Class Blog

Deviant sexuality was not tolerated in the nineteenth century. Oral sex, anal sex, genital touching, and masturbation were considered sexually deviant acts. Pornographic periodicals, such as William Lazenby’s The Pearl (1879), which shared explicit narratives discussing these acts, were considered obscene and could legally be destroyed under the Obscene Publications Act of 1857. Interestingly, though these periodicals were considered socially unacceptable, some of the pieces they contained seemed to explore sex, sexuality, and gender in a more favorable way than some mainstream novels and instruction manuals of the time did.

“The Wanton Lass,” an erotic poem found in The Pearl (1879), is about a woman’s experience with masturbation. The speaker shares that the lass wanted “a jolly good fucking” then devised “a plan” that would allow her to “shag without shame” (l. 4-7). The lass’ active choice to seek out a way to experience sexual gratification displays her agency, as she is the one taking charge of her sexual life. Additionally, by suggesting that there is no “shame” associated with this choice, the speaker seems to indicate that her choice is not morally wrong.

After deciding that she wants to explore her sexual desires, the lass retrieves a carrot “with a point rather blunt, / And she ram[s] it and jam[s] it three parts up her cunt” (l. 8-9). Using the carrot, the lass fashions a dildo and uses it to pleasure herself. With this, she shows that men are not necessary to women’s sexual pleasure. Instead, they can create their own pleasure on their own terms. The carrot, therefore, becomes emblematic of sexual liberation.

In a humorous twist, the carrot breaks during the middle of one of the lass’ masturbation sessions and a piece of it gets “stuck in her quim”  (l. 15). After experiencing pain as a result of the carrot being stuck inside her vagina, the woman calls a doctor and he assists her in the carrot’s removal. The carrot ends up being flung “bang into the street” where “a sweep passing by” sees it and precedes to “[pick] it up” and “[eat] it” (l. 33-7). The sweep’s consumption of the carrot suggests that eating and sex are connected; much like a person might devour food, they might metaphorically devour their sexual partner. Therefore, sex transforms into a necessary act that is required for sustained human life and bodily nourishment.

The sweep notes the carrot’s buttery flavor (i.e. the taste of the woman’s vaginal fluids) and laments the fact that “people should throw” such carrots away (l. 39). If the carrot, being the woman’s dildo, is emblematic of sexual liberation, then the sweep’s distress at seeing it discarded suggests that it would be “a damned shame” for sexual liberation to be thrown away (l. 38-9). Therefore, “The Wanton Lass” seems to do more than simply titillate its readers. Rather, through its positive depiction of the wanton lass’ sexual curiosity and agency, demonstrates and promotes sexual liberation for women.

“Make me in marble after I am dead;”

This is the opening line to Eugene Lee-Hamilton’s poem “At Rest”.  In this poem, Lee-Hamilton writes of his wishes for a memorial statue to be made of him.  He asks that he be made “as they knew me” (line 4).

In another one of his poems, “To the So-Called Venus of Milo”, Lee-Hamilton once again refers to marble statues, specifically Venus de Milo.  She is beautiful, regardless of her physical differences.  The Venus de Milo is a Hellenistic style statue depicting a half-covered Aphrodite made in about 150 BC.  It was recovered in pieces and reconstructed, but its arms were never found (“Venus de Milo”).  Ancient Greek statues like this one were idealized and perfected, any ‘imperfections’ would be removed and replaced in favor of constructing an ideal, unattainable body.  Hellenistic statues are mainly dynamic and express movement in their posing.  In “At Rest”, Lee-Hamilton expresses his desire to become a marble figure, one of the famed classics.  However, unlike the classic statues he references, his memorial will not be ‘perfected.’

Here, he has the opportunity to imagine his statue however he wants, yet he chooses to keep his disability.  The statue is to be “recumbent,” just as he was (line 2).  He does not want or envision his perfect self with a “fixed” body.  Instead, he wants to be made into art.  He wants to be admired and respected; most importantly, he wants to be noticed.

By turning himself into a piece of artwork to be observed, Lee-Hamilton takes on a role similar to nude women in art.  Through the Victorian period, as interest in beauty grew so did the popularity of the nude.  Women’s bodies were something of fascination, an unparalleled kind of beauty to be portrayed by skilled artists.  But this admiration of the female figure did not come without constraints.  The viewers of these artworks feared the “dangerous sexual powers” of women (Lee).  To control this fear, and to control women the “women are rendered decorative, depersonalized…women are reduced to an aesthetic arrangement of sexual parts, for male fantasies” (Lee).  Stripped of their identity, the women portrayed in art are not people; they are no more than a collection of carefully arranged color and line (Lee).

