be higher than she ever imagined, and the person she's becoming could be her very own undoing.
Clara will have to decide how much she's willing to sacrifice for greatness. Because as her art transforms, so does her heart—but nothing in the Society is quite what it seems, and some secrets are painted in shadows too dark to escape.
I’m always interested in early medieval stories with solid historic grounding, so I could wish that The Smith by Marine St. Jean could be purchased somewhere other than Amazon.
For eight years, Ama has been on the run and out of reach from the people who destroyed her life. Staying detached and moving quickly is all you can expect as a merchant-class woman with unnatural passions, even in the neglected areas of Gascony in the 800's.
But now a village that needs her skills, and more importantly, a woman who wants her heart, is trying to break through those walls. If they do, Ama is convinced disaster will follow. And if she learns the whole truth, Ama will lose her as well.
Love and Rebellion (Forbidden Whispers #1) by Ericka Schmidt adds to the growing micro-genre of sapphic fantasy viking stories. I have yet to encounter a sapphic novel set in early medieval Scandinavia that has a purely historic setting, but the mythic settings are very popular.
In the unforgiving wilderness of Vestfold, Norway, where Viking clan laws reign supreme and a warrior's worth is measured by blood and steel, two shield maidens will ignite a rebellion that will challenge everything.
Freydis and Thorarna—bound by a love more powerful than any weapon, more dangerous than any battlefield. Forced into a life not of their choosing, traded like property in the brutal game of clan politics, they refuse to be silent. Mere breeding vessels? No. They are fire. They are storm. They are revolution.
When rival warriors claim them during the sacred selection ceremony, Freydis and Thorarna make a choice that will echo through Viking history: they choose each other. Their love becomes a defiance—a burning challenge to every tradition that seeks to break them.
But freedom comes at a price. King Harald's vengeance is swift and merciless. The Blood Eagle awaits those who dare to challenge the old ways. Hunted by their own people, pursued by Karina—a shield maiden consumed by a twisted obsession—their journey becomes a raw, unfiltered cry of female rage and unbreakable sisterhood.
Some loves are whispered. Some rebellions are crushed.
Theirs will be legendary.
Lately I’ve encountered a number of stories revolving around the “affair of the poisons” in the 17th century court at Versailles. This latest is The Witch of Versailles by Jessica Mason from Murmuration Books.
At the dawn of the reign of the Sun King, an ambitious actress turns to magic to advance her dreams, then poison to keep them alive. Claude de Vin Des Oeillets rises from the bottom of Parisian society in 1660 to become both servant and lover to Madame de Montespan, a marquise with grand plans for a place in the new paradise of Versailles and the bed of Louis XIV.
A spider in a web of court intrigue and secret affairs, Claude rises ever higher, into the orbit of the King himself, but finds she must resort to dark arts and dangerous alliances on behalf of the woman she loves to stay in his golden light.
Louisa May Alcott’s novel Little Women throws out some intriguing sapphic vibes, especially in the semi-autobiographical character of Jo March. But in The Other March Sisters by Linda Epstein, Ally Malinenko, and Liz Parker from Kensington Books, a different sister is the one who brings this story into our scope.
I’m sure you believe you know their story from reading that other book, which told you an inspiring tale about four sisters. It told you a story, but did it tell you the story?
Four sisters, each as different as can be. Through the eyes and words of Jo, their characters and destinies became known to millions. Meg, pretty and conventional. Jo, stubborn, tomboyish, and ambitious. Beth, shy and good-natured, a mortal angel readily accepting her fate. And Amy, elegant, frivolous, and shallow. But Jo, for all her insight, could not always know what was in her sisters’ thoughts, or in their hearts.
With Jo away in New York, pursuing her dreams of being a writer, Meg, Beth, and Amy follow their own paths. Meg, newly married with young twins, struggles to find the contentment that Marmee assured her would come with domesticity. Unhappy and unfulfilled, she turns to her garden, finding there not just a hobby but a calling that will allow her to help other women in turn.
