What Could Women Do?
Thursday, June 26, 2025 - 08:00
When constructing fictional narratives of the past, we often run into absolute statements along the lines of "women couldn't...," "women didn't...," "women always..." But when we look at the detailed truths of history, we usually find a lot of "women couldn't unless they..." and "women didn't typically..." and "women always...except when..." Once we get past the falsity of absolute statements, we need to get past a blythe assumption of exceptionalness, fighting our way to a nuanced particularity of the circumstances in which some women could, did, and didn't--with an understanding of the costs and tradeoffs and consequences.
Historical fiction usually centers around people who are atypical in some fashion--perhaps even extraordinary. And historical romance has conventions that often stretch the bounds of plausibility. (Young, handsome, unmarried dukes with no venereal discase anyone?) So when we're designing our historical sapphists, how obligated are we to make our characters more plausible than the standards straight characters are held to? That's a question that haunts me both as an author and as a reader, and in the end it's a question that each author grapples with on their own.
What are the historic structures that can be bent with little consequence for reader reception? Which are the ones that will start to throw readers out of the story? How many readers? To what degree? Where is the line between historical fiction and historic fantasy--not the historic fantasy of overt elements like magic and dragons, but the historic fantasy that has become unmoored from the details of ordinary existence that should have context and consequence?
Which readers will notice that unmooring, and how much will they care? Will they care if an early 19th century widow acts oblivious to the expectations for her state? Will they care if a woman engages in a profession that would have been hedged about with restrictions and handicaps because of her sex...but encounters none of those? Will they care if a woman carries a noble title that there was no legal way for her to hold in the stated time and place? Will they care if a character has an anachronistic worldview regarding sexuality? And which of these are essential to the story the author wants to tell as opposed to being dismissed as simply not being important enough to reflect?
Actual people in history often surprise us--as when Charity and Sylvia are able to become accepted and cherished by their community as a recognized couple. But it is the details of their path to that acceptance that make their story plausible. Charity's early missteps that showed her which hazards she needed to avoid. Sylvia's diplomatic negotiations to maintain family ties. The particularities of small-town New England life that allowed for possibilities of a specific shape and nature, but would not have allowed for others. (For example, it's unlikely that they would have received the same acceptance if Charity wore male clothing and took up a specifically male-coded profession. Either of those in isolation, perhaps, but probably not in the context of being part of a recognized female couple. For that, they would probably have needed to relocate to a community where she could pass entirely--as some such couples did.)
For myself as a reader, there are some historical infelicities that will move a book from "historical fiction" to "historic fantasy" in a way that the author may not have intended. And if my brain was set for the expectation of history, it may be the difference between whether I enjoy the reading experience. (There have been books where I could only enjoy the story by flipping that switch in my brain.) As an author, I enjoy the challenge of writing stories that both follow history and provide a desired HEA, within the constraints of the times. It's the same way that I enjoy the challenge of writing strict meter poetry--the point isn't simply slavishly following a particular scheme of rhyme and meter, but of doing that and creating a work of beauty and emotional catharsis. And, as always, the goal of the Lesbian Historic Motif Project isn't to say "you must write this specific type of story with this specific level of historic accuracy" but to provide tools to know that whatever choices you make are informed ones.
Major category:
Full citation:
Cleves, Rachel Hope. 2014. Charity & Sylvia: A Same-Sex Marriage in Early America. Oxford University Press, Oxford. ISBN 978-0-19-933542-8
Chapter 17 & 18
Chapter 17: Diligent in Business 1835
The chapter opens with a detailed dramatized episode from a typical workday for C&S, cited to a diary entry, but not indicated as direct quotes and clearly elaborated from the author’s imagination. This is the sort of concern I’ve noted previously about the fictionalizing of details.
The emphasis of the chapter is on the exhausting balance between having a constant stream of sewing workload and the material comfort and stability it provided. In general, unmarried women lived lives of poverty or dependence or both. There were many examples around C&S of what happened to women who either had no skills or were too old or infirm to earn their own room and board. C&S recorded endless long working hours and the ill health it generated, including repetitive stress injuries and eyestrain.
While they never became rich, even by local standards, their standard of living and personal property were equivalent to the household of a more traditional married couple, even through multiple general financial crises of the early 19th century. In general, they avoided debt, and many of their customers paid in kind, helping to buffer the consequences of financial panics, even as some relatives were badly affected.
The stability of their business also meant they were able to employ a succession of young women as assistants and apprentices. They provided not only wages, but training that the women could then take with them to support themselves or even to set up their own shops with additional employees. Sewing itself was only part of the job—the more skilled aspect was patterning and the tailoring of male clothing.
Their particular path to economic independence would fade somewhat in mid-century with the invention of the sewing machine and commercial printed patterns.
Chapter 18: The Cure of Her I Love 1839
In 1839, Charity suffered what was likely a heart attack. This came after a lifetime of various acute and chronic ailments that were endemic in the 19th century. Both women experienced chronic headaches, including migraine symptoms, as well as the usual round of infectious diseases. Treatments of the time were largely bleeding and quack medicines, including regular treatments to “purge the system” (i.e., induce vomiting and diarrhea). One medical principle was that a medicine could be considered effective if it produced a violent effect, even if that effect was debilitating. There were also treatments using traditional herbal remedies that likely had a better cost-benefit ratio.
In general, this chapter discusses ailments mentioned in C&S’s correspondence and diaries, with the treatments either used or recommended, as well as discussing the general state of medical practice at the time.
The 1839 attack, though frightening, was survived. Charity lived another 12 years after that to the age of 74. During that period, she would lose siblings and friends, one by one. Another heart attack took her life in 1851.
Place:
Event / person:
View comments (0)