Who's Redefining Sex?

Apr. 23rd, 2026 05:28 pm
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Posted by Heather Rose Jones

Thursday, April 23, 2026 - 10:15

You know that guy in your field who everyone cites but every time you read one of their articles you constantly mutter, "But you're ignoring X and you're redefining Y  solely in order to support your pet theory, and you're simply wrong about Z"? Yeah, one of those guys. There are several on my list and Hitchcock is one of them.

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Full citation: 

Hitchcock, Tim. 1996. “Redefining Sex in Eighteenth-Century England” in History Workshop Journal, No. 41: 72-90

As much of this material is functionally identical to what’s discussed in Hitchcock 2012, I’m going to skim more than usual.

The article opens with a quote from an early 18th century memoir discussing in candid detail the erotic practices of two unmarried people. The couple had an extended relationship that never resulted in marriage and yet considered that they “never acted [in a way] which might bring us disgrace” or in a way that compromised the woman’s virginity. To the extent that “sex” outside of marriage was forbidden, the details point out the range of erotic activities that were not considered “sex” at that time, including “amorous talks and quaint glances, kissing and toying when together in private…[she] came to [his] bedside…tender and loving kisses.”

Hitchcock compares this extensive inventory of acceptable non-procreative activities to the demonstrable demographics of the late 18th century which reflect a much higher incidence of procreative sex, both before and after marriage. This same shift in emphasis is seen during the same period in pornography and novels. Hitchcock asserts that this would seem to be in conflict with other historical trends: the rise of the “separate spheres” view of gender, the increasing emphasis on motherhood as women’s primary identity, and the rise of homosocial segregation at home and the workplace.

[Note: As I commented for Hitchcock 2012, this supposed conflict disappears if one views the shift in sexual attitudes as being driven by a prioritization of men’s desires, rather than a general shift in attitudes across the genders. As women are the people who get pregnant, they are the primary beneficiaries of non-procreative sex.]

The article reviews various demographic trends that appeared across the 18th century: lower age at first marriage, increasing percentages of children born out of marriage or marriages where the bride was already pregnant, decreasing percentages of never-married people.

Historians have proposed various explanations for these shifts including economic dynamics (which don’t’ always align well on a cause-effect basis), a shift to the idea of a “companionate” marriage prioritizing familial affection and less parental control over partner choice, or even the influence of attitudes towards “productivity” that saw children as a desirable economic product. These explanations remain largely speculative.

From another angle, literary movements (pornography, the rise of the novel, enlightenment philosophy) reflect a growing libertinism, but one which emphasized male sexual pleasure, revolving around the penis, with a greater openness in discussing sexual matters. Hitchcock suggests this is at odds with trends in women’s history, with women finding their access to public participation increasingly limited (both socially and professionally) at the same time there was increasing patriarchal control within the household. [Note: once again, I don’t see a conflict if one views the “increasing openness and focus on pleasure” as benefitting men alone. ‘More sex” might be liberating for men but could be a form of repression for women.]

Hitchcock asserts that this move toward more sex “we must assume was largely consensual” but I think that needs to be examined more closely. He notes that another parallel change around the 18th century in theories of sexuality was a rejection of the medical theory that female orgasm was essential to conception. This change undermined the importance of women’s sexual experiences within marriage. If their orgasms were irrelevant to procreation, then their sexual desires could not only be ignored (by men) but could be denied entirely (the shift to the “passionless woman” model of sexuality). Whatever the direction of causality [note: Hitchcock omits mention of other political shifts around the late 18th century that contributed to anxiety and distrust of women’s sexuality] these trends align.

Hitchcock suggests that viewing these trends in terms of “men’s liberation/women’s repression” reflects an ahistorical adoption of “the extreme polarities of modern gender politics” and suggests instead that they resulted from a revolution in the definition of “what constitutes sex.” The demographic shifts reflect specifically the prevalence of PIV procreative sex, but say little about other types of activities. We do have evidence of changes in social attitudes [note: at least from the authoritative establishment] such as the fashion for anti-masturbation literature and associated attitudes by medical authorities. He makes an unsupported claim that “the demands of narrative structure” of pornography supports a focus on penetrative sex as “while erotica may be about fondling pornography is generally about penetration.” [Note: Anyone who had engaged in the definitional wars around the boundaries of erotica and pornography will see the flaws in this statement.]

Left unexamined is the directionality of causation. Hitchcock asserts “If women were seen to be increasingly passive, then the necessity of sexually satisfying anyone other than the male participant was obviated, and penetration became the quickest way of doing this.” But the same scenario could be framed as “If authors focused entirely on the sexual satisfaction of the male participant, in the form of penetration, then the sexual desires and experiences of women were necessarily backgrounded, and to avoid framing the man as actively indifferent to female pleasure, the existence of female pleasure must be denied.”

Hitchcock gives a slight nod to this directional ambiguity in saying that the shift in sexual framing “reflected and contributed to” the general repression of women’s role in society. Implicit in the rise of focus on penetrative sex was the assignment of responsibility for control of procreation to women—a responsibility they had increasingly less power to wield.

In addition to the fashion for anti-masturbation literature, there was a rise in “sex manuals” that focused entirely on techniques that increased the likelihood of pregnancy (and, unscientifically, on the likelihood of male offspring). So, to the extent that people were shaping their behavior to the dictates of conduct literature (and we should assume that large swathes of the population didn’t have access to it), positive discussions of sex were entirely about procreation and non-procreative sex appeared only as the target of suppression. With female orgasm eliminated as a component of procreation, techniques focused on women’s pleasure were not part of the program of sex manuals.

The article concludes with a discussion of how homosexuality fits into all this, but Hitchcock relies strongly on the timelines promoted by Randolph Trumbach, which have significant flaws with regard to the history of lesbianism. In particular, there is an assertion that prior to the 18th century, female homoeroticism existed primarily in the context of cross-dressing (an assertion that is easily contradicted), and that the disappearance of female cross-dressing narratives from popular culture by the end of the 18th century marks a significant shift in behavior (as opposed to a shift in the topics highlighted in popular culture—as there is plentiful evidence for passing/cross-dressing women in the 19th century, as well as new forms of female masculinity). Further, Hitchcock asserts that “the rise of romantic friendship from mid-century” is part of this larger overall shifts, while ignoring the forms romantic friendship took as early as the 17th century.

All in all, it’s unsurprising that my opinions on Hitchcock’s later article also apply to this earlier work.

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Posted by Heather Rose Jones

Wednesday, April 22, 2026 - 09:30

Usually when France Apsley's name comes up in lesbian-relevant history, it's in connection with the future Queen Anne, but this article focuses more on her correspondence with Anne's sister Mary. Or rather, on Mary's corresopndence with her, as we only have one side of the letters.

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Full citation: 

McClain, Molly. 2008. “Love, Friendship, and Power: Queen Mary II's Letters to Frances Apsley” in Journal of British Studies, Vol. 47, No. 3: 505-527

This article examines the language of affection and romance used in letters from Mary Stuart (Queen Mary II) to a close friend, confidante, and courtier Frances Apsley, placing the language within several contexts relevant to understanding it. (Mary’s sister Anne—Queen Anne I—had similar correspondence with Frances Apsley, but this article focuses on Mary.)

