I built the sea, not the boat you're in
I could have sworn I owned Mo Moulton's The Mutual Admiration Society: How Dorothy L. Sayers and Her Oxford Circle Remade the World for Women (2019) and it is driving me up the wall that if so I can't find it, because I have been noodling on and off at the question of Sayers and queerness ever since discovering that she was published in the sole issue of The Quorum: A Magazine of Friendship (1920) and in the process of confirming the co-authorship of the original 1936 stage version of Busman's Honeymoon with Muriel St. Clare Byrne, I was presented with this gem from its pages:
Reading both Gaudy Night and Busman's Honeymoon as the product of collaboration between DLS, Bar, and Muriel changes the texts. It's clear, for one thing, that Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane as characters are not just ego projections on DLS's part. They are also composite portraits, capturing the conversations she had with Muriel and Bar about relationships and love and work. In a sense, Muriel and Bar become alternate models for Harriet and Peter. There's Muriel, with her curly blond hair, her scattershot brilliance, and her moods; there is Bar, with her grounded intelligence, her dark-haired comeliness, and her ruby cabochon ring, exactly like the ring Peter gives Harriet in Busman's Honeymoon. Bar's students passed along a rumor that she'd been given the ring by a fiancé who had died in the war, but this is probably mixing two things up. Bar's brother, Graham, was killed leading his company into action in August 1918. It would be reasonable to imagine that the ring, meanwhile, was a gift from Muriel, a 'fiancé' who was invisible because of her sex, not her death.
"Bar" is Marjorie Barber, Byrne's life partner. Modeling an ideal het relationship at least partly on a successful queer one is a deeply appealing idea and I'd love to be able to see if it's supported by the rest of the biography, which doesn't seem to be in my possession. I can't have lent it to someone. I didn't think the pandemic had been so dreadful as to make books simply evaporate. [edit] And now the penny's dropped that the same author was responsible for the magnificent "On Harriet Vane and Lord Peter Wimsey: An Essay with Personal Interruptions" (2014), I'm really bitter.
[edit edit] I am beginning to think Marblehead these days is permanently overcast: "If we disagree, we'll fight it out like gentlemen. We won't stand for matrimonial blackmail."
Reading both Gaudy Night and Busman's Honeymoon as the product of collaboration between DLS, Bar, and Muriel changes the texts. It's clear, for one thing, that Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane as characters are not just ego projections on DLS's part. They are also composite portraits, capturing the conversations she had with Muriel and Bar about relationships and love and work. In a sense, Muriel and Bar become alternate models for Harriet and Peter. There's Muriel, with her curly blond hair, her scattershot brilliance, and her moods; there is Bar, with her grounded intelligence, her dark-haired comeliness, and her ruby cabochon ring, exactly like the ring Peter gives Harriet in Busman's Honeymoon. Bar's students passed along a rumor that she'd been given the ring by a fiancé who had died in the war, but this is probably mixing two things up. Bar's brother, Graham, was killed leading his company into action in August 1918. It would be reasonable to imagine that the ring, meanwhile, was a gift from Muriel, a 'fiancé' who was invisible because of her sex, not her death.
"Bar" is Marjorie Barber, Byrne's life partner. Modeling an ideal het relationship at least partly on a successful queer one is a deeply appealing idea and I'd love to be able to see if it's supported by the rest of the biography, which doesn't seem to be in my possession. I can't have lent it to someone. I didn't think the pandemic had been so dreadful as to make books simply evaporate. [edit] And now the penny's dropped that the same author was responsible for the magnificent "On Harriet Vane and Lord Peter Wimsey: An Essay with Personal Interruptions" (2014), I'm really bitter.
[edit edit] I am beginning to think Marblehead these days is permanently overcast: "If we disagree, we'll fight it out like gentlemen. We won't stand for matrimonial blackmail."

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Seeing it just now, I'm wondering for the first time if Miss Climpson is actually a deeply closeted, excruciatingly Anglo-Catholic woman who denied all her own chances for happiness in favour of waiting around for the right MAN for her, who never came because "the right" and "man" were for her an oxymoron.
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See link in comments above for the relevant passage. (I am trying to avoid text-dumping one thread into another, with perhaps mediocre results.) One of them was the murder victim, the other the great-aunt of the murderer, and they seem to have been very happy for the whole of their lives together. I had missed them the first time I read the book and then didn't read the book again for decades for the obvious reasons.
Seeing it just now, I'm wondering for the first time if Miss Climpson is actually a deeply closeted, excruciatingly Anglo-Catholic woman who denied all her own chances for happiness in favour of waiting around for the right MAN for her, who never came because "the right" and "man" were for her an oxymoron.
Elsewhere the novel refers to Miss Climpson as "a spinster made and not born—a perfectly womanly woman," but I don't think it would take a lot of theory to connect her with the other figures of unmarried women in the novel, similarly professional and independent, who are textually queer. The working title for the novel was The Singular Case of the Three Spinsters. If we assume that the victim was one and the murderer another, that leaves only the investigator as the third.
The scare quotes struggle to contain what is between them
Hmm. Do the victim and murder happen to fit the invert/pervert paradigm that was going around then? I guess they wouldn't, if they were the same social class. But if they did, it'd be three different models of a spinster: one by birth (the "invert", born this way and can't help it, nobly suffering), one by "choice" (the "pervert", capable of "normal" desire but basely choosing to take advantage of the usually-aristocratic "invert"'s "affliction" instead of choosing heterosexual marriage as God intended), and one purely by chance (Miss Climpson, ending up "on the shelf" through neither "defect" (inversion) nor "fault" (perversion) of her own.) So the working title wouldn't require her to be a closeted lesbian herself.