Beth knows her time is limited. Still, part of her longs to break out of her suffocating cocoon at home, however briefly. A new acquaintance turns into something more, offering unexpected, quiet joy.
Amy, traveling in Europe while she pursues her goal of becoming an artist, is keenly aware of the expectation that she will save the family by marrying well. Through the course of her journey, she discovers how she can remain true to herself, true to her art, and true to the love that was always meant to be.
By purposefully leaving Jo off the page, authors Liz Parker, Ally Malinenko, and Linda Epstein give the other March sisters room to reveal themselves through conversations, private correspondence, and intimate moments—coming alive in ways that might surprise even daring, unconventional Jo.
For a while, cross-time stories with parallel storylines in different eras seemed to dominate these listings, though they haven’t been as common lately. But this month turns up Under the Same Stars by Libba Bray from Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
It was said that if you write to the Bridegroom’s Oak, the love of your life will answer back. Now, the tree is giving up its secrets at last.
In 1940s Germany, Sophie is excited to discover a message waiting for her in the Bridegroom's Oak from a mysterious suitor. Meanwhile, her best friend, Hanna, is sending messages too—but not to find love. As World War II unfolds in their small town of Kleinwald, the oak may hold the key to resistance against the Nazis.
In 1980s West Germany, American teen transplant Jenny feels suffocated by her strict parents and is struggling to fit in. Until she finds herself falling for Lena, a punk-rock girl hell-bent on tearing down the wall separating West Germany from East Germany, and meeting Frau Hermann, a kind old lady with secrets of her own.
In Spring 2020, New York City, best friends Miles and Chloe are slogging through the last few months of senior year when an unexpected package from Chloe’s grandmother leads them to investigate a cold case about two unidentified teenagers who went missing under the Bridegroom’s Oak eighty years ago.
I’m not absolutely certain, but the description for Blood on Her Tongue by Johanna Van Veen from Poisoned Pen Press is giving me definite Dracula vibes.
The Netherlands, 1887. Lucy's twin sister Sarah is unwell. She refuses to eat, mumbles nonsensically, and is increasingly obsessed with a centuries-old corpse recently discovered on her husband's grand estate. The doctor has diagnosed her with temporary insanity caused by a fever of the brain. To protect her twin from a terrible fate in a lunatic asylum, Lucy must unravel the mystery surrounding her sister's condition, but it's clear her twin is hiding something. Then again, Lucy is harboring secrets of her own, too.
Then, the worst happens. Sarah's behavior takes a turn for the strange. She becomes angry… and hungry.
Lucy soon comes to suspect that something is trying to possess her beloved sister. Or is it madness? As Sarah changes before her very eyes, Lucy must reckon with the dark, monstrous truth, or risk losing her forever.
For this next group of books, I want to talk about how the publishing landscape makes me paranoid. A couple of times previously, I’ve talked about encountering books that gave off strong “generated by AI vibes”—I’m not talking about covers, but the text itself. So when I was researching new releases and I came across an author with no prior presence or other online footprint who released 7 titles within a single month, I definitely gave the books much closer scrutiny than I normally would. And that also pushed me to give closer scrutiny to a 3-title author and even a 2-title author (even though releasing two books in the same month wouldn’t normally strike me as suspicious).
So I checked all the reading samples, and looked for other signs, such as releasing books across wildly different genres. The writing was…not superb, but definitely not bot-like. So I asked my professional writers group for a reality check and learned that there’s a specific indie writer strategy being recommended where you release a lot of titles in a short period to get Amazon juice. So…ok, I guess? I confess I don’t really understand the purpose of saving up 7 novels and then releasing them all at once. Especially if you’ve never published before. Generally it’s a good thing to step up your writing chops with each new book. But you do you, if it works for you. But for what it’s worth, for this particular book booster, coming out of nowhere and publishing a lot of books all at the same time does make me suspicious in the current circumstances. With that said…
Marina Tempest has released a duo of decidedly alternate history romances in a series entitled “Lesbian Pirates”—which provide exactly what it says on the tin. It isn’t clear if these have connected storylines.