To allow the nude body to be shown publicly, and to evade the onslaught of the Victorians, artists had to distance the figure from reality.  This was often accomplished by relating the artwork to myth or by abstracting elements to remove the body from reality.  This created distance allowed the spectators to look without consequence.  This can be seen in the Venus de Milo.  The statue depicts Aphrodite: a goddess, not a woman.  She is allowed to be nude because she is not real.  This makes a dissonance that allows the viewers to enjoy the sensuousness of the body while denying any lust.  Additionally, she is not fully uncovered, the lower half of her body is draped with cloth.  In the most accepted theory of its original form, her right arm is believed to be reaching for the draping (Kousser, 239).  This pose justifies her nudity while still maintaining sensuality.  Even with the prudish nature of the period, Venus de Milo was regarded in the 19th century as “the embodiment of concepts such as Tradition and Taste” (N.).

This distance is applied by Lee-Hamilton towards his marble body in “At Rest.”  However, this distance is not from nudity or sex, but from his disability.  With the use of a marble statue Lee-Hamilton’s disability is removed from anything real.  Onlookers can admire it without having to face reality.  The statue is lifeless and feels no pain:

            Save that the motionless and marble head

            Will never ache with hope forever vain;

            And down the marble limbs the waves of pain

            Will never race, but all be peace instead. (line 5-8)

There are no consequences of Lee-Hamilton’s disability on the statue, so effectively it is not disabled.  Viewers are able to gaze without having to confront the real-life hardships of disability.  It is no longer something ‘ugly’ or uncomfortable.  As with the female nude, Lee-Hamilton’s disability is now something to be admired.

And this admiration is welcomed.  Lee-Hamilton in statue form is depicted sleeping, literally “At Rest.”  This is a common pose for memorial statues, but it also invites a voyeuristic gaze.  Being “safely asleep” welcomes spectators and provides further comfort (Lee).  It allows viewers to look without confrontation; they don’t need to think about their role in the fetishization of the subject.  Lee-Hamilton wants his body to be enticing, he wants people to look.

With his desire to be made a marble statue, Lee-Hamilton indicates a desire for attention and appreciation.  He becomes a subject of voyeurism and he loses respect as a result.  Like the nude woman, Lee-Hamilton becomes “dismembered [from his] body and [his] identity” (Lee).  But he is willing to make this sacrifice.  Lee-Hamilton allows, and perhaps even participates in, his own emasculation.  In exchange, however, he regains agency.  “The victims of this voyeurism still retain a certain amount [of] power over the viewer, who is enthralled with fascination” (Lee).  The viewers are enticed by him, with his disability.  He will not be excluded for being other, his differences will be the subject of admiration.  Perhaps the reality of disability is too much for the Victorians, but Lee-Hamilton can receive their captivation.

 

 

Works Cited

Kousser, Rachel. “Creating the Past: The Vénus de Milo and the Hellenistic Reception of Classical Greece.” American Journal of Archaeology, vol. 109, no. 2, 2005, pp. 227–50. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/40024510. Accessed 21 Apr. 2025.

Lee-Hamilton, Eugene. “At Rest.” Sonnets of the Wingless Hours, 1894, pp. 21.

N., A. A. “Venus de Milo.” The Classical Tradition, edited by Anthony Grafton et al., 1st ed., Harvard University Press, 2010. Credo Reference, https://search.credoreference.com/articles/Qm9va0FydGljbGU6MTIzMzM5NQ==?aid=104013.

“Venus de Milo.” Encyclopædia Britannica Online, Encyclopædia Britannica Inc, 2020.

Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest demonstrates the overemphasis society places on women being in love through exaggerating “girlish” silliness to an extreme.

The play’s two young women, Gwendolyn and Cecily, are depicted as very emotionally fickle. Algy and Jack joke that soon after the two meet they will already be calling each other sisters (though not without calling each other a few names first). Of course, their prediction comes true. The girls become incredibly passive aggressive towards one another when they believe they are both marrying “Ernest,” but consider one another sisters minutes later when Algy and Jack admit their lies. This behavior implies that women fluctuate from emotional extremes, these emotions often revolving around the behavior and attention of men. Further, their quickly changing emotions suggest that their emotions are surface-level and shallow (despite them taking them very seriously). As Gwendolyn says, “I never change, except in my affections” (306).

