Mr. Edgar Downes. Edgar. She had not wanted to know. She thought of Viking warriors and medieval knights. Edgar.
Mary Balogh, A Christmas Bride
“Anyone called Bertha’s got no place in a romance!”
Catherynne M. Valente, The Glass Town Game
Dear Amanda,
In December, I was minding my own business, reading A Christmas Bride, when lo and behold – Mary Balogh makes the mistake of associating the name “Edgar” with Vikings. I clenched my jaw; as a Professional Old Stuff Knower, I happen to know that “Edgar” is an English name, derived from the Old English words ead (“riches”) and gar (“spear”). In fact, I know that there were plenty of medieval English dudes named Edgar – at least 3 kings before the 12th century!
But my description is perhaps a bit melodramatic because despite having a bit of fun with Balogh’s blunder, a little slip-up isn’t the end of the world. This line did, however, make me think about names and romance, particularly why it is that some names sound more “romantic” than others. Why, for example, does Edgar conjure up “Viking warriors and medieval knights,” and why does it make the man all the more alluring?
Behold.
How Do Romance Writers Choose Names?
In 2021, Harlequin Books interviewed a number of romance writers,1 asking them how they named their characters. While I don’t want to copy and paste the whole article, there were some interesting responses:
Lee Tobin McClain searches for the top 100 popular names during the year their hero/heroine is born, then looks up the etymologies.
Geri Krotow does the same thing, but also looks in phone books, church directories, and cemeteries for inspiration.
This strategy, for all I know, has a number of benefits. For one, looking up popular names will give you specimens that feel realistic. It’s much easier to suspend your disbelief if your hero’s name is Benjamin or Edward,for example,than if he’s named something like Astrolabe.
But this is a historical romance book blog, so my main interest is in tools like Regency Reader’s generator, which created a body of source material through “lots of combing through Debrett’s, Leigh’s, and muster rolls to generate names used in the Regency era.”2 I admire the work it takes to wade through tomes like Debrett’s; that must have been a hell of an afternoon (or three). But I am as interested in what Regency Reader’s tool leaves out as what it keeps in. You see, using the generator will not necessarily yield “popular” names of the era; sourcing from Debrett’s and Leigh’s ensures that only upper-class names (used by the peerage) are included, and even with such restrictions in place, it’s clear from the developer that most historical people didn’t have the flowery, romantic-sounding appellations as those we find in books: “the truth is the vast majority of the populace was named Mary, John, Jane, Robert, William, or some of the other common names,” the Regency Reader writes.2
Of course, it’s entirely possible to have romance heroines names Mary or heroes named William (we get them all the time), but it’s equally likely that we get some with names like Isolde Goodnight (Tessa Dare’s Romancing the Duke), Sebastian Holloway (Eva Leigh’s My Fake Rake), or Kingscote, the Marquess of Eversley (Sarah MacLean’s The Rogue Not Taken). I mean, come on – how often do we come across working or “lower class” sounding names? Where are my Franks? My Gladyses?
What this tells me is that “good” Regency/historical romance character names are A.) aristocratic, and B.) unique (without being too unique).
So why aristocratic? Are romance writers just snobs?
One reason might be that historical romance heroes are often upper class. Most of the romances we read, for example, involve the heroine capturing the heart of a duke or viscount, so it makes sense that said duke or viscount have a name befitting his class. Of course, we do occasionally run into rogues and scoundrels who are low-class criminals, but even they have powerful-sounding monikers. Part of the appeal of romance is the power fantasy: the powerful man succumbs to the heroine (and her vagina love). Economic and social power is just one way this manifests.
Another reason might also be that romance as we know it today grew out of the capital-R Romance genre. Capital-R Romance, as you recall, follows the exploits of (usually) aristocratic characters: knights, princes, sons of important people. Moreover, in ye olde times, these Romances were made and consumed by aristocratic readers, so they named their characters with aristocratic names. As we move into the era of Gothic Romance, we still get the trappings of aristocracy: a crumbling castle, a duke in disgrace, etc. The genre itself has an aristocratic history.
But there has to be more to it than that. Edgar is all well and good – it’s aristocratic and unique without being too unique – but when you have characters named Isolde, Sebastian, andKing… well, there has to be something else going on besides just class.
“Suit the Action to the Word, the Word to the Action”(It’s a Metaphor, Dummy)
I’m not entirely saying anything new when I proclaim that a lot of authors choose names that are metaphorically or etymologically resonant. Authors have been doing this from the dawn of time, and they will continue to do it until language loses all meaning and we resort to speaking in robotic blurps. For example, Desdemona (the tragic heroine from Shakespeare’s Othello) literally means “ill-fated,” and there’s a certain werewolf in a transphobe’s beloved book series with a name that sounds like “Wolfy McWolferson.”
In romance, we get names such as Jane Eyre (sounds like “air” for a reason), Sebastian Malheur (“woe” or “misfortune”), Anna Wren (tiny, tiny bird), Gabriel Duke, the list goes on. In her blog post about “quirky” flower names for romance heroines, author Anna Bradley talks about how names work on the reader’s subconscious. “If names didn’t matter, romance writers wouldn’t spend countless hours trolling Nameberry,” Bradley writes.3 “We’d name all our heroines Jane, all our heroes John, and call it good… But heroines come in every size, shape, texture and color, and their names should reflect their characters.“
But metaphorical or etymological significance isn’t the only way.
The baby name blog Ava to Zeke divides Regency names into categories. Many of these categories are recognizable character types: “spirited young women,” “wide-eyed innocents,” “stodgy suitors,” and “bad boys reformed”4 – take your pick. Stock characters are everywhere in genre fiction, and they certainly exist in romance. Weren’t we just talking on PosPop about the Byronic hero, the ingenue, the rakey rakey boys?
So, what kind of names are attributed to those stock characters? Put another way, what makes a name feel rakish? Or what makes a name feel romantic and innocent? Why does a character named “Chad” or “Blake” sound like an absolute jerk and why does “Sheldon” sound like a nerd who is going to get bullied? These names have no metaphorical or etymological cues, so what gives?
From what I’ve gathered, it seems that a number of things can determine the “feel” of a name, independent of its meaning.
Simple association: some names are just simply associated with certain archetypes through culture. For example, we think of the name “Chad” as belonging to a chisel-jawed ubermensch in part because of widespread exposure to incel lingo. We think of “Bertha” as a humorous name for a low-class (usually overweight) woman because of the proliferation of “Big Bertha.”
Gender (non-)conformity: if a male character has a name that it typically given to female characters, readers might expect a queer or effeminate persona; for female characters with male names, readers might expect a tomboy or tough-as-nails heroine.
Pop culture: if a movie, tv show, or book is popular enough, certain names are going to have particular resonances for at least a generation. For example, “Sheldon” is going to sound nerdy to a lot of us because of The Big Bang Theory. “Arthur” is going to either sound kingly or remind you of a certain aardvark.
Fashion: Because the popularity of names ebbs and flows, a person’s name might also point to their age and thus, authors might use old-fashioned named for older characters and trendy names for younger characters. I mean… how many children do you know named Mildred?
Language of Origin: For English-speakers, certain names carry certain vibes. French names, for example, sound melodic and aristocratic to us in part because in the history of the English language, French was used by the elite. Similarly, Latin-sounding names will sound educated to us because Latin was (and still is) the language of learning (and science). This also works in the negative, too; names that sound African or east Asian will be perceived differently by White people than by Black and Asian Americans.
But there are some names that just… literally feel a certain way, you know? Bradley argues that in addition to good cultural associations, character names should have a good “mouth feel” (something that rolls easily off the tongue or flows with the surname). For example, Bradley writes that “Daisy” and “Dahlia” are fun to say.3 But… why?
Here’s where some poetry and linguistics background will help us.
“Trippingly on the Tongue”:What Makes a Name “Sound” Romantic?
For all that we’ve talked about metaphors, stock characters, and social class, there has to be something said about the poetics of character names.
While Googling, I stumbled upon reddit user StrausHasMaus, who posted a surprisingly insightful list of how first and last names “flow” into one another. They borrow a number of terms that one might find in a Poetry 101 class:6
Repeating sounds: Repeating sounds in a first and last name are more pleasing.
Syllable count and rhythm: You should generally avoid the same number of syllables in the first and last name.
Ending letter: We’ve removed all baby names ending with the first/last letters of the last name. This will create better rhythm and flow.
Length: Short names typically go well with long surnames, and vice versa.
Assonance: Assonance takes place when two or more words close to one another repeat the same vowel sound. By repeating vowel sounds in a first and last name you can create a name with nice rhythm.
Consonance: Consonance refers to repetitive sounds produced by consonants within a sentence or phrase. This repetition often takes place in quick succession such as in pitter, patter. By repeating consonants in a first and last name you can create a name with nice rhythm.
A good illustration of how simple sound can affect the “feeling” of a name is any Star Wars character. A lot of names from the franchise “feel” Star Wars-y because they are devoid of metaphorical or etymological meaning (usually), but deploy things like repeating sounds and meter:
Leia Organa (2 syllables + 3 syllables, repeated A sounds)
Mon Mothma (1 syllable + 2 syllables, repeated M sounds)
Padme Amidala (2 syllables + 4 syllables, repeated A, D, and M sounds)
Sheev Palpatine (1 syllable + 3 syllables, repeated P and “ee”/”i” sounds, “Palpatine” also feels fun to say because it alternates consonants and vowels)
Romance deploys a lot of the same guidelines:
Penelope Featherington (equal number of syllables but has repeating sounds and alternating consonants and vowels)
Benedict Bridgerton (same number of syllables but repeats B sounds and alternates consonants and vowels)
Edwina Sharma (3 syllables + 2 syllables, repeats A sounds)
Not every name follows perfect poetical convention, but a lot of them do, and I think that’s on purpose.
Conclusion
So, if we’re looking at everything altogether all at once, we can see that what makes historical romance names “feel” romantic is a combination of several things:
Class associations
Uniqueness
Etymology/metaphor
Cultural Associations (including historical associations)
Meter/Phonetics
Applying this logic to the examples above, we can see the associations romance authors are making with their characters:
Isolde Ophelia Goodnight: Isolde is “medieval”; we associate it with the Arthurian tale of forbidden love and thus, it evokes a romantic, courtly, fairy-tale like atmosphere. Ophelia is Shakespearean and tragic. Goodnight is whimsical and resonates with Isolde’s status as the daughter of a famous fairy tale author. The repeating “O” sounds (assonance) and the accent on the first syllable of each name create rhythm.
SebastianHolloway:Sebastian is a common name for a romance rake; it rolls off the tongue because of the repeating “S” sounds and the alternating consonants and vowels, and I reckon it’s a common choice for a romance name because its Greek root means “venerable.”5Holloway also has some assonance (“O”), and there’s a whimsical rhythm to the surname. It’s also a compound (“hollow” + “way”).
Kingscote, the Marquess of Eversley: Let’s be blunt, shall we? It’s aristocratic. (Though Eversley has a nice sound to it.)
While I don’t think I’ve done anything revolutionary with this post, I do think I’ve started on collecting some tools to articulate how a name “sounds.” For Mary Balogh, Edgar might sound Viking/barbaric because it’s Germanic rather than French, and that has an appeal of its own.
Well, it’s April. And according to Chaucer, that’s when we’re supposed to think about two things: love and hierarchies.
Since my last few posts have been heavy on the history, I thought I’d do something more fun. Namely, I thought I’d find a list of popular (historical) romance tropes and tier rank them according to my own subjective opinions. A literary Battle Royale: now presenting my very own hot takes on what makes a good trope and what makes hot trash.
I’ve taken the following list from Renee over at the blog Addicted to Romance, which you can find here. Renee does a good job defining the tropes and giving examples, but I’m going to give my own definitions just so readers are clear about how I’m thinking. I’ve also added a couple of other tropes because I want to (don’t @ me).
Amnesia: a character suffers from memory loss
Arranged Marriage: the heroine and hero are thrown together by – you guessed it – an arranged marriage
Best Friend’s Sister: the hero falls in love with his best friend’s sister (can also be the heroine falling in love with her best friend’s brother)
Boss and Secretary: a heroine (or hero) falls in love with their boss
Disguised as a Male: a heroine cross-dresses for some reason or another and falls in love while in disguise (not to be confused with drag performances and trans lovers)
Enemies to Lovers: what it says on the tin
Fairy Tale Retellings: need I define this one?
Forbidden Romance: the heroine and heroine are star-crossed lovers and fight against forces that want to keep them apart (family ties, etc)
Friends to Lovers: the heroine and hero are friends for a long time before romantic feelings develop
Hearts Being Held Captive: a hero or heroine falls in love with their kidnapper/jailer/captor
Love on the Road: the hero and heroine fall in love while on a road trip
Love Triangles: a hero or heroine has to decide between two (or more?) love interests
Mistaken Identity: the hero or heroine has the wrong impression of someone and falls for them anyway
Marriage of Convenience: two characters get married (out of necessity) then fall in love
Rags to Riches: one character is wealthy and the other is not
Royalty: one character is a king, queen, prince, princess, etc.
Second Chance: the hero and heroine loved each other once but were pulled apart; now, they’ve been drawn together again
Secret Baby: someone has a secret child or pregnancy
Unrequited Love: what it says on the tin
Reformed Rake: the hero (most often) is a rake and changes his ways for the heroine
Spinster Wallflowers: the heroine is “on the shelf,” so to speak
Scarred/Moody/Byronic Hero: a catch-all for a hero who has issues
The Tiers
Because I’m lazy, I made this tier ranking over at Tier Maker.
From worst (red) to best (blue):
Set it on Fire: I hate it. I hate it so much. It should be thrown away forever
A Crime Against Literature: It’s bad, but I might think twice before throwing it on the pyre
A Slight Against Me, Personally: I don’t like it, but I can see how other people might
Bearable Under Optimal Conditions: I don’t like this trope normally, but if done well, I can get behind it.
Warm Fuzzies: It’s cute, but it doesn’t get my engine going
Guilty Squee: I love it and I feel bad about it
Eating It Up Like a Banana Split: I will take a triple serving with extra nuts and whipped cream, please
The Rankings
Amnesia
A Crime Against Literature: Something about the amnesia trope just gives me all kinds of anxiety. Maybe it’s the possible brain damage, maybe it’s acting without being fully aware of the consequences (especially when it comes to romance/sex – is that a consent issue?). I can understand the excitement this trope presents when, say, an awful, powerful hero forgets who he is and becomes sweet (like Eric from Season 4 of True Blood) or even how shenanigans a la While You Were Sleeping (1995) can spur character growth. But even then, there’s still the mess that comes with figuring out what the relationship means once the memory comes back – including any lies that were spun in the interim.
Examples I Like: none – I avoid this trope so hard
Arranged Marriage
A Slight Against Me, Personally: I don’t like it when people’s agency is taken away, especially when it comes to something like marriage in ye olde times. Marriages were social and economic contracts – I get that – but when I’m escaping into a fantasy land, I don’t want to be reminded about all the ways in which people (especially women and POC) were treated as pawns. I have different feelings, however, when characters consent to a marriage of convenience, which I’ll detail below.
Examples I Like:
Best Friend’s Sister
Warm Fuzzies: I feel like this one can vary quite a lot depending on the characterization of the hero/heroine. I don’t dislike it; in fact, when done well, I think the shared history can be quite good. I like this trope best when there is a lot of pining and a good conflict to keep the two lovers apart (not just miscommunication – if you can talk it out, it’s not a good conflict).
Examples I Like:
Boss and Secretary
Bearable Under Optimal Conditions: Again, I feel like this one can vary quite a lot depending on the characterization of the hero/heroine. There is an inherent power imbalance that can be easily exploited, so I think authors have to be careful to show how the two love interests come to be on equal footing in the relationship (and to be clear: I don’t think “equal footing” means “boss man is so attracted to subordinate woman that he sees her as having power over him.” For me, the power really needs to be tangible, either by elevating the “secretary” socially/economically or putting them on par intellectually/emotionally).
Examples I Like:
Version 1.0.0
Disguised as a Male
Warm Fuzzies: Part of why I like this trope is the opportunity for queer desire to be explored, but what really gives it a special place in my heart is the joy. There’s something fun about watching some good old fashioned cross-dressing (not to be confused with drag or living as a trans person), and as a medievalist, a lot of stories near and dear to my heart have heroines disguising themselves as men. I love the thrill of possible discovery alongside the freedom from patriarchy – it’s delicious, but it also needs to be supported with good character or plot work.
Examples I Like:
Enemies to Lovers
Bearable Under Optimal Conditions: I feel like “Enemies to Lovers” has been misapplied to a number of romance books in the last five years or so; it seems like every horrible hero who treats the heroine like crap is labeled an “enemy,” and I hate it when the “enemies” part is just misunderstanding or abuse. When the love interests are true enemies, however, I love watching then overcome their differences and (sometimes reluctantly) fall for one another.