In Bitter Winds Victoria Walsh lost everything when she was falsely accused of treason - her commission, her honor, and her family legacy. Now she commands a pirate vessel, leading her own loyal crew while searching for evidence to clear her name. She never expected her path to justice would lead her back to Eleanor Cavendish - the admiral's daughter whose troubled eyes at Victoria's trial suggested she alone saw the truth. Eleanor has spent six months investigating the corruption that destroyed Victoria's life, gathering evidence against the powerful men who framed her. But when their worlds violently collide, they're forced to flee together into a storm that will either tear them apart or forge an unbreakable bond.
Cursed Scar puts cold, cynical Captain Quinn Tanner in the path of Lady Diamond Haverford, a brilliant, beautiful noblewoman who is hiding dangerous secrets of her own.
V.C. Sterling has burst onto the scene with two different series, which appear to be thematically connected rather than involving continuing characters or settings. There are currently 5 books in the Roses and Rebellion series, which all appear to have Victorian-era settings.
In The Duchess's Companion, A widowed Lady Beatrice Pembroke fights against the expectation that she will remain in the shadows. Eva Blackwood, hired as her companion for her return to society comes with secrets—including her attraction to her employer. Together they navigate the treacherous world of aristocratic scandal, old enemies, and new conspiracies.
In A Lady's Reckoning Catherine Balfour escapes the clutches of London’s most feared physician and seeks refuge in the misty streets of Bath. Hiding under a false name, she finds sanctuary at Elinor Langston’s clinic—a place where the city’s forgotten can find healing. But safety is an illusion. The man she fled, Dr. Somerton, has eyes everywhere, and he will stop at nothing to reclaim his prized apprentice. Catherine and Elinor must risk everything to expose his crimes.
Lessons in Compassion pits Miss Eliza Townsend against Sophia Harcourt, sent as a council inspector to evaluate the orphanage Eliza struggles to maintain. As their battle of wills unfolds, so does an undeniable attraction—one neither of them can afford.
In The Lady's Secret Marianne de Lacy hides her scandalous past and uses her wealth to fund a radical new school for working women. But when rumors of her illegitimate birth begin to surface, her carefully constructed world threatens to crumble. Juliet Fletcher is a journalist who should be exposing Marianne, not falling for her.
A Lady's Final Stand introduces that potentially unhistorical element of a female ex-soldier, though perhaps there’s a background that makes the motif plausible? Margaret Hale hired as bodyguard to Lady Beatrice Foswell finds herself in a battle of wits with her employer among whispers of conspiracy in the halls of Parliament.
V.C. Sterling’s second series, Velvet and Vice, involves stories set during Prohibition at a speakeasy named The Velvet Viper.
In Whiskey & Lace Evelyn St. James is a socialite trying to escape the gilded cage of a respectable marriage when she meets Frankie Malone, a sharp-tongued, whiskey-slinging crime boss who rules her empire with steel and charm.
The Velvet Viper returns as the setting for Gin & Sin featuring a romance between dancer Dahlia LaRue and the club’s enforcer, a woman of few words and fierce loyalty.
Our final multi-book release is Delilah Kent’s Regency-era Scandal & Sapphire series, which looks to be somewhat on the erotica side.
In The Lady & The Thief Lady Eleanor Harrington is betrothed to a duke, but when she catches a mysterious thief in her family's garden, her carefully planned world begins to unravel.
The Heiress & Her Governess tackles the somewhat questionable topic of a governess-pupil romance when Charlotte Fairchild takes responsibility for the rebellious heiress Isabel Sinclair.
In The Widow & The Wallflower Margaret Langley newly freed from a cruel marriage finds solace in the most unlikely place—a small bookshop tucked away from the watchful eyes of the ton, where she encounters the proprietor Eliza Finch.
Other Books of Interest
I’ve placed one book in the “other books of interest” category because although some reviews and lists suggest that the book has sapphic content, I can’t find a trace of it, and the author’s past releases have been similarly cagey on the topic.