Discussions of the language of passionate friendship between women consider the competing framings of “evidence of homosexual desire,” “mimicking heterosexual relations,” and “conventional literary stylings.” This article touches on all of those.

We have 80+ letters from Mary to Frances, though none from the other direction, covering a period from when Mary was in her early teens well into adulthood. In it, the two women use theatrical code names (taken from a popular play of the day), where Mary takes on a female persona and addresses Frances as a male persona, calling Frances her “husband” and framing herself as an often neglected wife. [Note: It's interesting that Anne also often framed her intimate friendships as involving her being neglected.] This imagery is carried through to the point of Mary calling her (actual) marriage to William of Orange a form of cuckoldry of Frances.

This imagery was hardly unique to Mary’s correspondence. Alan Bray is quoted as discussing similar language among male friends as a form of “homoerotic humor.” That is, in overtly using heterosexual language about a same-sex relationship, the equivalence was both recognized and defused. Although Mary used the language of marriage with Frances, another theme was the political dynamics of kings and their mistresses so prominent in the court of Charles II. Passionate friendships (whether same- or opposite-sex) with monarchs created avenues for political influence and alliance.

Although Mary and Anne spent their childhood on the fringe of the court, as they came closer to an age where marriage alliances needed to be considered, they became central figures, particularly given that their uncle, Charles II, had no legitimate heirs. Mary’s companions were primarily the daughters of her governess, and then later the her step-mother’s ladies in waiting and their daughters. Within the libertine atmosphere of the court, this group of young women were often embroiled in sexual maneuverings for position and influence—frequently a topic of Mary’s correspondence with her companions. Though Mary didn’t participate in any heterosexual intrigues herself, in 1675 she began writing love letters to Frances Apsley, who was 5 years older and the daughter of one of her father’s officers. Both had pseudonyms in these letters taken from contemporary dramas, Mary as “Clorine” and Frances as “Aurelia” (somewhat at odds with Frances being framed as her “husband” unless the theatrical Aurelia was for a male character?).

On the face of it, the language of Mary’s letters to Frances (and we might speculate about Frances’s to Mary) is that of marital love. “Who can imagine that my dear husband can be so lovesick for fear I do not love her?” “For my part, I have more love for you than I can possibly have for all the world.” But how would such language have been understood by their contemporaries in the court?

Frances’s mother encouraged her daughter’s correspondence with the two Stuart girls, seeing it as a way of strengthening family connections to the royal family. Courtiers, both male and female, engaged in highly theatrical heterosexual amours that were both serious (negotiating for alliances and influence) and treated as a game. In the 1670s there was a fashion for “seraphic love”—a very intense emotional connection that was experienced as spiritual—though not everyone sought more than a physical connection. Erotic theatrics included a mock “marriage” arranged by Charles II between his mistress, the countess of Castlemaine, and a woman he was pursuing, that was staged as a public spectacle. In this same context, a young woman on the fringes of the court married another woman who was in male disguise. [See: Amy Poulter and Arabella Hunt] A literary bestseller Portuguese Letters, represented itself as a collection of over-the-top passionate and despairing letters from a Portuguese nun to her seducer who had abandoned her.

All of these could have provided models and inspiration for the style and content of Mary’s correspondence. Her letters often make reference to the content of plays, comparing them to her own situation. Mary had a more direct connection to drama, playing the role of Calisto in a masque based on Ovid’s version of the myth, although the sexual dynamics of the story are sidestepped by making Calisto successfully resist the advances of Jupiter/Diana. [Note: McClain suggests that the depiction of Diana as a seducer (even in the form of a disguised Jupiter) would have been considered scandalizing in earlier versions of the myth, but I find this unconvincing as the entire myth rests on the plausibility of a Diana-Calisto romance.]

Overall, Mary’s on-page language reflects the types of passionate relationships considered “normal” in the later 17th century. She is an active, rather than a passive, participant, pursuing and wooing the older girl, and treating their fictive marriage as an established fact. In some letters she creates a clear separation between Mary, the person, and Clorine, the character. In others, she equates the two framings more strongly.

The romantic correspondence between the two was not secret and was commented on in surviving correspondence by third parties. Nor was this type of marital language unusual for the expressions of devotion and loyalty by courtiers to their royal patrons. Such relationships frequently had an unremarkable physical component. Same-sex  bed-sharing was a sign of trust and intimacy within upper class households. Other correspondence discusses the logistics of maneuvering to have a family member share the bed of her patroness and the expected or actual consequences to the relationship of having done so. Such female homoerotic relationships were not considered transgressive or dangerous, whether on stage or in real life, as they were not expected to disrupt expectations around marriage, but might be considered an expected rite of passage. Suspicion of this type of arrangement only began arising toward the turn of the 18th century.

With all this as background, McClain considers the position of Mary’s correspondence with Frances. Given the depth of feeling and the fact that the correspondence continued after Mary’s marriage (and was, in some ways, set in conflict with it), it doesn’t appear to represent “just a phase.” In fact, Mary’s language toward Frances becomes more sexual after her marriage to William of Orange. Nor does it seem to be modeling a dramatized client-patron relationship (especially given that Mary chose a “wife” role despite being the higher status member of the couple). Some of the former might be explained by Mary’s disappointment in her political marriage. William was not particularly appealing as a husband and seemed to have little interest in pleasing her.

But the marriage did change her relationship with Frances. Mary left for Holland and—being distant from the center of the English court—had less to offer Frances’s family in concrete terms. The letters continued but Mary framed herself as an abandoned mistress and chafed at a shift toward more formality on Frances’s part, as well as diminished candor about details of her personal life. Frances seemed to have refocused her interest on Anne. (Where Mary had positioned Frances as the “husband,” Anne adopted a male persona and positioned Frances as the “wife.”)

Although Frances and her family gained a number of benefits from the two connections, by the time Mary became queen they were no longer close friends, and similarly Anne had moved on to other favorites by the time she came to the throne. Although Frances must have had access to a great deal of highly personal information about the two future queens, she did not reveal the contents of their letters and did not write the sort of “tell all” memoir that others at the court penned.

Although it would be reaching too far to see the correspondence with Frances as evidence of a “lesbian” relationship and it’s unclear whether it ever had a sexual component, their bond was clearly romantic and understood in the imagery of husband and wife, but was “public” in the sense that those in the court were aware of the nature of their bond and did not feel the need to interfere with it. Both Mary and Anne (and presumably Frances) got emotional satisfaction from their relationships and a chance to experience and express strong emotions, both positive and negative. But these relationships were not purely romantic and can be seen in the context of the sexual politics of the Restoration court, where courtiers negotiated their bodies for proximity and influence. This is far clearer in the case of Queen Anne who elevated her female favorites in ways quite similar to how her uncle Charles II had done for his. But during Anne’s tenure, the public acceptance of such relationships received more scrutiny and public criticism, especially when seen to involve political influence. [Note: This wasn’t all that different from the criticism directed at Charles II’s prominent mistresses who wielded similar power and influence through him.]