Examples I Like:
Fairy Tale Retellings
Warm Fuzzies: What can I say? I can appreciate a clever retelling. I can appreciate a mediocre retelling. Hell, I can appreciate (and gripe) about a bad retelling. At the end of the day, it’s a retelling, and there’s something about classic tales that remain timeless. My favorite examples are books that don’t copy the original tale beat for beat; I like my retellings to be inspired by the original and meditate on themes central (or related) to it, such as not judging people by their looks (Beauty and the Beast).
Examples I Like:
Forbidden Romance
Guilty Squee: Look, I’m a girlie who loves conflict. I unironically love Romeo and Juliet and any book where the world is conspiring to keep lovers apart. Whether it’s separation by race, gender, class… I’m here for it so long as the couple has to grow together or perish.
Examples I Like:
Friends to Lovers
Guilty Squee: A lot of people don’t like this trope, I think, because it often involves emotional intimacy already being established and love interests just not saying anything (usually for stupid reasons). Me, however… I enjoy a good pine. I like this trope best when there’s a shared history between the two characters and the barrier to their union is more than just miscommunication. Maybe one of the friends needs to marry well and the other is poor; maybe one is engaged to the other’s brother. Basically, I love this trope when it’s combined with another, not when it stands on its own.
Examples I Love:
Hearts Being Held Captive
Set it on Fire: Just… why??? Why would someone fall in love with their captor, especially if said captor is either racist or sees them as some kind of object??? Or if they deprive them of their agency or freedom??? I cannot understand how that’s the spark that starts a romance. I simply cannot.
Examples I Love: none – I can’t even pick it up
Love on the Road
Bearable Under Optimal Conditions: I generally don’t like roadtrip plots, but I especially struggle with roadtrip romances because it tests my suspension of disbelief. Too often, I feel like characters fall in love too fast or fall in love under extraordinary circumstances, and I can’t help but wonder “ok, but do they still like each other when they’re doing laundry?” If the author does it well, however, I can get on board.
Examples I Like:
Love Triangles
A Crime Against Literature: “Oh no! I’m a plain but quirky girl and no one ever looks twice at me… except these TWO MEN who are EXTREMELY HOT. Which one shall I choose?” (Spoiler: it’s almost always the dark, sexy one.) I’m overgeneralizing here, but I genuinely hate how love triangles have been written in the past decade or so. Part of it might be how tired I am of mousy heroines with no personality, part of it might be that the trope often feels like forced drama. To be brutally honest, the only way I like this trope is if no one gets hurt and instead, there’s polyamory.
Examples I Love:
Version 1.0.0
Mistaken Identity
Bearable Under Optimal Conditions: I see this trope as separate from “Disguised as a Man”; this trope, in my mind, has more to do with miscommunication or someone actively hiding who they are (not their gender) from their love interest. There’s a high potential for gaslighting here, which gives me the ick, but as someone who loves a good conflict, I also like watching characters navigate the tension their lies create.
Examples I Love:
Version 1.0.0
Marriage of Convenience
Warm Fuzzies: Ok, as much as I love a good dozen-roses-chocolate-hearts-bold-declaration-of-love romance, I also like the idea of detaching marriage from love. Marriages were, historically, social, political, and economic contracts, and I like the idea of characters teaming up for mutual benefit. But I also love it when feelings mess up their perfect plans.
Examples I Love:
Rags to Riches
Warm Fuzzies: Somewhat related to Forbidden Romance. There’s a power imbalance that comes with a difference of class, but marrying up is a power fantasy, is it not? Of course, there’s always the potential for the power imbalance to create problems, but I’m all for watching characters navigate it like a champ.
Examples I Love:
Royalty
A Slight Against Me, Personally: I… don’t really care if someone is royalty? Granted, I haven’t read any romance books with this trope yet. Most of my historical romance picks feature titled characters, but that’s not royalty, per se. I guess the problem we run into here is that royal figures are historical in a way a duke isn’t – one can invent a duke, but it’s much harder to invent a Prince. This one, I think, is best left to historical fiction.
Examples I Love: none – haven’t read any
Second Chance
Guilty Squee: I love some good angst, so I also love it when characters have to overcome something horrid that pulled them apart. Give me some conflict to sink my teeth into: abandoned at the altar? Left someone in the middle of the night? Someone murdered your brother? I’ll read that. The only exception is something like abuse.
Examples I Love:
Version 1.0.0Version 1.0.0
Secret Baby
Set it on Fire: No. No no no no. This gives me all kinds of anxiety.
Examples I Love: none – I hate it
Unrequited Love
Bearable Under Optimal Conditions: As I said before, I love a good pine. I really do. But for Unrequited Love, my enjoyment really depends on how it’s handled. I love watching characters long for one another, but I don’t like watching characters suffer. I tend to like this trope better if the reason for the unrequited love is a real barrier (rather than someone just deciding not to tell their love interest about their feelings). Perhaps someone is in love with their best friend’s sister or maybe one party has to marry well. At the end of the day, however, the love becomes… requited? … at the end of a romance novel, so the suffering doesn’t last long.
Examples I Love:
Version 1.0.0
Reformed Rake
Eating It Up Like a Banana Split:What can I say? I’m trash for rakes. They’re not usually violent or moody, like a Byronic hero can be. They’re mostly out there trying to have fun but realizing that their hedonism does nothing for their emotional happiness. There’s such a power fantasy involved in reforming the rake, and I’m usually one to eat it up. Is it realistic? No. But is it narratively satisfying? Hell yes.
Examples I Love:
Version 1.0.0
Spinster Wallflowers
Eating It Up Like a Banana Split: Ok, for all that I mocked the mousy heroine in “Love Triangles,” I also tend to love characters who aren’t the belle of the ball (for reasons other than being Relatably AwkwardTM). Are they too poor? Have a scandal in their past? Have an honest to god anxiety disorder? Sign me up! (Just don’t annoy me with that “they don’t know they’re beautiful crap.) But Spinster Wallflowers are especially wonderful because they tend to take matters into their own hands; they need a good marriage for one reason or another and don’t shy away from daring moves. I like that in my heroine.
Examples I Love:
Scarred/Moody/Byronic Hero
Guilty Squee: Ok, look. I love to harp on heroes with Sheep Turd Masculinity. I hate it when they have the emotional capacity of a teaspoon and show feelings by being rude and violent. But I also love a good hero who is full of angst and I like the power fantasy of a heroine getting them to open up and soften through the transformative power of love. Give me your Mr. Darcys, your Mr. Rochesters, your Heathcliffs (ok, that one’s toxic, but it’s supposed to be). I want to crush them. With love.
Examples I Love:
Conclusion
Ok, so here it all is in one handy graphic:
I of course did not include EVERY romance trope out there, so if you’re curious about my hot takes on any, I’m happy to inflict them on you.
But I know you have tropes of your own that you love and hate, and when you get a moment, I’d love to hear you talk about them. Perhaps I’ll even learn about some that I haven’t thought about.
You know when you’re watching Bridgerton and there are these dazzling ballroom shots? Sometimes, they’re shot during the day, in which case it’s quite plausible that you can see every sequin and sparkle on a debutante’s dress. Other times, however, there’s not a window for 50 yards, or maybe it’s nighttime and I can still make out a beribboned shoe or knotted cravat. What gives?
To the windooooooooow! To the wall!
All this is to say, I’m curious about how those gigantic Regency homes were lit during the 19th century, and I’m not about to let a research question go unanswered.
The Basics: Smelly Lamps and Sooty Candles
Let’s say you’re not at a party, but you’re at home relaxing with your dog after a long day. It’s the 18th century, and Courtney Milan has just published a hot new Restoration Comedy, full of bawdy humor and sensuous poetry. You spent the light hours finishing your work, and the only downtime you have is after dark – what do you do?
Well, since it’s the 18th century, you might use one of a few things that have been around for centuries: the fireplace, a torch, a lamp, or a candle.
Fireplaces were great sources of heat and served as communal gathering places for families back in ye olde times. If you had the wood, you and your dog could sit near the fireplace, and if you lived with a group, all of you could huddle together to read, sew, or whatever else you might want to do after dark. By the Regency Era, however, wood fuel was rapidly being replaced by coal;1 though archeological and historical evidence points to the use of coal in the pre-Industrial era,2 coal mining in England burgeoned during the 18th century, and many (if not most) of the homes in London were heated (and lit) by coal by the early 1800s. In fact, coal was so cheap and so effective that coal gas streetlamps were installed in London rom Pall Mall to St James’ Park in 1807 and then expanded to include 40,000 gas streetlamps over the next ten years.3
But while fireplaces are wonderful, they’re not portable, and unless you want to make a bonfire in your parlor, they probably wouldn’t be bright enough to light up a whole room. Torches, lamps, and candles solve the problem of portability. Many of them were light enough to be carried from room to room, and they came in a number of different forms. Rushlights, for example, were made by soaking a rush (you know… the plant) in fuel, usually fat or grease (the cheapest being any leftover from the kitchen – sustainability!). These were extremely common in the British Isles, from the Middle Ages up through the 19th century, and they were extremely inexpensive. However, rushlights had to be held at a 45 degree angle and were typically small, which means they aren’t very practical for something like a party. They also didn’t burn very long – perhaps 10-20 minutes tops (though some sources claim they can make rushlights burn for an hour).4 Maybe that’s enough time for someone like me to endure a party, but most people want to stay longer than that.
If you were wealthier, you could use candles – and those have also been around for ages. According to the Jane Austen Centre, Regency-era candles were “made of beef tallow or beeswax or both. Beef tallow candles though cheaper, smoked, smelled bad, and were rather soft and tended to bend. The gentry preferred beeswax because it smelled better and gave off less smoke. Some thrifty households used tallow candles in the servant’s quarters.”5 But unless you were rich and throwing a ridiculously expensive party, you probably weren’t using candles every day. For one, they were stinky – as mentioned above. For two, these candles weren’t like the ones we have today; you had to trim the wick every few minutes, lest they sputter out and die. For three, they were fairly expensive; by 1792, the price was around 3s 1d for 8 pounds of tallow candles,6 and the government placed a tax on candles in 1709 that kept rising every so often. But a jump in candle technology came in the 1750s, when artisans used spermaceti wax (whale oil) to create their lights. Spermaceti wax was preferable because it was odorless and burned longer and brighter than beeswax or tallow, but candles made from this wax cost around four pence per pound weight more than tallow.7
A sample of solid raw spermaceti, a spermaceti wax candle and a bottle of sperm oil. Via Wikimedia Commons.
You could, alternatively, turn to something like an oil lamp. Lamps were in use since ancient times and tended to use animal fat or vegetable oil as their fuel. The Ancient Greeks, for example, burned olive oil, while fish, seal, horse, and cattle oil was more common in the British Isles (until the Industrial Era, when whale oil lamps began to make a splash). The problem with using animal or fish oils, however, is the smell – when burned, these fuels give off a strong odor, which means that your party might be… fishy. By the 18th century, however, inventors were tinkering with lamp designs that had mixed success. The Argand lamp – invented and patented in France in 1780 by Aimé Argand – was perhaps one of the first “practical” models on account of it burning brighter; it worked by using a gravity feed to supply oil (whale oil, olive oil, vegetable oil, etc.) into a reservoir with a wick mounted atop a burner.8 These lamps remained the most popular model until the kerosene lamp was introduced in 1850, but even so, they weren’t necessarily the Rolls Royce of artificial lighting. Estimates put the light output at little more than 60–90 lux (about a tenth of the light given off by a 40-watt incandescent electric bulb).9
An Argand lamp in use in A Portrait of James Peale, done in 1822 by Charles Willson Peale. Via Wikimedia Commons.
It’s Party Time: How to Light Up a Room in Regency England
Ok, so now that we have the basics, let’s talk about how rich people actually lit up a room during parties.
The first thing you want to do is plan your party. This may sound like a no-brainer, but there’s actually a reason for careful planning over spontaneous celebration. Before the era of streetlamps, British nighttime social events would typically take place during the week of the full moon to allow for the most natural light possible. As the Jane Austen’s World blog points out:
They would see, [Sir John] said, only one gentleman there besides himself; a particular friend who was staying at the park, but who was neither very young nor very gay. He hoped they would all excuse the smallness of the party, and could assure them it should never happen so again. He had been to several families that morning in hopes of procuring some addition to their number, but it was moonlight and every body was full of engagements.
– Sir John Middleton, Chapter 7, Sense and Sensibility
Notice that last line. And lest we think that the moon is a stupid light source, compare walking outside in the dark on a full moon to walking outside when there’s a new moon. The moon may not be a blazing ball of hot gas, but it’s enough to allow people to move somewhat freely in the wee hours of the morning. If you don’t want your guests to trip and fall on their faces, you might put up some torches around the outside of your mansion, perhaps by the front door or in the drive up. You might also hire staff to escort guests from their coaches to the house with candles or torches, or your guests might be fancy enough to have lamps attached to their mode of trasport.
Screenshot of Netherfield Park from the 1995 Pride and Prejudice via The Jane Austen Wikia
The second thing you want to do is choose a room (or set of rooms) with a crap ton of windows to allow for as much of that moonlight to shine through as possible. In the Regency Era (and the eras before it), buildings frequently included large windows and skylights to allow as much natural light into the space as possible. Mirrors could also be strategically placed to bounce light around, giving the impression of a room more brightly lit than it is.
The third thing you do is spend a small fortune on candles. In addition to wall-mounted candleholders or pillars of candle sticks, a Regency ballroom might have a few candelabras or chandeliers. The Assembly Rooms at Bath, for example, had 5 chandeliers in its ballroom (which could hold up to 500 people). According to Richard Wyatt at the Bath Newseum:
The chandeliers in all three very impressive rooms are each an average height of eight feet and were, of course, originally lit by candles. Each chandelier in the ballroom and tearoom held 40 candles and the single drop in the Octagon 48. During evening functions in the 18th century eleven-hour candles were used. This meant they burnt for 7 hours on a ball night but still had four hours for a three-hour concert the next day – allowing for time to arrive and depart… For the Assembly Rooms, with balls from 6pm until 11pm sharp, they probably burned from 5.30pm to 11.30pm and then were extinguished. Perhaps, on the following night, they would have been used for a concert. As such a musical event started at 7.30pm – the four hours remaining would have been enough. With each chandelier holding at least 40 candles – if all the chandeliers were lit – a minimum of 400 candles must have been burning at one time. The cost of 11-hour candles was 2s 10d for four. So we have £55 plus for lighting and, multiply that by whatever the inflationary figure is today, and a staggering sum is reached!
– Richard Wyatt, “Amongst our chandeliers.”
Your side rooms, however, didn’t have to be lit by candles. During Regency-era balls, you don’t just shove all your guests into the ballroom: you also make available a card room, a ladies’ retiring room, a dining area or tea room, etc. so that everyone doesn’t feel too claustrophobic. In these smaller spaces, you might still have candles, but you can also get away with other methods of lighting: Bath’s Octagon room, for example, has four fireplaces.
The Octagon Room at Bath. Notice the windows, chandelier, mirrors, and fireplaces.
Still, all this was not sufficient enough to light up the room like a modern-day movie set. Despite all the flames and natural light, there is only so much you can do before you set the whole building ablaze. While I couldn’t find a credible source that talked about exactly how bright (or not) a ballroom might be (there may be one out there, I just can’t find it), I imagine that with the light of 300 candles and a full moon, a room might be light enough to comfortably observe what’s going on, but perhaps not light enough to clearly see things like facial expressions unless you’re at a close distance. Honestly, it seems plausible that guests might have a case of mistaken identity once in a while, though even in Jane Austen’s works, spectators seem to have no problem gossiping from the sidelines about who is dancing with who.
But what I find particularly lovely is this observation from Real Royalty: in a video that documents their attempt to recreate a “country ball” inspired by the works of Jane Austen, the narrators call the ball “a light in the darkness” – a metaphorical bright spot in an otherwise gloomy town where the ball is the biggest event of the season. The hosts talk about cabin fever and how balls alleviated all that, bringing people together in large numbers when they might not otherwise have a reason to do so.
So while your candles might not be enough to fully light up a room, perhaps the smiling faces of 500 of your best friends might.
Cartwright, “Coal Mining in the British Industrial Revolution.” Accessed 23 March 2024. Prior to 1087, streets were typically illuminated by oil lamps or light coming from the windows of homes. Jonathan Taylor describes these lamps as “a simple oil lamp suspended from the rim of a glass bowl and covered by a ventilated metal cowl.” See “Georgian and Victorian Street Lighting” in Building Conservation. You can check out a nice little short video about Regency Gaslamps here. ↩︎
When I was a college instructor, I made syllabi. Tons and tons of syllabi. I made them for my own classes (Intro to Fiction, History of the English Language, etc.). I made them for hypothetical classes (as part of my application portfolio for the job market). I made them for seminars and workshops and everything you can imagine. It’s a lot of work, but I find the process kind of calming; I like having a goal and then creating a roadmap to achieve it. A syllabus is an academic road map, if you will. It outlines the goal (of the course) and the readings/assignments that will move the student closer to that goal.
Anyway, the other day, I was sitting at my desk, missing my past life, and thought, “Hey… what if I got to teach an undergrad course on historical romance? What would I assign?”
