Ulysses by James Joyce: Penelope

of course hed never find another woman like me to put up with him the way I do
(Molly Bloom thinking her husband, Leopold, should count his blessings)

he can stick his tongue 7 miles up my hole as hes there my brown part
(Molly angry at Bloom’s weird habit of kissing her bottom)

Im always like that in the spring Id like a new fellow every year
(Molly’s friskiness)

what else were we given all those desires for Id like to know I cant help it if Im young still can I
(Molly defends her natural urges)

compared with what a man looks like with his two bags full and his other thing hanging down out of him or sticking up at you like a hatrack no wonder they hide it with a cabbageleaf
(Molly compares a woman’s lovely boobs with a man’s ugly bits)

wherever you be let your wind go free
(Molly celebrates the joys of farting)

I bet he never saw a better pair of thighs than that look how white they are
(Molly’s body positivity)

God send him sense and me more money
(dismissing a boring old bishop she once heard deliver a moralising sermon, and sounding very like her irreverent namesake, Moll Flanders)

Lord the cracked things come into my head sometimes

‘Penelope’ is the 18th and final chapter of James Joyce’s novel, ‘Ulysses’. Here’s a reminder of the complete chapter numbers and names. (Note that the names given here are not printed in the published book, they were assigned in guidance and schemas which Joyce sent to supporters and have been used by commentators ever since; but you won’t find them in any published or online edition):

Part 1. Telemachiad

  1. Telemachus
  2. Nestor
  3. Proteus

Part 2. Odyssey

  1. Calypso
  2. Lotus Eaters
  3. Hades
  4. Aeolus
  5. Lestrygonians
  6. Scylla and Charybdis
  7. Wandering Rocks
  8. Sirens
  9. Cyclops
  10. Nausicaa
  11. Oxen of the Sun
  12. Circe

Part 3. Nostos

  1. Eumaeus
  2. Ithaca
  3. Penelope

Place in the sequence

As you can see, ‘Penelope’ is not only the final chapter but the third chapter of the third part of the novel, which is generally called ‘Nostos’, Greek for ‘The Return’, Joyce’s own name for it.

The preceding two chapters tell how (in ‘Circe’) middle-aged advertising salesman Leopold Bloom helped over-educated, drunk and depressed young Stephen Dedalus get away from Dublin’s red light district where he’d been involved in a fight with a soldier. In ‘Eumaeus’ Bloom helps Stephen to an all-night café down by the docks where he tries to restore him with a cup of (disgusting) coffee and a hot roll. In ‘Ithaca’ the pair leave the café and walk to Bloom’s home at 7 Eccles Street.

Here Bloom lets them in, makes Stephen a nice cup of cocoa and they talk about many things. Bloom offers to make up a bed on the sofa for Stephen and suggests all kinds of plans – that he could move in as a lodger and give his wife, Molly, Italian lessons, and maybe even join her as a professional singer in the music troupe Bloom fantasises about setting up and managing. But Stephen turns these offers down and, after the pair have gone for a pee in Bloom’s back garden, Bloom opens the garden gate and Bloom stumbles off into the night never to be heard of again.

Bloom re-enters his house, locks up, gets undressed interspersed with rummaging about in his drawers, looking at mementoes of his absent daughter and dead father, thinking about all kinds of subjects, not least extended fantasies about moving to a delightful cottage in the country. Then he finally gets into bed and thinks about the Central Event in the book which is that while he’s been out walking the streets of Dublin, his bosomy wife, Molly, stayed at home and was visited by the flash man-about-town and concert promoter Hugh ‘Blazes’ Boylan, who had sex with her.

All day long Bloom has been aware of their tryst, set for 4pm, so that he’s spent the book in a kind of PTSD hyper-self-aware state (which partly explains the super stream-of-consciousness style of the novel). But during the course of his ponderings, Bloom gets over it. He registers his own mixed emotions of jealousy and anger but circles, in the end, round to equanimity and, finally, tenderness. And in this sleep forgiving mood, he kisses Molly on her bare bottom.

Unfortunately, this has the effect of waking her up from her sleep. Now half awake, Molly quizzes her husband about where he’s been and he proceeds to tell her a pack of lies, saying he spent the evening at the theatre then went on to a restaurant for supper where a fellow diner, Stephen, injured himself performing a gymnastic feat and so he brought him home, here, to Eccles Street, to patch him up, and that’s why he’s come to bed late. And having recited this pack of lies which omits everything important which happened during the day and replaces it with a set of fabrications, Bloom falls asleep and hands the novel’s narrative over to his wife. And it’s here that the final chapter, ‘Penelope’, consisting of Molly Bloom’s long monologue, begins.

First a few more facts, then we’ll look in detail at Molly’s chapter.

Time

Each of the chapters of ‘Ulysses’ covers about an hour in the course of one long day, starting at 8am on Thursday 16 June 1904 and going through to the early hours of the following morning, Friday 17 June. (As Stephen remarks, ‘Every Friday buries a Thursday’.)

‘Ithaca’ takes place from about 2 to 3 am on the morning of Friday 17 June 1904. As Bloom lets Stephen out the back door of his garden, the bells of St George’s ring and the commentators tell me this marks 2.30 am. So assuming it takes Bloom about half an hour to lock up, get undressed, potter about and finally get into bed, ‘Penelope’ kicks off maybe around 3am in the morning.

Homeric parallel

Each of the chapters in ‘Ulysses’ is based on an episode from The Odyssey, the famous epic poem composed some 750 years BC by the ancient Greek poet Homer, which describes the ten-year-long voyage back from the Trojan War of the Greek hero Odysseus and his crew, and which features encounters with mythical creatures and legendary figures such as the giant Cyclops or the witch Circe.

In The Odyssey, Penelope is the wife of Odysseus who has waited 20 long years for her husband’s return, which we, the readers, know has been comprised of the ten years of the war itself, and then the ten years of Odysseus’s wanderings round the Mediterranean. During the last few years she has been fending off the horde of ‘suitors’ who have descended like locusts on her palace and are eating her out of house and home while they vie for her hand in remarriage, and so ownership of Odysseus’s kingdom of Ithaca.

Now the key point is that Penelope is every bit as cunning as her husband Odysseus, who is himself described as being the most cunning and many-minded of the Greek heroes. And so in her husband’s absence, Penelope has devised a series of strategies to put off the suitors. The most famous of these is that she tells them she must weave a burial shroud for Odysseus’s elderly father, Laertes, and cannot listen to their suits until she’s finished. For three long years she dutifully weaves the shroud during the day but then carefully unpicks it during the night, so that the task is never finished. Clever, eh?

Molly, her modern reincarnation in the novel, shares many of Penelope’s traits. 1) For a start she represents the final aspect of Bloom’s coming home, his nostos or return. Sure he arrived at his actual house in the previous chapter, but in a sense it’s only climbing into bed and kissing her that marks the completion of his odyssey and his final arrival Home.

2) As to the suitors, Odysseus arrives back at his palace but still has to dispel the suitors and take possession, but there no hordes of suitors in the ‘Ulysses’ version. There was one (Blazes Boylan) but he’s long gone. Instead Bloom arrives home at his house but needs, in some subtle psychological sense, to retake ownership by a) touching all his precious possessions and b) working through in his mind his responses to Molly’s infidelity to him – both processes which are itemised in ‘Ithaca’.

3) Where Molly most resembles Penelope is in her own cleverness, in being every bit as smart as her husband. Because the real point of this chapter is that at long last we get to hear her side of the story and it is significantly, and at all points, different from her husband’s.

Because the ‘Penelope’ chapter consists of a long, long interior monologue by Molly in which she passes in a chaotic review over all the key moments in her life, before and after her marriage to Bloom, mentioning and describing her parents, her girlhood in Gibraltar, incidents from her career, the umpteen times she’s been propositioned or molested or flirted with – but above all, hundreds of comments about Bloom’s character and habits which show him in a completely different light from the entire preceding narrative.

It does a number of things, this final chapter. It rounds off the whole novel by bringing Bloom’s odyssey to a conclusion. But it also gives the woman’s version of a world up to now dominated by men and men’s opinions. More specifically, it gives a completely different portrait of Bloom than we’ve hitherto had, portrayed in detail by someone who knows him intimately (really intimately) and whose version is often at drastic odds with what we’ve learned so far.

First a brief reminder of the key facts of Molly’s biography, then I’ll go through the monologue in detail.

Molly key facts

  • current name Marion ‘Molly’ Bloom
  • born Marion Tweedy, daughter of Major Brian Tweedy, of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers
  • Molly was born and raised in Gibraltar because that’s where Major Tweedy’s regiment was stationed
  • age 33
  • earns money as a soprano singer and is fairly well known around Dublin
  • been married for 15 years to Leopold Bloom
  • two children: a daughter, Milly, who just turned 15 yesterday, and a son, Rudy, who died in infancy, aged 11 days, a decade ago, since when the couple haven’t had sex

Stream-of-consciousness

The latter 5 or 6 chapters of ‘Ulysses’ differ from the first ten or so in each being dominated by one big formatting idea. Thus ‘Nausicaa’ is written in the style of a lady’s romantic novel and ‘Circe is in the form of a play. Molly’s chapter is another case in point: it is the book’s purest example of the invention (often attributed to Joyce) of the stream-of-consciousness. It’s 24,000 words long, filling 40 to 50 pages of the book versions and yet it contains of just 8 unpunctuated sections i.e the words flow seamlessly together with no punctuation at all for thousands and thousands of words. The final section alone contains 3,680 words and no punctuation.

Why the initial style is hard

Surprisingly, though, it isn’t as hard to make sense of as the densest of the ‘initial style’. Brainy young Stephen Dedalus’s thoughts in ‘Proteus’ 1) contain loads of learned references, including 2) quotes from theology and literature, 3) often in foreign languages and 4) the references are often cut off halfway through, clipped and abbreviated, sometimes down to just one word, and all chopped up by continuous full stops into tight little fragments.

Rhythm begins, you see. I hear. A catalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. No, agallop: deline the mare.

