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hrjAn issue I run into time and again while working on this project is how quickly and massively the field of LGBT history has shifted in the last quarter century or so. And there has been a similar shift in general social attitudes about the nature of LGBT identity. I don't mean just on a scholarly or socio-medical level, but in the sorts of unexamined assumptions that the writers and their audiences reveal in what gets talked about and how. I fully expect that the field and cultural assumptions will continue shifting at similar rates. I can't even predict where they will be by the end of my lifetime. Have pity and understanding for those whose views were daringly cutting-edge in the '80s and have failed to keep up with the pace of change!
I've done a bit more meta-commentary in my summary of this article than I usually do, to point out places where these shifts make this article more of a "period piece" than a work of timeless scholarship.
(I explain the LHMP here and provide a cumulative index.)
* * *
Newton, Esther. “The Mythic Mannish Lesbian: Radclyffe Hall and the New Woman” in Signs 9 (1984): 557-575. (reprinted in: Freedman, Esteele B., Barbara C. Gelpi, Susan L. Johnson & Kathleen M. Weston. 1985. The Lesbian Issue: Essays from Signs. The University of Chicago Press, Chicago. ISBN 0-2256-26151-4)
The journal Signs published several early studies on lesbian-like women in European legal records. A number of articles on lesbian topics were collected in a separate publication in 1985, although only a few are relevant to the Project.
* * *
Newton addresses the question, “Does the protagonist of Radclyffe Hall’s The Well of Loneliness represent an isolated literary invention or does she reflect an actual social category of the time?” The character of Stephen Gordon is, in some ways, the prototypical “mannish lesbian”: dressing in masculine styled clothing, rejecting female-coded behaviors and preferences. One might, in the current day and age--though not necessarily when Newton wrote this article--be more inclined to interpret Stephen Gordon as a trans man than as a lesbian. Newton seems to foreshadow this possibility by suggesting that characters of this type are “an embarrassment...to a political movement that swears it is the enemy of traditional gender categories and yet validates lesbianism as the ultimate form of femaleness.”
Newton’s analysis seems a bit bogged down in ‘80s sensibilities--which is hardly to be wondered at--but also suffers from gaps in familiarity with the historic record (although, again, not to be wondered at, given that much of the relevant research came later). She hinges her argument on the relative recency (at the time of the novel) of the phenomenon of women adopting masculine styles of dress, and the shifting significance attributed to this behavior. But the claim that “Public partial cross-dresing among bourgeois women was a late nineteenth-century development” overlooks the extensive social anxieties around female appropriation of masculine garments and styles beginning as early as the 16th century.
Newton is, perhaps, on stronger ground when arguing that, in addition to economic-based cross-dressing, the practice was associated with explicit feminism (e.g., George Sand and Mary Walker). But when she claims, “From the last years of the century, cross-dressing was increasingly associated with ‘sexual inversion’ by the medical profession” it is only the last qualifier (by the medical profession) that prevents the claim from being nonsensically wrong. The suggestion that “mannish” garments were an indication of homoerotic tendencies shows up both in literature and life as early as the 18th century.
But setting aside the question of when this popular association first arose, Newton considers the question of whether Radclyffe Hall adopted Stephen Gordon’s behavior from these medical models as opposed to the character reflecting examples of women from her own experience.
Newton seems unfamiliar with the cyclic nature, in history, of framings of female homoeroticism as embodying the attraction of similarity or as reflecting the complementary-opposites model of heteronormative roles. She accepts a relatively linear development from an early 19th century similarity-based non-sexual “romantic friendship” model. This model accepted the characterization of femininity as non-erotic. Only toward the end of that century did popular understanding shift to a more sexually charged, contrast-based, butch-femme dynamic. The butch-femme model, in turn, gives way in the second half of the 20th century to a movement to free lesbianism entirely from gender-coded roles while continuing to lay claim to erotic sexuality. This last model reached its apotheosis in the ‘80s lesbian feminist.
[I may be over-exagerating the proposed linear-evolution structure that Newton assumes to be a given, but my notes in the margins of the article consist of “but...but...but...no, just no”.]
Newton explores Hall’s other well-known novel, The Unlit Lamp to show how she repeatedly uses a masculinized presentation to signify a strong, active woman who rejects traditional gender divisions and values. To reject traditional femininity, in this context, is necessarily to embrace stereotypical masculinity. Women of Hall’s generation, whether they were romantically attracted to women or not, adopted masculine-coded dress and habits (smoking, drinking, etc.) to assert their place in the larger literary and social world.
But in parallel with this social development, the medical categorization of sexual “deviance” by the late 19th century sexologists set up the “mannish lesbian” as the mirror counterpart of the “effeminate homosexual man”, where clothing preferences are seen as an inherent symptom of the deviant personality, along with various androgynous-trending physical traits. This model ignored individuals who were gender-conforming but homoerotically inclined. [In essence, it followed the medieval model of seeing same-sex couples as embodying one "deviant" and one "normal" partner, where the "normal" partner's involvement was random or situational rather than specifically motivated.]
