Skip to content Skip to navigation

Blog

Sunday, January 19, 2025 - 19:36

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 305 – Lesbians and the Law - transcript

(Originally aired 2025/01/19 - listen here)

Introduction

Back seven years ago, when I first changed the show from monthly to weekly, I had a segment called “ask Sappho” to address listener questions about specific topics. The first one of those answered the questions “when and where was it illegal to be a lesbian?” Now that I’m working seriously on essays that will contribute to the future sourcebook, I wanted to expand my thoughts on that topic.

As I noted in that original essay, this is a complicated question, because it not only varies according to time and place, but it depends on what aspect of lesbianism you’re considering. If I may channel Foucault for a moment, it’s unlikely that you’ll have a law saying that it’s illegal to be a homosexual if you don’t have a concept of “being a homosexual” as a meaningful category. If a society is thinking in terms of acts, not identities, then they may have laws addressing specific acts, but they may not have laws stigmatizing specific identities. Within this context, we always need to keep in mind that male and female homosexuality were often viewed and treated very differently. So we can never assume that legal concerns addressing sex between men—which are typically far better documented—will automatically apply to women.

Being treated differently doesn’t necessarily equate to lives being better or worse. While men who had sex with men were far more likely to be the subject of legal prosecution, women who had sex with women were far more likely to be subject to informal familial punishment or coercion. So in looking specifically at legal status today, I don’t mean to erase the other types of consequences queer women faced in history.

If we want to know, “was lesbianism illegal in this specific time and place?” we need to ask, “what specific actions and behaviors that we currently associate with lesbianism were illegal in that time and place?” The answer can mean that there were significant parts of the population that we (today) would classify as lesbians who were not at risk of any legal penalties at all, while other subsets might be significantly at risk. This isn’t meant to minimize the sometimes horrific penalties that some women received for same-sex activity, but to emphasize that one size does not fit all.

The actions that incurred legal risk were not necessarily directly associated with sex acts—although specific types of sex acts were the most common feature that raised concerns. Gender transgression was frequently an aspect of prosecutions—though not all types of gender transgression brought down the force of law, or at least not consistently. And the law codes that were invoked to punish people for offenses associated with lesbianism often declined to spell out specifics of what the transgression was, or to clearly identify lesbianism as the relevant factor.

So, to some extent, the best way to study the question of lesbians and the law is to look at individual cases where someone came under legal scrutiny, and where the elements of the case fall within the fuzzy boundaries of what modern people would consider to be associated with lesbian identity. Those specific elements fall generally in the following categories: certain specific types of sex acts engaged in between people assigned as female; certain types of gender presentation that fell outside the acceptable bounds for persons assigned female; and certain social performances that were contrary to the normative expectations between two persons assigned female. I emphasize the “persons assigned female” aspect because a great many of the individual legal cases involve violation of gender roles rather than any concept of sexuality. And that means that concepts of gender identity complicate the question of whether lesbianism, per se, was the offense.

So my approach here will be to look at each individual case (or group of cases) and tease out what combination of factors were crucial to the concerns of the court, both in terms of whether any crime was alleged at all, and in terms of how severely it was addressed. Today’s survey will be limited to western Christian culture, even though I have a few sources on legal aspects in Islamicate society, in order to present more useful comparisons.

How Records Skew Perceptions

It’s crucial to keep in mind that legal records are heavily biased in the worldview they present. They focus on things that were considered illegal. They focus on events where the authorities chose to pursue action. And they involve the testimony of people who may have been questioned under torture, or may have had a strong incentive to tell a story that aligned with what the authorities expected to hear.

The law is not the only force shaping people’s experiences—social penalties can be just as daunting as legal ones, without leaving the same traces in the historic record. But conversely, the incidents we read about in court records are often the product of a conjunction of factors that don’t always relate directly to a sexual offense. Many of the detailed court records that involve sex between women also involve assault or sexual coercion. Does this mean that historic lesbian relationships normally include abuse? Or does it mean that happy, consenting, non-violent relationships were rarely of interest to the law? Many of the cases involved gender-crossing and were prosecuted in part for violating marriage laws. Does that mean that historic lesbian relationships were primarily modeled on male-female married couples? Or does it mean that femme-femme couples were less likely to be prosecuted?

In reviewing the specific cases under discussion, pay attention to aggravating factors that may explain why this particular person was accused.

Religious versus Secular Law and the Definition of Sex

For much of European history, secular and religious law are deeply entangled. Not everything condemned as a sin was illegal. There were topics that secular law codes didn’t address, leaving the matter entirely to religious law. But as secular law codes developed, they often built on the foundations of religion. And when sexual offenses got tangled up with ideas of heresy, it was primarily religious law that was applied, with some of the most horrific consequences.

It can be useful to begin by considering religious codes that focused on “sin” rather than “crime”. Sex acts that didn’t fall under secular law codes might still be punished with religious penance if a women confessed to them. Within this context, consider that when the definition of “sodomy” was at its broadest, it covered pretty much any sexual activity that wasn’t penis-in-vagina sex, in the context of marriage, for the purpose of procreation. Later the definition narrowed significantly, but without always clearly laying out the limits of that narrower definition.

Definitions are important. There is a continuing debate regarding what constitutes “sex” for the purposes of identifying sexual offenses. One strand of thought considers that a penis is necessary for something to be sex. Following this reasoning, two women can only commit a sexual offense to the extent that they employ something analogous to a penis, whether a physical implement or the supposed enlarged clitoris capable of penetration. Thus we see in many court cases, a hyper-fixation on whether penetration was involved, and with what.

Other definitions considered that any activity between two women that resulted in orgasm could be considered sex, most often applied to tribadism where the actions could be seen as mimicking a male-female sex act. In contrast, actions such as manual stimulation of the genitals or fondling of the breasts were far less likely to be categorized as sex for criminal purposes.

Early Christian-based law codes drew on the condemnation of Saint Paul (Romans I, 26) of women “who changed the natural use into that which is against nature” interpreting it as indicating lesbian activity. But there is a long history of law codes trying to apply the same framework to male and female homosexuality, while the specifics of the offenses and penalties clearly assumed a male offender. Imperial edicts of the 4th through 6th century that impose a death penalty on men have wording that doesn’t make sense applied to women. Not until the medieval era do we find legal language that clearly includes women and the types of offenses women might commit.

Penitential manuals intended to guide priests in assigning penances for sin were somewhat more detailed and forthcoming about specific sex acts and can be considered a type of law code. I’ve separated this section from the discussions of specific regional legal climates because religious manuals tended to be international, or at least difficult to pin down to a specific region.

The 7th century Penitential of Theodore lists “a woman [who] practices vice with a woman” alongside other sexual sins, with a greater penance for a married woman than an unmarried girl or a widow (presumably because she has an acceptable sexual outlet). The 9th century Penitential of Rabanus Maurus refers to “a woman who joins herself to another woman after the manner of fornication” and the 8th century Penitential of Bede prescribes a stronger penance for “nuns with a nun, using an instrument”. Hincmar of Reims in the 9th century also focuses on “certain instruments…to excite desire” and Hildegard of Bingen in the 12th century is concerned with gender roles, chastising “a woman who…plays a male role in coupling with another woman.”

The penalties recommended in penitential manuals typically involve fasting or food restrictions, or performing certain prayers, with a specific period of time recommended. This sets them distinctly apart from punishments under secular law, which could involve corporal or even capital punishment.

While penitential manuals had general application, monastic rules aimed specifically at nuns addressed romantic behavior outside the realm of sex, because they were concerned about personal relationships interfering with religious devotion. So you have prohibitions like Donatus in the 7th century, "It is forbidden lest any take the hand of another for delight or stand or walk around or sit together ... any who is called 'little girl' or who call one another 'little girl'…" and frequent prohibitions on nuns sleeping in the same bed or being together in private. But these were not “laws” in the usual sense of the word.

Individual Cultures

Now I’m going to take a tour though legal evidence from specific regions and then I’ll do a bit of summing up at the end. As usual, this tour will be patchy and incomplete, because it relies on what times and places I’ve found articles about.

Italy

We’ll start with Italy so we can start by touching on a classical reference. Seneca the Elder, writing around the 1st century in his Controversies—something of a textbook for how to argue legal cases—includes one example where he brings in a hypothetical argument about whether a man is justified in killing his wife and his wife’s female lover when he discovers them in the act. While elite male Roman society was hostile to female same-sex activity, this case doesn’t actually tell us anything about the legal status of sex between women. The question was whether a man had legal justification for killing his wife’s partner in adultery. (In fact, one part of the argument was that at first he couldn’t tell the gender of his victim.) Given the detail in which the case is discussed, if engaging in lesbian sex had been considered a crime on its own, one presumes that point would have been raised.

In the late medieval period, local law codes in Italy specifically included “female sodomy” as an offence that warranted the death penalty, with specific examples in Bartholomaeus de Saliceto’s 15th century legal commentaries and a 1574 statute in the town of Treviso which specified burning as the penalty. But the one actual legal case that shows up is more complicated and less dire. In 1295, a woman named Bertolina was accused in a civil suit by a hostile neighbor of practicing magic and of having sex with women using an artificial penis, for which she was assessed a monetary fine but no physical punishment. With the exception of the neighbor who brought the suit, her community seems to have been indifferent to her sexual proclivities, which were a subject of open gossip.

Spain

Thanks to the work of several authors, we have a vast amount of detail on legal prosecutions of lesbian sex in Spain, where intolerance for sexual crimes—especially under the Inquisition—ran high. Spanish law saw an increase in intolerance for unorthodox sex in the 16-17th centuries. The increasing association of sodomy with heresy motivated transferring jurisdiction for sodomy cases to the Inquisition beginning in the early 16th century. But there was an active debate regarding whether what women could do together could be classified as “sodomy”. A 1532 edict by the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V explicitly included women under sodomy laws. This interpretation was also confirmed by a 1555 opinion discussing the medieval law code. But competing legal opinions held that sex between women was inherently less of a transgression than male sodomy and recommended leniency on this basis. Technical decisions often focused on whether an “instrument” had been used. The conflicting professional opinions on female sodomy in Spain played out in criminal prosecutions. The outcome of trials could depend both on the specific nature of the behavior and situation as well as on how successful the accused woman was in contesting the charges.

Around 1400 a woman dressed as a man served as a judicial official and married two women (presumably sequentially). She was convicted of sodomy because she used a penetrative instrument for sex, but recognition of her government service resulted in leniency. Specifically, she was hanged rather than the prescribed sentence of being burnt to death. The accusation had come from her second wife.

In a 16th century case (for which I know no other details) involving two nuns who engaged in sex using “instruments” the sentence was death by burning.

In 1502 in Valencia a woman passed as a man and married a woman, using an artificial penis for sex. Her gender was discovered in the context of an accusation of theft. She was sentenced to hang but was pardoned on the basis of a legal technicality with regard to how the trial was handled. There is no mention of her wife being accused.

In 1503, two women were accused of having sex “like a man and a woman” although no penetrative instrument is mentioned. One was sentenced to banishment and confiscation of property, but the defendant successfully appealed that the charge was based on personal malice. She was pardoned, the sentence reversed, and her possessions were returned to her.

In 1560, the Inquisition in Aragon debated whether a case involving several women fell under the category of sodomy as no sexual instrument had been used, though there was genital contact. They ended up not prosecuting.

The case of Elena or Eleno de Céspedes in 1587 is complex. After having married as a woman and given birth to a child, they spent a long period living as a man and received official classification as a “hermaphrodite deemed male” in order to marry a woman. This classification was later challenged and the key elements they were charged with were use of an instrument for sex and “contempt for the sacrament of marriage.” Eleno offered the defense that they were a hermaphrodite and had undergone a spontaneous sex change. In the end, the charge made was bigamy (because there was no proof Eleno’s original husband was dead). The sentence was whipping and ten year’s service as a surgeon at a charity hospital.

In 1597 a woman in Mallorca was found guilty of various offences, including practicing love magic to re-attract the passion of two women she’d been sexually involved with. She was sentenced to whipping and exile. The major concern was the accusation of demonic magic.

In 1603, two women with previous sodomy convictions elsewhere were charged as female sodomites, associated with other charges. The trial has extensive details of their cohabitation and alleged sex acts. Because the accusation included the use of an “instrument” the sentence was death, but this was appealed and reduced to whipping and banishment. They had received similarly lenient treatment in a previous trial.

In 1656, two young women in Aragon were accused of sodomy by neighbors who had seen them hugging, kissing, and reaching under each others’ skirts, as well as overhearing conversations about sex. Although there was no evidence of a penetrative instrument being used, the verdict was still labeled “sodomy” but the sentence was limited to whipping and exile and the women were forbidden to live in the same location in the future.

Similar cases can be found in regions of colonial Central and South America where Spanish law held sway.

While not meaning to minimize the harshness of the penalties, the nine cases detailed above are inconsistent even in the presence of multiple aggravating factors such as cross-dressing, entering into a marriage with a woman, and the use of a dildo for sex. All those factors were present in three cases, only one of which resulted in a death penalty, though one other initially was sentenced to death but was pardoned. In two cases that did not involve gender-crossing but where a dildo was involved, the sentence was death but it was commuted in one case. In the four cases involving sex acts but no other aggravating factors, the harshest sentences were whipping and banishment, but one case was not prosecuted at all and in one the defendant was pardoned.