I pulled out one of my old syllabi from when I got to teach a 100 (beginner) level literature course and well… I got carried away.
Behold: the fruits of my labors.
[For context: The way undergrad English courses work at the school where Amanda and I taught varied depending on whether the course was based in literature, writing studies, or creative writing. I exclusively taught literature and literary analysis, and those courses fell into 3 categories: 100-level (general education), 200-level (your intermediate courses that contained some surveys, such as American Literature or British Literature to 1800), and 300-400-levels (advanced, usually meant for English majors). Genre fiction – sci fi, fantasy, comics, etc. – was (or is?) almost exclusively taught at the 100-level, and many of these 100-level courses satisfied the university’s requirement for “advanced composition” – a writing course that had students produce roughly 20-30 pages of polished, finished prose by the end of the semester. I’ve opted to create a syllabus that falls into the “Advanced Comp” category because I like thinking about paper prompts, though the prompts in this syllabus are admittedly a little half-assed.]
English 109: Introduction to Historical Romance – Advanced Composition Section A, MWF 11:00-11:50am, 149 English Building
Course Description
This course is designed to introduce students to methods and tools for reading, analyzing, and writing about narrative fiction. Throughout the semester, we will be reading texts from the 20th and 21st centuries in order to examine how basic narrative elements function to produce “meaning.” The main goal of this class is to enhance reading and critical-thinking skills that aid in analysis; in other words, students should not expect to simply focus on reading comprehension, but rather, on producing interpretations using textual evidence. Students should not only base their interpretations on their own personal opinions of the texts or their interpretations of the historical context, but instead, use the tools from class to produce thoughtful and insightful analyses.
The loose theme for this course is “Historical Romance” – a subgenre of romantic fiction in which the narrative setting is anywhere from the ancient world to Regency England to World War II. Historical Romance tends to fall under the umbrella of “genre fiction” and intersects with historical fiction to create unique methods of reader escapism. Our readings will investigate this genre in order to question the value of such escapism while we begin interrogating what makes compelling, complex characters. The texts we will read particularly answer the following questions:
What constitutes historical romance? How is it different from historical fiction?
How does the historical romance genre engage with desire (particularly female desire)? In what ways does it use the historical setting to center the wants of marginalized readers? In what ways may it reinforce normative desires?
How does the historical setting obscure or highlight the anxieties and challenges facing women, POC, and lgbt+ people in the present day?
What is the value of fantasy and escapism and why are they so heavily criticized? What is the value of using history (whether “accurate” or not) as fantasy/escapism?
English 109 is a writing intensive class that fills the University’s advanced composition requirement. Hence, students can expect to address complex writing tasks requiring both analysis and synthesis as well as use drafting and revising to create at least 20-30 pages of finished prose during the course of the semester.
Reading Schedule and Major Assignment Deadlines
You may notice that the reading load for this course is heavier than average; this is because most of the articles we’re reading are less than 5 pages and the primary sources are usually written in a simple style (on purpose – Romance is meant to be read quickly). If you are struggling with the workload, please let me know so we can identify weeks where a reduction in the amount of reading is beneficial.
*Note: Many of these books contain graphic depictions of sex, sexual assault, and abuse. A few of them will also contain racist depictions of people of color. If you require any specific trigger warnings other than those listed above, please see me privately. I’ve marked the more upsetting readings in the syllabus below with an asterisk, but because of the genre we’re studying, please go into the course assuming that most readings will have graphic sexual content.
Week One – Introduction to Literary Analysis
Monday: Introduction to the course
Wednesday: Writing Instruction – Close Reading and Quotation Analysis Marie de France, “Lanval” We will be using “Lanval” as a case study, so come to class prepared by underlining or writing down quotes that you think are significant.
Friday: What is Romance? – Romance as Commedia Regis, Pamela. A Natural History of the Romance Novel, Chapters 3 and 4 ContraPoints, “Twilight” parts 0, 1, and 2 Assign Final Project (yes, that’s right)
[Final Project: Synthesizing Historical Romance For your final project, you will choose one of the following to complete:
PODCAST: Team up with another classmate (or a friend outside of class, if they’ll help you) and record a podcast episode for each of the major “Subjects” of the semester (Genre, The Birth of Regency Romance, etc.) giving you a total of 9 episodes. Each episode must be between 10-20 minutes in length and offer original thoughts on the readings and/or concepts for that week. The format for your podcast is up to you, but the ultimate goal should be to communicate and synthesize the concepts from class as if you were relaying them to a general audience. Focus on making your podcast coherent, interesting. and useful and keep in mind that your listening audience might not have read the same things you have.
CREATIVE WRITING PROJECT: Write your own original Historical Romance short story or novella, between 20-30 pages in length. Your story must follow the general beats outlined in Regis’s definition of the Romance, but otherwise, you may play with tropes as you like. After writing your story, write a 3-5 page author’s note explaining your narrative, character, and historical choices and how they impacted your story.
ANALYTICAL PAPER: Choose one novel (not a novella or excerpt) from class and write a “traditional” analytical paper, devising an original thesis and using quotations as supporting evidence. Your paper may not repeat concepts from class, but may build on them. The subject of your paper is up to you, but it must adhere to the guidelines from class for “good” analytical writing. Your paper should be at least 7-10 pages when finished.
ANNOTATED BIBLIOGRAPHY: Choose a major author in the field of Historical Romance (such as Courtney Milan, Beverly Jenkins, Mary Balogh, Tessa Dare, etc.). Read at least 3 of their novels and compile an annotated bibliography of the tropes, stock characters, themes, etc. used across your readings. You may not repeat any of the novels/novellas assigned for class, but if a class reading was part of a series, you may read other books from that series. You may repeat a class reading, however, if the class assignment was an excerpt only (in other words, you read the whole book, not just the few pages we were assigned for class). Your bibliography should be at least 10 pages when finished.
PROPOSE YOUR OWN PROJECT: If none of the above projects appeal to you, propose your own project by Week 4 of the semester. Meet with your instructor (office hours is best) to gain approval and feedback before beginning your project; if rejected, you will need to revamp your proposal or choose an option from the list above. Make sure you come prepared with the following: a clear vision of what your project will be, the length of the finished product, the parameters your instructor will use to evaluate the finished product, etc.]
Week Two –Genre Defined
Monday: What is Romance? (continued) – Popular Archetypes William Hogarth, A Rake’s Progress Excerpt, Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre Maya Rodale, “The Real Appeal of the Alpha” Dabney Grinnan, “The Perennial Question of the Bad Boy Hero” (link) ContraPoints, “Twilight” part 3
Wednesday: What is Historical Romance? Julia Quinn, The Duke and I, Prologue-Ch. 4 Under the Covers, “What is Historical Romance?” (link) Sarah Ficke, “Historical Romance” (from The Routledge Research Companion to Popular Romance Fiction)
Friday: Regency Romance Julia Quinn, The Duke and I, Ch. 5-8 Assign Paper #1
[PAPER #1: Anatomy of a Romance For this paper, you will be writing a 3-5 page detailed overview of the tropes, stock characters, and narrative tentpoles used in The Duke and I. Your thesis for this paper should argue how the novel uses certain storytelling elements to create a Romance. Some things you may want to consider include: How does the author conform to or deviate from expectations? What effect does that have on the reader? How do these tropes speak to a particular desire or fantasy? Your paper should not just be a list of tropes and how they manifest in the novella – use Regis’s analyses as a sort of blueprint for how to go about analyzing your chosen text.]
Week Three – Regency Romance(the Most Popular Subgenre)
Monday No Class (Labor Day)
Wednesday Julia Quinn, The Duke and I, Ch. 9-15 Writing Instruction – Thesis Statements
Friday Julia Quinn, The Duke and I, Ch. 16-20 Writing Instruction – Thesis Statements Continued
Week Four – The Sexual Revolution
Monday: What is ‘Historical Accuracy?’ Julia Quinn, The Duke and I, Ch. 21-end Rodale, “Romance Versus Realism” Donna Hatch, “Historical Fiction – My Favorite Escape” (link) Maya Rodale, “The Truth About Historical Accuracy” Tentative Thesis for Paper #1 due by 5:00pm, begin working on outlines and rough drafts
Wednesday: The Sexual Revolution Excerpt, Kathleen E. Woodiweiss, The Flame and the Flower* Excerpt, Johanna Lindsey, Fires of Winter* Kelly Faircloth, “The Sweet, Savage Sexual Revolution That Set the Romance Novel Free” (link) Allison P. Davis, “Why Do I Love Historical-Fiction Sex So Much?” (link) Kara Jorgensen, “On Accuracy in Historical Romance” (link) Justin J. Lehmiller, “Why Many People Find Historical Romance to Be So Sexy” (link) Bring a working outline to class, exchange w/partners for peer review
Friday: The Female Gaze Cover Art and Fabio – look at the gallery of romance novel covers (PDF on course website) and write down your observations Excerpt, Loretta Chase, Lord of Scoundrels* Excerpt, Christine Monson, Stormfire* P. N. Hinton, “Is it Time to Retire the Term Bodice Ripper?” (link) Jodi McAllister, “Erotic Romance” (from The Routledge Research Companion to Popular Romance Fiction) Feedback due on working outlines
Week Five – Power Dynamics
Monday: Trauma and Disability as ‘Equalizers’ Excerpt, Kerrigan Byrne, The Highwayman* Excerpt, Elizabeth Hoyt, The Raven Prince Excerpt, Jennifer Ashley, The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie
Wednesday: Sexual Dynamics, Age, and Economics Excerpt, Eva Leigh, Waiting for a Scot Like You Excerpt, Alexis Hall, A Lady for a Duke Excerpt, Scarlett Peckham, The Rakess KJ Charles, “The Ruin of Lord Gabriel Ashleigh” (full story)
CONFERENCES: Mandatory Conferences scheduled outside of class. Bring a copy of your draft to the meeting and a pen/paper to take notes. See Compass for Conference Schedule.
Friday: Is Erotic Romance Feminist? ContraPoints, “Twilight” part 4 and 6 Rough Draft Paper #1 (of at least 2 pages) due by 12pm.
Week Six – Adventure, Orientalism, and the Rape/Forced Seduction Fantasy
Monday: Rape Fantasy Excerpt, Sherry Thomas, Not Quite a Husband* Excerpt, Julie Garwood, The Bride* Romance Novels for Feminists, “Rape in Romance” (link) Sarah Wendell and Candy Tan, Beyond Heaving Bosoms, “Rape in Romance”
Wednesday: Westerns and “Indian Romance” Excerpt, Catherine Anderson, Comanche Moon Steve Ammidown, “A Brief History of the ‘Indian’ Romance” (link) ContraPoints, “Twilight” part 5 to 1:56
Friday: Orientalism Excerpt, Edith Hull, The Sheik* Excerpt, Connie Mason, The Pirate Prince* Hsu-Ming Teo, “The Orientalist Historical Romance Novel” Final Draft Paper #1 due on Compass by 5:00pm, Assign Paper #2
[Paper #2: Power Dynamics in Historical Romance For this paper, you will be writing a 4-6 page analysis of power dynamics in The Duke and I. Your thesis should argue how the author uses characters or narrative tropes to produce power fantasies along class, gender, or sexual lines. A good paper will use quotations from the text (as described in the Quotations handout from Week 1) to support an argument about how desire is working rather than judging whether these desires are “good” or “bad.”]
Week Seven – The Highlander Romance
Monday Outlander, Starz, Episode 1-3
Wednesday Outlander, Starz, Episode 4-5 Euan Hague and David Stenhouse, “A Very Interesting Place: Representing Scotland in American Romance Novels” (PDF) Tentative Thesis due on Compass by 5:00pm
Friday Outlander, Starz, Episode 6-7 Princess Weekes, “When Will Outlander Be Held Accountable for its Overuse of Rape?” (link) Lynette Rice, “We Need to Talk About Rape on Outlander” (link)
Week Eight – Romance as Fantasy for Marginalized People
Monday Alyssa Cole, Let Us Dream, Ch. 1-6
Wednesday Writing Workshop and Peer Review Session: Bring a rough draft of Paper #2 (of at least 2-3 pages) to class for a peer review exchange.
Friday Alyssa Cole, Let Us Dream, Ch. 7-Epilogue Excerpt, Beverly Jenkins, Something Like Love Julie E. Moody-Friedman, “African American Romance (from The Routledge Research Companion to Popular Romance Fiction)
Week Nine – Romance as Fantasy for Marginalized People
Monday Milan, The Devil Comes Courting, Ch. 1-6 Erica Murphy Selinger and Laura Vivanco, “Race, Ethnicity, and Whiteness” (from The Routledge Research Companion to Popular Romance Fiction)
Wednesday Milan, The Devil Comes Courting, Ch. 7-12 Madison Malone Kircher, “Unpacking the Racist Drama Roiling the World of Romance Writers” (link)
Friday Milan, The Devil Comes Courting, Ch. 13-18
Week Ten– Romance as Fantasy for Marginalized People
Monday Milan, The Devil Comes Courting, Ch. 19-24
Wednesday Milan, The Devil Comes Courting, Ch. 25-30
Friday Milan, The Devil Comes Courting, Ch. 31-Epilogue Final draft Paper #2 due, Assign Paper #3
[Paper #3: Imagined Worlds in Historical Romance For this paper, you will be crafting a 5-7 page paper analyzing the setting of one of the works we’ve read this semester: Let Us Dream, The Devil Comes Courting, or The Duke and I. Craft your thesis to respond to one or more of the following items (and use the questions to help you make an argument – don’t have your argument be a list of answers to the questions asked):
In what year and geographical location is this story set? What is the cultural setting and how does that play a role in creating a particular view of the world? What expectations does the setting create for the reader?
How does the author use real or imagined history to create a sense of “realism?” Is the author successful?
What shorthand “signals” does the author use to tell the reader something about the setting without launching into a mini history lesson? Are these signals effective or do they leave much to the reader’s interpretation?
How does the setting appeal to a specific set of desires in the reader (sexual or otherwise)?]
Week Eleven – A Little of Everything
Monday Olivia Waite, Hen Fever, Ch. 1-3
Wednesday Olivia Waite, Hen Fever, Ch. 4-5
Friday Tessa Dare, Romancing the Duke, Ch. 1-6
Week Twelve – A Little of Everything
Monday Tessa Dare, Romancing the Duke, Ch. 7-12
Wednesday Tessa Dare, Romancing the Duke, Ch. 13-18
Friday Tessa Dare, Romancing the Duke, Ch. 19-Epilogue Final draft Paper #3 due by 5:00pm
Week Thirteen
***Fall (Thanksgiving) Break***
Week Fourteen – Romance on Screen
Monday Bridgerton (Netflix), Episode 1-2 – Showings TBA Rough Drafts (at least 3 pages) of final papers due by 5pm.
Wednesday Come to class prepared to discuss the following questions:
How does the historical romance genre engage with desire (particularly female desire)? In what ways does it use the historical setting to center the wants of marginalized readers? In what ways may it marginalize them more?
How does the historical setting obscure or highlight the anxieties and challenges facing women, POC, and lgbt+ people in the present day?
What is the value of escapism and why is romantic escapism so heavily criticized? What is the value of using history (whether “accurate” or not) as escapism?
What are the new frontiers of Historical Romance, in your opinion and how can the boundaries of the genre be pushed while still adhering the generic constraints?
Final Project due by [DATE] at 5pm. NO FINAL EXAM!
Anyway… I have no idea if this class would work. I never got to test run it, so all this is completely hypothetical. In all honesty, it’s probably a little much. But whatever. I’m not really looking for any feedback because it’s just a fun little brain experiment.
Did you know that Halloween party-goers in the Victorian Era (and early 20th century) were obsessed with love and romance?
Halloween as we know it today is a Frankenstein’s monster of “pagan” traditions and Christian observances, combining rituals that are reminiscent of Celtic harvest festivals (like Samhain) with vigils for the dead. Costumes and tick-or-treating, for example, are often linked to 16th century Irish and Scottish festivities; people dressed as spirits (or fairies) went door to door singing songs in exchange for food. Lighting candles and visiting graveyards, by contrast, were common amongst European Christians during the Middle Ages. During the 17-20th centuries, things like bobbing for apples, bonfires, and telling ghost stories became holiday staples across the Western world.
But despite devoting a whole holiday to the dead (and the supernatural), most celebrants weren’t necessarily focused on the macabre. This is especially true of the Victorians; despite giving us crumbling castles, murder mysteries, and black crepe, they weren’t enthusiastic about being creeped out at a party. Most of their activities centered not on hauntings and seances, but on indulging in irreverent behavior.
And what is more irreverent to a Victorian than eating sweets, telling fortunes, and dreaming about sex? Nothing, that’s what.
Food, Fortune, and F*cking: A Very Victorian Halloween
Imagine it’s 1889 (or something) and we’ve received a beautiful handmade invitation to a ball. We’ve been waiting all week for this event, making our own (modest) costumes and carving turnips to place outside our homes. We arrive at the venue, which is LIT (or rather not; a Victorian Halloween party was usually completely dark, save for jack-o’-lanterns and fireplaces). Since we’re both vivacious young ladies, what activities might we indulge in?
