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1. 1 2017-01-13T01:35:18+00:00 Kathleen Hurlock 62afa4649e1001ffbb7bf4bbefc88dc48d384c26 Queen of the Amazons Annotation Kathleen Hurlock 3 plain 2017-01-13T02:32:01+00:00 Kathleen Hurlock 62afa4649e1001ffbb7bf4bbefc88dc48d384c26

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• 1 2016-11-26T17:21:14+00:00 Violence 7 plain 1994 2017-01-18T21:14:50+00:00

      Violent acts occupy a relatively indefinable place within 19th century feminist narratives. Many of the futuristic, utopian works assert that, globally or nationally, society is perpetually at peace. One can easily see why such an idea might be a reoccuring theme, with many feminist women writers using the trope to assert the superiority of female leadership. In lieu of focusing on the feminist politics of war and peacetime as addressed by included texts in this chapter, I want how individual violent acts or threats committed by women (usually against men) function in a few select texts. Though such a theme is not quite as common across the texts as others (such as those related to reproduction or colonialism), women committing violent acts, in spite of a utopian, peaceful society still recurs across several texts.

      Gloriana and Amelia Mears’ Mercia, the Astronomer Royal work well for these purposes. Both feature such utopian, peaceful worlds, yet characters in the novels do commit acts of violence, and, in both cases, female characters use a sort of violence as a form of liberation. Mercia operates the most uniquely from all other texts. In the included excerpt, the titular character meets with Felicitas, the emperor of the futuristic, egalitarian world, in order to maintain her position of royal astronomer--a male competitor is attempting to take it from her. Felicitas, who secretly loves Mercia despite his marriage, informs her she will keep the job, and, in gratitude, she kisses his hand. Felicitas responds by pinning down Mercia and kissing her all over her face and body; she is able to escape and tells Felicitas that he is treating her like a “courtesan”. Felicitas attempts to pledge his love for Mercia, but she responds with disgust and, as she leaves the area, pulls out her electric stick weapon from her belt to threaten Felicitas into submission. Such an object is one of many new technologies in Mercia’s world. Described in an earlier chapter (not included in this excerpt), the electric weapons are meant to temporarily paralyze limbs, not cause permanent harm or death, though, apparently, mistakes do happen. Later in the novel, Mercia goes to trial for this transgression and ultimately wins.

  There are a few notable aspects to this incident. First and foremost, Felicitas commits an act of sexual violence. Perhaps oddly, few (perhaps no) other contemporary, similar texts address or depict it. Victorian feminists hardly made it a central issue. Mona Caird, a contemporary new woman author, wrote about “non-consensual sex” as a side effect of marriage requirements, but, in general, New Woman writers were more focused on the importance of sexual liberation for women and less on the ills of sexual assault (Heilmann 164-165). Interestingly, Mercia is not a novel of revolution, or in other words, a full length origin story in the vein of Dixie. The novel’s opening chapters depict the current utopian society, which takes place in 2002. Women have total equality in education, marriage, politics, and careers, which explains how Mercia is able to ascend to her position. Mears is, perhaps, suggesting a sort of inevitability to sexual assault--even in the society of New Women’s dreams it still exists (although women here are able to fight back and then succeed in court). Furthermore, perhaps Mears is commenting on the lack of focus on sexual assault in contemporary feminism. As previously discussed, New Women addressed sexual liberation, but they focused very little on sexual violence. Nearly every sought-after feminist reform has taken hold; Mercia, after all, is a highly educated scientist who is able to make her own decisions. Yet, misogynistic attitudes remain, and Mercia still must guard herself, suggesting that, without attention to reform regarding sexual assault, it will perpetuate.

  That said, Mercia notably responds rather violently to the sexual assault, threatening Felicitas with her weapon (an example of futuristic technology). The scene cannot be called an absolute epitome of violence, as Mercia never dispenses the weapon, but she seems willing to do so, and, of course, the threat of violence puts Felicitas into submission. Again, Mercia triumphs; the court supports her account in the end of the novel and, within the excerpted scene itself, the narrator posits Mercia in the right and suggests her response is natural and just. Mercia suffers from “pain and indignation” after the attack, and Felicitas pleas for her to subsequently love him seem particularly irrational and perverse. Felicitas sexually assaults Mercia but she, independently, ‘fights’ back and overcomes him. Thus, the novel seems to posit Mercia’s self-defense as positive and rational, even as others may argue that Felicitas’ assault is too benign to elicit such a response (he does not rape her, for example). Mercia’s act operates against sexual violence, suggesting that women’s ability to physically protect themselves would be an important part of a feminist revolution. Furthermore, the novel perhaps proposes a disconnect between the end of war and other national violence and violence in the private sector, particularly against women. In the world of Mercia, the end to global conflict directly caused women demanding their rights, yet Mercia, a woman, must still use the threat of violence to avoid sexual violence and maintain her livelihood as an astronomer. Since male leaders ended war before women demanded rights, perhaps Mercia intends to comment on how, private, violence against women was neglected by leaders and not considered worthy of becoming a total taboo. Similarly, sexual violence was certainly not a widely addressed issue in Mears’ world, even within the New Woman movement, as I previously addressed. Mercia’s use of violence, then, seems like part of an ongoing revolution for women’s liberation, and, in the end, she is found justified, suggesting an ongoing progress.