France

French law codes include sex between women as a crime as early as 1270, but the language is often trying to create a parallel with statutes on male sodomy that don’t entirely make sense. Literary references sometimes assume a penalty of death by burning for “buggery between women” but it isn’t clear that this reflected actual legal practice.

A 1405 legal appeal presumes a prior conviction of a woman for engaging in a same-sex relationship, with no mention of using an instrument. The original sentence appears to have involved imprisonment and confiscation of property, which was reversed on the successful appeal on the grounds of good behavior. There is no mention of the woman’s partner, who appears to have been the instigating party.

There are a number of French legal cases from the 16th century. Women were included in legal discussions of punishments for “buggery,” described as “practiced between women who are so abominable that they follow other women, just as or more ardently than the man follows the woman, corrupting each other together without males.” But there seems to be a clear distinction between cases only involving sex acts and those with aggravating factors. In 1533 two women were arrested for sodomy and tortured to try to obtain confessions, but were acquitted due to lack of evidence. The case was referenced after a similar accusation of sex between women in 1563. Again, torture was involved (which, by the way, was the standard method of gaining legal testimony in France, regardless of the nature of the charges), but the witnesses were successfully challenged and the sentence did not include execution.

Three other cases had more serious outcomes and all involved gender-crossing, marriage, and the use of a dildo for sex. In each a woman began living as a man (in one case, along with a group of other women doing so), then married a woman with whom she had a sexual relationship that included a penetrative instrument. But after some period of time—up to several years—the gender-crossing was discovered, due to encountering someone known from her past life or some other reason (but not in any case instigated by the wife), which rendered the marriage and sexual activity criminal and resulted in execution by burning.

Despite continuing references in law codes to the death penalty for “women who corrupt each other, whom the ancients called tribades,” the 17th and 18th centuries turn up no actual executions. A 1715 discussion of the sexual crimes “fricatrices and triballes [sic]” prescribes two years penance per canon law rather than execution, and by the later 18th century references to sex between women in law codes are treated as a hypothetical afterthought. This shift may explain the lesser penalties. In fact, beginning in this period, we see some interestingly nuanced reactions.

In 1601, a person who had been raised as female asked permission to be reclassified as male in order to marry a woman they were having a sexual relationship with. Although the request was controversial, evidently it was successful.

Around 1700, the countess de Murat was charged with sexual relations with women (though there were aggravating factors of violent behavior, disturbance of the peace, and blasphemy). Her sentence was house arrest away from the court.

In 1750, a woman imprisoned for selling illicit newspapers was importuned by the wife of a prison official for sex in exchange for her release from prison. The incident is recorded because she begged to be returned to her original sentence instead, but there is no indication that the woman who made the offer suffered any penalty.

The case of Anne or Jean-Baptiste Grandjean in 1765 presents an interesting contrast to the 16th century executions. She began living as a man at the suggestion of a priest, after confessing her sexual desire for women. She courted several women, married one, and enjoyed a peaceful life until a rejected girlfriend outed her to the police in her new home. The legal charge was “profaning of the sacrament of marriage” with no mention of cross-dressing or their sexual relationship as part of the charges. She was acquitted of the charge on the basis that she honestly believed she had permission to marry, though she was required to return to living as a woman and to separate from her wife. The wife was not charged in any way in relation to the sexual relationship.

By the 18th century, the focus on “instruments” in the commission of female sodomy gave way to the new fascination with the clitoris and the possibility that it might be large enough to enable penetration. In this context, anatomy itself was considered sufficient proof of guilt, whereas “normal” anatomy was considered incompatible with the commission of sodomy. Though female sodomy continued to be condemned, it evidently was no longer prosecuted, and public sentiment was largely enforced through social shaming.

My current data doesn’t include any trials from the 19th century, but I wouldn’t take that to indicate that legal interest in lesbianism ceased during that period—it’s simply a gap in my data. There are references to French laws against women cross-dressing throughout the 19th century and into the early 20th century, but there seem to have been accessible ways to get around that, if desired.

So to summarize the case in France, despite generally draconian French legal practices, capital punishment seems to have been restricted to cases involving gender-crossing, marriage, and the use of a penetrative instrument for sex. But even those factors seem to have become less relevant by the 17th century, when imprisonment seems to have been the worst outcome and even that appears only when politically targeted.

Germany

German law codes, as exemplified by the one associated with Emperor Charles V in the early 16th century, prescribed death by burning for “anyone [who] commits impurity...[including] a woman with a woman.” But we see from examples taken from the 15th through 19th centuries that capital punishment seems to have been reserved for cases with multiple aggravating factors.

A religious recluse was charged in 1444 with engaging in sodomy with another woman, but no outcome of the case is recorded for either woman. Details of the sex acts involved are not given.

In 1477 a woman was tried and executed (by drowning) for having sex with several women, using a penetrative instrument, while presenting as a man. Some of the encounters involved housebreaking and coercion. Some of her female partners were exiled but received no other penalty.

An investigation in 1514 into a girl who was courting other girls was particularly interested in whether she had typical female anatomy, but there doesn’t seem to have been any legal charge made against her, though there is not mention that any of her courtships led to sexual relationships.

In a 1547 case, a woman cross-dressed and married another woman and was punished with banishment. There is no indication that her partner was punished.

In 1721, we have a very complicated case that resulted in execution for one partner while the other was briefly sentenced to a workhouse and then exiled. The more severe sentence was for the woman who cross-dressed and performed an “active” role in penetrative sex using a dildo, but her partner was aware of her physical sex while continuing the relationship, which may explain why she didn’t get off completely. But there were multiple aggravating factors, including domestic violence, participation in a marginalized religious movement, regularly alternating between claiming to be Catholic or Protestant, and entering into a marriage.

A similarly complex case in 1802 also resulted in execution. The defendant cross-dressed, initially to join the military, but then she entered into two marriages (sequentially) with women, in which she used a dildo for penetrative sex. But the key factor in the severity of the punishment also rested on a murder that she and her first wife committed, where the victim was another woman that the defendant had a relationship with. It’s clear from the testimony that her neighbors were well aware of the nature of the women’s relationship, but she wasn’t arrested until she attacked her second wife with a knife, after which sentiment turned against her.

The summary looks similar to what we’ve seen elsewhere. Same-sex desire alone, or being the partner of someone viewed as the “active” sexual partner often carries no penalty, or at worst banishment. Even cross-dressing to enter into a marriage might receive only banishment.  The death penalty is reserved for cases that involve significant aspects of violence, on top of cross-dressing, marriage, and engaging in penetrative sex. The only time a femme partner was executed was when she participated in murder.

Switzerland

There is very little evidence regarding how the relatively severe laws in Switzerland were carried out. I’ve only found one legal record, from 1568, where a woman was executed after confessing (under torture) to engaging in sex with both men and women. But the sentence primarily referenced the heterosexual fornication, as well as blasphemy, so it’s difficult to tell how the same-sex relationship would have been treated on its own.

Netherlands

The modern image of the Netherlands is one of a fairly liberal and freewheeling attitude toward sexuality, but in the early modern period we find a mixture of severe punishments for women having sex with women and disinterest in prosecuting those same acts. Severe punishments were often focused very narrowly in specific times and places. In contrast to the general pattern elsewhere, many of the cases documented in the Netherlands did not involve gender-crossing. So rather than doing a strict chronological review, I’ll group the cases by gender presentation.

Cases involving gender-crossing are included here only when a sexual relationship or marriage is part of the charge. None of these gender-crossing cases included mention of an instrument used for sex.

In the early 15th century a woman confessed to committing buggery while dressed as a man. It is likely her partner was a woman, although the term covered several other possibilities. As part of a pattern of particularly harsh punishments in the southern Netherlands in the 15th century, she was executed. No other circumstances are mentioned.

In the early 17th century, a woman who cross-dressed to serve in the army was tried for admitting a sexual relationship with a widow who also testified to the relationship. She was sentenced to whipping and exile while her partner was also punished (possibly also whipping).

A similar case to the previous came to legal attention due to domestic violence and resulted in exile. I should note that in all cases (not just in the Netherlands), “exile” generally meant only “from the city of residence.”

In another early 17th century case, a woman deserted her husband and cross-dressed in order to marry her female lover. She was tried for sodomy and a death sentence was rejected in favor of exile. There is no mention of penalty for her partner.

A similar case later in the 17th century involved a couple who began living together as women, but then one partner cross-dressed so they could marry. This was discovered when she returned to presenting as a woman and they were tried. The sentence was 12 years exile and a prohibition on the two cohabiting.

While my sources don’t always indicate the specific charges, in a mid 18th century case a cross-dressing soldier married a woman and was tried for fraud and “mocking the laws of marriage”. Her sentence was banishment.

A similar story in the early 19th century had the added complication that the cross-dressing woman also falsely claimed noble rank when she married. So it isn’t clear whether her sentence of 3 years imprisonment for fraud was for the cross-dressing or the claim of nobility.

To sum up this group, cases of cross-dressing, even when sex was confessed to, generally resulted in exile (or, in the 19th century, prison), even when execution was specifically on the table. Whipping was included in rare cases. The one execution was part of a cluster of very severe punishments for female sodomy in the southern Netherlands in the 15th and early 16th centuries.

The group of cases that don’t involve cross-dressing begin with that same region.

In a 14th century case involving two sisters who committed “that filthy work” (which in context clearly means sex), they were able to pay a fine to escape prosecution.

But a mother and daughter who coerced their maidservant into sex in the 15th century were both executed by burning, while the maid (considered less culpable) was simply exiled.

It isn’t entirely clear whether the group of six “female sodomites” who were executed on the same day in the late 15th century had engaged in sex between women, as the term also covered bestiality and sex with non-Christians.

A woman in the early 16th century who had sex with several young girls, along with her accomplice, were whipped and exiled while their younger partners were only whipped.

In the remaining cases, all from the 18th century and mostly in Amsterdam during a period of particular interest in moral cases, the only execution was when murder was also involved due to a romantic triangle. The murderer was executed and the surviving partner was exiled for the sexual aspect.

Otherwise, prison was the sentence, if there was one, with terms of 2-12 years depending on aggravating factors. The longest sentence was for a woman who raped a teenaged girl with a dildo.

A much shorter sentence was given to a woman complained against by her female neighbors for verbal aggression including sexual solicitation and boasting of sex with women. But the trial does not appear to have been focused on a specific sex act.

A group of four women were sentenced to prison when they confessed to engaging in sex acts. But in a highly similar case, where the women’s neighbors spied on them and saw some of the five women engaged in sex, there was no confession and they were only given a verbal warning.

Even when a case came to the attention of the courts, there weren’t necessarily formal consequences. Two women who lived together and had been witnessed by their landlady engaging in sex were not prosecuted. And similarly a deposition about a married woman who had been caught engaging in sex with her maid never went to trial.

So of these cases of sex between women with no cross-dressing, only an accompanying murder resulted in execution, while the remaining cases are about evenly divided between a prison term or exile, and no consequence at all.

Setting aside the aggravating factors and regardless of whether cross-dressing was involved, whipping appears as a punishment up through the 17th century and exile shifts over to imprisonment in the 18th century, which is probably a general shift separate from the specific charges involved. One historian notes that with the introduction of the French penal code in the Netherlands in the early 19th century, same-sex acts were no longer criminalized.

England (and the British Isles generally)

It is somewhat simplistic to say that lesbianism was never illegal in England, as Caroline Derry points out in her study of the subject. But it’s equally misleading to say that it was illegal (before the 20th century, when things get a bit muddled). And, as Derry points out, even when there were no statutes against lesbian acts, the presence of those acts accompanying a different charge could affect the severity of sentencing under a legal system where judges had a great deal of discretion.

There was occasional academic discussion among jurists whether the “Buggery Act” of 1533 which was the basis for criminalizing male homosexuality in England also covered women. Some argued that the language of the act—referencing “mankind”—was generic in application, while others interpreted “buggery” as something that only men could commit. In any event, there’s no evidence that any women were prosecuted under the Buggery Act in England.

Scottish law was different, and there is one record form 1625 of two women being charged with sodomy. They were sentenced to separate from each other but I haven’t found any indication of any other penalty. So keep in mind that absolute statements about the lack of laws against lesbianism only apply to England and not the UK as a whole.

The primary context in which the possibility of sexual relations between women came under scrutiny of the law was when one partner was presenting as a man, and especially when the couple engaged in a marriage. But a continuing theme is how seriously the courts endeavored to keep any discussion of sex itself out of these trials.

Female cross-dressing, all by itself, drew legal attention in England, from at least the 15th century. It was part of the apparatus for controlling women’s public behavior and even when the cross-dressing was done as a joke with no intent to fool the spectators, it could be treated as “unruly behavior” and subject to sanctions. Not consistently, and perhaps not even a majority of the time—concern with cross-dressing seems to have waxed and waned at various times. The primary concern was that it enabled women to move about in public, free of the scrutiny that women’s behavior normally received. And while there was a general sense that cross-dressing women might be sexually transgressive, the concern was usually about illicit sex with men.