Well, knowing your fondness for tea, we could opt for Halloween tea time. For example, a 1898 edition of the Western Mail describes a candlelight Halloween tea party at the home of Anna Leighton: “The decorations of the dining-room were unusually pretty, the walls being draped in soft red and yellow, with wreaths and garlands of autumn flowers and leaves gracefully festooned on the wall, and from each corner were suspended Jack-o’-lanterns cut from immense pumpkins.” (Special thanks to Mimi Matthews for this source and the ones below.) Guests also received a hand-painted card which revealed the their fortune; the Western Mail reports that one such card was drawn with four-leaf clovers and read: “The man you’ll marry is full of pluck; He has gone to Klondyke and had good luck.” Unmarried women also played simple divination games to foretell their romantic futures. One such game involved suspending a spoon on the edge of an empty teacup. Then, using a second spoon, a lady would drip tea into the first spoon until it fell into the cup. Each drop represented one year the lady would have to wait before getting married. (For what it’s worth, I tried this and my spoon fell in before I could drip the tea. Figures – I’m already married.) There was also another tea-related game, which is described thus by the Western Mail: “If a tea stalk floats in the cup it is called a lover, and when this is seen maids should stir their tea very rapidly round and round, and then hold the spoon upright in the centre of the cup. If the tea stalk is attached to the spoon and clings to it he will call shortly, and maybe, this very evening; if the tea stalk goes to the side of the cup he will not come, and you will not have a proposal this year.”
You could also try reading tea leaves, I guess.
But say we want some tasty Halloween treats instead. Well, Miss Leighton’s party also had a number of snacks that were meant to divine one’s romantic future; guests were served “fancy cakes” and ices which contained “either a needle, thimble, dime, or ring,” all of which were meant to symbolize one’s prospects: rings foretold marriage, needles/thimbles foretold spinsterhood, and coins foretold wealth.
Personally, I’m not a fan of playing Russian roulette with my food, but thankfully, there’s a number of other food-related games that don’t threaten to skewer my soft palate. For example, apple-peeling was said to have some divination potential; party-goers would peel one of those suckers in one long strip and throw said peel over the shoulder. Supposedly, the peel would land in the shape of the first letter of their future spouse’s name. Roasting hazelnuts was also quite popular for divination; a party-goer would take two hazelnuts (one for them and one for the person they desired) and roast them over a fire. If the nuts jump away from the heat, it was a bad sign, but if the nuts roast quietly, huzzah! It’s a good match! (I don’t have any hazelnuts, but I did roast some pecans in the oven while I was making cookies for my spouse. Lo and behold, they did not jump around. I guess that means we’re perfect for each other.) Scottish revelers had their own form of food magic; it was said that if you ate a very salty oat bannock in three bites and went to sleep without a drink, then you’ll dream of your future spouse offering to quench your thirst (there’s a sexy metaphor in there somewhere). Some variants instead had a young woman eat a concoction made out of walnuts, hazelnuts, and nutmeg before bed on Halloween night in order to dream about her future husband.
But let’s move on from food and look into some party games. In her 1893 book How to Amuse Yourselfand Others, Linda Beard describes a game in which an unmarried lady could melt lead to determine the occupation of one’s future husband: “Each girl, in turn, holds a door-key in one hand, while with the other hand she pours the melted lead, from an iron spoon or ladle, through the handle of the key into a pan of cold water. In the fanciful shapes the lead assumes can be traced resemblances to all sorts of things. Sometimes it is a sword or gun, which indicates that a soldier will win the fair prize; again, traces of a ship may be seen: then the favored one is to be a sailor; a plough suggests a farmer; a book, a professor, or perhaps a minister; and when the lead forms only drops, it seems to mean that the gentle inquirer will not marry, or if she does, her husband will be of no profession.”
But honestly, that sounds awful (lead poisoning!), so let’s explore some safer options, shall we?
In Ireland, party-goers could play a game called púicíní to predict their fate in the coming year. The premise is very simple; a person is blindfolded and forced to choose between several saucers, each containing one of the following items: a ring (marriage), clay (death), water (emigration), rosary beads (become a nun/monk), coin (become rich), bean (poverty). English party-goers had a similar game called “Three Luggies” in which three bowls – one filled with clear water, one with milky water, and the last one empty – are placed on a hearthstone. A blindfolded young lady then does the following (according to Beard): “She is then told to put her left hand into one of the bowls. If she dips her fingers in the clear water, she will marry a bachelor; if in the milky water, a widower; and if into the empty bowl, it is a sure sign that she will live in single blessedness all her days. This ceremony must be gone through with three times, and the hand be dipped twice in the same bowl, in order to make the prediction of any value.” Dudes had their own variant; the 1832 Book of Days describes three bowls – one filled with “foul water,” one with clear water, and one empty. If the gentleman dips his fingers into the clean water, he would marry a maiden; in foul water, a widow; in the empty bowl, he will be a perpetual bachelor.
Divination games involving mirrors were also popular pastimes around Halloween. Arguably, the most popular involved a young woman sitting in a darkened room, gazing into a mirror on Halloween night. Supposedly, she would then be able to see the face of her future husband (or, alternately, she could also see a skeleton, which meant she’d die alone). Some versions of this game had the woman eating an apple, others had the woman peeling the apple (as in the divination game above). Yet another variant involved a woman opening a window to let in the moonlight; Beard writes: “The conditions are that the person wishing to know how bright her prospects are shall go to an open window or door from which the moon is visible, and, standing with her face in-doors, hold her mirror so that the moon will be reflected in it. The number of moons she sees there betokens the number of times something pleasant will happen to her before the advent of another Halloween.” In late 19th century America, women left off the mirrors altogether and instead “followed balls of unwound yarn to dark barns and cellars, [hoping to] fall helplessly into the arms of some gallant hero.”
An early 20th century Halloween greeting card. Source
Still, if you’re extra godly (like some American party-goers), you could do wholesome Christian divination. In 1895, the Hartford Daily Courant ran an article that described one such game: “Maidens very anxious to know something about their future husbands will do well to try the Bible trick. lt’s a good, old-fashioned and very popular trick. Take a Bible and place a key in it, leaving the ring protruding. While the Bible is being supported by the little fingers of two boys or girls recite these words: ‘If the initial of my future husband’s name begins with ‘A’ turn, key turn.” SlowIy repeat the letters of the alphabet, and when the right initial is reached the key will swing around and the Bible fall.'” (Thanks to Lesley Bannatyne for this source.)
But what’s a good Halloween party without a few ghost stories around a bonfire, am I right? Bonfires were popular for all the usual pyro reasons, but ladies magazines also detailed the romantic potential that was created by the flicker of lights; Godey’s Lady’s Book (1880), for example, describes a Halloween party in which “a splendid bonfire was soon in operation, and the gay party danced around it after the most approved fashion of boys and Indians. The sight of the flames was extremely becoming, and the young ladies had never appeared to such advantage before.” Afterwards, revelers might take turns telling a spooky story, and one could even earn a prize for telling the best one; at Miss Leighton’s Halloween party, for example, the winner received a pair of toy slippers accompanied by a card which read: “Before retiring to-night,/Place your slippers in the form of a T./And to-night you, your love will see;/The colour of his hair and the suit he will wear/The night he is wedding to thee.”
But contrary to expectation, many of these stories were not so much ghastly as they were romantic. While stories with ghosts and spooky stuff did exist, those with an eerie element (like exploring a spooky house) usually included heebie jeebies in the service of finding love. Perhaps one reason was because the 19th century saw a “rebranding” of Halloween (away from the more mystical traditions) within ladies magazines, which published “Halloween” tales such as “Love’s Seed-time and Harvest,” “Love Lies A-Bleeding,” and “If I Were a Man I’d Shoot Myself.” Check out this excerpt from one ladies magazine in which Halloween is cast as an excuse for unleashing one’s passion in the dark of night (hat tip to Lesley Bannatyne for this source):
Ethel: (alone) Oh, my lost, my unknown lover! When I entered upon the duties of a hospital reader, how little I thought that they were to bring me in contact with the greatest happiness and misery of my life! (turning out the lights)
(Clock strikes twelve. Ethel takes the apple and walks toward the mirror.
Door opens and a gentleman, covered with snow, enters the room.)
Mark Waring: (shaking himself) This is better luck than I expected. I thought they’d all be gone to bed. There was a light here a moment ago. (Goes towards the fire.) It’s awfully cold! I thought we’d never get here.
(Bumps into Ethel who is eating her apple before a mirror.) Hello! I-I beg your pardon! (Ethel turns around and screams.)
Ethel: (covering her face with her hands, starts back) lt is his spirit! Oh, I am punished for my folly. In heaven’s name, leave me!
Mark: (excitedly) Do my eyes deceive me, or does this dim light cheat me with a vision of happiness! Lady speak to me! Are you not she who, when I lay sick and alone in a strange city and was taken to St. Mary’s Hospital, came to me like an angel from heaven, soothing my fever with sweet dreams of love and happiness? Are you not she whom I lost and mourned so bitterly–speak?
By Cupid’s Trick: A Parlor Drama for All Hallowe’en (1885)
Conclusion: What About Spooky Smut?
Ok, we’ve made it home from the Halloween party. Time to curl up with a book and read.
My options for spooky smut set before 1900 primarily exist in the Gothic Romance genre. Personally, I adore Gothic Romance; I love the feeling of uneasiness and the spooky old house combined with a heroine who just wants to survive the night. But Gothic Romance has a distinct vibe, and it’s not the silly, light-hearted one that I get from my research on Victorian Halloween parties. Neither is it usually full of smut, though there are exceptions.
But until we get historical romances that are bursting with as much holiday spirit as a Christmas romances, I guess I’ll have to content myself with the more sinister, subtly sexy Gothic tales. I’m not complaining, but I would like a book where a heroine goes to a Halloween party only to fall in love while playing a tale-telling game around a bonfire. Something Mary Shelley-like, but without Lord Byron.
Gabbert, Lisa. “Divination Games and the Romantic Halloween Postcard.” 立命館文學= The Journal of Cultural Sciences/立命館大学人文学会 編 683 (2023): 930-915.
Lherm, Adrien. “Halloween—a ‘Reinvented’ Holiday: Celebrating White Anglo-Saxon Protestant Middle-Class America.” In Celebrating Ethnicity and Nation: American Festive Culture from the Revolution to the Early 20th Century, edited by Jürgen Heideking, Geneviève Fabre, and Kai Dreisbach, 1st ed., 194–214. Berghahn Books, 2001. http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt1btbxf7.14.
He pointed to the B.C. marked on the left side of his torso. “Do you know how they make these marks? … They take a board, about so big.” He measured with his hands. “And on it are protruding nails, forming the shape of the letters. They press the points of those nails into your skin, and then they give the board a smart whack. With a fist, perhaps. Or maybe a mallet… And then, when they’ve made all those tiny punctures, they take black powder – you know enough about weaponry to know that it’s corrosive stuff – and rub it in the wounds to make the mark.”
Tessa Dare, A Lady by Midnight
Dear Amanda,
How many Romance novels have we read where someone has a surprise tattoo?
It’s usually not the heroine; I don’t think I’ve read a single Romance novel (so far) in which the heroine sports some ink, but I’ve read plenty where the hero does. Out of those heroes, the tattoos tend to be on the lower-class protagonists, especially those with a criminal past (such as thieves, rogues, and, god forbid, sailors). Just take the example I quoted above from Tessa Dare: the tattooed hero is a former criminal turned military man, and he sports a number of inked designs that memorialize his time fighting the Man (before he’s reformed, of course).
But how commonplace were tattoos, historically?
Tattooing itself has a long history that stretches back before antiquity. The oldest tattooed remains we have come from Ötzi the Iceman, who lived (and died) somewhere between 3370 and 3100 BC. So, we know the question isn’t “were tattoos even possible in the 19th century”; instead, since we’re looking at Romance, the question should be more along the lines of “how were tattoos viewed in 19th century England?” I have this impression from Romance that they were scandalous, perhaps something only the low-born would wear. But how accurate is that impression?
You know what to do from here: buckle up, we’re going on an adventure.
The Woad to Jerusalem (Ba-Dum Chh)
While I could go on and on about cultures such as the ancient Egyptians, the pre-colonial Philippines, the Maori, and some Indigenous American groups, they (unfortunately) tend not to be the subjects of Historical Romance novels, so I’m going to start where most “Western Civ” classes always do: Greece and Rome. Ancient Greeks and Romans held attitudes towards tattoos that can be best described as “inky is stinky.” Now I know, Greece isn’t England (and neither is Rome, for that matter), but I think the history is important here because Ancient Greek and Roman attitudes towards tattooing were similar to those of pre- and early Christian Europe. Ancient Greeks, you see, turned their noses up at tattoos because they saw them as “barbaric” – only fit for criminals and slaves. They sneered at cultures (such as the Thracians) which tattooed their high-born citizens and embraced attitudes (such as those in Persia) in which tattooing was used as a punitive measure: a permanent mark for when someone was caught stealing or when someone was sold into servitude. (Hat tip to Isabella Fusillo for a pretty good overview of ancient tattooing practices.)
Historian Mark Gustafson calls punitive tattooing an “advertisement of one’s guilt and subjugation” because marks were frequently applied to a highly visible part of the body, such as the face. Punitive tattooing was passed on to the Romans by about 60 AD, and literary evidence gives us some idea of what these tattoos might have looked like: “most tattoos were either abbreviated labels of their crime (example: fur meaning “thief”), the name or symbol of the emperor/master, or the name of the punishment inflicted upon them (example: the words metallica or metallum or the abbreviation MT or MD, meaning they were condemned to [work in] the mines).”
Kerza from Spartacus: Blood and Sand. For the record, his tattoo is inaccurate. I think it should be “Profvgvs.”
With the spread of Christianity, however, punitive tattooing fell out of favor. Emperor Constantine, in particular, forbade punitive tattooing except on the hands and legs around 330 AD; the Codex Theodosianus gives us some insight as to why: “If anyone has been in a game [gladiators] or in the mines [metallum] for the character of those who have been found guilty of crimes, it is not to be written on his face, while the penalty of condemnation may be included in both the hands and the legs of one inscription, in which the face, which is figured in the likeness of heavenly beauty, is not to be stained.” (Thanks to Isabella Fusillo for finding this quote.)
But while it’s possible that Christians truly believed that the body should be kept “clean” for God, it’s also possible that as Christianity spread, tattooing and various body modifications became increasingly associated with pagan identity. Historian Minjie Su writes that “tattoos were used as a distinguishing, ‘othering’ tool to separate the ‘civilized’ from groups like Germanic peoples and Vikings, connecting tattooing with nudity and nudity with barbarianism. There are also the pagan beliefs, in which some groups believed tattooing an animal or deity could allow the warrior to invoke its powers.” Tattoos, in other words, were a visible way of distinguishing pagan from Christian, and for a Christian to get tattooed meant that they fell to “devilish” influence or weren’t fully committed to the faith.
But whether or not pagan, Germanic peoples were *actually* tattooed (rather than just painted) is still a matter of some discussion. Most of the evidence we have comes not from Germanic peoples themselves, but from outside observers who may or may not have been biased. Book V of Julius Caesar’s Gallic Wars, for example, describes ancient Celts and Picts as having black or dark blue markings called woad, which many people interpret as a kind of tattoo, but despite what Braveheart might have you believe, we actually don’t have any evidence that suggests woad was *actually* used as tattoo ink (or even war paint – though as the only source of blue dye at the time, it *was* used to color fabric before the British began importing indigo in the 16th and 17th centuries). Many scholars believe that Caesar may have been trying to describe some form of copper- or iron-based pigment (rather than the woad plant Isatis tinctoria), but even so, we shouldn’t take Caesar’s word as truth; for one, Caesar cold not have possibly encountered all of the various tribes of Britons, Celts, Picts, etc., and for two, woad is so caustic that if used as tattoo ink, it creates chemical burns that produce a lot of (not blue) scar tissue.
Nope
Other evidence for early medieval tattooing is similarly unreliable or unclear. For example, Gaius Julius Solinus writes in De mirabilibus mundi that the British were fond of what he calls “flesh embroidery” (which, if you ask me, sounds metal af). Ahmad ibn Fadlan’s 10th century travel account describes the Rus’ people (Norsemen who settled along the Baltic and Black Seas) as having dark green designs on their skin from the neck down. Both accounts are vague with regards to historical objectivity, and as with woad, there is very little evidence (such as needles or written descriptions of the process) to corroborate the stories.
From the totally accurate History Channel show, Vikings.
But lets assume tattooing was A ThingTM. Even though some Christians may have associated body modifications with paganism, there is some evidence to suggest that they also held complicated attitudes towards tattooing. The defining factor seems not to have been the practice itself, but the intention behind it. The Papal Legates of Pope Adrian, for example, broadly condemns tattoos as pagan but makes a peculiar exception: “if anyone were to undergo this injury of staining for the sake of God, he would receive a great reward for it… but if anyone does it from the superstition of the pagans, it will not contribute to his salvation any more than does circumcision of the body to the Jews without the belief of the heart.” (Thanks to Isabella Fusillo for finding this quote.) What this means is unclear, but I would bet that it at least indicates a familiarity with Christians being tattooed and trying to find a workaround for the practice.
