News and Commentary from the British Association for Romantic Studies

Archive for June 2016

Conference Report: Gender Stereotypes in the Long 19th Century

Many thanks to Erin Farley for writing the report below on the ‘Gender Stereotypes in the Long 19th Century’ symposium held at Stirling in April.  BARS provided a subvention to help support this event.

On Saturday 30th April 2016, the University of Stirling hosted a one-day symposium, organised by Barbara Leonardi, on ‘Gender Stereotypes in the Long 19th Century.’ The symposium aimed to examine the effects of gender stereotypes and of challenges to them as the Romantic period shifted into the Victorian, as well as considering identify threads leading into 20th century culture. Furthermore, it explored the intersections between gender, class and race over the period in question– an approach which more than one delegate remarked was still disconcertingly rare in studies of this period.

Holly Furneaux’s engaging opening keynote “Kind-hearted Gunmen? An emotional history of the Victorian military Man of Feeling” examined the ways in which military violence was written out of accounts of war, replaced by the image of the soldier as a kind, loving figure, seen in novels such as Vanity Fair – the ‘domesticated English lion’. Furneaux also identified the legacy of this imagery in contemporary culture – for example, the popularity of ‘Returning Soldier’ videos on YouTube – and considered how these stereotypes may still be shaping popular attitudes to war.

Three main panels made up the central part of the symposium, the first of which had a medical focus: Lena Wånngren’s examination of the ‘unwomanly’ female doctor and the destabilisation of gender boundaries in late 19th century medical fiction noted that early women doctors were often presented as ‘unsexed,’ due to the corrupting influence of the naked and dead bodies their work exposed them to, but also uncovered more sympathetic portrayals such as Margaret Todd’s 1892 novel Mona Maclean, Medical Student. Anne Schwann’s discussion of the gendered, but also nationalised, coverage of the trial of Florence Maybrick, a US native accused of murdering her husband in Liverpool, 1889. Class boundaries were also key in the Maybrick trial – while Florence was a middle-class American, her husband’s working-class Liverpudlian family were seen as having corrupted her. Michael Brown (whose paper was read by Bethan Benwell in his absence) explored medical masculinities and the parallels between surgeons and explorers – conquering body, landscape and culture – in narratives of colonial expansion, both defined by a spatial gaze and identities infused with notions of morality and manliness.

The next panel, on gender, class and race, took us back to the late 18th century with Katie Halsey’s paper on evangelical writer Hannah More’s use of metaphor in her treatise on women’s education. Her description of women’s souls as landscape to be cultivated, and her equivocation of motherhood and the nation state, show that we can benefit from a literary as well as a historical analysis of these instructional texts. Halsey’s paper was followed by Angela Smith’s exploration of Katherine Mansfield’s disruptive fictional experiments with crossing boundaries of race and gender: an author who wrote with the belief that fiction’s role was to ask questions, not answer them. The panel concluded with Ewa Grazynck on the intersection of gender, nation and class in the works of Eliza Orzseszkowa, particularly the novel Two Poles, a love story between an upper-class man and woman who each represent opposing ideologies in Polish culture of the time. Their personal tale becomes a way to discuss and question political activism, the abolition of feudalism and the need for individual sacrifice for the benefit of the community.

The final panel, on motherhood, transgressive identities and queer sexualities, was a highlight for me due to the many connections with my research and personal interests.

Barbara Leonardi’s paper on traditional ballads and the work of Mary Wollstonecraft and James Hogg was revealing in its discussion of ballads as lived, performed works rather than intertextual artefacts within novels, and I feel that this approach has the potential to greatly expand the perspectives on women’s and working-class lives in particular which are available to literary historians. Carla Sassi’s take on Lewis Grassic Gibbon’s heroine Chris Guthrie was a refreshing perspective on one of my favourite Scottish canonical works. The figure of Chris has become iconified in Scottish literature, and this has obscured many of the complexities of her characterisation. Sassi questioned the notion of Chris as “the most convincing female character in Scottish literature” and identified a subtle androgyny in her presentation.