There is a legal record from 1493 in London involving a woman who brought a cross-dressed concubine to her room and kept her there. The brief record doesn’t clarify whether “concubine” means that the two had a sexual relationship or whether the cross-dressed woman was simply a sex worker. No penalty was imposed.

That brings us to the central group of cases where women in an intimate relationship were charged and tried for an offence related to the relationship: those falling generally under the heading of “female husbands.” In order to simplify the discussion, I’m side-stepping the question of how the husbands in these relationships might have viewed their gender identity, either in a modern context or in their own time. The relevant point is that the courts they interacted with considered them to be women and engaged with them as such. As noted previously, the fact that they were—or were believed to be—in a sexual relationship may have affected how they were treated in the courts, but the actual charges never include a sexual offense. And we should also note that being discovered to be a “female husband” did not invariably result in legal charges. Such couples might be known to their neighbors and not molested. They might be discovered and pressured to cease presenting themselves as husband and wife, but with no other consequence. Or they might be charged with something in court only to have the charges dropped. As a general rule, only the cross-dressing partner would be charged, which emphasizes the point that it was the gender transgression, not the same-sex relationship, that was the focus of legal concern.

For all those reasons, I’ll run through some examples that focus on the actual legal charges, the reason the situation came to legal attention, and the consequences for the defendant.

In 1680 a woman sued her cross-dressing spouse for an annulment on the basis of bigamy, as the spouse had been married to a man at the time of their wedding. The wife was aware of her spouse’s gender before the wedding. The annulment was granted but there is no evidence of other penalties.

A less well documented case in 1694 seems to have also involved bigamy, but this time with the female husband marrying two women. The specific charge is not recorded but likely involved fraud. The defendant was sentenced to whipping and hard labor.

In 1720, Sarah Ketson was imprisoned after a complaint by her fiancée that the courtship had been “with an intent to defraud and cheat her.”

The most notorious female husband, due to being fictionalized by novelist Henry Fielding, was Mary Hamilton, whose wife made the matter public in 1746 when she discovered that her husband was a woman—after a period when the two had sexual relations. But the legal charge—eventually determined to be vagrancy—was made by the local town council who simply didn’t like the situation and shopped around to find an applicable crime. Hamilton was sentenced to whipping and hard labor.

The courts had a harder time convicting Samuel Bundy, aka Sarah Paul. Paul’s neighbors became suspicious about her marriage to Mary Parlour and got her charged with fraud. But Parlour refused to support the prosecution and the charges were dropped, though the two separated after that.

While many female husbands entered into marriage sincerely, Ann Marlow became Charles Marlow to marry three different women in turn to extract money and clothing from them. Marlow was convicted of fraud in 1777 and pilloried and imprisoned for 6 months.

In the 19th century, female husbands mostly came under the law when some other offense brought them to the attention of authorities. Mary Chapman’s marriage to Isabella Watson came into question in 1835 due to an assault between Watson and her sister. Although Chapman was not involved in the assault, the magistrate complained of not finding any basis for charging her.

When Harriet Stoakes looked for a legal complaint against her abusive husband in 1838, she mentioned to her solicitor that her husband was a woman. The court mediated a separation but no charges were brought.

Neither of these last two involved charging women for their relationships, the matter was simply a curiosity noted in passing. And there are no other cases recorded after these.

So, in summary, the closest England comes to prosecutions for lesbianism was cases of marriage involving one partner passing as a man. The prosecutions primarily involve working class people, often in very marginalized circumstances. The charges typically involved some type of fraud or deception, although in a few cases the community simply wanted to find an offense that would stick. For the charges to stick, it generally required the wife to be unhappy about the situation. Sentences in the 17th and 18th centuries generally involved corporal punishment and imprisonment, but by the 19th century convictions for female-husband marriages cease. In all cases, only the cross-dressing partner is prosecuted, even when the wife was aware of their identity, pointing up that gender and not sexuality was the aggravating condition.

Three other cases are worth noting, but do not involve prosecutions for a same-sex relationship in itself. In the early 19th century, the notorious trial of Pirie and Woods against Cumming Gordon involved a slander accusation against the latter for spreading a rumor that the two had a sexual relationship. Although the nature of the relationship was relevant to the trial, it was not central to the charge. In the late 19th century, the Codrington divorce trial raised the specter of a lesbian relationship as a contributing basis for divorce, but the matter was only raised as a threat and never made a matter of record and there was no question of a legal charge for it. In 1880, revisions to the legal age of sexual consent included an allowance for the possibility of sexual assault between women, but it’s hard to consider this as creating a law against lesbianism per se.

So if you were not a working-class female husband who came under legal scrutiny due to making your wife mad, you probably didn’t have to worry much about the law.

United States

Tracing legal attitudes towards lesbianism in the United States is complicated by the variety of approaches in different colonies and states. The information I have is very anecdotal, but in part this is because I haven’t prioritized the several US-focused queer history books on my shelves. I’ve done a quick peek into Michael Bronski’s A Queer History of the United States but their discussion of laws and prosecutions focuses almost exclusively on sex between men, with a silent assumption that women’s situation was included. And the book fails to mention the specific cases involving women found in my other sources, so I don’t think it would add much to this current summary. Much of the American legal history addressing same-sex relations is specific to the 20th century and therefore out of scope for my project.

Starting with the colonial period, drafters of the first law codes in the English New World colonies at first included the death penalty for sodomy whether male or female, but that draft was never implemented. Mid-17th century law codes recorded in Rhode Island and New Haven (Connecticut) specifically mentioned sex between women—or at least women committing acts “against nature,” which is a standard euphemism, but I’ve found no evidence of cases tried under them. Colonial American laws in the 17th century generally omitted women from sodomy laws, but there are a few records that address the subject.

In 1642, two female domestic servants in Boston were whipped and fined for “unseemly practices...attempting to do that which man and woman do” along with other unruly behavior such as insolence toward their employer.

In 1649, also in Boston, two married women were prosecuted for “lewd behavior each with other upon a bed.” The younger partner—who was only 15—received a verbal warning, while the older partner was sentenced to make a public confession of her behavior and warned that repeat offenses would be dealt with more harshly. There is no indication of any aggravating circumstances such as cross-dressing or the use of a dildo.

Cross-dressing by itself resulted in a number of prosecutions, but that is out of scope unless we have evidence of a romantic or sexual relationship. I’ll speak more on that topic, but first want to digress into a very singular case, that of Thomas or Thomasina Hall, who most likely was intersex and who alternated between living as a woman and a man during their lifetime. Hall had grown up as a woman in England, then went to Virginia where they alternated between wearing male clothing and performing male-coded occupations, then wearing female clothing and engaging in female-coded occupations. In the context of being accused of an illicit sexual relationship with a female servant, the question of Hall’s gender assignment became a matter of legal scrutiny. In the end, the question of Hall’s sexual behavior was dropped and the case entirely focused on the question of gender. The authorities punted the question and officially declared Hall to be both male and female and to wear clothing of both sexes to advertise this. There were no legal statutes being upheld—no one had envisioned the situation—but it’s clear that gender and not sexuality was the greatest concern.

In the 18th century, we continue to see the occasional prosecution of simple cross-dressing, usually addressed with fines, if at all. But prosecutions for sex between women fall off the radar, in large part because the legal authorities became less interested in prosecuting people’s personal lives. Furthermore, at this time the culture of romantic friendships created a context in which anything short of being caught in flagrante delicto could be considered an acceptable and even desirable part of feminine behavior. As acceptable romantic behavior between women included passionate kisses and bed-sharing, the occasions for legal concern were limited.

When cross-dressing intersected with an overt marriage-like relationship with another woman, the sexual aspect could become an aggravating factor in how the gender transgression was addressed, as in the late 19th century case of Milton Matson in California, who was betrothed to a woman when discovered to be physiologically female in the context of a criminal arrest for an unrelated offense. But even in this case, Matson evaded penalties by embracing the role of cross-gender performer at a time when subcultural “slumming tours” had become a popular pastime.

Queer elements always had the potential to add a layer of sensationalism to other crimes. It’s unlikely that the late 19th century story of Alice Mitchell murdering her lover in a jealous rage would have had the same legs except that her lover was female. Ward’s story became a media sensation, drawing on themes of French decadent literature and the tradition of murder ballads. But Mitchell was transferred from the legal establishment to the medical one and pronounced insane.

Conclusions

When we look at the patterns of prosecutions as a whole, there is a consistent pattern that the most serious legal concerns around women who loved women came when one of the partners usurped the role and privileges of a man, whether by living socially as a man, or using a penetrative instrument for sex. In many cases, it’s clear that the primary “crime” is daring to claim a male role in society, as the female partners of the accused are not charged. There were times and places when women might be prosecuted—and even executed—for relationships that involved none of these factors but they tend to be limited in scope and motivated by other social factors rather than part of an ongoing legal tradition. Another overall pattern, when looking at specific cases, is that a majority of prosecutions (though, again, not all by any means) occur when there is some other criminal act, especially violence. To what extent should we extrapolate cases deriving from violent sexual assault or domestic violence to indicate a general legal concern with sex between women? So as we see, the question of when and where it was “illegal to be a lesbian” is fraught with complexities and layers of interpretation, even if we use a generous definition of what it means to “be a lesbian” in history. Those complexities inform the question of what concerns a fictional character might have and what hazards she might face. It’s a reasonable generalization that in every era and culture, it would have been possible to have some sort of lesbian relationship that did not provoke legal sanctions. But some types of relationships would have been more hazardous than others.

Show Notes

In this episode we talk about:

