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Wednesday, January 24, 2018 - 07:56

I'm in the unusual position of having a number of review to-dos stacked up. Rather than scheduling them for the next half dozen Fridays, let's just have some extras now.

My response to The Shape of Water is inextricably linked to my memories of, and response to, the movie it's a remake of: The Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954) which I saw as a child on tv. The shared plot structure is: amphibious humanoid being is kidnapped from the Amazon and forceable brought to "civilization" for study and display. He forms an emotional connection with a woman who is a peripheral adjunct to the kidnappers and this connection is relevant to the being's escape.

The 1954 film follows a standard and rather pernicious trope-structure popular among "monster movies" of the day, in which the non-human (and always male) "monster" fixates romantically/sexually on a decorative white "damsel" who then becomes a focal point of conflict between the "monster" and the white male protagonists who subdue, defeat, and often kill the "monster". It's inescapable that this trope is deeply steeped in racialized symbolism, bringing in the assumption that innocent/helpless white womanhood is an automatically desirable object, and that the racially-coded "monster" is a sexual threat to white womanhood. With the "monster" overtly standing for the Other and simultaneously behaviorally coded as deficient in civilization, intellect, and typically communication skills, the white male protagonists are given narrative authorization to capture, torture, and murder the "monster" at will. We may be signalled to transient sympathy for the "monster's" plight, but that sympathy is undermined by his agressive behavior toward the white woman, by which he is meant to destroy our sympathy and "earn" his own destruction.

As a child viewing the 1954 film, I was oblivious to the racial undertones (being a product of a comfortable white middle class upbringing in a region where everyday racism was not particularly overt). But I found myself wholeheartedly in sympathy with the Creature, feeling that the kidnapping and torture placed him in a position of moral superiority that justified any agressive actions taken. The "damsel", I felt, had bought into the creature's captivity by her presence and support, despite any pity she displayed, and therefore could not entirely be considered an innocent bystander. I entirely discounted the theme of "non-human creature is romantically/sexually attracted to human woman" and interpreted that aspect of the story as the Creature simply fixating on the only human who had shown any sort of "humanity" toward him. And, of course, the Creature received my sympathy by default precisely because of being an Other, which was my primary emotional identity as a child.

So that's what I bring to my viewing of del Toro's The Shape of Water. I've noted the plot-structure overlap, but what of the differences? TSoW has distracted greatly from the most problematic racial aspects of the original, in part by framing the female protagonist, Elisa Esposito, as Hispanic, as well as giving her a Black friend and ally. This move is weakened somewhat by the extent to which Zelda (the Black friend) represents a fairly stereotyped "Sassy Strong Black Woman with a Useless Boyfriend". To complete the set of marginalizations among the team of good guys, Elisa's housemate is a lonely middle-aged gay man also given a number of stereotyped characteristics. Oh, and Elisa is mute (but not Deaf), setting her up to be the ideal candidate to try to communicate by sign language with the also non-verbal Creature. (Elsa Sjunneson-Henry has an excellent analysis of disability issues in the movie over on Tor.com and her discussion helped me greatly in articulating some of my thoughts on that topic.)

The notion of the Creature's captors being framed as heros is completely undermined by portrayal of the project head as callous and sadistic. His villainy is also reinforced with a very broad brush by his behavior toward our female leads. As if it were needed, the last nail in the "white all-American man as hero" coffin is pounded in by the visual imagery of his life, taken from '50s advertising images of happy suburban families and fancy cars. (The use of advertising imagery is reinforced by the gay housemate's profession of painter of advertising images.) It's a stunning and effective use of visual symbolism, but it's far from subtle. Subtle is in the next universe over.

In TSoW, Elisa is not a passive pitying subject who exists to be a pawn for male erotic conflict, she is the driver of the action and the architect of the Creature's liberation. She is not Object but Other herself. But the way she is framed as Other due to her disability is itself problematic. One can easily see the overarching message being that being mute makes her a monster, and that therefore her only escape from isolation and loneliness is to partner with the more overt monster. It's an improvement on the 1954 film but still Has Issues. I will say that one high point of Elisa's characerization is showing her as a sexually desiring being (and eventually a sexually fulfilled one).

So what did I like about the movie? It presented the Creature as clearly the intended sympathetic protagonist and made a team of marginalized people the heros of the action. The visual imagery and effects are absolutely stunning. Within the understanding that certain elements of the plot are presented in a dream/fantasy context, we are allowed to believe that the ending is happy rather than tragic. And the film delivers on pretty much every piece of foreshadowing it offers up. (I'm thinking especially about the scars on Elisa's neck and how that reframes aspects of the resolution at the end.)

What didn't I like about the movie? In addition to the occasional issue with clumsy stereotyping in the characters, there are a few moments of gruesome body horror that I had to look away for. They were generally well telegraphed, but still...not my thing. The moral issues were painted with far too broad a brush for my taste, which detracts from what the film's message could have been. On the other hand, this is a monster movie at heart; they were never about being subtle.

But overall, the things I liked completely outweight the bits I didn't like.

Major category: 
Reviews
Tuesday, January 23, 2018 - 07:05

Deborah J. Ross, the editor of Lace and Blade 4, is posting a series of interviews with the contributors as a lead up to the book's release on February 14, 2018. (Have you pre-ordered yet?) This week, my interview went up. Check it out for some background on how I came to write "Gifts Tell Truth" and general chat about my writing.

I'm excited to have an Alpennia story published in a mainstream SFF context. Although I have a number of pieces of Alpennia short fiction planned, what I don't have is a clear plan for how to get them to readers. "Three Nights at the Opera" was always a free giveaway from the start, in part because I wanted to have an appetizer to offer people who'd never read anything of mine. And I have plans to make advance access to Alpennia shorts one of the benefits of subscribing to my mailing list, especially for the pieces that are more in the way of character sketches rather than free-standing stories. But the weird neither-this-nor-that nature of the series makes it hard to identify potential publication venues. In essence, "Gifts Tell Truth" was written specifically for the theme of Lace and Blade. The specific story wasn't one I'd been planning to write all along.