The theories of the sexologists, when viewed from today’s lens, set up a scale of gender conformity and performance whose further end aligns much more comfortably with a transgender framing than a lesbian one. Stephen Gordon’s frustrated desire becomes, not a struggle for the right to love a woman openly, but for the right to claim the male role, position, and privilege for which Stephen has had a life-long desire.
While Newton doesn’t lay out this dilemma in quite those terms, she ends with the question of how Hall was to signify Stephen Gordon’s orientation if not by using these motifs and tropes. If, she argues, gender presentation is inherent and “natural” then the “mannish lesbian” (or, indeed, the transgender indivdual) should not exist. But conversely, if a masculine presentation is a signifier of lesbian orientation, then it is in conflict with the notion of “lesbian” as a unified category based on the gender of the object of sexual desire.
The article concludes with an argument for the expansion of an understanding of gender presentation as broad and varied and independent of sexual orientation. [In a way, Newton's plea for this expansion feels as quaintly dated as Stephen Gordon's plea for acceptance and tolerance of her desires. The reader is inclined to think, "Well, but of course. Why all this fuss?] In this context Newton notes a number of other iconic modes of lesbian presentation from Hall’s generation that contradicted the sexologists’ masculine-identified model. But Hall’s novels fail to include these other models: the women with transgressive desires are portrayed as the only “deviant” characters in Hall's work, while the women they desire (and sometimes temporarily partner) take the passively feminine role and apparently have no qualms about ending up in heterosexual relationships when released.
I've done a bit more meta-commentary in my summary of this article than I usually do, to point out places where these shifts make this article more of a "period piece" than a work of timeless scholarship.
(I explain the LHMP here and provide a cumulative index.)
* * *
Newton, Esther. “The Mythic Mannish Lesbian: Radclyffe Hall and the New Woman” in Signs 9 (1984): 557-575. (reprinted in: Freedman, Esteele B., Barbara C. Gelpi, Susan L. Johnson & Kathleen M. Weston. 1985. The Lesbian Issue: Essays from Signs. The University of Chicago Press, Chicago. ISBN 0-2256-26151-4)
The journal Signs published several early studies on lesbian-like women in European legal records. A number of articles on lesbian topics were collected in a separate publication in 1985, although only a few are relevant to the Project.
* * *
Newton addresses the question, “Does the protagonist of Radclyffe Hall’s The Well of Loneliness represent an isolated literary invention or does she reflect an actual social category of the time?” The character of Stephen Gordon is, in some ways, the prototypical “mannish lesbian”: dressing in masculine styled clothing, rejecting female-coded behaviors and preferences. One might, in the current day and age--though not necessarily when Newton wrote this article--be more inclined to interpret Stephen Gordon as a trans man than as a lesbian. Newton seems to foreshadow this possibility by suggesting that characters of this type are “an embarrassment...to a political movement that swears it is the enemy of traditional gender categories and yet validates lesbianism as the ultimate form of femaleness.”
Newton’s analysis seems a bit bogged down in ‘80s sensibilities--which is hardly to be wondered at--but also suffers from gaps in familiarity with the historic record (although, again, not to be wondered at, given that much of the relevant research came later). She hinges her argument on the relative recency (at the time of the novel) of the phenomenon of women adopting masculine styles of dress, and the shifting significance attributed to this behavior. But the claim that “Public partial cross-dresing among bourgeois women was a late nineteenth-century development” overlooks the extensive social anxieties around female appropriation of masculine garments and styles beginning as early as the 16th century.
Newton is, perhaps, on stronger ground when arguing that, in addition to economic-based cross-dressing, the practice was associated with explicit feminism (e.g., George Sand and Mary Walker). But when she claims, “From the last years of the century, cross-dressing was increasingly associated with ‘sexual inversion’ by the medical profession” it is only the last qualifier (by the medical profession) that prevents the claim from being nonsensically wrong. The suggestion that “mannish” garments were an indication of homoerotic tendencies shows up both in literature and life as early as the 18th century.
But setting aside the question of when this popular association first arose, Newton considers the question of whether Radclyffe Hall adopted Stephen Gordon’s behavior from these medical models as opposed to the character reflecting examples of women from her own experience.
Newton seems unfamiliar with the cyclic nature, in history, of framings of female homoeroticism as embodying the attraction of similarity or as reflecting the complementary-opposites model of heteronormative roles. She accepts a relatively linear development from an early 19th century similarity-based non-sexual “romantic friendship” model. This model accepted the characterization of femininity as non-erotic. Only toward the end of that century did popular understanding shift to a more sexually charged, contrast-based, butch-femme dynamic. The butch-femme model, in turn, gives way in the second half of the 20th century to a movement to free lesbianism entirely from gender-coded roles while continuing to lay claim to erotic sexuality. This last model reached its apotheosis in the ‘80s lesbian feminist.
