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Call the Midwife has been a Sunday night staple since its first broadcast in 2012. Based on the memoirs of former nurse and midwife Jennifer Worth (née Lee, as per the TV series); the show begins in 1957 and follows her experiences working in London’s East End. Through the lens of community midwifery and district nursing, the programme offers a dramatised portrayal of post-war Britain and the early years of the National Health Service. Promotional poster for Call the Midwife. Progressing year by year, Call the Midwife educates audiences about history and traces wider social and cultural changes taking place across Britain during the late 1950s, through the 1960s and the early 1970s. It operates as emotionally engaging comfort television. What begins in the aftermath of war times gradually develops into a portrait of a society undergoing significant transformations in healthcare, women’s rights, family life and social attitudes. One of the most significant educational aspects of Call the Midwife is the way it introduces audiences to histories of women’s healthcare that are often absent from mainstream education. Through emotionally engaging storytelling and storylines surrounding childbirth, contraception, miscarriage, infertility, abortion, and reproductive health care, the series exposes viewers to both the medical realities and social stigmas – such as trauma, poverty, disability, and social inequality. Educational Value of Call the Midwife Call the Midwife introduces audiences to the social and medical realities of East End London after the war. Spanning from 1957 to 1971, the series charts a period of significant change within British society, particularly in relation to healthcare, women’s rights, and the development of the National Health Service. Through long-form storytelling, viewers witness the gradual transformation of maternity care, changing attitudes towards contraception and abortion, and the increasing medicalisation of childbirth across the 1960s. Screenshot from Series 3, Episode 7, where Dr Turner and Shelagh are being interviewed by the adoption agency, and the first time Dr Turner’s experiences of wartime trauma are explored throughout Call the Midwife, including references to his treatment for “war neurosis”. Alongside these wider developments, the programme also explores major historical events and social issues that are often absent from mainstream education. Storylines surrounding thalidomide, infectious disease outbreaks, disability, poverty, and the lasting psychological impact of the Second World War expose audiences to the complexities of everyday life during the period. Dr Turner’s own experiences as a veteran of the Royal Army Medical Corps during the Second World War remain largely a mystery to the viewer, with glimpses of his history revealed gradually throughout the series. His wartime service begins to emerge more explicitly during Series 3, as he and Shelagh go through the process of adopting Angela, while later storylines reveal more about the psychological impact of these experiences and his subsequent psychiatric treatment. His experiences provide insight into symptoms that would now likely be recognised as post-traumatic stress disorder, highlighting how trauma and mental health were understood in the decades following the war. Further aspects of Dr Turner’s earlier life may become clearer in the forthcoming prequel series, Sisters in Arms, which is set to feature a younger version of the character. A wounded Canadian soldier is examined before being evacuated to a field surgical unit, Italy, January 1944 / Un soldat canadien blessé est examiné avant d’être transporté vers une unité chirurgicale de campagne, Italie, janvier 1944 One of the most significant educational contributions of Call the Midwife is its portrayal of women’s health, on top of topics that have historically been underrepresented or simplified within formal education. While these issues are often discussed clinically or politically in public discourse, Call the Midwife instead presents them through personal stories and lived experiences, humanising the emotional realities surrounding women’s healthcare during this particular time period. Part of the programme’s educational value may also lie in its intergenerational appeal. As someone who began watching Call the Midwife with my grandmother during its original Sunday evening broadcasts, the series became more than simply entertainment. Episodes often prompted conversations about everyday life during the period, including healthcare, schooling, gender expectations, and social attitudes. The programme therefore creates opportunities for shared cultural reflection, allowing younger audiences to learn about the era whilst older viewers revisit or contextualise their own experiences. Even outside of new broadcasts, constant repeats on channels such as Drama reinforce the programme’s role as a familiar and recurring cultural presence across generations. Importantly, the educational value of these narratives lies not only in the historical information they communicate, but also in the emotional engagement they create. Rather than presenting women’s health as abstract medical history, the series encourages audiences to empathise with the women experiencing these challenges. Through long-form storytelling and recurring characters, viewers witness the personal, social, and emotional impact of healthcare inequalities in ways that feel immediate and deeply human. Alongside its historical focus, Call the Midwife also shapes contemporary understandings of healthcare and care work. Although set between the late 1950s and early 1970s, many of the issues explored within the programme continue to resonate with modern audiences, particularly in relation to public healthcare, pressures on medical services, and the emotional realities of caring professions. In the years following the COVID-19 pandemic, public conversations surrounding the NHS and healthcare workers have become increasingly prominent, and Call the Midwife offers audiences a way of reflecting on these themes through a historical lens. At the same time, the programme also exposes audiences to the limitations and pressures facing the early NHS. Staff shortages, inadequate housing, poverty, overcrowding, and unequal access to healthcare are recurring themes throughout the series. While these storylines are historically situated, they often feel strikingly contemporary, encouraging viewers to reflect on ongoing debates surrounding healthcare provision and social inequality within Britain today. Through this, Call the Midwife demonstrates how historical drama can shape not only understandings of the past, but also conversations about the present. One of the programme’s strengths is the way it humanises healthcare workers rather than presenting medicine as purely institutional. Midwives, nurses, and doctors are portrayed not simply as medical professionals, but as members of a wider community who build long-term relationships with the people they support. The series repeatedly emphasises emotional labour, compassion, exhaustion, and the personal sacrifices involved in care work, highlighting healthcare as something deeply human rather than solely clinical or procedural. However, part of the programme’s educational power may lie precisely in the fact that audiences do not approach it as education. Comfort TV Educational Aspects Through these narratives, Call the Midwife encourages audiences to reflect not only on historical attitudes towards disability and illness, but also on the wider social structures that shape inclusion and exclusion. By embedding these issues within emotionally familiar and trusted storytelling, the programme demonstrates how comfort television can create meaningful engagement with subjects that are often overlooked or misunderstood within wider media culture. This sense of comfort may also make the programme particularly effective as a form of informal learning. Because audiences are emotionally invested in the characters and narratives, difficult social issues become more accessible and engaging. Storylines surrounding domestic abuse, poverty, racism, disability, miscarriage, abortion, addiction, and mental health are introduced not through detached historical explanation, but through personal stories and long-term character development. As a result, viewers are encouraged to emotionally connect with experiences and perspectives that may otherwise feel distant from their own lives. In this sense, Call the Midwife can be understood as operating through a form of hidden curriculum. While the series is not designed as an educational programme in the traditional sense, it still communicates values, attitudes, and social understandings through its storytelling. Audiences are not only learning about historical events or medical developments, but are also exposed to ideas surrounding empathy, community responsibility, healthcare inequality, and attitudes towards marginalised groups. These lessons emerge gradually through repeated viewing and emotional engagement rather than direct instruction. The programme’s status as comfort television may therefore strengthen, rather than weaken, its educational value. The familiarity of the series creates a space in which audiences are more willing to engage with complex or emotionally difficult subjects. Viewers may initially return to the programme for reassurance or nostalgia, yet in doing so they are also repeatedly engaging with wider discussions surrounding healthcare, gender, class, trauma, and social change. This demonstrates how television drama can simultaneously entertain and educate, challenging assumptions that comfort viewing is culturally or intellectually passive. As someone living with chronic pain, Call the Midwife has become one of the programmes I return to repeatedly, particularly during periods where my body is “not cooperating.” Like many forms of comfort television, its familiarity provides reassurance during difficult moments. Yet what makes the series particularly interesting is that this comfort exists alongside emotionally complex and socially significant storytelling. Even during rewatches, the programme continues to prompt reflection on healthcare, inequality, trauma, disability, and social attitudes, demonstrating how comfort viewing can still encourage active engagement with difficult subjects. The series is widely associated with comfort television: programmes that viewers return to for familiarity, emotional reassurance, and a sense of routine. Its Sunday evening scheduling, recurring characters, warm visual style, and strong emphasis on community and compassion all contribute to its identity as a comforting and emotionally safe form of viewing. Part of the emotional impact of Call the Midwife also lies in its representation of disability, chronic illness, and accessibility. Across its fifteen series, the programme has repeatedly explored how disabled individuals were often marginalised within post-war British society, particularly in relation to healthcare, education, and social attitudes. Rather than presenting disability solely through tragedy or pity, the series frequently centres disabled characters within wider community narratives, encouraging audiences to engage with their experiences as part of everyday life. Limb differences associated with thalidomide exposure during pregnancy. Historical medical photograph. Source: Wikimedia Commons https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:NCP14053.jpg One of the programme’s most significant long-form disability storylines involves Susan Mullucks, who is born with limb differences linked to her mother Rhoda’s use of thalidomide during pregnancy. Through the experiences of Susan and her family, the series explores the devastating impact of the thalidomide scandal on children and parents during the early 1960s. The storyline also expands beyond Susan’s individual experience, depicting Rhoda encountering other families and children affected by thalidomide and showing the emergence of a wider community of families navigating disability, medical care and social attitudes. Because audiences follow the storyline across multiple episodes and series, the narrative transforms what could have been a distant historical event into a deeply personal and emotional exploration of disability, healthcare, and parental fear. Through this, viewers are not simply informed about thalidomide as a historical scandal but encouraged to understand its long-term emotional and social consequences for families living through it. Reggie Jackson (Daniel Laurie) in Call the Midwife. Image: PBS / BBC / Neal Street Productions. https://www.pbs.org/call-the-midwife/cast-characters/reggie-jackson The programme has also continued to explore disability representation in later series. The character of Reggie Jackson, who has Down syndrome and is portrayed by actor Daniel Laurie, who also has Down syndrome, provides an important example of authentic representation within mainstream television. Across the series, Reggie is developed as a rounded character with his own interests, relationships and routines, including his love of gardening. He is not treated as a background symbol of inspiration or pity, nor defined solely by his disability, but as a fully developed member of the community with friendships, emotions, humour, and independence. More recently, the character of Andrew Trottwood, portrayed by Teddy Berriman, explored the educational barriers faced by disabled children during the period after contracting measles and becoming a wheelchair user. Storylines surrounding the removal of his transport provision highlighted how inaccessible systems could prevent disabled children from participating in education, an issue that continues to resonate within contemporary discussions surrounding accessibility and educational support. Call the Midwife demonstrates how television drama can function as both entertainment and informal education. Through its long-form storytelling, historical setting, and emotionally engaging narratives, the programme introduces audiences to histories of healthcare, women’s rights, disability, poverty, and social inequality that are often overlooked within mainstream education. Rather than presenting these issues through detached historical facts, the series humanises them through personal experiences and recurring characters, encouraging viewers to develop emotional understanding alongside historical knowledge. At the same time, the programme’s identity as comfort television strengthens its educational impact. The familiarity, warmth, and emotional reassurance associated with Call the Midwife create a space in which audiences may be more willing to engage with complex or difficult social issues. In this sense, the series operates through a form of hidden curriculum, subtly shaping attitudes surrounding empathy, healthcare, community, disability, and social responsibility through repeated viewing and emotional connection. As a viewer with chronic pain, Call the Midwife is particularly significant because it demonstrates that comfort viewing is not necessarily passive or escapist. Even as a programme returned to for reassurance and familiarity, it continues to encourage reflection on healthcare inequalities, accessibility, trauma, and social change. Ultimately, Call the Midwife highlights the wider cultural power of television drama: not only to entertain audiences, but also to shape understanding, encourage empathy, and preserve important social histories through emotionally resonant storytelling.

In 1869, Sophia Jex Blake arrived in historic Edinburgh on a heartfelt mission. She wanted to study medicine at Edinburgh University and achieve a degree, allowing her to work as a medical doctor. At this time, there was not one British University willing to train women as doctors. There were eight big British universities: four in Scotland and four in England and although women were beginning to be allowed onto arts courses, Medical Faculties were closed to them. In the United States and European university cities such as Paris, Zurich and Bologna, women were being welcomed into medical faculties in good numbers. Britain was lagging behind shamefully. Sophia, a bold and determined character, from a wealthy London family, was always an excellent networker and general charmer. She seemed to understand public relations and strategy in a thoroughly modern way. In Edinburgh, she worked the salons of Edinburgh Society and drew courage from a number of progressive men willing to back her in her campaign. (There were many women backing her too, but they were not in positions of power to enable her to progress). While some high-profile medical men were liberal and progressive, of the enlightened sort, plenty were misogynistic, patriarchal and Calvinistic in their ways, much preferring women in the home, or as it was known, the domestic sphere. The early days of the female suffrage saw rallies and campaigns brewing, but women involved were accused of being ‘unnatural’ ‘prostitutes’ and ‘men in skirts’. At first Edinburgh said yes to Sophia. Hurrah! But this quickly turned to a no: Boo! A vote in another governing body of the university had gone against Sophia, much to her disappointment. It was thought that the efforts for accommodating one woman would be unfeasible. For example, for reasons of decency, it was apparently essential to teach women separately and alter the course for their delicate ways. To this, Sophia said: ‘I will find more women to make this worthwhile!” And she did. By advertising in the Scotsman newspaper for more women to join her on the course at Edinburgh. The editor of the Scotsman, Alexander Russel became a great champion of the Edinburgh Seven. So much so that he married one of them – Helen Evans! Six women replied to Sophia’s advert, and Edinburgh agreed to have them on special terms from the autumn of 1869. Sir James Young Simpson, Charles Darwin, Robert Louis Stevenson and Queen Victoria’s daughters supported the women. But there were seriously aggrieved opposers too – Sir Robert Christison and Sir Joseph Lister. Christison was a respected toxicologist, pathologist and physician to the Queen. He had given compelling evidence at the trial of graverobbers, Burke and Hare. His views on women in medicine were extreme. He didn’t mind female nurses and midwives. But he thought women’s brains were too small to be medics. (It’s since been discovered that Einstein had a small brain, and it is the pathways of the brain that matter more than overall size). Christison also thought women were too fragile to cope with the gory and upsetting side of medicine. Which is ironic because women had been delivering babies and tending to battlefield wounds since time began. Two of the most potentially gruesome aspects to medical care – obstetrics and war injuries – were already proven areas of expertise for women. So, what was the real problem? Why were the misogynists so vehemently opposed? To understand this, and how the campaign against the women grew violent, unyielding and embittered, we have to follow the stages of dissent. It was never going to be easy, trialing women on the esteemed medical course for the first time, but the extent of the battle to oust them could never have been anticipated. The first few months on the course went quite smoothly for Sophia and her female colleagues. The women worked diligently, and some sympathetic professors taught them independently of the main course, while they also helped each other to learn at their shared Georgian townhouse in Buccleuch Place, Edinburgh. The first big exams loomed in April 1870, and something controversial happened at this point. Edith Pechey, one of the Edinburgh Seven, achieved the top mark in the Chemistry exam. (Isobel came top in Anatomy and the women were generally in the top 4 out of around 200 students). The person who gained the top mark in Chemistry was routinely awarded the Hope Scholarship, laid down by Professor Hope forty years before. But Professor Crum Brown, advised by Professor Robert Christison decided that the award should go to the second top student – a man. So, Edith was denied the prize. At this moment, Sophia and the others began to understand what a momentous task lay ahead. Would they ever be allowed to graduate and become doctors? After the Hope Scandal, things went downhill. The women were jeered and laughed at, blocked out of lectures and exams, and death threats were sent to their home. At times, the Edinburgh Seven required a bodyguard to get around the city and some kindly Irish students protected them. This dissent reached a peak in November 1870, when the women arrived at the daunting Surgeon’s Hall building in the Old Town of Edinburgh, to take an Anatomy exam. In the dusk of a late Autumn afternoon, they saw that a large gathering had formed, with the purpose of blocking them from entering the exam hall. The subtext was that if they did not gather certificates from exams successfully taken, then they could be denied the right to graduate. This was now the aim of the opposers – to keep them women as hobbyists instead of rival professionals. The riot was an ugly scene – drunken singing, pelting of the women, name calling and violence. All carried out by middle class, educated students, possibly backed by senior professors and aided by ‘street rowdies’. One journalist of the time noted that: ‘In an age when chivalry towards women is the social norm, these men should be ashamed of themselves.’ Were the women daunted? Did they flee the violent scene? No. They linked arms and stood firm. After an hour of noisy demonstrating, a janitor eventually let them into the exam hall, where they calmly took the paper and passed. You might think the University opposers would feel shame at this point and accept them women were here to stay? The opposite happened. The men who wanted to the women to leave doubled their efforts and dug in. They were looking for a way to oust the women for good and in January of 1871, Professor Christison thought he’d found a way. It was at a meeting of the board of the Infirmary that Sophia spoke up during a debate. She said that the way the Seven had been treated was appalling, especially in the riot. She went on the say that the riot had been started by Professor Christison’s assistant, Edward Cunningham Craig, and that he was drunk and used foul language. This was taken as defamation of character and Sophia was served a writ and taken to court in June 1871. Public opinion after the riot and with regard to the court case was very much with Sophia and the other women. However, the all-male jury in the court of session decided Sophia had defamed the character of Cunningham Craig and she was the loser. That said, he was only awarded a penny, which was a way of saying what they really thought about his behaviour. From then on, Sophia Jex Blake was an international star – a celebrity activist - and she very cleverly turned her thoughts to a London Campaign to change the law through an Act of Parliament at Westminster. Edinburgh became more and more awkward and were determined that women would not get the degree level on the course, so the women began to leave Edinburgh to qualify in Bern and Dublin. Sophia formed a training hospital for women in London along with Elizabeth Garrett Anderson. In 1876, the law changed so that women doctors should be given equal rights as men, and in 1878, Sophia Jex Blake returned to Edinburgh as Scotland’s first woman doctor. She worked in Edinburgh until her retirement. The other members of the Edinburgh Seven also spent their life devoted to girls’ education, medical training for women and medical care for women. Sophia Jex Blake, we salute you. You can buy Janey's book The Edinburgh Seven: the first women to study medicine here

Easily one of the most overlooked artists of the 20th century, Sister Rosetta Tharpe paved the way for rock-n-roll artists long before rock-n-roll was a concept. Not only was she one of the first women to play the electric guitar, but she was one of the earliest rock stars who paved the way for the whole genre. She was using voice growl distortions and doing dramatic guitar performances when Elvis was just a toddler, yet for a long time she was overlooked in the conversations of rock-n-roll pioneers. Sister Rosetta Tharpe has openly been referenced as inspiration by so many icons, from Little Richard who openly raved about her performance changing his life to Beyoncé name dropping her in her song ‘Break my Soul - The Queen’s Mix’. So why is one of the founders of the genre, who inspired globally renowned artists not equally famous in the public’s memory? Let’s look at sister Rosetta Tharpe, the queer black trailblazer who pioneered the rock-n-roll revolution decades before any men came into the scene. (To best understand and connect with her sound, here’s a Spotify playlist: beginners guide to Sister Rosetta Tharpe!) "Photo of Sister Rosetta Tharpe taken by Terry Cryer for the Smithsonian's National Museum of African American History and Culture Born March 20th, 1915, Rosetta Tharpe (born Rosetta Nubin) was born in Cotton Plant, Arkansas. While both her parents were cotton pickers, her mother was both a preacher and a singer in the Church of God in Christ. At the time, black women preachers were practically unheard of, so we can thank this level of exposure to music and gospel to heavily influencing Tharpe so deeply. From a young age, she was extremely gifted at music, singing and playing guitar by age four. By six years old, she was already playing under the stage name Little Rosetta Nubin. She joined her mother in a traveling evangelical group across the American South, becoming well known among the southern gospel community where they travelled. After traveling, they settled in Chicago. This is where she developed her style of music, fusing blues, jazz and gospel music to create her distinct sound. Not only was she one of the few black woman guitarists, but her use of distortion on the guitar was ground-breaking and surprised audiences wherever she played. At 19, she married Thomas Tharpe, a preacher from the church she grew up in. While the marriage didn’t last, she adopted her husband’s surname as her stage name and ultimately created her name as we know it now, ‘Sister Rosetta Tharpe’. Her strong and distinctive voice and guitar playing paired with her electric guitar made for extremely unconventional gospel music, which both attracted certain crowds and isolated others. By 1938, she performed at the historic Cotton Club Revue, which had seen the likes of Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong. For most of the white audience members, her performance was the first time seeing a black woman perform, let alone perform her genre bending guitar routines. She released her first single ’Rock Me’ at 23, which fused gospel with rock’n’roll rhythms and tempos. Her first single made her a commercial success and she became one of the first commercially successful gospel singers. Not only was being a female guitarist in a male dominated industry, being a black woman in a predominately white industry was extremely difficult, and she had to fight nonstop to reach the level of fame that she achieved. Tharpe performed a couple of times with the Jordanaires in the early 1940s, where she had to deal with institutional segregation and racism while traveling from city to city. On tour, hotels would refuse her entrance, so Tharpe would have to sleep on buses. Restaurants didn’t allow her to eat inside so she would go to the back end of the restaurant to eat outside while performing to mixed audiences. Sister Rosetta Tharpe and Marie Knight singing 'Up Above My Head' together Institutionalized racism wasn’t the only hardship she endured. Her approach to gospel music was very unconventional at the time, combining religious and secular music styles to make her own sound. Her music was a fusion of gospel and rock n roll, and this translated into her guitar style, but also her lyrics. Her first single “Rock Me” openly praised her love and sexuality, which left gospel audiences to feel scandalized by her music. In the chorus, she sings, “You hold me in the bosom/Till the storms of life is over/Rock me in the cradle of our love/Only feed me till I want no more”. The chorus can be both interpreted as a reference to a lover or to her religion. Even though it seems tame by our standards, the double entendre in the lyrics was quite scandalous for the gospel community, and new for the secular community, making the marriage between the two in her lyrics radical. Her most famous song “Strange