The eventual end-game, once the series as a whole is complete, will be to put out all the short fiction in a convenient collection, but that's quite a ways down the road.

What "fill-in" stories would you love to read about Alpennia? Especially if I'm not constrained to telling stories centering on the lesbian characters?

Major category: 
Promotion
Publications: 
Gifts Tell Truth
Monday, January 22, 2018 - 07:00

The cyclicity of both history and theories of history has been one of the themes in this collection. Vicinus looks at examples of those cycles through the lens of a Victorian writer she's been studying.

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Vicinus, Martha. 2011. “Lesbian Ghosts” in The Lesbian Premodern ed. by Noreen Giffney, Michelle M. Sauer & Diane Watt. Palgrave, New York. ISBN 978-0-230-61676-9

Publication summary: 

 

A collection of papers addressing the question of what the place of premodern historical studies have in relation to the creation and critique of historical theories, and especially to the field of queer studies.

Vicinus, Martha. 2011. “Lesbian Ghosts”

Vicinus sees the problems of modern and premodern scholars as similar rather than distinct. She compares them to the issues she finds in studying Victorian writer Vernon Lee, who shared her life and love with women. Like the questions around medieval virginity as an identity/orientation, Lee dealt with negative reactions to tackling “male” topics and for her “passionate celibacy”. The concerns of the medieval church about “special friendships” between nuns is recapitulated in early 20th century uneasiness about schoolgirl same-sex crushes.

Vicinus discusses various metaphors used to discuss same-sex knowledge and understanding, both self-knowledge and historical knowledge, and how various theoretical communities have re-thought such dichotomies as “acts versus identities.” She sees this volume as a call for new paradigms and metaphors and looks at the mainstreaming of sexuality studies and how female same-sex relations can be an agent of social change, for example, women’s same-sex friendships (romantic or not) as a counter to rigid gender roles limiting women to marriage as a life goal.

Vicinus returns to Victorian author Vernon Lee, whose intellectual pursuits and personal style struck many as “masculine,” drawing the admiration of women and condemnation of men. Lee’s own studies of the past were often touch-centered, similar to considerations in some essays in this collection. She saw the past as a ghost still walking beside us as a companion.

Saturday, January 20, 2018 - 23:10

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 37 (previously 18c) - Book Appreciation with Kathleen Knowles - Transcript

(Originally aired 2018/01/20 - listen here)

Heather Rose Jones: This week we welcome Kathleen Knowles back to talk about historic fiction that she really has enjoyed reading. Welcome!

Kathleen Knowles: Hello!

H: So, why don’t we start out, you had mentioned that you’ve read a lot of, that you started getting interested in historic fiction by some early authors in that field. Why don’t you tell us a little bit about your favorites there?

K: Well, I think the one writer who I greatly, greatly, greatly admire, although she isn’t, certainly isn’t known for lesbian romance fiction or lesbian historic fiction, is Mary Renault. One of the first books I ever read as a gay person was The Persian Boy and I just loved it. I thought the writing was really, beautiful and the story was really romantic and the fact that it was set in ancient Greece and she seemed to describe it so well. I just thought it was great and I read everything else she wrote as well. Unfortunately, the one book that she ever wrote about lesbians, it wasn’t a historic one, it was, I think, contemporary, although it would have been in the 40s.

H: It’s historic now!

K: For her, her contemporary period of time.

H: Yes, yes.

K: It’s almost impenetrable to read. It’s not the greatest.

H: What’s the title?

K: The title is, oh my god, I’m blanking on the title sorry.

H: I’ll look it up and I will insert it in here somewhere.

K: Ok, so but the idea of gay fiction and historic fiction, that was planted in my head when I read Mary Renault. I started doing that almost 40 years ago. So, on my contemporaries, who I really, really enjoy. One is Rebecca S. Buck, these are both Bold Strokes Books writers as I am. One is Rebecca S. Buck, she has a couple titles out, you’ll have to look those up.

H: I know she’s got one about a highway woman because I was looking at it the other day, I’m going to do a special episode on that. I think it’s The Flintlock and the Locket or something like that?

K: Yeah, there’s that one and another one she wrote about a young museum worker. I can’t remember the name of it now, I’m very sorry. That was great. And my all-time favorite is Justine Saracen. Justine has written all kinds of different historical periods, from Biblical to WWII. It’s pretty amazing how she can dig up all of these… she makes… she says, “The best thing about writing historical fiction is you can pick something that there’s not much known about and then you can make all sorts of stuff up!” That’s how she likes to put it for historical fiction. The one, I think my favorite was the Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bright and it was about the Nazis and WWII and the destruction of Berlin. It’s pretty intense.

H: Yeah, I think I’ve heard her read from that one.

K: Really worthwhile as is her recent one about the Soviet fighter pilots who were women. They had a women’s… squadron of women who were fighter pilots. And that was really true in the Soviet Union in WWII.

H: Yeah, that one’s The Witch of Stalingrad, right?

K: Yeah, The Witch of Stalingrad, and I don’t know how to put it but Justine’s really special and it’s really fun to know somebody like that and actually be able to talk to her every now and then. So those are my two real favorites as far as… Two super favorites and one other that I really like, Rebecca Buck.

H: Uh huh. Well, thank you very much for sharing some of your favorite books with us.

K: Well, you’re welcome. Anytime!

Show Notes

In the Book Appreciation segments, our featured authors talks about her favorite books with queer female characters in a historic setting.