It’s the combination of these four elements which makes the ‘initial style’, and Stephen’s stream-of-consciousness in particular, often so impenetrable.

Why Molly’s style is much easier

By contrast, all these challenging elements are missing in Molly’s thoughts. There are no fancy-ancy quotes or foreign languages or tight truncations; instead, a soothing flow of words:

theyre all so different Boylan talking about the shape of my foot he noticed at once even before he was introduced when I was in the D B C with Poldy laughing and trying to listen I was waggling my foot we both ordered 2 teas and plain bread and butter I saw him looking with his two old maids of sisters when I stood up

In one of the book’s many commentaries I came across the highly revealing fact that Joyce originally wrote the chapter out as traditional prose and then went back and took all the punctuation out. Once you know that, you can kind of feel your way towards the missing stops. Maybe ‘full stop’ is being slightly too dogmatic, but you can feel the ghost of the missing punctuation. In other words, the prose isn’t really endlessly flowing, it’s actually made up – once you get a feel for it – from relatively traditional units. So the excerpt above could be loosely punctuated thus:

they’re all so different – Boylan talking about the shape of my foot – he noticed at once, even before he was introduced – when I was in the D B C with Poldy laughing and trying to listen, I was waggling my foot – we both ordered 2 teas and plain bread and butter – I saw him looking with his two old maids of sisters when I stood up

Not that difficult after all, is it? In fact, surprisingly easy. Obviously there are plenty of passages which aren’t quite as easy to silently punctuate into traditional prose as this one, but a lot are, and once you get used to reading it while looking for these sentence-like units, you develop the knack for recognising them and so extracting the sense, relatively quickly.

While reading ‘Ulysses’ I came across the RTE radio dramatisation of the novel which was made for the centenary of Joyce’s birth in 1982. You can listen to each individual chapter as a separate track on Spotify.

Listening to this radio production of ‘Penelope’, what you almost immediately realise is the obvious fact that, if you’re going to read this text (or indeed anything) out loud, you regularly have to stop for breath. And any sensible reader will tend to stop for breath at the natural breaks of sense, at the end of cadences or phrases. So listening to someone read out Molly Bloom’s soliloquy really brings out the ghostly punctuation which, as I’ve suggested, in practice still exists in the text. Reading it out loud tends to naturally reintroduce the invisible punctuation.

In addition, this (marvellous) reading also brings out the changes of tone and expression which are continually occurring throughout the text, as appropriate for different phrases, and this, too, helps to chop up what at first seemed like page after page of solid text, into what are in reality much more manageable, understandable phrases.

The ‘Eternal Feminine’

As to the reason for this endless flow – in the schematic charts and diagrams which Joyce made about the book, he said ‘Penelope’ took the sign ∞ representing infinity, supposedly because she represents the Eternal Feminine.

Personally, I shy away from this kind of talk because discussing the ‘nature of woman’, ‘female psychology’ and so on was problematic and controversial at the time, and has only become more mired in four generations of feminist theory, not to mention the worldwide swamp of social media.

If you do a quick Google search and read any articles or commentary about Molly and her monologue you will quickly discover how the entire subject is infested by experts who cite the received ideas of our age, that Molly is a ‘strong independent women’ who ‘expresses her own sexuality’ in ‘defiance of the patriarchy’ and countless other clichés. You can find thousands of feminist interpretations at the click of a button.

What I noticed in the two commentaries I’ve tended to have open beside me, is that because they both go on at length about feminism, sexism, the patriarchy and so on, they completely ignore many other aspects and details which are just as important.

Therefore in my summary I will try to stick closely to what the words actually say and not wander off into sweeping generalisations about The Female Mind, Female Sexuality, the Patriarchy and all the other high-level issues which so many commentators instantly jump to. Their approach takes us away from the words on the page, which are not only funny and surprising but are deliberately designed to 1) recap information about quite a few characters we’ve met previously in the book and 2) prompt us to rethink everything we thought we knew about her husband, Leopold.

Yes yes

In that spirit, looking at the actual words on the page, there’s an obvious aspect of the concept of the infinite, which is that this big chapter starts with the word ‘yes’ and ends with the word ‘yes’. This is an obvious manoeuvre by Joyce to bring out the Eternity theme.

Pondering this I conceived a Kafkaesque nightmare of a hypothetical reader who finds themselves somehow condemned to read the chapter forever, because as soon as they read the final ‘yes’ they are transported back to the first ‘yes’ and so spend the rest of their lives stuck inside an endless loop of Molliness.

Section lengths

Precise definitions of the section lengths vary slightly on whether you’re referring to the 1922, 1961 or Gabler (1984) edition. I used an online word counter to count the words in each section of the Planet Gutenberg online edition.

Section 1: 3,746 words (opens with ‘Yes because he never did…’)

Section 2: 4,404 words (opens with ‘theyre all so different Boylan talking about the shape of my foot…’ and makes up what is supposedly the longest sentence in literature)

Section 3: 921 words (opens with ‘yes I think he made them a bit firmer sucking them like that so long he made me thirsty…’)

Section 4: 2,208 words (opens with ‘frseeeeeeeefronnnng train somewhere whistling…’)

Section 5: 2,378 words (opens with ‘Mulveys was the first when I was in bed that morning…’)

Section 6: 3,619 words (opens with ‘that was a relief wherever you be let your wind go free…’)

Section 7: 3,230 words (opens with ‘who knows is there anything the matter with my insides…’)

Section 8: 3,680 words (opens with ‘no thats no way for him has he no manners nor no refinement nor no nothing in his nature…’)

Summary

As explained, I am going to avoid wading into the many high-level feminist debates raised by the soliloquy (there’s no shortage of people doing that) and instead try to focus on the exact words and what they tell us.

Section 1 (3,746 words)

Molly is surprised that Bloom has asked her to make him breakfast in bed tomorrow morning. This request doesn’t occur in ‘Ithaca’ so is a puzzle.

Quickly she moves on to a sharp assessment of one of the many other people who appear in the monologue, Mrs Riordan who we met as Dante, nanny to young Stephen Dedalus in ‘Portrait’. In a surprising coincidence we discover she lived as an old lady in the same hotel as Molly and Bloom and the latter used to take her for excursions in her bathchair. I find this one of the most striking things in the entire monologue.

But Molly is cross because Dante never left them any money in her will when she died. Also, she was very moralistic, down on bathsuits etc so Molly is glad she’s not like that.

She likes Bloom for his kindness that way, mind you he’s useless when he’s ill, and so are men generally, ‘weak and puling’, compared to women who have to hide it all. Remembering Bloom being in hospital after he sprained his ankle at a party, she does the first of many shrewish comments about other women using their wiles to get close to Poldy, in this case Miss Stack buying him flowers to get into his bedroom, the implication she had a fancy for him or they even had sex (?).

She suspects he must have had an orgasm during the day because he asked for breakfast i.e. it gives him an appetite. But she’s equally sure it’s not an affair, it’s not ‘love’, so speculates it might be with one of the prostitutes from nighttown, which leads her on to think about all the little bitches Bloom’s picked up on the sly, ‘if they only knew him as well as I do’. She knows that’s why she kissed his bottom, it’s a tell-tale sign and remembers the smell of other women on his clothes.

Just recently she came into a room where he was writing which he hurriedly covered up with blotting paper, poor fool (we know it was probably a letter to his penpal lover Martha Clifford though Molly doesn’t know her name).

She hated it when he had a pash for their scullerymaid, Mary Driscoll, the pair of them flirting under her nose (we know about Mary because she appeared among the many accusers in Bloom’s dream trial in ‘Circe’) and was outraged when Bloom suggested Mary eat Christmas dinner with them, and driven to distraction by her queening round the place (singing in the WC) until she confronted Bloom with an ultimatum, her or me, he chose her and so she gave Mary her week’s notice.

She remembers the last time Bloom came on her bottom, on an evening when they’d gone for a walk with Blazes Boylan and the latter had squeezed her hand. She imagines seducing some young boy, then remembers Bloom’s insistent questioning of who is she thinking about.

She seems to go on and think that now she’s had sex with Boylan, the first time is over, now it will become more routine. She wonders why you can’t just get people to kiss and hug you, she loves kissing.

I wish some man or other would take me sometime when hes there and kiss me in his arms theres nothing like a kiss long and hot down to your soul almost paralyses you

Then thinks about having to go to confession, the silly euphemisms the priest uses, then that she was a bit attracted to the priest with his bullneck.

Id like to be embraced by one in his vestments and the smell of incense off him like the pope

Thinking back to her afternoon sex with Boylan, she wonders if he was satisfied with her, she didn’t like him slapping her on the bottom:

I laughed Im not a horse or an ass

A flower he was wearing reminds her of a funny tasting drink she associates with an American she knew, can’t figure out if he slept with her. She associates it with a thunderstorm which put the fear of God into her, thinks about the end of the world, what could you do except go to church and pray, which reminds her that Poldy isn’t religious, refuses to go to church, says there is no soul, just grey matter inside us. Which circles back to memories of sex with Boylan that afternoon:

he must have come 3 or 4 times with that tremendous big red brute of a thing he has I thought the vein or whatever the dickens they call it was going to burst… no I never in all my life felt anyone had one the size of that to make you feel full up…

With a little recrimination to God:

whats the idea making us like that with a big hole in the middle of us or like a Stallion driving it up into you because thats all they want out of you with that determined vicious look in his eye

But then a surprising debunkment of Boylan:

still he hasnt such a tremendous amount of spunk in him when I made him pull out and do it on me considering how big it is so much the better in case any of it wasnt washed out properly the last time I let him finish it in me

Surely the second he refers to Bloom (‘the last time’) since we thought Boylan had only done it once. Interesting to note she’s describing coitus interruptus in the first part. Then a complaint about condoms (?):

nice invention they made for women for him to get all the pleasure

Thoughts of contraception lead to the opposite, of large families like Mina Purefoy‘s whose husband keeps getting her pregnant so she lives in a swarm of children. She wonders about having a child by Boylan but then considers that Poldy has more spunk in him.