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Search maintenance

Apr. 22nd, 2026 09:19 am
mark: A photo of Mark kneeling on top of the Taal Volcano in the Philippines. It was a long hike. (Default)
[staff profile] mark posting in [site community profile] dw_maintenance

Happy Wednesday!

I'm taking search offline sometime today to upgrade the server to a new instance type. It should be down for a day or so -- sorry for the inconvenience. If you're curious, the existing search machine is over 10 years old and was starting to accumulate a decade of cruft...!

Also, apparently these older machines cost more than twice what the newer ones cost, on top of being slower. Trying to save a bit of maintenance and cost, and hopefully a Wednesday is okay!

Edited: The other cool thing is that this also means that the search index will be effectively realtime afterwards... no more waiting a few minutes for the indexer to catch new content.

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and her excuse is "Your father and I both agreed that it was best to raise you away from my wealthy-but-toxic family, whom I was returning to". And having met the protagonist's half-siblings, I can't say that this was wrong - but what, she just loved him so much more than her younger two that she had with her new, richer, more socially acceptable husband? No matter how you look at it, she's not exactly winning the mother of the year award.

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(h/t [personal profile] conuly)

This longform article is framed as being a "ha ha isn't it wacky NASA hired a lingerie company for the Apollo missions". Ignore that. It turns out to be about an organizational culture clash around documentation and specification requirements that will speak to all the therapists and software developers in the room. Also of interest to fans of the US space program, the history of women in NASA and in tech, and clothing construction.

2023 April 14: Nautilus: "The Bra-and-Girdle Maker That Fashioned the Impossible for NASA" by Nicholas de Monchaux, Head of Architecture, MIT. Adapted from his book, Spacesuit. Recommended.
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Posted by Heather Rose Jones

Tuesday, April 21, 2026 - 11:53

Time for the Hugo finalist hot takes, so here is a structural assessment of this year's Best Related Work finalists within the context of my study The Theory of Related-ivity: A History and Analysis of the Best Relate Work Hugo Category. (I won’t be updating the data in the study with this data, since the study is focused on nomination dynamics, for which we really need the full long list. But I may append these comments as a footnote or something.)

The 6 finalists and available nomination data (with thanks to File770) are:

BEST RELATED WORK

1488 nominating ballots (all categories). 479 ballots cast for 250 Best Related nominees. Finalists range 31-70.

  • Colourfields: Writing About Writing About Science Fiction by Paul Kincaid (Briardene Books)
  • Inventing the Renaissance by Ada Palmer (University of Chicago Press US, Head of Zeus UK)
  • Last War in Albion: “The Cuddled Little Vice (Sandman)” by Elizabeth Sandifer (Eruditorum Press)
  • Positive Obsession: The Life and Times of Octavia E. Butler by Susana M. Morris (Amistad)
  • “Ragnarök vs the Long Night”by Ashaya and Aziz (History of Westeros Podcast, August 10, 2025) 
  • The Hugo Spreadsheet of Doommaintained by Renay (Google Spreadsheet)

Ballot Stats

Total nominating ballots remain relatively stable, when specific motivations for higher numbers in particular years are accounted for. Ballots with Best Related nominations are similarly stable with the same caveat. Maximum nominations to final has always been a highly variable number, but there is nothing unusual about this year. Similarly, the threshold to final, while a bit more stable than the maximum, has no surprise and the percentage of category ballots needed to final is solidly within recent trends. The number of distinct works is also solidly within recent trends and the relationship of distinct works to number of ballots matches recent “typical” years (that is, years that did not have high nomination numbers due to specific circumstances).

While I haven’t pulled up documentary evidence for author gender (and so haven’t identified anyone outside the binary), an impressionistic assessment is that 2026 follows the overall trend in skewing solidly toward authors perceived as female-identified. (I hope that's sufficiently qualified to avoid offense.)

Data Coding

The media and content categories that I would tentatively assign to these works are:

  • Colorfields -- Media=Book, Media Supercategory=Text, Content Categor(ies)=Criticism, Content Supercategory=Analysis, Topic=Science Fiction (general)
  • Inventing the Renaissance -- Media=Book, Media Supercategory=Text, Content Categor(ies)=History, Content Supercategory=Information
  • Last War in Albion -- Media=Blog/Essay, Media Supercategory=Text, Content Categor(ies)=Criticism/History, Content Supercategory=Analysis, Topic=Graphic/Sandman (other topics appear in the essay series, but I’m basing this on this one essay)
  • Positive Obsession -- Media=Book, Media Supercategory=Text, Content Categor(ies)=Biography, Content Supercategory=People, Topic=Octavia Butler
  • “Ragnarök vs the Long Night” -- Media=Podcast, Media Supercategory=Audio/Video, Content Categor(ies)=Criticism/Review??, Content Supercategory=Analysis, Topic=A Song of Ice and Fire/Norse Mythology/Game of Thrones? (if it addresses the tv series not just the books)
  • The Hugo Spreadsheet of Doom -- Media=Website, Media Supercategory=Other, Content Categor(ies)=Reference, Content Supercategory=Information, Topic=Awards

Distribution Trends

So for Media overall that’s:

  • 3 Book (50%)
  • 1 Blog/Essay (17%)
  • 1 Podcast (17%)
  • 1 Website (17%)

With the supercategories:

  • 4 Text (67%)
  • 1 Audio/Video (17%)
  • 1 Other (17%)

For Content (which may have multiple assigned):

  • 3 Criticism (50%)
  • 2 History (33%)
  • 1 each Biography, Reference and maybe Review (17% each)

With the Content supercategories :

  • 3 Analysis (50%)
  • 2 Information (33%)
  • 1 People (17%)

I won’t analyze Topics as the data can only be anecdotal.

How does this compare to recent trends? Comparing specifically to Finalists within the Related Work era, books dominate, as expected, and are comparable to the 68% overall for the era. The other 3 media types are drawn from the 4 most common media types, skipping over Video to include Podcast. So from the point of view of current trends, the Media types are fairly typical, but see the discussion on Podcasts below.

For Content (keeping in mind that I’m comparing this data only to the Related Work era, rather than the dataset as a whole), the Finalists fall in the top 3 supercategories. In the full dataset, People are more frequent than Information, but within the scope of the small numbers, this distribution can be considered typical. In the Related Work era, the most common 5 Categories in order of frequency are: Biography/Criticism/Essays (tie), History, Reviews. This closely matches this year’s finalists, the only divergence being a lack of Essays and the presence of Reference.

Additional Observations

“Ragnarök vs the Long Night” is a single episode of a podcast generally about the Westeros universe. Would the show as a whole have been eligible for Best Fancast? (It clearly meets the standard for number of episodes released.) Although their website indicates a number of ways the show is being monetized, there’s no easy way to determine if it crosses the threshold for being considered semi-pro or professional (which would make it ineligible under Fancast). And, of course, there’s no way of discovering at this point in time whether it actually received nominations under Fancast. Prior administrative precedent suggests that without any nominations in a potentially alternate category, there isn’t a mechanism for nomination-shifting.