One group of tattooed Christians was the Coptic community, which underwent voluntary tattooing beginning around 639 AD when Muslims took over Egypt. The story goes that Muslims forced Christians to get punitive tattoos to mark their low social status, but eventually, Copts began voluntarily tattooing themselves as a symbol of their Christian identity. Copts then brought this practice to the Holy Land, where during the Crusades – a series of wars between 1095 and 1291 in which a bunch of Christians tried (and failed) to steal the Holy Land from literally everyone else – soldiers and pilgrims could get inked with the Jerusalem Cross, Mary, Jesus, or their favorite saint. Historian William Purkis argues that these tattoos were used as an “advertisement of devotional identity,” meaning that not only did the inked images serve as a sort of talisman to protect the wearer from harm, but the pain that is associated with being marked (especially being marked with a cross) was perhaps seen as an imitatio Christi (imitation of Christ’s suffering). In other words, believers might get tattooed because they want a neat souvenir, but they also might get tattooed because they want to suffer as Christ suffered (which sounds stupid but remember, it was an important aspect of devotion).
Stamps from Razzouk Tattoo – the oldest tattoo shop in Jerusalem still in operation today.
But while the oldest (known) tattoo shop in Jerusalem dates back to the 14th century (and is still in operation today), Purkis acknowledges that we have no direct primary sources that detail what it was like to be tattooed during the Middle Ages. We don’t know how it was done or what tattooed people experienced, but Jacob Razzouk, the owner of the oldest tattoo shop in Jerusalem, does have some ideas that come from his own practice and his family’s history: “[olive wood] blocks were coated in ink and pressed onto the skin, acting as a stamp. The outline was traced with a needle (usually a sewing needle) dipped in ink resulting in the tattoo. By using the stamping method as opposed to hand drawing stencils or free handing the tattoo, the artists were able to work quickly and see multiple clients in a row.” (Thanks to Isabella Fusillo for finding this quote.) It’s not quite the board of nails that Dare describes in the quote above, but I wouldn’t say it’s far-fetched to consider that some of the oldest tattoos could have been something other than free-handed messes (or masterpieces).
Basically, what I’m trying to show you with this overview is that though we have some literary sources that tell us tattooing was possible, we have no corroborating evidence that would suggest it was commonplace. While some people can claim that pagans had them and Christians didn’t, the reality is much more complicated than that: some pagans might have been tattooed, but some Christians were, too, and that makes for decidedly more messy history.
But messy history is what we’re here for, so let’s keep going.
Tattooing as Exotic Curiosity: Thanks, Colonialism
If I can say one thing that’s probably accurate about Europeans and tattoos, it’s that it seems like they weren’t common enough to be on most people’s minds until about the 15th-16th centuries. The 15th century vaguely marks the start of the Age of Discovery – the age in which European seafarers colonized a bunch of land that wasn’t theirs. Britain hopped on the colonization train (or boat) after Columbus was an asshole to the Indigenous peoples in the late 1400s; during the Tudor Era, the crown sent people like John Davis, Humphrey Gilbert, and Walter Raleigh to dick around and see what they could get.
But while I can talk about how awful these explorers were, for now, we’re going to focus on one particular asshole named Martin Frobisher. After roaming about from Florida to Canada for some time, Frobisher captured three Inuit hostages: a man called Calichough (or Kalicho), a woman called Egnock (or Arnaq), and Arnaq’s child (Nutioc or Nuttaaq). The hostages were taken when the expedition encountered an abandoned Inuit settlement in which items of European clothing were found; Frobisher and his ship’s captain (Captain York) assumed the clothing came from five missing members of Frobisher’s 1576 expedition, so they captured the Inuit with the intention of exchanging them for the missing Europeans. When negotiations failed, the three Inuit were shipped off to England in 1577; sadly, all died before the end of the year.
While the Inuit hostages were not the first Indigenous peoples forced to visit Europe, their lives are significant in the context of this post because the adults – notably, Arnaq – had tattoos (probably something similar to the Kakiniit of present-day Inuit peoples). We know this in part because Frobisher commissioned multiple artists – including John White – to make portraits of the hostages.
Arnaq and her son Nutaaq who were Inuit from Frobisher Bay. If you look closely, you can see her facial tattoos.
Fascination with Indigenous tattoos seems to be something of a trend, because in addition to the Inuit hostages, the most famous tattooed person in England prior to the 18th century was also a victim of English “exploration.” His name was Jeoly, or the “Painted Prince.”
Captured in the Philippines, Jeoly was sold from trader to trader until he wound up in the hands of William Dampier – a “natural historian” who is most known today for being the first Englishman to explore parts of Australia and the first person to circumnavigate the world three times (as well as the first European to describe the making of guacamole – no joke). After being rendered penniless during his first voyage, Dampier took Jeoly to England, where he sold him to the Blue Boar Inn on Fleet Street. The Blue Boar Inn turned Jeoly into something of a sideshow attraction in 1691, but by then, he had already contracted smallpox. He died after only 3 months.
Both Dampier and the Blue Boar Inn had a fascination with Jeoly’s tattoos, which, by all accounts, were extensive, complex, and beautiful. Dampier made record of them in his journal, describing his captive thus (thanks to Gemma Angel for finding this):
He was painted all down the Breast, between his Shoulders behind; on his Thighs (mostly) before; and the Form of several broad Rings, or Bracelets around his Arms and Legs. I cannot liken the Drawings to any Figure of Animals, or the like; but they were very curious, full of great variety of Lines, Flourishes, Chequered-Work, &c. keeping a very graceful Proportion, and appearing very artificial, even to Wonder, especially that upon and between his Shoulder-blades […] I understood that the Painting was done in the same manner, as the Jerusalem Cross is made in Mens Arms, by pricking the Skin, and rubbing in a Pigment.
William Dampier, A New Voyage Around the World (1697)
While Dampier might have been genuinely fascinated in a buccaneer-trying-to-be-a-natural-historian kind of way, we shouldn’t praise him too much. He had no problem selling Jeoly to a business that saw Jeoly’s tattoos as something exploit, and exploiut him they did. In addition to inventing a fictional backstory for Jeoly (calling him “Prince Giolo”), the Blue Boar claimed that Jeoly’s tattoos were created from an “herbal paint” that “rendered him invulnerable to snake venom,” and to draw in a crowd, they fashioned a number of artistic depictions on playbills and flyers to distribute to the masses. Even after his death, Jeoly couldn’t quite escape being a curiosity; a fragment of his skin was preserved and was displayed in the Anatomy School of Oxford (though you can’t see it today, as it was somehow lost prior to the 20th century).
Prince Giolo, the “Painted Prince”, a slave from Mindanao, Philippines exhibited by William Dampier in London in 1691
It would seem, then, that tattoos – particularly the intricate tattoos of various Indigenous peoples – were something of an exotic curiosity amongst the normies of the 16-18th centuries. But whether this is because tattooing itself was uncommon or because people wanted to gawk at Indigenous people is highly unclear. Personally, I’m inclined to believe the latter, in part because despite the overview I gave above, tattoos themselves don’t seem to be quite as novel as one might assume.
Pilgrims and Sailors: European Tattoos Before 1800
While tattoos don’t appear to have been commonplace in Europe, it’s also not accurate to say that tattoos were things that only “exotic peoples” had. In the 16th century, Europe began to develop their weapons technology and introduce more widespread use of cannons and guns. When using one of these early firearms, un-burned bits of powder could occasionally become embedded in the skin, leaving a permanent mark. Several sailors and militiamen have been documented as having such marks, and while some of them seem like a by-product of working with firearms, some records suggest they were applied deliberately. A 17th century surgeon named Richard Wiseman wrote about his experience trying to remove a gunpowder mark from a patient’s skin (with thanks to Benerson Little for finding this):
Only if [the mark] be burnt with Gun-powder or any other way, their Cure is much alike, they onely differing secundam magis and minus. Onely if they be burnt with Gun-powder, they must pick out the Powder first; else they will carry the same blew Mark, if it be in their Faces, which some people use to do in their Hands and Arms, which I have often been imployed to take out, when done wantonly in their Youth; but could never remove them otherwise then by taking off the Skin.
Richard Wiseman in Several Chirurgicall Treatises (1676)
As you can see, some people applied marks “wontonly in their Youth,” which suggests that people were marking themselves deliberately. The reference to marks being on their faces, hands, and arms perhaps reflects the then-popular trend of applying beauty marks (though these were usually not permanent).
But we also know that that some Europeans were getting permanent marks that were more than just a little dot or two. Pilgrims, for example, continued to travel to the Holy Land after the Crusades, and just like the pilgrims of the Middle Ages, they sometimes went looking for a souvenir to take back with them. In 1697, Church of England clergyman Henry Maundrell wrote of his time in Jerusalem (thanks to Anna Felicity Friedman for this quote):
“[Saturday morning] gave many of the pilgrims leisure to have their arms mark’d with the usual ensigns of Jerusalem. The artists, who undertake the operation, do it in this manner. They have stamps in wood of any figure that you desire, which they first print off upon your arm with powder of charcoal: Then taking two very fine needles ty’d close together, and dipping them often, like a pen, in certain ink, compounded, as I was informed, of gunpowder and ox-gall, they make with them small punctures all along the lines of the figure which they have printed; and then washing the part in wine, conclude the work.”
Henry Maundrell, A Journey from Aleppo to Jerusalem, at Easter, A.D. 1697
Portrait of German diplomat Heinrich Wilhelm Ludolf. On his forearm, you can clearly see a tattoo which depicts the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ as well as the year 1699.
Tattoos also existed amongst another subculture in which travel was important: sailors.
Tattoos amongst sailors in both Europe and America have been documented since at least the 1600s. In 1720, a newspaper in Virginia described a sailor as having “on one hand S. P. in blew Letters and on the other hand blew Spots, and upon one arm our Savior upon the Cross, and on the other Adam and Eve, all Suppos’d to be done in Gun powder.” But sailors are a particularly interesting example of a tattooed subculture because of the ambiguity of their origins. While they did travel to faraway lands, like the Crusaders, and in fact did use tattooing as a souvenir or “rite of passage,” sailors also would have been the first to come in contact with Indigenous Peoples during the Age of Discovery. Cultural exchange could have facilitated the widespread adoption of tattoos (but as historian Jane Caplan points out, it’s impossible to know for sure). One example of such ambiguous tattoo origins is the account of Welsh buccaneer-surgeon Lionel Wafer, who wrote the following description of tattoo removal sometime in the 1680s: “One of my Companions desired me once to get out of his Cheek one of these imprinted Pictures, which was made by the N*groes, his Name was Bullman; which I could not effectually do, after much scarifying and fetching off a great part of Skin” (with thanks to Benerson Little for finding this and the one above). As you can see, the tattoo in question was applied by a dark-skinned man, not one of the sailor’s compatriots.
Pirate history is notorious for its poor documentation, but a number of historians doubt that pirates had any tattoos that were radically different from those of any other sailor. Plus, why would you want a distinguishing mark if you were on the run from the law?
What is certain is that the association between sailors and tattooing was solidified in the popular imagination following the Cook Expedition in the 18th century. Between 1766 and 1779, an asshole named James Cook made three voyages to the South Pacific, and in 1769, he used the word “tattoo” (from the word tatau) to describe the extensive body modifications of the Indigenous Peoples of Tahiti (the term also appears in the journal of Cook’s Science Officer and Expedition Botanist, Sir Joseph Banks, but I’m not going to touch that guy). Cook wrote in his log book (hat tip to the New Zealand Maritime Museum):
Both sexes paint their Bodys, Tattow, as it is called in their Language. This is done by inlaying the Colour of Black under their skins, in such a manner as to be indelible.
“Figures printed on the arms of our Tarentine sailors” from Voyage en Italie, en Sicile et à Malte, 1778 by Louis Ducros
What Cook seems to have done, according to tattoo historian Anna Felicity Friedman, is contribute to the rapid “re-popularization” of tattooing (or at least the knowledge of it) amongst the mainstream. As discussed above, tattooing was practiced amongst sailors and pilgrims to the Holy Land from the 15th-18th centuries, but the combination of a single word “tattoo” (compared to a previous range of metaphorical terms, such as “pricked,” “marked”, “engraved,” “decorated,” “punctured,” “stained,” and “embroidered”) along with an expansive print culture around the time of Cook’s expeditions may have “increased the visibility of tattooing despite its prior existence in the West.” Tattoos amongst sailors, in particular, rapidly increased after the Cook expedition; the Naval History and Heritage Command notes that “by the late 18th century, around a third of British and a fifth of American sailors had at least one tattoo.” That’s quite the number, though whether it was because of the Cook expedition itself or because the increase print culture and record keeping made tattoos more visible to historians is subject to debate.
The 19th Century: Tattoos Become Fashionable
By the 19th century, tattooing became increasingly common within British society, though it’s quite difficult to determine to what extent. Especially in the early part of the century, many surviving records document tattoos where we might expect them – amongst sailors, convicts, soldiers, and so forth. A sailor named Thomas Prescott, for example, was transported to Australia in 1819; according to his record, he apparently had “an anchor, mermaid, heart and darts, sun, moon, and stars” on his right arm and “man, woman, heart, jp, sj, laurel branch, star, and other heart and dart” on his left arm. He also had a “crucifix, man with dagger and pistol in hands” on his chest. (Much thanks to Robert Shoemaker and Zoe Alker for compiling this data.)
Description of William Graham’s tattoos in the prison record for 1826.
The reason why we have documentation of tattoos primarily amongst sailors, convicts, soldiers, etc. is because, prior to the invention of photography, written descriptions of tattoos were more likely to be kept for institutionalized people (according to Shoemaker and Alker). But most historians suspect that, despite the lack of descriptive records, tattoos were relatively common amongst everyday working class people (and even the upper class!). Disciplinary records from English boarding school, for example, show that schoolboys would tattoo one another after the fashion of sailors. I particularly like this example from 1857: “His long skinny arms all covered with anchors and arrows and letters, tattooed in with gunpowder like a sailor-boy’s.” (Found that one on ye olde Wikipedia!)
By the late 19th century, tattooing was becoming more common amongst people of all social classes, and we start getting evidence that it was even practiced amongst the upper class. In 1881, for example, Prince George of Wales and his brother, Prince Albert Victor, acquired tattoos during a trip to Japan, spawning something of a weeaboo craze amongst the British. Suddenly, everyone wanted Eastern-style decorations, including body decorations, and one tattooer in particular capitalized on that trend Big Time. Sutherland Macdonald, who opened the first professional tattoo shop in England, not only located his shop above a Turkish bath but also was decorated in a “lavish Oriental style” (Macdonald also was said to have drawn inspiration for a Japanese artist named Hori Chyo, and rose to fame by inscribing regimental crests on military officers; he also made a name for himself by using the electric tattoo machine, which he patented in 1894).
The advances in technology, as well as the “professionalization” of tattooing meant that getting inked was seen more and more as a “normal” or even fashionable thing to so. It was so normal, in fact, that according to an 1898 issue of Harmsworth Magazine, as many as one in five members of the gentry were tattooed by the end of the century (these included Edward VII, George V, King Frederick IX of Denmark, Kaiser Wilhelm II, and Tsar Nicholas II), as well as half of all convicts.
Still, there is a persistent myth that relegates tattooing to the criminal and lower class, perhaps because of the reason I cited above (institutionalized record-keeping). With the rise of urbanization in the 19th century, as well as the preoccupation with crime and policing, it’s no surprise that various writers looked for anything to grasp onto that would help distinguish the “good” citizens from the ruffians and rakes about town. Journalist Henry Mayhew, for example, wrote in his 1862 book the following interview with a prison guard (much thanks to Robert Shoemaker and Zoe Alker for this):
“‘Most persons of bad repute’, said the prison warder, ‘have private marks stamped on them – mermaids, naked men and women, and the most extraordinary things you ever saw. They are marked like savages, whilst many of the regular thieves have five dots between their thumb and forefinger, as a sign that they belong to ‘the forty thieves’, as they call it.’”
As you can see, this source uses tattoos as a kind of signifier, not only proclaiming them “savages” but also aligning them with a criminal underworld and identity. From this source, it would appear that “private marks” and a cluster of “five dots” were the first instance of “gang tattoos,” a visible way to tell who was a member of the so-called youth gang “the Forty Thieves.” While thrilling, there are a number of reasons why we can’t exactly trust Mayhew’s account. For one, the Forty Thieves was a real gang, but in New York not London. For two, Robert Shoemaker and Zoe Alker point out that there is little evidence to support the idea that tattoos were linked to criminal identity; the “Forty Thieves” may have just been the British media’s invention, created to stir up anxieties about youth crime. To support this thesis, Shoemaker and Alker comb through criminal records from 1820 to 1880 and show that the supposed “gang sign” – the five dots – was found on 378 convicts, some of them women and others convicts transported to Australia. It would seem, then, that dots were relatively common tattoos amongst the lower class not because poor people are criminals, but because dots are amongst the easier tattoos to make.