Sarah Parker explored queer 19th century experience in practice with her paper “Charlotte is evidently a pervert,” on Charlotte Mew and lesbian identity. While Mew was part of Decadent communities who sparked moral panics about homosexuality, she ultimately distanced herself from these, leading into a fascinating discussion of Mew’s identity as a combination of aspects of the maiden aunt stereotype, the ‘New Woman’ and the androgynous dandy, occupying a liminal cultural space between Victorian and modern culture.

This symposium made academic and social connections inside and outside the conference room: we live-tweeted the papers, with many delegates joining in. Hannah More’s metaphors of reading as consumption – Rousseau was ‘dangerous poison’ – sparked an online discussion about the pervasiveness of such metaphors, which leads into themes to be discussed at this year’s BAVS conference on ‘Consuming the Victorians.’

As a scholar new to this period (having recently moved into 19th century popular culture from a background of contemporary folklore studies) this symposium was an excellent way to begin getting to grips with some of the theories, literatures and ideas in the wider Victorian literary scene, and I found many ways in which the day connected with my own research – as well as introducing me to colleagues in the Gender Studies department at Stirling and making me aware of the overlaps between our research, connections which I will be able to build on in the coming months. Responses both online and in person from other delegates pointed out not just the importance of the intersectional approach to literary studies, but that the day also suggested new ways of reading and looking at presentations of gender in historical texts, which have cross-disciplinary relevance across Romantic, Victorian and contemporary literary studies.

Erin Farley (PhD candidate, University of Stirling)

The Twitter conversations from the day can still be read by searching for #Gender19C.

In Memoriam: Diane Long Hoeveler

It is with great sadness that we announce the passing of Diane Long Hoeveler, Professor Emerita at Marquette University, Milwaukee, who died on May the 14th.  Diane was a widely respected scholar and known to many of us as the editor of European Romantic Review.  Her last book The Gothic Ideology: Religious Hysteria and Anti-Catholicism in Popular British Fiction, 1780-1880 (University of Wales Press, 2014) was shortlisted for the Allan Lloyd Smith prize, a prize she won in 2011 for Gothic Riffs: Secularizing the Uncanny in the European Imaginary, 1780-1820 (2010).  Other books included The Professionalization of Gender from Charlotte Smith to the Brontës (1998) and Romantic Androgyny: The Women Within (1990).  Diane was a regular delegate at BARS conferences and she will be much missed.

– Ian Haywood, for the BARS Executive

CfP: Anxious Forms 2016: Masculinities in Crisis in the Long Nineteenth Century – Glasgow, 28th October

Please see below for a Call for Papers from Abby Boucher for the second Anxious Forms conference, which will take place in Glasgow this autumn.

Anxious Forms Poster

‘Victorian manhood was by definition a state of permanent crisis, a site of anxiety and contradiction as much as a source of power.’

(Phillip Mallett, The Victorian Novel and Masculinity)

After the success of the inaugural Anxious Forms conference in 2014, we are pleased to announce a second one-day conference which will consider the construction of masculine identities – both individual and collective – in the long nineteenth century. In a period which witnessed major conflicts, from the French Revolution to the First World War; the birth of mass culture and new print media; the emergence of new professional classes; the expansion of empire; the rise of the New Woman; and the extension of laws against male homosexuality, Victorian masculine identities became increasingly pluralised and fragmented. This interdisciplinary event will explore crises and contradictions in Victorian notions of manliness across a range of media including fiction, poetry, drama, journalism, photography, visual arts and material culture.

We welcome proposals for individual papers and panels. Topics may include but are not limited to:

  • Class readings of masculinity
  • ‘Styles’ of masculinity: the Byronic male, the dandy, the muscular Christian etc.
  • Genre, narrative and male narrators
  • Military masculinity
  • Professional men
  • Primogeniture and masculinity in the law
  • Statesmen, radicals and reformers
  • Masculinities in nature or the urban space
  • The male body and standards of male beauty
  • Men’s diseases
  • Homosexuality and Queer theory
  • Imperial and oriental manliness
  • Darwinism and evolving manhood
  • Neo-Victorian manliness

We welcome proposals for 20 minute papers from postgraduate and early career researchers as well as more established academics. Please send abstracts of no more than 300 words together with an academic CV and a 50-word biography to by 15th August. Successful applicants will be notified by the end of August.

We are able to award a number of postgraduate travel bursaries. If you would like to be considered for a bursary, please include a 200-word explanation about how the conference relates to your research, along with a breakdown of your expenses.