[I may be over-exagerating the proposed linear-evolution structure that Newton assumes to be a given, but my notes in the margins of the article consist of “but...but...but...no, just no”.]
Newton explores Hall’s other well-known novel, The Unlit Lamp to show how she repeatedly uses a masculinized presentation to signify a strong, active woman who rejects traditional gender divisions and values. To reject traditional femininity, in this context, is necessarily to embrace stereotypical masculinity. Women of Hall’s generation, whether they were romantically attracted to women or not, adopted masculine-coded dress and habits (smoking, drinking, etc.) to assert their place in the larger literary and social world.
But in parallel with this social development, the medical categorization of sexual “deviance” by the late 19th century sexologists set up the “mannish lesbian” as the mirror counterpart of the “effeminate homosexual man”, where clothing preferences are seen as an inherent symptom of the deviant personality, along with various androgynous-trending physical traits. This model ignored individuals who were gender-conforming but homoerotically inclined. [In essence, it followed the medieval model of seeing same-sex couples as embodying one "deviant" and one "normal" partner, where the "normal" partner's involvement was random or situational rather than specifically motivated.]
The theories of the sexologists, when viewed from today’s lens, set up a scale of gender conformity and performance whose further end aligns much more comfortably with a transgender framing than a lesbian one. Stephen Gordon’s frustrated desire becomes, not a struggle for the right to love a woman openly, but for the right to claim the male role, position, and privilege for which Stephen has had a life-long desire.
While Newton doesn’t lay out this dilemma in quite those terms, she ends with the question of how Hall was to signify Stephen Gordon’s orientation if not by using these motifs and tropes. If, she argues, gender presentation is inherent and “natural” then the “mannish lesbian” (or, indeed, the transgender indivdual) should not exist. But conversely, if a masculine presentation is a signifier of lesbian orientation, then it is in conflict with the notion of “lesbian” as a unified category based on the gender of the object of sexual desire.
The article concludes with an argument for the expansion of an understanding of gender presentation as broad and varied and independent of sexual orientation. [In a way, Newton's plea for this expansion feels as quaintly dated as Stephen Gordon's plea for acceptance and tolerance of her desires. The reader is inclined to think, "Well, but of course. Why all this fuss?] In this context Newton notes a number of other iconic modes of lesbian presentation from Hall’s generation that contradicted the sexologists’ masculine-identified model. But Hall’s novels fail to include these other models: the women with transgressive desires are portrayed as the only “deviant” characters in Hall's work, while the women they desire (and sometimes temporarily partner) take the passively feminine role and apparently have no qualms about ending up in heterosexual relationships when released.
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no subject
Date: 2016-05-09 03:53 pm (UTC)This argument always confuses me, honestly, given that it seems to assume there are only two possible forms of gender presentation which are intrinsic to certain bodies, and it's... I can't look at the world and see that?
(Maybe it's just that I do things like read articles that include stuff like "the jock and the nerd as two competing forms of classic hypermasculinity", aside from all of the snarl I have as someone typically presumed female and the many and varied competing versions of what I'm supposed to be like because of that? But argh. It's stuff like that that makes me particularly feel like a Martian anthropologist. "The customs of your planet are strange to me....")
no subject
Date: 2016-05-09 05:53 pm (UTC)I see this as an article that must be understood in the context of the specific historic era that produced it, just as 16th century treatises on hermaphrodites have to be understood within a specific historic context. I think it's extremely difficult for anyone to stand enough outside their own era's concepts of sex, gender, and sexuality to be able to write in a way that won't seem quaintly dated at a later time.
But just as it's important to understand the constraints of the worldview that produced 16th century understandings of women's desire for each other, I sometimes feel that current discussions of gender and sexuality have lost track of the historic and social context of work produced in the '70s and '80s that can now feel narrow-minded and offensive. (Especially with regard to the intersection of sexual orientation and gender identity issues.)
I think what bothered me most about this article was the underlying assumption of linear evolution of gender/sexuality concepts, rather than an understanding of the cyclic nature of social attitudes on these topics. It's sort of like listening to someone opine on the topic of popular views of female desire who doesn't look earlier than the Victorian era and misses the medieval European belief that women had a stronger sex drive than men did.
To a large extent, I align with Newton's position that specific feature-clusters of gender presentation/performance are mediated by the available models of that particular historic era. Where I differ is in suspecting that she thinks some of those models are inherently more valid than others.
no subject
Date: 2016-05-09 07:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-09 08:50 pm (UTC)I write that and hear the echo of "a product of their times"...and it's true. But so often we see malice in outdated opinions that were not self-consciously malicious. It's only that they were standing in a different place and saw the world differently. And sometimes "they" are "us" and we can see in a blurry double-vision how an opinion can be both progressive and wrong-headed at the same time.
no subject
Date: 2016-05-09 08:53 pm (UTC)(I confess it, you can take the person out of the academia but not the academia out of the person. At least in my case.)