I take the time to point all this out because it shows that tattooing (as well as attitudes about tattoos) seems to ebb and flow according to what’s going on in culture at large. At one moment, tattoos may be fashionable if depicting the “right thing” and done for “the right reason.” At another moment, they’re a sign of base-born criminality, fit only for the rabble. In both antiquity and the modern era, well-to-do panic about tattooing seems to arise amidst panic about determining who was part of the “in-group” and who was not, from slaves to pagans to gang members; meanwhile, the most “righteous” among us get crosses stamped on their arms and they’re seen as exceptionally devoted.
So what does this mean for Romance?
Conclusions: Tattoos as Literary Device
While I can’t generalize about the use of tattoos across the entire genre, perhaps I can leave you with my own little literary analysis of Tessa Dare’s example, cited above. In A Lady By Midnight, the hero’s tattoo is not decorative or a rite of passage – it’s punitive, aligning the hero with a criminal (or at least non-compliant) past. Like the Greeks and Romans, the military commanders use the tattoo to inscribe guilt on the body, the “BC” acting much like the Roman “MT” or “MD” applied to those condemned to work in the mines. Because the hero is in the military, he is subjugated to his commanders – and, I might add, he internalizes this subjugation by initially refusing to marry the heroine when he finds out she is a lady (and he a commoner/criminal).
However, Dare’s tattoo is placed on the hero’s torso rather than on his face or hands, indicating that this punitive measure is less meant as an advertisement of guilt for the public, but more of a private mark, akin to Arthur Dimmesdale’s A in The Scarlet Letter. When his body is “read” by the heroine, she uncovers his past both figuratively and literally (by removing his clothing), representing a higher degree of emotional and physical intimacy. This uncovering, so to speak, is a lynchpin in many a Romance novel, and it makes sense that tattoos (along with any other distinguishing mark, be it a birthmark or scar; in fact, Dare’s hero also has a number of scars from punitive floggings) are used as a proxy for intimacy – especially intimacy with an Other (a criminal, a surly Earl with a dark past, etc.).
You know, I would very much like to explore this connection further. If only someone would pay me to do research like this.
But alas, I must leave you with that. Given your own interest in tattoos (or at least the one you have the one I know you plan to get), I suspect you might have some kind of particular interest in this topic. I, alas, am much more of a wuss, so I will defer to you to analyze the body-book/tattoo-ink connection in any greater detail.
Happy fall. Hope the semester isn’t killing you yet.
Purkis, William. Did Crusaders get Tattoos? Devotional Symbols and Practices in Medieval Europe and the Holy Land. Given at the Museum and Library of the Order of St John on September 28, 2016. via medievalists.net.
Angel, Gemma. “The Modified Body: The Nineteenth-Century Tattoo as Fugitive Stigmata.” Victorian Review 42, no. 1 (2016): 14–20. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26809550.
Dye, Ira. “The Tattoos of Early American Seafarers, 1796-1818.” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 133, no. 4 (1989): 520–54. http://www.jstor.org/stable/986875.
Gustafson, W. Mark. “Inscripta in Fronte: Penal Tattooing in Late Antiquity.” Classical Antiquity 16, no. 1 (1997): 79–105. https://doi.org/10.2307/25011055.
Kamen, Deborah. “A CORPUS OF INSCRIPTIONS: REPRESENTING SLAVE MARKS IN ANTIQUITY.” Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome 55 (2010): 95–110. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41419689.
Thompson, Beverly Yuen. “Sailors, Criminals, and Prostitutes: The History of a Lingering Tattoo Stigma.” In Covered in Ink: Tattoos, Women and the Politics of the Body, 21–34. NYU Press, 2015. http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt15zc80j.5.
Williams, Maggie M. “Celtic Tattoos: Ancient, Medieval, and Postmodern.” In Studies in Medievalism XX: Defining Neomedievalism(s) II, edited by Karl Fugelso, 20:171–90. Boydell & Brewer, 2011. http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.7722/j.ctt81hp7.14.
“All I’m saying,” a very intense-looking man was shouting in Eddie’s ear, “is that the Corn Laws should concern each and every one of us.”
Lex Croucher, Infamous
“Tell me, what opinion do you hold on the Corn Laws?”
Mr. Malcolm’s List (dir. Emma Holly Jones, 2022)
Dear Amanda,
In the span of a couple of months, we’ve come across two Romances with jokes about the Corn Laws.
The first we encountered was the film Mr. Malcolm’s List (2022), in which the Corn Laws serve as a kind of litmus test Jeremy Malcolm uses to gage a lady’s level of intelligence, education, and informed-ness (yes, that’s a word now). In Infamous by Lex Croucher, the joke seems to be that the Corn Laws are mundane – a topic that the character, Eddie, can’t be expected to engage with seriously.
But what were the Corn Laws, really? And what impact would they have made on characters such as Jeremy Malcolm or Eddie Miller?
As promised, I’ve gathered some information. Just for you.
Regulating Corn Before the Corn Laws
Before we get properly started, it’s important to note that the “corn” part of the “corn laws” concerned more than just the yellow-eared plants we turn into chips and high-fructose syrup. In British English, the word corn denoted all cereal grains, which not only included corn but also wheat, oats, and barley. Thus, for the rest of this post, please assume that every time I say corn, I mean all kinds of tasty bread plants.
As you might image, cereal grains were a very important commodity; they were consumed domestically as a meal staple and they were traded internationally to increase income/profits. As a result, the British government had an interest in regulating them (the history of corn regulation can be traced back to the 12th century). The history of modern Corn Laws is largely indebted to the Tudors and Stuarts, who introduced legislative measures to regulate the importing and exporting of grains. In 1773, a parliamentary act was passed to repeal Elizabethan grain controls as well as prevent exports/imports of grains over a certain dollar (or pound) amount. Over the course of the next few decades, the 1773 Act was amended a number of times, with each amendment a little more favorable to corn producers. Thus, it’s no surprise why corn laws became increasingly subject to extensive political debate, some of them public (Edmund Burke was even involved in some of them).
We could get into the nitty gritty of the 1773 Act, but frankly, it’s not important for the purposes of this post. All you need to know is that legislation like the 1773 Act was passed amid a number of food crises in the late 18th to early 19th centuries: after 1791, grain prices rose sharply as a result of so-called “protective legislation” as well as trade prohibitions (imposed by war). In addition, there was a bad harvest in 1795 which led to food riots and various other crises led to turmoil from 1799–1801.
All very interesting stuff, but based on the Romances we’ve read (and seen), my guess is we’re not here for the 1773 Act. No, we’re here for Regency Agriculture and Trade Law. So screw the 18th century – let’s talk about the most (in)famous Corn Law.
Corn and the Post-Napoleonic Landscape: Legislation for Profits
So… we’re here, in ye olde 1803. Napoleon has been running around, doing “Napoleon things” for some time, and England gets mad and declares war on France. A bunch of people get shipped off to the Continent to die, and a bunch of people back home just kind of cool their heels, right?
WRONG.
The Napoleonic Wars made it almost impossible to import corn from Europe. This wasn’t because Napoleon stole all the corn and built himself a Corn Palace (I wish). Rather, the British put a big ol’ blockade around continental Europe, which had a number of important impacts on British life. For one, heavy restrictions (later followed by heavy taxes) meant that British people could only buy domestic grain (i.e. grain from within its own borders); this led to an expansion of wheat farming in Britain (yay, I guess). For two, it also exploded the price of bread, making it more expensive (boo) and sinking the standard of living. While the public wasn’t too happy, British landowners (specifically, those who owned the land that produced the corn) were thrilled – and why wouldn’t they be? They were rolling in money!
But as the war came to an end and corn prices began to fall – from 126 shillings per quarter (8 bushels, if you care) in 1812 to 65 shillings just three years later. British landowners were pissed (“What about my giant house?” “What about my yacht?” “What about my yacht’s yacht?“). So, to protect their profits, they began applying pressure to members of the House of Commons, and lo! It worked! The 1815 Corn Law was passed, and boy, did it screw over just about everyone (except the Jeff Bezoses of the world).
So what was the 1815 Corn Law about? Well, to put it simply, it permitted the import of duty-free foreign corn only when the domestic price reached 80 shillings per quarter (8 bushels). If you’re like me and have no frame of reference for what a shilling or a bushel means, here’s a nifty conversion: 80 shillings is about the equivalent of £1,849 per ton (in 2023 money); by comparison, 2010-2018 corn prices were around £100–£225 per ton (the cost is described by some sources as “near famine levels”). As a result, the cost of food – and by extension, the cost of living – skyrocketed, and the effects were felt at almost every level of society. High food prices meant that most working-class people had limited disposable income: the bulk of their income was going towards food and not commodities. This made manufacturers upset not only because the domestic market for manufactured goods became depressed, but factory owners feared that the Corn Laws would inspire workers to demand for higher wages.
Things didn’t get much better in the years that followed. In 1816, crop yields dramatically reduced as a result of the Year Without a Summer (a climate anomaly characterized by record low summer temperatures in Europe, caused by the 1815 eruption of Mount Tambora in Indonesia), and resulting famines led to further reduced standards of living, food shortages, and riots. And yet, Parliament refused to consider any new legislation, in part because most voting members were landowners and these laws made them even wealthier. Even when the Duke of Wellington became Prime Minister, reforms were pathetic; in 1828, changes to the Corn Laws allowed foreign grans to be imported duty-free when the domestic price was 73 shillings per quarter or above (helpful, I know). However, the reform also implemented a sliding scale (the more the price of domestic grain fell below that figure, the higher the duty), which didn’t do squat to help the poor or the manufacturers.
And if that’s not enough, this little tidbit might blow your mind: shockingly, during all this time, price of domestic grain never reached the the ceiling price of 80 shillings per quarter.
But to their credit, the British people did not take this lying down. Food riots were just the beginning; the Corn Laws, as obscure as many Romances want to make them out to be, were actually a major driver of the British reform movement. How? ANTI-CORN LAW SOCIETIES AND DEMONSTRATIONS!
Riotsand Reform: Important Developments in Social Movements
To say that the 1815 Corn Laws were unpopular is an understatement. While the original legislation was being passed, the Houses of Parliament had to be defended by armed troops and on March 20th, at the third reading of the Bill in the House of Lords, eleven peers staged a formal protest, including two members of the Royal Family (the Duke of Sussex and the Duke of Gloucester). Unrest was particularly felt in urban areas, where the Corn Laws had more of an impact on the population (urban inhabitants couldn’t grow their own food, you see; they had to rely on farmers and pay high grain prices).
In 1832, the Reform Act granted the right to vote to a sizeable proportion of the industrial middle classes. This was a major step in the process of (eventually) overturning the Corn Laws because now Parliament had to give at least the appearance of a shit about the middle class. However, the Whigs didn’t really seem to have a clue about what economics entailed, and the Whig governments of 1830-1834 and 1835-1841 were challenged by many different groups, such as the Anti-Poor Law movement and, importantly, the Anti-Corn Law League.
The Anti-Corn Law League was first established in London in 1838, but it seems to have been a flop because it disbanded and reformed in Manchester (the center of textile manufacturing and trade) in 1838. Led by manufacturer Richard Cobden and orator John Bright, their main concern was to end trade restrictions, arguing that they were both morally wrong and economically damaging. League members were mainly middle-class manufacturers, merchants, bankers, and traders who wanted the Corn Laws gone so that they could sell more stuff, and they believed that once the Corn Laws repealed, free trade would follow.
If this all sounds like some sort of Capitalist Corn Club, you’d be partially right. The League was mainly concerned with trying to sell more stuff, but they were successful at a number of other things too. They are mainly remembered, however, for their incredible ability to mobilize the industrial middle classes, and their success is largely due to their tactics. One of their members, Thomas Perronet Thompson, was an activist who specialized in the grass-roots mobilization using pamphlets, newspaper articles, correspondence, speeches, and local planning meetings. Thompson’s methods were combined with a fair number of the tactics developed by British abolitionists (argues Simon Morgan), resulting in a fairly effective use of the language of morality (that got people interested and got shit done). The League’s meetings were reportedly emotionally-charged, and they distributed a staggering number of tracts (nine million in 1843 alone).
But emotion alone didn’t win the day, and the League had some setbacks as well as some moments of growth and reform. After a series of political losses, for example, in which League-backed candidates failed to attract voters using the promise of free trade, the League learned to concentrate their attention on swaying public opinion, and throughout the 1830 and 1840s, they mainly got involved in elections where there was a reasonable shot at victory. This made the League fairly effective at driving political engagement; in 1846, for example, John Bright presented the House of Commons with a petition from the Shetland Islands, signed by 8064 fishermen and other inhabitants (and to be fair: the League was not the only active group. According to the reports of the select committee on public petitions, between January 27 and August 28, 1842, 467 petitions were presented to the Commons for the repeal on the Corn Laws, with an impressive 1,414,303 signatures; by contrast, 1953 petitions were presented in favor of the Corn Laws, totaling only 145,855 signatures). (Thanks for grabbing those numbers, Katie Carpenter!)
A meeting of the Anti–Corn Law League in Exeter Hall in 1846
Historians and bloggers alike have called the Anti-Corn Law League “the most successful single issue pressure group of the 19th Century” (or something like that), and its success is largely due to a number of factors, among them a centralized office, consistency of purpose, rich funding, very strong local and national organization, and single-minded dedicated leaders. Eventually, the League would see their goals realized: despite the government holding firm, the Corn Laws were not long for this world, and in 1846, it looked like its death was on the horizon.
The End of the Corn Laws: Decades of Harm and Shit
Before we talk about the end of the Corn Laws, I think it’s important to note that, despite being almost universally unpopular, it was not easy to get the legislation overturned. This was in part due to the concentration of political power in the hands of the rich, but enthusiasm for reform waxed and waned according to several other factors. In 1844, for example, a fruitful harvest meant that opposition was less pronounced, while years with particularly bad harvests saw more action.
But now it’s 1846. The Anti-Corn Law League has been stirring up the masses for years, whipping them into a frenzy and publishing hot take after hot take to win more people over to their side. On top of all that, there’s the teensy matter of the Great Famine going on in Ireland: grain supplies are scarce, English lawmakers are put under enormous pressure to seek out new food supplies. What’s a government to do?
KILL THE CORN LAWS.
Huzzah!
The Corn Laws were repealed by Conservative Prime Minister Robert Peel in 1846. Peel had voted against repeal each year from 1837 to 1845, so his sudden change of heart was quite unexpected and caused a rift in the Conservative Party. While trying to convince the Tories that a repeal was necessary (2/3 of them opposed it), Peel was subject to a number of personal attacks as well as political embroilments with both the leader of the opposition, Lord John Russell, and an opponent within his own party, Benjamin Disraeli. Things got so heated that at one point, Lord George Bentinck accused Peel of causing the death of former Prime Minister George Canning, and Peel nearly challenged Bentinck to a duel. Still, with the help of the Whigs and some other radicals, Peel got the job done.
However, the death of the Corn Laws didn’t have the effect that one might have hoped. The price of wheat during the two decades after 1850 averaged 52 shillings per quarter, and foreign grown grains failed to flood British markets on account of bad harvests and high duties. A real change in the price of corn didn’t occur until about twenty-five years after repeal, in part due to the advent of sail and steam (which made shipping cheaper). British markets were then flooded with American-grown grains, causing British farming to all but collapse and landowners to lose much of their political power. Britain’s dependence on foreign-grown food would prove to be a problem, especially in the early 20th century when the country was nearly starved into submission during World War I.
The political fallout, however, was a bit more spectacular. Peel’s tenure as Prime Minister ended in June 1846 when he resigned just a few days after both the Corn Laws and the Irish Coercion Bill were defeated in the Commons, and the Tories would be kept out of power for the next 30 years (Tories who supported Peel largely went on to join an independent bloc). Peel’s successor, Lord John Russell, led a calamitous response to the Great Irish Famine and received incredible amounts of (justified) criticism for his government’s “laissez-faire” policies, and neither his successor, Edward Derby, nor Derby’s successor, Disraeli, revived tariffs, despite being vocal supporters of the Corn Laws. Disraeli’s decision in particular was bolstered by the support of working men, whose votes helped him win the general election in 1867. The reduction in farming caused many people to move to the cities or emigrate overseas, leading to the boom in urbanization and immigration (particularly amongst the Irish) to the United States that we know so much about already.
Corn Laws, Amirite?
So there you have it: an oversimplified, easy to digest overview of the Corn Laws. As promised. Lovingly written just for your amusement.
But now that we’ve learned a lot and hugged and cried, I have to ask why these laws are the punchline of not one but two jokes in Historical Romance.
My initial guess is that in America, we think corn is funny. Especially here in the Midwest, we joke about it all the time: growing corn, eating corn, corn crime – you name it. So maybe, for some of these authors, “Corn Laws” sounds about as dull and dumb as any corn-based curriculum in a Midwestern elementary school.