The last time a Podcast was a Finalist was in 2014 at the end of the Writing Excuses run. In the last decade, the only two podcasts on the long lists have both been clearly professional projects and were nominated for the show as a whole, not for a specific episode. So this nomination is slightly anomalous within the context of precedent. On the other hand, it aligns with the typical pattern for video critical works, which usually have only a single episode nominated even when part of a regular show.

A number of nominees have appeared previously. Paul Kincaid has been author/editor/contributor to 4 previous nominations (2 Finalists, 1 Long List, 1 on an extended listing of nominees). His work has fallen in the categories of Criticism, History, and Biography. Renay’s Hugo Spreadsheet of Doom was on the Long List in 2021 but has never been a Finalist before. No other authors of this year’s finalists have been nominated in Best Related previously, although Ada Palmer has been nominated for her fiction and was the Astounding Award winner in 2017.

Congratulations to all the Finalists (and to the Long List nominees that we won't know about for half a year yet)!

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Loyalties Betrayed in Staged History

Apr. 21st, 2026 04:41 pm
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Posted by Heather Rose Jones

Tuesday, April 21, 2026 - 09:30

From one angle, this article is of only passing relevance to the Project--imputing same-sex bonds on fragile evidence. From a different angle, the entire lesson of the play being studied could be "men are trash; they'll betray you and get you killed; stick to your girlfriend for happiness." I doubt that's the lesson that Restoration audiencese took from it, though.

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Full citation: 

Goode, Dawn M. 2008. “Dueling Discourses: The Erotics of Female Friendship in Mary Pix’s ‘Queen Catharine.’” in Restoration: Studies in English Literary Culture, 1660-1700, vol. 32, no. 1, pp. 37–60.

This article examines themes of female romantic friendship and its limitations in the Restoration-era play Queen Catherine by Mary Pix. The play is a historical tragedy, centered around female characters, involving Catherine (widow of King Henry V) and her waiting woman Isabella, both of whom have heterosexual romances that drive the tragedy.

The late 17th century saw a theatrical genre the “she-tragedy” often penned by female playwrights and frequently including themes of close female friendship. Similar themes (without the same level of tragedy, but often with themes of frustration) are found contemporaneously in the poetry of authors such as Aphra Behn, Anne Killigrew and others. The theme of female romantic friendship that evolved during the 17th century later became a standard part of 18th century novels.

Romantic friendship existed within several conflicting dynamics. While it was valorized as an ideal “meeting of souls” more desirable than marriage (which typically was driven by the forces of economics and social politics), it was recognized that marriage was difficult to avoid. In addition, social rhetoric advance the proposition that female friendship was inherently unstable in the face of heterosexual erotic desire. But the erotic potential of female friendship was increasingly recognized, even when it manifested as denial of those possibilities and as a dichotomy between respectable “chaste” friendships and more suspect versions.

The author provides a review and history of the scholarship around interpretations of romantic friendship, pointing out how those interpretations were strongly influenced by the scholars perceptions about the acceptability of homoeroticism. Key texts include those by Smith-Rosenberg, Faderman, Donoghue, Traub, and Wahl.

Queen Catherine reflects these anxieties in depicting an idealized platonic female friendship that is disrupted by heterosexual desire, but which also contrasts the “respectable” woman (who prioritizes her relationship with a man and is allowed to experience tragic loss, but to survive) and the more sexually ambiguous woman (who is utterly torn between her two loves and is betrayed by her male lover, assaulted by a male rival, and finally killed). The message is simultaneously that romantic friendship is doomed to take second place, and that trying to prioritize the friendship or to disrupt the friend’s heterosexual bond is a danger signal. But in treating the subject at all (as well as how it is treated) Pix demonstrates an awareness of what her audience desires and the limits they will place on that desire. And she demonstrably has a female audience in mind, as stated explicitly in the play’s prologue—an audience who must be able to recognize and understand the homoerotic themes in order for the story to function, but who must not be pushed into approving of those themes openly.

The language used by the two characters clearly signals the romantic nature of their friendship, using sentimental and romantic descriptions and forms of address. But that closeness is predicated on their separation from the everyday world of men and heterosexuality. In the midst of a war zone, they have secluded themselves in a fortress near, but apart from both sides in the struggle. It is the penetration of that fortress (in several layers of symbolism) that puts both their friendship and their lives in danger. Romantic friendships can only thrive in a separate female-only environment, according to the play. (The author also points out that the access to the fortress, via secret underground vaults and tunnels, foreshadows common themes in the gothic genre that would emerge later.)

In the end, both women’s fates are determined by the conflict in their relationships. Catherine, while prioritizing her own heterosexual marriage, assumes that Isabella’s love for her will trump her other loyalties and is betrayed when Isabella opens the fortress to her own male lover. But Isabella, having moved her allegiance to the man, is then betrayed by his unwarranted jealousy and ends up dead. If the two women had remained loyal to each other and not allowed the physical and psychological intrusion of the men into their intimate space, the tragedy would be averted. Narrative requirements of the day would not allow for that, but the potential is implicit in the premise.

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The ACLU sent me a text

Apr. 20th, 2026 08:30 pm
conuly: (Default)
[personal profile] conuly
About their fight against the racist War on Drugs.

It includes what looks like a tea leaf emoji? Whatever sort of leaf this is, it’s not marijuana, even I know that. Maybe no emoji at all would’ve been the better call….

I saw a red-winged blackbird!

Apr. 21st, 2026 09:29 pm
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[personal profile] conuly
I didn't get a good look, seeing it as I did out a bus window, but did I have to? They're not that hard to identify.

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Circling Back to Traub

Apr. 19th, 2026 06:30 pm
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Posted by Heather Rose Jones

Sunday, April 19, 2026 - 11:01

I frequently comment on the somewhat chaotic order in which I encounter material for the Project. The closest I come to any deliberate program is when I seek out (or prioritize) publications on a topic I want to cover in the podcast. So it's often happened that, after blogging a book, I find myself encountering the author's earlier work that went into that book. Sometimes I'll write a post that's pretty much just a pointer to the more previous blog (Or, conversely, I'll be covering a book where I've already covered articles that returned as chapters, with a pointer in the other direction.) But it's also the case that I tend to blog articles in more detail than books. So re-encountering the material as a separate article is a chance to dig a little deeper, or to comment from angles that are informed by reading I've done in the mean time. In the current tranche of articles I have lined up to post, there are a couple of "re-runs" of this type.

There's been a bit of an unintentional gap in LHMP postings since the two on The Female Husband that I blogged at the beginning of the month as background for yesterday's podcast. I had several articles written up but then got distracted by posting The Theory of Related-ivity. I do wonder a bit at the mental whiplash I may have caused to people who come to the blog for lesbian content and encountered half a month of Hugo Award analysis--or who came to read Related-ivity not realizing the more usual content here. I used to post a greater variety of topics on this blog, but these days I'm more likely to post non-Project things on Dreamwidth or in shorter form on Bluesky--places where I have more confidence that they'll actually be read and where I have some hope of getting interaction. (Yes, this is me once more moping about how blogging feels like talking to the wall.)