  • Evidence for how romantic and sexual relations between women were treated in legal systems in western culture
  • References
    • Benbow, R. Mark and Alasdair D. K. Hawkyard. 1994. “Legal Records of Cross-dressing” in Gender in Play on the Shakespearean Stage: Boy Heroines and Female Pages, ed. Michael Shapiro, Ann Arbor. pp.225-34.
    • Benkov, Edith. “The Erased Lesbian: Sodomy and the Legal Tradition in Medieval Europe” in Same Sex Love and Desire Among Women in the Middle Ages. ed. by Francesca Canadé Sautman & Pamela Sheingorn. Palgrave, New York, 2001.
    • Boehringer, Sandra (trans. Anna Preger). 2021. Female Homosexuality in Ancient Greece and Rome. Routledge, New York. ISBN 978-0-367-74476-2
    • Borris, Kenneth (ed). 2004. Same-Sex Desire in the English Renaissance: A Sourcebook of Texts, 1470-1650. Routledge, New York. ISBN 978-1-138-87953-9
    • Brown, Kathleen. 1995. “’Changed...into the Fashion of a Man’: The Politics of Sexual Difference in a Seventeenth-Century Anglo-American Settlement” in Journal of the History of Sexuality 6:2 pp.171-193.
    • Burshatin, Israel. “Elena Alias Eleno: Genders, Sexualities, and ‘Race’ in the Mirror of Natural History in Sixteenth-Century Spain” in Ramet, Sabrina Petra (ed). 1996. Gender Reversals and Gender Cultures: Anthropological and Historical Perspectives. Routledge, London. ISBN 0-415-11483-7
    • Crane, Susan. 1996. “Clothing and Gender Definition: Joan of Arc,” in Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 26:2 : 297-320.
    • Crawford, Patricia & Sara Mendelson. 1995. "Sexual Identities in Early Modern England: The Marriage of Two Women in 1680" in Gender and History vol 7, no 3: 362-377.
    • Cressy, David. 1996. “Gender Trouble and Cross-Dressing in Early Modern England” in Journal of British Studies 35/4: 438-465.
    • Crompton, Louis. 1985. “The Myth of Lesbian Impunity: Capital Laws from 1270 to 1791” in Licata, Salvatore J. & Robert P. Petersen (eds). The Gay Past: A Collection of Historical Essays. Harrington Park Press, New York. ISBN 0-918393-11-6 (Also published as Journal of Homosexuality, Vol. 6, numbers 1/2, Fall/Winter 1980.)
    • Dekker, Rudolf M. and van de Pol, Lotte C. 1989. The Tradition of Female Transvestism in Early Modern Europe. Macmillan, London. ISBN 0-333-41253-2
    • 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
    • Duggan, Lisa. 1993. “The Trials of Alice Mitchell: Sensationalism, Sexology and the Lesbian Subject in Turn-of-the-Century America” in Queer Studies: An Interdisciplinary Reader, ed. Robert J. Corber and Stephen Valocchi. Oxford: Blackwell. pp.73-87
    • Eriksson, Brigitte. 1985. “A Lesbian Execution in Germany, 1721: The Trial Records” in Licata, Salvatore J. & Robert P. Petersen (eds). The Gay Past: A Collection of Historical Essays. Harrington Park Press, New York. ISBN 0-918393-11-6 (Also published as Journal of Homosexuality, Vol. 6, numbers 1/2, Fall/Winter 1980.)
    • Fernandez, André. 1997. “The Repression of Sexual Behavior by the Aragonese Inquisition between 1560 and 1700” in Journal of the History of Sexuality 7:4 pp.469-501
    • 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
    • Hindmarch-Watson, Katie. 2008. "Lois Schwich, the Female Errand Boy: Narratives of Female Cross-Dressing in Late-Victorian London" in GLQ 14:1, 69-98.
    • History Project, The. 1998. Improper Bostonians. Beacon Press, Boston. ISBN 0-8070-7948-0
    • Holler, Jacqueline. 1999. “’More Sins than the Queen of England’: Marina de San Miguel before the Mexican Inquisition” in Women in the Inquisition: Spain and the New World, ed. Mary E. Giles. Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore. ISBN 0-8018-5931-X pp.209-28
    • Hubbard, Thomas K. 2003. Homosexuality in Greece and Rome: A Sourcebook of Basic Documents. University of California Press, Berkeley. ISBN 978-0-520-23430-7
    • Hutchison, Emily & Sara McDougall. 2022. “Pardonable Sodomy: Uncovering Laurence’s Sin and Recovering the Range of the Possible” in Medieval People, vol. 37, pp. 115-146.
    • Karras, Ruth Mazo. 2005. Sexuality in Medieval Europe: Doing Unto Others. Routledge, New York. ISBN 978-0-415-28963-4
    • Lansing, Carol. 2005. “Donna con Donna? A 1295 Inquest into Female Sodomy” in Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History: Sexuality and Culture in Medieval and Renaissance Europe, Third Series vol. II: 109-122.
    • Lucas, R. Valerie. 1988. “’Hic Mulier’: The Female Transvestite in Early Modern England” in Renaissance and Reformation 12:1 pp.65-84
    • Merrick, Jeffrey & Bryant T. Ragan, Jr. 2001. Homosexuality in Early Modern France: A Documentary Collection. Oxford University Press, New York. ISBN 0-19-510257-6
    • Michelsen, Jakob. 1996. “Von Kaufleuten, Waisenknaben und Frauen in Männerkleidern: Sodomie im Hamburg des 18. Jahrhunderts” in Zeitschrift für Sexualforschung 9: 226-27.
    • Monter, E. William. 1985. “Sodomy and Heresy in Early Modern Switzerland” in Licata, Salvatore J. & Robert P. Petersen (eds). The Gay Past: A Collection of Historical Essays. Harrington Park Press, New York. ISBN 0-918393-11-6 (Also published as Journal of Homosexuality, Vol. 6, numbers 1/2, Fall/Winter 1980.)
    • Murray, Jacqueline. 1996. "Twice marginal and twice invisible: Lesbians in the Middle Ages" in Handbook of Medieval Sexuality, ed. Vern L. Bullough and James A. Brundage, Garland Publishing, pp. 191-222
    • Puff, Helmut. 1997. “Localizing Sodomy: The ‘Priest and sodomite’ in Pre-Reformation Germany and Switzerland” in Journal of the History of Sexuality 8:2 165-195
    • Puff, Helmut. 2000. "Female Sodomy: The Trial of Katherina Hetzeldorfer (1477)" in Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies: 30:1, 41-61.
    • Robinson, David Michael. 2001. “The Abominable Madame de Murat’” in Merrick, Jeffrey & Michael Sibalis, eds. Homosexuality in French History and Culture. Harrington Park Press, New York. ISBN 1-56023-263-3
    • Roelens, Jonas. 2015. “Visible Women: Female Sodomy in the Late Medieval and Early Modern Southern Netherlands (1400-1550)” in BMGN - Low Countries Historical Review vol. 130 no. 3.
    • Sears, Clare. 2015. Arresting Dress: Cross-Dressing, Law, and Fascination in Nineteenth-Century San Francisco. Durham: Duke University Press. ISBN 978-0-8223-5758-2
    • Traub, Valerie. 2002. The Renaissance of Lesbianism in Early Modern England. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. ISBN 0-521-44885-9
    • Van der Meer, Theo. 1991. “Tribades on Trial: Female Same-Sex Offenders in Late Eighteenth-Century Amsterdam” in Journal of the History of Sexuality 1:3 424-445.
    • Velasco, Sherry. 2000. The Lieutenant Nun: Transgenderism, Lesbian Desire and Catalina de Erauso. University of Texas Press. ISBN 0-292-78746-4
    • Velasco, Sherry. 2011. Lesbians in Early Modern Spain. Vanderbilt University Press, Nashville. ISBN 978-0-8265-1750-0
    • Vermeil. 1765. Mémoire pour Anne Grandjean. Louis Cellot, Paris.
    • Vicinus, Martha. 2004. Intimate Friends: Women Who Loved Women, 1778-1928. University of Chicago Press, Chicago. ISBN 0-226-85564-3

Links to the Lesbian Historic Motif Project Online

Links to Heather Online

Major category: 
LHMP
Sunday, January 19, 2025 - 13:41

Sometimes I choose publications to blog based on a topic I'm currently working on, sometimes it's just a matter of picking the next title that I have loaded into my iPad to read. This is the latter case.

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Braunschneider, Theresa. 1999. “The Macroclitoride, the Tribade, and the Woman: Configuring Gender and Sexuality in English Anatomical Discourse” in Textual Practice 13, no. 3: 509-32.

The text examined in this article is not so much a crucial historical turning point, as a clear illustration of a more general shift in attitudes toward sex and gender that was occurring around the 18th century. It also illustrates how a specific person’s beliefs and arguments around sex and gender can be heterogeneous with respect to modern belief-packages. A historical person can simultaneously hold positions that we might regard as amazingly progressing, concerningly regressive, and disturbingly incurious.

# # #

 

[Content note: This article and the text it discusses use the word “hermaphrodite” in contexts where it may be applied to people with ambiguous genitalia, as well as applied to people with queer sexuality. My use of the word in discussing the article is not endorsement of these uses and I recognize that this word is considered offensive (as well as inaccurate) by many.]

Rather than being an overall study of the (myth of the) “macro-clitoral” lesbian, this article is focused primarily on the content and context of a specific publication: James Parsons’ 1741 A Mechanical and Critical Enquiry Into the Nature of Hermaphrodites. Parsons pushes back against previous theories that physiological sex and behavioral gender represented a continuum between male and female, with some people representing intermediate forms (labeled “hermaphrodites”).

[Note: for works examining the history of this topic that the LHMP has already covered, I suggest: Nederman & True 1996, Jones & Stallybrass 1991, and Daston & Park 1996.]

Parsons’ thesis is one that could have been written today by anti-queer forces: that there are only two types of physiological sex and that those two are mutually exclusive, that there are only two gendered natures, that they are mutually exclusive, and that they align with physiological sex. But Parsons was not addressing trans identities, rather he was reacting to the idea that a person could have functional male and female genitalia in the same body—the “classical hermaphrodite” as it were—and that physiology drove sexual desire. At a time when the legal system had principles for how to handle people with ambiguous anatomy, Parsons asserted that there was no such thing as ambiguous anatomy, only women with a range of unexpectedly large clitorises who should always be treated legally and socially as female. [Note: In other words, he was not so much erasing trans people, rather he was erasing intersex people.]

The question that Braunschneider addresses is why a mid-18th century physician would feel the need to make this argument. Case histories recorded in the 17th century are rife with accounts of “hermaphroditic bodies” and Parsons goes on a point-by-point refutation of those accounts concluding that those witnesses were simply wrong in how they interpreted the genitalia in question.  Included in this are cases of people believed to have spontaneously changed anatomically from female to male (most likely actually based on observation of certain types of intersex condition). One consequence of Parsons’ views is that he classifies all people who do not have prototypical male physiology as women. (I.e., in essence there are “men” and “not men” with a much larger variation in type for “not men”.)

In this position, Parsons diverged from popular standard texts on anatomy and sexuality of the 17th century, which fell more in the Galenic “one sex” model (i.e., sex is a continuum) and presages the rise of the “two sex” model. [Note: for a deeper exploration of this topic, see Laqueur 1990.] While Parsons’ views were already becoming prevalent in scholarly circles, the force and detail of his arguments suggest that he was aiming at a broader, more general audience, whom he wished to convince.

In contrast to 17th century texts which had a near-prurient fascination with the potential sexual use of a large clitoris (for sex between women), Parsons focuses on countering the social and legal persecution of such people. This comes in parallel with 18th century medical texts drawing back from a focus on the clitoris as a source of female sexual pleasure, with the eventual consequence that medical texts shifted to denying the importance (or even existence) of female sexual pleasure at all. (A shift that contributed to 19th century theories about the “sexually passive woman.”)

This shift in academic discourse around clitoral pleasure was connected with changes in how female same-sex sexuality was viewed and discussed. The 17th century fascination (actually beginning in the 16th century) with the figure of the “tribade” as a woman with an enlarged clitoris who engages in penetrative sex with other women fades away across the 18th century. This motif held that sex between women both caused and was caused by this physiological variation (both views showing up in different contexts, sometimes dependent on the purpose of the author’s arguments). This discourse centered around the concept of “abuse” of the clitoris. That is: it had a “proper” use (female pleasure within m/f sex) but that any other use was “ab-use” that would have dire consequences both for the individual and society. (The article does a fairly extensive survey of the concept of “abuse” in this sense within medical manuals of the 17th century.)

The 17th century texts went beyond viewing this “abuse” as a question of usurping male roles and sexual prerogatives, but raised the possibility that it might result in women becoming men. Within this sexual model, the social roles of man and woman were not challenged, because only the anatomically aberrant tribade was deviant (in “becoming male”) while her partner remained within the social category of “woman.”

These are the connections and consequences that Parsons argued to eliminate. Macro-clitoral women were not men, they were not aberrant, they were not (inherently) tribades because women, by definition, had no “masculine nature” that would drive them to woman-woman sex. Parsons addresses the figure of the tribade twice: when he asserts that those (falsely) accused of being tribades were simply women with large clitorises, and that women with large clitorises were no more likely to desire women than anyone else. Women who engaged in sex together, he asserts, don’t do it from a specific desire, but because they can have sexual satisfaction without risk of pregnancy. Thus, rather than being an identifiable “other,” the tribade ceases to exist – all women have the potential to choose sex with women as a “safe” option. (While this supports his argument for a rigid binary gender system, it could be seen as hearkening back to a libertine view of same-sex desire as being potentially present for everyone, but acted on only depending on circumstances.)

Time period: 
Place: 
Saturday, January 11, 2025 - 12:48

It's often the case that my bibliography includes not only substantial books on queer history, but the articles written by the same author as they developed the material--sometimes across decades. I have a couple articles by Turton in my list, and this one seemed like a good chaser.

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Turton, Stephen. 2022. “The Lexicographical Lesbian: Remaking the Body in Anne Lister’s Erotic Glossary” in The Review of English Studies, vol. 73, no. 310: 537-551.

One of the threads I’ve followed in structuring the Lesbian Historic Motif Project is the question of how women in history could have become aware of the possibilities of love between women. What models would they have? To what extent would they have viewed their own desires as part of a pre-existing tradition? We rarely have data as explicit and detailed as Anne Lister’s diaries, but they give us a snapshot of one type of possibility.

# # #

It might seem odd to cover this article after covering Turton’s book (Before the Word Was Queer) that functionally includes material about Anne Lister, but “The Lexicographical Lesbian” goes into a bit more detail. And besides which, I’m a completist.

The theme of this article is the ways in which people acquire knowledge about sexuality, and how they use that knowledge to develop an understanding of their own sexuality. In the case of Anne Lister, we have a specific example of how she sought out vocabulary about sex, and especially about same-sex topics. She not only compiled a glossary for her own reference, but recorded how that exploration made her feel and how it affected self-understanding.

The paper begins with what seems like the requisite meditation on the use of the word “lesbian” in the context of historic studies, particularly considering Paula Blank’s “The Proverbial ‘Lesbian’” and its exploration of the usefulness of tracing the history of the word across time and different languages. [Note: this article is on my to-do list and maybe I should move it up the priority.]

Turton notes that the history of dictionaries has typically focused on a sort of patrilineal heritage – tracing the relationships between male-authored high-profile dictionaries – while ignoring the work of female lexicographers and studies on the language of marginalized communities (e.g., gay slang). But while these community languages were rarely incorporated into official dictionaries, the communities themselves can be traced through careful work.

In addition to examples of 18th century male “molly house” communities, Turton catalogs references to [the perception, at least, of] secret networks of women-loving-women, intersecting figures such as sculptor Anne Damer. He refers to Anne Lister’s “language play” as more of an individual, rather than community, project. [Note: Though we can’t know to what extent Lister’s many lovers either shared her vocabulary or picked it up from her.]  In addition to Lister’s diaries, she compiled several “commonplace books” (a term for a sort of scrapbook in which people compiled useful or interesting information). It’s in one of these that she recorded her glossary of erotic language. The act of compiling it demonstrates that dictionaries—in addition to serving their authors’ stated purposes and audiences—have a separate life in how readers interact with them.

We now return to consideration of the historicity of using the word “lesbian” in a late 18th century context. Turton reviews, not only how various historians of sexuality have approached the question, but the historic evidence for use of the word (and related words) in something approximating the modern sense. (This is an interesting discussion on its own, and includes some more recent shifts away from the position against using “lesbian” in a historic context.)

Circling back to Lister’s thoughts, we see how she interpreted sexuality in large part via books and classical texts—though not as thoroughly as she sometimes claimed when discussing the topic with other women. (Lister frequently dissembled about her out experience and desires when sounding out other women about theirs.)