Things Happening Everyday”, had references to historic moments of the 1940s, from the end of WW2 to Jackie Robinson becoming the first black MLB player. In this song, she seamlessly translated the experience of living in the 1940s into her music, which made her especially popular among black WW2 soldiers. This song became the first gospel song to reach the mainstream charts. Sister Rosetta Tharpe continued being true to herself through her music and personal expression, never changing her sounds or her persona to accommodate mainstream music at the time, or the expectations of her as a black gospel singer, which can and should be seen as revolutionary. Sister Rosetta Tharpe was openly bisexual within the music industry in the 1940s, when bisexuality was seen as a cardinal sin, especially within the gospel community. While her music always had a gospel core, many of her songs were an open praise to her sexuality. In 1946, Sister Rosetta Tharpe saw Marie Knight perform at a concert in New York, and two weeks later began performing together on tour. The duo would perform together until 1950 as the two became creative and romantic partners. Several biographical accounts described how they didn't hide their sexuality from people except their audience, and that their relationship was an open secret within the music industry. Unfortunately, their rumoured relationship was a big topic discussed among gospel circles with no confirmation due to attitudes towards the LGBTQ+ community at the time, but now we can look back and praise her for her unabashed queerness in and outside her music. Not many people highlight her bisexual identity as a part of her legacy, but it's central to her personal musical evolution and the larger evolution of the rock genre. With the decline of gospel music and the rise of predominantly white male rock genre, her popularity began to wane. Sister Rosetta Tharpe still performed to loyal niche audiences, specifically with British audiences, where she had a mini resurgence in her career after touring with black Blues icons around England until she tragically passed away at 53 years old in 1973 from a stroke and was buried in Philadelphia. Sister Rosetta Tharpe’s legacy is such an important one in the context of music history, but only in recent years has she been receiving her deserved accolades for effectively being the first gospel and rock star. Her guitar techniques alone inspired Chuck Berry and Elvis Presley’s guitar styles. Johnny Cash even cited her as one of his earliest heroes at his rock-n-roll induction speech. She inspired a whole host of legendary musical icons outside of rock-n-roll, with Aretha Franklin and Tina Turner citing her as a key vocal and performance influence. You’d expect someone as monumental to have a biopic, or books written about them. Even though she was one of the biggest gospel stars and had gospel and rock legends several rock legends praise her, her grave was unmarked for over thirty years. The most recognition she had received until the early 2000s was a 32 cent commemorative US postal service stamp (which is not the flex they thought it was) in 1998. In 2007, she was inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame, which started a gentle revival of her name and legacy. Over the years, news publications would from time to time do a short special on her, but it wasn’t until 2018 that she would be recognized for her early influence in rock-n-roll. Sister Rosetta Tharpe was finally inducted in the rock-n-roll Hall of Fame in May 2018, which was celebrated with several tribute performances performed by talented black artists, like Felicia Collins and Questlove. Sister Rosetta Tharpe even had a short appearance in the recent Elvis biopic, which may not be entirely the accolades she deserves, but is a start to the flowers and accolades that this queer black icon deserves. Further Reading: Diaz-Hurtado, Jessica. ‘Forebears: Sister Rosetta Tharpe, The Godmother of Rock “N” Roll’. NPR, 24 August 2017, sec. Music. https://www.npr.org/2017/08/24/544226085/forebears-sister-rosetta-tharpe-the-god mother-of-rock-n-roll. Accessed 07/07/2023 Hermes, Will. ‘Why Sister Rosetta Tharpe Belongs in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame’. Rolling Stone (blog), 13 December 2017. https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-features/why-sister-rosetta-tharpe-belong s-in-the-rock-and-roll-hall-of-fame-123738/. Accessed 07/07/2023 https://www.facebook.com/erin.elyse9. ‘Queer, Black & Blue: Sister Rosetta Tharpe Is Muva of Them All’. AFROPUNK, 7 March 2019. https://afropunk.com/2019/03/rosetta-tharpe/. Accessed 07/07/2023 ✂️ Johnny Cash Cites Sister Rosetta Tharpe as His Earliest Hero. Accessed 23 July 2023. https://www.youtube.com/clip/Ugkxz6lLQRNCRioARVhyDTuplb3k9-0C6QZP. Sister Rosetta Tharpe. Rock Me. Lonesome Road, 1938. Wald, Gayle. Shout, Sister, Shout! The Untold Story of Rock-and-Roll Trailblazer Sister Rosetta Tharpe. Boston: Beacon Press, 2007. Accessed 07/07/2023

When historians mention European Renaissance literature, there are several names that get tossed into conversation without a second thought: Shakespeare, Petrarch, Castiglione, More, Celtic, Donne, Erasmus. This ‘elite’ club of, you guessed it, Dead White Men, easily pass historians' tests of true and legendary work. Making their way into the literary canon without question, this restrictive club has posed such a large problem that even gender historians have questioned whether women had a hand in early modern European culture. No historian’s argument is quite as famous as Joan Kelly’s 1977 essay, “Did Women have a Renaissance?” Kelly, one of the pioneering forces in gender history, argues that European women did not have a cultural Renaissance. Kelly posits the structures of Renaissance society initiated a more organised and centralised patriarchal government and culture that kept women more constrained to the home than ever before, consequently making it impossible for women to develop a public voice. But the Renaissance was a long period, stretching from the fourteenth-seventeenth century, some 400 years of incredible cultural production. It would be rewriting history (something men have always done quite well) to deny that across this stretch of time no women wrote or published. And indeed, the list of women writing during this period could form a canon of its own. To say nothing of the women who funded and supported the production of the books’ historians pour over in archives today, or the women whose homes, courts, and letters supported the work of the great corpus of Dead White Men, an oversight that ignores the material support individuals provided that allowed book production to occur. This article looks to recover the work of literary women during the Renaissance, putting to rest Kelly’s thesis and showing the force of women in Renaissance literary culture. A 20th century imitation of Albrecht Durer depicting Caritas Pirckheimer Women who Wrote Despite the overwhelming focus on the Dead White Men’s Club in Renaissance scholarship, a substantial number of women wrote during the Renaissance period. The list is long enough to form its own elite club: Theresa D’Avilla, Caritas Pirckheimer, Christine de Pizan, Maria de Zayas e Sotomayor, Margaret Cavendish, Marguerite de Navarre, Dona Valentina de Pinelo, and Louise Labé, just to name a few. It is important to note that this group of women were elite in their own right. Literacy was still restricted to those who could afford to pay the immense costs of education, meaning most men and women who worked as labourers, journeymen, and peasants could not read or write. Restrictions on literacy were even more intense for women, and the authors of the period were nearly all of wealthy or noble backgrounds. It is this privilege, alongside their literary capabilities, that allowed their names to grace title pages. Kelly’s work does acknowledge some of these women, but she immediately discounts their work as simply parroting the styles and ideas of male authors. Kelly argues that women could only be considered as having their own Renaissance if they used literature to assert a cohesive feminine viewpoint and voice that differentiated from male writers. Throughout the 1970s when Kelly wrote, the existence of some universal feminine viewpoint was already being problematised within feminist movements. Arguments like Kelly’s, proposing that women shared universal concerns, often saw the experiences of women with the most power in a society, namely white, cis, straight, middle-class women, dominate discussions of the problems facing all women. Thus, the specific issues faced by women of colour, queer women, poor women, disabled women, etc. were disregarded as legitimate feminist concerns. If a universal feminine viewpoint does not exist today, how can we expect one to have existed during the Renaissance? Like women writing today, the women of the Renaissance wrote for numerous different reasons and from varied social positions. Thus, the topic and concerns they addressed in their writings equally varied. We cannot expect the writings of someone like Marguerite de Navarre, a princess and sister to the King of France, to echo the concerns of the daughter of a German lawyer, nun and poet Caritas Pirckheimer. So, it makes sense that reading across the writings of Renaissance women, a range of feminine voices emerge, each with differing concerns and focuses. Comparing the literary careers of Christine de Pizan and Margaret Cavendish gives us insight into the variety of women's writing that existed across the Renaissance period. Christine de Pizan was born in Venice in 1364, but as a child her family relocated to France when her father took a position as the French king Charles V’s physician. As a young teenager, Christine’s Father married her to a French nobleman, and she soon started a family of her own. But her husband died shortly after, leaving Christine in tough financial straits. Most women in her position would have remarried to secure financial stability, but Christine had another idea. Christine’s position in society granted her the good fortune of receiving a rigorous Italian humanist education as well as access to well-connected patrons within the French royal court. She soon set herself up as a court writer, securing the patronage of powerful men such as the Duke of Burgundy. This patronage was central to her success. An author’s career in this period was reliant on their ability to continually secure patronage from powerful men and women who could fund their work. In fact, Christine was one of the first women in the Renaissance to make a living off her writing, which was something even male authors struggled to successfully accomplish. ‘Thus, not all men (and especially the wisest) share the opinion that it is bad for women to be educated. But it is very true that many foolish men have claimed this because it displeased them that women knew more than they did. Your father, who was a great scientist and philosopher, did not believe that women were worth less by knowing science; rather, as you know, he took great pleasure from seeing your inclination to learning’…And Christine, replied to all of this, ‘Indeed, my lady, what you say is as true as the Lord's Prayer.’” (Book of the City of Ladies) This is perhaps even more impressive when considering the time in which Christine was writing. Christine was living through a period of political upheaval in France, writing towards the end of the Hundred Year War with England. This required her to play a careful political game to ensure continuing support for her literary endeavours while French court politics were in near constant upheaval. Nevertheless, she wrote prolifically and in a variety of genres – from the love poetry popular at the time to moral and historic works, even gaining a commission to write the official history of the reign of Charles V after his death. However, Christine’s most famous work amongst historians is her Book of the City of Ladies where she detailed women from history and religion who refuted the stereotypes of unvirtuous women. This work's specific focus on and defense of women has fascinated historians and stands to challenge Kelly’s thesis that female authors were not voicing feminine concerns, even if these concerns were not universal or do not mirror our feminist concerns today. Depiction of Christine de Pizan from a 1413 illuminated manuscript containing multiple works Margaret Cavendish, on the other hand, had quite a different literary career. Born around 1623 in Colchester, England to a wealthy gentleman, Margaret spent her early life splitting time between the countryside and London. Eventually, her family secured her a place as a maid of honour in the court of the Queen of England, Henrietta Maria. Shortly after her appointment, she followed the Queen into exile in Paris at the start of the English Civil War. It was there that she would meet the widowed William Cavendish, Marquess of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, another royal supporter. The two would marry in 1645, having to fight for their love as the Queen and key courtiers opposed the match. They settled in Antwerp until the end of the Civil War and the restoration of Charles II to the throne in 1660, at which point the pair moved back to England. There, they settled in London for a short time before retiring to the countryside. Margaret wrote extensively throughout her married life, publishing poems, plays, biographies, including her own autobiography, and academic treatises. She wrote the first known utopian novel written by a woman, published her own atomic scientific theories, and produced astute political analysis of the English Civil War in her biographical work. Her utopian novel, The Description of a New World, Called the Blazing-World is particularly interesting as it sees a female heroine travel to and become the ruler of a Utopian world. Her heroine was intelligent, learned, and respected to the point of reverence by the ‘men’ of this new world - a utopian vision for the time indeed! No sooner was the Lady brought before the Emperor, but he conceived her to be some goddess, and offered to worship her; which she refused, telling him, (for by that time she had pretty well learned their language) that although she came out of another world, yet was she but a mortal; at which the Emperor rejoicing, made her his wife, and gave her an absolute power to rule and govern all that world as she pleased. But her subjects, who could hardly be persuaded to believe her mortal, tendered her all the veneration and worship due to a deity. (The Description of a New World, Called the Blazing-World) Her husband was equally literary, writing plays and biographies of his own. Many of these works are now believed to have been co-authored by Margaret. By all accounts, the two had quite a pleasant marriage bonded by their intellectual and literary pursuits with Cavendish granting Margaret the freedom to live quite an eccentric lifestyle. She was known for cross-dressing, wearing men’s vests and pants rather than elaborate gowns, though she had a penchant for beautiful dresses as well. She managed her own jointure, the land and money granted to her by her family on her marriage, and was nearly always financially secure throughout her life. The incredible privilege into which Margaret was born gave her a freedom to read and write at her leisure that was not available to the majority of European women in this period. Her status, wealth, and position gave her a unique freedom in her literary pursuits, and the range of work she left behind, often in contradiction to major theories of the time, reflects this. Both Christine and Margaret’s works were shaped by the circumstances of their life and times. They were influenced by the outcomes of their marriages, their positions within political and social structures, the wars that dominated their lives, their religious leanings, and their financial situations. Both authors were subject to the popular tropes and topics that dominated the intellectual worlds they existed within, as were most authors who were searching for success. Margaret had more freedom in her work than Christine, being less reliant on patronage and having more protection under her well-connected and doting husband. The voices that emerge in their works are differentiated by some 300 years between their publications, their different places in the world, and the different concerns that dominated their lives. Regardless, both women clearly left their mark on the literary, intellectual, and political worlds in which they existed, and to write them out of the Renaissance for not speaking in one voice is an oversight that cannot be repeated any longer. 1665 Portrait of Margaret Cavendish by Peter Lely Women who Read Authors were not the only women who influenced Renaissance literature. While Kelly’s work on Renaissance literary culture focuses almost solely on the thought produced in writing, the only reason historians today can access that thought is because it was recorded in material books. Book production during the Renaissance period was much more exclusive than today. Authors were not paid for their writing; instead, they made money and sustained their literary careers either by self-funding their work or by securing patrons, as Christine de Pizan did. Patronage was so important as books were still quite expensive to produce during the Renaissance, and most could not afford to pay for production themselves. Further powerful and well-connected patrons could be vital in ensuring the success and popularity of a work by publicly supporting the book. These patrons were essential in ensuring books were produced throughout this period, and they often had a say in shaping the topics and language of the writing. Even when patrons did not directly dictate the substance of literary work, authors often tailored their products to their patron’s taste to ensure their continued support. A point that Kelly fails to acknowledge in her work on the Renaissance is that wealthy women patronised literary work just as wealthy men did. Work by historians like Helen Smith and Laura Lunger Knoppers have countered Kelly by attending to this oversight, unpicking the complexities of Renaissance book production to illustrate wealthy women were equally essential in the publication and production of Renaissance literature. Additionally, patronesses were much more likely to request works in their native languages such as French or English rather than in Latin, the dominant language used by intellectual and political elites until the end of the Renaissance period. Men saw it as a pointless exercise to teach women Latin because they were not the ones involved in high politics or in the intellectual pursuits within universities. While some wealthy women during this period were taught to read, they were largely only taught their native tongue. During the Renaissance period many translations of Latin texts, originally patronised by men, were commissioned by patronesses. This is so important because one of the major literary developments of the period was the growth of writing in native languages. Wealthy women patronising literary works were a part of this trend and contributed to the expansion of work in English, Italian, French, and German. Without their funding, it is unlikely we would have seen the same expansion of these languages during this period. One such patroness was Elizabeth Parr, the sister-in-law of Henry VIII’s final queen, Katherine Parr. Katherine’s brother, William Parr started his political career as the Baron Parr and rose to become the Marquess of Northampton. William had a disastrous first marriage to Anne Bourchier in which Anne left William and eloped with another man. Eventually, William started an affair with Elizabeth Brookes, the daughter of the Baron of Cobham, sometime in 1543 shortly before his sister became Queen. The two continued their affair throughout the rest of his sister and Henry’s reign, eventually marrying in secret in 1547, just after William was named the Marquess of Northampton. The protectorate government of King Edward VI recognized the match as legal in 1551, making Elizabeth the official wife of William after much contentious debate. However, Elizabeth had a hard time gaining recognition of her new position from the rest of the court. So, following in the steps of her husband, who was known to be a great patron of the arts, especially in music and an author himself, she started patronising literary work. Such patronage would have helped Elizabeth establish herself as a cultured and serious lady of court despite her scandalous secret marriage. She patronised the first of these works in the same year that her marriage was officially recognized. One was an English translation of a portion of Baldassare Castiglione’s Book of the Courtier that particularly focused on the good conduct of courtly women. Castiglione’s work was the Renaissance guidebook for proper court behaviour, and an extremely popular text at the time of Parr’s commission. Parr’s patronage was important as it once again aided the expansion of the English language’s literary use and additionally created an extended cultural dialogue around Castiglione’s text. As translations often involved interpretation and commentary on the part of the author, Elizabeth Parr’s patronage illustrates clearly that women were impacting Renaissance culture, expanding native languages, and creating extended discussions in their commissioning and patronage of translations. Silver Medal Depicting Elizabeth as Marchioness of Northampton from 1562 Women who Renaissanced One of the defining features of literary and scholarly communities during the Renaissance were literary circles and discussion groups which were vital to literary production. Women often participated in and even spearheaded this process throughout the period. Work written in the form of conversation between multiple parties, known as dialogic literature, was exceedingly popular during the Renaissance, and historians have started to understand that this genre reflected the world of intellectual and literary thought happening at the time. The majority of Renaissance literature was not developed alone, but was written or discussed in literary circles, either in person or through letters. Indeed, communal authorship was quite common in the period, such as the manuscripts of love poetry that circulated around the court of Henry VIII with different courtiers adding their sonnets and rhymes to the book before passing it along for others to respond or add to their work. Equally, authors often interacted in court circles hosted by both male and female courtiers and rulers, and, by the end of the period, salons or special gatherings for discussing intellectual thought became popular, especially in France. These salons were almost universally run and operated by women. The first known salon in Paris was overseen by Madame Rambouillet in the late 17th century. While Kelly overlooks the role of discussion and communal authorship to Renaissance literature, a focus on this type of production makes it evident that women were involved in and even organised the communities producing literary work during the Renaissance. Elisabetta Gonzaga, the duchess of Urbino, was one woman who had a defining role in Italian literary circles. Elisabetta was born in 1471 to the Duke and Duchess of Mantua where her father funded her extensive education. In 1488, she married Guidobaldo da Montefeltro, the Duke of Urbino. At their court, Elisabetta brought numerous authors and artists together under her patronage, often hosting grand literary and cultural gatherings and discussion circles. Perhaps the most famous author who came to live at her court was Baldassare Castiglione, the aformentioned author of The Book of the Courtier. In this work, Elisabetta is held up as the model Duchess, everything a perfect female courtier should be. Castiglione depicts Elisabetta’s real life literary gatherings in his work, showing her guiding discussions by setting the topics of conversation which illustrated how she not only impacted the Renaissance literary world by drawing great minds together, but by also directing those minds towards certain tasks and topics. Kelly herself acknowledges the role of Elisabetta in inspiring Castiglione’s work, but writes her off immediately as weak and compliant to the patriarchal rules of the time as nothing but an ornament to the court of her husband. She also sees no importance in Elisabetta’s direction of discussion because she supposedly contributed no thought herself. However, no thought would have occurred at all if not for Elisabetta creating a safe and well-funded haven for authors to gather. Further, the thought that was produced was done at Elisabetta’s direction, giving her great authority over the topics that would make their way into Renaissance literature. To write off the role of Elisabetta so easily is to undercut her central role in the world of Italian Renaissance thought and her influence over one of the most popular and influential texts of the period. Elisabetta Gonzaga painted by Raphael c.1502 By now it may seem silly to pose the question again – did women have a Renaissance? Not only did women have a Renaissance where they produced their own work and thought from a variety of viewpoints, but the Renaissance – and its male canon as it is popularly remembered today — would not exist without the patronage and backing of noble women and female courtiers who funded and supported the intellectual work of famous male authors. Ignoring the role of women in the Renaissance means telling only half the story of some 400 years of history. We need to account for the role women played in shaping, producing, and funding the intellectual thought that came to define the Renaissance as such a unique cultural period in Europe. We need to write women back into the period because women did write, read, and Renaissance. *It is important to note that there is historical debate over the term Renaissance, the exact period the term covers, and if such periodization even fits with the historical record. Additionally, this period of Renaissance is one that does not unproblematically extend outside of a European context. Further reading Adams, Tracy. 2018. "Christine De Pizan." French Studies LXXI (3): 388-400. Brenesmeyer, Ingo. 2019. "Introduction." In Handbook of English Renaissance Literature, by Ingo Brenesmeyer, 1-24. Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter. Campbell, Julie. 2018. Literary Circles and Gender in Early Modern Europe: A Cross-Cultural Approach. Abingdon: Routledge. n.d. Christine de Pizan and Establishing Female Literary Authority. Accessed July 14, 2023. http://employees.oneonta.edu/farberas/arth/arth214_folder/christine.html. Clarke, Danielle. 2000. "Introduction." In 'This Double Voice': Gendering Writing in Early Modern England, by Danielle Clarke and Elizabeth Clarke, 1-15. Houndsmill, Basingstoke, Hampshire, London, and New York City: St. Martin's Press. Crawford, Julie. 2014. Mediatrix: Women, Politics, and Literary Production in Early Modern England. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fitzmaurice, James. 2004. "Cavendish [née Lucas], Margaret, Duchess of Newcastle upon Tyne." Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. September 23. Accessed July 14, 2023. https://www.oxforddnb.com/display/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-4940?rskey=J2qjNt&result=3. Heitsch, Dorothea, and Jean-Francois Vallée. 2004. "Foreward." In The Renaissance Culture of Dialogue, by Dorothea Heitsch and Jean-Francois Vallée, ix-xxiii. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. James, Susan E. 2008. "Parr, William, Marquess of Northampton." Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. May 24. Accessed July 14, 2023. https://www.oxforddnb.com/display/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-21405?rskey=lNsdTv&result=5. Kelly, Joan. 1984. "Did Women Have a Renaissance?" In Women, History & Theory, by Joan Kelly, 19-50. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Robin, Diana. 2013. "Intellectual Women in Early Modern Europe." In The Ashgate Research Companion to Women and Gender in Early Modern Europe, by Jane Couchman, Katherine A. McIver and Allyson M. Poska, 381-406. London and New York City: Ashgate. Smith, Helen. 2012. 'Grossly Material Things': Women and Book Production in Early Modern England. Oxford and New York City: Oxford University Press. Walters, Lori J. 2005. "Christine de Pizan, France's Memorialist: Persona, Performance, Memory." Journal of European Studies 35 (1): 29-45.