In this episode Kathleen recommends some favorite queer historical novels:

Links to the Lesbian Historic Motif Project Online

Links to Heather Online

Links to Kathleen Knowles Online

Major category: 
LHMP
Friday, January 19, 2018 - 07:00

Another summing-up article that looks at the contents of the volume from a number of different angles. Although there is a great deal of repetition in this section of the collection, I like the focus on a deep understanding of the progression of theoretical frameworks that affected both what was studied and how it was interpreted.

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Garber, Linda. 2011. “Necessity is the Invention of Lesbians” in The Lesbian Premodern ed. by Noreen Giffney, Michelle M. Sauer & Diane Watt. Palgrave, New York. ISBN 978-0-230-61676-9

Publication summary: 

 

A collection of papers addressing the question of what the place of premodern historical studies have in relation to the creation and critique of historical theories, and especially to the field of queer studies.

Garber, Linda. 2011. “Necessity is the Invention of Lesbians”

Garber reviews the progress of lesbian studies from an overly exuberant "laying claim", to the development of more nuanced criteria and engagement with Foucaultian social constructionism, as well as the overlap/intersection of lesbian and transgender themes in history. The 1970s were obsessed with how broadly or narrowly to define “lesbian,” both in the past and present. The nature of premodern evidence makes a strict social-constructionist approach problematic, even as the wide net premodern historians cast makes coherent boundaries impossible. Acknowledging a Foucaultian divide around 1869 doesn’t mean accepting that as the only definition for the scope of lesbian history. Like the other summing-up papers in this collection, Garber reviews the contents of the volume in the context of these contrasts. She reiterates the political nature of historical study and the place of fantasy and invention within that political context. Is there a direct comparison to the social history of, for example, ethnic minorities? Ethnic histories work to reconstruct the nature of a provable past, whereas lesbian history is often required to demonstrate the very existence of the past it wants to study.

Thursday, January 18, 2018 - 07:00

The second category of Jae's Lesbian Book Bingo 2018 challenge is Historical Fiction. Check here for the thread with suggestions of books for this category, and for a chance to win prizes if you comment.

As I announced previously, since I don't read enough books to have a chance at filling my bingo card, I thought I'd play along by writing short fiction pieces for each square, using a historic setting and tying them all up loosely in a single overall story. But what do I do for a historical fiction category given that I'm trying to do the whole thing in a historic setting? Obviously the solution is to include something that is historical fiction for the characters in my setting! We're still following the same two characters currently, but I've switched viewpoints. (There will be more characters later, but they'll all connect up in the end.) At this point, I've sort of narrowed down the setting of the current ficlets to the Nine Years' War some time in the early 1690s. I'm dodging making too-specific references to what military action my heroines might be taken part it since I haven't pinned down a more specific date (or exactly which regiment they're with). If you're interested in more details of passing women in the military in the Low Countries and Germany in this general era, there's no better source than The Tradition of Female Transvestism in Early Modern Europe by Dekker and van de Pol.

My book Daughter of Mystery will be one of the featured book suggestions for the fantasy category, but my work fits in a lot of different categories on the bingo card. For those who might be visiting here for the fiction and brainstorming for ideas for their bingo squares, here's a brief rundown of what categories the Alpennia books and my self-published novelette fit into.

  • "The Mazarinette and the Musketter" (self-published novelette, see links below for information on all books) - LGBTQIA+ characters (bi women, trans man), historical fiction, you might possibly fit it into "women in uniform" since a Musketeer uniform is a key plot point.
  • Daughter of Mystery (Alpennia #1) - friends to lovers, butch/femme (sort of), fantasy, historical fiction
  • The Mystic Marriage (Alpennia #2) - LGBTQIA+ (one main character is demisexual), friends to lovers, age difference, fantasy, I think you could even use "workplace romance" since the romance develops in an alchemy lab, historical fiction
  • Mother of Souls (Alpennia #3) - friends to lovers, fantasy, historical fiction, LGBTQIA+ (since both women are bi), but I'd rather people didn't use it for the "women of color" square because I'd prefer people to chose own-voices books for that in preference to mine

And now, on with the fiction!

All the Stage is a World (Lesbian Book Bingo: Historical Fiction)

The only thing more miserable than standing sentry through the wet miserable night on the edge of the army camp would have been sitting inside the walls of the town we were besieging. No, even worse for everyone would come when the siege broke into open battle but I mostly avoided thinking about that before time and tried to forget it afterward. The dark was thick with the smoke of campfires and the orange glow of them was scattered across the fields like a hellish reflection of the stars above.

Lena—no, I needed to think of her only as Pieter, and I’d only called her Lena for a few days anyway. Not long enough that the name should seek to betray us like that. Pieter shuffled a few steps to keep her legs warm. Another hour at least before we’d be relieved.

A trickle of wet fell into the collar of my uniform coat and I adjusted the wide brim of my hat to send the rain somewhere less uncomfortable. “Are you cold, Pieter?” I asked.

She snorted. “Of course I’m cold, Martijn! Times like this I wish I hadn’t traded skirts for breeches.”

Skirts for breeches, a job serving beer at De Leeuw in Zendoorn for the army life, but I knew she didn’t regret the gamble. I saw it in her eyes ever time we marched past towns and rivers she’d never seen before. No matter how sore our feet were or how quickly sleep seized us when we made camp, that look of wonder and surprise never dimmed.

I moved closer and huddled against her for a little more warmth but she stepped away with a shake of her head.

“You never know who might be watching.”

She was right. As bad as it would be for anyone to guess that we were women, it would be worse if they decided we were too-affectionate men. Sharing a bedroll for warmth was one thing, but embracing while on watch was another. The pleasant tumble we’d had back in Zendoorn rarely had a chance to be repeated.

“I’ll tell you a story to pass the time,” I offered. Even the stories I’d grown tired of were new to her. “What would you like?”

“Tell me about…” She thought in the darkness for a while. “Tell me a story about people like us. Tell me that we aren’t alone. You said you’d had sweethearts before…”

I didn’t want to tell her about Mayken, not all the private memories. But… “I know a story about people like us. I saw it on a stage when I was in London. A grand story set in olden times with pagan gods and two girls just like us. Would you like that one?”