Please contact or with any questions.

On This Day in 1816: John Polidori finds a book

The ‘On This Day’ series continues with a post by Fabio Camilletti on Fantasmagoriana, celebrating exactly 200 years since the Shelleys, Byron and Polidori held their now infamous ghost story competition during a rainy summer by Lake Geneva. As always, if you have a post to contribute to this series, please email Anna Mercer.

Fabio Camilletti is Associate Professor in the School of Modern Languages and Cultures at the University of Warwick. In 2015 he completed a new edition of Fantasmagoriana, and since then he is working on a project on anthologies of the supernatural in Napoleonic and post-Napoleonic Europe.


On This Day in 1816:  John Polidori finds a book


Fantasmagoriana frontispiece


On the 12th of June 1816, John Polidori ‘rode to town’, and ‘subscribed to a circulating library’; five days later, on June the 17th, he records in his journal that ‘the ghost-stories are begun by all but me’. Who knows when they started reading: on the evening of the 12th, Polidori slept in a hotel, and so he did on the 13th, when he ‘walked home in thunder and lightning’, lost his way, and the police drove him back to the inn; it may have been on the 14th (‘Shelley and I had a conversation about principles, – whether man was to be thought merely an instrument’: a nice appendix to a ghost story-telling night), or on the following days – the Shelleys, at any rate, were always around. The question, however, is in the end irrelevant – the ‘night at Villa Diodati’, as we imagine it, may well not have taken place at all. But the book was there, this is for sure: and, most plausibly, it came from the ‘circulating library in town’, to which Polidori had subscribed on the 12th. In the previous days, he had been reading Tasso and Lucian: from that day on, ghosts, fate, and the principles of life became an increasing concern for the company, until the moment when – as per the entry of 18, at ‘Twelve o’clock’– they ‘really began to talk ghostly’.


Fantasmagoriana had been published in Paris by the Alsatian bookseller Frédéric Schoell (or, more correctly, Friedrich Schöll), a philologist and historian who had entered the editorial business during the Revolution – first in Basel, and later in the French capital – and would later attend the Congress of Vienna as a member of the king of Prussia’s entourage. Schoell’s bookshop was located in the Rue des Fossés-Montmartre (nowadays a part of the Rue d’Aboukir, in the second arrondissment), namely a few metres away from the medieval ruins of the convent and church of the Capucines, which had been ravaged during the Terror and would later be dismantled in the course of Haussmann’s renovation of Paris. In 1798, part of the convent had been hired by the Belgian manager Étienne-Gaspard Robert, better known under the name of Robertson, who had exploited the properties of that quintessentially gothic setting for his show: a mixture of lights, images, and sounds which he sold under the name of Fantasmagorie. In the heart of old Paris, not far away from Place de la Révolution where the king and Robespierre had been guillotined, the book and the show echoed, therefore, each other, both promising an experience of terror behind which, in a sense, sounded as the afterimage of another, and more historical, Terror.


Robertson's phantasmagoria

Robertson’s phantasmagoria


Phantasmagoria was not Robertson’s invention. In the 1770s, an ex-Hussar and freemason named Georg Schröpfer had held necromancy séances in his coffee-house in Leipzig, and his ability in summoning ghosts via a hidden magic lantern had awarded him the nickname of Genspenstermacher (‘Ghost-maker’): Schröpfer’s experiments played with the ambiguity between ‘real’ supernatural and artifice, and so did the shows performed in Paris, since 1792, by an otherwise unknown Philipstahl or Philidor, being the first ones to be advertised under the name fantasmagorie, and which exploited the audiences’ interest in occult subject by selling themselves as a way of debunking credulity towards superstition. The same ambiguity was preserved – and indeed brought to the extreme – by Robertson’s shows, a veritable multi-sensorial experience that aimed at catching the beholders’ imagination completely: audiences were welcomed in the dark vaults of the convent of the Capucines, where meticulous care was paid to generating a ‘Gothic’ atmosphere; among skulls and spectral sounds, lamplights and smoke, Robertson held a speech in which he mixed necromancy and occult sciences, electricity and Galvanism; then full dark ensued, while the lantern began projecting its horrors, including skeletons, ghosts, the ancient gods, but also the shadow of Voltaire or the guillotined head of Danton. Ancient superstition mixed with contemporary history: at some point, the show was forcibly closed by the police when rumour was spread that Robertson could bring King Louis XVI back to life.