How many couples do you know who have split up in the last year? Now, how many celebrity couples? What about divorces? Shortly after news broke that Taylor Swift and Joe Alwyn had split up after six years together, I saw a TikTok comment saying something to the effect of ‘surely, I can’t be the child of another divorce”. Despite never having engaged in Swifty content before, my For You Page was flooded with speculation of when the break-up album was dropping, or if Midnights was the break-up album? Let us not forget the separation of Phoebe Bridgers and Paul Mescal, followed in quick succession by theories of Mescal’s unrequited love for his Normal People co-star, Daisy Edgar Jones. Then, a couple of months later, Blake Shelton accidentally ‘hard launched’ Bridgers’ new relationship with comedian Bo Burnham while trying to film himself and his wife on Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour. My point is: break-ups, separations and crumbling relationships are an integral element of gossip culture. Everyone is guilty of trying to figure out if X is still following Y even though they deleted all their pictures together, or running to their mates to see if they know someone who knows someone who knows what went down. Where does this nosiness come from? Of course, we’ve known for a while (to say the least) that the media's approach to celebrity women, wives and mothers is vastly different to that of men (irrespective of whether or not they’re embroiled in some sort of separation drama.) In addition, we’ve also known that life imitates art and, accordingly, historical cultural attitudes surrounding break-up drama can be found in literature and theatrical works. Or, as I like to call it, ‘Leave Ur Man’ fiction. Before The Matrimonial Causes Act 1937, a divorce in the United Kingdom could only be granted on the grounds of adultery. A man could claim adultery with no questions asked, but a woman had to prove that her husband had been unfaithful. And in Norway - the setting of Henrik Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler and A Doll’s House - divorce law wasn’t liberalised until 1909 when it established a no-fault principle, therefore entitling wives to the same rights as their soon-to-be-ex-husbands. But that’s 1909. Let’s rewind thirty years to 1879, when A Doll’s House was first performed. If you’re not familiar with the play, the final act concludes with protagonist Nora Helmer becoming enlightened to the constraints of her dispassionate, insincere marriage to Torvald. She recalls passing from her father’s hands into Torvald’s, and how everything was arranged according to her husband’s taste. Nora is and has always been the titular ‘Doll,’ and she leaves the marital ‘doll’s house’ in search of herself outside of the patriarchal influence she’s always been subjected to. The ending caused significant outrage when it was performed across Europe. German adaptations went as far as rewriting the ending in 1880 (more on this later). However, Ibsen never outrightly described his work as feminist, instead attaching the label ‘humanist’. After all, a husband would surely not think twice about leaving his family and sham marriage, especially if his wife had berated him in the way Torvald Helmer berated his wife for making a crucial financial decision. The shift in tone between the Helmers’ marriage in act one and act three is unmissable: in Torvald’s eyes, Nora goes from being ‘[his] little lark’ and ‘[his] own sweet, little songbird’ to ‘wretched woman’. Paying closer attention to the change in language, we can see that Nora’s alleged wrongdoing - the ‘sin’ of disobeying her husband - presents an unintentional sense of agency. She is no longer ‘his little’ X, Y, or Z, she is a wretched woman in her own right. This doll that has been living in his house, mothering his children and sleeping in his bed is more conscious and clever than he could’ve ever imagined. And, just like that, ‘wretched woman’ becomes the highest of compliments. The play ends with Nora leaving the family home and her dispassionate marriage, as she should. At the time, The Social Demokraten newspaper had this to say: 'This play touches the lives of thousands of families; oh yes there are thousands of such doll-homes, where the husband treats his wife as a child he amuses himself with, and so that is what the wives become’, therefore acknowledging the naturalistic origins of the play and the obvious gender dynamic it seeks to criticise. However, 19th century European audiences weren’t as pleased with Nora’s girlbossery as I am. As mentioned, there was a German rewrite where an empowered Nora is disemboldened by the sight of her children and the realisation that she cannot abandon them. Ultimately, this is to naturalist theatre what Anna Todd’s After is to One Direction (its fanfiction!). It intends to keep any female audience-goers in their place by convincing them that leaving your patronising arsehole of your husband equates to completely abandoning your children. It's not the truth, has never been the truth, and the German rewrite by someone other than Ibsen is demonstrative of the societal priority of order over art. From my twenty-first century perspective (2001 babies rise up) I also don’t think the rewritten ending undermines the meaning of the play the way it intended to because it also takes a significant amount of maternal strength to stick out a sham marriage for the sake of your children. Don’t get me wrong, this is not me legitimising this version of the play. Ultimately, it highlights how, above all, nineteenth century men were afraid of the fallout Ibsen would catalyse by introducing a woman who took control of her own marital fate into the mainstream. Ibsen was doing what Britney Spears did when she wore that baby tee with ‘Dump Him’ on it: The structure and subject matter of A Doll’s House lends itself to some interesting staging concepts. Of course, it’s not a book, so you’re not meant to sit there, read it, think about it a bit, then put your copy back on the shelf (I’m hoping neither of my A Level English teachers see this). This is a play that demands to be staged, and I think these creative interpretations of A Doll’s House are spawned solely off the back of Nora’s character arc and nothing else. One performance I’m particularly intrigued by is the 2007 Mabou Mines adaptation with Mark Povinelli cast as Torvald and Maude Mitchell as Nora. It is conceptually brilliant: Lee Breuer casted the three-foot-nine Povinelli and builds the set to his proportions, meaning Maude Mitchell (Nora) is constantly squeezing into the set to explicate her growth and empowerment. Through this, you could argue that there’s a layer of physical comedy added to an otherwise serious play which demonstrates how much audiences have changed since the original A Doll’s House performances. If Ibsen or any director he’d been collaborating with at the time had introduced even an inkling of comedy or farce, the whole purpose of the play would have been undermined and ultimately rather done the job of that sad German rewrite. But, nonetheless, I do think this is an interesting interpretation and if everyone were to perform plays the same, they might as well just stay on the page. I want to quickly touch on the contrast between Nora Helmer and the ‘protagonist’ of another Ibsen play, Hedda Gabler in Hedda Gabler. Obviously, Hedda is the titular character, but the play’s title refers to her by her maiden name rather than her married one which severs her character into two definitive binaries - the married Hedda Tesman, and the singular, hedonistic, anti-hero Hedda Gabler. I guess, in some respects, you can look at Hedda as the alternative reality version of Nora if she had stayed in her marital dolls’ house. Hedda is stuck in a loveless marriage but damns the Angel of the House - she is nowhere close to the archetypal wife and mother figure we see kicking around in other nineteenth century work. A 1898 New York Times critic described her as ‘selfish, morbid, cruel, bitter, jealous, something of a visionary, something of a wanton, something of a lunatic’ (side note: put those last three on my headstone). Hedda is Nora, Nora is Hedda, and in the words of Khaled Hosseini, ‘Like a compass needle that points north, a man's accusing finger always finds a woman.’ Regarding the title choice, Ibsen himself said: 'My intention in giving it this name [Hedda Gabler, rather than Hedda Tesman] was to indicate that Hedda as a personality is to be regarded rather as her father's daughter than her husband's wife.’If you’re anything like me, your response to this is “cool, why’d you have to bring her dad into this?” I believe this is a key bit of evidence in the argument that Ibsen isn’t a feminist playwright, or even sympathetic to a feminist cause in his work. He is at best neutral. Yes, he puts women in the centre of his works more than other playwrights before and during his lifetime, but he brutalises them and flings them before a nineteenth century audience that wanted to criticise and bully women. So, here we are. Maybe Ibsen’s naturalist intentions were noble in depicting women with the agency to leave their husbands, or maybe he knew that with his words he would be turning his female characters (and, more importantly, those who resonated with them) over to the so-called morality mob. Is that not what happens every time the Daily Mail posts some he-said-she-said gossip about the latest celebrity breakup? Ibsen had a long way to go, and we shouldn’t get into the habit of applauding fish for swimming, but he crucially depicts Nora and Hedda taking one small step for women leaving their bad marriages, one giant leap for womankind in pre-1900s theatre.

Thick winged eyeliner and striking colours of blue and gold are utilised in many modern portrayals of ancient Egyptians, but how accurate is this design? Makeup, cosmetic tools, and cosmetic containers have been found across Egypt, dating as far back as the predynastic Naqada periods (dated to 4000 - 3000 BC), where intricate cosmetic spoons were carved out of carob wood and used by people of all walks of life. Cosmetology was likely not reserved for the wealthy, and was accessible to all classes, albeit more prevalent among the rich. In this, I will consider a collection of makeup and beauty related artefacts found across Egypt. This collection, whilst not originally a set, represents cosmetic usage and a focus on appearance in the New Kingdom of Egypt, which is considered to date from 1550 BC to 1069 BC. Object 1 - A swivel top ivory pigment jar (The Met) Object 1 Object 1 is an early 18th dynasty swivel topped cosmetic jar that now resides in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was discovered in the head of a coffin in Thebes, alongside other vessels and small trinkets, such as several ivory combs, and is dated between 1550 BC and 1458 BC. It is likely that it once held different types of dry or powdered cosmetics, such as a form of blush. It had inlaid coloured decorations of Egyptian Blue within the rosette pattern that is carved into the ivory. It would have been used after the morning bath and integrated as part of a daily routine, alongside body oils and perfumes, as there was a focus on hygiene and appearance at this time. Object 2 - Decorated Cosmetic Spoon (UCL Petrie Museum) Object 2 Object 2 is a late 18th dynasty carved and highly decorated cosmetic spoon, which is sometimes referred to as a ‘toilet spoon’ that is held in the Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology. It was interred in the tomb of the Egyptian governor Menena at the site of Sedment-el-Jebel in Lower Egypt. It has several decorative motifs with the shape of the ankh, which represents life, and several lotus flowers used throughout. This focus of decorative motifs which symbolise life and rebirth may indicate the importance of makeup and its implements in the daily life of many Egyptian people. The most striking decoration is of a naked woman with an instrument, likely a lute, who forms the main body of the spoon, with her standing in a boat which forms the base. Ducks and fish are also depicted around the base with other natural imagery. The intricateness of this design and the care taken to carve it is highly telling in the status that makeup and the practitioners of it held within Egyptian society. Object 3 - Cosmetic Set (The Met) Object 3 Object 3 is a collection of cosmetic tools that focus on the removal of hair, as seen by its inclusion of a razor, a whetstone, and tweezers. The collection also includes a tube of kohl, and a mirror. This collection has a tentative date of between 1550 BC and 1458 BC, placing it firmly in the 18th dynasty. This set is likely that of a wealthy person, as mirrors were not common objects in ancient Egypt, with the reflective surface being highly polished metals. They, like this one, are often very highly decorated and were mostly used for grooming purposes, especially when linked with kohl, which was utilised as a form of eyeliner and brow filler. The hair removal implements also indicate that this was owned by someone of higher status, as it is seen that the wealthier were more likely to remove the hair, primarily because of financials, but also as they commonly had lives where wigs were not an inconvenience, unlike the labourers. The Purpose of Makeup These objects provide an overview of a makeup set that would have been used in Egypt’s New Kingdom, primarily within the 18th dynasty. As a whole, makeup was a practical tool within Ancient Egypt, due to the kohl being used as a tool to protect the eyes and delicate skin from the harsh glare of the sun, and its reflection from the Nile and the desert sand. Kohl itself is also thought to have had some form of antibacterial and antimicrobial elements once it had been applied to the skin and eyes. The origins of Egyptian words also exposes how integral the usage of makeup was in their society. The Egyptian term for makeup palette is derived from the term ‘to protect’ showing this alternate use to shield the eyes and protect from germs. In the same way, the Egyptian term for makeup artist is derived from their term for writing and engraving, and due to the status of scribes within Egyptian society, it is assumed and understood that skill was required to properly apply makeup and that it was seen as an important role to be able to do so. The removal of the hair is also often seen in ancient Egyptian bodies, likely done in an effort to keep the person cooler in the extreme heat. It is thought that the use of wigs rose after this as a way to block the sun reaching the neck and head, whilst still allowing for the movement of air through the netting and therefore providing a cooling effect. It could also be a deterrent to pests, such as head lice that thrive in natural hair. It seems that the decision to remove the hair is entirely self preferential, but it is likely that it was considered a status symbol to wear a wig. Throughout some periods of the New Kingdom, archaeologists are aware of strict rules regarding hairstyle, especially related to class, but this is not easily seen within the record. Makeup also played a role in the ancient Egyptian religion and was associated differently with many of the deities in their pantheon. Horus was often depicted with thick black kohl surrounding his eyes, and Isis is often shown with red lipstick. It is also thought that it was believed that makeup had the power to reinvigorate and transform those that wore it into gods and protected them from evil spirits that may wish them harm, especially in the afterlife. Coffin texts that were utilised in the funerary process also included spells that gave instructions for makeup usage for the afterlife. It is reinforced within Egyptian art of both Pharaohs and Gods that makeup was utilised and seen as a powerful tool that was highly respected for all of its uses. Modern Day Applications Dramatic, thick eyeliner that has been inspired, or pays homage to Ancient Egypt, has become a staple in many fashion magazines and in film. Elizabeth Taylor’s 1963 depiction of Cleopatra cemented her as a sex symbol and perpetrated the Western ideal of ancient Egyptian peoples as being glamorous and highly decorated. This is increasingly seen throughout visual media, with Hollywood blockbuster movies such as 1999’s ‘The Mummy’ which goes to the extreme with the character of Anck-su-namun wearing full body paint that was used to identify whether she had been touched by anyone other than the Pharaoh himself. This link between Egyptian art and sexuality is continually perpetuated throughout the media with the ideal being increasingly fetishised, especially in the West. There is also no historical evidence of makeup being used in this way throughout Egypt, thereby allowing for this glamorizations to become the publically understood view of ancient Egypt. Makeup was a practical tool, a medical tool, and yes maybe a beauty tool, but it was certainly more than just a way for women to make themselves presentable for men. Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra in the 1963 film 'Cleopatra' where she is depicted with heavy makeup and a full headdress The character Anck-Su-Namun from the 1999 hit film 'The Mummy' who is stylised with body paint and golden accents Vogue also curates numerous displays dedicated to channelling ancient Egyptian style in their magazine. Articles such as “Egyptian Magic! 14 Ways to Channel Your Inner Cleopatra This Week” have been published to promote different makeup items and brands, utilising the allure of ancient Egypt and the perception that they were glamorous people. Articles such as this one have no real basis in history, and only further the Western glorification of Egyptian women. They aid women in feeling more ‘exotic’ but can perpetuate harmful stereotypes and the sexualisation of women. This is furthered by a 2017 photoshoot of Rihanna that was completed by Vogue Arabia, in which she was depicted as Nefertiti with bold colours and thick eyeliner. This was a glamorous reproduction of ancient Egyptian style that again has no real basis in historical fact, although it did depict a beautiful recreation of Nefertiti’s crown as seen in her famous bust. However, it has been considered by some to be a display of appropriation and once again allowing for the ideal of ancient Egypt to spread further from its truth. The article being published by Vogue Arabia also adds another layer of discourse to this, where the article can be seen as a reclamation of the western romanticization of Eastern beauty, or alternatively, as perpetuating these romantic notions of Eastern history further onto the Western audience. Rihanna herself is Barbadian and of other broadly European and African descent, decidedly not Arabic or Egyptian. However, despite the negative connotations that many modern uses of Egyptian style bring to light, the protective hairstyles and wigs that were utilised have stood the test of time and are still utilised by mostly black communities in the modern day. Rihanna on the cover of Vogue, stylised like the Nefertiti bust These women and companies reinforce Egyptian stereotypes regarding beauty and put forth the view of vanity, rather than understanding the religious, spiritual, and practical uses that makeup was used for at this time. The public view of makeup has become critical and bitter in recent years with many condemning overuse as a entrapment tool, however, they fail to understand deep historical ties and have little respect for the history and story that comes along with the development and pervasiveness of makeup as an artform, as well as part of daily life. Further Reading: Baduel, N. (2005). Tegumentary Paint and Cosmetic Palettes in Predynastic Egypt. The Impact of Those Artefacts on the Birth of the Monarchy. In: Origin of the State. L’Egypte pré- et protodynastique. Les origines de l’Etat Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt. Origin of the State. Toulouse, France: Origines, pp.12–13. Buckley, R. (2012). Time to Wake up to make-up. Ophthalmic & Physiological Optics, 32(2012), pp.443–445. ISSN 0275-5408. Fletcher, J. (2005). The Decorated Body in Ancient Egypt: In: The Clothed Body in the Ancient World. Oxford: Oxbow Books, pp.3–13. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1w0dcp5.6. Healy, M. (2013). New Kingdom Egypt. Bloomsbury Publishing. O’Neill, B. (2011). Reflections of Eternity: An Overview on Egyptian Mirrors from Prehistory to the New Kingdom. Egyptological. Scott, D.A. (2014). A review of ancient Egyptian pigments and cosmetics. app.dimensions.ai, [online] 61(4), pp.185–202. doi:10.1179/2047058414y.0000000162. Tapsoba, I., ArbaultS., Walter, P. and Amatore, C. (2010). Finding Out Egyptian Gods’ Secret Using Analytical Chemistry: Biomedical Properties of Egyptian Black Makeup Revealed by Amperometry at Single Cells. Analytical Chemistry, 82(2), pp.457–460. doi:10.1021/ac902348g.