Edit: I've read the quoted passage now, and wow, yes. Back in my teens I always thought the italics etc were just meant to indicate how fluffy Miss Climpson was. But they're carrying a lot more freight than I understood back then!
The scare quotes did their heroic best
I don't think it does. But the novel itself is either really sloppy or revealingly precise about its terminology in ways that interest me. Miss Climpson, Mary Whittaker, and Agatha Dawson and Clara Whittaker are all textually identified as spinsters. Agatha and Vera additionally describe themselves and their partners as old maids, coupled in each case with an explicit statement of disinterest in men; the same term is used by Peter in reference to Miss Climpson, but she herself is careful to try not to attract it by sounding too, to borrow Sylvia's word for Eiluned in Strong Poison (1930), "anti-man." She thinks confidently that Mary "is not of the marrying sort. She is a professional woman by nature" and italicizes the fact that Clara Whittaker was a "good business woman" and is herself a self-supporting, unmarried woman who might have gone for an even less traditionally feminine career had her father's old-fashioned sexism not kept her from the necessary education. I am really not sure the text knows it's collapsed her into these queer categories. Whatever her actions, she's its voice of heteronormativity. But it's still done it—the terms are used scrupulously for this small set of characters—and thus affords one of the reasons I would be willing to credit your reading of a closeted Miss Climpson despite what I assume is the intended heterosexual reassurance of "womanly woman."
But they're carrying a lot more freight than I understood back then!
DEEPLY ATTACHED.
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Agreed. As noted to
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ETA: found it online. Not a mare, but a terrier. The bloke concludes: "‘The Lord makes a few of them that way to suit ’Is own purposes, I suppose.'"
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No; they're remembered fondly by everyone Peter interviews and Miss Climpson is firmly on their side when she writes about the feud with Clara's family.
ETA: found it online. Not a mare, but a terrier. The bloke concludes: "‘The Lord makes a few of them that way to suit ’Is own purposes, I suppose.'"
He calls the terrier a "business woman," too! Was this a coinage for the novel or a code of the time I just haven't encountered outside of it?
(I have been relying extensively on Faded Page for this conversation, all of my own copies being in boxes.)
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That's never pinged much for me [edit: I think because even though they joke about it, the implications of ownership are not pleasant to Harriet; contemplating her collared reflection is what prompts her reverie about dead sea apples and Philip], but in Busman's Honeymoon there's "The last two words in the language I ever expected to get a kick out of."
(Mind you, I'm not sure if Harriet would have been so keen to say 'obey' if Peter hadn't shown his support for her independence across the board - and I recall Peter wasn't keen on 'obey').
He wasn't. They had to negotiate it:
"At this point, Helen got up and left the house, leaving P. and Harriet to wrangle over the word 'obey.' P. said he would consider it a breach of manners to give orders to his wife, but H. said, Oh, no—he'd give orders fast enough if the place was on fire or a tree falling down and he wanted her to stand clear. P. said, in that case they ought both to say 'obey,' but it would be too much jam for the reporters. Left them to fight it out. When I came back, found Peter had consented to be obeyed on condition he might 'endow' and not 'share' his worldly goods. Shocking victory of sentiment over principle."
Which is characteristic of their relationship with or without overtones of kink. They don't do anything by received roles; if they do something traditional, they've talked their way to it. I'm still standing by my statement about "masterful," especially since it is further qualified "even though wicked or foolish." If the series accepted that, it wouldn't have taken Sayers three books to write Harriet and Peter out of the inequalities of their initial position and Gaudy Night would have had a different villain.
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I was not familiar with that letter! I don't seem able to get the full text online (I fell into her Sherlockiana in the process, though), but I see she wrote it to Charles Williams, who I have been given to understand was an interesting choice of person to talk sex with at all. I agree that personally I don't want to place the responsibility for a mutual good time on any one partner alone, but in the context I have managed to wring out of Google snippet view, the rationale behind the statement doesn't look completely bonkers:
"The second Assumption rules out the hasty, the clumsy, the lazy, the inconsiderate, the peremptory, the untimely and (in most cases) the routinier – though one would not wish to be too hard on Mr Shandy, senior, since Mrs Shandy may have been as orderly-minded as himself and possibly preferred it that way – and those who have 'l'Amour Triste' or are morose and unmannerly, or are without skill in the management of bed-furniture or wind the whole combination into toppling and insecure complications of pillows and blankets or (in extreme circumstances) bang their partner's head against the wall."
Also that last part made me laugh out loud and wonder if it was from personal experience.
And the "masterful" man is contrasted with one who is clearly overmastered by his wife, not one who is egalitarian.
He is considered by Miss Climpson to be rightfully masterful whether he's deserving of the accord or no, which I really don't see borne out by the rest of the books.
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*My objection to "obey" isn't just that but that the whole might of the Law of England was for half a millennium hell-bent on enforcing a woman's marriage oath with the full weight of its power, up to and including forcing her to have sex with a husband knowingly infected with active communicable syphilis, whereas the same legal might was equally hell-bent on removing any splinter of truth from the husband's promise to "endow" and protecting his property against the wife's claims come what may.
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Now you mention it, it sounds exactly what you suggest. The bit Helen is genuinely squeamish about in the traditional prayer book is the stuff which is more 17th century frank than early 20th century prudish about sex. I think the "obey" business is her having a go at Harriet.