  Women’s violence operates somewhat similarly in Gloriana. In the included excerpt, Flora Desmond leads an army of White Guards to rescue Gloria from imprisonment. Flora tells the White Guards to prepare to fight violently and die, and, ultimately, she shoots through the police van lock when a guard will not back down due to threats. Afterwards, a police officer is left “lying motionless” on the floor of the van. Somewhat like that of Mercia, the threat of violence is posited as being necessary to fight an injustice being committed against someone, but, in strong contrast, the violent act actually occurs. However, like Mercia, this instance of violence contrasts with the novel’s ultimate, utopian society (not included here), where the world is at total peace. Once again, this contrast seems to suggest an important distinction between global violence, or the violence of war, and violence occurring on a smaller scale, though, in the case of Gloriana, not necessarily within the private sector. The reader can easily draw the conclusion that, in the world of Gloriana, the world is now at peace because of Gloria’s feminist reforms. Less male-dominated leadership leads to an end to global conflict. Women and, importantly, their male allies within the White Guard, using violence against the state (as opposed to a quiet, passive resistance like that of Margaret Dunmore) to get to this point is, however, acceptable. Perhaps Dixie intended to comment on attempted violent, socialist uprisings of the era; unlike many ‘real world’ examples, Flora and Gloria are ultimately successful, of course, but, importantly, women’s suffrage is their first goal, with a more socialist, peaceful society resulting. Ardis suggests that the male, lower class White Guards are so willing to risk their lives for Gloria because, unlike true Victorian society, they work in solidarity with feminists: “Where other socialists might subordinate gender to class issues, these men are willing to follow Gloriana in seeing women’s suffrage as the first step towards universal social reform. Women’s oppression in the bourgeois system is analogous to their own” (120). Perhaps the violent scene in Gloriana suggests a desire for camaraderie between the feminist or New Woman movement and that of socialist revolutionaries. Unlike, again, Margaret Dunmore, for example, or other, similar texts, Flora acts in a manner more reminiscent of socialist revolutionaries, perhaps suggesting such an attitude should be adapted by contemporary feminists. It recalls the intrinsic link purported by many New Woman writers (particularly Corbett and Clapperton, as addressed in the Social Systems chapter and introduction) between women's issues and socialism. As in Mercia, the novel seems to purport that the ends justify the means; as is the lore of many attempted uprisings, the violence will ultimately lead to a more peaceful, egalitarian, economically sound utopia.
  
  

  Finally, and in strong contrast with both the excerpts of this section and other included texts, violence does appear to be the end, not the means, in Mary Coleridge’s poem “The White Women”.  In this society, large, Amazonian women rule, fending for themselves and reproducing with one another. They are explicitly “white” and “pale”, which the narrator seems to correlate with their beauty and prowess. Finally, their society is supposed to be hidden from all men; when one does stumble upon them, he immediately dies from simply looking at one: “One of our race, lost in an awful glade/Saw with his human eyes a wild white maid/And gazing, died”. The power and surrealness of the all-female tribe certainly recalls many mythological ideals, particularly Amazons and perhaps Sirens or Gorgons. This very strong imagery, truly matriarchal society, and use of parthenogenesis makes the text seem more like American novels like Herland or Mizora, diverging greatly from typical British texts. Albinski explains how New Woman writers appropriated Amazonian imagery from fascinated Victorian male writers (where the myth had become somewhat of a trope): “Their (Amazons’) warlike nature was largely unacceptable when most feminists were pacifists, and their aggressive mating with male slaves in admissible. Amazons hardly seemed fitted for a complex, urbanised, technologically advanced future society” (Albinski 19). Thus, “The White Women” contrasts strongly with typical New Woman fiction. The violence is very fantastical, and seems to present more of a contrived ideal than a path for women to emulate. Unlike many of the longer, included novels, “The White Women” seems to present more of an escapist fantasy for New Women, where they are strong like Amazons and can easily eliminate men, as opposed to a clearer, more realistic revolution that could be emulated.