Two depictions of Anna of Denmark The first by John De Critz c. 1603 and the second by Paul Van Somer c.1617 Anne of Denmark – even the name historians use to popularly refer to the queen consort of James VI and I of Scotland, England, and Ireland is a misnomer. History has not been kind to the woman known for most of her life as Anne of Denmark. Since the time her husband took the English throne, men who disliked Anna’s influence and James’s inheritance started rewriting Anna’s story, beginning with Anglicising her name to Anne. Unfortunately, Anna’s history was buried under anti-Stuart anti-Scottish sentiments in England that would continue in the decades following her death. Her son lost his throne in the English Civil War, and although her grandson would regain it, within nearly a hundred years of Anna’s passing, the Stuarts no longer reigned. Winners write history, and Anna’s family did not win. Her reputation was easily sacrificed as a new royal dynasty looked to further decry the old, and Anna was reduced to a caricature of a timid, silly, superfluous queen. Few historians bothered to challenge the predominant image of Anna that emerged following her death, and so she has remained confined to the recesses of histories of her husband’s reign. Maurice Ashley’s work on the Stuart’s calls her a “dumb blond”, a sentiment that echoes William Lloyd McElwee’s assessment of Anna as a woman of “very little intelligence” whose “placid stupidity” meant “the more remote she was kept from politics the better.” Unfortunately these mens’ misogynistic and overly-simplistic assessments of Anna’s character were not isolated, and within historical records her negative reputation solidified. She became Queen Anne, the frivolous, unintelligent woman who made a mess of politics when she bothered to meddle with them. Queen Anne whose husband often preferred the company of his male favourites. Queen Anne whose character became so passive and one-dimensional she was hardly worth mentioning at all. But Anna of Denmark was a political force in her own right, intelligent, quick-witted, and utterly determined. Anna understood how to use her royal influence to chart her own course. It has taken the rise of gender history, the reconsidering of the role of queen consorts, and a deeper understanding of Scottish politics to uncover this other side of Anna’s life. Utilising work in this vein by historians like Maureen Meikle, Susan Dunn-Hensley, and Amy Juhala as well as the letters the flooded in and out of the Scottish court during Anna’s time there, this article contributes to revising Anne to tell the story of Anna, Queen of Scotland. A Princess Meets a King A 16th century portrait of King Frederick II and Queen Sophia by Lucas Cranach Jr. Anna was born in Denmark in 1574 at Skanderborg Castle. Her father was King Frederick II of Denmark and Norway and her mother, Sophia, was the daughter of a German Duke. She was the second eldest daughter of her parents' seven children. She would spend her early life in Germany with her maternal grandparents before returning to Denmark where she received a humanist education, learning German, Danish, and French. Her father’s court was a cultural centre known for its Northern Renaissance architecture, theatre, and music, providing Anna the privilege of a culturally rich childhood. Growing up surrounded by elaborate culture had a lasting impact on Anna who would go on to utilise masques, celebrations, and culture as political tools, especially in England. Anna would also remain forever proud of her Danish heritage and the fact that she was the daughter, sister, and later the wife of a king. Anna grew up with a strong sense of her royal prerogative and place in the world, and this would only grow with time as she became a confident young queen. The first mention of a marriage between Anna and James appear in documents in 1588. James was 22 and had been King of Scotland since 1567, when at only a year-old, his mother, Mary, Queen of Scots was forced to abdicate by rebelling Scottish lords. There were earlier negotiations for a Danish match between James and Anna’s elder sister, Elizabeth, but these were complicated by Anglo-Scottish-French politics that saw Catherine of Navarre proposed as an opposing match. James’s cousin, Queen Elizabeth I of England favoured the match with Catherine because it allowed her to show English support for French Protestants during civil unrest caused by deep religious divides in France. Meanwhile, Elizabeth faced increased pressure from her advisors to execute James’s mother Mary, who was continually being implicated in Catholic plots to seize the English throne. Elizabeth finally relented in 1586, reluctantly signing Mary’s execution warrant, sparking a period of unrest between Scotland and England that stalled James’s marriage negotiations. Eventually, tempers cooled, and James could look for a wife again, but by that time, Anna’s elder sister Elizabeth had been promised to the Duke of Brunswick, and Denmark offered Anna as a match instead. James VI by John De Critz c.1605 It is rumoured that James prayed over who to take as a wife for three days. In the end, the 23-year-old Scottish King chose the 14-year-old Danish Princess over the 30-year-old Princess of Navarre. Perhaps, however, James was praying for forgiveness from his first lover, the recently deceased Earl of Lennox whom many argue James had a romantic relationship with at as young as 13. Not only was Anna younger, and reportedly more beautiful than Catherine, but a Danish alliance brought James distinct advantages his French match lacked. Denmark, like Scotland, was a Protestant nation in a time of deep religious divide throughout Europe. Denmark also controlled important shipping lanes Scottish merchants hoped to gain access to, not to mention Denmark had never fully revoked their claim on the Orkney and Shetland islands granted to Scotland as part of the Danish Princess Margaret’s dowry when she had married James III in 1469. Alongside a sizeable dowry, Anna and James’s marriage contract finally saw Denmark declare both islands part of Scotland. The marriage was a victory for Scotland, and finally in August of 1589 Anna married James by proxy in a lavish ceremony at Kronborg Castle. Unfortunately, Anna’s voyage to join her new husband would prove ill-fated, with storms forcing her fleet of ships to take refuge near Oslo, Norway. James, impatient to meet his new wife, ignored the warnings of his advisors and sailed to Norway to bring Anna to Scotland. Nearly four months after their marriage by proxy, James found Anna’s fleet and the two finally met. They would marry for a second time a few days later to more banqueting and gift giving, with James granting Anna the charter to Dunfermline Abby as a wedding present. By all contemporary accounts, the two quickly became an affectionate, intimate pair. Any journey back to Scotland was delayed once more due to weather, and in late December the two instead travelled back to the Danish court at Kronborg. There they spent an extended honeymoon where James, an only child, got to experience living as a part of Anna’s large family. The period was joyous and harmonious with the couple spending nearly all their time together enjoying lavish entertainment. It was not until April 21st 1590 that Anna and James would travel back to Scotland, landing in Leith, just outside of Edinburgh on May 1st to an elaborate welcome ceremony. Anna was anointed as Queen of Scotland on May 17th at Edinburgh’s Holyrood Abbey. She brought immediate change to the Scottish court which had not had a queen living in its borders since the ill-fated reign of Anna’s mother-in-law. Anna restricted access to James’s bedchamber, frustrating many courtiers who had grown used to unlimited access to their “child” King even now that he was in his majority rule. However, James was no longer a child, and he and Anna were clearly trying to start a family of their own, as Anna tragically suffered her first miscarriage in September of 1590. A Queen Learns to Politick Kronborg Castle (top) and Holyrood Abbey (bottom) Unsurprisingly, Anna’s first foray into politics involved navigating the relationship between her native Denmark and Scotland. Anna spent much of 1590 and early 1591 getting a handle on the operation of Scottish politics alongside learning Scots and English, although she already spoke the official Scottish court language of French. Queen consorts were expected not just to solidify peace between their home courts and those they married into, but to help maintain these relations throughout their marriage, with both sides expecting preferenial treatment through her intercessions. Anna quickly provided Scottish merchants with letters of introduction to Danish trade and in her first major political interaction with England in 1591, Anna aided a Danish merchant who had been a victim of English piracy. Anna was smart to intervene so early in her reign. She quickly proved her political worth in successfully fullfilling one of the major duties expected of her which delighted both her husband and the Danish Council. The Queen Consort’s unofficial role as diplomat was reinforced again in 1602 when she was quick to warn her brother Christian IV, by then King of Denmark, that the Swedes were buying Scottish mercenaries to prepare for war. Anna would continue to provide a political link between Scotland and Denmark throughout her life, creating a mutually beneficial relationship between the two kingdoms. Portrait of Mary Queen of Scots c.1578 and Queen Elizabeth c.1575 Anna intervened in international politics again in 1592, once more involving herself in affairs with England. Maintaining the Anglo-Scottish relationship during this time was a careful balancing act. Mary’s death left James as the closest heir to the English throne. His great-grandmother Margaret Tudor was Queen Elizabeth’s aunt, the sister of Henry VIII. Not only that, but unlike his mother, James was a Protestant, making him a more acceptable heir to the English government. While James undoubtedly looked to benefit from this connection, he also had an independent political agenda for Scotland that at times put him at odds with Elizabeth. Not to mention any ill-feelings James harboured about Elizabeth’s execution of his mother. So, while it was important to often appease the more powerful English Queen, conflict between England and Scotland was arguably inevitable. Anna, however, quickly showed she was adept at mitigating tensions with England. In 1592 fighting broke out between two families on the Scottish border where feuds over territory lines were common. Theft was equally commonplace here as thieves, known as border reivers, could evade authorities by crossing into the other kingdom. On this occasion, it was the Kerrs of Cessford and the Kerrs of Ancrum whose blood feud had sparked again along the border. Anna personally intervened with James to halt the feuding, restoring calm to the tumultuous region. The English ambassador wrote to Elizabeth that Anna intervened “thinking to do her majesty some pleasure” for “which she worthily deserves great thanks.” Anna proved she could navigate the turbulent game of Anglo-Scottish politics, bringing peace to the pleasure of both monarchies. Anna would work throughout her time in Scotland to maintain good relations with Elizabeth, writing to her often and even commissioning a portrait of her, a sign of high regard. In the end, Anna’s manoeuvring would help ensure Elizabeth and James maintained a working relationship, keeping the Scottish royal couple in Elizabeth’s good graces so they could continue to benefit from their filial connection. In 1603 Elizabeth would indeed name James as her successor. While in reality, Elizabeth had little choice - James being her most direct blood relation with the correct religious leanings - they still required Elizabeth’s public favour to ensure the English public accepted their rule. Anna’s efforts to smooth over any unease or insult James’s political manoeuvrings might cause the English Queen clearly assisted in maintaining Elizbeth’s support for her young cousin. Anna was clearly part of James’s efforts to ensure a smooth succession to the English throne, playing her political part in building a relationship with Elizabeth. Let the Factions Begin By 1593, it became clear that not only could Anna handle international politics, but she had a more than operational understanding of Scottish domestic politics too. Anna had spent three years in Scotland, observing how courtiers and nobles formed factions around different political issues, and how James navigated these factional politics to suit his own agenda. The Scottish court was a complex mix of nobles who came and went from their own territories, permanent politicians and courtiers, and James’s and Anna’s households made up of both prominent and lower ranking servants. Anna exhibited a pattern of political manuevueres throughout her reign, proving she could navigate this complex court nexus of shifting alliances. In 1593 John Maitland of Thirlestane was one of the most prominent men in the Scottish court, having served as James’ Chancellor for six years. It was Chancellor Maitland who held Dunfermline Abbey, which James had granted Anna as a wedding gift. Yet nearly four years later Maitland still held the Abbey. Anna, tired of waiting for Maitland to hand over the land, formed a faction around herself to oppose the Chancellor and put pressure on both Maitland and James to ensure she received her wedding gift. Portrait of John Maitland of Thirlestane c.1589 Anna did not hold back in her factional conflict with Maitland, going so far as to align herself with the Earl of Bothwell, one of James’s notorious enemies. Bothwell and James were cousins, but they had gotten into a disagreement in 1591 and tensions had run high ever since. Anna was making an incredibly daring move. She had only been in Scotland for three years, but the bonds that tied and frayed the ever-changing alliances of the Scottish court spanned back centuries in some cases. Anna was taking a huge risk in interfering in such complex relationships, especially with a man who had so recently fallen out of the King's grace. Clearly, this was not a woman who, as Roy Strong suggests, looked to avoid politics. Instead, shortly after her arrival at all of 18 years-old, Anna threw herself head first into Scotland's factional nobility to make an incredibly brave and bold political move that paid off. Anna successfully leveraged Bothwell’s noble standing, land, and royal kinship to strengthen her faction all while maintaining her relationship with James. Further, Anna proved her ability to work across religious differences. It was in 1593 that Anna first started exhibiting Catholic sympathies. She continued to practise Protestantism in public throughout her life, as was expected of her as a queen of a Protestant kingdom, but in private she would become a professed Catholic. Bothwell on the other hand was a virulent Presbyterian, illustrating Anna’s determination to accomplish her aims in spite of any personal or religious differences. In the end, Anna’s faction grew so strong that Maitland fled the court, with the English Ambassador writing that he refused to return until “he might be restored to her good countenance…to serve the King.” In the same letter, the ambassador also details how “sundry ministers have travailed…with the Queen to pacify her wrath against the Chancellor.” Yet Anna was immobile, and throughout the year ambassadorial reports continued to detail that good relations would only prevail if “the Chancellor…turn[s] to the course thus liked by” Anna. While some historians like Lee and McElwee have denounced Anna for bearing harsh grudges and prejudices in such instances, Anna had a clear reason to hold strong against Maitland. In this period, holding land equated to increased power and wealth, and Anna’s household was consistently running over budget. Anna needed the income Dunfermline could provide, and she was determined to secure it. Maitland did eventually bend to Anna’s desires, vacating his hold on Dunfermline to secure his political career. Anna proved in 1593, at only 18-years-old, that she was a force to be reckoned with, controlling the political career of a much older man contemporaries considered second in power only to the King. Yet men making such statements overlooked the power of their Queen who managed to put Maitland in his place, securing her land by any means while maintaining her relationship with James. One of the reasons Anna may have retained James’s favour throughout her political battles with Maitland was that in late 1593, she could tell James that she was pregnant. Their first child, Henry, duke of Rothesay was born on February 19th, 1594. In the Scottish royal tradition, Henry had an elaborate baptism at Stirling Castle on 29th August attended by his foreign royal family as well as Scottish nobility. The mood was celebratory, and the couple were overjoyed by the birth of their first son and heir. But their harmonious atmosphere quickly splintered when James decided to align with Scottish royal tradition, appointing the Earl of Marr as Henry’s guardian. The prince would be raised at Stirling Castle as his father had been, taking him away form his family-oriented mother. James felt this was safer for his son, as he had been constantly under threat as a child. However, there was no Danish precedent for such parental separation, and Anna’s own mother had directly overseen her children’s upbringing and education. Further, Henry, unlike James, had two living, non-imprisoned parents. Anna was, unsurprisingly, horrified that her firstborn was to be raised in another household. If James thought Anna’s anger would blow over, he was sorely mistaken. Anna was determined that she would raise her son. As early as the end of 1594, Anna was forming another faction around herself to support her bid to regain custody of Henry. Anna would even briefly ally herself with Chancellor Maitland in 1595, proving she could put aside past differences to accomplish her aims. Anna was intelligent and knew how to pull those in power to her cause with her faction growing strong enough to dominate Scotland’s prominent Edinburgh political scene while James’s faction was based around Stirling itself. By July 1595, Anna’s faction had such power that James, to retain his authority, had to issue a royal edict that no one, including Anna, was allowed to remove Prince Henry from Stirling. James had to be worried about Anna’s political strength and wit if he was pushed to the extremes of issuing such a public proclamation barring his wife. Still, Anna in all her determination would not be dissuaded, and the fighting continued. Tensions grew so high that by August 1595 the Kirks in Edinburgh were holding fasts to pray for the reunification of the King and Queen. Anna’s savvy ability to successfully divide Scotland’s political elite in direct opposition to her King to dominate the Kingdom’s geographical political centre proves Anna was an astute politician, unwavering in her political goals. Portrait of Prince Henry by Robert Peake the Elder c.1604 James was almost persuaded to change his course for his love of the queen. A courtier writing in early August of 1595 noted that while “a faction for the King and another for the Queen” had formed, “The King bears so great an affection for her that no man dare deal with him in what concerns her, and so he ‘perrels’ both himself and such as love him.” However, James managed to hold strong. Although James and Anna were shortly reunited after Anna temporarily backed down, Henry’s custody was a continual sore spot as James refused to remove Henry from Stirling. Factional politics over the prince would flare up throughout Anna and James’s time in Scotland, and Anna would always throw everything she could at James to regain custody of her son. In return, James often had to use every weapon in his arsenal, including having Anna’s mother and Queen Elizabeth pressure her in letters, to get Anna to back down. Henry’s custody was a major crack in what was formerly a quite happy marriage. Indeed, the conflict only found closure when James was called to England after Elizabeth’s death in 1603. When Anna was eventually instructed to come to England herself, she went first to Stirling and refused to leave Scotland unless Henry came with her. It was only then that James begrudgingly curtailed to her wishes, and Anna left for England with her firstborn. However, every time emotions ran high over Henry’s custody and Anna took to political scheming, she always found a way back into James’s good graces. It is clear she knew how to play the game of Scottish politics, even turning her great mind against her own husband, when necessary, all while maintaining her influence and position as James’s Queen Consort. By October 1595 courtiers commented “the King and the Queen are in very kind terms and countenance together, either of them so pleasing others as either of their factions…chiefly the King’s side doubt their meanings.” By December, Anna and James appeared an united pair with Anna blaming the conflict on the recently deceased Maitland, effectively and efficiently offloading her culpability in the political turmoil she caused. Even if their marriage had irrevocably shifted in the course of their first major conflict, Anna managed to restore her proximity to James, and the power that brought her. The couple must have been effectively reconciled by the end of 1595 because by August 1596, just when Anna was once again managing a careful political situation, she gave birth to her second child. Princess Elizabeth was born at Dunfermline, on the land Anna had fought hard to win. A portrait of the Princess Elizabeth at age seven by Robert Peake the Elder To Have a Friend in the Queen 1596 was another big year for Anna, full of both triumph and tribulation. As discussed, in the early 1590s Anna started exhibiting Catholic tendencies. Anna was raised Lutheran in Denmark, but when she arrived in Scotland it was James who appointed her household from amongst the families of trusted and high-ranking nobles and courtiers. Despite its Protestant reformation, Scotland remained a country of mixed religion, and many of those that came to surround Anna as key members of her household and her closest friends were Catholics. Indeed, when Elizabeth was born, her guardianship was awarded to the Catholic Lord Livingstone and her godmother was the Catholic Countess of Huntley. Anna had no contest to this appointment, as Lady Livingstone was attached to her own household, allowing Anna to visit her daughter at her leisure. Such appointments illustrates the power Anna and her network of women had in Scottish politics. Being connected to Anna and her household could advance a whole family and prove a savvy and beneficial political connection. Moreso, Anna treated those she trusted within her household as family, fiercely protecting and looking after them, expecting the same undying loyalty in return. This again may have been influenced by Anna’s Danish upbringing, as her parents were also well-known to give lavish gifts and support to those in their household who proved loyal servants. One of the most notable Catholics in Anna’s household in 1596 was the Countess of Huntley, Henrietta Stewart. The countess was James’s third cousin and the daughter of his rumoured former lover, the Earl of Lennox. She was married to another known Catholic, George Gordon, the Earl of Huntley. The two had James’s protection for most of his reign despite their opposing religions. The Earl of Huntley controlled considerable territory in Scotland’s Northern Highlands and as a long-time friend of James, provided the King with covert contact to continental Catholic powers. Henrietta equally was protected by her familial relationship with the King. Henrietta was most likely a central figure in introducing and converting Anna to Catholicism, as she had considerable