Their obsession with the name Ernest further contributes to this idea that their feelings of “love” are actual love (though they take these feelings very seriously). Both like their male suitors based on something as simple as their name, even saying that they would not love their husbands if their names weren’t Ernest. Ironically, both girls seem to love the name Ernest so much because it holds connotations of earnest and honestness, which Jack and Algy are the opposite of (nevertheless, they happily marry Jack and Algy). Their belief that a person’s character is defined by their name and the changeability of their opinions highlight their lack of emotional intelligence. Cecily even creates a whole love story between her and an “Ernest” she has never met, going so far as to write letters from him to her, and feeling she has been engaged and in love with him before even meeting him. Hilariously, Jack says “Cecily is not a silly romantic girl, I am glad to say,” ridiculously normalizing this behavior, and Algy doesn’t even bat an eye when being told by Cecily that she has mentally been in a relationship with him for months (269).

Their emotionally changeable if not delusional behavior (that is treated with total normalcy), suggests that Victorian societal ideals of love, and the expectation for women to be in love, were placed so overwhelmingly on women that often times their understandings of love became entirely superficial rather than genuine. Similar patterns of falling in love with an idea of love rather than actually being in love continue to today with the overwhelming amount of love/relationship content presented on social media.

In my previous blog post, I suggested that Mona Caird, through the depiction of Mr. St. Vincent and Vanora Haydon’s contentious relationship, indicated that patriarchal social structures must be dismantled in order for men and women to be able to participate in equitable romantic and platonic partnerships. Now, I will revisit a moment from Caird’s short story, “The Yellow Drawing Room,” and put it in conversation with “The Pleasures of Love,” a poem found in William Lazenby’s erotic periodical, The Pearl (1879). Before doing so, however, I think it is important to address what deviant sexuality meant in the late nineteenth century.

Jane Ward defines normal sexuality, stating that many “influential European sexologists . . . asserted that normal sexuality was motivated by an instinct to procreate, and therefore any sex acts that did not result in procreation were unhealthy and in need of medical correction—including many kinds of heterosexual sex” (113). Anything that did not involve penetration for the sake of procreation was considered a medical perversion (Ward 113). Things like anal sex, oral sex, and genital touching were considered sexually deviant (Ward 113). Opposite-sex monogamy between married individuals who were trying to produce children became the basis for normal sexual behavior.

In Caird’s short story, St. Vincent is physically attracted to Vanora, however, he does not think that she behaves in the way that a “sweet” woman should (Caird 108). Vanora, demarcated as a New Woman, has no patience for St. Vincent’s poor treatment of her, and she tells him as much. Yet, before they have their final heated argument, St. Vincent imagines the ways that he can get Vanora to change. He repeatedly tells himself that “[Vanora] shall love [him], and she shall learn, through love, the sweet lesson of womanly submission” (Caird 108). St. Vincent believes that he can coerce Vanora into loving him and then use that love to manipulate her into believing that she should submit herself to him. St. Vincent is only concerned about his own desires; Vanora’s consent means nothing to him. Still, the relationship that St. Vincent describes for himself and Vanora is the stereotypical Victorian ideal: a man and woman enter into a marriage, where the man is the head of the household, and the woman abides by his dictates. Since they are unmarried, Vanora and St. Vincent never engage with each other physically and act according to Victorian moral standards.

Conversely, the speaker and beloved in “The Pleasures of Love” openly transgress sexually and socially. The beloved in this poem is a man, as they are referred to as “him” and “my lord” by the speaker (l. 2). Interestingly, the speaker’s gender identity remains ambiguous. Now, that said, a Victorian reader might presume that the speaker is a woman; still, there is no way to know for certain based only on the text presented in the poem. Regardless of the beloved’s gender identity, it is clear that they have agency and have consented to engage in sexual intercourse with their beloved. The speaker and beloved’s mutual pleasure is shown when the speaker says, “Around my form his pliant limbs entwined, / Love’s seat of bliss to him I then resigned!” (l. 11-12) By using the word “pliant” to describe the beloved’s arms, the speaker suggests that they have the ability to bend or manipulate them physically. The beloved, who is the man, is not totally in control of the situation. Instead, both the speaker and beloved share their power, giving and taking as needed. The speaker’s choice to “resign” to their beloved indicates that they are not being coerced; instead they want to submit themselves to their partner sexually because it will bring them “bliss.” Therefore, there is a clear difference between the relationship that this speaker has with their beloved and the relationship that Vanora and St. Vincent have with each other. St. Vincent wants to control Vanora; the speaker and beloved want to bring each other mutual pleasure.