Then she remembers coming across him flirting with Josie Powell, the unmarried name of Josie Breen, who Bloom had a thing with, at a dance, which Bloom tried to justify then led to a stand-up row about politics, something about Jesus being a carpenter and the first socialist. But generally how she managed the rivalry with Josie, how she knew Bloom liked her better. But still she ponders how she would win Bloom back is he resumed his passion for Josie, in ‘his plabbery kind of a manner’. How she’d revive him by little touches, getting him to fold down her collar, whereas she’d go and confront Josie directly.

Remembers the night Bloom almost proposed when she was in the kitchen making a potato cake, and how Josie was always embracing her, Molly, in front of Bloom, as if it was Bloom, one among many women who flirted with him. Molly used to tease Josie with how close she was to Bloom, then after they got married she stopped coming round.

She wonders what life is like for her now, with her mad husband, Breen. Last time they met, Josie told her he sometimes gets into bed with his muddy boots on. At least Poldy always wipes his feet on the mat, always blacks his own boots, always takes off his hat when he comes up in the street. Whereas Breen is mad about this postcard he got with U.P. on it.

No she’d rather die than marry another man, mind you Bloom is lucky to have her: ‘hed never find another woman like me to put up with him the way I do’, and thinking of women driven to distraction by their husbands she thinks of Mrs Maybrick who poisoned her husband with white arsenic for love of another man. She was hanged.

Commentary: although there’s a fair amount about Bloom and Boyland, and their penises and spunk, in fact the section can be seen as Molly comparing herself with seven other women, with their different beliefs, moral values, and experiences of love and marriage. Knowing Joyce I imagine with a bit of effort you could work each of them up into symbolising different types or categories.

Section 2 (4,404 words)

its all very well a husband but you cant fool a lover

She blames Bloom for having some new fad every week. She left her suede gloves behind in the toilet at the DBC Dame Street, Poldy suggested offering a reward. Boyle likes her feet, likes her crossing them, he liked watching her take off her stockings. But this segues into Bloom one time asked her to walk in the horses’ dung in the street, ‘of course hes not natural like the rest of the world’.

She remembers him saying she’d beat Katty Lanner (a real-life dancer). The tenor Bartell DArcy who kissed her in church, he liked her low notes. She thinks she’ll tell Bloom about it one day and show him the place where they ‘did it’ – surely she means had sex.

In particular Bloom ‘hes mad on the subject of drawers’, and stares at young girls on bicycles with their skirts blowing up to show their knickers as they ride. The time at a fair when a woman was standing against the sun and he stared even though he was with her and Milly. The hypocrisy of men who can go and get anything they like from anything in a skirt but insist on interrogating them (women) about where they’ve been and with who etc. ‘drawers drawers the whole blessed time till I promised to give him the pair off my doll to carry about in his waistcoat pocket’ (which of course links up with the subject of the ‘Nausicaa’ chapter where Bloom gets his rocks off watching Gerty show him her drawers).

The time they were in the rain and he begged her to lift her skirt a little and she touched his trousers ‘the way I used to Gardner’.

Bloom was always canny not like ‘that other fool Henny Doyle he was always breaking or tearing something in the charades’. Bloom sent her 8 poppies. But he could never embrace well ‘like Gardner‘. She hopes Boylan will come round again, on Monday, same time, 4pm.

She hates people calling at random times like the time Professor Goodwin found her flushed from cooking stew. We learn that Boylan sent ahead a gift of port and peaches (which we saw him buying in Thornton’s fruit and flower shop in ‘Wandering Rocks’.

She’s scheduled to go to Belfast with Boylan the following week; lucky Bloom is to go to Ennis to commemorate his father’s death, would be tricky being in rooms next to each other; if Bloom had sex with her, Boylan would know.

She remembers the time Bloom carried bowls of soup from the dining car along a moving train spilling them everywhere, and the steward locked them in their compartment in revenge. She hopes Boylan books first class tickets. Trains remind her of the nice workman who got her and Bloom their own compartment in the train for their outing to Howth.

She remembers patriotic concerts she did in support of the Boer War where she sang the Rudyard Kipling poem The Absent-Minded Beggar. This song is mentioned numerous times in Bloom’s thoughts earlier in the book. Funnily enough I devoted a blog post to it when I had my Kipling phase. She wore a brooch for Lord Roberts and had a map of the war. Which leads her to reminisce about ‘Gardner lieut Stanley G 8th Bn 2nd East Lancs Rgt’ who fought in the war and apparently died there of enteric fever.

he was a lovely fellow in khaki and just the right height over me Im sure he was brave too he said I was lovely the evening we kissed goodbye at the canal lock my Irish beauty

She likes the army, after all she’s an army brat, her father was a major, so:

I love to see a regiment pass in review the first time I saw the Spanish cavalry at La Roque it was lovely… the Black Watch with their kilts in time at the march past the 10th hussars the prince of Wales own or the lancers O the lancers theyre grand or the Dublins that won Tugela

Interchangeable men I’ll note here where I’ve noticed it, that Joyce deliberately blends all the men in her life together under the one pronoun ‘he’. In consecutive phrases ‘he’ can refer to Bloom or Boylan or his or her father or various others. The implication (apart from Molly being dreamily half-awake) is that all men are the same. At a deeper level, maybe the implication is that all people are the same, that our identities are only skin deep, like name labels stuck on our chests at a conference which soon peel off.

She notes how Boylan’s father made money selling horses to the army and hopes he’ll buy her a nice present when they go to Belfast ‘well he could buy me a nice present up in Belfast after what I gave him’ i.e. sex. She’d love to go shopping with him. She’ll have to take her wedding ring off or risk being reported to the police (married woman with unmarried man) although:

O let them all go and smother themselves for the fat lot I care

She remembers that Boylan is heavy, hairy too, would be more convenient to have sex doggy position:

always having to lie down for them better for him put it into me from behind the way Mrs Mastiansky told me her husband made her like the dogs do

She remembers Boylan was beautifully dressed but for the first ten minutes in a foul temper because he’d just lost £20 on the Gold Cup horse race which reverberates through the novel. He got the tip from Lenehan and that reminds Molly of sitting in a coach next to Lenehan coming back from the Glencree dinner (in ‘Wandering Rocks’ Lenehan remembers this journey, pressed up against Molly so he could feel the outline of her fine breasts: ‘His hands moulded ample curves of air’, which gave him an erection). Unsurprisingly she thinks Lenehan is a creep. At that social do she was aware of the Lord Mayor staring at her with his dirty eyes. Molly’s fate is to be eyed up and chatted up wherever she goes.

She wishes she had cutlery as fine as the ones at that dinner and reflects she could have stolen a few by slipping them into her muff. Shopping: she wants two new chemises and a kidfitting corselet as advertised in The Gentlewoman. Which makes her reflect she’s getting a bit tubby, needs to lay off the stout at lunchtime. Mind you, the poor quality of the booze they get from Larry O’Rourke.

She’s got one pair of garters Bloom bought her, and he got her some lovely face cream which made skin ‘like new’, she asked him to buy a new bottle (which we saw him do right at the start of his part of the narrative). She only has 3 sets of clothes and one at the cleaners.

She feels sorry for herself wearing such shabby outfits and remembers she’ll be 33 this September i.e. 32 now. Mind you take Mrs Galbraith, older than her and a fine looking woman though on the turn. She remembers watching Kitty O’Shea brush her hair in the house opposite in Grantham Street. (This peripheral contact with Kitty parallels Bloom’s brief encounter with Charles Stewart Parnell, recovering his hat after it was knocked off in a riot.)

In another parallel her thoughts drift to Lily Langtry, the Jersey Lily, widely known to be having an affair with the Prince of Wales. So these two women mirror Molly in having extra-marital affairs: one with the leader of the nationalist Irish, one with the future King of England.

In a real digression she remembers Bloom buying a volume of Rabelais for her, and her not getting on with its absurdity and obscenity. (We know from ‘Ithaca’ that Bloom thinks he can educate Molly by leaving good books around.)

Back to the Prince of Wales, she knows he visited Gibraltar the year she was born, planted some tree. Back to Bloom and she wishes he’d change job ‘and go into an office or something where hed get regular pay or a bank where they could put him up on a throne to count the money all the day’, instead he mooches round the house under her feet all the time.

Molly remembers going to Mr Cuffe to plead for Bloom’s job back after he was fired; Cuffe stared at her breasts (as more or less all the men seem to) and politely refused. What she remembers more is the shabby dress she had to make the visit in.

Bloom thinks he knows about women’s clothes but hasn’t got a clue and she remembers some terrible hats he thought she looked great in. Just like he’s rubbish at cooking, ‘mathering everything he can scour off the shelves into it’.

Section 3 (921 words)

Molly ponders her breasts, thinking maybe Boylan made them firmer by sucking them, which leads onto the breasts on the grand statues of naked women you see everywhere, the woman often hiding one breast behind her hand. Mind you not as silly as men’s bits:

compared with what a man looks like with his two bags full and his other thing hanging down out of him or sticking up at you like a hatrack no wonder they hide it with a cabbageleaf

And she remembers various men who have exposed themselves to her:

  • that disgusting Cameron highlander behind the meat market
  • that other wretch with the red head behind the tree where the statue of the fish used to be when I was passing pretending he was pissing standing out for me to see it with his babyclothes up to one side
  • theyre always trying to show it to you every time nearly I passed outside the mens greenhouse near the Harcourt street station

She remembers popping into a men’s toilet in the freezing winter of 1893 coming back from a party and teasingly thinks ‘pity a couple of the Camerons werent there to see me squatting in the mens place’.

Of men’s penises she thinks: ‘I tried to draw a picture of it before I tore it up like a sausage or something I wonder theyre not afraid going about of getting a kick or a bang’.

She remembers Bloom encouraging her to let herself be photographed nude when he lost his job to earn some money, which reminds her of the painting of a naked nymph they have above their bed, or the erotic photos he keeps hidden in his drawer (catalogued in ‘Eumaeus’).

