A Short History of Queer Women

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Kirsty Loehr comes to Bristol to discuss her book A Short History of Queer Women, with Noreen Masud (A Flat Place). I was so excited to learn a little more about queer women throughout history and the cover alone had me so hyped for this book but unfortunately it failed to meet those expectations. Sorry but I'm actually so offended a history book without references even got published, you can't even get away with not referencing in high school these days.

Given Loehr’s propensity for labelling AFAB non-women as women, you might be wondering about the reverse: does she recognise the existence of trans women in the past? The answer would be no, at least not up until the Stonewall riots, when she brings up Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera. Perhaps this is unsurprising. As this is a history book, I am dealing with people who are no longer alive and cannot tell us how they identify. There are many reasons women in the past opted out of womanhood—some would certainly have been trans, others were simply trying to live and love as best they could. But to avoid superimposing my own beliefs—and for utmost narrative clarity—I choose to refer to them how history has generally referred to them: by their birth sex. And, as we know, the past is not always indicative of the future, so please feel free to get out your red pen and edit the pronouns as you see fit and according to your understanding of them.

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Queen Anne wasn’t the only royal dabbling in the dark arts of lesbianism. Marie Antoinette, Queen of France, was at it too. Marie wasn’t exactly beloved by her people; she spent a lot of money, ate a lot of food and didn’t seem too bothered that her subjects were starving in the streets. Although to be fair, Marie didn’t really have a say in the matter, as that was the job of her husband, King Louis XVI. Let me wrap up here then (not least because this is starting to feel less like a book review and more like an essay) and leave you with this, the list of names mentioned in the book and one final point. If the job of a nonfiction book is to make you think, this has certainly done that. That was superbly frustrating. The author kept trying to inject humour in the book, which wouldn't be a problem if her sense of humour wasn't the lesbian equivalent of a horny fifteen year old boy repeating the same joke over and over (The joke was variations on "lesbians amirite"). Firstly, the positive(s?) because, despite my later reservations, I do have positive things (or, really, one positive thing) to say about this book. It covers a vast span of history and, as such, touches on a lot of people, and eras of history in more general at times. This is a major reason why I went with a 2-star review at least initially (by the time you read this, I might have reconsidered): it’s very informative and, as a starting point, gave me a lot of names to research (and a lot of other sources to read too). It didn’t just touch upon the more famous names, but plenty more lesser known ones too. (I have, by the way, listed them all at the end of this review in the spoiler tags, so if you want to know who to look up, but you don’t want to read this book, then they’re there.)

Just so you know, even though you never asked, I’m Team Sarah, but I think that might have something to do with the fact that Rachel Weisz played her in the movie.It’s that ‘perfect gift book’, easy to read, small, neat and engaging, filled with fascinating narratives about some eye-popping women and their staunchly passionate love lives. Like all good history books it leaves you with an appetite to learn more ( Billie Holliday’s beautifully tart letters to ex-lover Tallulah Bankhead anyone? I need to know more), and offers the casual reader a reassurance of the constant affirming glorious presence of women loving women throughout known herstory.

I debated whether to write this review of A Short History of Queer Women once I finished it. It’s a book I have very mixed feelings about and I’m still not entirely sure that I have my thoughts straight on it, but I’ll give it a go. But it was the nineteen-year-old widow Marie Thérèse Louise of Savoy who was Marie’s personal favourite. Marie was so charmed by Marie Thérèse Louise that she regularly showered her with gifts and made her the superintendent of the royal household, which sounds more like a punishment than anything else.

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As my first foray into learning about queer female history, this book was a flop, I'd advice anyone who wants to learn more about this topic to try literally any other book than this one - and specifically one written by an actual reputable academic or similar who understands the value and importance of REFERENCING. There were a few interesting bits of information but again I failed to even fully enjoy those bits because ?? is it even true or did she just pull this info out of thin air - and yes, of course, I can do my own research but A. a few times I tried and found zero to corroborate what she was saying and B. That defeats the purpose of this book, I wanted to read it to learn not to serve as Google inspiration. However, the biggest issue with this book is that there are ZERO REFERENCES! Not one piece of information has a source cited nor is there an actual reference list at the end (only a further reading list, which is not the same thing) and I'm sorry but that is absolutely appalling or something proclaiming to be a history book. The second issue I have is the bigger one, namely the decision detailed at the start of the book which I shall lay out here in the author’s own words: This is where I think this book falls short. I don’t think you can purport to write a “short history of queer women” and neglect an analysis of gender within that. No, we don’t know how these people might have identified, whether they thought of themselves as women or not, whether they even had the words to express not-womanhood—we are likely never to know, unless they wrote about it (although I maintain we might make educated guesses, such as those individuals who elected to live as men). But even in writing such a book, we are subconsciously imposing our modern ideas of gender onto it, whether we mean to or not. To act like we might remove the concept of it entirely defeats the point. Can lesbianism itself, for example, not have a dimension of gender, as much as it does sexuality?

Marie may not have been interested in her husband, but she was most certainly into the ladies, and at one time was caught drooling over English writer Mary Robinson’s tits. The incident was later reported in Mary’s memoirs: “She appeared to survey, with peculiar attention, a miniature of the Prince of Wales, which Mrs. Robinson wore on her bosom …” It’s stuffed full of glorious titbits of info, meticulously researched, deliciously contextualised and done with real flair and humour. Who says lesbians can’t be funny? Here we have much proof, along with excellent historical insights into lives lived fully openly and loving without fear, and Loehr shared the stories of some wild women who lived and loved with urgent, stunning brilliance. i had the pleasure of meeting Kirsty in person for a pride event Max Minerva’s hosted last month— and i can confirm she is just as lively, funny, and flirty as she is in the book. I really enjoyed reading this book as I found it was a great introduction to queer history and it was told in an accessible and entertaining way. I think hearing Kirsty talk about her intentions with the book really helped to shape my reading experience before I went into the book, not thinking it would cover the vast history of queer women’s lives, but rather would be a small selection of certain stories which Kirsty has been researching since her MA. Without having much space, she aimed to tell intersectional stories to show queer women have always been around.

Yolande was dubbed the most beautiful woman in France. Marie showed her affection by paying Yolande’s debts, moving her into a massive apartment in Versailles and eventually making Yolande’s husband a duke and therefore Yolande a duchess. This encouraged the French media to pipe up again, releasing thousands of pamphlets depicting the two in a range of sexual positions. But I’ve momentarily digressed here. We were discussing the author’s decision to call all of the people who feature in this book women. These are not what you might call ambiguous examples. There are individuals who dressed as men, who lived and married as men, and who were punished for it. (There is an example of someone who wore a leather dildo (outside of sex), for crying out loud. What exactly strikes you as cis woman about that?) Loehr even decides that Radclyffe Hall, despite noting that “Radclyffe identified as male and almost always wore men’s attire”, is going to be included in this book as a woman. Even if you’re going to stop short of using trans terminology to describe them, you can at least admit that they’re not cis women as we understand those terms in a modern world (and therefore, should either not be part of this book, or the remit of this book should be expanded). Some use of modern terminology is inescapable in a book like this, but it’s interesting to see what the author chooses on a more selective basis.