“Oh yes!”

I tried to remember everything I could about the play, all confused with shepherds and gods and comic rustics. In the end, the play had left me shaking and filled with questions.

“Once upon a time, there was a band of shepherds who had angered the god Neptune, I don’t remember why. But Neptune demanded that every ten years they must sacrifice the most beautiful and most virtuous maiden in the land. You might think that fathers would be proud to have beautiful and virtuous daughters. Neptune wasn’t the only god in the story. The virgin goddess Diana roamed the woods near where the shepherds lived, and she loved chaste girls. Or you might think that the shepherds would encourage their daughters to be a little less virtuous, if it meant they would live. And the goddess Venus was happy to encourage them in that. But men are strange creatures, so they protected their daughters’ virtue carefully and the mourned what came of it.

“There was a girl named Gallathea who was so pretty and so pure that her father was certain that she would be chosen as the sacrifice, so he took her away to the woods and commanded her to dress in men’s clothing and hide herself away until after the choice was made. Gallathea was embarrassed to wear breeches and a doublet—just like you were at first, Pieter. I still remember how you blushed looking down to see your legs showing! But she did what her father commanded and went to hide in the woods.

“And there was another beautiful virgin named Phillida.  Her father was also certain that she would be chosen to be the sacrifice. So he took her aside and said she must disguise herself as a man and hide away in the woods until Neptune had received his due. Phillida thought it was an immodest thing to do, but she obeyed her father and she, too, put on breeches and a doublet and went to hide herself.”

“Well that was a silly thing!” Pieter said. “Wouldn’t anyone notice they were gone? Wouldn’t they remember two such pretty girls and ask what happened to them?”

“Hush,” I scolded. “It’s a play. People do silly things in plays. Now let me continue. So Gallathea and Phillida chanced to meet each other in the wood, and of course each one thought that the other one was a boy. A very pretty boy.” I smiled at Pieter in that way I knew would make her blush, though I couldn’t see it in the dark. “And they fell in love.”

I couldn’t see her, but I heard her sigh—a quiet little sigh that I remembered from times when I’d touched her just so.

“Both Gallathea and Phillida, they each thought they were in love with a boy, you see? And while they’re hinting at being in love with each other, Diana’s virgin huntresses meet up with Cupid and mock him and he decides to make them all fall madly in love. Some of them fall in love with shepherds and some with Gallathea and Phillida, thinking they were men, but Gallathea and Phillida fall in love without Cupid’s help. But when they each see that the other spurns the love of Diana’s ladies, they begin to suspect that the other might be a woman in disguise.”

Pieter gave another disgusted snort. “I know you said people do silly things in plays, but why would they think that? There are lots of reasons to spurn a woman who’s chasing after you.”

“Ah,” I said, “but they both are thinking a lot about being in disguise, so maybe it just seemed more likely to them. Let me finish. Do you want a story or not?” It had worked to distract us from the cold, but now I wanted to tell Pieter how it ended.

“So Gallathea is worried that if Phillida is really a girl like her, then her love won’t be returned. But if Phillida is a boy like she seems, then falling in love puts her chastity at risk. And Phillida is thinking the same thing. And at the same time, the shepherds pick a different girl to be the sacrifice, but Neptune won’t take her because she isn’t pretty enough. And he gets mad at the shepherds for cheating him, and he’s mad at Diana for making girls all worried about being virgins and then Diana and Venus have a fight about whether it’s better to be in love or to be a virgin.”

“They don’t sound like gods, they sound like people arguing over the price of cabbages in the market.”

We both giggled at that, because it was true.

“Anyway, the fathers confess what they had done when Gallathea and Phillida come back and then the two know they’ve both fallen in love with a girl, and they’re unhappy because they think it means they can’t be together but they swear to all the gods that their love is true and they’ll never love anyone else.”

Pieter gave a little sigh again, but this time it was the kind of sigh you give when you see people being happy. I felt a bit of worry twisting up my belly, because I think Pieter thought we were in love like the girls in the play. And I…I wasn’t sure. I liked her well enough, but I wasn’t sure about being in love. Not like Gallathea and Phillida were in love.

“What happened next?” Pieter asked all in a rush.

“Venus tells everyone that love will triumph and that she’ll turn one of them into a boy so they can get married.”

“Oh.”

There was a long silence after that. I couldn’t tell what Pieter was thinking, just that she was disappointed in how the story ended.

“Martijn.”

“Yes?”

“Martijn…would you want to turn into a boy if it meant you could marry the girl you loved?”

I’d thought about it. I’d thought about it when I'd seen the play. I'd thought about it when I’d been with Mayken. We’d talked about getting married and me leaving the army to settle down with her. And I just…I wasn’t sure. In the army I was Martijn and Martijn was a soldier and a man. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to be Martijn for my whole life. Not even if it meant I could marry Mayken. That was why she’d stayed behind and I marched away.

I shook myself to push the memory away. “There aren’t really pagan gods, you know. They can’t do that. Only God can make miracles and God isn’t going to make that kind of miracle so it doesn’t matter. It’s just a story.”

I don’t know what I would have said after that, but I saw a lantern bobbing in the dark and two voices called out the sign. We answered with the countersign and the watch had changed.

Back in our tent, it took an hour of holding each other close to warm up enough to sleep. I lay there wondering what happened to Gallathea and Phillida after the end of the play.

(copyright 2018 Heather Rose Jones, all rights reserved)

[Continue to the next installment]

* * *

*Historic note: John Lyly’s play Gallathea was first performed in 1588. I haven’t yet pinned down the precise date of these sketches yet, but my current approximation is during the Nine Years’ War of the Grand Alliance, in the 1690s. It’s extremely unlikely that Lyly’s play was still being performed at that date, though some plays of the era did have long runs through multiple revisions and adaptations. But I’ve taken the liberty of having my character see a performance.