She remembers him trying to explain the word metempsychosis which had cropped up in a book right at the start of Bloom’s narrative: ‘he never can explain a thing simply the way a body can understand’ and then he went and burned the bloody pan frying his kidney this morning. Sounds like any wife complaining about any husband.

Then she switches men and complains about Boylan biting her nipple till she screamed: ‘arent they fearful trying to hurt you’. She remembers having swollen breasts full of milk when Milly was born and Bloom (typically) saying she could rent herself out as a wetnurse. She remembers ‘ that delicate looking student that stopped in no 28 with the Citrons Penrose’ nearly catching her washing naked through the window.

As to her full breasts she a) got Dr Brady to write her a prescription and b) got Bloom to suck the milk out of them, they were so hard and painful: ‘he said it was sweeter and thicker than cows then he wanted to milk me into the tea well hes beyond everything.’

Just one more of his outrageous suggestions, she thinks she should write them all in a book titled ‘the works of Master Poldy’. He used to suckle her for an hour at a time, the big baby: ‘hey want everything in their mouth all the pleasure those men get out of a woman’.

Then a very explicit memory of the multiple orgasms Boylan gave her:

O Lord I must stretch myself I wished he was here or somebody to let myself go with and come again like that I feel all fire inside me or if I could dream it when he made me spend the 2nd time tickling me behind with his finger I was coming for about 5 minutes with my legs round him I had to hug him after O Lord I wanted to shout out all sorts of things fuck or shit or anything at all

Though she had to restrain herself because you never know with some men, some men want you to remain coy and well behaved even while having sex. And she looks forward to more of the same with Boylan come Monday: ‘O Lord I cant wait till Monday’.

Section 4 (2,208 words)

Molly’s fourth sentence begins with her hearing a train whistle ‘frseeeeeeeefronnnng train somewhere whistling’, the latest of Joyce’s hundred or so attempts to transcribe non-human sounds (the cat, the door, bells, gongs, clocks, the sea and many more).

Molly thinks of the men who work in trains, away from their wives at night. ‘Im glad I burned the half of those old Freemans and Photo Bits leaving things like that lying about hes getting very careless’ – are these saucy magazines?

It was hot earlier, the rain shower was refreshing, she thought it was going to get as hot as Gibraltar. She remembers her father’s friend Mrs Hester Stanhope (a real-life historical figure) who sent her a nice frock from the B Marche Paris and her husband: they called each other Doggerina and Wogger, and she remembers a letter she wrote him.

She would give anything to be back in Gibraltar where life was free and easy. Take Edwardian clothes: ‘these clothes we have to wear whoever invented them expecting you to walk up Killiney hill then for example at that picnic all staysed up you cant do a blessed thing in them in a crowd run or jump out of the way’.

She hated bullfights, the horses all getting ripped open. She was good friends with Hester, who showed her how to put her hair up, she slept in her bed the night of the storm and they had a pillow fight in the morning.

She remembers blushing the first time ‘he’ looked at her, when she was with her father and Captain Grove: ‘he was attractive to a girl in spite of his being a little bald intelligent looking disappointed and gay at the same time’. ‘She’ gave Molly The Moonstone to read. Reminds her she doesn’t like books with Molly in the title like that Molly Flanders.

She’s hot and uncomfortable, the blanket is too heavy and her nightdress has ridden up so she moves around to get comfortable. She remembers the mosquito nets in Gibraltar, how long ago it seems. She remembers in detail the day the Stanhopes left, the dress Mrs S was wearing, then how terribly dull life was after they both left.

Ships remind her of guns booming whenever a dignitary arrived at Gibraltar like General Ulysses Grant (Ulysses – a small connection). She remembers old Sprague the consul dressed in mourning for his son (echoing Bloom) and then Captain Groves and her dad having endless yarns over whiskey in the evenings about imperial battles.

Boredom and trying to get a reaction reminds her of how she’d dress up and put her gloves on in the window for the benefit of the young doctor in the house opposite, in Holles Street, but he never got the idea. Men are stupid.

there was a nice fellow even in the opposite house that medical in Holles street the nurse was after when I put on my gloves and hat at the window to show I was going out not a notion what I meant arent they thick never understand what you say even youd want to print it up on a big poster for them… where does their great intelligence come in Id like to know grey matter they have it all in their tail if you ask me

She thinks of recent letters and cards, including one from Milly, and a letter from a Mrs Dwenn in Canada who wrote out of the blue wanting to know the recipe for pisto madrileno (apparently the Spanish version of ratatouille). And one from Floey Dillon who wrote to say she was married to a very rich architect. And: ‘poor Nancy Blake died a month ago of acute neumonia well I didnt know her so well as all that she was Floeys friend more than mine poor Nancy.’

She thanks God Boylan has fucked her:

O thanks be to the great God I got somebody to give me what I badly wanted to put some heart up into me

But she hopes he’ll write her a letter, she’d love a real love letter, ‘I told him he could write what he liked yours ever Hugh Boylan.’ It just makes you so happy: ‘true or no it fills up your whole day and life always something to think about every moment and see it all round you like a new world.’

Then she’ll write an answer from bed where he can imagine her. Need only be a few words, in fact the less the better, lets the imagination work. Not like here friend Atty Dillon who wrote long elaborate letters copied from The Ladies Letterwriter to the fellow that was something in the Four Courts. He ended up jilting her. ‘A few simple words’ is best.

This section ends with a sudden spurt of bitterness at the fate of women to be pursued and worshipped when young, and then dumped and ignored once they get old.

as for being a woman as soon as youre old they might as well throw you out in the bottom of the ashpit.

Note that it ends with a full stop, one of only two in the entire chapter.

Section 5 (2,378 words)

Section 5 opens with a similar passage to section 1 (intentionally?) in that it is a harsh character assassination of an older woman. In section 1 it’s Mrs Riordan (the Dante of ‘A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man’). Here it is the elderly Spanish housekeeper of the Tweedy family in Gibraltar, Mrs Rubio. Molly condemns her as a:

disobliging old thing… with her switch of false hair on her and vain about her appearance ugly as she was near 80 or a 100 her face a mass of wrinkles

and also, as with Mrs Riordan, feels threatened by / despises the old woman’s religious zeal:

with all her religion domineering because she never could get over the Atlantic fleet coming in half the ships of the world and the Union Jack flying with all her carabineros because 4 drunken English sailors took all the rock from them and because I didnt run into mass often enough in Santa Maria to please her with her shawl up on her except when there was a marriage on with all her miracles of the saints and her black blessed virgin with the silver dress

So Molly dislikes her on account of 1) her age (she seems ancient to Molly, who is only 15); 2) her religious zeal (which clearly Molly has no time for); and 3) also a Spanish nationalist reason. Apparently the Spanish Mrs Rubio is still angry that the British seized a part of Spain with just ‘4 drunken sailors’. (Incidentally the number 4 seems to have no historical provenance: the actual capture of Gibraltar was, as you might expect, a bigger bloodier affair.)

So one morning this ‘disobliging old thing’ brings her a letter from Lieutenant Mulvey who is clearly a ‘beau’ of the 15-year-old Marion. This Mulvey followed her in the street one day, but instead of scaring Molly this just excited her and made her want to ‘pick him up’. Then he wrote her a letter making an appointment to see her, which thrilled her to bits, she kept it on her and was so excited that she wanted to move the hands on the clock forward to make the appointment come quicker.

Now who does this remind you of? Of Blazes Boylan of course, whose letter Molly received at the start of this long day, setting his arrival for 4pm. Direct parallel. History repeats.

Cut to Molly being out with this Mulvey who kissed her ‘under the Moorish wall’ and ‘he crushed all the flowers on my bosom’. She considered him her sweetheart. Given the graphic sexual details everywhere else, I was intrigued by the phrase:

I put my knee up to him a few times to learn the way

What way? Well, For the flirtatious lolz she told him she was engaged ‘to the son of a Spanish nobleman named Don Miguel de la Flora and he believed me’.

Eventually he was posted away, in May (she remembers because she always feels like a new man in the spring: ‘Im always like that in the spring Id like a new fellow every year’). She knew precisely how far to flirt:

I had that white blouse on open in the front to encourage him as much as I could without too openly they were just beginning to be plump

They were at some place up on some mountain among entrances to ancient galleries of St Michael’s caves, a beautiful sunny day and far from anywhere, and:

he caressed them outside they love doing that its the roundness there I was leaning over him with my white ricestraw hat… my blouse open for his last day

Obviously he wanted to go further:

he wanted to touch mine with his for a moment but I wouldnt let him he was awfully put out first for fear you never know consumption or leave me with a child embarazada that old servant Ines told me that one drop even if it got into you at all

And remembers how she’s experimented with how it would feel to have a penis inside her by using a banana.

after I tried with the Banana but I was afraid it might break and get lost up in me somewhere because they once took something down out of a woman that was up there for years

You can see why sex-averse Virginia Woolf loathed this book, can’t you? I’d forgotten it was stuffed (so to speak) with so much sexual crudeness or candour (depending on taste). As to men, well:

theyre all mad to get in there where they come out of youd think they could never go far enough up

Back to Mulvey, she would have full sex but instead masturbated him to climax:

how did we finish it off yes O yes I pulled him off into my handkerchief pretending not to be excited but I opened my legs I wouldnt let him touch me inside my petticoat because I had a skirt opening up the side I tormented the life out of him first tickling him I loved rousing that dog in the hotel rrrsssstt awokwokawok his eyes shut and a bird flying below us he was shy all the same I liked him like that moaning I made him blush a little when I got over him that way when I unbuttoned him and took his out and drew back the skin it had a kind of eye in it

Yep, sounds like a penis alright. Amusingly, she can’t clearly remember Mulvey’s name, though this is consistent with her using the pronoun ‘he’ to refer interchangeably to many men (mainly Bloom and Boylan).