access to the Queen as her Chief Lady. By 1596, Anna was fully maintaining a dual confessional identity as a public Protestant and private Catholic. Anna’s Catholicism was admittedly useful to James, allowing him to stay informed of Catholic activity in Scotland and on the Continent through his wife’s efforts. This would again becfome pertinent in 1596 when the Kirk was pushing James to persecute the Earl of Huntley who had fled the country in March of 1595 after murdering the Protestant Earl of Moray. Anna would plead for her friend’s cause, hoping to convince James to allow Huntley’s return to Scotland. James had little interest in persecuting his friend – he could ill afford such an expensive venture that could risk Catholic or territorial uprisings. However, he also could not afford to upset the Kirk, leaving him in precarious straits. A paper etching of the Earl and Countess of Huntley Henrietta had been barred from court after her husband fled, leaving to the country to manage the Gordon lands. Anna, hoping to return both of her friends to their former positions, would continually plead for Huntley’s return. She interceded with James just days after giving birth to Elizabeth, at which point James did allow Henrietta’s return to court as she attended Elizabeth’s November baptism in 1596 to serve as the baby’s godmother. In late December of the same year, the Countess came to court again, this time disguised as a serving woman. Henrietta crept into Holyrood House to see Anna, and together the two came up with a plan to see James and plead in unison for Huntley’s return to Scotland. This time, James was moved to renege and risk the Kirk’s wrath, granting Henrietta and Anna’s pleas and letting Huntley return to Scotland. In the end, Anna’s connections and determination to intervene in domestic politics saw her become a powerful ally for those who proved loyal friends, as she clearly knew how to leverage her connection to the King to benefit those in her favour. James and Anna had much to celebrate on New Year’s Eve 1596 – the healthy birth of a new princess, the return of the Earl of Huntley to Scotland, and their reunion, however temporary. Anna had even more to celebrate than James that year, as in 1593 she had employed a group of men who came to be known as the Octavians, who by 1596 had successfully balanced the Queen’s household’s finances. The Scottish state had been impoverished by the drawn out religious and Marian conflicts of the mid 16th century, and the royal couple struggled to live within their household budgets. Anna turned to a group of Scottish courtiers and statesmen to help her get a handle on her financial affairs. It was difficult for the Scottish Queen to economise, but by 1596 accounts were balanced, and Anna, ever-loyal to those who served her well, planned to promote the Octavians to James’s household. European monarchy in the 16th century was a personal affair, and the closer access you could get to the body of the monarch, the greater the potential to increase your influence. Anna, when she could maintain her relationship with James, arguably had the most unfettered access to the King, giving her a great amount of influence which she wielded with careful precision to maintain her own influence. The Octavians knew of the opportunities that came with the Queen’s employ, and they reaped the benefits of her connections. A portrait of Alexander Seton, one of the Octavians who would go on to become the Earl of Dunfermline During the New Year’s Eve celebrations, Anna publicly gifted James 600 of the 1,000 pounds the Octavians had saved her over the course of 1596. Anna was bold, stylishly and carefully leveraging public spectacle so that by the end of the night, she had convinced James to take the Octavians into his employ to manage his own woeful over-spending. In one night, Anna managed to propel the Octavians into some of the most coveted positions in James’s household, granting them control over the King’s finances. Unfortunately for the Octavians, their promotion would be short lived, as two years later they had all lost their positions. Balancing a king's finances was an easy way to make enemies. Scottish politics relied on royal grants of patronage and gifts in return for political loyality and favours. Anna, ever-attuned to Scottish politics, knew how to play this game of royal gift-giving and had successfully raised her favourites in promoting the Octavians in return for their political service to her household. But, as a result of the restrictions the Octavians placed on the King’s funds, James could not reward and promote his own favourites as before. Thus many courtiers used to James lavish affection resented the restrictions the Octavians placed on the King’s ability to dole out gifts. However, all the Octavian’s remained in James’s employ in other capacities within his court and household, many retaining other prominent positions and even earning grants of title. For instance, James awarded the Octavian Alexander Seton guardianship of Prince Charles in 1600 before appointing him Chancellor of Scotland in 1604, and naming him Earl of Dunfermline in 1605. Anna was the queen on the chess board who could make or break your career in her wily manoeuvring, providing a connection to James that could give you a massive leg-up in Scottish politics if you proved yourself worthy of her favour. Lying in Wait Anna’s political ventures continued during her next few years in Scotland, as both kingdoms waited rather impatiently for the English succession to finally be decided. The couple fought intermittently over Henry’s custody, putting a strain on their relationship, but they were a united front in their efforts to stay in Queen Elizabeth’s good graces. Anna also maximized her political connections to convince continental powers that James would be the best successor for Catholicism, hinting to the Pope in letters that James was sympathetic towards the religion. In between political battles, Anna and James would continue to have children. Princess Margaret was born on 24th December 1598, but she would only survive for two years before tragically passing away while Anna was pregnant. Anna and James always mourned their childrens passings greatly, and Anna was heartbroken by the loss. Prince Charles, the Duke of Albany was born in November of 1600, in Dunfermline. Though born a second son, Charles would one day rule England, Ireland, and Wales as Charles I. It was also during Anna’s pregnancy with Charles that she was shocked with news of the infamous Gowrie plot led by two brothers, Alexander and John Ruthven. As avowed Presbyterians, the Ruthvens’ disliked the monarchical control James tried to exhibit over the Church. Additionally, James owed the family a royal debt of around 40,000 pounds. So the brothers tricked James into coming to Gowrie House, intent to assassinate him. The plot failed spectacularly with both brothers dying in the attempt, but it caused huge upheaval nonetheless with James viciously persecuting the remaining Ruthvens and declaring both brothers guilty of treason posthumously. The events not only frightened the pregnant Anna but forced her to part with a treasured member of her Household, Beatrix Ruthven. Anna, ever loyal, fought for Beatrix to stay, though James would force her to let her friend go. Still, Anna remained obstinate and continued to stay in contact with Beatrix throughout her life, aiding her as she could. Anna would always bravely defend and support those in her household who served her well, even in exile. Charles as Prince of Wales painted by Daniel Mytens c.1623 From 1600 on, Anna fully came into her own in Scotland, understanding the weight of her impact as a Queen. She continued to exert more and more influence over her household and its appointments and continued her interventions in both domestic and international politics. Anna would also have one more child in Scotland in 1602, Prince Robert, Duke of Kintyre. However, Robert too would live for just four months before passing. Anna and James were once more heartbroken by another child’s death, refusing to attend funerals for the rest of their lives after Robert’s service. Anna had two more daughters in England who would both also tragically die young. In total, she would lose five living children, Prince Henry dying just months short of his 19th birthday in 1612. These tragedies coupled with a disparate English political landscape made Anna’s time there quite different. But the story of Anna in England is one for another time. For now, our story ends in 1603 when James received word that Queen Elizabeth had died, and he would ascend to the English throne. He travelled to England alone, as Anna was once again pregnant, though she would again lose the child prematurely. Eventually arrangements were made for Anna to come to England herself, and after the aforementioned battle to take her son with her, she departed from Edinburgh with both Henry and Elizabeth on June 1st, 1603. Anna would never return to Scotland, spending the rest of her life in England, but she would forever carry with her the lessons, family, and friendships she made on Scottish soil. Anna’s time as Queen of Scotland was definitive in shaping the path of her life. Beyond learning the intricacies of the Scottish court, she perfected her diplomatic role in her affairs with Denmark, England, and Catholic Europe. She mastered the careful game of factional politics, out-witting and out-playing men second in power to the King to accede to her will, and she fiercely protected and promoted those that served her well, making powerful friends and in turn enemies on the Scottish political landscape. Anna was a woman of incredibly bravery, intelligence, conviction, and loyalty. Far from a weak and foolish woman, Anna proved the strength of her character again and again as she navigated the Scottish political landscape. It would be erroneous to ignore the impact of her political manoeuvrings during the 13 years she spent in Scotland. Further Reading Ashley, Maurice. 1980. The House of Stuart: its Rise and Fall. London, Melbourne, Toronto: J.M. Dents & Sons. Barroll, Leeds. 2001. Anna of Denmark, Queen of England: A Cultural Biography. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Barroll, Leeds. 1991. "The First Court of the Stuart Queen." In The Mental World of the Jacobean Court, by Linda Levy Peck, 191-208. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dunn-Hensley, Susan. 2017. Anna of Denmark and Henrietta Maria: Virgins, Witches, and Catholic Queens. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Fields, Jemma. 2020. Anna of Denmark: The Material and Visual Culture of the Stuart Courts, 1589-1619. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Juhala, Amy L. 2017. "'For the King Favours Them Strangely'; The Rise of James VI's Chamber, 1580-1603." In James VI and Noble Power in Scotland 1578-1603, by Miles Kerr-Peterson and Steven J. Reid, 155-169. London: Routledge. McElwee, William Lloyd. 1975. The Art of War: Waterloo to Mons. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Meikle, Maureen. 2000. "A Meddelsome Princess: Anna of Denmark and Scottish Court Politics, 1589-1603." In The Reign of James VI, by Julian Goodare and Michael Lynch, 126-140. East Linton: Birlinn Ltd. Meikle, Maureen. 1999. "'Holde Her at the Oeconomicke Rule of the House': Anna of Denmark and Scottish Court Finances, 1589-1603." In Women in Scotland c.1100-1750, by Elizabeth Ewan and Meikle M. Maureen, 105-111. Phantassie: Tuckwell Press. Meikle, Maureen M. 2019. "Once a Dane, Always a Dane? Queen Anna of Denmark's Foreign Relations and Intercessions as a Queen Consort of Scotland and England, 1588-1619." The Court Historian 24 (2): 168-180. Meikle, Maureen M., and Helen Payne. 2008. "Anne [Anna, Anne of Denmark]." Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. January 03. Accessed August 17, 2023. https://www.oxforddnb.com/display/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-559?rskey=HtoiTh&result=2#odnb-9780198614128-e-559-div1-d2119765e1444. Pearce, Michael. 2019. "Anna of Denmark: Fashioning a Danish Court in Scotland." The Court Historian 24 (2): 138-151. Strong, Roy. 1986. Henry, Prince of Wales, and England's Lost Renaissance. New York City: Thames & Hudson. Whitelock, Anna. 2018. "Reconsidering the Political Role of Anna of Denmark." In Queenship and Counsel in Early Modern Europe, by Catherine Fletcher, Joanne Paul and Helen Matheson-Pollock, 237-258. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Wormald, Jenny. 2014. "James VI and I." Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. September 25. Accessed August 17, 2023. https://www.oxforddnb.com/display/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-14592?rskey=244wrN&result=2#odnb-9780198614128-e-14592-div1-d2270e1833.

Lucy Dacus famously said "always an angel never a god" and perfectly encapsulated the feeling of never quite being at the forefront, always cast into the shadows. Is it the eternal plight of women then, to be erased from the textbooks, the movements, from history itself? The Negritude movement, an anti-colonial cultural and political movement attributed to Leopold Sedar Senghor, Aime Césaire, and Leon Damas, was a truly revolutionary movement of 1930s, 40s and 50s Paris. Widely considered as the inauguration of Black humanism, this literary, cultural, and intellectual movement also signalled the birth of a Pan-Africanist philosophy. The movement was a cornerstone in the rejection of colonialism. It called for a widespread Black community of all those who lived under the lasting impacts of colonialism including the seemingly perpetual dependence on the west, and its far reaching impact is unquestionable. Though the impact of the movement cannot be understated, it is also important to acknowledge the erasure of the women vital in its creation. The androcentricity and heavy reliance on traditional gender roles evidenced in all of the ‘founding fathers’ works must also be acknowledged. Though a movement based on inclusion, the erasure of women’s work from the movement, including Suzanne Césaire’s work which this article will focus on, reveals the hostilities rampant in the movement’s foundational ideals and the wider francophone world at the time. This article focuses on the work of Suzanne Cesaire; writer, scholar, anti-colonialist, feminist, and a vital figure in Martinican literature. Written out of the Negritude movement and history as a whole due to her marriage and later divorce from Aime Césaire. Her male counterpart wrote of Martinique as a mute and sterile land with an exoticized and eroticized feminine topography. Césaire wrote of Martinique as a vibrant place of potential, of social, socio-economic and cultural complexity, and as a place of women who were far from passive and rather connected the nation's history with an evolving future. At a time when Martinican intellectuals were focussed on Blackness in Africa, Césaire looked to the US liberation movement for inspiration. Now termed the 'Madonna' of francophone modernism by recent critics for her open embrace of the cultural diversity and vitality of the Black Americas, it is some 50+ years since her death that she is being recognised as more than a footnote in her husband's works. So, why is it that for so long she was forgotten? Born in 1915 on the then French colonial territory of Martinique, Suzanne Roussi completed her schooling on the island in the French education system. She then studied literature in Toulouse and successfully made her way to the highly selective École Normale Supérieure, where she would meet fellow student and future husband Aime Césaire in 1936. They married in 1937 and had their first child in 1938 before returning to Martinique to teach. Co-founding the Martinican literary journal Tropiques in 1941, Césaire would publish seven essays in the four years the journal was active. Tropiques has been hailed as one of the, if not the most influential francophone Caribbean journal of the time and a source of opposition to the Vichy government that ruled Martinique at the time. She would, however, be written out of works surrounding Tropiques, with the focus from both critics and the public almost entirely placed on her husband instead. The end of Tropiques in 1945 also served as the ending for Suzanne Césaire’s career as a writer, now a mother of six and the wife of the deputy to the French National Assembly for Martinique. The expectations of unquantified labor that now faced her were immense, and it is fair to assume that this is likely one of the overarching reasons why she stopped writing. There is almost nothing written on Suzanne Césaire between 1945 and 1963, when she divorced Aime Césaire. It is only in recent years following the publication of T. Denean Sharpley-Whiting’s ‘Negritude Women’ in 2002 that her works have been examined since her death in 1966. Unfortunately, with almost none of her works translated to English or accessible online, she still remains a figure in the shadows. A comparison of her work to that of fellow Negritude writers reveals the depth that their work lacked, and the reliance the men of the movement placed on gender roles, an uncomfortable truth that went against their motto of inclusivity. In Notebook of a Return to the Native Land, Aime Césaire’s most notable publication, the narrator invokes “the male thirst and the stubborn desire” and women are depicted as nothing more than vessels of the future: “come the ovaries of the water where the future wriggles its tiny little heads”. In comparison is the work of Suzanne Césaire, in which she writes “here too, people are born, live, and die; here, too, the whole drama plays itself out”. Her works include complex female characters, and whilst the land is still feminized, it is with a complexity and depth that was not seen in the works of her male counterparts. The male voices of the movement heavily relied on gender stereotypes to tell tales of rebellion against the allegory of colonial force, and yet gave little space for female voices in rebellion. 19th century France, following its defeat in the Haitian revolution turned to the Black female body in order to rearticulate notions of true masculine national identity. France concentrated on the construction of Blackness in order to reconstruct Whiteness. By objectifying and constructing Blackness as something that was comedic yet hypersexual, the French attempted to reinvigorate their own identity that was based on white masculine prowess and strength. The story of Saartjie Bartman, who became known as the “Hottentot Venus” is the epitome of the relationship between colonial exploitation, White masculinity and Black femininity. Perhaps it is no coincidence that the Negritude movement, born in Francophone countries, relies on similarly reductionist expectations of gender in its pledge for liberation. Whilst the objective may have been to emancipate African culture and promote a shared consciousness, the archetypal gender roles upon which the literature is expanded mean the liberation that is spoken of is only achievable through the subsequent erasure of female agency. The very fact that Suzanne Césaire was a Black woman meant her experience was entirely different from that of her male counterparts, and that she could speak of a world that would perhaps negate the tales that they told as if they were absolutes. Though her work was ground-breaking and her wider role in the founding of the Negritude movement unquestionable, the agency that Suzanne Césaire gave the women in her writing and distancing from gendered roles did not fit into the formula of liberation that the male heads and faces of the movement imagined. The reduction of Suzanne Césaire to a footnote in the stories of Aime Cesaire’s life and stripping of her agency is reflective of the forceful removal of agency of Black women as a whole in history. It highlights the need to return to what we ‘know’ to re-examine the voices that may have been erased from the wider story. Further reading Emily C. Sheffield, ‘The Unsung Mothers of Negritude: An examination of the efforts of Women behind the movement’, Global Africana Review, 2, (Spring 2018), pp.2-10 Jacqueline Couti, ‘Am I My Sister’s Keeper? The Politics of Propriety and the Fight for Equality in the Works of French Antillean Women Writers, 1920s-40s’, in Felix Germain, Silyane Larcher, Black French Women and the Struggle for Equality, 1848-2016’, (Nebraska, 2018), pp.129-144 Kara Rabbitt, ‘In search of the missing mother: Suzanne Cesaire, Martiniquaise’, Research in African Literatures 44:1, 2013, pp.36-54 Shiera S. el-Malik, ‘Intellectual work ‘In the world’: Women’s writing and anti-Colonial thought in Africa, Irish studies in International Affairs, 24, 2013, pp.101-120 T Denean Sharpley-Witing, Negritude Women, (Minnesota, 2002). Sall, Korka, ‘Negritude Feminisms: Francophone Black Women Writers and Activists in France, Martinique, and Senegal from the 1920s to the 1980s’, (Doctoral Dissertation, University of Massachusetts Amherst, 2021). Cuadra, Bridget, ‘”We Were but Women, Real Pioneers”. La Depeche Africaine, La Revue du Monde Noir, and the Women-Centered Origins of the Negritude Movement’ (Proceedings of the National Conference on undergraduate research, Kennesaw State University, 2019). Emily Eyestone, ‘Cannibalizing Paradise: Suzanne Cesaire’s Ecofeminist Critique of Tourist Literature’, Island Studies journal, 17:2, 2022, pp.52-73

