The Victorian attitude towards sex ought to be a good topic for an interesting book. After all, we all know the clichés and stereotypes, and they're sThe Victorian attitude towards sex ought to be a good topic for an interesting book. After all, we all know the clichés and stereotypes, and they're so outrageous that any attempt to confirm or debunk them or put them into a historical context ought to make for an interesting read. Especially if the person tackling the clichés is someone who has obviously spent years doing his research, reading more Victorian documents and examining more census figures than any modern scholar before him (allegedly).
Sadly, Michael Mason, the author of The Making of Victorian Sexuality, is not a good story-teller. Rather than aiming, journalist-style, to inform his reader in a readable and light-hearted way of the truths and untruths of the myths surrounding the Victorian era, he set out to write a scholarly treatise and succeeded rather too well. He spends a long first chapter detailing his research methods, which I'm sure is vital from a scholarly point of view but doesn't make for very exciting reading. He also frequently loses himself in technical details and theoretical debates of a kind which may be of interest to fellow scholars but won't interest many lay readers. And on top of that, he has a maddening tendency to bring up potentially good stories only to refuse to go into detail. For instance, on several occasions he describes at length dull practices which were apparently common in England and closes by stating that 'things were quite different in Scotland'. He then completely fails to explain how things were different in Scotland, which might have made for a better read than the preceding paragraphs. Likewise, he has a habit of mentioning fascinating-sounding titbits about prostitutes, kept women and their men, only to declare primly that they are not the subject of this book and drop the subject altogether -- an act of literary sadism if ever I saw one. And finally, he completely fails to acknowledge homosexuality in the book. I know homosexuality wasn't particularly well documented during the Victorian era, but surely it's worth some mention?
To be fair, there are interesting facts in the book, in between pages of stultifying tedium. I was quite startled to learn, for instance, that comparison of dates of marriage and dates of baptism of first child has shown that around 40 per cent of English brides in the first half of the nineteenth century were pregnant; in some areas the rate pushed up past the half-way point as the century advanced. So much for Victorian girls being chaste, then. These eyebrow-raising numbers are backed up by statements from contemporary foreign visitors who asserted that English girls were much freer than their American and continental European counterparts and that they were generally given ample opportunity to indulge in 'vices' (especially in the upper classes, it would seem). Interestingly enough, the tables were turned after marriage. While nineteenth-century American and continental European women generally gained much freedom upon marriage, English brides allegedly largely lost theirs, being kept on a tight leash after getting married. Apparently, that too was different in Scotland, but as usual, Mason refuses to go into detail, focusing instead on far less interesting material. He does, however, do a creditable job proving that England's harried housewives might have had better sex lives than previously assumed. Think the term 'female orgasm' is a recent coinage? Not true. Apparently, Victorian men were all too aware that women were capable of climaxing, too, and tried hard to make their wives/mistresses come -- not just because this meant they had succeeded in giving pleasure, but also because female orgasms were said to be a prerequisite for conception. The latter belief may have inhibited a few women (I'd think twice about enjoying sex, too, if I believed it might lead to my fifth pregnancy in as many years), but overall it seems that many Victorian wives enjoyed the act of love-making, and that their husbands did their best to satisfy them. So much for 'lie back and think of England', then.
Mason also convincingly debunks a few other clichés about Victorian prudery, such as the one that sex was absolutely unmentionable in Victorian households. He comes up with a good many quotes from perfectly non-seedy sources which indicate that not only was sex a popular topic of discussion, but it was considered a good activity to partake in, if only for married couples. Apparently, even at the height of Victorian prudishness sex between married partners was advocated as something healthy and pleasurable, something in which all couples should indulge frequently, and not just to produce offspring, either. There was much concern over the fate of those who never had sex, such as old spinsters. Allegedly, one of the reasons why Victorian girls were so often married off at a young age was because it was believed that suppression of their sex drives would lead to all sorts of physical maladies, neurosis, hysteria, etc. It was also believed (even by some eminent doctors) that semen had a positive effect on women's health, so to rob women of this powerful medicine would be an act of cruelty (or so many doctors said). Apparently, the healing properties of semen were a hotly debated topic in the Victorian era. Who would have thought?
Mason also has some interesting things to say about illegitimacy, birth control, the differences between the classes, male masturbation and the way it was dealt with by both legitimate doctors and quacks, but they are few and far between and hidden so expertly among page upon page of theoretical discourse and arguments which don't really seem to go anywhere that I really can't recommend the book to anyone except die-hard historians, sociologists and anthropologists, or people who are thinking of writing a novel set in the Victorian era and need some historical background. Pity -- an awful lot of research clearly went into the book, and it had the potential to be good. ...more
I've always had a thing for remote places. I love deserts, I love mountains and I love islands -- the more remote, the better. So when I visited DunveI've always had a thing for remote places. I love deserts, I love mountains and I love islands -- the more remote, the better. So when I visited Dunvegan Castle on the Scottish isle of Skye and came across a photo exhibition about the evacuation of St Kilda, I was intrigued. Sufficiently so to buy this book.
St Kilda, for those who don't know their UK topography, is a group of four small islands west of the Outer Hebrides, so far away from the Scottish mainland they're not even on most maps. Until 1930, a small community of hugely isolated islanders lived there, living off seabirds and occasionally making a tiny profit off them. Until the mid-nineteenth century, they were reasonably happy; then the world lost its interest in St Kilda produce, tourists introduced the islanders to modern conveniences and the previously strong islanders started falling prey to diseases carried by their well-intending visitors. By 1900 the community was no longer socially or economically viable, and in 1930 the last remaining islanders were evacuated, leaving the isles to the sheep, the cats and the birds.
Charles Maclean does a great job telling the story of St Kilda from its origins (still somewhat unknown) to its tragic end. He describes the way the local community was run, how it kept itself alive despite the harsh conditions (let's just say seabirds have many, many uses) and how it responded to visitors from the outside, some of whom got to exert an unhealthy influence on them. In addition, he freely quotes seventeenth-, eighteenth- and nineteenth-century authors who visited the island, comparing their accounts with later eyewitness accounts and his own impressions of the island, which is now a bird sanctuary. Mostly he focuses on the tragedy of native people who succumb to outside influences -- a universal story which never fails to make one feel sad. He describes the St Kildans with obvious admiration and affection, but avoids over-romanticising them or turning them into Noble Savages. In short, he comes up with a fine, well-written piece of social history about a place which sadly saw itself overtaken by the modern era. Now if only I could visit St Kilda and take some photos of those cliffs, birds and ruins......more
A nice companion piece to Jeremy Paxman's exhaustive The English, Kate Fox's Watching the English is an anthropologist's look at her own people, the EA nice companion piece to Jeremy Paxman's exhaustive The English, Kate Fox's Watching the English is an anthropologist's look at her own people, the English. She gathers and analyses an impressive array of themes and examples illustrating collective English behaviour patterns, ranging from local etiquette to traditional British values like reservedness and self-effacing humour. Needless to say, it all boils down to class, class, class, which is a recurring theme in the book. Certain parts are repetitive, and towards the end I got a bit fed up with the whole thing, but that doesn't alter the fact that huge chunks of the book are very amusing, recognisable and insightful. I just wish I'd read the book before I moved to England. I could have spared myself (and the English!) a whole lot of bemusement......more