Molly darling he called me what was his name Jack Joe Harry Mulvey was it yes I think a lieutenant he was rather fair he had a laughing kind of a voice

Lucky Jack Mulvey promised he’d come back for her and she promised she’d let him **** her, even if she was married. Twenty years ago it must be and he’s probably promoted and married and little does his wife know about his little sexual adventure with Molly Tweedy.

Far from anywhere she blew up the paper bag they’d brought biscuits in, then burst it with a bang which made all the pigeons take off. She wanted to fire his gun but he didn’t have one. HMS Calypso she thinks he was assigned to, because it was printed on his cap (note another sly Odysseus reference slipped in).

Cut to memories of some pompous old Bishop who delivered a sermon about the New Woman riding bicycle and wearing bloomers, which triggers her to think how funny she’s ended up with the surname Bloom. Her rival for Leopold, Josie Breen, used to joke that she was looking ‘blooming’ whenever they met, still better than names with bottom in them like Ramsbottom.

She doesn’t really remember her mother (who is a very shadowy figure in the whole book). Her name was Lunita Laredo and she was a Gibraltarian of Spanish/Jewish descent. A vivid memory of running down Williss Road and her boobs jiggling:

they were shaking and dancing about in my blouse like Millys little ones now when she runs up the stairs I loved looking down at them

She remembers the wonderful view from the Rock over the Straits to Africa. She was so infatuated with Mulvey, she kept the hankie the masturbated him into under her pillow for weeks, for the smell of it.

Mulvey appears to have given her a ring as a keepsake, ‘that clumsy Claddagh ring for luck’ that she then gave to another lover, Gardner, the soldier who went off to the Boer War where he died of enteric fever.

She has the impression of a moustache and for a moment thinks it was Mulvey’s but then realises she’s getting him mixed up with Gardner.

Another train whistles, reminding Molly of Love’s Old Sweet Song and her upcoming performance, which triggers a repeat of her scorn for the other singers:

Kathleen Kearney and her lot of squealers Miss This Miss That Miss Theother lot of sparrowfarts skitting around talking about politics they know as much about as my backside

As the daughter of a soldier who’s lived abroad, Molly views herself as much more worldly than the daughters of bootmakers and publicans, ‘I knew more about men and life when I was 15 than theyll all know at 50’.

She reflects on her looks. Her father left her her English accent (raised among soldiers in garrison) but she has her mother’s eyes and figure. Let them get a husband and a lovely daughter and get a fine man like Boylan falling over her and swiving her 4 or 5 times. She thinks about the correct posture, neck and facial position to project her singing voice best, and considers which songs to sing: Love’s Sweet Song and Wind from the South but not My Lady’s Bower, ‘too long for an encore’.

She thinks she could have been a prima donna if she hadn’t married Bloom. She’ll dress to impress.

Ill change that lace on my black dress to show off my bubs and Ill yes by God Ill get that big fan mended make them burst with envy

And then she realises she needs to pass wind and shifts position in the bed, carefully so as not to wake Bloom. (Remember the reference a few lines earlier to the song Wind from the South? A Joyce joke). So she softly passes wind, in another joke doing so in synch with the whistle from another passing train.

Section 6 (3,619 words)

Molly starts by being happy at having passed wind and wondering if it was the pork chop she ate earlier which gave her wind, she doesn’t trust that butcher.

She remembers being a girl in Gibraltar, the freezing cold nights, which leaps to being much older and stripping and creaming herself for the pleasure of the medical student living opposite (mentioned above).

Which links into her hoping Poldy isn’t going to fall in with the medical students, squandering money and getting drunk, what do they find to talk about?

We get more specifics on Bloom’s request for breakfast, which wasn’t reported in ‘Ithaca’. According to Molly, he ordered: ‘eggs and tea and Findon haddy and hot buttered toast’ which leads onto how she enjoys hearing him clunking up the stairs with the rattling cutlery. Then onto the cat, licking itself but she doesn’t like its claws. (It strikes me as odd that the cat doesn’t have a name. Surely Joyce missed a trick, he could have given it an ironically Odyssey-connected name.)

Hunger: she thinks she’ll buy a nice piece of plaice, no cod, and some jam which flows into the thought of buying more and organising a picnic, which flows into memories of various outings, better at the seaside but not in a boat after he swore blind he could row and then got into so much trouble they nearly drowned, and the water flooding into the rowing boat ruined her shoes and the wind ruined her hat.

But the sea brings memories of Gibraltar, the smell of the sardines and the bream in Catalan bay all silver in the fishermen’s baskets.

She remembers all the grandiose plans Bloom made, saying he’d change their place into a musical academy, or a hotel, full of plans and schemes which all come to nothing.

he ought to get a leather medal with a putty rim for all the plans he invents then leaving us here all day

She gets scared being alone in the house at night and remembers a vagrant who got 20 years for murdering an old woman, she’d castrate men like that. She remembers the night she swore she heard burglars and she made Poldy go downstairs with a candle frightened out of his wits, making as much racket as he could to scare them off, of course there was no-one.

Then she’s unhappy the way Bloom sent their daughter, Milly, away to Mullingar to get a job at a photographer’s, she thinks because he sensed Molly and Boylan’s impending affair. She should have been sent to Skerry’s Academy to study for the civil service.

She remembers Milly becoming a handful ‘with her roughness and carelessness’, breaking a statuette, refusing to peel the potatos, and Bloom taken to explaining things out of the paper to her and Milly pretending to play along. Cunning, like her dad. She’s started flirting with the boys and reminds Molly of herself at that age. She’d started to go beyond bounds for example to the skating rink and she smelled tobacco on her clothes.

all the people passing they all look at her like me when I was her age

And being prissy at the theatre, insisting Molly not touch her, which makes her remember men who’ve ogled and rubbed up against her at theatres. Milly didn’t even want Molly to kiss her at the station when she was leaving well – in the same tone as she said Bloom will never find anyone else like her, Molly thinks good luck to her daughter to find someone else who’ll dance attendance on her when she’s ill, like her old Ma.

I think Molly says she didn’t have a climax till she was 22:

of course she cant feel anything deep yet I never came properly till I was what 22 or so it went into the wrong place (?)

Milly’s boyfriends including Conny Connolly and Martin Harvey. She thinks such devotion means a man’s a bit cracked in the head which reminds her of Poldy’s father, must have been cracked to commit suicide.

She thinks it’s Bloom’s fault for not getting a servant and instead having the two women in the family slaving away for him, apart from the useless cleaner they had, Mrs Fleming, sneezing and farting everywhere and you had to follow her round fixing her work, and the time she left a smelly old dishcloth behind the dresser.

All the friends Bloom brings back at all hours including Simon Dedalus, and his son who won all the prizes, what was he doing bringing him home, and why did he have to drop down into the area to get into the house, amazing he didn’t rip his grand funeral trousers, shame her old drawers weren’t hanging up for them both to see!

And we learn that Mrs Fleming, useless as she was, is now leaving them to look after her husband who’s got to have an operation.

Thoughts of the body circle round to Molly realising her period’s about to start, not surprising considering ‘all the poking and rooting and ploughing he [Boylan] had up in me’. Damn! That means she’ll be bleeding when Boylan next visits in just three days time (it’s Friday and he’s scheduled to come around on Monday). Menstruation she sees as a curse, out of action five days every three weeks, ‘simply sickening’.

She remembers the most embarrassing occasion when it came on when they were at the theatre, had been given a box by one Michael Gunn to see Mrs Kendal and her husband at the Gaiety, when it came on her and her struggle to concentrate with her husband yakking on next to her.

O patience above its pouring out of me like the sea

She’s very self-conscious about having sex in the bed with all the springs jingling so seems to say that when Boylan came round she put the quilt on the floor and a pillow under her bottom.

She thinks she’ll shave her pubic hair to look like a young girl again, that’ll surprise Boylan next time!

And during these thoughts she’s eased out of bed and is squatting over the chamberpot bleeding into it, hoping she won’t break it, thinking about rinsing it out and perfuming it in the morning, very self conscious about it making such a noise, and so the section ends.

Section 7 (3,230 words)

Molly continues menstruating on her chamber pot. She remembers encounters with a gynaecologist, Dr Collins, who she’d gone to see, worried about some discharges, during which she gets long medical words wrong like ‘omissions’ and is amused by the posh word he used for her bits, ‘vagina’: comedy at the expense of her illiteracy.

Which segues into the letters Bloom wrote her, quoting Keats and other poetry. She was so excited by him and the letters she masturbated 4 or 5 times a day. She was impressed by his high political talk about home rule and the Land League. She’s thinking all this while she’s still on the pot:

I better not make an alnight sitting on this affair they ought to make chambers a natural size so that a woman could sit on it properly

I think she says the Leopold kneels to masturbate, ‘I suppose there isnt in all creation another man with the habits he has’; and then bemoans his habit for years of sleeping upside down in the bed, with his head at her feet and his feet by her head. The posture reminds her of him taking her to see an Indian god all yellow in a pinafore on his side, presumably a Buddha.

She reaches for a napkin which she ties round her parts, then slips back into bed, noting how deeply Bloom is sleeping, and repeating her hunch it’s because he had an orgasm today, and wondering who with, and waspishly pointing out he can only get it if he pays for it these days.

She laments the many moves of house they’ve had to make due to Bloom’s inability to keep a job or progress, including Raymond Terrace, Ontario Terrace, Lombard Street, Holles Street and then the City Arms hotel with the toilet out in the hall and you could always tell who’d used it before you by the stink. Things are always just starting to shape up when he puts his big foot in it, getting dismissed again and again, from Thoms and Helys and Mr Cuffes and Drimmies.

St George’s bells chime, saying its 2am (?) can that be right?

She describes Bloom’s poor attempts at cunnilingus:

when I wouldnt let him lick me in Holles street one night… he does it all wrong too thinking only of his own pleasure his tongue is too flat or I dont know what he forgets that wethen I dont Ill make him do it again

She wonders if the woman Bloom was with today was Josie, then decides he doesn’t have the guts to risk it with a married woman, despite her Josie Breen’s) mad husband. She thinks Poldy having sex was ‘the fruits of Mr Paddy Dignam yes they were all in great style at the grand funeral’ i.e. all those men all got hammered and went on somewhere and Bloom paid for a prostitute (she thinks; we know that’s not at all correct).