But given the suffering the Corn Laws caused for decades upon decades – particularly among the working class – I have to wonder if Jeremy Malcolm was right to judge his potential brides by their opinions on the legislation. It’s not that I think Romance writers should stop what they’re doing and write Corn Laws into their fiction RIGHT NOW, but if you’re going to make a joke about a piece of legislation that had profound effects on the standard of living across Britain, perhaps it’s not a good look to do so in a way that makes your characters seem unsympathetic or, at worst, horribly classist.
But I don’t know. Perhaps I am too sensitive. I myself thought “Corn Laws” was a joke before I dug myself a research hole, and now, I’m not too sure I can see them as moments of light-heartedness.
Thanks, history.
Anyway. Hope you’re doing well.
~Kelly
Sources
Bloy, Marjie, “The Corn Laws.” The Victoria Web. October 10, 2022.
Carpenter, Katie. “Petitions and the Corn Laws.” UK Parliament. July 26, 2019.
Lusztig, Michael. “Solving Peel’s Puzzle: Repeal of the Corn Laws and Institutional Preservation.” Comparative Politics 27, no. 4 (1995): 393–408. https://doi.org/10.2307/422226.
Miller, Henry. “Popular Petitioning and the Corn Laws, 1833—46.” The English Historical Review 127, no. 527 (2012): 882–919. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23272690.
Morgan, Simon. “The Anti-Corn Law League and British Anti-Slavery in Transatlantic Perspective, 1838-1846.” The Historical Journal 52, no. 1 (2009): 87–107. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40264159.
I’ve been greatly enjoying your hot takes about Queen Charlotte, especially since I no longer have access to Netflix. I’m working on gaining a new account, since I very much want to watch Queen Charlotte as well as future Bridgerton seasons, but for now, I have to content myself with media I’ve already consumed.
You post has prompted me to think about some of the “greatest love stories” in popular culture – stories that are very much romantic without being Romance, per se. You know the type – people consider them to be archetypal tales of love and passion, but unlike the Romances we read, someone dies or the ending is grim and depressing. If you Google “greatest love stories of all time,” the results are things like Romeo and Juliet, Titanic, The Notebook, Pride and Prejudice – things that are either sad or Jane Austen.
But there are plenty of love stories out there that, I think, fill the need for optimism and happily ever after; it’s just that a lot of them don’t appear in Harlequin paperbacks or Avon bestsellers. Looking back over the types of media I used to consume, I think I was primed to enjoy Romance, in part because the non-Romance romance stories I gravitated toward were optimistic and emotionally fulfilling. But since I have always been a lover of history, I think I was bound to fall for Historical Romance over any other subgenre. (Of course, I love my dreary grimdark sad tales too, but that’s besides the point.)
To further entertain us, I’ve put together a list of books, tv series, and movies that feature a love story – one that personally stuck with me and dovetailed nicely with my Romance Readership. My criteria for this list were the following: 1.) the relationship has to be a significant part of the plot (no shoehorned kisses, thank you), 2.) the love story had to be optimistic and emotionally fulfilling (no dying), and 3.) no Jane Austen (because that’s cheating). I’ve also stuck with media that has a historical bent in order to keep with the theme of this blog.
*Note: I am aware that a lot of these picks are painfully white and heterosexual. I have yet to see a dearth of POC or queer romance movies/shows set before 1900 that don’t end in sadness, and my experience with non-American/British media is painfully lacking. If you have recommendations, drop them in the comments!
TELEVISION
Phryne Fisher and Jack Robinson (Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries)
Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries is an Australian drama series that ran for 3 series between 2012 and 2015. It follows Phryne Fisher (played by Essie Davis), a forty-something year old independent heiress who becomes a private detective in 1920s Melbourne. Phryne goes about solving crimes and generally being a bother to Inspector Jack Robinson (played by Nathan Page), the chief inspector of the Melbourne police, while also connecting with the lower-class people around her, such as her maid and drivers.
What I especially love about this series is that Phryne is a woman NOT IN HER TWENTIES who is allowed to have guilt-free sex with whomever she wants. While many romances are monogamous or, at the very least, condemn promiscuity, Miss Fisher’s never condemns the heroine for having multiple partners and never demands that she change in order to catch Jack’s eye. Instead, it showcases how intimacy is built on emotional connection and trust, all without demonizing casual sex or female pleasure. As a result, the romance between Phryne and Jack is the slowest of all slow burns, and the tension is so thick that I frequently find myself yelling “JUST BANG ALREADY!”
Virginia Lewis and Wolf (The 10th Kingdom)
The 10th Kingdom is a 2000 miniseries starring Kimberly Williams as Virginia Lewis, a twenty-something year old waitress who is whisked away into a fantasy world along with her father, Tony (played by John Larroquette). In this fantasy world, fairy tales are real and have consequences in the present; for example, the spirit of the Evil Queen has empowered a new successor (played by Dianne Wiest) to retake the throne once belonging to Snow White. To save the kingdom and find her way home, Virginia must battle a whole host of foes, including trolls, huntsmen, magic mushrooms, and the evil queen herself, all while she is romantically pursued by a clingy, over-eager suitor named Wolf (played by Scott Cohen).
This miniseries is technically “fantasy” but I’m including it on this list because as a whole, The 10th Kingdom feels like a Romance. For one, the overall tone and mood is delightfully corny and upbeat, which makes every episode feel like a delicious romp through the forbidden forest. For two, most of the focus is on Virginia’s adventure and character development; throughout the series, Virginia is told over and over again that she has a “destiny,” one that is tied up with both acting as the savior of a strange, new kingdom and healing from her childhood trauma. As she is trying to navigate this new world and her sense of identity, she is supported by Wolf, a half-wolf enemy turned ally who is less interested in being an “alpha” and more interested in pleasing his beloved.
Anne Lister and Ann Walker (Gentleman Jack)
Gentleman Jack is a historical drama series distributed by BBC One and HBO. Set in the 1830s, it follows Anne Lister (played by Suranne Jones), a wlw heiress who returns to her family home following a heartbreak. Anne discovers that the coal on her land is being stolen by the Rawson Brothers, and as she attempts to turn her estate around and make it profitable, she embarks upon a romance with Ann Walker (played by Sophie Rundle), a neighboring wealthy heiress.
I was smitten with Jones’ Anne Lister from episode 1. I loved her confidence and her restlessness, and I adored the way she was presented as someone who, for all her rumored philandering, just wants to find happiness with someone and share the world with them. I also really enjoyed the tone of this show; whenever Anne does her Power Walk, there’s jaunty, upbeat music playing in the background, and every once in a while, Anne will break the fourth wall and speak directly to the audience. For all the movies and shows about tragic wlws, this one is certainly a welcome departure, and I’d recommend that Romance and Period Drama lovers alike give it a go
FILM
Danielle and Henry (Ever After)
Ever After is a 1998 historical retelling of Cinderella, directed by Andy Tennant. It stars Drew Barrymore as Danielle, a woman in 16th century France who has been forced into servitude by her stepmother (played by Angelica Houston) following her father’s death. While out gathering apples, Danielle happens upon Prince Henry (played by Dougray Scott) as he is trying to flee his arranged marriage. In exchange for her silence, Henry gives her a large sum of money, which Danielle uses to disguise herself as a noblewoman and buy back a servant that her stepmother has sold to cover her debts. Henry witnesses the transaction and falls for her, but when he asks for her name, Danielle lies and portrays herself as a countess. The rest of the movie generally follows the Cinderella storyline, albeit without the singing animals and fairy godmother in Disney’s version.
If one cannot see how this would be a Romance, I don’t know how else to convince them. Not only is this story about Danielle and her relationship with the prince, but Henry, the hero, undergoes character development as a result of admiring his lady love. It’s a perfect example of love as an ennobling force (figuratively and literally), and there’s even a good groveling scene towards the end.
Mira and Arman (I Am Dragon)
I Am Dragon is a 2015 Russian-language historical fantasy film set in the time of the Kievan Rus (so… medieval). The story features Princess Miroslava (or “Mira,” played by Maria Poezzhaeva) who is captured by a dragon on her wedding day. The dragon brings her to his secluded island, where she encounters a mysterious prisoner named Arman (played by Matvey Lykov). Over the course of the film, Arman shows Mira all the secrets of the island and the two begin falling in love while Mira conspires to return home.
We watched this film together, and I remember having just the grandest time. This film is cheesy and painfully heterosexual, but it’s also gorgeously shot and has a lot of dumb fun that can only come from a story about monsterfucking. While Mira and Arman aren’t necessarily the most interesting characters on the planet, I very much remember the adventures of this film and the beautiful cinematography, and I think it’s joyful enough to satisfy a lot of Romance readers.
Dido Elizabeth Belle and John Davinier (Belle)
Belle is a 2014 period drama starring Gugu Mbatha-Raw as Dido Elizabeth Belle, the daughter of a white father and enslaved black mother who was brought up by her uncle, William Murray, First Earl of Mansfield, the Lord Chief Justice in the 18th century. Belle is loosely based on the life of the real-life Dido Elizabeth Belle, and the film primarily focuses on her marriage prospects, which are affected by the obstacles she faces as a woman of color in English society. Despite receiving interest from notable families, Dido finds herself drawn to John Davinier, a law student who is apprenticed to Mansfield. Upon learning that Mansfield will hear the case of Gregson v. Gilbert (which regarding the payment of an insurance claim, for slaves killed when thrown overboard by the captain of a slave-ship), Dido does everything she can to help Davinier make the case to deny payment to the slavers.
The love story between Dido and Davinier is something of an enemies (though that’s too strong a word) to lovers romance in that they start out disliking each other immensely. However, they quickly become solid allies and trusted confidantes, and I adored seeing them work together on a case that had extremely high stakes for Dido’s personal life. You see, while much of the movie is concerned with Dido’s marriage prospects, a large portion is devoted to exploring her experience as a free black woman in England during a period when slavery was still legal. Dido’s complexity combined with Mbatha-Raw’s brilliant portrayal creates exactly the kind of story you and I love – a Romance with a social element.
Selina Dalton and Jeremy Malcolm (Mr. Malcolm’s List)
Mr. Malcolm’s List is a 2022 period drama about Selina Dalton (played by Freida Pinto), a country vicar’s daughter who travels to London to help her friend Julia (played by Zawe Ashton). Julia has been scorned by one of the most enviable catches of the season – Mr. Jeremy Malcolm (played by Sope Dirisu) – and is subject to public humiliation because of it. Julia learns that Mr. Malcolm has a list of criteria which his future bride must meet and that Julia has failed to pass. To show him how such a list is unfair and hurtful, she asks Selina to pose as Mr. Malcolm’s perfect match and then break his heart, both by evaluating him against a list of her own and proclaiming that he has failed to pass the test. However, as Selina and Mr. Malcolm get to know one another, Selina finds herself falling for him and is torn between loyalty to her friend and her newfound love.
Mr. Malcolm’s List is a bit uneven, narratively speaking, but the plot as a whole feels like it comes straight out of a Romance novel. The list itself is a perfect set up for Romantic conflict, and I liked seeing Mr. Malcolm – a grade-A curmudgeon with a history of being hurt – reconsider his criteria the more he found himself drawn to Selina. I also loved that Selina stood up for herself and refused to bow to Malcolm’s judgments or his anger; she called him out on things which were unfair and unkind, and it’s the kind of feistiness that appears in very measured amounts so as not to feel too gimmicky. And with such an emotionally-satisfying ending, I think this film perfect for Romance readers who like shows such as Bridgerton for its diverse cast and silly, sometimes convoluted, storyline.
This book is based on a novel by Suzanne Allain, but I haven’t read it yet, so I can’t say whether or not I recommend it.
Princess Songhwa and Seo Do-yoon (The Princess and the Matchmaker)
The Princess and the Matchmaker is a 2018 Korean romantic comedy set in the 18th century. The plot follows Princess Songhwa (played by Shim Eun-kyung), whose father (the King, played by Kim Sang-kyung) is forcing her to marry. The King believes that by marrying his daughter to someone who is compatible, he will end the drought that plagues the kingdom, and to ensure he makes the right choice, he enlists the help of Seo Do-yoon (played by Lee Seung-gi), a fortune teller. Songhwa accepts her fate, but before she marries, she wishes to see the potential suitors to get a sense of who they are as men (and hopefully, fall in love with one of them). Songhwa sneaks out of the palace and uses various disguises to investigate the four “finalists” for her hand, but along the way, she keeps running into Seo Do-yoon, who keeps her out of trouble. Over time, Songhwa discovers that she has fallen for the fortune teller, but because he is a commoner, she must convince her father to let her follow her heart.
I’m not super familiar with Korean film, and I happened upon this one quite by accident (so don’t come at me with complaints). What struck me about this movie was the way the plot unfolded; to me, it felt very much like a Romance novel. Not only is the mood incredibly light and jovial, but the process of following Songhwa to investigate each suitor gives the movie a very clear structure and throws our two protagonists together in hilarious ways.
LITERATURE(THAT IS ALSO ADAPTED TO SCREEN… SO CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE)
Margaret Hale and John Thornton (North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell)
North and South is a 1854-1855 novel by Elizabeth Gaskell about Margaret Hale, the daughter of an ex-clergyman whose family moves to the industrial town of Milton in northern England. Margaret’s father takes up tutoring to support the family, and one of his pupils is John Thornton, the cold, unfeeling owner of the town’s factory. At first, Margaret and John don’t get along, but over time, they begin falling in love and must navigate the difference in their social stations in order to be together.
There are 3 adaptations of this book, but my favorite is the 2004 BBC miniseries starring Daniela Danby-Ashe (as Margaret) and Richard Armitage (as Thornton).
Jane Eyre and Edward Rochester (Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte)
Jane Eyre is an 1847 novel written by Charlotte Bronte. It tells the story of a governess named Jane who is hired to tutor the ward of the mysterious Edward Rochester, but ends up falling in love with her employer. While part of this book is a “romance,” it is also a Gothic novel in that Jane works and lives in a mysterious old house; over time, she notices more and more that things aren’t quite right, and when she asks Rochester about them, he gets more and more broody and brushes off her concerns.
I absolutely adore this book, in part because Jane is such a compelling heroine. As readers, we are privy to her innermost thoughts, which range from indignation towards injustice (as a young child) to a kind of confidence and defense of working-class, “plain” women that Romance absolutely eats up nowadays. But I am also a great lover of Gothic stories, and with all the weird things that happen in the house, it’s quite a delight to see how Jane reacts to them.
There are numerous adaptations of this novel, but my favorites are the 2006 miniseries (starring Ruth Wilson and Toby Stephens) and the 2011 film (staring Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender).
Lady Chatterly’s Lover by DH Lawrence
Lady Chatterly’s Lover is a 1932 (authorized) novel by D.H. Lawrence about a woman named Constance (Connie) Reid, who marries an upper-class baronet named Clifford Chatterly. After their marriage, Clifford is paralyzed from an injury sustained fighting in World War I, and Connie finds herself overwhelmed by his refusal to let her have a life of her own. After convincing Clifford to hire a nurse, Connie spends her free time having an affair with the gamekeeper, Oliver Mellors.
Adultery usually isn’t featured in Romance novels, but this book is fairly compelling and sympathetic in its portrayal of the relationship between Connie and Mellors. For one, Clifford is shown to be overbearing and devoid of romantic passion, and in my opinion, it’s quite clear that his attitude is not because of his disability. Rather, it seems like Clifford has a case of learned helplessness, and Connie wants a life full of love and physical affection, both of which Mellors provides. For two, the class dynamics between Connie and Mellors makes me more likely to root for their relationship to succeed, and I like the way Lawrence presents Mellors as a man capable of giving Connie happiness which isn’t rooted in things like wealth or status.
If you’re looking for a good adaptation, the 2022 Netflix film is by far my favorite.
Why I Don’t Recommend…
Outlander: I find all the sexual assault to be overwhelming. Poldark: I find Ross Poldark to be insufferable. Demelza and Elizabeth both deserved better. The White Queen/The Spanish Princess/The Tudors/Reign/etc etc etc: I’m too close to the history. I can’t suspend my disbelief enough. Plus, the costumes are something else. Victoria/The Young Victoria: I do not like Queen Victoria. At all. Not the actress(es) or the character… the historical person. I don’t much care to watch her be happy. Most things set after the 1800s: I just straight up don’t mess with the 20-21st centuries, if I can help it. Literally anything set in the Middle Ages: I’m both too close to the history and there’s almost always sexual assault. Boo. The main exception is A Knight’s Tale, but as I told you the other day, I believe that movie is a sports film, not a romance. Time travel stuff: I hate that a lot of time travel stories present people from the past as idiots. There’s no respect there.
Content warning for lots of explicit sex scene from books. Not sure that we need this CW for this blog, but better to have it present than not.
Hello Dearest Kelly, whose last name is Williams and not Martin,
It’s interesting that you had a piece of mail come to your house addressed as if you had taken your husband’s last name. I mean, interesting in a “parking lot fast food trash after the rain” kind of way.
But this is also maybe coincidental, or maybe serendipitous, depending on how you think about the world, because I have been thinking a great deal about how the idea of possession plays such a big role in so many romance novels.