The Boxcar Librarian by Brianna Labuskes from William Morrow Paperbacks follows the career of WPA editor Millie Lang when she finds herself on the wrong end of a potential political scandal. She’s shipped off to Montana to work on the state’s American Guide Series—travel books intended to put the nation’s destitute writers to work.
Millie arrives to an eclectic staff claiming their missed deadlines are due to sabotage, possibly from the state’s powerful Copper Kings who don’t want their long and bloody history with union organizers aired for the rest of the country to read. But Millie begins to suspect that the answer might instead lie with the town’s mysterious librarian, Alice Monroe.
More than a decade earlier, Alice Monroe created the Boxcar Library in order to deliver books to isolated mining towns where men longed for entertainment and connection. Alice thought she found the perfect librarian to staff the train car in Colette Durand, a miner’s daughter with a shotgun and too many secrets behind her eyes.
Now, no one in Missoula will tell Millie why both Alice and Colette went out on the inaugural journey of the Boxcar Library, but only Alice returned.
What Am I Reading?
And what have I been reading? Only a couple of audiobooks this past month. One of them was the second in a sapphic space-mystery series by Malka Older: The Imposition of Unnecessary Obstacles. These are novellas set in a colony constructed around Jupiter after humanity fled an uninhabitable Earth. Murder mysteries get solved by a detective and academic duo who are also negotiating a revival of their romance. The books are enjoyable and have a fun time grounding the mysteries in the worldbuilding.
I finally got around to reading the highly praised The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker, which came out a number of years ago. The novel asks the question: can a naïve and brilliant golem who has lost her immigrant master on the voyage to America and a metal-working Jinni newly freed from magical entrapment find their way together in early 20th century New York and foil the schemes of the sorcerer who wants to re-enslave them both? This was beautiful and heartbreaking and ultimately triumphant and I don’t know what took me so long to come back to it, given that I’ve owned a hard copy since it first came out.
I keep looking over to the bookcase in my home office that contains all the hard-copy books I’ve acquired in the decade since I moved in, but have failed to read yet. Soon. Soon.
Your monthly roundup of history, news, and the field of sapphic historical fiction.
In this episode we talk about:
Links to the Lesbian Historic Motif Project Online
Links to Heather Online
(Originally aired 2025/02/15 - listen here)
I was lying awake brainstorming for this month’s podcast and thinking about topics for the “Our F/Favorite Tropes” series and it occurred to me that a panel topic from last year’s Worldcon made a good springboard. The central theme of the tropes series is to examine how popular historic romance tropes can work differently for female couples than for mixed-gender couples, but I’ve also been throwing in a few tropes that don’t necessarily have a direct correspondence. Furthermore, a sub-theme of the tropes series is that tropes exist because of a specific social and historical context, and don’t make as much sense outside of that context. The necessary socio-historical context is a negotiation between the text and the reader—if the essential elements are present from either side, then the trope can ring true. Anyway, today we’re talking about sword-lesbians and horse-girls.
Tropes—as understood in romance literature—refer to a motif or scenario that recurs often enough across multiple works that it develops its own associated expectations or resonances. It could be a situation, such as “only one bed,” or a mini-script, such as a training montage. It can be a type of relationship structure for the protagonists, such as “friends to lovers,” or it can be a character type or occupation, which is the sort we’ll be talking about today. I thought it would be fun to juxtapose horses and swords, not only because they’re both based on character types, but also because many of the cultural resonances have similar roots in the tensions around the gendering of attributes and interests. And both rely on very specific cultural dynamics for their validity, but it can be the reader that brings the necessary dynamics. Here I’m going to be reprising some topics I’ve covered in the past, but examining them from a different angle.
So let’s start with horse girls and why they just naturally fit into sapphic narratives. The traditional theory about why horses and girls go together in fiction tends to lean on two motifs. One is the idea of the horse as best friend—the friend who is affectionate and supportive, but will never compete with you in human interactions. The girl can project her own emotions and motivations onto the horse-friend. Even if we move into the realm of fantasy horse-friends and horse-analogs that have human levels of sentience, the relationship remains eternally separate from human connections and therefore can never be disrupted by them.