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Full citation: 

Traub, Valerie. 1996. “The Perversion of ‘Lesbian’ Desire” in History Workshop Journal 41:19-49.

This article is one of those that eventually went into Traub’s The Renaissance of Lesbianism (chapter 6), but since I did a higher level overview when I covered that book, it’s worth examining more closely.

In essence, this article uses the lens of treatments of the myth of Callisto in the 17th century to track changing ideas about female homoeroticism. Traub’s premise is that, during the 17th century, there was a conceptual shift from having two dominant cultural models: the “chaste female friend” and the “masculinized tribade (with or without enlarged clitoris).” But that across the 17th century, the “innocence” of the chaste female friend came under increasing attack as part of a constellation of social changes around love, desire, and marriage. [Note: Although Traub gives a nod to there being other models besides these two, her position that feminine couples were perceived as “chaste” is contradicted rather strongly by the depiction of f/f sex in 17th century pornography—a topic on my mind given the recent run of articles that the blog has covered.]

Within this framework, the erotic nature of “femme” partners—whether as part of a femme/femme couple or as the partner of a tribade—is largely erased or silenced. Traub suggests that this silencing is not because people truly believed that a feminine woman had no erotic identity with respect to a female partner, but rather because assigning erotic potential to such a woman represented a greater threat to the status quo than assigning it to a tribade. [Note: I’m using Traub’s shorthand of “tribade = masculinized woman” for convenience, although I challenge its accuracy.]

In the 17th century, the “mythic pastoral” genre is significant for examining f/f eroticism as the displacement from the here-and-now allowed for greater freedom in representation. Further, classical myth offered various homoerotic motifs that could be used for this exploration, especially the myth of Callisto and her seduction by Jupiter-in-disguise-as-Diana. This myth especially brings in an examination of the concept of “chastity” as one of Diana’s defining attributes was chastity, defined as a rejection of m/f eroticism but variable in its position on f/f eroticism.

Traub considers this shift as essential to the emergence of a recognizable “lesbian” identity in the 18th century, in collapsing the two aforementioned distinct models into something that could be subsumed into a unified identity. [Note: There are several logical gaps in the structure she’s creating, especially in how it overlooks multiple rises and falls of the image of “chaste female friends” as a salient social dynamic, but I think this is derived in part from reaching for an overarching historic progression.] Essential to this was a recognition of the erotic potential for femme-femme relations and the resulting anxiety around a mode that had previously been considered both harmless and insignificant.

The article moves on to close reading of several selected interpretations of the myth of Callisto. The themes present in interpretations of Callisto and Diana can be ambiguous and contradictory. On the one hand, they may contrast a view of “erotic innocence” of the nymphs’ pre-existing society with the sexual shame revealed by Callisto’s pregnancy. On another hand, they provide a convenient context for depicting female nudity and homoerotic interactions among a female-only community defined by its rejection of masculine control and dominance. [Note: While Traub doesn’t make this specific point, there’s an obvious contradiction between the premises of the mythology, e.g., that a man observing Diana at the bath will be punished horribly, and the interaction between art and observer, where the latter definitely includes men.] Typically, artistic depictions of Jupiter-in-disguise-as-Diana are indistinguishable from depictions of Diana, thereby embodying a homoerotic “reality” while rendinging the underlying m/f dynamic invisible except in the viewer’s background knowledge.

The shift in framing comes in how the dynamics of the disguised “seduction” are depicted. In Thomas Heywood’s play The Golden Age, the pairing off of Diana’s nymphs into couples who share a bed and engage in erotic play is presented as the natural, uncorrupted state of Diana’s community. Chastity is defined as avoidance of heterosexual penetration. When Callisto is approached by the disguised Jupiter (disguised as another nymph in this version, rather thana s Diana), she is hesitant (providing Jupiter with the opportunity to make the rhetorical case for f/f erotics) but the text doesn’t clarify whether she objects to a female erotic advance or whether she is suspicious of the aggressiveness of Jupiter’s actions.

In contrast, Cavalli’s 1651 Italian opera La Calisto depicts the title character as much more eager for her erotic encounter, but then places a general condemnation of f/f eroticism in Diana’s mouth when Callisto sings of the delights she believes they have shared. That is, Callisto’s disgrace is not a pregnancy resulting from Jupiter’s rape, but her homoerotic desire that gave Jupiter the opportunity.

Traub sees this contrast as representing a crucial shift in how the reception of f/f eroticism was depicted. In this new framing, “chastity itself becomes suspect” and what women do together can no longer be considered automatically “innocent.” The image of chastity as a form of female empowerment was always a two-edged sword, depending on the range of possibilities it was imbued with. If the only imaginable sexual transgression was heterosexual, then “chaste” women had a great deal of social freedom for homosocial and homoerotic expression. But when society classifies the potential for f/f eroticism as transgressive, then female chastity becomes suspect.

A third staging of Callisto is considered: John Crowne’s court masque Calisto: or The Chaste Nimph, in which the two daughters of James II (then Duke of York) starred. Crowne, in his introduction, makes a great fuss over how to present the myth acceptably for the intended players and audience and, in the end, not only erases the performance of f/f erotics, but erases Jupiter’s sexual violence, as Calisto is allowed to successfully resist the seduction, allowing the most extreme interpretation of “chastity” to triumph. The masque also introduces a subplot with a different f/f relationship (between Juno and one of the nymphs) in order to attack the idea of f/f friendship entirely.

Now that “chaste f/f love” has been reanalyzed as “perverse” it can be combed with the image of the tribade to represent a general threat of female homoeroticism. This “invention of homosexual desire” Traub pairs with the invention of heterosexual desire as part of a shift in the ideology of marriage from revolving around dynastic and inheritance considerations to revolving around the concept of “companionate marriage.” This, in turn, she connects with the rise of capitalist and individualist dynamics and their erosion of the importance of familial wealth to economic success. If the need to marry is no longer driven by social and economic structures, then a new driving force is required: heterosexual desire. [Note: this is a long and detailed discussion, and even at that I suspect it’s skating over a lot of detailed analysis. So don’t take the preceding too literally.]

Relationships that don’t threaten the priorities of property and lineage can be considered inconsequential. If dynastic unions and the production of legitimate heirs are the central concern, then non-reproductive erotics can be classified as “chaste.” But if mutual sexual and emotional desire within marriage are the priority, then romantic and erotic relations between women are destabilizing and become a focus of anxiety. [Note: This dynamic takes different forms in different ages. It appears again in the later 19th century with women’s increased opportunity for economic self-sufficiency.]

This, Traub concludes, is the primary reason that the erotic potential of femme homoeroticism has been erased and silenced: not because it was not threatening, but because it was even more threatening than more obviously transgressive forms. To be significant, a concept must exist in relation to its opposite. In order for lesbianism to achieve significance, heterosexuality must be invented for it to contrast with. [Note: I have a little trouble with Traub’s logic here. As she notes “the deviant is literally inconceivable without the norm,” but she implies that heterosexuality as a “norm” was a new invention around the 17th century. It seems to me that the idea of male-female sexual relations as a “norm” is inherent in vast quantities of documentary materials throughout recorded history.]