They think they’re so grand, those silly men in their little funeral parade and she rattles off a list of the male mourners at Dignam’s funeral who we met in chapter 6, but Molly says they’ve never seen a military parade like she knew back in Gibraltar, now that was impressive.

She feels sorry for poor Paddy’s wife and orphans which leads into memories of a dinner and formal singing, thoughts of Ben Dollard the base baritone, 5 shillings admittance to the concert, and then praises Simon Dedalus’s voice, untrained but effective (and we remember Simon singing at the Ormond Hotel in ‘Sirens’), she remembers he was married to May Goulding but a widower now.

She remembers seeing Stephen as a boy of 11, 11 years ago, when she was in mourning for poor Rudy, ‘he was an innocent boy then and a darling little fellow in his lord Fauntleroy suit and curly hair like a prince on the stage’ (‘prince’ of course reminds us of Stephen’s recent obsession with Shakespeare, Hamlet and the lecture at the National Library).

Suddenly she realises Stephen was predicted in the tarot cards she played with this morning and goes back through the cards in detail. She guesses at Stephen’s age and hopes he’s not a lank-haired poet, briefly imagining seducing him. Bloom claimed he’s a professor, Molly knows he’s surely too young, and hopes he’s not a professor like old Professor Goodwin whose specialist subject is whiskey.

Which segues into poetry, she likes poetry, and random quotes from favourite poems. It would be a nice change to have an intelligent person to talk to (Stephen) and not have to listen to Bloom’s endless talk about Billy Prescott’s ad and Keyes’s ad and Tom the Devil’s ad.

Instead she remembers seeing lithe young men at Margate bathingplace lazing on the rocks or diving into the sea, if only all men were that fit and handsome. Then some more rudeness:

I often felt I wanted to kiss him all over also his lovely young cock there so simple I wouldnt mind taking him in my mouth if nobody was looking as if it was asking you to suck it so clean and white he looks with his boyish face I would too in 1/2 a minute even if some of it went down what its only like gruel or the dew theres no danger

If she’s never met the adult Stephen this must be a sort of sleepy fantasy Stephen of her imagination she’s imagining sucking off and swallowing. Quite staggeringly pornographic, isn’t it?

She resolves to throw the tarot cards again in the morning to see if they’re fated to be together and anyway she’ll read and study some poetry so as not to appear ignorant if they meet, while she’ll teach him about sex until he half faints, and then:

then hell write about me lover and mistress publicly too with our 2 photographs in all the papers when he becomes famous

I’d forgotten that Molly has this quite graphic fantasy about Stephen. Remembering it sheds a whole new light on his character extending right back through ‘Portrait of the Artist’. What would happen if in the next few weeks Molly does meet Stephen, is taken by his strange intelligence and youth, while he sees sex sex sex in the older, voluptuous woman, and they ended up falling in love and eloping? Has anyone ever written a sequel to ‘Ulysses’ in which that happened?

Section 8 (3,680 words)

But then, what’s she going to do about Boylan? Thinking about Boylan makes her cross again at him slapping her on the bottom, such a peasant ‘he doesnt know poetry from a cabbage’. She criticises the way he just stripped off his shoes and trousers, might as well be an animal, he might as well have been an old lion. Well, maybe he was so excited because her boobs were so round and tempting. To be honest, they excite her sometimes, in fact she’d like to be a man:

I wished I was one myself for a change just to try with that thing they have swelling up on you so hard and at the same time so soft when you touch it

Men are lucky:

they can pick and choose what they please a married woman or a fast widow or a girl for their different tastes

Whereas women are restricted and limited. Jealousy. Why can’t people remain friends while sleeping around? She’s glad she’s still young and excitable but frustrated that Bloom never touches her, never embraces her any more. Only kisses her on the bottom, where she has least expression, like kissing an inanimate object, one time he kissed the front door, she thinks Bloom is mad, ‘what a madman nobody understands his cracked ideas but me’.

A woman needs loving and cherishing:

a woman wants to be embraced 20 times a day almost to make her look young no matter by who so long as to be in love or loved by somebody

Sometimes she gets so sexually frustrated she fantasises about going down to the docks and picking up a sailor or maybe one of the dangerous looking gypsies from their camp in Rathfarnham, some stranger to ‘ride me up against the wall without a word or a murderer anybody’.

Men, eh? She remembers some fine KC giving her and Bloom a fish supper after winning a bet on a boxing match but later that night catching him coming out of a dingy alley (Hardwicke lane) followed by a common prostitute, then going back to his wife.

She is irritated with Bloom being such a big lump and tries to budge him over in the bed, and irritated at him expected to be waited on with breakfast in bed. A little feminist polemic:

itd be much better for the world to be governed by the women in it you wouldnt see women going and killing one another and slaughtering when do you ever see women rolling around drunk like they do or gambling every penny they have and losing it on horses yes because a woman whatever she does she knows where to stop sure they wouldnt be in the world at all only for us they dont know what it is to be a woman and a mother how could they where would they all of them be if they hadnt all a mother to look after them

Speaking of needing mothers she wonders what Stephen’s doing away from his books and home and study, keeping bad company now his mother’s died.

Which morphs into thinking about her son Rudy, going over the decision to bury him in ‘that little woolly jacket I knitted crying as I was but give it to some poor child but I knew well Id never have another’. She and Bloom have never been the same since.

Back to Stephen, she wonders why he wouldn’t stay the night (how does she know this, it feels like Joyce’s awareness bleeding into hers). Remember Hugh Kenner’s point that Molly never says something but she soon contradicts it? Well, barely a few phrases after her little feminist praise of women, the exact opposite:

I hate that in women no wonder they treat us the way they do we are a dreadful lot of bitches I suppose its all the troubles we have makes us so snappy

She thinks Stephen could have slept on the sofa in the other room, mind you she’d have heard her filling the chamber pot, ‘arrah what harm’.

Dedalus, odd name. Makes her think of names of people on Gibraltar, she’s particularly tickled by a woman named Opisso, she’d die rather than have such a name.

small blame to me if I am a harumscarum I know I am a bit I declare to God I dont feel a day older than then

For the third time she laments that Stephen didn’t stay, she’d like to give him Spanish lessons then he’d see she’s not so ignorant after all: quite the persistent thinking about clean-cocked young Stevie.

And it goes on: she thinks Stephen was tired, and needed a rest, and she’d have happily brought him breakfast in on the sofa. She’s really taken with having Stephen as a lodger:

supposing he stayed with us why not theres the room upstairs empty and Millys bed in the back room he could do his writing and studies at the table in there for all the scribbling he does at it and if he wants to read in bed in the morning like me as hes making the breakfast for 1 he can make it for 2… Id love to have a long talk with an intelligent welleducated person

Which segues into needing to buy a new bed, and shopping triggers thoughts of going to the market early to get fresh fruit and vegetables, she’d love a fresh juicy young pear. And then another pornographic passage I can’t make out whether it starts about Stephen but it definitely becomes about Bloom, arousing him then making him feel guilty about Boylan:

Ill start dressing myself to go out presto non son piu forte Ill put on my best shift and drawers let him have a good eyeful out of that to make his micky stand for him Ill let him know if thats what he wanted that his wife is fucked yes and damn well fucked too up to my neck nearly not by him 5 or 6 times handrunning theres the mark of his spunk on the clean sheet I wouldnt bother to even iron it out that ought to satisfy him if you dont believe me feel my belly unless I made him stand there and put him into me Ive a mind to tell him every scrap and make him do it out in front of me serve him right its all his own fault if I am an adulteress

So she’ll let Bloom know that his wife has been well fucked and the mark must be of Boylan’s spunk, but what does ‘make him do it out in front of me’? Force Bloom to masturbate in front of her to shame him, to make it clear that if he masturbates and refuses to fuck her then she will be unfaithful, ‘its all his own fault if I am an adulteress’?

Supercrudely she says if he wants to kiss her bottom, he can kiss her hole, and she’ll get a £1 or 30 shillings out of him to go shopping with. She’ll buy some fine new drawers and let him masturbate onto her from behind:

Ill let him do it off on me behind provided he doesnt smear all my good drawers… Ill tighten my bottom well and let out a few smutty words smellrump or lick my shit or the first mad thing comes into my head… Ill tighten my bottom well and let out a few smutty words smellrump or lick my shit or the first mad thing comes into my head then Ill suggest about yes… then Ill wipe him off me just like a business his omission’

She realise it’s getting late, they’ll be up in China, the nuns will be getting up soon, she should try and get some sleep. She’ll get up early go and buy some flowers to brighten the place up in case Bloom brings Stephen home again, I’m surprised how much longing for Stephen features in this last section.

She’ll clean the piano and they’ll have music, she’ll buy some cakes and has a passage thinking about her favourite types. Flowers,

I love flowers Id love to have the whole place swimming in roses God of heaven theres nothing like nature the wild mountains then the sea and the waves rushing then the beautiful country with the fields of oats and wheat and all kinds of things and all the fine cattle going about that would do your heart good to see rivers and lakes and flowers all sorts of shapes and smells and colours springing up even out of the ditches primroses and violet

She dismisses Bloom’s highfalutin atheism, nature disproves it, and they all end up calling for the priest as they lie dying. Thoughts of God and nature line us up for the final passage in which she reminisces about the day she and Bloom spent outdoors on Howth hill.

the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said I was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that was one true thing he said in his life

What she remembers is genuinely liking him, but also her canny manipulation of him.

that was why I liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky

And Joyce gives her a magnificent passage recapping all her memories of her girlhood in Gibraltar, all the sights and sounds and words of the hot place, the castle and the multicultural society of Greeks and Turks and Jews and Arabs, and it ends with the famous magnificent climax:

and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and the pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

Molly’s feminism?