Lister was unusual (though far from unique) as a woman familiar with classical languages and interested in acquiring books generally considered appropriate only for male readers. The glossary she compiled allows us to trace both her sources (primarily Nathan Bailey’s 1721 Universal Etymological English Dictionary) and her active search for sexual vocabulary.

Having identified the words, which typically appear in the context of misogynistic and heteronormative assumptions, we get commentary on how Lister imagined herself into their linguistic context. With respect to the definition of Latin crisare (the movements a woman makes during intercourse), Lister recorded “thinking of these things after getting into bed in a state of great excitement for a good while & afterwards it is sad to confess another cross” [i.e., orgasm – Lister seems to have attached stigma to masturbation that she didn’t attach to sex with women].

Another angle to self-insertion (if you will forgive my double-entendre) appears in several passages in the diaries where Lister fantasizes or speculates about how she would act with specific women if she had a penis. Her glossary includes several anatomical terms involving the penis, as well as the clitoris. These fantasies did not extend to using a dildo, which she explicitly disparaged in one diary entry (while imagining the use of one and being familiar with classical references to them). She considered, but appears to have rejected, the trope of women using enlarged clitorises for lesbian sex, and explored her own anatomy to conclude that it was not unusual in structure (and therefore could not be an explanation for her desires). Several diary entries, as well as a recorded citation in her glossary for tribas led Lister to mull over the question of whether sex between women constituted adultery (if one of them were married, as her long-time lover Mariana was).

Time period: 
Place: 
Saturday, January 4, 2025 - 14:48

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 304 - On the Shelf for January 2025 - Transcript

(Originally aired 2025/01/04 - listen here)

Welcome to On the Shelf for January 2025.

And there it is—boom!—the start of another year. This is going to be a year of many changes for me, though perhaps fewer changes for the Lesbian Historic Motif Project at the moment. In less than four months, I’ll be retired and working on all my writing projects full time. It already feels like it’s still too far off and yet galloping down on me. I’ve already worked through about half of my retirement-preparation checklist and much of the rest are things related to my day-job that can’t be set in motion until I’m much closer to the date. I hope that this time next year, I’ll be able to talk more about my own fiction projects, which should have moved from periodic note-taking to active writing.

And since it’s January, we’re open for submissions for the 2025 fiction series for the podcast. So if you’ve been working on a story, it’s time to get it polished up and sent in for consideration. Every year I think that it would be hard to beat the previous season in terms of quality and diversity, but so far I’ve always been delightfully surprised. If you’re submitting a story, make sure to check the submission guidelines (see the link in the show notes) to make sure you’re aiming for the right target.

Publications on the Blog

This year I’ve had the impression that I’m falling down on my blogging schedule for the Project. In theory, my goal is to have at least one post per week, but there have been long gaps where I didn’t get anything up. Evidently I’ve made up for that with several flurries of posting, because when I went back and counted, I made 45 individual posts on books and articles, representing 6 books (usually blogged in multiple posts), 11 isolated articles and one collection of 15 articles, and one guest blog. I spent a lot of this year on research in support of specific podcast topics. As I’ve mentioned previously, I’ve started to focus the podcast on developing material for the sapphic history sourcebook. So rather than working through my backlog of general and random material, I’ve been going through my bookshelves and files to pull materials to fill in some of the blank spaces in my outline.

But there’s still room for indulging in books that are just plain fun. This month, it was Stephen Turton’s Before the Word was Queer: Sexuality and the English Dictionary 1600-1930, which studies how vocabulary for queer subjects has been handled in dictionaries of the English language, leading up to a deep dive into the biases and gatekeeping that made the Oxford English Dictionary a badly flawed resource for the topic. Any time you hear someone confidently saying that “English didn’t even have a word for lesbians until the end of the 19th century” you’re seeing the damage done by over-reliance on a resource that deliberately and systematically censored the existence of women loving women. Ahem. I do get a bit passionate on this topic, because it pops up so much, not only in casual conversation among non-specialists, but even among historians. There are so many misperceptions about sapphic history, but I hope to whittle away at a few of them.

The winter holidays also gave me the time to read several other publications for blogging, so let’s see if I can keep the momentum going.

Recent Lesbian/Sapphic Historical Fiction

And one thing that has constant momentum is the flow of new lesbian and sapphic historical fiction. I found one November book that hadn’t previously come to my attention.

Christmas At Caldwell House (The Caldwell Family #2) by Eden Hopewell is a short story following up on the author’s novel For Love and Liberty, set in early 19th century Philadelphia.

A year after their love defied society and sparked change in the Caldwell mill, Sarah and Abigail are building a life together. But Christmas at Caldwell House stirs more than holiday cheer—it brings unresolved tensions, lingering doubts, and shadows of the past to the surface.

As Sarah faces a bittersweet return to the city she fled, Abigail’s determination to create a holiday of unity is tested by old wounds and unexpected challenges. Together, they must confront the ghosts of who they were to protect the future they’re striving to build.

Several December books get included this month. First up is Bold Privateer, a short work (maybe novelette length?) by Jeannelle M. Ferreira that ties in very loosely with her novel The Covert Captain.

Charlie Linley is far from her family. Noor Bakri was stolen from hers. Together they work out what home looks like, in spite of the Royal Navy, the Revolutionary War, and themselves. Or: sometimes your government wants to blow you sky-high, your family is not what anyone expects, and getting by on hope looks like piracy.

The Bawdy Suffragettes by Sapphic Shelley from InkPour is another short work. Both the title and the author’s pen name suggest this may lean strongly toward erotica, but the cover copy had enough solid historical references that I figured I’d give it the benefit of the doubt. (Please note that I don’t exclude books from these listings for being erotic, but I don’t tend to include books where it looks like the historic setting is thin window-dressing on something that’s primarily erotica.)

Elizabeth follows the mysterious Jenny Farrell into the daring suffragette world of London after she burst into Elizabeth's structured world that morning like a ray of defiant sunshine, forever altering her perspective. Now, Elizabeth found herself entangled in Jenny's risky mission to spread awareness, though she couldn't deny the exhilaration of rebellion pulsing through her veins.

Little did Elizabeth know, this chance encounter would ignite an unbreakable bond and launch her down an unexpected path toward forbidden love. When their impassioned fight for equality introduces Elizabeth to the alluring Delilah, she's forced to confront desires she never knew existed.

The era between the world wars in England is the setting for Unspoken Verses by S.P. Blackthorn.

In the wake of World War I, two women in 1930s England navigate the tumultuous landscape of forbidden love, societal constraints, and the weight of family expectations.

Amelia is a gifted writer born into privilege, her future seemingly written out for her by her powerful family. Yet beneath her refined exterior lies a rebellious spirit, one that is drawn to Carina, a married woman living a quiet life by the river. Their love—unspoken but undeniable—flourishes in the secrecy of stolen moments, but as the world around them spirals toward change, so too does the danger that looms over their bond.

In the shadow of an oppressive society and a brutal war that refuses to end, Amelia and Carina must choose: continue their quiet rebellion or break free from the chains of their past. As the tension between them and their families grows, they must confront the most difficult choice of all—their own survival or the survival of their love.

The January releases have a nice spread of historic settings, beginning with the French court in the late 16th century. If you’re familiar with the tv series The Serpent Queen, this next book is set in the era when Catherine de’ Medici was pulling strings as dowager queen of France: A Traitorous Heart by Erin Cotter from Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers.

Paris, 1572. Seventeen-year-old Jacqueline “Jac” d’Argenson-Aunis is lady-in-waiting to her best friend and former lover, the French Princess Marguerite “Margot” de Valois, but she dreams of more. If Jac plays her cards right, one day, she’ll become a full member of the Societas Solis, a secret society of spies—just like her uncle and guardian, Viscount Gabriel d’Argenson-Aunis.

But it’s hard to think about her own ambitions while France is on the brink of war, and the only thing that might save the country is an alliance—a marriage between the Catholic Princess Margot and Henry, the awful son of the Huguenot queen. Who would be the perfect person to play matchmaker? Jac, of course.

Jac resents lying to her best friend almost as much as she resents the brazen and arrogant King Henry, but it’s her one chance to prove to the Societas Solis that she belongs among their ranks before her uncle can marry her off or worse. The more time Jac spends in the French Court’s clandestine corners, though, the more she starts to wonder if Henry is…not as terrible as she once believed. And the Societas Solis may not be what they seem.

Politics. Spies. Chaos in the French court. Perhaps even witchcraft? Everything’s more dangerous when love is involved.

Those Fatal Flowers by Shannon Ives from Dell braids together various timelines in a historic fantasy suggested for fans of Madeline Miller, Jennifer Saint, and Natalie Haynes.

Before, Scopuli. It has been centuries since Thelia made the mistake that cost her the woman she loved. As the handmaidens charged with protecting Proserpina, the goddess of spring, Thelia and her sisters are banished to the island of Scopuli, cursed to live as sirens—winged half-woman, half-bird creatures. In luring men to their death, they hope to gain favor from the gods who could free them. But then ships stop coming and Thelia fears a fate worse than the underworld. Just as time begins to run out, a voice emerges, Proserpina’s voice; and what she asks of Thelia will spark a daring and dangerous quest for freedom.

Now, Roanoke. Thelia can't bear to reflect on her last moments in Scopuli, where she left behind her sisters. After weeks drifting at sea, Thelia’s renewed human body is close to death. Luckily, an unfamiliar island appears on the horizon—Roanoke. Posing as a princess arriving on a sailboat filled with riches, Thelia infiltrates the small English colony. It doesn’t take long for her to realize that this place is dangerous, especially for women. As she grows closer to a beautiful settler who mysteriously resembles her former love, Thelia formulates a plan to save her sisters and enact revenge on the violent men she’s come to hate. But is she willing to go back to Scopuli and face the decisions of her past? And will Proserpina forgive her for all that she’s done?

Told in alternating timelines, Those Fatal Flowers is a powerful, passionate, and wildly cathartic love letter to femininity and the monstrous power within us all.

Jane Walsh continues her series of Regency romances with Seducing the Widow from Bold Strokes Books

Miss Cassandra Belvedere and Miss Louise Sheffield were once debutantes vying for the same gentleman’s attentions. Bitter rivalry turned to passion—but at the end of the Season, Louise chose the earl instead of the girl.

Fifteen years later, Cass strides back into London Society to demand Louise’s help. After all, it’s the least she can do after destroying Cass’s life. Her family’s glove making business is in peril, and the elegant Louise, now the widowed Countess of Atwater, wields enough power to bring Cass’s gloves into fashion.

But Louise didn’t expect the attraction between them to burn stronger than ever, or that society would turn on her for associating with Cass. Bold, brash Cass has the real power—to unravel Louise’s strait-laced life and show her that their passion is worth fighting for.

Nothing could prepare them for the Season of a lifetime—or a second chance to fall in love.

In a similar setting, Theresa Meiningen offers a short seasonal story Her Ladyship's Christmas Companion. Alas, that the cycles of publicity mean that I almost never manage to promote Christmas stories in time for folks to read them at the right season!

Honor Holt has never been the sentimental sort. The daughter of a banker, she has always seen the world in facts and figures. With little desire to marry, and even less desire to remain in her father's home, she takes a posting as a governess in the countryside. There she hopes to find a career, or at least some decently fresh air.

But instead she finds Lady Jane Linton, the spinster aunt of Honor's charge. Quiet and plain, Jane has been relegated to caretaker of her nephew for much of his life, and she resents the sudden arrival of a governess meant to take her place. Tempers - and sparks - fly as the two realize they have more in common than they do apart. Will the pair of them manage to find the relationship they never thought possible? Or will these two 'queer' souls remain separated forever.

And all at Christmas too!

And now we skip to mid-20th century New York with The Songbird by Stacy Lynn Miller from Severn River Publishing.

In the glamorous world of 1940s New York, Hattie James is a rising star, enchanting audiences at the iconic Copacabana Club. But her glittering life is shattered by a shocking phone call: her father, a respected diplomat, has been arrested for espionage, accused of aiding Nazi Germany. As her world crumbles, Hattie is plunged into a whirlwind of danger and deceit.

Following her father's dramatic escape and alleged betrayal, Hattie is coerced by the FBI to aid their hunt. Her mission: infiltrate Rio de Janeiro's high society and uncover the truth about her father's loyalties.

In the sultry heat of Rio, Hattie poses undercover as a singer at the Halo Club, owned by enigmatic Maya Reyes. Each performance at this vibrant hotspot brings her closer to the dark secrets entangling the city, and every note she sings could lead to her father—or to a trap set by those who wish to silence her.

When Maya’s sister suddenly goes missing, Hattie unearths a shocking connection between her father and the mysterious SS leader Heinz Baumann. With stakes higher than ever, Hattie finds herself thrust even deeper into a dangerous undercover operation that threatens to put more than just her own life at risk.

Other Books of Interest

I’m putting The Spirit Circle by Tara Calaby from Text Publishing into the “other books of interest” category because I cannot for the life of me figure out what time period the book is set in. (And when I went looking for hints in Goodreads reviews, it appears that even reading the book doesn’t entirely clarify the question.) So this may be a historical. I’m not sure.