Time period: 
Place: 
conuly: (Default)
[personal profile] conuly
The important thing is they have to be accessible, beginner-level poems for people who don't "get" poetry in English (or, perhaps, in any language).

Though I will say now what I only sort of suggested then, which is that I've never thought the point of reading anything is to understand it all. Sometimes it's enough to enjoy it, even if you miss a thing or ten. (This may be why I know so many Shakespeare quotes - from the age of six onwards I made repeated dives into our big copy of his collected works, and you know for sure I did not understand Elizabethan English at that age!)

A Fairly Sad Tale by Dorothy Parker

Apr. 19th, 2026 09:19 pm
conuly: (Default)
[personal profile] conuly
I think that I shall never know
Why I am thus, and I am so.
Around me, other girls inspire
In men the rush and roar of fire.
The sweet transparency of glass,
The tenderness of April grass,
The durability of granite;
But me—I don't know how to plan it.
The lads I've met in Cupid's deadlock
Were—shall we say?—born out of wedlock.
They broke my heart, they stilled my song,
And said they had to run along,
Explaining, so to sop my tears,
First came their parents or careers.
But ever does experience
Deny me wisdom, calm, and sense!
Though she's a fool who seeks to capture
The twenty-first fine, careless rapture,
I must go on, till ends my rope,
Who from my birth was cursed with hope.
A heart in half is chaste, archaic;
But mine resembles a mosaic—
The thing's become ridiculous!
Why am I so? Why am I thus?


********


Link

(no subject)

Apr. 18th, 2026 07:56 pm
conuly: (Default)
[personal profile] conuly
Poll #34495 Ideal calendar behavior
Open to: Registered Users, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 48


When should one cross dates off the calendar?

View Answers

You cross off the current date at the start of the day
2 (4.2%)

You cross off the current date at the end of the day
30 (62.5%)

You cross off tomorrow's date at the end of the day
1 (2.1%)

You never cross anything off, ever
15 (31.2%)



***************


Read more... )

What's really dismaying

Apr. 17th, 2026 07:21 pm
conuly: (Default)
[personal profile] conuly
is that none of this was made up. Truly, I hate this timeline.
[syndicated profile] alpennia_feed

Posted by Heather Rose Jones

Saturday, April 18, 2026 - 13:40

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 340 – Mary/Charles Hamilton: The Original Female Husband - transcript

(Originally aired 2026/04/18)

Introduction

In 1746, a novelist named Henry Fielding wrote a sensational pamphlet, in the style of a criminal confession, titled The Female Husband: or, the Surprising History of Mrs Mary, Alias Mr George Hamilton. Hamilton was not the first case of a woman marrying while passing as a man. Nor was this the first use of the phrase “female husband”—there’s a reference in a ballad in the 17th century. But Fielding’s publication connected the phrase and the scenario in the popular imagination and helped spur a journalistic fascination for gender-crossing husbands that lasted at least a couple centuries. Yet Fielding’s pamphlet is—for the most part—a work of fiction. So what were the actual facts, and how did Fielding distort them?

This episode centers around a person who was assigned female at birth, lived as a woman until their mid-teens, then put on male-coded clothing and took up a male-coded profession, and later married a woman and engaged in penetrative sex. From a modern point of view, Hamilton’s story would appear to be unquestionably that of a trans man. From the point of view of Hamilton’s contemporaries, there was no question Hamilton was a woman. We have no direct evidence what Hamilton thought about the topic.

These questions are not simple or straightforward. In an era when economic opportunities were segregated by gender, and when maintaining a gender role came with certain expectations regarding romantic and sexual interactions, and when some theories of sexual desire considered that the object of one’s affections was evidence of one’s gender identity, we shouldn’t assume that gender performance always correlates with internal gender identity. That said, in order to acknowledge the ambiguity of Hamilton’s situation, in this podcast I will refer to Hamilton by surname and use they/them pronouns except when quoting primary sources.

Regardless of Hamilton’s individual identity, their case provides general evidence regarding how 18th century English society thought about the possibilities of female same-sex relations, especially in the highly fictionalized elaborations on the story that Henry Fielding created.

The Factual Outline

Before we turn to Fielding’s fictions, let’s review the documentary facts. In September 1746, a woman named Mary Price complained to town authorities that Charles Hamilton, the man she had recently married, was actually a woman. Depositions were taken, the matter was judged at the Quarter Sessions a month later, and Hamilton was convicted of fraud under the vagrancy laws and sentenced to whipping and 6 months hard labor.

The basic facts are laid out in the first-hand testimony recorded from Hamilton and Price. (Both statements were originally recorded in first person, then later edited to be in third person. I’ve restored the first person version for greater immediacy and edited it slightly to read more smoothly.) Hamilton was recorded as being one Mary Hamilton, daughter of William Hamilton and Mary his wife.

“I was Born in the County of Somerset but do not know in what parish, and went from thence to the Shire of Angus in Scotland, and there continued till I was about fourteen years of age, and then put on my brother’s clothes and travelled for England, and in Northumberland entered into the service of Doctor Edward Green, a mountebank and continued with him between two and three years, and then entered into the service of Doctor Finly Green and continued with him near a twelve month, and then set up for a quack doctor myself, and travelled through several counties of England, and at length came to the County of Devonshire, and from thence into Somersetshire in the month of May last past where I have followed the business of a quack doctor, continuing to wear man’s apparel ever since I put on my brother’s, before I came out of Scotland.

“In the course of my travels in man’s apparel I came to the city of Wells and went by the name of Charles Hamilton, and quartered in the house of Mary Creed, where lived her niece Mary Price, to whom I proposed marriage, and the said Mary Price consented, and then I put in the bans of marriage to Mr Kingston, curate of St Cuthberts in the City of Wells, and was by Mr Kingston married to Mary Price, in the parish Church of St Cuthberts on the sixteenth day of July last past, and have since traveled as a husband with her in several parts of the county .”

Hamilton’s testimony is spare and makes no mention of motivations. Was the gender-crossing specifically for the sake of pursuing a medical education? (Note that a mountebank or quack doctor referred to an informal medical practice as opposed to formal training at a university. The word didn’t necessarily have the implication of deceit and fraud that it has today.) Such an education would not have been accessible to a woman, and the 3 to 4-year apprenticeship described indicates a rather solid commitment to the profession. That alone could have been Hamilton’s reason for cross-dressing. Why did Hamilton propose marriage to Mary Price? Was it love? Would having a wife provide some practical advantage in their profession? Was it intended as a flirtation that got too serious and there was a risk of breach of promise? There are no clues. (Fielding offers a greater context, but Fielding lies a lot. We’ll get to that.)

Mary Price provided a deposition, giving her side of the story. (Again, I’ve restored the first person and done light editing to make the prose work.)