Naming the book Fantasmagoriana meant, therefore, to assimilate the experience of reading to Robertson’s popular phantasmagoria shows, and to offer the reader a comparable hullabaloo of horrors within the three hundred and more pages that each of the two tomes was made of. On the one hand, the equation between literature and magic lantern performances invited readers to approach texts through the visual paradigm constructed by phantasmagoria shows. Let us see a passage from Friedrich August Schulze’s ‘L’Heure fatale’ (original ‘Die Verwandtschaft mit der Geisterwelt’), describing the apparition of a girl’s uncanny Doppelgänger:


Je m’approchai de l’armoire. Mais juge de ma frayeur mortelle, lorsque me préparant à l’ouvrir, les deux battans se déploient sans faire le moindre bruit; la lumière que je tenois à la main s’éteint; et comme si je me trouvois devant un miroir, mon image fidelle sort de l’armoire: l’éclat qu’elle répand éclaire une grande partie de l’appartement. Alors j’entends ces paroles: ‘Pourquoi trembler en voyant ton être propre s’avancer vers toi, pour te donner la connoissance de ta mort prochaine, et pour te révéler la destinée de ta maison?’


[I went towards the closet. But just imagine my mortal fear when, as I was about to open it, the two doors opened wide without a single sound; the lantern I was holding in my hand switched off, and, as if I was standing in front of a mirror, my faithful image came out of the closet; the shining she emanated enlightened a great part of the room. And then I heard these words: ‘Why are you trembling in beholding your very being, who is approaching you in order to bring you the knowledge of your coming death, and to reveal you the fate of your lineage?’]


The whole scene can be visualised and interpreted by making reference to phantasmagoria devices and visual codes: the alternation of dark and light, the closed doors opening, the image coming towards (and not walking, an effect that the magic lantern would not allow); and, finally, the words not being uttered by the apparition, but rather heard by the narrator (exactly in the same way as Robertson’s public did hear speeches coming from the backstage).


British illustration for L'Heure fatale

British illustration for L’Heure fatale


On the other hand, the association between visual and textual phantasmagorias also worked the other way round: indeed, the term itself fantasmagorie, plausibly devised by Philipstahl/Philidor, already possessed a strong link with textuality. Literally a coinage after the Greek terms phantasma (‘ghost’, but also ‘image’) and agoreuein (‘to speak’), fantasmagorie can be equally understood as a ‘dialogue with ghosts’ or a ‘summoning of ghosts’, but also (more audaciously, perhaps), as a ‘ghostly talk’. ‘Twelve o’clock, really began to talk ghostly’, would write Polidori in his journal, thereby cryptically making reference to the very title of the book that had given rise to it all.


Like Robertson’s phantasmagoria shows, Fantasmagoriana played with the ambiguity between supernatural and mental ghosts, illusion and reality, theatricality and disenchantment. The subtitle, in particular, was a little masterpiece of ambiguity, by announcing a ‘recueil d’histoires d’apparitions, de spectres, de revenans, fantômes, etc.’ (‘collection of stories of apparitions, spectres, revenants, ghosts, etc.’); indeed nowhere – with the exception of a winking epigraph from Horace, in which the book was said to ‘fill the heart with deceitful terrors’ (falsis terroribus implet) – did the paratext signal that it was actually a literary book. The editor declared himself to be just ‘un Amateur’, and the text to have been translated from the German – which, in France as much as in England, was a label indicating whatever could be uncannily foreign, and overall a synonym for Gothic. No indication was given about the authors of single tales, nor about their original sources.