Major category: 
Promotion
Monday, January 15, 2018 - 07:00

In my focus on the "facts and documents" end of historic research, I tend to have little patience for discussions of "theories about theories" far removed from a consideration of the lives and experiences of actual people in history. That doesn't mean that I don't value them. The study of history is far from an objective, value-neutral practice, and if we don't examine and address the subjective, value-infused context in which history is done, we end up accepting those contexts as "fact" when they are far from any such thing. Freeman's discussion here brings exactly that sort of challenge to historic theory, using the imagery of a religious transformative experience as metaphor. I've ended up enjoying reading and thinking about these theoretical articles a lot more than I expected to. And if any of you find yourselves intrigued by the summaries of them that I'm presenting here, you might enjoy reading the collection itself as well.

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Freeman, Elizabeth. 2011. “Sacramentality and the Lesbian Premodern” in The Lesbian Premodern ed. by Noreen Giffney, Michelle M. Sauer & Diane Watt. Palgrave, New York. ISBN 978-0-230-61676-9

Publication summary: 

 

A collection of papers addressing the question of what the place of premodern historical studies have in relation to the creation and critique of historical theories, and especially to the field of queer studies.

Freeman, Elizabeth. 2011. “Sacramentality and the Lesbian Premodern”

[The following is duplicated from the associated blog. I'm trying to standardize the organization of associated content.]

In my focus on the "facts and documents" end of historic research, I tend to have little patience for discussions of "theories about theories" far removed from a consideration of the lives and experiences of actual people in history. That doesn't mean that I don't value them. The study of history is far from an objective, value-neutral practice, and if we don't examine and address the subjective, value-infused context in which history is done, we end up accepting those contexts as "fact" when they are far from any such thing. Freeman's discussion here brings exactly that sort of challenge to historic theory, using the imagery of a religious transformative experience as metaphor. I've ended up enjoying reading and thinking about these theoretical articles a lot more than I expected to. And if any of you find yourselves intrigued by the summaries of them that I'm presenting here, you might enjoy reading the collection itself as well.

# # #

Where “lesbian” once signaled the avant-garde, it now is often interpreted as quietly normative, as pre-post-modern in comparison to “queer.” Freeman plays around with the semantics of “pre” and “post” for a while. She considers how the roots of historical theory are found among medievalists but that the primary texts and their analysis are often ignored by current theoreticians. She makes a comparison suggesting that lesbian/feminist scholarship occupies a similar relationship to queer theory: the concrete roots of the theory are ignored or unknown to those working in current theory. Freeman calls for a re-valuing of those roots, if only to better evaluate and critique the theory. There follows much discussion of that process of evaluation and critique. Freeman considers historical theories as “secular” but points out that this framing excludes a definition of religion as “a set of knowledge practices and embodied rituals.” From that point of view, secular modernity is a “habitus” of religion rooted in Protestantism, and conversely the critical avant-garde has a sort of sacramental approach to the concept of history as a systematic whole. In this framing, “sacramental” history includes more subjective “ways of knowing” that include desires, bodies, and fantasies. The acceptance of theory becomes like the experience of the Eucharist: a passive transformative acceptance. Can texts be treated as sacraments and experienced via transformative incorporation? Could this result not in expertise over, but community with, the past? The paper ends with an extensive discussion of how this framing would apply to the various papers in the volume.

Saturday, January 13, 2018 - 12:05

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 36 (previously 18b) - Interview with Kathleen Knowles - Transcript

(Originally aired 2018/01/13 - listen here)

Heather Rose Jones: Welcome to the Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast. Today, we’re having an interview with author Kathleen Knowles. I knew her as Kathy, back a long time ago when we worked at the same biotech company together. Welcome, Kathy.

Kathleen Knowles: Hello!

H: So, I have to start out by saying I am tickled to death at bumping into you again in the context of writing lesbian fiction, because, wow, it’s been like… you said 25 years?

K: Yes, I think so. In the early 90s when we worked at Xoma Corporation.

H: Yah, right before the axe fell and we all got laid off, right?

K: I think I left before that, but yes.

H: Ah. Yes. So, and here we are again!

K: Right, and we met at the Golden Crown Literary Society, last year? Is that right? Or was it in New Orleans?

H: Ah, well, that wasn’t last year. That was two years ago, but I went and heard you at a reading in San Francisco. You and a couple of other Bold Strokes Books authors were reading and, here’s the embarrassing thing, I think at that point it hadn’t clicked in my mind that I already knew you. I figured it out later.

K: Right.

H: So, how did you get interested in writing historical fiction? Why don’t you talk about that a little bit?

K: Well, I’ve read historical fiction. I realized the other day when I was thinking about it for this interview that when I was a teenager, I read a lot of things and some of the things I read were actually romance fiction that were historically based. And I can’t remember too many of the authors names, but I remember thinking that I liked the part of it that had to do with history and with history detail. I always loved reading historical stuff when I was a student and when I came out, I started doing a lot of reading in LGBT history and I’m very interested and have a read a great deal about different periods of time and different people. So, when I decided I wanted to write, and I will say I got started in fanfiction, but the idea that I had was almost automatically going to be historical romance and set in San Francisco, because I like San Francisco history a lot.

H: So, you mentioned you did a lot of reading in LGBT history. Any particularly favorite periods?

K: I don’t have any particular favorite periods, I have favorite authors. Lillian Faderman’s writings on lesbian history and Martin Duberman’s books, I really enjoy. I like biographies. I’ve read a lot of different biographies of people like Vita Sackville-West and Radclyffe Hall and other people. A lot of different people. Those are the kinds of things I like to read.

H: And for your own fiction, I noticed that you’ve got a set of three books, now I’m not sure they’re a set, but you’ve got three books set in San Francisco right around the turn of the 20th century. Two of them have the same pair of characters, is the third one actually connected?