“In the month of May last past, a person who called himself by the name of Charles Hamilton introduced himself into my company and made his Addresses to me, and prevailed on me to be married to him, which I accordingly was on the sixteenth day of July last by the Reverend Mr Kingston, Curate of the Parish of St Cuthbert in Wells. After our marriage we lay together several nights, and the pretended Charles Hamilton who had married me entered my body several times, which made me believe, at first, that Hamilton was a real man, but soon I had reason to judge that Hamilton was not a man but a woman, which Hamilton acknowledged and confessed afterwards on my complaint to the Justices when brought before them that she [that is, Hamilton] was such to my great prejudice.”

Prices’s story is that she was courted, persuaded to marry, and convinced that she had married a man. When she discovered otherwise, two months later, she brought the complaint. While Price could have had significant motivation to spin the story in a way that made her appear naïve and innocent, there’s nothing to indicate that she had any concerns about her husband before the marriage or that she was anything but surprised and disappointed once she learned differently. (This is not a universal experience for the wives of female husbands.)

If the newspapers are to be believed (which aren’t necessarily a fully reliable source), Hamilton put a bold face on their situation before the trial, continuing to ply their trade from jail. The Bath Journal notes, “There are great numbers of people flock to see her in Bridewell, to whom she sells a great deal of her quackery; and appears very bold and impudent. She seems very gay, with perriwig, ruffles, and breeches; and it is publicly talked, that she has deceived several of the fair sex, by marrying them.”

The Quarter Session records themselves make no reference to any other marriage entered into by Hamilton. While the Bath Journal initially asserts there were “several,” a later update expands the number to an implausible 14, while also offering several clearly false details, such as adding an alias of George Hamilton and extending the length of the marriage to Price, as well as introducing the motif that Hamilton performed sex “using certain vile and deceitful Practices, not fit to be mentioned.” These motifs will later show up in Fielding’s version.

Technically, although Price brought the matter to the attention of the town council, she made no accusation of a crime. It was the council who decided that they needed to identify a crime. In fact, the justices seem to have been uncertain how to charge Hamilton, based on a comment in the Bath Journal that, “There was a great debate for some time in court about the nature of her crime, and what to call it, but at last it was agreed, that she was an uncommon notorious Cheat.” The Quarter Sessions record that Hamilton was, “Continued as a vagrant for six months to hard labour” in addition to the corporal punishment.

Vagrancy was something of a catch-all category, especially for those not long-term residents in an area who were pursuing irregular or casual work. The maximum sentence for vagrancy was hard labor not exceeding 6 months, whipping, and being “sent away.” The first two punishments were clearly applied in Hamilton’s case. The last generally indicates being returned to the person’s parish of origin, but Hamilton appears to have traveled much further.

In 1752—6 years after Hamilton’s trial—an item appears in the Pennsylvania Gazette regarding an itinerant doctor named Charles Hamilton who had been “brought up to the business of a Doctor and Surgeon under one Doctor Green, a noted Mountebank in England” and had been sailing to Pennsylvania but by mischance ended up in North Carolina instead. After working northward through Virginia, Maryland, and Delaware, selling medicines and treating patients, Hamilton finally arrived in Philadelphia. For some unknown reason a local “suspected that the doctor was a woman in men’s clothes.” Dr Hamilton was examined and found to be a woman; and confessed they had used that disguise for several years. In this case, Dr. Hamilton was held briefly to see if anyone brought any complaints, but there being none, was discharged. The act of gender disguise itself was not a crime in 18th century Pennsylvania and the colonies necessarily had rather different attitudes towards itinerant workers than England did. The only concern was that the disguise had been for some nefarious purpose.

Is this the same “Charles Hamilton?” The coincidences are too strong to dismiss. An itinerant quack doctor who had trained under a Dr. Green, who was using the name Charles Hamilton, and who was a woman passing as a man? One might ask whether this was a newspaper fiction piggybacking on Fielding’s pamphlet, except that Fielding makes no reference at all to Dr. Green or to any aspect of Hamilton’s medical training.  So whether Hamilton was sent to the colonies or went voluntarily, they appear to have ended up being able to practice their profession with slightly less harassment than in England. Is this evidence that Hamilton had a persistent male gender identity? Or is it evidence that, in order to continue to practice medicine, Hamilton needed to continue to do so as a man? Again, the question is unresolved.

Fielding’s Version of the Story

As S. Baker extensively demonstrates in a 1959 article, Fielding appears to have constructed his fictional version of the Hamilton story on the basis of two newspaper reports and possibly some personal discussion with a cousin who was consulted on the sentencing (but was not present at the trial). Fielding definitely was not present himself at the Quarter Sessions trial and appears to have had no access to the depositions presented there.

In addition to changing Hamilton’s alias from Charles to George, Fielding changes their birthplace to the Isle of Man and adds biographical details for their parents. Residence in Scotland is eliminated from the story, and Hamilton is given an initial sapphic sexual initiation by a neighbor, whose sexual deviance is attributed to being a Methodist. Fielding seems to have had it seriously in for Methodists, for—after being thrown over by their first lover in favor of marriage to a man—Hamilton decides to put on men’s clothing and take up a career as a Methodist preacher in Dublin, Ireland.

While in Dublin, Hamilton progresses through two courtships of women. The first, inspired by love, is rejected. The second, inspired by mercenary desire for the woman’s back account, resulted in a marriage which was consummated “by means which decency forbids me even to mention.” Fielding is consistently coy with respect to sexual topics and in his final coda boasts that “not a single word occurs through the whole, which might shock the most delicate ear, or give offence to the purest chastity.” So while we can interpolate that some sort of sexual device may be indicated, we don’t know exactly what Fielding imagined.

This first wife soon discovered the truth of the matter and sent Hamilton packing—literally, for they left Dublin for England. There, Fielding finally introduces Hamilton’s medical career, though with no reference to any training. Hamilton falls in love with one of their patients and marries again, only to be once more revealed in bed, resulting in another flight. Mary Price was Hamilton’s fourth courtship and third marriage, and in Fieldings version was the daughter of Hamilton’s landlady, not her niece (as in the testimony). Per Fielding, Mary continued in ignorance of her husband’s nature—indeed, she protested that he was a true man—through the trial, and it was her mother who had become suspicious and made the complaint. Fielding adds the salacious detail that, during investigation of the complaint, Hamilton’s trunk was searched and turned up the artificial penis to be used in evidence against them. (The trial record makes no reference to anything of this sort. In fact the trial record could be consistent with digital penetration rather than using an instrument.)

Fielding offers the hope that publicizing Hamilton’s punishment will serve as a deterrent to others, though Hamilton is framed as unrepentant. Fielding invents a claim that Hamilton “offered the gaoler money, to procure her a young girl to satisfy her most monstrous and unnatural desires.”

In sum, Fielding’s inventions and additions include a seduction into lesbian sex preceding Hamilton’s cross-dressing, multiple marriages, at least one of which was for financial gain, an attempt to procure sex for money, and a clear indication that a penetrative instrument was used (something less conclusively hinted at in the trial record). The question of bigamy is never mentioned, presumably because no one considered any of Hamilton’s marriages to be valid in the first place. (This is a change from the marriage of Amy Poulter and Arabella Hunt, a century earlier, whose marriage was annulled specifically because Poulter was already married at the time.)