The ‘Amateur’ was Jean-Baptiste Benoît Eyriès, a geographer from Marseille who, at that time, was already forty-five years old. He spoke nine languages, and had an excellent knowledge of Germany and its culture (in 1804 Napoleon and Talleyrand had sent him to mobilise the French émigrés in that country); Fantasmagoriana was a sort of divertissement from his real activity, that is to say geography and travel writing, but surely it was a well-planned book, aimed at presenting a fashionable and up-to-date literary genre to the French public. Five tales out of ten had been published just one year before, within the first two volumes of the anthology Gespensterbuch (literally, ‘Book of Ghosts’) printed in Leipzig by the publisher Göschen; one of them, ‘La Chambre noire’ [(or. ‘Die schwarze Kammer. Anekdote’), had been conceived as a sequel to Heinrich Clauren’s ‘La Chambre grise’ (or. ‘Die graue Stube (Eine buchstäblisch wahre Geschichte’), which had appeared in 1810 in the Berliner newspaper Der Freimüthige, and was equally included in Eyriès’s anthology. The editors of Gespensterbuch, and the authors of the majority of tales selected by Eyriès, were two writers coming from Saxony, Johann August Apel and Friedrich August Schulze, the latter under the pseudonym of F. Laun. Fantasmagoriana also included a tale by Apel, originally appeared in the 1810 volume Cicaden, and by a long piece extrapolated from Johann Karl August Musäus’s Volksmärchen der Deutschen, an anthology of German fairytales published between 1782 and 1786. A varied, albeit consistent corpus (all authors came from Eastern Germany, besides the cradle of German Romantcism) crossed thus the Rhine, also crossing, immediately afterwards, the Channel: if the Diodati company would read the French text, as early as in 1813 the thirty-two year old Sarah Elizabeth Brown Utterson, the wife of the antiquarian and collector Edward Vernon Utterson, translated a huge part of Eyriès’s anthology, entitling it Tales of the Dead and publishing it with the Londoner bookseller White, Cochrane and Co.



Sarah Utterson too decided to remain anonymous: her translation, she would write in her brief ‘Advertisement’, had been ‘the amusement of an idle hour’. Utterson suppressed three tales, adding one on her own – entitled ‘The Storm’, and presented as ‘founded on an incident similar in its features, which was some years since communicated to me […] as having actually occurred in this country’; she significantly abridged Musäus’s ‘L’Amour muet’ (or. ‘Stumme Liebe’), translating it as ‘The Spectre-Barber’, and added to each tale epigraphs taken from the British literary tradition, especially from Shakespeare. The targeted use of quotations had become a customary practice in Gothic fiction since M.G. Lewis’s The Monk (1796), and indeed all Utterson’s choices seem to aim at captivating the British reader by connecting with that national tradition: although, she writes, ‘the multitude of contemptible imitations’ of Ann Radcliffe’s novels has ultimately nauseated readers, whose ‘want […] at length checked the inundation’ of this flood of books, perhaps stories such as these ‘may still afford gratification in the perusal’. By so doing, Utterson’s anthology marks the entrance of Fantasmagoriana into the more mature literary market of Georgian England, but at the same time it corresponds to the domestication of the French anthology into the more normative categories developed by that market in terms of genre: indeed, Tales of the Dead is a fully Gothic book, as the title makes explicit in avoiding every reference to phantasmagoria, and hence to the sphere of artifice and deception. While Utterson’s cuts transform ‘L’Amour muet’ into a veritable ghost story, by isolating within a much more complex tale the only supernatural element, she also suppresses precisely those stories – Schulze’s ‘Le revenant’ (or. ‘Der Geist der Gestorbenen’), ‘La Chambre grise’, and ‘La Chambre noire’ – in which the supernatural was explained with natural causes, thereby eroding the constitutive ambiguity between reality and deception that had formed the backbone of Eyriès’s anthology.


In France, Fantasmagoriana had instead been produced and received in a very different context, as testified by the publication, within the space of ten years, of at least three works that try to ride the crest of its popularity by echoing its title: J.P.R. Cuisin’s Spectriana, published anonymously in 1817; Gabrielle de Paban’s Démoniana, of 1820; and Charles Nodier’s Infernaliana, appeared in 1822. Tellingly, all these works explicitly refuse to be labelled as fictional books, and are rather collections of stories relating supernatural or uncanny events, mostly looted from such eighteenth-century repertories as the treatises on occult phenomena by Augustin Calmet or Nicolas Lenglet du Fresnoy, but also from Gothic or fantastic fiction (from M.G. Lewis to Jan Potocki). In particular, publishing his book, Cuisin is concerned about specifying how his work differs from the


foule de rapsodies connues sous le nom de manuel des sorciers, fantasmagoriana, etc., qui ne méritent pas plus de créance que d’estime. On nous pardonnera sans doute d’avoir pris un titre aussi futile que celui de spectriana; c’est un tribut que nous avons payé à la manie de l’époque où nous vivions.