For Ellen Whitfield, the betrothal of her dear friend Harriet to Ellen’s brother has brought both loss and solace. But when Harriet suddenly breaks off the engagement, ostensibly at the insistence of her deceased mother, Ellen is bewildered. And when she learns that Harriet is involved with a spiritualist group led by the charismatic Caroline McLeod, she fears losing her friend altogether.

So it is that practical, sceptical Ellen moves into the gloomy East Melbourne mansion where Caroline, along with her enigmatic daughter Grace, has assembled a motley court of the bereaved. Ellen’s intention is to expose the simple trickery—the hidden cabinets and rigged seances, the levers and wires—that must surely lie behind these visits from the departed.

What she discovers is altogether more complicated.

What Am I Reading?

And what have I been reading in the last month? I somehow managed to fit in a lot more than usual. (In fact, between when I first started drafting the script for this show and when I finalized it for recording, I finished another book.)

Tasha Suri’s The Burning Kingdoms series comes to a satisfying conclusion with The Lotus Empire, which is a really tricky thing to do when you’re dealing with empire and colonialism and apparently-doomed friends-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-something sapphic relationships. It’s a fairly harrowing series, and I’m glad that the author managed to pull it off.

Somewhat less satisfying was the latest installment in Sherry Thomas’s Lady Sherlock historic mystery series, A Ruse of Shadows. One of the things that hooked me on this series was the convoluted, multi-layered, unreliably-narrated plots that only made complete sense on a second reading. But either the plots have tipped over into merely bewildering, or I’ve lost interest in working quite that hard to follow the plot, because this time I just felt confused and uninterested. I probably will stop after this installment, but I still cherish how delighted I was with the first handful of her books.

As noted above, Jeannelle M. Ferreira has come out with a shortish work Bold Privateer, which is an independent prequel to her novel The Covert Captain. “Independent” as in, you have to be paying close attention and double-check some references to figure out that they connect at all, so if you haven’t read the latter, it won’t affect your enjoyment. As I noted in regards to the author’s recent collection The Fire and the Place in the Forest, for me the secret to Ferreira’s work is to experience it more as narrative poetry than as traditional prose. Her writing is impressionistic and lush. The story has a central sapphic relationship, set among violence but not tragedy.

I’m not sure whether it would be appropriate to call Hari Conner’s graphic novel I Shall Never Fall in Love sapphic, though certainly “likely to appeal to fans of sapphic regencies.” The plot is based to varying degrees on Jane Austen’s Emma, with a transmasculine character in the Knightly role. Lovely artwork, and I really enjoyed the first quarter or so of the story. Then it slipped into a beat-for-beat retelling of Emma, even down to much of the dialogue, and I enjoyed it less than I would have something entirely original. Don’t get me wrong: I love Austen-inspired queer re-workings, but I’m not fond of anything that borders on a search-and-replace approach.

I also would have liked to enjoy Emma-Claire Sunday’s regency romance The Duke’s Sister and I more than I did. The romance plot itself was fine, but I didn’t feel like there was much besides the romance plot—or at least not much beyond the bare bones of the plot-tokens necessary for the mechanics of the romance, like one heroine’s secret career as a portrait painter. While the story wasn’t in conflict with the historic setting, neither did it feel particularly embedded in that setting. Like a number of other mainstream sapphic historical romances I’ve read lately, the plot seems like a boat bobbing on the surface of the ocean of history, while the passengers remain dry.

So what do I mean by wanting historicals that are more immersive? I always come back to the example of K.J. Charles, whose Masters in this Hall was the only print book I read this month (as part of my program to fill in my gaps in her backlist). It’s a relatively short caper-style second-chance romance involving side characters from her Lily White Boys series, in which Christmas revels at a country mansion are the setting for trapping a villain and redeeming some reputations.

The last book, finished just this morning, is T. Kingfisher’s dark fantasy (almost horror) A Sorceress Comes to Call. The plot is – well, let’s call it “allusive of” rather than “based on” the fairy tale of the goose girl and her talking horse. There’s a horribly abusive mother (whose comeuppance is similar to the climax of my fairy tale The Language of Roses), a sympathetic ingenue, and a lovely second-chance romance involving an older woman. Big content notice for violence and coercion.

Looking forward to maybe shifting back to more print reading this year, what with the upcoming changes in my life.

Show Notes

In this episode we talk about:

Links to the Lesbian Historic Motif Project Online

Links to Heather Online

Major category: 
LHMP
Tuesday, December 31, 2024 - 10:50

It feels very tidy to finish up this book on the last day of the year. While 2024 didn't achieve my theoretical goal of posting a blog once a week, I did come closer than I expected, thanks to several bursts of productivity when reading for specific podcast topics.

2025, of course, is going to see a lot of change due to my retirement. I hope to plunge deeply into getting more material read and blogged, filling in the gaps in the table of contents for my sourcebook project, and of course getting back to writing the fiction that all this research is (theoretically) supporting.

In the mean time, I wish that everyone can look back at 2024 and feel happy with that you've done, and look forward to 2025 and find at least one thing to focus on that you believe will be to the greater good.

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Turton, Stephen. 2024. Before the Word Was Queer: Sexuality and the English Dictionary 1600-1930. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. ISBN 978-1-316-51873-1

Publication summary: 

A study of the handling of transgressive sexuality in English dictionaries over the centuries.

Conclusion

This section discusses other dictionaries contemporary with or subsequent to the publication of the OED, and the ways in which they were indebted to it. This debt included reproducing some of its deficiencies.

But a new generation of dictionaries recognized the exclusion of the language of marginalized communities. The use of electronic corpus data revolutionized the ability to identify and include citations, reducing some of the bias inherent in funneling the editorial process through specific individual editors. Corpus data, however, adds a new veneer of objectivity onto a majoritarian approach that still has the tendency to erase or overlook word senses specific to minority communities.

The conflict between dictionaries as descriptive versus prescriptive continued, as compilers questioned the appropriateness of accepting words considered to be slang or not yet established in the lexicon. For example, in the 1970s, dictionary editors could still debate whether “gay” should be added as an acceptable formal equivalent for “homosexual.”

But the shift to electronic/online editions of dictionaries made the process of updating easier and more rapid.

Crowd-sourced dictionaries such as Wiktionary give marginalized communities more theoretical input, but de facto biases in the volunteer editors still affect the result. Crowd-sourcing can also open the potential for trolling and abusive content, particularly seen in the Urban Dictionary.

The presumption of authority given to the OED can result in users giving deference to its gaps and flaws, even in the face of counter-evidence. Hence the persistence of the claim that there was no identifiable lesbian identity in English until the 1920s, despite clear evidence of vocabulary for f/f sex in the 18th century and earlier. (The OED 3rd edition has corrected these omissions, but the myth of “no word for lesbian before the sexologists” persists in both formal and informal discussion. [Note: I regularly find myself countering this myth in social media spaces to this day.]

Further citations for queer vocabulary could be included if dictionaries expanded to include private correspondence among queer communities, where words are often well established long before they make their way into published material. This method could help fill in apparent discontinuities, such as the gap in OED citations for sapphic/sapphist between 1900 and 1933. Current citation sources also result in a bias toward male authors in citations for f/f terms, which in turn can result in a bias toward negative contexts.

This chapter ends with a summing up of the relevance of lexicography to studying queer history.

There are two appendices. The first is a transcript of Anne Lister’s hand-compiled glossary of sexual vocabulary. The second is a table, organized by headword, of the queer vocabulary in the dictionaries studied for this book.

Time period: 
Place: 
Monday, December 30, 2024 - 09:52

While the purpose of this book is not entirely to lead up to how the OED became the thing that it is, this chapter feels like everything was leading to this moment. Without understanding the long history of editorial moral anxiety over the content of dictionaries, the specific choices made in compiling what was intended to be a neutral "scientific" record of the English language might seem more sinister than they were. And yet here we are: a work that purports to objectivity and yet systematically and deliberately erases, obscures, and vilifies f/f sexuality. There is a lesson here for all historical study of female same-sex relations. So much of the information has come down to us was filtered through the goals and biases of people who had a deliberate agenda along those lines. It doesn't mean that the historic data is useless, but rather that--as many queer and feminist historians have pointed out--it must be read "across the grain" to account for those biases.

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Turton, Stephen. 2024. Before the Word Was Queer: Sexuality and the English Dictionary 1600-1930. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. ISBN 978-1-316-51873-1

Publication summary: 

A study of the handling of transgressive sexuality in English dictionaries over the centuries.

Chapter 5 – Taxonomizing Desire

This chapter focuses on the philosophy, history, and development of the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) specifically. The creation of the OED was a monumental project, delivered alphabetically in fascicles (separate installments of a larger work, meant to be bound into a single volume when complete). The fascicles were released beginning in the 1880s and completed in 1928, followed by a supplement in 1933 to catch up with developments in the previous half century.

The editors touted it as the “supreme development” of lexicography, “permeated…through and through with the scientific method.” This “scientific method” referred to use of historic data to trace the emergence and development of words and meanings. The process included massive numbers of volunteers identifying and contributing quotations from written sources to assist in creating the histories of words. However, like science itself, this method was deeply rooted in the Anglocentric and male-centered biases of its (white, male, English) editors. In addition to racial and gender biases, they carried over the mission of imposing a particular view of sexual morality on the contents.

The censoring of “bad words” was challenged by reviewers even at the beginning of the project, but the effect was not entirely due to editorial choice. A slang dictionary published in the 1890s unsuccessfully sued a printer for refusing to typeset the book, due to the “indecent” language it contained, but the courts determined that there was no inherent right to publish indecent language. This had a chilling effect even on the authors of scientific works.

Sexual matters, including same-sex acts, were a subject of popular and legislative interest during the period when the OED fascicles were being released. High profile legal cases such as the Wilde and Asquith trials and controversies over literary works by Swinburne and Hall placed this “indecent” vocabulary in the public record even as it was being refused a place in the dictionary.

Despite this censorship, the OED contained much more same-sex vocabulary than any previous dictionary. But even in terms of reproducing same-sex vocabulary present in earlier dictionaries, the OED is spotty. And sexual senses of words like “lesbian” were omitted, despite clear examples of usage in earlier works. As in earlier dictionaries, definitions were obscured and made vague, with references to “lewdness” or “unnatural lust” without specifying details. Tracing cross-references of words used in definitions, such as “copulation,” continued to provide circular and dead-end paths, due to heteronormativity. Another deliberate deficiency was the omission of citation quotations for specific senses of sexual vocabulary, or the source of a citation might be given, but not the text itself. For example, the OED’s working notes included a citation for “tribadism” from an edition of the 1001 Nights that had a neutral/positive tone, but this was in conflict with the negative definition it would have been attached to, and so was omitted.

In general, citations for f/f sex are drawn from medical and legal texts rather than literature and non-professional genres. This contributed to the continuing tradition of displacing the concrete specifics of f/f sex into other places and times.

The next section of this chapter explores the publications of sexologists as a source of neologisms for same-sex topics. The publication of sexology texts met with many of the same moral objections and barriers that explicit dictionaries (such as slang dictionaries) did. This new sexual vocabulary was, in general, not included in the original edition of the OED, thus omitting “homosexual” and “inversion” (in a gender/sexual sense). The OED became more open to such vocabulary as time passed, resulting in greater inclusion of sexual vocabulary toward the end of the alphabet.

The 1933 supplement to the OED had as its stated mission to include words and senses that had emerged in the previous half century. Thus the supplement added words such as “masochist” and “pervert” but continued to exclude others, notably “lesbian” and “lesbianism”—an exclusion that was protested (in vain) at the time.

Drafts of definitions show the ongoing battle between those trying to impose moral judgements on the sexologists’ vocabulary and those working to retain their less judgmental medical senses. (There is much more discussion of the definitions of same-sex vocabulary within the writings of the sexologists themselves.)

The next section of the chapter looks at how queer writers and communities created new senses of existing words, such as the common use by female couples of the language of marriage, the specially emphasized use of “friend” by female couples, etc. However the preference of the OED for published sources rather than private correspondence made it highly unlikely that such senses would be considered for inclusion.

Time period: 
Place: 
Sunday, December 29, 2024 - 19:34

Genre turns out to be a key factor in whether lesbians are documented in dictionaries.

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Turton, Stephen. 2024. Before the Word Was Queer: Sexuality and the English Dictionary 1600-1930. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. ISBN 978-1-316-51873-1

Publication summary: 

A study of the handling of transgressive sexuality in English dictionaries over the centuries.

Chapter 4 – Dissecting Matter

This chapter compares the dearth of entries for f/f sexuality in general dictionaries in the 1750-1850 period with the wealth of discussion on those topics in medical dictionaries. The appearance of medical dictionaries as a genre aligned with an explosion of vernacular publishing in the health field in the 16-17th centuries. These were aimed not only at non-specialists, but at health workers outside the academic elite—people who didn’t have access to Latin literature. The publishing establishment operated as gatekeepers in terms of what material got published and how it was presented. Certain material was not considered appropriate for a female audience, even health workers such as midwives, and manuals aimed at the household market clearly understood their audience to primarily be women. Thus there was a concern to exclude material considered inappropriate for women to read. Within this context, the medicalization of sexuality began to emerge as a site of social control.