Neither of us a need a primer on how the patriarchy makes women the possessions of men, nor do we need a reminder of how we are all programmed by patriarchal norms, nor is this blog where we need to list the horrors this brings. What I do think might be interesting to investigate is how this patriarchal concept of owning another person, especially but not limited to men owning women, is framed as romantic in romance novels, and how Tessa Dare in her book A Night to Surrender, grapples with this idea.
In many romance novels, we are often signaled that the hero has fallen in love by his beginning to think of the heroine as belonging to him. So, he might instantly desire her sexually, and he might even like and respect her as a person for awhile, but the point wherein he begins to think of her as belonging to him is meant to signal to the romance reader that this is him having fallen in love. Quite often, the internal monologue is the word “mine,” which is often then pushed into external dialogue, often out of jealousy or when under threat.
So, a typical example might be like this one from An Offer from a Gentleman by Julia Quinn, the book Season 2 of the Bridgerton series is based on:
And this doesn’t only apply to books before 2015. Elizabeth Hoyt might well do this in every book. In these moments, the books are claiming that unless or until the male love interest goes full patriarchal, he isn’t really in love.
You spoke on the Positively Pop Culture podcast about how older romance novels that depict rape scenes, while often mocked and definitely uncomfortable, were useful in considering the ways straight women were (and still are) trying to negotiate being attracted to men while also fearing sexual violence from them.
I wonder if there is a small parallel here. I wonder if all these instances of male heroes becoming possessive are ways in which these women authors are acknowledging the way patriarchy programs men to think about love.
Which is why I think Tessa Dare’s A Night to Surrender, is so very interesting.
For some context, this is the first book in Dare’s Spindle Cove series. Spindle Cove is a holiday village where Regency-era society women who have been in some way shunned by said society can recover and hopefully regain some confidence away from the pressures of a Season and away from men. A Night to Surrender is the first book of the series. Our heroine is the lady who established Spindle Cove’s purpose, Susannah Finch, and our hero is Lieutenant Colonel Victor “Bram” Bramwell, who arrives with his military men in Spindle Cove and immediately upsets the feminine balance and harmony of the place.
When I first read it, I thought the book as a whole was an absolute study in narrow, essentialist ideas of gender, though with enough variation that it wasn’t too much for most contemporary readers. The women are excellent shots, and Susannah isn’t ashamed or afraid of her sexual desire, so that was a departure.
And I think the essentialist stuff is still there. The overall premise is that when women are in charge there is a peaceful utopia and then men come along with their canons and brawling and love of ale and mess it all up. Then, in in the end, the male anarchy and the female tranquility compromise and learn to live in harmony, though it should be said that it is the men who carve small spaces for their maleness, rather than taking over.
And look, I call bullshit on the essentialism of this overall (have ya heard Margorie Taylor Greene?), and as a queer lady, the struggle to accommodate men doesn’t resonate super hard, but I think this idea really strikes at the struggle I hear many straight women have, which is that they are attracted to men, but they also think men mess up society, so what are these straight ladies supposed to do?
I think this book is trying to, if not answer this question, then at least post a possible way forward. This is especially clear in the way that Dare handles Bram falling in love. It begins here, with that typical “ah, he is possessive, so he is falling in love” interiority:
At this point in the book, they have had a fair bit of sex and Bram is still working out how he actually feels about her, so this is his epiphany moment: mine = love
And when he expresses this ownership externally, Susannah is happy about it, as we see here:
(Side note to the moment at the end of this page wherein we have a doctor treating a woman as a human instead of an inferior creature, which, yay for this moment.)
But later on, Susannah has a different reaction to his “medieval” (I know how much you love that) possessiveness:
I don’t know how much you know about harm reduction, but when I described what happens in this book to a friend who is a recovering addict, they said this very much sounds like a kind of patriarchy harm reduction.
The men and women living in patriarchy are going to have patriarchal thoughts and feelings and urges. The idea isn’t to ignore or deny or even defeat it, but to find ways to do the least harm possible. I find this fascinating, and it makes A Night to Surrender a much richer text than I previously granted it to be, especially to have been published in 2011, a full four years before your cut-off.
What do you think about this? How feminist is it to reduce harm rather than destroy it? Should we even be making these kinds of comparisons?
A while back, I wrote a very, very basic post about the existence of queer people in England during the Regency period (and the 19th century more broadly). The purpose was to refute claims to “historical accuracy” – the kind that insists that the only way to measure “realism” in historical fiction is through suffering. Looking back at it, I think it did its job, but I don’t want the conversation to start and end with “queer people existed.” I want to think about how they existed. In other words, for Pride 2023, I thought I’d talk about how queer subculture not only survived, but thrived.
My musings led me down a rabbit hole that is something of an offshoot of my Hellfire Club post: where did queer people tend to gather? Where did they feel safe? Despite sodomy laws on the books, my research shows that England saw a flourishing of queer culture beginning in the 18th century, and such culture cannot thrive if it lives alone, without a community to share ideas and pleasures with. Fortunately, the internet is bursting with information about queer spaces, and in my opinion, it would be a crime not to talk about the hottest gay clubs of 1825: Molly Houses.
Cartoon depicting Percy Jocelyn, Lord Bishop of Clogher, who was famously caught in the company of a young soldier in a back room at the White Lion Pub in Haymarket, London, on 19 July 1822.
In the 18th and 19th centuries, “molly” was a slur applied to effeminate, homosexual men, though it seems to have been reclaimed, in a way. The origins of the term is unclear; some sources forge a connection between “molly” and the feminine proper name Molly or Moll, which were used as archetypal names for low-class women and prostitutes in songs and ballads. But “molly” could also could be related to the Latin word mollis meaning “soft” (used as an insult in works dating back to Cicero). Regardless of its origins, we see the term being applied to both individuals and establishments; specifically, to clubs, taverns, inns, and coffee houses where mlm met in secret. The latter, called “mollies” or “molly houses,” tended to be located around London’s Covent Garden, Moorfields, Lincoln’s Inn, and the Royal Exchange – places with a high crime rate and rampant prostitution (according to Rictor Norton) – but though these spaces might sound sordid to the modern reader, and though they were frequently raided by police, they were also crucial centers of queer subculture. “To understand the history of the Molly House,” writes Mary McKee for the British Newspaper Archives, “we have to look beyond the newspapers.” By that, McKee means that to truly uncover queer history, particularly the history of where queer subculture thrived, we can’t just go on sensational stories of raids and scandals – we have to dig into the wealth of information from contemporary poets, cartoonists, journalists, and pamphleteers. Doing so uncovers quite a startling archive of queer subcultures, and a view of history more complex than “it was illegal, so…”
What Constitutes a “Molly House?”
From my description above, one might assume that Molly Houses were established places of business, perhaps a bar or club that catered specifically to gay men. In some cases, this would be an accurate assumption, but the reality was much more complex; according to Randolph Trumbach, “molly houses” were a kind of sub-genre of the coffee-house, and while an 18th century gay Starbucks sounds rad, we have to remember that ye olde people have their own terms for stuff.
Coffee-house, says Trumbach, was a very general term in the 18th century, and it could describe anything from a salon to a hotel or club – basically, any public social places where people (mostly men) could meet for “conversation and commerce.” Originally, these spaces were absent of alcohol, fostering an environment in which conversation could be more serious (discussing such news as the latest dips in the stock market or whatever passes for economics). They were also used as spaces where Enlightenment thinkers developed their ideas about politics, scandals, gossip, fashion, current events, and philosophy, all while drinking a freshly-brewed cup of Black Anxiety Juice.
As time went on, more and more coffee houses popped up that catered to different clientele, eventually becoming so widespread that houses (such as Moll King’s) began catering to “low-lifes” – prostitutes, drunkards, and pimps. They eventually became the object of criticism from women who aimed to reform public morality and male respectability, and pamphlets attacked them (and grande mocha lattes) for male impotence, the nation’s falling birth rate, and the neglect of household duties. Eventually, coffee-houses began to decline in popularity around the same time that the Gentleman’s Club was on the rise, and their death was helped along by the (government-aided) increased demand for tea in the 18th century.
Women’s Petition Against Coffee, 1674.
It is out of this tradition that Trumbach argues molly houses originated, in part because molly houses were not just gay brothels, but spaces where mlm could meet and be open with one another. Though there were certainly molly houses where sex happened in the back room, many molly houses were primarily queer spaces where men could eat, drink, dance, and converse with one other without worrying about their reputations. As such, one can find an array of molly-houses that ranged in size and clientele. Some molly-houses, Trumbach says, were extremely simple: “for instance, nothing more than somebody’s room where men met each other, in which case the owner of the room would supply containers of ale.” In other cases, they could be entire establishments, such as Mother Clap’s (which served as many as forty men on any given night and provided a back room for more illicit activities).
Basically, this means that a “molly house” could be anything from a bar to a back room (and there may or may not have been actual coffee). It also means that in theory, numerous people could have frequented molly houses without knowing, perhaps enjoying a manly, heteronormative drink in the parlor while a few men banged in the back. But mollies meeting in public areas was risky because it increased the chance that anyone could be seen partaking in illegal activities, so private spaces became more and more popular, with places like Mother Clap’s even hiring security to ensure that the space was protected.
And with privacy and protection came a whole slew of fun-sounding activities.
What Went Down in Molly Town?
As I mentioned above, molly houses weren’t necessarily synonymous with gay brothels (though many did have spaces for men to have sex). Within the confines of the molly house, queer folks got up to a whole host of activities, most of which sound like 18th century versions of RuPaul’s Drag Race. In addition to being a space where queer men could just hang out and converse, they were also spaces where they could put on performances, such as plays, re-enactments, and drag shows. Journalist Ned Ward’s The Secret History of London Clubs (1709) describes an establishment called The Mollies’ Club in which a “curious band of fellows” met and held parties. The mollies, he writes, “rather fancy themselves women, imitated all the little vanities that custom has reconcil’d [sic] to the female sex, affecting to speak, walk, tattle, curtsy, cry, scold, and mimick [sic] all manner of effeminacy.” (Thanks to Mary McKee for the British Newspaper Archives for that quote.) Historian Tim Hitchcock (via Amorous Histories) cites a 1728 trial in which a ritual is described: upon becoming a regular visitor to a molly house, men would be “christned by a female Name, and had a Quartern of Geneva [which is gin] thrown in his Face; one was call’d Orange Deb, another Nel Guin, and a third Flying Horse Moll.” These maiden names, observes the Amorous Histories podcast, “were often prefixed by a form of Madam or Miss, Molly, Mary, or Margaret, aunt or auntie, or titles like duchess or princess. The names would indicate occupation, location, and personality traits. Rictor Norton has collected many examples of these names including Madam Blackwell, Miss Kitten, Miss Fanny Knight, Pomegranate Molly, China Mary, Primrose Mary, Dip-Candle Mary, Aunt Greer, Aunt May, Aunt England, Queen Irons, the Countess of Camomile, Lady Godiva and Princess Seraphina.” Inhabiting these personas, men referred to each other as “sisters” and used the female pronoun, much like we call drag queens by a stage name using “she” but may refer to them out of drag as “he,” “she,” or “they” (depending on the performer’s identity).
On top of that, mollies created early versions of “camp” performances by essentially “recreat[ing] heteronormative life events.” These “life events” included mock-marriages and mock-childbirth scenes; at the trial of Mother Clap’s, for example, a man named Samuel Stevens gave a testimony that described a mock-marriage in which “[The mollies would] go out by Couples into another Room on the same Floor, to be marry’d, as they call’d it. The Door of that Room was kept by —— Eccleston, who used to stand pimp for ’em to prevent any Body from disturbing them in their Diversions. When they came out, they used to brag, in plain Terms, of what they had been doing.” Another account, published within The Life of Thomas Neaves, describes a mock-childbirth scene in which a molly delivered a wooden child with the assistance of an attendant: “When a Man was formally laid in Bed, with the usual Ceremonies and Formalities, the Midwife, which they call’d Mrs. Susanna, attended; the Wretch had his intermitting Pains, would make wry Faces, sometimes Squawl out, and desire some of them to hold her Back, for her Pains were grinding and severe, sometimes by Intervals smile, sometimes cry out, but at last the Mount’s in Labour, and out jumps a Mouse; the Lady is deliver’d of a jointed Baby... [T]he Child is handed about, where the Gossips views him, and pass their Verdict on him: O, it is a fine Child, it has Daddy’s Eyes, Daddy’s Nose and Chin; I warrant you, the Father is a good Workman, and the Mother a good Breeder, it does not look as if it was starv’d in the Womb. Madam, is her Cradle provided, and the Gossips Bread, Cheese, and a Cup of good nappy Ale, when they Chat, Drink, and are Merry.” (Both quotes via Amorous Histories.)
BBC’s Taboo (2017), episode 1×02.
Whether these events were enacted to mock, satirize, or earnestly participate in some form of domesticity is a matter of scholarly debate. Historian Rictor Norton, for example, argues that the mock-birth is not an attempt by effeminate men to live out the fantasy of being a woman, a position that the Amorous Histories podcast echoes while making the case that satirizing heterosexual life is “perhaps in an attempt to understand and take part in the prescribed household structure of husband, wife, and child.” You see, underneath both the mock-births and the marriages is a preoccupation with domesticity, a theme which both the British Newspaper Archive and historian Randolph Trumbach identify as evidence of queer folks creating kinship and family ties (similar to modern-day found families amongst lgbt+ folks). Trumbach, in particular, points to the desire for domesticity as an undercurrent within these 18th century “drag” and “camp performances”:
It is interesting that the camp performances in twentieth-century gay clubs and bars focus on men dressing and acting like seductive women, whereas in the eighteenth century the mollies simulated marriage and performed mock births. Mollies even played the roles of the gossips or other women who typically assisted the childbearing “woman.” To understand the difference between eighteenth- and twentieth-century drag, I think we need to understand that the eighteenth century was a period in which love and marriage based upon romantic attraction and the tender care of children was increasingly becoming the standard of family life for all members of the culture. In this period, though, it would have been almost impossible for two unmarried men to set up house together… I would presume that mollies were affected by the same desire for domesticity as everyone else, and that the camp performance of having children tells us something about how difficult it was in the eighteenth century for men to live with other men in domestic arrangements.
This is not to say that all queer folks long for a heteronormative lifestyle – not everyone wishes for domesticity, neither in the 18th century nor the 21st. I also don’t want to suggest that all queer people were (or are) interested in the “standard of family life for all members of the culture.” After all, why bother with a culture which is so hostile to your existence? But I am somewhat intrigued by Trumbach’s argument that the shift from marriage as a primarily economic arrangement to marriage as a (potential) love match had some kind of influence on queer folks, not least because we’ve talked about this cultural shift before. At the very least, I can see the cultural shift as something to poke fun at, mostly because it was a shift in which the queer community would be barred from participating (at least openly). I can also see a parallel between the drag or camp performance and the “performance” that many mollies had to put on daily – that of the heteronormative, upstanding husband and father.
Conclusion: Why the Molly House Matters (Especially for Romance)
While I could end this post with an overview of the various raids that were conducted on molly houses, I’m not going to. Frankly, I’m not interested in them. Instead, I want to make a case for why the history of molly houses matter, and why I think they could matter to a literary genre like Romance.
A lot of people often see queer history as a series of tragedies after another, an endless parade of oppression and sadness that doesn’t let up until the 20th century. But from what I understand, molly houses were centers of queer joy – spaces where queer men could not only have sex with one another, but be open and vulnerable about their desires, enjoy one another’s company, and smile or laugh at the antics of the other Queens. Despite the raids, molly houses continued to endure and let people be themselves openly and without shame, and as we know, that is vital for the survival of a community.
As for Romance, I think the molly house can serve as an interesting venue for interrogating some of the tropes associated with the genre. So much heterosexual romance ends in marriage or children, as if those two activities signal the optimistic “happily every after.” Though some queer folks may long for a world in which they, too, can experience domestic bliss, I think there is room for more romances in which “happily ever after” is something altogether different. If we strip away marriage and children, we are forced to contend with what constitutes “happiness” and emotional fulfillment, and I think the activities of the historical molly house are a good site to start that interrogation while also including more queer people in the Romance genre.
All I know is that I’m a little sick of “historically accurate” queer suffering, and I’d like to read about an 18th or 19th century drag queen falling for another for once.
Trumbach, Randolph. “London’s Sodomites: Homosexual Behavior and Western Culture in the 18th Century.” Journal of Social History 11, no. 1 (1977): 1–33. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3786325.
Trumbach, Randolph. “Sex, Gender, and Sexual Identity in Modern Culture: Male Sodomy and Female Prostitution in Enlightenment London.” Journal of the History of Sexuality 2, no. 2 (1991): 186–203. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3704033.
Weems, Mickey. “A History of Festive Homosexuality: 1700–1969 CE.” In The Fierce Tribe: Masculine Identity and Performance in the Circuit, 81–100. University Press of Colorado, 2008. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctt4cgq6k.14.
Cravats, Crinoline, and Craft 