[crowd of rhapsodies known under the names of The Wizard Handbook, Fantasmagoriana, etc., which do not deserve more credit than they deserve appreciation. It shall doubtlessly be pardoned to us if we have chosen such a frivolous title as Spectriana: it is the tribute we paid to the mania of the age we are living in]


This consideration is very interesting, as the ‘mania’ of the age Cuisin is referring to is not exactly what one might expect. Indeed, unlike Utterson, Cuisin is not complaining about the flood of Gothic and supernatural fiction, but rather about the vogue of scientific entertainment that had been proliferating in revolutionary France, and which had resulted in the massive publication of amateur works aimed at disseminating scientific and pseudoscientific knowledge to the broader public. Most of these works discussed issues that were very popular at the time – including electricity, ventriloquism, automata, animal magnetism/mesmerism, and occultism – and proposed entertaining ways to make experiments with science. Such is the case of the Manuel des sorciers Cuisin mentions, which is in fact a compilation of mathematical and arithmetic curiosities, enriched with a great number of magic tricks and parlour games involving numbers; in the subtitle, the anonymous author specifies how the book belongs to the genre inaugurated by Henri Decremps’s claimed La Magie blanche dévoilée (1783 and 1784), namely one of the most famous eighteenth-century handbooks of stage magic. In other words, Fantasmagoriana may be assimilated, on the one hand, to the many works dealing with supernatural beliefs that proliferate in post-revolutionary. On the other, it may be equated with books, such as Le Manuel des sorciers, dedicated to conjuring and illusionism, and to mixing popular science with entertainment.


From this angle, rather than a repertoire of images and themes nourishing – to a more or less extent – the literary outcomes of Diodati, it is interesting to read Fantasmagoriana as a veritable imagination-triggering engine, which, by moving on the edge between reason and credulity, illusion and reality, science and the supernatural, invites to explore a little bit further the limits of possibility, and turn a story-telling parlour game in a rainy summer into new patterns of invention.

Conference Announcement: The Blackwood’s Bicentenary

Please see below for details of a really exciting-sounding bicentenary conference for Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine that Tom Mole and Nicholas Mason are organising in Edinburgh next year.

The Blackwood’s Bicentenary

being, thirty-six hours of heady discourse, heated debate and Ambrosian nights in Edinburgh

24th-25th July 2017, University of Edinburgh

The Tent

AFTER a tumultuous and decidedly dull first six months as the Edinburgh Monthly, William Blackwood’s magazine underwent a thorough rebranding for its now-legendary October 1817 issue.  On the 200th anniversary of what remains one of the boldest launches in British periodical history, we will return to the scene of Blackwood’s founding, assembling hoary-headed Blackwoodians and fledgling scholars alike for two days of debate about Maga’s highs and lows and its enduring legacies in literary, cultural, and political history.

Organizers: Nicholas Mason (Brigham Young U.) and Tom Mole (U. of Edinburgh)
Committee: David Finkelstein (U. of Edinburgh), Robert Irvine (U. of Edinburgh), Anthony Jarrells (U. of South Carolina), Jon Klancher (Carnegie-Mellon U.), David Latané (Virginia Commonwealth U.)
Sponsors: Centre for the History of the Book (U. of Edinburgh), Romantics Bicentennials series (Keats-Shelley Association of America), Studies in Scottish Literature

Keynote Speakers: Mark Parker (James Madison U.) and Joanne Shattock (U. of Leicester)

One of the featured events in the KSAA’s Romantic Bicentennials series, this two-day symposium will run from the morning of Monday, July 24, through the night of Tuesday, July 25.  This will allow interested participants to make it to York for the opening sessions of BARS 2017 on July 27.

All sessions will be held at the U. of Edinburgh, and participants will be responsible for arranging their own accommodations in the city. Fees will be approximately £50, excluding a symposium-ending banquet at a local restaurant.

Submit 250-word paper proposals to
or by 1 March 2017.