Glossary Pas de Deux - A duet danced between, traditionally, a man and a woman who can be a part of the principal group of dancers or the ensemble. Corps de Ballet - The group of dancers which make up the ensemble of the ballet, excluding the principal dancers. The end of the Habsburg dynasty was unexpected and tragic. What became known as the Mayerling Incident was a murder-suicide pact proposed by crown Prince Rudolf to his mistress Maria Vetsera, who was 17 years old at the time. What truly happened the night of their death remains a mystery, but the factors leading up to the moment of their deaths allow historians to create possible scenarios to what might have happened on that fateful night of the 30th of January 1889. While the prince and his young lover were the principals, the ensemble also played important parts throughout the years that preceded the incident. The women from Austria-Hungarian monarchy and aristocracy were some of the characters with most influence in this narrative. These women played central parts in the life of Rudolf and their actions influenced him more than others. Alongside the mystery of it all, these relationships are the reason why ballet choreographer Kenneth McMillan decided to adapt this dramatic part of history and create the ballet Mayerling in 1978. This article will explore each relationship through their representation as pas de deux and the women through their solos. Analysing how each ballet persona represents the women can lead to a better understanding of their participation and motivations in relation to the circumstances that led to the incident. Mayerling Playbill Meet our principals! Below is my version of a historical 'Playbill' where you have a quick introduction to the participants of our story - and the focus of our article. The Incident Crown Prince Rudolf and Maria Vetsera met in November 1888, which marked the start of a turbulent relationship that culminated in their deaths in January 1889. The couple was introduced by Countess Marie Larisch, cousin to the prince - who had been infatuated with him for some time. The couple quickly became infatuated with each other, even being seen together on social occasions. Although Baroness Maria Vetsera was brought up alongside her sister to be married to men of higher social standings, the match was untimely as the prince was already married to Princess Stephanie of Belgium. Photographs and signatures of Baroness Maria Vetsera and Crown Prince Rudolf, 19th century; source: Alamy While the Baroness was certain that her bond with the Prince was unique, she was not the only one to whom he proposed the murder-suicide pact. Mizzi Kaspar, one of his many previous mistresses, received the same proposal but was against the idea and even threatened to expose the Prince to the authorities, though she never did. Nonetheless, the connection between Rudolf and Maria was a strong one; whether it was because of lust or true love it is uncertain, but they were committed to each other enough to die together. The day before the incident, Rudolf headed to the Mayerling lodge, located 30 km from Vienna, with the tale that he was going on a hunting trip with two friends - who would end up finding the bodies of the two lovers the following morning. How Maria Vetsera arrived there is uncertain. It is known that she was previously being chaperoned by Countess Larisch for a shopping trip, who noticed the young girl went missing in the middle of the day. What went on during that final night is known only to the two lovers. Maria’s body was found naked, shot in bed, whilst Rudolf was found sitting in a chair, also shot but in possession of a gun.. Some final letters were written by the couple; these were the only proof that Maria Vetsera agreed to die alongside her lover - even then still leaving room for many a conspiracy. The Ballet Natalia Osipova (Maria Vetsera) and Ryoichi Hirano (Crown Prince Rudolf) in 'Mayerling', The Royal Ballet © 2018 ROH. Photograph by Helen Maybanks Created by renowned ballet dancer and choreographer Kenneth MacMillan, adapting songs from the masterful Franz Liszt, this three-act ballet was unlike any other that preceded it. Telling a 'real life story', Mayerling was one of the great successes of MacMillan's choreography career. As it was a retelling of a historical event, MacMillan took four years to complete the ballet, due to his extensive research alongside English writer (and not historian) Gillian Freeman. As with any piece of historical fiction, it is important to question the approach of the producers in regards to their accuracy. Freeman was asked if everything that is presented in the ballet could be verified, to which she replies, "Yes, absolutely, everything.". While they do not release the sources used, my research proved it was relatively easy to compare scenes from the ballet to chapters in the history books written on the moments featured throughout the piece. During their time researching the Mayerling Incident, Freeman describes how much easier it was to obtain the correct facts regarding the beginning of the story rather than their final moments as "[...] all Rudolf's effects were destroyed". The viewer, whether aware of the historical providence of the ballet or a complete beginner on the story is able to understand each relationship portrayed and the circumstances that lead to the final tragedy. Adapting history into a medium that tells the story in movements rather than verbally might be one of the hardest approaches to dramatisation, but MacMillan not only succeeded but also created a powerful ballet exploring the psychology of these historical characters through dance. Clement Crisp, ballet critic who closely followed the work of MacMillan, describes him as a "beautiful erotic poet in movement", especially when describing his pas de deux - a key part of the Mayerling ballet used to exploring the women and the nature of their relationship with the Crown Prince portrayed in the piece. Natalia Osipova (Maria Vetsera) and Ryoichi Hirano (Crown Prince Rudolf) in 'Mayerling', The Royal Ballet; Photograph by Helen Maybanks The ballet follows a timeframe of eight years but with facts coming around much quicker than they did in real time. The celebrations of the marriage between Rudolf and Stephanie and the first meeting between the Prince and the young Baroness is separated only by one act, when in reality the wedding happened seven years before the ill-fated lovers became acquainted. This quick pace is excusable as the ballet requires the story to be told solely through the emotions portrayed by the dancers. MacMillan created seven pas de deux in this ballet, all exploring the relationships between Prince Rudolf and the women around him. Each dance represents his search for love and his failure to find it, time and time again. The Women This section will explore the women individually. It will discuss their portrayal in the ballet, and whether their pas de deux with Prince Rudolf and the solo performances are an accurate reflection of the real women which inspired these dancing dames. Finally, each section will attempt to establish whether their portrayal is positive for their individual narratives as women and if they are truly accurate to the facts and 'image' that they were portrayed as throughout history. Empress Elisabeth, the Distant Mother "Empress Elisabeth of Austria in Courtly Gala Dress with Diamond Stars" (1865) oil on canvas; by Franz Xaver Winterhalter One of the most well known monarchs in Austrian history, Elisabeth of Bavaria is represented throughout Mayerling as a strong Empress and a distant mother. She married young and in love, and was not the biggest fan of court life. Whilst she did care for her children, she did so only from afar - especially when it came to her only son. He was sent away from a young age to be trained for military and imperial life. Elisabeth’s mother-in-law believed that the empress would be unable to raise the heir to the throne and thus distanced her from her son, something that would arguably lead to the development of Rudolf’s darker personality. Elisabeth, or Sissi as she was called by her family, grew up being encouraged by her parents to revel in the country and her creativity. Her love story with the Emperor-to-be was portrayed by many a movie through the years - with the 1955 picture starring Romy Schneider being one of the most famous, and romanticised. Nonetheless, her wondrous love story lost its strength as the years went by and imperial duties required her and Franz Joseph to spend time apart. Her relationship with Rudolf also became damaged as time went by due to the distance and lifestyle. During the first act of the ballet, there is a heavy focus on Rudolf's relationship with his mother. From her disappointment in finding him in a kiss with her niece to a heartbreaking pas de deux where we witness a desperate Rudolf looking for his mothers approval, understanding and love. Throughout the dance, Elisabeth is portrayed as a strong woman in her beliefs, not even letting her son’s cry for help affect her - at the very start of the choreography in this section she gently pushes away from his embrace. With the idea of a strong woman commonly being juxtaposed with the one of a good mother, throughout Elisabeth's narrative this is instead portrayed as joint aspects of her character. The Empress is portrayed as trying to be a good mother by maintaining her strength. One of her attempts to maintain Rudolf's image - as much of it was left to salvage anyway - is represented when she intensely charges towards her niece, Countess Larisch, when the woman is found in Rudolf's bedroom attempting once more to seduce her cousin. After all she could not have the prince having an affair with a married woman in court. Striking fear and stating her position in the dynamic allows the viewer to perceive her as a strong-willed woman that Sissi the Empress truly was. Laura Morera (Countess Larisch) and Kristen McNally (Empress Elizabeth) in Mayerling. © Foteini Christofilopoulou, courtesy the Royal Opera House After this episode of "motherly love" the Empress is only seen in instances where the entire court is present - with a small focus on her alleged affair with Scottish hunter George 'Bay' Middleton, something that deeply bothered Rudolf. No matter how many affairs he had, how dare his mother cheat on his father? Her presence in the ballet is strong and memorable, much as the Empress herself was. Princess Stephanie of Belgium, the Neglected Wife Princess Stephanie met Prince Rudolf as a young girl. She was 15 when they fell in love, and the Austrian heir, who was already 20, proposed not long after their introduction. From the start of their relationship she was not favoured by the Empress, who did bless their union, but this was simply out of obligation. Despite this, the couple got married in 1881 and had a lovely start to their marriage - something that did not last for long. As time went by, the two realised just how little they had in common and Rudolf maintained many mistresses throughout their years together. Portrait of Princess Stephanie and Prince Rudolf photographed by Oscar Kramer in 1881 Something that helps historians better understand Stephanie's relationship with Rudolf and her life within the Austrian court is an autobiography. Stephanie wrote a book about her marriage - from the early days of their relationship until the Prince's death. Throughout it she discusses the first year of their marriage in a very impersonal way, something that makes clear just how much the couple distanced from one another as the years went by. More interesting aspects of her book are her relationship with the Empress, who was very open about her feelings towards Stephanie but still 'used' the princess as a stand-in for events she did not desire to attend, and how the Austrian court made no effort to include or even care for her after the Prince died. The undermining of the Princess by the court, while not shown in the ballet, deserves to be included in this analysis as it most likely happened due to her "inability to have an heir" - her sole task in the eyes of the court. While she did have a daughter with Rudolf, this failure to have a son is believed to be Rudolf's fault. Due to his many affairs, Rudolf contracted syphilis and, it is rumoured, passed it onto Stephanie who became infertile. This was not mentioned by Stephanie in her writing. The portrayal of their marriage in the ballet is not introduced with the initial happiness that the couple lived through. During the celebrations of their union, Rudolf is seen flirting and dancing with another woman: Stephanie's sister. This betrayal with her sister creates the image of Rudolf as someone that did not care for Stephanie or their marriage from the start - something fabricated by MacMillan to move the story in a faster pace. Stephanie, who has her own solo and a pas de deux with Rudolf at the end of Act 1, is only seen briefly during the second act when her husband takes her along to one of his nights of dalliances at a pub - which has a masterful choreography for the corps de ballet. After her escape from the unsolicited outing with Rudolf, she is no longer a focus for the ballet, or for her husband, who, that evening, is introduced to Maria Vetsera. Princess Stephanie and Empress Elisabeth seen in the background as Rudolf flirts with another woman during their wedding celebrations. Stephanie's solo and her pas de deux with Rudolf at the end of act one are meant to represent their wedding night, with striking differences between both. Throughout her solo, the princess is pictured waiting for her new husband, undressed by her ladies in waiting and practically floating through the stage with a sad aspect (but even then that could represent the initial bliss from the first year of their marriage). However, this quickly changes upon Rudolf's arrival, with an aggressive and nerve-wracking choreography taking place between the two. [TRIGGER WARNING: mention of Sexual Assault] Princess Stephanie dances a terrifying pas de deux with Prince Rudolf at the end of act one. From the end of her solo, which she dances peacefully to the encounter with her new husband which from the beginning of the dance shows his aggression towards her. Scaring Stephanie with a human skull and a gun - objects which the real Prince did have in his study - the dance evolves into a chase between prey and predator. With effortless lifts, in which the ballerina shivers her entire body so the audience understands just how afraid the Princess would have been, and forceful movements led by the male dancer, it is clear that the scene we are witnessing between the couple is one of sexual assault. Princess Stephanie (Meaghan Grace Hinkis) scared by Prince Rudolf (Steven McRae) at the end of their pas de deux; ROH 2019 production of 'Mayerling' MacMillan mentions in the 1978 documentary that the scene represents their wedding night and reflects on Rudolf's fascination with death and the pressure on him to produce an heir. The product of this was the strong and fearful rape scene in the ballet. Whether their relationship involved these sad moments is uncertain - it was never alluded by Stephanie in her book nor mentioned in Rudolf's farewell letter found after his suicide. It brings into question the necessity for such a strong scene to end act one. Could it be there to suggest the change of sentiment regarding their marriage or was it simply trying to make Rudolf a villain? The use of such a violent scene is a very deliberate artistic choice on MacMillan's part, especially by portraying such a moment in their wedding night, a time when the couple still believed their union would be a happy one. Overall, Princess Stephanie - whilst she is an important person to the narrative and history, in the ballet, she is simply the personification of the duties that Rudolf was meant to achieve - produce an heir, have a loving family as his parents ascend to the throne - and he failed in all of them. Nonetheless, for the one member of the Austrian court who produced a book about the incident (published in 1935), the princess seems to be as neglected in the ballet as she was in her marriage. The story she tells is simply of a victim who suffered from a wedding for political reasons, when it was originally in fact out of adoration for one another. Princess Stephanie of Belgium. Photography by Lallie Charles, 1911. Countess Marie Larisch, the Flirtatious Cousin Marie Larisch could be described as the instigator of the incident if Rudolf had not presented suicidal thoughts previously - but she was definitely a facilitator. She was the cousin who wished for his love but was denied it by Rudolf himself and his mother - who, upon realising this attraction, made sure to find a husband for her niece. Whether she stopped flirting with the prince it can not be said for certain - something the ballet portrays really well. Larisch herself was not known for her good manners, and was more noted for her “arrogant” attitude that drove much of the Austrian court away. She became an easy “target” for MacMillan to paint in the ballet with a negative light. Photograph of Countess Marie Larish by Joseph Lowy, date unknown. She dances one of the first pas de deux of the ballet with Rudolf. Throughout it there is a duality in how the prince receives her approaches - from an initial acceptance to the attempts to push her away, represented by lifts, pirouettes and actual pushes woven into the dance. The section finishes with Larisch stealing a kiss and being caught by the Emperor and Empress who, while being represented as shocked, do not cause a scene as this was at the end of the wedding celebration, simply allowing Rudolf to walk away with his bride. The Countess returns several times throughout the ballet, being instrumental on the introduction of young Vetsera and the prince. In the ballet, she convinces the young girl that the couple are destined to be together with what seems to be a spread of tarot cards - making an exchange for the final card, representing their doomed future, as if the woman knew that the match would be fatal. Now, it is obvious that this was entirely fabricated by MacMillan. To predict that not only the murder-suicide pact would be proposed but accepted by Vetsera is something that in no way the Countess was capable of doing - but as they needed a "villain," and she paid this price. However, she was still blamed by the Empress for Rudolf's death and never saw her aunt again, having been banished by the Viennese court altogether. The final time we see Marie Larisch is during a pas de deux in Rudolf's bedroom, in which he is clearly ill - both in his physical and mental health. The Countess attempts to help the young man with whom she was infatuated, as she finds him soon after administering a dose of morphine (something to which he became addicted). Even then, at his most fragile state, Rudolf continuously tries to get rid of her, helped by his mother once she enters the room and discovers the Countess there. Empress Elisabeth (Kristen McNally) finds Countess Larisch (Laura Morera) and a fallen Prince Rudolf (Steven McRae) in his bedroom; ROH 2019 production of 'Mayerling' A woman who was denied the attention of the man she desired, Marie Larisch can be described - both in real life and at the ballet - as scorned. She was blamed for the tragic ending of the Habsburg dynasty, something that she could not control but the Viennese society made sure she was punished for it. Throughout the ballet, she is portrayed as slightly desperate, whether for love or lust, it is up for the audience to decide - though in real life she was most likely desperate for attention than anything else. She went on to work for the film industry, fueling them with information about the Habsburgs - even assisting with the production for a short period of time. Baroness Maria Vetsera, the Naïve Mistress Finally, it is time to discuss the otherwise unknown to history, Maria Vetsera. The young mistress who believed herself so in love with the Austrian prince that she accepted to end her life alongside him. Whether she was coerced to end her life or not, is a question that might never be answered, though in her farewell letter to her mother she states that "[...] I could not resist love [...] I am happier in death than life" making historians believe that she was in agreement with the pact. In the ballet, MacMillan represents the young Vetsera as a sensual, excited character with the prospect of being introduced to the prince. During the performance one forgets that she is meant to be a 17 year old girl as she is at times portrayed as a temptress. Photograph of Maria Vetsera by Adele Perlmutter (1889) However, MacMillan representing Maria in such light also alludes to how the girl was perceived by the late 19th century Austrian society. Having a more "advanced" figure from a young age, she had always attracted the attention of men who would be unaware of the young age of the girl. Throughout the ballet, Maria can be seen as both the young and trusting girl who was in love with a prince and, at times, as the erotic lover that Rudolf lusted after. Very little is known about her real self other than the fact she was raised to aim for a fortuitous social match. Her family, even though they had connections with the royals, was not part of the court and Maria was therefore not a public person before the start of her affair with the crown prince. All of the pas de deux between the lovers are charged with sexual or romantic energy. At the beginning of their first dance together she arrives in his bedroom wearing a large coat that is quickly removed to reveal a sheer and loose fitting nightgown. This first duet is incredibly sensual, with the choreography alluding to sexual activity with different lifts and poses throughout it. Something very important about this section is the representation of Maria's lack of fear of Rudolf's unusual interests, represented by her playing with his gun and dancing with the human skull he keeps. Maria Vetsera (Sarah Lamb) 'plays' with Prince Rudolf (Steven McRae) with his gun; ROH 2019 production of 'Mayerling' Maria Vetsera (Sarah Lamb) and Prince Rudolf (Steven McRae); ROH 2019 production of 'Mayerling' Their final dance represents the moments before their deaths at Mayerling and, according to what is believed to have happened, Maria is the first to die. Beforehand however, their final moments together are represented in the last pas de deux. A very emotionally charged dance, they cling onto one another until the moment that they planned arrives. The public sees the couple together for a final time before hearing a gunshot and a distraught Rudolf comes back onto the front of the stage, doing a final tragic solo before joining his lover in death. This difference at the time of their deaths aligns with the way their bodies were found at the lodge - Maria's body already cold and Rudolf dead more recently. The reason for this is one of the many mysteries of the Mayerling Incident. In many ballets, the first and final scene are the same - for Mayerling it is no different. The first scene introduced to the audience is of a funeral, with no pomp and few people present. It is only at the end that we find out that the simple funeral was Maria's, but this simplicity was not because of her class, but to hide the truth of the Prince's death. While both of them requested to be buried together, to acknowledge the suicide of the heir to the throne would be not only be scandalous, but also would mean that he would not be granted the royal burial his parents wished for him. Therefore, they blamed his death on his weak health, something known to the Austrian public, and made sure to bury his mistress in a hidden and far away location. Her mother would not be told where Maria's body was for two years. Our finale Whether the ballet holds a feminist undertone to it, the answer is probably no - especially as the main character is Prince Rudolf; his relationships with these women simply guide the story. Their importance throughout is undeniable, with their ballet personas being most often similar to the reality of each of these 19th century women. Nonetheless, the fact that these women were well-portrayed through the ballet, regarding their personalities, status and character, is incredibly important for women's history. Even though they are not the focal point of the story and the ballet would definitely not pass the Bechdel Test, they are key parts of the portrayal of this moment in history. They are not only remembered but also introduced to different audiences - those who might be familiar with history, or who were drawn in simply by the status of a MacMillan ballet. These audience members will become aware of the story of each of these women and thus ensure that they are not forgotten or written out of this narrative. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ If you're interested in watching the ballet in its entirety, the following streaming services (both with free trial periods) have professional recordings: MarqueeTV and Royal Opera House. Further reading Barkeley, Richard, and Phyllis Auty. 1959. ‘Review of the Road to Mayerling: Life and Death of Crown Prince Rudolph of Austria’, The Slavonic and East European Review, 37.89: 543–46 Condé Nast. 2022. ‘The True Story behind Mayerling, Brought Back by the Royal Ballet This October’, Tatler Derek Bailey. 1978. ‘Mayerling: South Bank Special, Part 2, 1978.’, Www.youtube.com Hamann, Brigitte. 2012. The Reluctant Empress: A Biography of Empress Elisabeth of Austria, Google Books (Faber & Faber) Parry, Jann. 2010. Different Drummer: The Life of Kenneth MacMillan, Google Books (Faber & Faber) Rezzutti, Paulo , and Cláudia Thomé Witte. 2022. Sissi E O Último Brilho de Uma Dinastia (Leya) Schönbrunn Group. [n.d.-a]. ‘CSI Mayerling – How Did the Crown Prince Really Die?’, Die Welt Der Habsburger - the World of the Habsburgs Schönbrunn Group . [n.d.-b]. ‘An Unhappy Union: Rudolf and Stephanie’, Die Welt Der Habsburger - the World of the Habsburgs