Non-normative sexuality could be seen as either a cause or a consequence of health problems. For example, the condition known as “malthacos” listed in a medical dictionary of 1745 is described as being associated with “molles” and “tribades” and discussed both as a congenital defect and an acquired vice, but is classed as a disease. In common with general dictionaries, the discussion of such words in medical texts either assume the reader knows what “molles” and “tribades” mean or leave it to guesswork for the reader to figure it out. The classical sources from which the medical dictionaries harvested “malthacos” saw it as a transgender condition—men taking the role of women, and women that of men—rather than homosexuality in the modern sense. But even this specificity is lost in the vague description of the medical dictionaries.

In contrast to general dictionaries, medical dictionaries had a particular fascination for f/f sex and especially with how it was performed. Given phallocentric assumptions, this focus centered around penetration and the use of the clitoris as a penis analogue. A particular interest was the relationship between anatomy and sexuality—how transgressive sex could change the body, and how aberrant anatomy could drive a person to participate in transgressive sex. The discussion touches on venereal diseases and intersex anatomy, but returns to the clitoris as its main example.

Discourse around the clitoris focused on it being an analogue to the penis, both in shape and function (with regard to pleasure). Variation in size of the clitoris was recognized by medical authorities and was use to reanalyze the theories of prior eras about “hermaphrodite” (intersex) bodies in order to fit them into a gender binary. But the more a clitoris fell outside what was considered the norm, the more it was treated as a medical condition to be addressed by prevention or correction. “Abuse” of the clitoris for pleasure—whether solo or with another woman—was thought to cause it to enlarge. But, in turn, the prevailing opinion was that a woman with a clitoris large enough to engage in penetration would be drawn to f/f sex. These beliefs appear at least from the 16th century on, although explicit terms for the women involved only begin to appear in medical dictionaries around the 1720s.

In addition to concerns about a variant clitoris causing/enabling f/f sex, medical texts alleged that it might interfere with m/f sex. For this, surgical removal was suggested lest it “hinder the enjoyment.” Given that the erotic sensitivity of the clitoris and labia were recognized in medical literature from at least the 17th century, the “enjoyment” being referenced was clearly that of the male partner. It isn’t clear to what extent this surgical approach was actually practiced in England. As with many topics, discussion in the medical dictionaries typically displaced the practice into foreign regions (Egypt and Arabia), and some texts specifically note that English women rarely have the anatomy that would require it. Another displacement intersects with anti-Catholic sentiment in connecting clitoral enlargement with f/f sexual activity in convents.

These general themes come together in a 1719 medical dictionary to explicitly attribute clitoral enlargement to engaging in f/f sex. A 1722 edition of the same work is the first of this genre to include a headword relating to f/f sex: “confricatrices” glossed as “lustful women who have learned to titillate one another with their clitoris.” The authors asserts the word was in common use (though probably mostly in Latin). A 1663 medical text had included it as a Latin word and glossed it with “rubster” (which presumably means that the word rubster was familiar to its readers).

A central theme in sex writing in the 17-18th centuries is that “sex” is defined by phallic penetration. Therefore, to the extent that authors discuss “sex between women” they are concerned only with practices that include penetration. [Note: I want to emphasize here that this doesn’t mean that women weren’t engaging in non-penetrative erotic activities, simply that those activities weren’t going to be discussed by medical authorities.] However discussions of “confricatrices” sometimes discuss their activity in mutual terms, not distinguishing an active/passive contrast. Other authors view such acts as asymmetrical and driven by the deviant anatomy of one woman, whose partner simply benefits by avoiding the risk of pregnancy. The possibility of either partner being inspired by an active desire for a female partner is not considered.

Although some historians of sexuality assert that the “macroclitoral” woman ceased to be of interest after the mid 18th century (based on the dismissal of erotic desire as a factor) Turton notes that medical texts of the later 18th century continue to repeat the motifs that enlargement of the clitoris is both caused by and results in erotic stimulation, with regular reference to “the tribades…of the ancients” or fricatrices, with reference to a preference for female partners.

This conjunction of motifs continues to appear in medical manuals of the 19th century, although there is a shift to emphasis on enlargement as a result of stimulation, thus making it a behavioral issue rather than an anatomical one. In addition to blurring distinctions between masturbation and f/f sex in connection with clitoral enlargement, some texts (e.g., one of 1791) mention the use of a dildo (using Greek “olisbos” and Latin “coriaceus”) as a source of sex-related ailments of women.

Anne Lister gives us a useful practical contrast to these professional assertions. She writes that she doubts that classical tribades all used dildos and she herself refused to use one (interestingly, she associates it with “sapphic” practices, suggesting that she had some clear distinction in mind with respect to her own practices). Explorations of her own body, inspired by medical texts discussing the clitoris, indicate that her own was not of notable size. Her comments on this exploration also suggest that the dictionary editors who worried about women “getting ideas” from explicit texts were not entirely wrong!

(There is a brief discussion of some additional vocabulary related to m/m sex, but I’m not entirely ignoring m/m topics, they simply aren’t the focus on this chapter.)

While earlier medical dictionaries had converted Greek and Latin terms into English forms (in parallel with practices in general dictionaries which sometimes created new English vocabulary from Greek/Latin words), the Victorian era saw a preference for retaining the original Greek and Latin words, and coinages from them, as a sort of “international scientific vocabulary.” The cross-cultural exchange of medical writing in the 19th century resulted in the establishment and spread of a common vocabulary for sexual topics, sometimes altering previous understandings of the meaning. As an example, some terms that in classical sources had referred to same-sex topics specifically were reinterpreted as referring either to homosexuality or masturbation with no distinction made. These medical definitions of sexual vocabulary were then projected back onto the classical texts in which they occurred, changing the context in which those takes were understood. Thus all words for participants in f/f sex were defined as meaning “tribade” and tribade was defined as a woman with an enlarged clitoris who takes an active role in sex with another woman. [Note: I have seen histories of sexuality that appear to accept these 19th century redefinitions as reflecting actual usage in other eras, especially in terms of concluding that “tribade” has always universally meant “a woman with a penetrative clitoris” from classical times onward. I view this with skepticism, especially given the semantic origins of the word.]

Medical theories of the effects of homosexuality on the body were invoked by legal bodies in respect to men suspected of sodomy, in contrast to the primarily medical (and moral) focus of concerns about women.

The author notes that this persistent and increasing medical discourse around homosexuality in the 18-19th centuries rather undermines the idea that sexology represented a dramatic shift in the late 19th century. He connects this observation with Traub’s “cycles of salience” in which concepts recur periodically in different forms across the centuries. The focus of sexology on psychological rather than physical models was the most distinguishing feature of the late 19th century. [Note: But even sexological theories about homosexuality placed a strong emphasis on somatic markers of orientation – the mannish woman, the effeminate man.]

The chapter concludes with a discussion of the physicality and materiality of dictionaries themselves – how they were printed, their size and scope, cost and distribution, and the resulting effects on accessibility to various potential readerships.

Place: 
Event / person: 
Friday, December 27, 2024 - 14:21

When Turton lays out the details of how vocabulary for f/f sex was deliberately omitted, obscured, and removed from dictionaries -- especially in comparison to how vocabulary for m/m sex was handled -- it becomes clear how badly queer historians have stumbled in relying on dictionary entries as evidence that "they didn't even have a word for it." One of the things I'm working on for my Sapphic Sourcebook is a collection of these vocabulary items, along with the dates, sources, and contexts, to help provide authors with a counter to the "common wisdom."

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Turton, Stephen. 2024. Before the Word Was Queer: Sexuality and the English Dictionary 1600-1930. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. ISBN 978-1-316-51873-1

Publication summary: 

A study of the handling of transgressive sexuality in English dictionaries over the centuries.

Chapter 3 – Silencing Sex

This chapter opens discussing how dictionaries explicitly presented themselves as censoring inappropriate language when aimed at an audience that included women. This sort of comment shows up as early as the later 18th century. Even the nature of what was being censored is censored, with explanations that it is aimed at “inelegant” words, rather than objectionable or obscene ones.

One can trace the fate of censored vocabulary when dictionary authors incorporated existing source material but filtered out specific topics and words that are identifiable by their absence in the resulting output. This can be seen especially when Latin-English dictionary contents that included words for f/f sex such as “fricatrix” or “tribas” are incorporated. E.g., a Latin supplement to a late 16th century dictionary includes “fricatrix” glossed vaguely as “she that useth unlawful venery” and more explicitly “tribas” as “such filthy women as abused their bodies one with another against kind.” The source material was incorporated into various 17th century works with similarly informative glosses. But later dictionaries derived from this material begin to omit these terms.

Tribade and fricatrix had already naturalized in French and English by the early 17th century, along with the calque “rubster” and the variant “confricatrix.” But when citation contexts are given for these terms, they emphasize distance in time (classical references) or space (e.g., Turkish examples). The attempt to distance sapphic terms from the English usage of the era of the publications is contradicted by use of the same words in poetry and theater from the early 17th century on.

As dictionaries became aimed at a more general readership in the 18th century, the significance of the f/f acts referred to is undermined, using phrases like “in imitation of intercourse,” or the words are excluded entirely.

There is a comparison of the f/f vocabulary recorded in Anne Lister’s diaries with the vocabulary admitted into dictionaries of her era. Similarly, the writings of diarist Hester Lynch (Thrale) Piozzi are noted as a source for the use of explicitly sapphic terms (in a documentary context) in the late 18th century.

One more general cause of the exclusion of sexual language during the later 18th century and after was a shift in libel laws that discouraged publication of more explicit language, especially when applied to specific individuals. Libel laws could also be used against the publication of “obscene” books, even when the language was not describing specific individuals. Thus, for nearly a century from the mid 18th to the mid 19th centuries, the inclusion of entries for same-sex topics fell to almost nothing. One dictionary of 1775 runs counter to this trend, with a large number of entries for sex-related topics, including same-sex ones. [Note: Turton doesn’t point out that this dictionary contains only m/m terms, based on my review of the listings in the appendix.] Despite this relative wealth of word entries, their definitions obscure the nature of the acts they reference.

Around the 1870s, there is a return to inclusion of m/m-related words in general dictionaries, but no similar return of f/f entries. When words such as “fricatrice” do make an appearance in general dictionaries, their glosses erase the same-sex aspect and simply define them as indicating a sexually loose woman.

During the period of absence, such words continued to be included in specialized medical dictionaries, and this was an era when same-sex attraction began to be medicalized.

Medical dictionaries were much more interested in tribades and fricatrices than any general reference works had been.

Discourse of the 18th century reflected the general dictionaries’ aversion to specifics, claiming that there was no vocabulary available for female same-sex acts, and using circumlocutions such as “liking her own sex in a criminal way.” [Note: Keep in mind that “criminal” in this case is being used by analogy to illegal m/f and m/m sex acts, while there is no indication that law courts considered f/f sex to be criminal. See Derry 2020 on this topic.]

Some of this lack of same-sex terminology in general dictionaries was made up for in a new genre: glossaries of cant and slang terms, which became popular in the 18-19th centuries as transgressive entertainment aimed at a male readership. While cant terms for m/m sex and its participants were frequent and imaginative in these books, vocabulary for f/f relations is virtually absent from them. Even at a time when “female husbands” were a stock topic of popular media, language for them is not included in cant/slang dictionaries, except to the extent that one might read it into words attributing masculinity to specific women. But mannishness is not directly associated with f/f sexuality in the definitions. The closest that slang dictionaries come to directly addressing f/f sex may be in entries referring to boarding schools and dildoes that hint at f/f possibilities.

This doesn’t mean that slang terms for lesbianism were absent from the historic record entirely. The later 18th century is when we have clear attestation of terms such as sapphic, sapphist, tommy, and (game of) flats in clearly sexual senses. (These are collected in some modern slang dictionaries, but were not included in slang dictionaries at that time.)

This deliberate omission can be seen, for example, in the revision notes for one 18th century slang dictionary that references “game at flats,” but then omits the phrase in the actual published version of the revised dictionary.

[Note: there is a discussion of a variety of slang terms for various sexual practices where the dictionary entries  do not adequately indicate what the acts were – which makes me think of some of Anne Lister’s terminology, such as “grubbling” – suggesting that there may well have been a rich slang vocabulary for f/f sex that is entirely lost to us.]

In the 19th century, slang that originally had been presented as belonging to criminals and the lower classes shifted to being framed as associated with fashionable elite men. In this context, terms for f/f sexuality are not only not embraced, but those tangential references previously found (such as dildo) are flagged as obsolete, or even as entirely spurious. Even when included, we are told that the words refer to non-existent things.

Only finally in 1890 did a slang dictionary finally admit such terms as “cunnilingist,” “fuck-finger,” and “lesbian.”

Place: 
Thursday, December 26, 2024 - 11:01

This chapter picks up a theme we've seen regularly across time and geography, where everyone attributes the origins of same-sex sexuality to "foreigners" and as something that only happened long ago (or at least, has only recently arrived in the speaker's home territory).