K: The third one is connected. They’re more or less a set. For the third one I made the characters from the first two books, Beth and Kerry, I made them secondary characters and focused on a new set of main characters. So, that’s kind of the style that Bold Strokes Books likes to use if you’re writing like a series of some sort. So, you could consider them a set of three.

H: So, we have Awake unto Me, and then A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and that’s the first two with the same main couple.

K: Yes.

H: And then Two Souls, which is the third book. Do they come in that order?

K: Yes, that’s in order.

H: Because then Two Souls deals with the San Francisco earthquake.

K: Right.

H: I noticed that that’s a bit of a favorite fictional touchstone for people. You aren’t the only person who set a lesbian story around the time of the quake. What drew you to that particular era, or is that a really silly question?

K: Well, first of all, I started out, and I’m not sure why I picked the turn of the century in particular, it sort of just evolved that I wanted a… I started with a war-time setting, which happened to be the Spanish American War. And when I thought about that and thought if what if I ever wrote anymore books and continued this story, that it would naturally go to the San Francisco earthquake. I don’t know what it is about earthquakes, you know, you live in the Bay Area too, but earthquakes are something people talk a lot about, and it’s very much identified with San Francisco. The 1906 earthquake, lucky for me, has a huge amount of things written about it. Plenty of sources for different kinds of details, whatever basic part of it you want to focus on, you can find something out about it. And I thought it would be an interesting thing to have my characters go through. All of them, basically six characters in the book, and they all have various ways of dealing with the earthquake. It’s a disaster, it makes people react in different ways. So, that’s what I was interested in.

H: It’s always a fun thing to throw at characters to make them react in extreme situations like that.

K: Oh, I think so, yes.

H: So, why don’t you tell us a little bit about what goes on in the books? A little plot synopsis.

K: Ok. In the first book, Awake unto Me, is when the two characters, Beth and Kerry, meet and they meet with a person that they have in common. And they… one’s basically an orphan and had been adopted. She was orphaned when she was a young teenager and she was adopted by someone. And grew up, up to that point that she was adopted, in the Barbary Coast, which is a pretty hard-core bad part of town. That’s Kerry. And Beth grew up in a very middle-class family but had a history of abuse by, I think it was the family minister. So, they sort of meet by chance because the guy that, the doctor who adopted Kerry, Beth ends up in nursing school and he’s one of her professors. That’s how they meet. So, the first book describes their courtship, how they met, and how they fall in love. And there’s a separation in it, where Beth is sent off to war in the Philippines as a nurse and she’s gone for quite a period of time. I don’t want to give away too much of the plot, but basically they get together and they become lovers. In the second book, which a lot of people don’t like to read what happens after the happily ever after is what they like to have in their heads, and they’re done. They’re basically, I’ve heard people say, “Well, I’m just done.”

H: “I don’t want to know if it doesn’t work out.” Yanno?

K: Yeah, it all worked out, everything’s great. But I tend to think that sometimes things are a little more interesting later on when you’re trying to keep a relationship together and there’s all kinds of pressures on relationships and I presume that wouldn’t be any different even if it was 1900. It wouldn’t make any difference, there would still be issues and problems and people would have to work through in order to keep their relationship going. So that what the second one, The Spark of Heavenly Fire, is about. It’s about how they get through a really rough period in their lives and manage not to break-up. Finally, Two Souls… Beth and Kerry are there, they basically live with Beth’s former professor who, and she’s now become a doctor instead of a nurse and her mentor and his romantic partner, I have unmarried… I make a big deal about the fact there’s an unmarried couple, so another doctor. And they live in a big house, I basically picture up on Fillmore Street, the upper part of Fillmore street. And another doctor who is living with them for a time, moved out from New York. Her name’s Norah, and Norah actually… Kerry’s the one that introduces Norah to the woman who becomes her love interest, because her, Abigail, Abby, is not a doctor. The only main character… well, she’s a doctor, and Kerry is a cook. But Abigail is a Naturalist and she’s based on a real person, that I was quite impressed when I heard a story of. That’s what happens is, basically the earthquake is what happens, and that’s what they all have to deal with in various ways. Of course, all the people who are doctors are working on issues. Basically, they’re helping refugees in Golden Gate Park, they’re taking care of medical issues for refugees. And Abigail is a member of the California Academy of Sciences, has other issues to deal with. Kerry was a cook at the Palace Hotel, which burns down, and she’s injured during the course of the earthquake and so she’s dealing with an injury and having lost her job. So, that’s the plot of the third book in the series. So, most of the focus is on Abigail and Norah, because it’s their love story and it’s about them falling in love and becoming partners. That’s it.

H: And as you say, living there in San Francisco as you do, there are enormous historical resources for the era and for exactly what went on and what peoples’ lives were like. I’m wondering about resources for developing the relationships of these women. What were some of your challenges or your favorites parts about setting up their relationships in a historic context?

K: I think for anybody who writes historical fiction, romance fiction or other kinds of fiction, is understanding that people have the same emotions, I believe, they have experienced the same sort of emotions that we do in the present day. But they’re not always going to be expressed and, particularly, sexuality was really repressed around the turn of the century. It just simply wasn’t something that people talk about, but I just remembered, one of the reasons why I did pick the turn of the century to start with, Heather, is because at that point there actually did exist, at least in technical literature and in the minds and views of psychiatrists and other doctors, there was a concept of gay identity. They had named it, they had given it names, they knew what lesbians were and they knew what gay men were. So, those concepts existed, and I used the fact that a lot of my characters were doctors, particularly the one from New York, to point out the fact that people actually knew they existed, they had a name for it, it wasn’t a mystery of any kind. So, they could, to a certain extent, discuss it. Although, the part that’s difficult for people falling in love is there’s…. they don’t know it, none of the characters, at least at first, they don’t understand what it is that they’re going through, and they don’t have a name for it and they don’t call it anything until they found out later. I’m speaking Kerry and Beth. They find out later, from their friend, the doctor from New York, Esther, what it’s called. You know, she says this is something that happens to certain people and it’s not like it’s a terrible thing. Of course, I had to give them some supportive secondary characters, I didn’t want it to revolve around peoples’ horrible reactions to it. So, I figure San Francisco was a place, is a place, it certainly was a place from the very start that absorbed a lot of different people form a lot of different places, so I think of San Francisco as a place where nothing can surprise anybody.