If you summarise Molly’s soliloquy, it’s easy to speak in clichés about her being a strong independent woman or expressing her sexuality, as if that’s a fine and impressive thing like a speech or a declaration. But if you read it closely (and if you’ve read my summary) you’ll realise she’s far from being a role model for feminists, she’s far too bitchy and critical of other women for that, critical of old women and scornful of her rival female singers.

And ‘expressing her sexuality’ sounds fine in the abstract but when you read the detail of her thoughts (I’m tempted but won’t repeat the fruitier passages), again, it’s not necessarily such a fine and noble thing; it feels much muckier, messier, real and compromised than that, as actual sex tends to be.

Is Molly a male projection?

All the commentaries go on about Molly being a modern woman freely expressing her own sexuality and, having gone through it in this much detail, you can see how Molly is, indeed, staggeringly rude but totally honest and accepting of sex, the sex act, her own desires and fantasies, yes.

However, I could never forget that this whole thing is written by a man. I.e. is it just a man’s fantasy of how sexually frank and candid he’d like a woman to be? Is it purely a male fantasy to imagine a woman who goes to sleep fantasising about sucking a young man’s cock or having it done to her doggy fashion? Is Molly’s much vaunted sexuality in fact male projection?

In a sense, the most relevant criticism of Molly is what the woman Joyce based her on, his own partner, Nora Barnacle, thought of her, and Nora was famously unimpressed by Molly. (As, when I summarised some of the passages to her, was my wife.)

This is vanishingly tiny anecdotal evidence but it crystallises my feeling that Molly is a construct made of words, not always convincing, and the relentless dominance of sex fantasies… well, rather than capturing a woman’s thoughts, it just felt too relentlessly male to me.

Men, eh?

That said, I was struck by the number of thoughts Joyce gives his creation which diss or rubbish male sexuality:

  • theyre so savage for it
  • they want to do everything too quick take all the pleasure out of it
  • can you ever be up to men the way it takes them
  • only for the name of a king theyre all made the one way
  • arent they fearful trying to hurt you
  • arent they thick never understand what you say even youd want to print it up on a big poster for them
  • they always want to see a stain on the bed to know youre a virgin for them all thats troubling them theyre such fools
  • I suppose he thinks I dont know deceitful men all their 20 pockets arent enough for their lies

All these sentences mocking men’s obsession with sex were written by a man. The steady stream of criticisms of the male sex, maybe that’s plausible in a woman’s passing thoughts? Or does it reveal a kind of self-obsession with masculinity on Joyce’s part? Is there something masochistic in Joyce the man writing quite so many passages slagging off men as sex-obsessed? Was it a form of self-critical therapy? Or was he simply bringing together lots of the criticisms you hear women say or women write about men, bundling them, along with much else besides, into Molly’s big boisterous character?

I’m not sure there’s any way of arriving at a conclusive answer, which is why I’ll note the questions but leave it at that.

Weaving contradictions

Hugh Kenner makes the point that Molly is a creature of contradictions, she doesn’t make a statement without somewhere else stating the opposite. Boylan is superb, Boylan is coarse. Bloom is inadequate, Bloom has more spunk in him than Boylan. The prospect of Stephen excites, then again he probably has long lank student hair. She’s proud to be a woman, she hates being a woman. She’ll bring Poldy breakfast in bed, she’ll throw it at him.

Kenner smartly compares this pattern of Molly stating then denying, with Homer’s Penelope weaving her shroud by day and unweaving it by night. Typically Kenner in being cute, insightful and amusing. I’ve written a blog post summarising Kenner’s book on ‘Ulysses’, coming soon.


Credit

‘Ulysses’ by James Joyce was published by Shakespeare and Company in 1922.

Related links

Joyce reviews

Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H. Lawrence (1928)

He suddenly drew her to him and whipped his hand under her dress again, feeling her warm body with his wet, chill hand. ‘I could die for the touch of a woman like thee,’ he said in his throat. ‘If tha’ would stop another minute.’

Warning: this review contains swear words, including the c word, as well as explicit descriptions of sexual anatomy and sex.

Forget its lingering reputation for sex and rude words, ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ is a masterly novel, packed with powerful themes and ideas, strong characterisation and wonderful nature descriptions – and at its core is a storyline of fabular simplicity. It is arguably Lawrence’s best, certainly his most crafted, conventional and accessible work. Every page springs new issues and symbols on the reader, as well as nature descriptions which are worth rereading and savouring for their startling vividness.

It was a grey, still afternoon, with the dark-green dogs’-mercury spreading under the hazel copse, and all the trees making a silent effort to open their buds. Today she could almost feel it in her own body, the huge heave of the sap in the massive trees, upwards, up, up to the bud-tips, there to push into little flamey oak-leaves, bronze as blood. It was like a tide running turgid upward, and spreading on the sky.

After the dense impressionistic epics ‘The Rainbow’ and ‘Women in Love’, after the ramshackle picaresque of ‘Aaron’s Rod’, the strange and incoherent ‘Kangaroo’, and the delirious nonsense of The Plumed Serpent’, Lady C feels like a wonderfully calm, sensible return to planet earth. Lawrence reveals himself as an author who can write something like a conventional novel, with normal characters having normal feelings and normal conversations. Their feelings last for more than a page i.e. they aren’t a bewildering kaleidoscope of everchanging moods, as in ‘Rainbow’ and ‘Women’. All the characters are easy to understand and sympathise with in a way not really true of any other Lawrence novel.

Brief plot

Presumably everyone knows the plot. Constance ‘Connie’ Reid marries Sir Clifford Chatterley in 1917 while he’s on leave from the war. But he returns a year later paralysed from the waist down and in a wheelchair. They live at the family estate of Wragby Hall beyond which is the grim coal mining community of Tevershall, the noise of the clanking trams, the lights and the sulphur smell permanently wafting over the house and grounds and what remains of the old woods.

Clifford hires a new gamekeeper, Oliver Mellors. Mellors is separated from his wife, Bertha Coutts, who ran off with a miner, and now tries to live a quiet, isolated life, just him and his dog, Flossie, living in the small cottage in the woods.

So we have these two damaged people, hurt in love and life, frustrated and unfulfilled. And the point of the novel is to show how they slowly fall in love and discover a new fire and meaning in life. A big part of this is their joint rediscovering the ecstatic side of sex. Neither were virgins but had only experienced partial or emotionally stunted forms of sex. Lawrence wrote the novel to showcase the supremely healing qualities of loving sex.

Arty families

But there’s a lot more circumstantial detail about the characters than I remember. For a start how arty they all are. Connie is the younger of two daughters of the noted painter and Royal Academician Sir Malcolm Reid (Hilda Reid and Constance Reid). The daughters are raised in a Bohemian arty set and are sent to Dresden to study art and music. Here the young ladies have passionate affairs with their fellow students, both of them loving their virginities.

Next, I’d forgotten that Clifford is himself a writer. He writes curious, very personal stories about people he had known, clever, rather spiteful, and yet, in some mysterious way, meaningless. They appeared in the most modern magazines and he gains a reputation and Connie, for a while, finds new enthusiasm for their marriage, by helping him with them. Clifford eventually wins real fame and is hailed as one of Britain’s finest young writers etc.

His photograph appeared everywhere. There was a bust of him in one of the galleries, and a portrait of him in two galleries. He seemed the most modern of modern voices. With his uncanny lame instinct for publicity, he had become in four or five years one of the best known of the young “intellectuals. (p.54)

Connie’s affair with Michaelis

This arty milieu explains why Clifford invites the Irish playwright Michaelis to stay at Wragby. Michaelis has been fabulously successful and makes a fortune from the States but has recently been dropped by English ‘society’ when they realised he was mocking them. Connie realises behind his cynical charm there’s a damaged boy, Michaelis plays the adorer and seduces her in her boudoir on the third floor. There being no risk that Clifford will suddenly walk in.

It is the first indication that the novel is going to be about the mechanics of sex for Lawrence describes Michaelis as climaxing quite quickly and Connie being disappointed until she realises a way to keep him hard inside her and wriggling about in order to achieve her own orgasm.

The physical desire he did not satisfy in her; he was always come and finished so quickly, then shrinking down on her breast, and recovering somewhat his effrontery while she lay dazed, disappointed, lost. But then she soon learnt to hold him, to keep him there inside her when his crisis was over. And there he was generous and curiously potent; he stayed firm inside her, given to her, while she was active… wildly, passionately active, coming to her own crisis. And as he felt the frenzy of her achieving her own orgasmic satisfaction from his hard, erect passivity, he had a curious sense of pride and satisfaction. (p.31)

I get the point that she has to please herself but does it seem likely to you that he could remain hard and erect after climaxing, hard and erect long enough for her to pleasure herself against him? Lawrence was not only breaking taboos on the subject of sex and with his deliberate use of swearwords (see below), he was also writing at a time when there was little or no sociological study of sex. Only after the Second World War would begin the kinds of studies which are still ongoing and suggest that a very large percentage of women, perhaps as high as 75% of women, can’t climax from penile penetration alone, but need some other stimulation as well.

Anyway the affair with Michaelis happily continues for a while, carried on during her trips to London, and she is in high spirits which, in turn, inspire Clifford to some of his best writing.

The cronies

Friends of his from Cambridge come to stay, all so-called intellectuals, namely:

  • Tommy Dukes, a brigadier general in the British army
  • Charles May, an Irishman, who wrote scientifically about stars
  • Arnold Hammond
  • Berry, a brown shy young man

Connie nicknames them ‘the cronies’. We are shown Clifford and these pals engaging in empty, pontificating, after-dinner discussions about sex, regarded purely as an intellectual talking point, reduced to the idea that sex is not much more than a conversation between a man and a woman, in actions instead of words.

TOMMY DUKE: Let any woman start a sex conversation with me, and it’s natural for me to go to bed with her to finish it.

This entire scene is to demonstrate how cold-bloodedly cerebral these British intellectuals are, how they lack the root of the matter. Also how they simply ignore the woman’s role in any of this, for Connie sits there silent as a mouse while they drone on.