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Turton, Stephen. 2024. Before the Word Was Queer: Sexuality and the English Dictionary 1600-1930. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. ISBN 978-1-316-51873-1

Publication summary: 

A study of the handling of transgressive sexuality in English dictionaries over the centuries.

Chapter 2 – Estranging English

This chapter begins exploring the assertion that languages bear an essential relationship to the nature of their speakers, and that deviations of the language from this essential quality can be attributed to foreign influences. This idea appears in the introduction to a 1676 dictionary. The naturalization of words is paralleled to the naturalization of citizens and must be a strongly policed. Ethnic stereotypes are ascribed to languages along with the people who speak them. English, of course, is assumed to be neutral, moderate, and free from excess.

This establishes the principle that dictionaries have a moral mission to exclude words that represent concepts that should be excluded from English culture. Or at least such uninvited word usage should be presented with appropriate judgment noted. (Chapter 3 will specifically explore how the strategy was applied to language for f/f relations.)

This chapter looks at how dictionaries excluded or marginalized language for transgressive sexuality either specifically situating them as foreign (via etymology) or as displaced in time and space (via citation choice). The high status of classical literature posed a problem that might be handled more subtly.

Entries for “sodomy” invoke both strategies, emphasizing the foreign origin of the word, and its reference to biblical eras (taking the later equation of Sodom with m/m sex as a given). Similarly, etymologies of “bugger” that traced it to Bulgaria, even if simply via analogy of the punishment by burning , applied both to heretics (via a specific heresy attributed to Bulgaria) and sodomites.

It was common for dictionaries to ascribe the origins of both the word and the practice to specific foreign origins. A 1670 law dictionary assigns those origins to Italy, and specifically to Lombardy. [Note: Although the book doesn’t mention this, there may be additional relevant stereotypes associated with Lombardy, long associated with Italian banking practices. But it may be simply that Lombardy was the most familiar region of Italy when viewed from distant England.] Not only were claims made that foreigners brought the word/practice to England, but that visiting foreign climes could result in Englishman picking up both.

Terms related to “pederasty” underwent similar treatment, with the added complication of the esteem in which classical civilizations were held. Definitions of pederasty conflated it with sodomy (specifically with “boys” as a target) but the inherent contradictions in this equivalence resulted in ambiguity, due to the positive connotations of pederasty in classical texts. Further, pederasty was often defined as desire for boys, not specifically referring to a sex act. As usual, definitions that assume a male agent (without specifying one) created space for understanding the word in ways not intended. The scope of meaning for “boys” or “children” used in these definitions did not necessarily align with the “beardless adolescent” of classical reference.

The chapter explores a variety of other terms for a male receptive partner, with their supposed origins. Most are of clearly non-English origin and fit with the pattern of distancing. One exception, in some definitions, is “leman”—a word that is found for a non-marital sexual partner regardless of gender. Some dictionaries connected it with French “le mignon” (which would imply a grammatically male partner) while other propose an English source meaning “lie-man, one who lies with a man,” including female partners.

The author suggests that a m/m definition was prevalent in the early 17th century, but gave way to a more general sense by the 18th century, at which point new etymologies were suggested, either French (l’aimant(e)) or Germanic (leof-man). As a proposed Germanic origin takes center stage, definitions that focus on m/m senses have disappeared.

[Note: I think the book has failed in not noting the earlier usage of the word in a generic sense, and its Old English origins incorporating the non-gendered sense of “man=person” with the meaning “loved one”. As it stands, the text implies a same-sex meaning was original and only later supplanted. But I may be misunderstanding the book’s intent, as it may be trying to say that in the 17th century (when dictionaries were beginning to be a thing) the same-sex sense was prevalent, rather than suggesting that it was the original meaning.]

There is a discussion of how there is an abundance of terms for a receptive male (same-sex) partner in contrast to fewer for the insertive partner, who is in many ways, assumed as the default. [Note: compare with Latin vocabulary where the insertive partner is simply a default “man” while there are specific terms for different types of receptive partner.] The projection of a “passive” role onto the receptive partner is parallel by grammatically passive constructions. The receptive partner “is fucked, is hired, is abused, is kept, is loved.” The exception being “semantically passive” constructions where he “suffers [an act]” which is a wording also found for female partners in m/f sex.

The lexicographers’ emphasis on foreign origins for words about non-normative sex extended to the quotations selected to illustrate them, which situate the subjects of the quotes distantly in time and space, rather than using equally-available passages referring to persons and events in England.

As a classical education could not help but touch on mythological examples of m/m love, the treatment of these situations and characters in dictionaries intended for scholars is instructive. At the same time that dictionaries are defining “ganymede” (as a noun) as a receptive male sexual partner, they describe Ganymede (the mythic character) simply as being “beloved” by Jupiter. This creates a circular logical failure when the same books define “love” in heterosexual terms. Though, again, this requires the lexicographers to exclude usage in which “love” and more explicit sexual terms are clearly used in same-sex contexts.

The treatment of Sappho and other classical women is included in this chapter, although f/f language in general is treated in the next chapter. Classical dictionaries discussing the Calisto myth focus on how Jupiter tricked her into sex, but omit that the disguise relied on an assumption of f/f desire (involving Diana). The latter motif comes to be admitted in 18th century references.

Treatments of the Iphis myth up through the 19th century give her no agency, despite Ovid’s text clearly depicting her as a desiring agent.

Sappho—in general early modern discourse—is handled in three ways: as a poet, in the Phaon story, and as a lover of women. Literary references of the time clearly acknowledge the last, but dictionary entries largely do not, with a few exceptions in woks aimed at an elite male audience, rather than a general one. “Aimed at” does some heavy lifting, as even dictionaries that explicitly describe their readership in male terms may have women in their subscriber lists.

In contrast, dictionaries that present themselves as aimed at a female readership omit reference to Sappho’s same-sex loves.

By the mid 19th century, dictionary references to Sappho might include rejections of the claims about f/f love (to “redeem” her reputation), while a few began acknowledging it. And, of course, any acknowledgement of Sappho’s same-sex reputation could take comfort in the knowledge that she was long ago and far away.

Time period: 
Place: 
Tuesday, December 24, 2024 - 10:03

In reading about the history of how dictionary publishers deliberately obscured or silenced discussions of sex -- especially of non-normative sex -- I can't help but think of the current (and periodic) panics over controlling the access of children to information about sex and gender. The attitude prevalent in the early modern period that simply knowing about certain sex acts could "infect" someone with an urge to commit them is still an underlayer to current concerns. "If school libraries include books that recognize the existence of non-approved genders and sexualities, that's tantamount to seducing kids to be something other than straight and cis!"

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Turton, Stephen. 2024. Before the Word Was Queer: Sexuality and the English Dictionary 1600-1930. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. ISBN 978-1-316-51873-1

Publication summary: 

A study of the handling of transgressive sexuality in English dictionaries over the centuries.

Chapter 1 – Legislating Acts

This chapter looks at how words are defined and cited, and the semantic frameworks they’re associated with, using “sodomy” and “buggery” as the working examples. [Note: my summary is going to give undue attention to discussions relevant to women.]

17 century definitions of “buggery” in legal dictionaries include both homosexual acts and bestiality. They often reference earlier penalties (burning), though that was no longer in force. Two factors contribute to obscuring the specific nature of the acts so named. The descriptions are often in Latin (despite the books being overtly intended for non-scholarly readers), and the sexual nature of the acts is usually not explicitly mentioned. That you get entries like:

“One describeth this offence to be carnalis copula contra naturam & haec vel per confusionem specierum, sc. A man or a woman with a brute beast, vel sexuum, sc. A man with a man, a woman with a woman.” (1652) The question of whether sodomy could be committed between women was actually a point of contention.

These legal texts might have more explicit descriptions of the act elsewhere (e.g., that it requires “penetration and the emission of seed”) while being vague in the glossary. This deliberate vagueness has been a general feature of discourse around homosexuality, with authors often referring to it as an act “not to be named” or “not suitable to be discussed.”

When examined in parallel with other sexual terms, such as “copulation” or “fucking”, there is a general pattern of focusing on men as those who “commit sex”, but also a silent assumption that sex occurs between a male-female couple. So “sodomy” is presented as something a man does to a man where the nature of the act is separately defined as something a man does to a woman. These patterns complicate the interpretation of buggery/sodomy, both in terms of the nature of the act and the scope of its participants. We’ll get back to that.

A 1596 glossary typifies this vagueness, defining buggery, as “conjunction with one of the same kind” or in a later revision adding “or of men with beasts”. This is a relatively judgment-free definition, especially in comparison with the later editions’ definition of “sodomy” as “when one man lieth filthily with another man.”

The cultural association of “sodomy” with biblical references, and "buggery" with the 1533 Buggery Act raises the question of whether word choice depended on the genre of the text. An analysis of the association of these words (in their dictionary entries) with terms associated with religion (e.g., “sin”), or law (e.g., “crime”) also considering association with nature (e.g., “unnatural”) finds a definite association of “sodomy” with religious contexts, but a unclear preference in context for “buggery.”

In general, judgmental language when defining sexual terms works to clearly distinguish approved acts (m/f procreative sex within marriage) from unapproved acts (everything else). At the same time, by identifying and listing unapproved acts, a dictionary recognizes their existence and possibility. Except when specifically addressing acts defined as same-sex, definitions of sexual offenses (such as fornication, incest, polygamy, prostitution), explicitly presented the act as m/f.

The buggery act of 1535 defined buggery as “a detestable and abominable voice…committed with mankind or beast.” The lack of specifics regarding the agent of this act, and the use of “mankind” (rather than, for example, “man”) left room for dispute over whether women were in scope. If “mankind” can refer to human beings of any gender or if the specified agent can be of any gender, then m/f sex is technically included in “buggery”. This is workable if the “vice” in question is something that can be done to a woman, as in a disputed 18th century case where the term was applied to anal rape of a woman. But that requires an additional layer of definition of the act that is often absent or taken for granted.

One position held that “mankind” should be understood as “humanity” not “male persons”. The question of whether the omitted agent could be female was addressed directly in the context of bestiality (“by womankind with brute beast”) and addressed in some expanded definitions of sodomy as “a carnal copulation against nature, two wit, of man or woman in the same sex, or of either of them with beasts.” Others argued a distinction that sodomy excluded bestiality, while buggery included it. By the mid 17th century, legal definitions of buggery settled on including bestiality (by a man or woman) and both m/m and f/f sex. But exceptions occur that do not include f/f ( by omission rather than explicitly). The inclusion of f/f sex is largely restricted to legal dictionaries, rather than general purpose ones. The most limited definition of buggery mentions only m/m sex and omits bestiality. [Note: Despite these published definitions, England was absent of actual prosecutions of f/f “buggery”.]

As a rule, definitions of “sodomy” are more restricted. Bestiality is not included, and when the gender of the participants is mentioned, only men are specified. This is attributed to the model of the biblical story where male-assigned participants are involved. [Note: one might dispute the gender of angels, but they were treated as male by the human participants.]

In some cases, sodomy and buggery were presented as synonyms, but more often, sodomy was considered a subset of buggery.

The chapter moves on to considering the specific nature of the acts involved. While some learned sources make reference (in Latin) to anal penetration, none of the surveyed dictionaries explained the physical act. Instead, vague reference is made to the “unnatural” aspect combined with lust, wantonness, conjunction, copulation. But when those terms are defined, it is always specifically in reference to m/f sex. “The active generation between male and female” etc. Such terms are either too underspecified for clarity (“to join together”) or too over-specified to include same-sex acts.

We return now to the observation that dictionary definitions of sexual terms assume a male agent. Definitions of sex acts typically involve an unspecified agent (understood as a man) doing something to a woman. These formal definitions, however, do not reflect the more expansive use of the words in everyday language, where it is seen that women can fuck and men can be fucked. These uses turn up in legal records of witness testimony, but are not reflected when formal legal dictionaries are drawn up. (This points up only one of the flaws in using dictionaries as a guide to real-world language.)

In the context of this androcentricity there is a brief discussion of Anne Lister’s annotations on a 1735 Latin-English dictionary that placed herself as agent in a sexual context. Some dictionaries were specifically aimed at a female audience. The book speculates whether a woman reading a definition of a sexual verb as “to carnally know a woman” might have been inspired to place herself in the role of agent – as we know Anne Lister did, given that she describes becoming aroused at such a text.

From the mid 18th century on, dictionary compilers dealt with their anxiety around this possibility by increasingly censoring and obscuring sexual language in order to avoid giving people (especially women) ideas. This self-censorship not only appears in legal commentaries and glossaries, but in court records themselves, where accused acts of sodomy/buggery are concealed under phrases like “an unnatural crime” or using severely abbreviated forms of the word such as initials or first and last letter, joined by a dash.

Such words were also disappearing from ordinary dictionaries, such as Samuel Johnson’s (1755). Before that date, more than half of the studied dictionaries included “buggery,” while after, only 15.6% do. Entries for “sodomy”  also declined somewhat, though appearing in well over half the texts both before and after. (This will be explored further in chapter 3.) Those entries that did appear from around 1750 to 1850 remove any explicit sexual reference and simply use phrases like “an unnatural crime.”

Place: 

Pages

Subscribe to Alpennia Blog
historical