What do Girl, Interrupted, American Horror Story, and the work of Sylvia Plath have in common? Aside from being my teenage favourites, they all lay their scenes in mental health institutions during the 1960s. You’d think that this makes them all relatively similar works but the setting in these three works (and those associated) is complicated by genre and gender. For each of these works, there are what I’m calling ‘firsthand participants’ - the speaker or character the audience allies themselves to when first reading or watching - and ‘secondhand participants’, who hijack the text and manipulate thematic elements to benefit their directorial lens. In these instances, it just so happens that the firsthand participants are women (Susanna Kaysen, Lana Winters, and the speaker in Plath’s poetry) who have occupied the 1960s Asylum setting against their will. Can you guess from the title who the secondhand participants are? The 1960s asylum setting is fundamental to the second season of American Horror Story and is not exactly concerned with historical accuracy, as you can tell from the following endorsement from The Guardian: “Ask 100 people what scares them and you'll get 100 different answers. This show aims to cater for every one of that hundred, and many more besides, by throwing a dizzying variety of horror at the screen”. Obviously, there’s a number of speculative elements introduced into the setting which have to work within the context of the horror genre so the asylum becomes a place of abuse, mistreatment and dread rather than one of recovery care. In doing so, the audiences attention is draw towards Nazi doctors, aliens, and demonic posession instead of focusing on character experiences and what a modern audience would consider the actual horrific elements to be: electro-shock therapy, conversion therapy, medical malpractice by the Church, and lobotomising patients against their will. In addition to this, sex and sexual violence are used to further the plot without any investment in the repercussions. The main example of this is Lana Winters storyline, in which she is falsely imprisoned in Briarcliff Manor, then falsely imprisoned again when she tries to escape with her psychiatrist, the Bloodyface killer, who involuntarily impregnates her. As a result, her character undergoes round after round of mental, emotional and sexual trauma and the repeated violation of the female body to the extent that it becomes near impossible to separate womanhood and brutality. Carol Clover suggests that “if it is [...] the case that the act of horror spectatorship is itself registered a “feminine” experience - that the shock effects induce in the viewer bodily sensations answering the fear and pain of the screen victim - the charge of masochism is underlined”, which suggests that the price of prioritising the female narrative and firsthand participant is excessive violence as an unavoidable rite of passage. In doing so, series creators Murphy and Falchuk compound the liminality of the asylum setting with gendered trauma to divert the audiences’ attention away from the missed opportunities to discuss the ‘real life’ horrors in favour of the speculative ones. Unlike American Horror Story: Asylum, Girl, Interrupted straddles the line between memoir and narrative non-fiction as Susanna Kaysen recounts her lived experience of being institutionalised in McLean Hospital. Somewhat similar to Plath’s the Bell Jar, this is told through a series of pseudo-biographical vignettes where the author plays the role of subject and surveyor. However, the film adaptation restructures the source material in favour of plot and psychological drama and the fact that Susanna Kaysen herself remarks that “Girl, Interrupted is material [she] never wanted to fictionalize” implies that the film manipulates the past for the sake of profitability. The 1999 film takes the ‘series of narrative snapshots’ and creates a story that features Kaysen’s real friendships during her time at the institution, rather than revolving around them. One would think that by not choosing to capitalise on the acclaim attached to McLean Hospital - where the likes of Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Robert Lowell, Ray Charles and James Taylor all spent time - the director, James Mangold, would apply the same level of respect to the real patients and friends Kaysen wrote about. The casting of well-known actors also detracts from the vivid authenticity that the memoir was praised for, as the reader notes the impact and influence the patients have on each other throughout their stays because they’re ‘unknown’. While “Kaysen acknowledged that the change of her story was necessary for the change in medium”, the casting of Angelina Jolie - an undoubtedly international sex symbol - is almost disruptive and contradictory to this perception of the group as a whole, rather than Susanna and Lisa as main characters with A-List actors. The film adaptation almost does things in reverse in this sense: the asylum setting in the memoir is pre-established and the reader becomes aware of its notoriety while the ‘characters’ are remain ‘characters’ to the reader, as told by Kaysen herself. James Mangold’s adaptation springboards off of lived experience and, though you could argue that Susanna Kaysen does the same by monetising her account and the accounts of others, she does not employ hyperbole or fabricate events to do so. Her firsthand experience of the 1960s asylum is subsequently hijacked and overshadowed. With Sylvia Plath’s work, it’s sometimes difficult to distinguish her personhood from the subject of her work due to the nature of the confessional poetry genre. The use of vivid allusion and metaphor sometimes make it difficult to establish Plath’s work as anything but autobiographical, especially when it comes to how her work revolves around her relationship with her father, Otto, and her husband, Ted Hughes. Parvin Ghasemi even suggests that ‘her work [...] exhibits a rebellion against the confinement of ‘self’ in the bondage of conformity and subjection and suggests an outlet of expression which indicates the individual’s struggle to liberate ‘self’ from the bondage of social conformity and dispossession.’. However, I believe this passes the buck back to Plath herself as the only agent and executor of her own discontentment, when in reality this would be a naive suggestion to make in light of more modern understanding of mental health and institutionalisation. The year leading up to Plath’s suicide was particularly tumultuous, with her husband embarking on an affair with another woman while she was left to be a single mother. Despite this, Ted Hughes controversially inherited her assets and legacy as they were legally married at the time of Plath’s death and there is some argument to suggest that this enabled Hughes to doctor her works, letters and legacy to remove any allegations of wrongdoing on his behalf. The poem, Daddy, is often signposted as a conduit for Plath’s personal turmoil: ‘But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you,' This stanza briefly takes us through Plath’s life to the writing of the poem; the speaker’s suicide attempt is foiled as she is revived by doctors (‘they’) and apparently repaired, provoking her to replicate her complicated father-daughter relationship through her romantic relationship. The speaker recounts their life story, and it becomes apparent that their agency is dominated and therefore hijacked by two prominent authoritarian male figures. In summary, I would contend that the recounts of ‘first-hand’ participants in American Horror Story: Asylum, Girl, Interrupted and Plath’s confessional poetry are marginalised for the purpose of male gain. Though gender is an active factor in the way these depictions of 1960s asylums are presented, the second-hand accounts of setting bulldoze over ‘lived’ experience for profitability and reputation. In addition to this, it is particularly ironic that these accounts were taken during a crucial point in the Feminist Liberation Movement - when women were raising their voices for equality and intersectionality - yet still buried or piggybacked off by men in the decades to come. So while it is true that the 1960s asylum setting functions within multiple genres, it is hijacked by men for convenience and profit because, to the capitalist patriarchy we continue to exist in, the stories of women in crisis are more attractive than the recovery and rehabilitation of the women themselves. Further reading Primary Sources American Horror Story: Asylum, FX. October 2012 –January 2013 Girl, Interrupted, dir. James Mangold (Columbia, 1999) Kaysen, Susanna, Girl, Interrupted (Virage Press Ltd, 2003) Plath, Sylvia, ‘Daddy’, in Ariel. Faber and Faber, 1965. Secondary Sources Clover, Carol J. ‘Her Body, Himself: Gender in the Slasher Film’, in Men, Women and Chainsaws (B.F.I. Pub.) 1992. p.61 Danker, Jared. 2003. ‘Susanna Kaysen, without Interruptions’, The Justice < https://www.thejustice.org/article/2003/02/susanna-kaysen-without-interruptions > [accessed 22 September 2023] Ghasemi, Parvin. 2008. ‘Violence, Rage, and Self-Hurt in Sylvia Plath’s Poetry’, CLA Journal, 51.3: 284–303 Johnson, Alex. 1994. ‘A Conversation with Susanna Kaysen’, Agni, pp. 99–107 O’Neill, Phelim, ‘American Horror Story – Box Set Review’, The Guardian (Guardian News and Media, 2014) [accessed 16 September 2023]

Glossary Onryo: There are many different varieties of spirits in Japanese culture, but I focus on the Onryo, which is, according to the encyclopaedia of Japan, a vengeful spirit separated from a dead person that is feared to bring disaster. The spirit is not inherently gendered, though I use feminine pronouns due to the modern, Western association that has been formed, as well as because the ghosts shown in Japanese horror films around the turn of the century were almost exclusively vengeful, dead women. Noh and Kabuki: Two forms of Japanese theatre and performance art. Nenbutsu and Amida: Repetition of the name for the principle Buddha of Pure Land Buddhism (Amida). Internationalisation and Globalisation: The processes undertaken by many countries during the 20th Century, where the country would experience rapid development, industrial growth, liberalisation, and connection to other countries across the globe either directly or indirectly assisted by dominant Western powers such as the USA. Sometimes, this is pejoratively referred to as Westernisation. You sit down in the dark and you insert the tape. The VHS player whirrs into action and you don’t even need to click play before the infamous footage begins. Several seemingly incoherent images flash up on your television set: a girl brushing her hair, letters dancing across the screen, and a distant well in a forest. From this point on, you have seven days to pass on the tape, else you will meet your fate with a vengeful spirit. Ringu, Nakata, Hideo, Ringu/Rasen Production Committee, Japan, 1998 Long, black, wet hair covers most of her front and poking out beneath it are deathly pale limbs clothed in a white dress. In modern times, Sadako, the murderous spirit from Ringu, is the most known iteration of this ghost, not only due to the international success of the film from which she stems, but also because she really was the first to properly tie the look with the effects of new media technologies and globalisation through the totally arresting image depicted above. There are few moments in horror as confounding as Sadako leaning into and through the TV set. Sadako could be seen as a modern take on the myth of the Onryo, a type of spirit belonging to a person who died with a grudge. The Onryo is now one of horror’s most ubiquitous monsters but not many people know just how far-reaching her history is. Besides Japanese horror classics such as Ju-On: The Grudge (2002) or Ringu (1998), this ghostly figure had its roots in Japanese myths and religious beliefs, was adopted into the theatrical arts, and now has been totally appropriated into cheap Hollywood remakes. This article traces the history of the vengeful spirit and how it came to be an embodiment of Japanese globalisation-anxiety by exploiting the trope of the ghost girl in horror. Death has for a long time been regarded with a particular sense of dread and superstition in Japanese religion and mythology. A “bad death” in particular was deemed to be a pollutant to the world of the living. If, say, a person died with an unresolved grudge in their life, it was believed that they would be unable to pass on to the afterlife and thus would have to wander and haunt the world of the living, affecting especially their families. Belief in these spirits rose to prominence during the Heian period (between 794 and 1185), beginning as a belief held amongst the higher classes of society and spreading to common people in the following centuries. These were the beginnings of the Onryo, and it was not necessarily a woman, though now it is so often associated in the West with the idea of a monstrous-woman. In fact, many battlefields were sites of religious practice where Buddhist priests would offer to pray Nenbutsu (a buddhist, often melodic prayer to Amida, the principal Buddha of Pure Land Buddhism) on dead or dying soldiers who wanted safe passage into Amida’s paradise. If a mother died during childbirth, this was also deemed to be unnatural and would turn her spirit into a very dangerous ghost, which shows early on there were grounds for engendering and highlighting the role of femininity or motherhood in the Onryo. Crucially, the Onryo was also believed to not only be responsible for their enemy’s death but also capable of causing disasters such as earthquakes. As we will see later on, these are key elements to understanding the millennial Onryo. The myth of the Onryo became incorporated into noh theatre, a form of drama that involved various forms of expression from singing and dancing to storytelling and costume-making. The Onryo is one of the few key archetypes of mask in this form of theatre, alongside those like Jo and Kishin for elder characters and demons, respectively.The Onryo mask was designed to strike fear into the hearts of audiences, with its twisted features and glaring eyes. The mask draws inspiration from the myth, as often the strength of the spirit (and by extension its grudge) would affect the mask’s design and how snarled it was made to look. Photograph of Onryo mask from Noh theatre. https://web.archive.org/web/20221019061925/http://www.the-noh.com/sub/jp/index.php?mode=db&action=e_view_detail&data_id=11&class_id=1 Another form of theatre called kabuki established the most popular depiction of the Onryo, and it is the one that we would recognise even today. The design goes as far back as the Edo period (1603-1868) and was important in allowing the audience to distinguish between characters, since kabuki was mostly played by one actor (originally either male or female but gradually becoming more male-dominant). A white burial kimono, long, black, wild hair, and make-up that made the ghost look pale with accentuated blue features to make the face as striking as possible. This trend popularised the Onryo as feminine and as villainous, since the make-up look was similar to the depictions of villains in kabuki, too. Kabuki proved to be a great space for the Onryo to rise in popularity; the plays were often about moral conflict and relationships of the heart, while the stages were equipped with gadgets such as trapdoors to allow the ghost to appear suddenly. Oiwa is the Onryo in Japan’s famous ghost story Yotsuya kaidan. The tale has been performed on stage, film, and beyond, by telling the story of a woman brutally murdered by her husband returning as a ghost to seek revenge. The story’s influence on the modern Onryo cannot be understated. The visual aspect and narrative structure are crucial to the way Sadako, for one, was created. Also, the tale is accompanied by the legend of a curse; retelling the story, it has been told, leads to suffering, while in Ringu the tape haunted by Sadako can be passed on to avoid death. Another very famous tale of the Onryo involves three real men who were said to have become vengeful spirits after their political power was stripped from them. Sugawara no Michizane, born in 845, was one of them and the belief was that anyone who plotted against him died suspiciously. This shows that as much as the stereotype drifted towards feminising the Onryo, its roots are not so gendered. Utagawa Kuniyoshi's portrait of Oiwa. (1836) Ringu is certainly the most famous cinematic depiction of the Onryo. Not only did it become the highest grossing horror in Japan, it also was a hit in the home media market, which made films much more easily exportable to the UK and US. Sadako is the vengeful spirit in question and she holds her grudge due to her childhood trauma caused by adults exploiting her extrasensory perception powers that allow her to be telekinetic. While still a child, she was murdered by an ESP doctor who was investigating her case. In the present day, her curse spreads through a video tape that is passed around by young people. Reiko is a journalist who is investigating these mysterious and brutal deaths caused by the tape, and she enlists the help of her ex-husband to track down the Onryo, involuntarily exposing their son to their dangerous work. Sadako invokes many of the antiquated myths of the Onryo: she looks like the kabuki representation of the ghost and holds a deep grudge against those who wronged her, while also being capable of harming anyone who dares watch her cursed video tape. The modernistic aspect of Sadako comes in with the fact she occupies and lives through technology; technology literally re-generates the myth of the Onryo into the present day. She embodies very relevant anxieties surrounding Japanese identity in a modernised/Westernised world. After World War II, Japan was occupied by allied forces, mostly Americans, and entered a rapid process known as internationalisation. After millennia of mostly being an isolated and individualistic empire, Japan had quite suddenly become exposed to a lot of new influences on many levels of society, most importantly on an economic level. Through foreign, freed trade, Japan became a leader in information technologies and in various media spaces. Japanese horror was an offspring of that development. On the other hand, Japanese culture, films and all, quickly began flowing into Western homes. This offered film critics and academics a space to explore how these films expressed the fears of the neo-liberalised reality from which they spawned. The Onryo herself then serves as an amalgam of Japanese culture and some Hollywood horror tropes. Ironically, the Japanese film industry was, in its infancy, very opposed to Hollywood’s influences and much more aligned with Kabuki lighting and staging. However, blockbuster horror and its psychosexual ideology left a clear mark on the construction of the filmic Onryo. For decades, psychoanalysis and feminist readings had dominated academic discourse on horror films, so naturally a new feminine monster will catch the attention of critics. Sadako represents a “return of the repressed,” a pivotal concept in horror developed by Barbara Creed. Sadako’s trauma caused her to become the Onryo as she died with a grudge. She is also an example of abject horror: something that shows the breakdown of borders, boundaries and natural order. Her corporeality comes to be only when she crawls through a TV screen, defying the ‘natural’ voyeuristic relationship between audience and screen, and in the climax of Ringu her abjection reaches a peak when she kills off Reiko’s ex-husband. These are both horror ideas associated with feminine sexuality in particular. Julia Kristeva’s analysis of abject horror highlights the evocation of birth giving as a form of abjection, as well as the connotations of penetration inherent to the slasher film, since the ‘psycho’ murderer is very often depicted as a sexually disturbed individual. Notable examples include Michael Myers, Jason Vorhees/his mother, Norman Bates, and Leatherface. Kristeva and many other critics of the genre point out the sexual dilemmas at the core of these films as characteristic of the genre, as well as of the broader gender-focused commentary within these films. Ringu is similar since it also shows the resummoning of a serial-killer-like character in Sadako, though the violence in the film occurs not through bloody, stabby rampages but through the act of looking, otherwise known as voyeurism. Voyeurism, the fetish of observation, is a myth closely tied to classical cinematic structure and film viewership. It is the unspoken rule of cinema that visual pleasure is what draws an audience to the cinema and the film frames the spectator, regardless of their gender, as masculine looking and holding power over what is on the screen. Sadako’s ‘rule’ that all who watch her tape, indulging in her traumatic past, must die is a counter-attack against the desire to look. This attack expands to Japan’s culture at large. In a now rapidly globalising country, Japanese people can feel the influence of the West laid upon them as well as the objectifying Orientalist gaze. Sadako is a sort of double-threat as both a response to these fears and the root of them. Her attacks on family and technology reflect the abject nature of Japanese modernity, through the filmic depictions of Japan’s borders and technology. It is no wonder that there are so many scenes in Japanese horror that take place on the coast. Audition, Miike, Takeshi, Omega Project, Japan, 1999 Audition, Miike, Takeshi, Omega Project, Japan, 1999 Horror films often choose the targets of their deaths very carefully, and Reiko’s husband is no different. He is punished for representing a fracture in the traditional family unit: he is a divorcee, who prioritised uncovering the repressed narrative of Sadako, jeopardising the potential to get back together with his ex-wife, his co-sleuth in tracking down the origins of Sadako’s Onryo. The family unit was very much an important stake in Japanese horror, as family men, children, and homes are at the forefront of these narratives. This reflects the changing meaning of family life in Japan in the last century. Much like many Western countries after World War II, Japan saw an increase in divorce rates, particularly in the 1970s and 80s. Feminist movements prompted difficult conversations about coming to terms with liberalisation and its effects on the family unit. Other films that approach this topic include Audition (1999), which told the story of a single man looking to exploit young women in the acting business before meeting his untimely demise to a woman who was sexually traumatised in her childhood years. New media technologies also had a profound effect on Japanese horror narratives, as the video tape, though going out of fashion at the time, was used as a medium to bridge the Onryo with the terrifying present and the traumatic past. Other films like Ju-on: The Grudge also use TV screens to great effect in their diegesis. Portrait of Yamakawa Kikue (1890-1980), a socialist-feminist activist (photo taken in 1920) The legacy left behind by the Onryo is important, as it shows a cruel, almost ironic turn of fate for her and what she stands for. For a split second, she became emblematic of the anxieties surrounding globalisation, but a few years and remakes later, she became just another commodity for the international film business to exploit. The Asia Extreme physical media label, for example, was the label that brought the films over to Western territories such as the UK and US, with some very bold marketing techniques. The founder of Tartan Films (owner of the label) was supposedly blown away by two landmark films in the J-Horror wave in Ringu and Audition, which inspired him to establish the label. Novelty items, problematic word association, and generating a sense of otherness and extremity linked to Asian filmmakers were some of the tricks used by the company to sell these films as aesthetically thrilling alternatives to what Hollywood put out. This had a lasting effect on the perceptions of violence in these films. For example, the horrific events that unfolded at the Virginia Tech University shooting in 2007 were discussed by the media as potentially motivated by a violent, action film from South Korea called Oldboy, solely based on the tenuous logic that two of twenty photographs sent by the perpetrator bore similarity to the film. This reflects two ideological problems in the way that Japanese horror, and perhaps Asian filmmaking more generally faced during this time when the West’s soft power was increasing globally. Imports were homogenised, stripped of their complexity and individuality. They were also marketed on whatever terms the West chose. In the years after Japanese horror’s millennial peak, the myth was appropriated by Hollywood with mixed effectiveness. The inevitable remakes largely were mediocre and lost the deeper meaning behind the originals. From the myth to the movie, these ghosts developed a lot in their look and ideology, evolving to represent a “prosthetic trauma” in Japan. Her popularity evoked a general agreement that Japanese culture was under threat and it was too late to do anything but cash-in. In a way, what the Onryo came to represent, she came to be through American media. She even made appearances in some video games and merchandising. Commodified and boxed up, the Onryo now comfortably lives in the pantheon of horror monsters, though her legacy is much deeper than that. Bibliography Antoni, Klaus. “Yasukuni-Jinja and Folk Religion: The Problem of Vengeful Spirits.” Asian Folklore Studies, vol. 47, no. 1, 1988, pp. 123–36. Balanzategui, Jessica. "6. The Prosthetic Traumas of the Internal Alien in Millennial J-Horror". The Uncanny Child in Transnational Cinema: Ghosts of Futurity at the Turn of the Twenty-first Century, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2018, pp. 185-216. Bingham, Adam. “JAPANESE HORROR CINEMA.” Contemporary Japanese Cinema Since Hana-Bi, Edinburgh University Press, 2015 Cagle, Robert L. “The Good, the Bad, and the South Korean: Violence, Morality, and the South Korean Extreme Film.” Horror to the Extreme: Changing Boundaries in Asian Cinema, edited by Jinhee Choi and Mitsuyo Wada-Marciano, Hong Kong University Press, 2009, pp. 123–44. Creed, Barbara. “HORROR AND THE MONSTROUS-FEMININE: An Imaginary Abjection.” The Monster Theory Reader, edited by Jeffrey Andrew Weinstock, University of Minnesota Press, 2020. Kawashima, Takeyoshi, and Kurt Steiner. “Modernization and Divorce Rate Trends in Japan.” Economic Development and Cultural Change, vol. 9, no. 1, 1960, pp. 213–39. Klemperer-Markham, Ayala, and Ofra Goldstein-Gidoni. “Socialist Egalitarian Feminism in Early Postwar Japan: Yamakawa Kikue and the ‘Democratization of Japan.’” U.S.