H: Yeah, and I always like to look at it that, you know, it’s not erasing the fact that many peoples’ lives in the past were awful, but we as authors get to choose which stories we want to tell. And there were happy stories that can be told.

K: Yes.

H: So, where do you want to go in the future in your historic writing? What projects do you have in mind to work on?

K: That’s a great question. My co-worker, I guess, other writer, another writer I admire very much, who writes for Bold Strokes books, Justine Saracen is here pen name, has always told me, she said, “WWI! That’s the place you’ve gotta go!” She writes a lot about WWII, some really excellent books, but she says, “WWI is where you want to go! That’s the period of time that nobodies paid very much attention to! You oughtta do that!”

H: I was going to say, I will argue that pre-twentieth Century is what nobodies doing, but yah, within the 20th century, I’ll take that.

K: Ok, that’s funny. I think the WWI period is really interesting, but I think what I might be more interested in, even though it’s the same general time-frame, is the beginning of the US suffragist movement. Insofar as I know, California was one of the states that women got the vote a bit before the entire country, but I’m not sure of the exact year of that. It’s something I ran across. So, I’m thinking I want to write a story about a Suffragist and another woman from some sort of background I haven’t figured out yet, write a romance novel with that background. Women getting the right to vote. And the other one I want to do is actually WWII in San Francisco, or post WWII San Francisco when all the soldiers and the sailors, who were essentially dismissed from the service if they were found out to be gay, they basically stayed in San Francisco and Los Angeles and started gay communities. That’s where it all started is right after WWII. So, I think I’d like to write a story about that period of San Francisco’s history. One more, because I’ve been interested in and slightly obsessed with for a long time – the Paris of the 1920s, pre-1920s, post WWI in the 1920s. So much has been written about it, a lot has been written about that period of time in terms of the actual history of it, the facts surrounding it. You know, Natalie Barney’s salon and Gertrude Stein’s salon and the publishing that women did in Paris during that period. But I think I’d like to fictionalize someone, possibly the reporter Janet Flanner, the New Yorker reporter who wrote the letter from Paris. She arrived in Paris with a lover in toe, but I think I might just get rid of that and have it be somebody, meet someone in Paris.

H: Yeah, you can always just use her as a model.

K: Yup. So, those are my three historical periods so far.

H: Uh huh. Any other topics you’d like to talk about before we start closing this up?

K: Well, I write contemporary fiction as well as historical fiction, but most of the time, ultimately, I think I’m writing historical fiction even when I’m writing contemporary fiction and it’s because I like to have a context for peoples’ lives, I mean, my life has a context. It doesn’t really occur in a vacuum and it occurs with a lot of other stuff happening around it. Partly because I live in San Francisco and I’ve lived her for a very long time, and I’ve been out for a very long time. I like to use a something, the book that I just got published this month deals Indiana’s Religious Freedom Act, in 2015. That’s the background of the story. So, I think I’m always, almost always basically writing historical fiction.

H: Uh huh. So, where can your fans and readers find you online if they want to learn more about your books or follow you on social media?

K: I am on Facebook under Kathy Knowles, you can just look me up. And I’m on Amazon, I have an Author’s Page that I need to do some maintenance on, but I can be reached through Bold Strokes Books Publishers on my page in Bold Strokes books. There’re all kinds of ways to get a hold of me. Especially by email or by Facebook. And I tweet once in a while.

H: Thank you very much. It’s been a pleasure having you on the Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast.

K: Thanks for asking me, Heather, it was really great.

Show Notes

A series of interviews with authors of historically-based fiction featuring queer women.

In this episode we talk about:

  • Kathy’s interest in reading about the LGBT history of San Francisco
  • Her favorite historians, including Lillian Faderman, Martin Duberman
  • What inspired her three connected novels set in turn-of-the-century San Francisco, culminating with the Great Earthquake
  • Historic eras Kathy would like to tackle in future books, including the US Suffragist movement, post-World War II San Francisco, and the Paris salon culture of the 1920s
  • Books mentioned

Links to the Lesbian Historic Motif Project Online

Links to Heather Online

Links to Kathleen Knowles Online

Major category: 
LHMP
Friday, January 12, 2018 - 10:10

The countdown is running to the release of Lace and Blade 4 containing my new Alpennia story "Gifts Tell Truth". Preorder links are up at all major e-book dealers. (There will also be a trade paperback edition.) Editor Deborah J. Ross is running a series of interviews with the contributors on her blog. Check it out and watch for when mine appears!

I really enjoyed having a chance to write this story of some of the early adventures of Vicomtesse Jeanne de Cherdillac. She's such a fun and complicated character to write about and has a great deal of not-yet-seen history packed full of stories. (I'll be writing another story about Jeanne's youth that has a framing story set at the end of Floodtide, which I plan to time to bring out just after that book releases--though I have no firm idea when that will be yet.) It's interesting to watch reader responses to Jeanne. Love her or hate her, she definitely provokes opinions! For me, the challenge in writing her is that she's so very different in personality from me, not only in being such an extrovert, but also in how strongly her passions and desires drive her. Once I had her settled down with Antuniet in the course of The Mystic Marriage, I eliminated the possibility of other romantic adventures for her moving forward in the timeline, but she does have a past. (Wow does she have a past!) And I suspect I could get a whole volume of stories out of that past eventually.