The second layer of the horse-girl is the idea that a person marginalized by gender and often relatively powerless in society can develop a relationship with this large powerful animal in which she is the one in control—the one who guides the horse into lending her its power. Thus the horse-girl represents a fantasy of alliance with a powerful being outside of human gender hierarchies that creates at least a temporary illusion of mobility, freedom, and agency.
But the horse-girl motif isn’t simply an intersection of female characters and the presence of horses. In a historic or social context where everyone interacts with horses as an everyday function, the specialness of the horse-girl as distinct from other girls becomes diluted. And in a hypothetical context where interactions with horses are not variable based on gender (the gender of the person that is, not the horse), then the specialness of a horse-girl as opposed to a horse-boy is eroded.
So how does sapphic romance fit into this? Here I think we need to circle back and look at the historical gendering of horsemanship. The idea that horses and girls go together like…well, like a horse and carriage is relatively recent. (And by that I mean, within the last century or so.) For quite a long time, the riding of horses was coded as inherently masculine. You can see that as early as classical Greek images of Amazons, who demonstrated their defiance of expected gender roles not only by wielding weapons, but by riding horses. At regular intervals across western history, ideas about modesty and propriety have put barriers in the way of horsewomen in the form of restrictions on posture and dress. To some extent women accepted this gendering, such that when they developed a riding culture, they adopted and adapted hyper-masculine styles, borrowing from military uniforms for the tailoring and decoration of riding habits—at least for the part of the habit above the waist.
Riding—and especially hunting and racing—were considered the purview of men. To the extent that women claimed a space to participate, they were often viewed as unfeminine, or were permitted on an isolated basis as “not like other girls” rather than allowed entry as a class.
Within this context, the horse-girl has stepped outside the restrictions of gender in ways similar to the lesbian. She has claimed masculine prerogatives and privileges. In a context that frames same-sex relations in terms of gender difference, the horse-girl has positioned herself as a natural partner for a woman, regardless of where that woman herself falls on the butch-femme scale. As I noted in the trope episode on bluestockings and amazons, a stock character type in the 18th and 19th century was the pairing of the masculine horsewoman and the more feminine bluestocking. But those eras also give us the image of groups of horsewomen riding out together in their military-tailored habits, in defiance of the pressures to remain passive home-bodies.
But curiously enough, the horse-girl as a stock literary character emerges as horses become less a part of everyday life. With this shift, horses become something of a “special interest,” differentially available to young women based on either socio-economic standing or within increasingly smaller subcultures where horses still had viable functions. In parallel with the marginalization of horse culture, that culture became less masculine-coded. So there is a narrative tension between the horse-girl as gender outlaw and the horse-girl focusing on the personal and individual dynamic between rider and steed. The modern literary horse-girl is generally not coded as potentially sapphic (even though she may be coded as a tom-boy). It is the intersection between the older image of the sapphic amazon (in its early modern sense) and the more modern motif of the horse-crazy female protagonist that gives meaning to the trope of the sapphic horse-girl.
By the way, in recognizing this image of the lesbian pursuing masculine-coded interests, I want to emphasize that this is only one of the archetypes of female same-sex desire in history. There is another entire group of archetypes that emphasize attraction based on feminine similarity. But this is the archetype that connects our two topics today. So let’s turn to the sword-lesbian and set this up with the context of the panel discussion I referred to.
At last year’s World Science Fiction and Fantasy convention, I was on a discussion panel titled “Sword Lesbians: Discuss” with Ellen Kushner (author of The Privilege of the Sword), Samantha Shannon (author of The Priory of the Orange Tree), and Em X. Liu (who was a finalist for the Astounding Award for best new writer). This means that the panel was considering the trope of the sword-wielding lesbian not within the realm of historical fiction, but primarily within speculative fiction. Which raises not simply the question of “why lesbians with swords” but “why swords at all” given the scope of the possible settings.