-Japan Women’s Journal, no. 42, 2012, pp. 3–30. Parker, Helen S. E.. Progressive traditions : an illustrated study of plot repetition in traditional Japanese theatre. Boston, Brill, 2006. Shin, Chi-Yun. “The Art of Branding: Tartan ‘Asia Extreme’ Films.” Horror to the Extreme: Changing Boundaries in Asian Cinema, edited by Jinhee Choi and Mitsuyo Wada-Marciano, Hong Kong University Press, 2009 Shively, H. Donald, Hall, John Whitney. The Cambridge History of Japan. United Kingdom, Cambridge University Press, 1988. Tezuka, Yoshiharu. Japanese Cinema Goes Global: Filmworkers’ Journeys Hong Kong University Press, 2012 Walsh, Mike, “The Aesthetics of Shadow Lighting” Screening the Past http://www.screeningthepast.com/issue-38-reviews/the-aesthetics-of-shadow-lighting-and-japanese-cinema/ “Kabuki theatre” UNESCO https://ich.unesco.org/en/RL/kabuki-theatre-00163#:~:text=Kabuki%20is%20a%20Japanese%20traditional,was%20particularly%20popular%20among%20townspeople. “Onryo” Yokai https://yokai.com/onryou/ “Nenbutsu” Encyclopedia https://www.encyclopedia.com/religion/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/nenbutsu-chinese-nianfo-korean-yombul The-Noh https://www.the-noh.com/ Masuyama, Hiroko, Onryo: Japanese Grudge Spirit and Ghost Stories, 2017 https://www.patternz.jp/onryo-japanese-vengeful-spirits/#michizane

Lella Lombardi with one of her first single seaters In the last five years, the international profile of European motorsports, particularly Formula One, has skyrocketed. However, with its rising popularity follows a growing critique. Where are the women in Formula One? Other racing series like NASCAR and IndyCar can boast numerous women racers, but F1 remains dominated by a grid of twenty men. The series has tried to respond, highlighting women like Bernie Collins – former Red Bull Racing Strategy Engineer and current analyst for Sky Sports. Indeed, in 2023, Jessica Hawkins became the first female F1 test-driver in five years since Tatiana Calderon in 2018. 2023 is also the inaugural season of the all-women's F1 Academy, directed by Susie Wolff, who herself made history when she participated in a free practice session for Williams Racing. The Academy started racing this year with an all-female grid of drivers supported by the 10 major F1 teams. It is a huge step in the development of women’s motor sports, and it could lead to a woman re-joining the grid for the first time since 1992 when Giovanna Amati tried and failed to qualify for three races in a row. Yet many new fans have no idea that women ever raced in Formula One at all. History has forgotten the women who blazed new paths in motorsports. This article remembers one of those women, Lella Lombardi who in 1975 became the first and only woman to ever score points in a Formula One Grand Prix. Lella’s story has always stood out to me. Maybe it’s because she was, in today’s terms, queer, supported throughout her career by her partner, Fiorenza. Maybe it’s because the era she raced in was so incredibly dangerous, with drivers literally risking their lives every race for the thrill of speed. Maybe it’s because scoring points is such an incredible accomplishment in F1, and Lella did it in the second race she qualified for! There are men who have raced for years without ever reaching this achievement which used to come from placing within the top six of a race. There are undoubtedly other stories to tell – that of Maria Teresea De Fillippis, the first woman to drive in F1 in 1958, and Desiré Wilson, the first woman to win a Formula One event in the British Aurora Series in 1980. All of these women faced the same question Lella did: what is your point? Even after De Fillippis’s trailblazing races, the world of motorsports was sure a woman could not find any real success in racing, so why even try? What was the purpose of pouring money into women pilots? Lella answered - her point was to prove that women could not only enter the world of motorsports, but succeed. Lella’s name deserves to be remembered for consistently flouting social scripts to achieve something no woman has since. Chasing a Dream Lella Lombardi’s unique career in Formula One starts with her upbringing. F1 has never been a cheap sport, it requires either immense personal wealth or sponsorships to build a career. As such, most drivers have historically come from privileged backgrounds, but Lella did not have this advantage. Lella was born Maria Grazia Lombardi on March 14th, 1941. Her parents were butchers from the village of Frugarolo, Italy, and she spent much of her childhood working at her family’s shop. The Lombardi family did not own a family car and neither of Lella’s parents drove in her youth. It was only when Lella was injured in a handball game as a young teenager that she first rode in a car when her coach took her to the local hospital. She became enraptured by driving and after this saved money to pay for lessons and practiced in any vehicle she could. She even convinced her parents to let her drive the business delivery van! 1970s rally car (top) and Lella’s loaned 1974 F1 single seater (bottom) Eventually with the help of her older brother, Lella bought a car of her own and immediately started looking for racing opportunities. But being a woman trying to break into the boys’ club of motorsport was no easy feat. Lella would have to rely on her male connections to support her early career. Early on, Lella was introduced to a rally car pilot who she impressed with her sheer determination to race. He took Lella onto his team, assigning her menial tasks like timing laps and changing tires. But Lella could not be dissuaded, eventually convincing him to let her become his navigator and then his co-pilot before finally piloting a race herself. Having worked her way up the ranks, Lella found quick success in rally racing, and soon she was setting her sights on single seaters. Single seaters are a different type of car, lower to the ground, exposed, and much more rigid, in turn requiring a different style of racing. There is no one there with the pilot, just the driver and the hunk of metal under them careening around corners, knowing that if they misjudge by a centimeter, it could mean not only the end of their race, but their lives. It was and remains today, for many, the pinnacle of motorsport. Lella knew the increased risk of single seaters, just like she would have known that finding success in these series would be even more of a challenge than getting her start in rally racing. Lella in 1973 after winning the Italian Ford Escort Mexico Challenge One of the reasons Lella felt energized to enter the world of single seaters was she had the support of her partner, Fiorenza. While little is publicly known about the foundation of the women’s relationship, Fiorenza was clearly very supportive of her partner’s career. Indeed, Fiorenza’s emotional and financial support was integral to Lella’s start in single-seaters, helping her to enter the Formula 875-Monza series in 1968. This was one of the many junior Formula series Lella would work her way through. In 1970, Lella entered and came in third in the Italian Formula Ford Championship while simultaneously competing in the smaller Trofeo Italiano Formula 850 series. The next year, Lella entered Formula Three, competing across three seasons in various cars. The victory that propelled Lella to dedicate herself to Formula One success, however, came in 1973 when she raced in and won the first ever Italian Ford Escort Mexico Challenge. This was a celebrity racing series, and it brought Lella to the attention of many big names in the racing world. Lella had once again proven herself worthy to the right people. Proving a Point In 1974, Lella’s single seater career took off. She tested a Formula One car for Jackie Epstein, a man who ran several successful racing teams, and impressed him enough to gain a place on Fransisco Mir’s US F5000 team. Her teammate in this series was future 1976 F1 champion James Hunt, remembered today for his fierce rivalry with Niki Lauda. Race after race, Lella consistently matched the future star. After months of stellar results, Lella made the jump into Formula One for the first time. Driving a car loaned from Bernie Eccelstone, owner of the Brabham racing team, Lella entered the British GP at Brands Hatch in July driving for Hexagon of Highgate. Unsurprisingly, Eccelstone had little interest in lending his opponents a competitive car, and Lella struggled to match the rest of the field’s pace with her engine’s minimal power. In the end, it was a driveshaft malfunction that dashed her dreams of qualifying. She missed out on a racing position by just .9 seconds. Lella was not given another opportunity in F1 that year. However, she would finish fifth in the 1974 US F5000 series. Lella with Max Stewart and Kevin Bartlett after she finished 3rd in a F5000 race. Lella was persistent, continuing to make inroads in the racing world. Her enthusiasm for the sport was clear, and she had slowly gained the respect of many on the grid. Interviews from her time as a F1 driver give insight into why so many loved Lella Lombardi on and off track. When asked by a Swedish journalist if she was “just a nice doll in this sport?” she responded by saying, “No, No, for sure not me. You could judge me like this, but I really care to be seen as a pilot and not as a doll.” Lella simply refused to take any flack about her gender, reminding everyone that she was on track as a racing driver who happened to be a woman, not the other way around. Her confidence and results impressed many, and, in the winter of 1974, she charmed one of the biggest bankrollers in the racing world with her skills, knowledge, and determination. Count Vittorio Zanon was known for financially supporting the careers of many successful drivers including Ronnie Peterson and Michele Albereto. Businessmen like Zanon were essential for drivers like Lella who did not come from independent means. If you could not secure stable sponsorship, your career could not be sustained. Lella knew this, yet, in the end it was a woman who was central to securing Lella a permanent seat in F1. Jean Mosely, the wife of March’s owner Max Mosely, had been pestering her husband for months to consider Lella, after Lella impressed her with her Brands Hatch drive. After watching Lella race and meeting the driver in person, Mosley folded. By the start of the 1975 season, Lella was signed to the March Formula One team. Niki Lauda (left) and James Hunt (right) as Ferrari teammates and rivals in 1976 In South Africa at the third race of the 1975 season Lella finally qualified for her first Formula One race, becoming the second woman after De Fillippis to do so. The competition Lella faced on track was fierce. Ferrari’s rising star Niki Lauda would go on to win his first of three world championships that year after overcoming the challenge of 1974 world champion Emerson Fittipaldi. Lella’s former teammate James Hunt had also joined the F1 grid. But unlike Lauda and Fittipaldi who were part of large and well-funded racing teams, the March F1 team had been facing financial difficulties since the early 1970s. As a result, the team could not afford to produce new F1 cars, so they started racing modified Formula Two cars. Lella’s car could not match the power or reliability of Lauda’s Ferrari or Fittipaldi’s McLaren. This disadvantage was clear in South Africa when Lella suffered a fuel system break, forcing her to retire in the twenty-third lap of the race. Similarly, her teammate, Vittorio Brambilla, retired in the sixteenth lap due to overheating. But Lella wasn’t done making history, quickly turning her sights to the next race weekend where she did what no woman had done before or has done since. The weekend of the 1975 Spanish Grand Prix started well. Lella was bringing a brand-new car to the track, a March 751–Ford she obtained with funds from Zanon’s Lavazza sponsorship. Though she qualified, starting 24th at the back of the grid certainly wasn’t what she was hoping for in her new outfit. What’s more, during qualifying the drivers noticed guardrails around the circuit were broken, and after qualifying, they agreed in a joint press conference that they would not race unless this was fixed. Engineers and mechanics from across the grid pitched into the effort which finished just before the race’s start. But not all the rails were properly checked before the race got underway. Nonetheless, Lella lined up on the grid at Montjuïc Park on the 21st of April 1975 ready to race. From the start, there was chaos on track. Four drivers retired after an opening lap accident caused by Lella’s teammate Brambillo. Mechanical failures and accidents continued to occur throughout the race and by the 25th lap only 8 of the starting 25 drivers remained on track. Lella drove incredibly well in what was one of the toughest races of the season, managing to avoid the fallout from each accident as she made her way up the grid. Lombardi at the 1975 Spanish Grand Prix in her new March What happened next is the reason most people remember the 1975 Spanish Grand Prix. In the 26th lap of the race, Rolf Stommelen’s rear wing detached from his chassis. The car ricocheted off a barrier, leaving it in the middle of the track just as Carlos Pace rounded the corner. Pace hit Stommelen’s car with enough force to launch it over the guardrail on the other side of the track and into a crowd of spectators. Meanwhile, the race coordinators were in chaos, failing to stop the cars for another five laps while they tried to get a handle on the situation. In the end, four spectators were left dead and Stommelen suffered serious injuries. It still stands as a stark reminder of the dangers of motor racing. While the attention paid to such a tragedy is undoubtedly justified, what has unfortunately been lost in the story of that fateful day is what Lella Lombardi achieved. When the race directors finally ended the Grand Prix, Lella had secured sixth place. She became the only woman to score points in a Formula One event. Because the race ended before full race distance but with over 2/3rds of the event completed, half points were awarded. While the disastrous race end created significant controversy over the race results, Lella still walked away with half a point in the driver’s championship. Lella completed the rest of the 1975 season with March. Though she did not manage to score points again, she came exceedingly close, finishing 7th at the Nürburgring track in Germany. This result was perhaps even more impressive than her race in Spain, as she picked up a puncture early in the race. Lella fought her car lap after lap just to stay on track, and she still managed to almost score points again! Towards the end of the season, Lella was growing increasingly frustrated with the March team. She was consistently complaining about the car’s handling, struggling with understeer that made navigating high-speed corners difficult. Max Mosely later admitted to ignoring Lella’s concerns despite knowing the car was difficult to drive, having little interest in advancing her career. Finally, after consistently struggling to find adequate race pace, the team stripped back Lella’s March to find that one of the rear bulkheads had cracked earlier in the season. Lella could have easily walked away from the series. She had been consistently mistreated by her teams, and she had other racing opportunities in sportscar series. Her teammate at Le Mans, Marie-Claude Beaumont, remembers Lella telling her in 1975 that “Formula 1 was very important for her and her friend Fiorenza. She would just say to me, ‘Marie, I have to do Formula 1.’” Lella had no interest in leaving after fighting so hard for her dream, and with the support of her partner, she felt she had more to give. So, at the start of 1976, Lella decided to abandon the March team. Lella watching her March team locate the concern she’d flagged months before Lella moved to Williams Racing in 1976 which looked like a promising decision on paper. While Williams was still a relatively small team, they had recently signed a lucrative new funding partner, which though short-lived, would make them much talked about going into the season. But she found little luck in 1976. On her debut Williams drive at the United States Grand Prix, she faced ignition problems that forced her to drop out of the race before the start. Ever determined, Lella tried to race her teammate, Jacques Latiffe’s Williams, as Latiffe also dropped out of the race with an eye infection. However, Latiffe was much shorter than Lella who was too tall to fit into his cockpit. Lella then failed to qualify in the next two races, and after the Brazilian Grand Prix, the team dropped her for Ronnie Peterson, a man with multiple grand prix victories. Desperate not to lose the opportunity she worked so hard for, Lella tried one last time to race in F1 for team RAM. Her car, however, was a year older than the rest of the fields, and she would only qualify for one grand prix that year where she finished far off the pace in 12th. By the end of 1976, Lella was exhausted after scraping and clawing for over three years just to drive some of the worst cars on the grid. At the end of 1976, she exited the series to look for opportunities elsewhere. Remembering Lella The end of Lella’s F1 career was far from the end of her racing career, as she moved into sportscar racing. Indeed, outside the world of Formula One, Lella found herself interacting with more and more female racing drivers. She raced in Le Mans with teammate Marie-Claude Beaumont, though a fuel issue forced them to retire in the race’s eighth hour. She made a singular NASCAR appearance, driving alongside Christine Becker and Janet Guthrie in the 1977 Daytona Firecracker 400. Lella would team up with Becker again at the 24 Hours of Daytona that same year, but the team would crash out in the 78th lap. They would finish Le Mans that year together in 11th, an impressive feat considering an electrical problem delayed their start. It would be Lella’s best result in any of the 24 hours races she competed in. Lella would continue to alternate between racing sports cars and touring cars for the next ten years, securing several impressive results. She won the 6 Hours of Mugello with teammate Giorgio Francia and pickied up multiple podium finishes. In the late 1980s, Lella started to struggle with her health and found herself unable to race. Christine Becker and Lella Lombardi at Le Mans Lella was eventually diagnosed with breast cancer. Still, she would not walk away from motorsport, starting “Lella Lombardi Motorsport”, a touring-car team. Her niece remembers that Lella was incredibly happy during this time, thrilled to have a team of her own despite her worsening illness. She lived long enough to see them test their first touring car, a Ford Sierra RS 500 Cosworth. She passed away just after her 50th birthday on the 3rd of March 1992 in Milan, Italy. Lella Lombardi left behind a legacy that is hard to comprehend. Beyond her incredible racing achievements, she opened the doors for even more women in motorsport. What’s more, throughout her career she lived unabashedly as herself, shattering gendered stereotypes along the way. She kept her hair short and always travelled with her partner Fiorenza, living quite openly as a lesbian despite never publicly pronouncing her sexuality. When asked in a 1975 interview why she chose motorsport despite being a girl, Lella replied simply “Because I love it! I love motoring, I love racing cars. I love the feeling of driving.” Lella did not let anything stand in the way of that love. She fought tooth and nail for every opportunity, every start, every seat at the table. She knew she was not welcome, yet her skill and determination slowly impressed driver after driver, businessman after businessman, until she earned the racing community’s respect. She should be remembered for her spirit, her fortitude, and her love for the sport she dedicated her life to. Lella had a point to prove: to show everyone women could find success in F1, and she did so spectacularly. Her legacy lives on in the women today who continue to fight for their chance to add their name next to Lella’s in the history of motorsport. Further Reading 2023. "1975 F1 World Championship." MotorSport Magazine. Accessed 10 10, 2023. https://www.motorsportmagazine.com/database/championships/1975-f1-world-championship/. Dietrich, Nanni. n.d. "Lella Lombardi: 1941-1992." Motorsport Memorial. Accessed 10 10, 2023. http://www.motorsportmemorial.org/LWFWIW/focusLWFWIW.php?db=LWF&db2=ms&n=273. 2020. Beyond Driven. Directed by Riyaana Hartley and Vincent Tran. Performed by Giovanni Amati, et al. Jenkins, Aimée. 2023. "The Legacy of lella Lombardi." Along the Racing Line. 06 01. Accessed 10 10, 2023. https://www.alongtheracingline.com/the-legacy-of-lella-lombardi/. n.d. "March." ESPN. Accessed 10 10, 2023. http://en.espn.co.uk/march/motorsport/team/375.html#Profile. Resteck, Hilary, and Casey Schuster. n.d. "Lella Lombardi." The Henry Ford Women in the Winner Circle Foundation. Accessed 10 10, 2023. https://ophelia.sdsu.edu:8443/henryford_org/09-09-2013/exhibits/racing/wiwc/bios/trailblazers/LellaLombardi.pdf. Tremayne, David. 2022. "Trailblazing Racer Lella Lombardi Remembered, 30 Years On From Her Death ." Formula1. March 03. Accessed 10 10, 2023. https://www.formula1.com/en/latest/article.trailblazing-racer-lella-lombardi-remembered-30-years-on-from-her-death.6zz9pupcxc97yy5SEL1kkR.html. 2023. "Williams." MotorSport Magazine. Accessed 10 10, 2023. https://www.motorsportmagazine.com/database/teams/williams/.