The speaker and beloved are attentive to each other’s needs throughout the poem. Before they “[yield] to the luscious game” of love (i.e. participate in sexual intercourse) the speaker and their beloved engage in “am’rous play,” or foreplay (l. 6-7). By taking the time to engage in foreplay, the speaker and their beloved demonstrate their desire to make the pleasure last as long as possible. However, based on the Victorian definition of normal sexuality, the speaker and their beloved seem to transgress sexually, as their primary aim in this moment is not to produce children, but rather to experience sexual gratification. (Additionally, it is never made clear if the speaker and beloved are married to each other. If they are not, they would transgress in that way, too.)

Despite appearing to deviate from normal sexual behavior, the speaker and beloved are able to “taste Elysian bliss” (l. 16). I argue that the reason they are able to experience this otherworldly bliss is because both the speaker and beloved are active participants in this sexual relationship. After completing a count, I noted that the word “we” is used nine times in the poem; the word “our” is used four times. By using this language, the speaker emphasizes the importance of reciprocal attraction and desire. Thus, it seems to me, that deviant sexuality might not be so bad after all, as it promotes sexual liberation and exploration, which is quite unlike the “correct” and decidedly more problematic type of relationship that St. Vincent longs for with Vanora.

Work Cited

Ward, Jane. “Heterosexuality.” Keywords for Gender and Sexuality Studies, edited by The Keywords Feminist Editorial Collective, New York University Press, 2021, pp. 113-116.

 

Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking-Glass points out the significance people (often subconsciously) attach to names and words. When Alice meets Humpty Dumpty and he asks for her name, she questions “Must a name mean something?” (174). Humpty Dumpty answers, “Of course it must, my name means the shape I am” (174). Humpty Dumpty’s name is reflective of his appearance and character. The word “hump” and the shape of the letter “u” illustrate his oval shape, and the “ump” invokes feelings of falling down or “thumping,” matching with his fall from the wall and inability to get back up. 

Carroll often uses made up words, such as in “Jabberwocky” when he uses the terms “brillig” and “slithy.” Despite these being made-up words, they still invoke feelings in the reader, and ideas of what they could mean. The “twas” before “brillig” seems to imply that “brillig” is a time, and “slithy” sounds like a combination of “slimy” and “lithe.” The use of these made-up words explores more deconstructionist ideas of semiotics; rather than a word or name being just that– a “clothing” of speech that gives a fixed name to a concept (Saussure), a name/word is an extension of language that can change in relation to time, other words, and the changing of other words (Derrida). Carroll’s frequent use of wordplay and creation of new words demonstrate this concept by showing that words have connotations that invoke feelings/ideas and connect to other words, rather than having one solidified meaning. For example, with the knowledge of the words “slimy” and “lithe,” readers are able to create a relationship to “slithy.” 

Further, Carroll’s emphasis on names specifically highlights how names hold connotations that can impact our perception of a person. Humpty Dumpty wants Alice’s name in order to understand her business, but then concludes that her name is not one fixed identifier, saying “With a name like yours, you might be any shape, almost,” continuing to reflect this deconstructionist concept of language (175). Curiously, Lewis Carrol’s real name was Charles Dodgson. It is interesting to think about why he chose this pen name, and how he might have thought about the impression his name would leave on readers. “Carol” seems to immediately set up the idea that he is a storyteller.

Edmond Ramus’ Debut in the Studio (1885) and the Illman Brothers’ Feeding the Motherless (19^th c.) oppose each other in the way that they showcase women. In Debut, the woman stands, naked only partially concealed by pale fabric, in a dark room surrounded by three other figures wearing dark clothing. She is exposed from the waist up, and is covering her eyes with her arm, perhaps in an expression of shame. Her hair is up, perhaps to better expose her body. The other people in the room are all staring at her, and all are wearing clothes that drape over them excessively. The reclining figure, possibly another woman although gender is indeterminable, is reclined with more fabric wrapped around them. It is clear that this woman is on display not only to the other figures in the engraving but to the viewer of the engraving itself, as her torso is facing directly towards the “camera.” The man sitting on pillows to the right of the engraving seems to be some kind of artist; he sits before a canvas and easel. His entire body is facing the woman, rather than his art, even as her body is as turned away from him as it can be. The woman stands on an animal skin rug, perhaps in some kind of metaphorical irony that both her and the deceased animal can have no covering to the exposure within the engraving and the audience to the engraving are subjecting them to.