There were a lot of great discussions during that panel, and I won’t try to summarize what other panelists said—much less remember all the great books that were recommended—but here are my thoughts on the central topic, which lay out why the sword-lesbian is a historically-rooted trope regardless of fantasy or science fictional settings that, in theory, should be free of real-world assumptions about gender and sexuality.
Within the historic context, and particularly in literature, the sword is not simply a weapon, but a symbol. There are many possible weapons that a protagonist could use, often to better effect in any particular situation. The sword is a weapon of the elite—it represents an upper class warrior, whether due to the difficulty and expense of obtaining a sword in very ancient times, or due to the time and training required to master it in medieval times, or due to its inherent irrelevance for serious combat in more modern times. The associated social status is why mounted cavalry officers carried swords up through the first World War—cavalry, because the horse, too, reflected upper class resources. The caché of the sword is why dueling with swords remained a viable, if rare, practice into the 20th century.
So one context the sword-lesbian operates within is an association with high social status, perhaps even aristocratic status if her culture has such a thing. She needn’t actually have that status, but by picking up a sword she lays claim to it.
The other thing she lays claim to, of course, is a penis. We all know that swords are phallic symbols, right? It says so right there on the tin. This returns us to the symbolic context that assumes that desiring a woman is an inherently masculine act. By picking up a sword, our heroine as much as states her right to desire women and to act on that desire. It also gives her the right to be desired by women. I examined a number of examples in historic literature where these dynamics are made explicit in the podcast episode on female knights.
All this makes sense for fiction in a real-world historic setting, but what is the logic behind the trope of the sword-lesbian in a purely fantasy setting, or a space opera? My own personal opinion is that the sword-lesbian can only be meaningful within a context that reflects both heteronormativity and sexism. Even if those attitudes are not features of the secondary world of the setting, the trope derives its meaning from the background of the reader (and author). Whatever our own personal beliefs and experiences regarding gender and sexuality, our literary expectations have been shaped by a society that assigns gender to sword use and considers same-sex desire to be a marked state.
To be meaningful as a trope, as opposed to a simple character description, the sword-lesbian must be a transgressive figure. She must be understood as clearly standing outside social norms and expectations. This makes her dangerous and desirable, but also occasionally vulnerable. Without sexism, it is not a marked action for a woman to bear a sword. Without sexism, she does not transgress any norms and attracts no special attention. Without sexism, a sword is not a penis.
Without heteronormativity, there is no special meaning to a woman adopting male-coded symbols. Without heteronormativity, there is no motivation for assigning masculinity to people who desire women. This doesn’t mean that in a speculative secondary world that was free of sexism and heteronormativity that there would be no women who happened to be lesbians and happened to use swords, but that the specific dynamics and relationship to society that we invoke with the label “sword-lesbian” would not exist. Not any more than being a girl and living in California makes you one of the California girls that the Beach Boys sang about. But I digress.
It's this contextual meaning that gets to the heart of romance tropes. And it’s one of the reasons I enjoy developing this series of episodes. (Because if there’s one thing I love, it’s over-analyzing something.) As I discussed in the first trope episode on “only one bed,” the trope loses its meaning if there is nothing marked or special about your two protagonists sharing a bed. That act is highly meaningful if there are expectations and taboos and consequences to sharing a bed. But while the social meanings assigned to two women sharing a bed can be vastly different from those assigned to a man and a woman sharing a bed, the trope still exists in sapphic romance because those resonances exist in the reader’s mind. Even if the author presents bed-sharing between two female protagonists as utterly expected and non-sexual within the story’s setting, the reader sees that single bed being introduced and sets up expectations that will either be fulfilled or turned on their head.
In the same way, the horse-girl and the sword-lesbian draw their meaning as tropes from the social forces, symbolism, and expectations assigned to their actions and situations, and especially those expectations that make their existence transgressive against social norms. And if they’re going to transgress, how about we set the two up on a date and let them transgress a few more norms together?
In this episode we talk about:
Links to the Lesbian Historic Motif Project Online
Links to Heather Online