Major category: 
Promotion
Publications: 
Gifts Tell Truth
Thursday, January 11, 2018 - 07:00

One of the themes that I find really valuable in this collection of essays is poking at the question of whether and why it is important to find connections between historic modes of sexuality and the modes familiar to modern producers and consumers of historic research and theory. Given how prominent and foundational Lillian Faderman has been in the field of lesbian history, I always feel a bit guilty when I describe my winces at certain of her approaches, though in this essay I think she addresses the underlying premises of those winces fairly directly. One that is stated outright in this article is "can there be lesbian identity in the absence of sexual activity?" Faderman seems to argue for a negative answer both explicitly in this article and implicitly in much of the discussion in Surpassing the Love of Men, and the obvious reason that this position makes me wince is that it erases the concept of asexual lesbians. If one erases them in the historic record, the obvious implication is to erase them in the modern experience as well. I can understand the position that the complex prototypical model for lesbian identity includes erotic desires and activity between women, but any position that requires it as a necessary defining characteristic is a position that erases my own existence.

A second point the Faderman makes in this essay--one that I'm far more on board with--is that it's important not to get too fixated on lesbian identity as publicly transgressive of social norms. To allow for women who are outwardly conforming (or at least not outwardly non-conforming) but whose lives embody emotional and erotic experiences that can only be seen as lesbian. One of themes promoted in the modern lesbian community is that the state of being a woman who loves women is inherently and existentially transgressive, no matter how it is outwardly expressed. When applying this principle to women in history, we shouldn't overlook or dismiss lesbian lives simply because they were not engaged in a public confrontation with heterosexual expectations. This is a theme that has significant effects on lesbian historical fiction. Modern readers are deeply attached to characters who are outwardly transgressive: passing women, outlaws, women in male-coded professions. Our fiction should have room for stories about the more subtle rebellions of simply existence as well.

Major category: 
LHMP
Full citation: 

Faderman, Lillian. 2011. “A Useable Past?” in The Lesbian Premodern ed. by Noreen Giffney, Michelle M. Sauer & Diane Watt. Palgrave, New York. ISBN 978-0-230-61676-9

Publication summary: 

 

A collection of papers addressing the question of what the place of premodern historical studies have in relation to the creation and critique of historical theories, and especially to the field of queer studies.

Faderman, Lillian. 2011. “A Useable Past?”

[The following is duplicated from the associated blog. I'm trying to standardize the organization of associated content.]

One of the themes that I find really valuable in this collection of essays is poking at the question of whether and why it is important to find connections between historic modes of sexuality and the modes familiar to modern producers and consumers of historic research and theory. Given how prominent and foundational Lillian Faderman has been in the field of lesbian history, I always feel a bit guilty when I describe my winces at certain of her approaches, though in this essay I think she addresses the underlying premises of those winces fairly directly. One that is stated outright in this article is "can there be lesbian identity in the absence of sexual activity?" Faderman seems to argue for a negative answer both explicitly in this article and implicitly in much of the discussion in Surpassing the Love of Men, and the obvious reason that this position makes me wince is that it erases the concept of asexual lesbians. If one erases them in the historic record, the obvious implication is to erase them in the modern experience as well. I can understand the position that the complex prototypical model for lesbian identity includes erotic desires and activity between women, but any position that requires it as a necessary defining characteristic is a position that erases my own existence.

A second point the Faderman makes in this essay--one that I'm far more on board with--is that it's important not to get too fixated on lesbian identity as publicly transgressive of social norms. To allow for women who are outwardly conforming (or at least not outwardly non-conforming) but whose lives embody emotional and erotic experiences that can only be seen as lesbian. One of themes promoted in the modern lesbian community is that the state of being a woman who loves women is inherently and existentially transgressive, no matter how it is outwardly expressed. When applying this principle to women in history, we shouldn't overlook or dismiss lesbian lives simply because they were not engaged in a public confrontation with heterosexual expectations. This is a theme that has significant effects on lesbian historical fiction. Modern readers are deeply attached to characters who are outwardly transgressive: passing women, outlaws, women in male-coded professions. Our fiction should have room for stories about the more subtle rebellions of simply existence as well.

# # #

Faderman builds on Bauer’s discussion of how conventional historic approaches erase lesbian history, but adds that an abandonment of the concept of history as “what really happened” is a surrender to that erasure. She notes her own pursuit of lesbian history as an “unabashedly political project”--a pursuit of a “useable past” that offered the modern audience connection with history. Faderman has some possibly snide things to say about how the scarcity of premodern evidence for lesbians drives post-modern scholars to “all sorts of imaginative--and sometimes rather labored--devices.” On the other side, she notes how the longing for a “useable past” leads to ahistoricity (perhaps what is elsewhere called “search and rescue” missions). She asserts how the framework of Romantic Friendship allowed her to discuss intense loving relationships between women in the 18-19th centuries without anachronistically labeling them “lesbian”. This raises the question, if “lesbian” is an unstable concept, how is it possible to discuss lesbianism in history at all?

Faderman spends a while discussing how the strict scrutiny on the precise definition of “lesbian”--both within and outside the field of lesbian history--inevitably leads to erasing the realities of women who had primary emotional bonds with other women. But conversely, she probes at the question of whether “lesbian” has lost its most crucial meaning if it doesn’t refer to sexual relations. [Note: This is the theme that regularly bothers me in Faderman’s writing, that sex is the sine qua non of the word “lesbian”.] But she also notes that looking for “lesbian-like” data only in the context of social non-conformity excludes women whose lives were superficially conventional, despite strong evidence for female same-sex emotional or erotic relationships. “If our definition of ‘lesbian-like’ is limited to women who were openly outlaws, we’re in danger of losing much that is juicy and wonderful.” She notes the class divisions in responses to lesbian-like behavior and the promising evidence that knowledge and acceptance of female same-sex love was more widespread in premodern times than we often think.

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