Feeding the Motherless, in visual contradiction to Debut, shows only one woman, the apparent vision of propriety. She is also pale in a dark room. However, this woman is fully clothed, almost conservatively: she wears long sleeves and her body isn’t defined indecently by the clothing she has on. Her hair is also up but in a way that is intentional and part of her fashion rather than to display her body. She stands in profile, shown only from the waist up in the engraving, in contrast to the woman in Debut whose whole body is exposed but is naked from the waist up. She doesn’t give any acknowledgement that she is being observed; instead, she focuses on the baby birds, the motherless, that she is generously and maternally caring for. In the background, there is a table with a vase of flowers on it. Just like in Debut, it is clear that this woman is the focus of the engraving, but for an entirely different reason.

The engravings show two women in contrasting situations, but ultimately are united despite the difference in the content that they display. Both are showing different iterations of an “acceptable” woman – hypersexualized or hyper-maternal. The woman in Debut and the woman in Feeding the Motherless are both being viewed by men and coded accordingly. Although Debut appears sexualized and Motherless appears the opposite by virtue of their surroundings, in actuality both women are displayed for the purpose of men’s art and viewing. They are being used for art, depersonalized and derealized as a fully human being, reduced only to stereotypes of the female body or the ideal of motherhood. They are reduced as “less than” by the male gaze, regardless of how much of their bodies are being displayed; they are used for their symbolism.

The first encounter that Alice has in Wonderland is with a table, a key, and some doors. She first tries all of the doors but to her dismay, only the smallest of the doors opens, one that she could never fit through. Turning back to the table she finds a bottle of some strange substance that was not there before with the little label, “DRINK ME”. Now whereas you or I would not trust a mysterious bottle that has appeared out of nowhere and has god knows what in it, Alice trusts it for a particularly peculiar reason.

“around the neck of the bottle was a paper label, with the words “DRINK ME,” beautifully printed on it in large letters.

It was all very well to say “Drink me,” but the wise little Alice was not going to do that in a hurry. “No, I’ll look first,” she said, “and see whether it’s marked ‘poison’ or not”; for she had read several nice little histories about children who had got burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts and other unpleasant things, all because they would not remember the simple rules their friends had taught them: such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long; and that if you cut your finger very deeply with a knife, it usually bleeds; and she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a bottle marked “poison,” it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.” (Carrol PG)

The first thing to notice here is that the hand in which the words “DRINK ME” are written in is described as beautiful and in large letters. This relates to the debunked study of “graphology” which claimed that from a person’s writing, you could surmise their character. This is untrue. What you can tell from a person’s handwriting is their level of instruction and education, which correlates with their class. Alice has already been taught the classist morality of graphology, even if she doesn’t understand it herself.

The second important thing is the way that the stories that Alice has read influence her. All of the examples shown are good lessons: “don’t touch pokers,”  “be careful with knives,” and “if something says poison on it, then don’t drink it.” The problem is how they’re framed: “They didn’t follow the rules that their friends told them, so they got hurt.” This creates a foundation for a Panopticonian self policing of actions. What happens when a slightly older Alice’s friends say that queer people go to hell? She has been primed to believe, and it doesn’t even keep her safe. She lacks the critical thinking skills that save you from drinking weird fluids.

This is not to say that you should run to touch a fire poker, but rather that we must recognize that the system of British indoctrination starts young and that it can leave people with bigoted and wrong beliefs.

Clawing at the Yellow Wallpaper,

Gev, the Scaled Scorch

 

“Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood; and how she would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago; and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days” (Carroll, 104).

The last few paragraphs of Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland interestingly do not center Alice herself, but her presumably adult sister, who dreams of Wonderland as a concept and reminisces on Alice’s adventures. This is interesting for starters because how is she to know what Alice dreamed of, emphasizing the other-worldly almost magical nature of Wonderland. But even more interesting and relevant are her musings on Alice’s future as a consequence of her time in Wonderland. The closing sentence of the novel encompasses the sister’s expectations for womanhood, commenting on the childhood innocence that remains for girls as they grow.

The expectation that Alice “keep… the simple and loving heart of her childhood” implicate a mindset of feminine innocence for the Victorian woman. While Alice partakes in adventures throughout her dream and has a sense of independence that allows her to go through Wonderland by herself, having some level of personal influence and power, Carroll makes it very clear in this last sentence that her adventures are imagination. They are only meant to be dreams, and stories, and fairy tales, that as she becomes a woman, shouldn’t aspire to follow but rather pass on to her own children.

Furthermore, the idea that Alice as an adult woman should “find pleasure in all [her children’s] simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days” influences the expectation that women stay in the realm of childhood their whole lives. They are not only relegated to taking care of children, but they should be like these children, as they were children themselves. Therefore, a Victorian woman never really becomes a woman- she is meant to remain childlike all her life.