The Charges

But despite Fielding’s focus on the sexual aspects of the case, we return to the fact that what Hamilton was convicted of was a form of vagrancy, not a sexual offense. Now, “vagrancy” in 18th century England covered a wide variety of issues, all generally revolving around the idea that people pursuing an itinerant life—especially without a fixed or formal occupation—represented a hazard to the community. This included the homeless, the unemployed, and those whose employment was casual or was considered to include fraud. If you were homeless or unemployed, you were supposed to be the responsibility of your home parish, not the responsibility of whatever community you happened to be passing through. Regardless of how successful Hamilton’s profession of quack doctor might have been, it fell in a fuzzy category of suspect professions that also included traveling entertainers and unlicensed peddlers.

Vagrancy wasn’t the only possible charge that could have been brought. Other female husbands were charged with fraud, especially if it appeared that the marriage had been made to gain access to the bride’s money or goods.

But England had no laws against cross-dressing or against sex between women. Even apart from this lack, the public response to female husbands worked hard to erase or silence the potential sexual implications. Newspaper accounts use various techniques to avoid recognizing lesbian potential: ridicule, attribution of financial motives, an emphasis on elements of the stories that undermine the image of commitment, such as serial or bigamous marriages, or depicting the marriage as intended as a joke.

But the sexual possibilities were exactly what drew the most official attention. Women living as men in 18th century England were rarely prosecuted. Given the legal and social constraints on women’s lives, there were many non-romantic motivations for gender disguise. The law restricted its concern to cases involving marriage. Regardless of the legal facts, there was a general sense that lesbianism should be criminal, as reflected in the use of that word in casual references (or as a euphemism).

To some extent, it’s only in comparison to punishments for male sodomy that the punishments for female husbands seem light. Sentences of whipping, imprisonment, and pillorying were among the harshest available for non-capital crimes and often harsher than typical sentences for fraud and vagrancy, whereas men could be condemned to death. The point remains that, in contrast to male homosexuality, the simple fact of sex between women was neither officially criminal nor pursued by the law under other cover. Nor did simple cross-dressing typically attract legal response. It was only the conjunction of the two that left the authorities scrambling for an applicable charge. And even within that conjunction, the law often shrugged and turned away.

The Social Context

Fielding’s interest in the Hamilton case had a larger social and literary context, although he ran counter to those contexts in several ways. Masquerade entertainments were popular in the 18th century, including cross-gender masquerading. In combination with the sexual license encouraged by masked anonymity, these events created the potential for same-sex erotic encounters—whether by accident, by misperception, or using the disguise as cover. Moral concerns typically targeted the possibility that masquerades enabled male sexual encounters, while criticism of women attending masquerades in male garb more typically focused on it being a form of rebellion against “women’s proper place.” Fielding was among those who criticized the popularity of public masquerades as providing a context for vice and immorality.

Fielding’s treatise also comes at the end of a half century of an unusually positive interest in what Susan Lanser calls the “sapphic picaresque” genre of literature, which she defines as involving a same-sex connection within a non-domestic context, especially involving travel. These stories tend to have an episodic structure and present the illusion of a realistic “true narrative.” Drawing from the traditional picaresque genre, the protagonist often fits the “loveable rogue” image—morally ambiguous and unconventional. The protagonists challenge not only the patriarchal status quo but the interplay between class and sexuality.

As examples of this genre, Lanser notes Delarivier Manley’s New Atalantis, Eliza Haywood’s The British Recluse, Jane Barker’s The Unaccountable Wife, Giovanni Bianchi’s biography of Caterina Vizzani, Charlotte Charke’s autobiography, and the anonymous Travels and Adventures of Mademoiselle de Richelieu.

Fielding’s version of Hamilton fits into this genre in involving travel, episodic romantic encounters, a somewhat roguish protagonist, and presentation as a “true narrative.” It diverges from the sapphic picaresque genre in that some of the sapphic encounters are mediated through gender disguise, and in that the disguise inevitably fails. Whether or not Fielding was responding directly to this literary fashion, the juxtaposition points out that social attitudes towards sapphic themes can be erratic and contradictory. No era has displayed uniform hostility or uniform approval of sapphic lives.

Why did Fielding create this elaborate fiction of Hamilton’s life? The best answer seems to be “for the money”—which may well also be what motivated the real life Hamilton to take up a cross-dressed medical career. But people are complicated, and both Fielding and Hamilton no doubt had multiple reasons for their actions.

In this episode we talk about:

  • The factual story of Mary/Charles Hamilton
  • Henry Fielding’s fictional version in The Female Husband
  • The larger historic and literary context
  • Sources mentioned
    • Baker, S. 1959. “Henry Fielding’s The Female Husband: Fact and Fiction” in PMLA, 74 pp.213-24.
    • Castle, T. 1983-4. “Eros and Liberty at the English Masquerade, 1710-90” in Eighteenth-Century Studies, XVII, 2: 156-76.
    • Derry, Caroline. 2020. Lesbianism and the Criminal Law: Three Centuries of Legal Regulation in England and Wales. Palgrave Macmillan. ISBN 978-3-030-35299-8
    • Donoghue, Emma. 1995. Passions Between Women: British Lesbian Culture 1668-1801. Harper Perennial, New York. ISBN 0-06-017261-4
    • Friedli, Lynne. 1987. “Passing Women: A Study of Gender Boundaries in the Eighteenth Century” in Rousseau, G. S. and Roy Porter (eds). Sexual Underworlds of the Enlightenment. Manchester University Press, Manchester. ISBN 0-8078-1782-1
    • Fielding, Henry. 1746. The Female Husband: or, the Surprising History of Mrs Mary, Alias Mr George Hamilton. Liverpool, M. Cooper. (https://archive.org/details/bim_eighteenth-century_the-female-husband-or...)
    • Lanser, Susan. 2001. “Sapphic Picaresque: Sexual Difference and the Challenges of Homoadventuring” in Textual Practice 15:2 (November 2001): 1-18.
    • Lyons, Clare A. 2007. “Mapping an Atlantic Sexual Culture: Homoeroticism in Eighteenth-Century Philadelphia” in: Foster, Thomas A. (ed). Long Before Stonewall: Histories of Same-Sex Sexuality in Early America. New York University Press, New York. ISBN 13-978-0-8147-2749-2
    • Manion, Jen. “The Queer History of Passing as a Man in Early Pennsylvania.” Pennsylvania Legacies, vol. 16, no. 1, 2016, pp. 6–11.
    • Manion, Jen. 2020. Female Husbands: A Trans History. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. ISBN 978-1-108-48380-3
  • The full text of The Female Husband by Henry Fielding can be found at archive.org
  • This topic is discussed in one or more entries of the Lesbian Historic Motif Project here: Charles/Mary Hamilton, The Female Husband (Henry Fielding)

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