The four men smoked. And Connie sat there and put another stitch in her sewing…. Yes, she sat there! She had to sit mum. She had to be quiet as a mouse, not to interfere with the immensely important speculations of these highly-mental gentlemen.

Satire. Mockery. On a different evening the cronies get into a ‘discussion’ of Bolshevism which is disappointingly superficial. But maybe this is how people discussed things like this at the time. Maybe most people’s discussions of politics are superficial, anecdotal.

‘The Bolshevists aren’t really intelligent.’
‘Of course not. But sometimes it’s intelligent to be half-witted: if you want to make your end. Personally, I consider Bolshevism half-witted; but so do I consider our social life in the west half-witted…’ etc

Presumably this is Lawrence mocking the intellectual inanity of the pseudo-intellectuals of his day; but having struggled through the ‘political’ discussion bits of ‘Kangaroo’ I’m more inclined to think it’s Lawrence revealing his own shortcomings. But the most notable thing about this male banter is the swearing. The cronies freely say ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’, unprintable words in 1928.

People who encourage Connie to have an affair

As I mentioned at the start the novel contains a lot of information to process. Instead of the endless shapeshifting emotions described with such weird power in ‘The Rainbow’ et al, Lawrence gives his characters fixed and understandable positions. In fact there are quite a few secondary characters, and Lawrence worked hard to give each of them histories, characters and opinions.

Father One of the threads that emerges from this is the sympathetic voices who suggest Connie has an affair. Her father, the louche old painter, directly tells her he hopes her situation won’t lead to her becoming a ‘demi-vierge’ which, as far as I can make out, means a woman who flirts and behaves suggestively but doesn’t actually have sex with anyone. This is a bit obscure but indicates that her father is worried about the impact having no sex will have on a healthy woman in her 20s.

Sister Her sister, Hilda, comes to stay and says she needs taking away from Wragby, to life and sun and physical restoration.

Husband And then Clifford himself, on a walk with Connie into the old woods on the estate, himself says he would love to have an heir to the estate, someone to hand it on to. He spends some time distinguishing between the closeness and psychological intimacy of marriage and the casual, transient nature of all sexual connections. It’s worth quoting at length because it makes it quite clear that Connie isn’t some sex-mad hussy

‘What do the occasional connections matter? And the occasional sexual connections specially! If people don’t exaggerate them ridiculously, they pass like the mating of birds. And so they should. What does it matter? It’s the life-long companionship that matters. It’s the living together from day to day, not the sleeping together once or twice. You and I are married, no matter what happens to us. We have the habit of each other. And habit, to my thinking, is more vital than any occasional excitement. The long, slow, enduring thing… that’s what we live by… not the occasional spasm of any sort. Little by little, living together, two people fall into a sort of unison, they vibrate so intricately to one another. That’s the real secret of marriage, not sex; at least not the simple function of sex. You and I are interwoven in a marriage. If we stick to that we ought to be able to arrange this sex thing, as we arrange going to the dentist; since fate has given us a checkmate physically there.’ (p.47)

So all this leads up to Clifford’s surprising proposal that Connie should make herself pregnant by another man. Obviously a man of the right sort but he doesn’t specify who or where. In order to bear a son which they can raise as an heir to the estate.

‘If lack of sex is going to disintegrate you, then go out and have a love affair. If lack of a child is going to disintegrate you, then have a child if you possibly can. But only do these things so that you have an integrated life, that makes a long harmonious thing. And you and I can do that together … don’t you think?’

It’s an eminently rational and sensible position. You can see how Lawrence goes out of his way to make Clifford sympathetic, given the terrible hand he’s been dealt. But in the end this position falls short: Connie is dismayed by the way Clifford talks about the child as ‘it, it, it’, like a business proposition.

Anyway, it’s at this precise moment in their conversation that with timing that is heavily symbolic, almost comical, that Mellors the gamekeeper makes his first appearance in the narrative, emerging so unexpectedly from a side path that she alarms Connie. Clifford hails him and asks him to help guide Clifford’s bath-chair down the track through the woods and back towards the house.

Oliver Mellors

Mellors was gamekeeper at Wragby before the war (and so before Connie married Clifford). He fought in the war, Clifford thinks somewhere in India. On his return to Tevershall, Clifford was delighted to rehire him and he’s been in post 8 months before this, Connie’s first encounter with him.

He is moderately tall and lean, with light brown, almost fair hair, and blue impersonal eyes. (Incidentally, Clifford also has blue eyes. Connie has blue eyes. Her father has blue eyes. Improbably, the two gondolieri they meet in Venice had blue eyes. I realised a while ago that a disproportionate number of Lawrence characters have blue eyes.)

Mellors’ distinguishing features are his aura of aloneness and independence, and the hint of impudence or sarcasm in his polite responses. Connie thinks he must be 37 or 38. She herself is now 27 (p.73).

The impact of the war

In her memoir Frieda says after the Great War Lawrence was never the same again. But this was true of hundreds of millions of people and entire societies. The feeling of vast loss and the febrile partying of the young post-war generation are something he describes in numerous fictions. ‘Aaron’s Rod’ refers continually to the great changes wrought by the war. The callowness of jazz-mad youth is a thread in ‘The Virgin and The Gypsy’.

Meanwhile you just lived on and there was nothing to it. She understood perfectly well why people had cocktail parties, and jazzed, and Charlestoned till they were ready to drop. You had to take it out some way or other, your youth, or it ate you up. But what a ghastly thing, this youth! you felt as old as Methuselah, and yet the thing fizzed somehow, and didn’t let you be comfortable. A mean sort of life! And no prospect! She almost wished she had gone off with Mick, and made her life one long cocktail party, and jazz evening. Anyhow that was better than just mooning yourself into the grave.

And this critique broadens out or is connected to Connie’s feeling that not just Clifford but all the men of her generation are somehow neutered and ineffectual.

Poor Clifford, he was not to blame. His was the greater misfortune. It was all part of the general catastrophe.

She listens to the Cronies crapping on with their clever-clever theories and thinks how shallow they are. Her husband and Michaelis are rivals for literary success and yet she is just impressed by how hollow and dead their works are.

Connie felt again the tightness, niggardliness of the men of her generation. They were so tight, so scared of life! (p.72)

And this spills over into their general uselessness at sex. She laments the fresh sensuality of the German lover she lost her virginity to before the war. Now that freshness seems to have gone.

Where would she find it now? It was gone out of men. They had their pathetic, two-second spasms like Michaelis; but no healthy human sensuality, that warms the blood and freshens the whole being. (p.74)

The great words are dead

In a passage which immediately draws comparison a similar passage in Ernest Hemingway’s ‘A Farewell To Arms’, Lawrence writes of Connie going ‘home’ to Wragby.

Connie went slowly home to Wragby. ‘Home!’ … it was a warm word to use for that great, weary warren. But then it was a word that had had its day. It was somehow cancelled. All the great words, it seemed to Connie, were cancelled for her generation: love, joy, happiness, home, mother, father, husband, all these great, dynamic words were half dead now, and dying from day to day. Home was a place you lived in, love was a thing you didn’t fool yourself about, joy was a word you applied to a good Charleston, happiness was a term of hypocrisy used to bluff other people, a father was an individual who enjoyed his own existence, a husband was a man you lived with and kept going in spirits. As for sex, the last of the great words, it was just a cocktail term for an excitement that bucked you up for a while, then left you more raggy than ever. Frayed! It was as if the very material you were made of was cheap stuff, and was fraying out to nothing. (p.65)

Events

Connie comes across Mellors washing himself in his garden and the warm white flame of his life, his living being, strikes her in the womb. Events lead to her bumping into him increasingly. On another occasion she’s walking in the woods when she hears voices and comes across Mellors and a little girl in floods of tears. It’s his daughter and she’s just seen him shoot a cat dead. He is being rough with the child and Connie, disgusted, calms the girl by giving her a sixpence and then offers to talk her home to her grandma’s cottage.

Mrs Bolton

Connie becomes so depressed she writes her sister, Hilda, to come and visit, and Hilda, sizing up the situation, insists on some changes. First and foremost she decides Connie must stop being Clifford’s slavey and arranges for a woman from the village, capable, 40-something and district nurse Mrs Bolton to move into Wragby Hall and to undertake Clifford’s physical needs.

(It is characteristic of this book that Mrs Bolton is given a lot of back story, a detailed account of how her husband died in a pit accident 22 years earlier, how hard she had to fight to get compensation, her struggles bringing up two children as a single mum and her determination to get an education and qualification to win herself the post of district nurse. It is easy to let the sensational aspects of the novel blind you to the sheer effort Lawrence made to pack it with very well-developed characters.)

A lot is made of Mrs Bolton shaving Clifford but even Lawrence can’t bring himself to describe the blunt realities of Clifford having to be helped to the toilet, having his bottom wiped etc by such an assistant. If you’re paralysed from the waist down how does your bladder work? Can you control it like an adult or do you need a nappy?

Clifford resents this ‘desertion’ by his wife but slowly falls into a voluptuous closeness with Mrs Bolton. It’s reassuring to be nursed. He teachers her the card games he used to play with Connie and even chess. And Lawrence is acute on how all this feeds Mrs Bolton’s desire to raise herself above the ruck of the mining class, to discover the cultural ‘secrets’ of the upper classes.

Her arrival has the unintended consequence of interesting Clifford in his own coal mines. Mrs Bolton is a source of endless gossip and stories about the villagers and this revives Clifford’s interest in the village, the colliers and then the mines themselves. Before the war he had been studying mine engineering, and now his interest revives. He asks to be taken down the mines and shown the coalface and becomes interested in the new idea of chemical works to exploit the by-products of mining.

All this leaves Connie increasingly to her own devices. One of her pastimes is walking in the old woods in the grounds. Here she comes across Mellors at the gamekeeper’s hut. It’s a convenient place, with a porch and eaves, to sit out of the rain if it’s raining. There’s a bit of bickering about providing her a key to the hut, which Mellors eventually offers up. He’s built a chicken coop there for brooding hens and Connie likes to come and feed them.

Chapter 10

Clifford becomes more and more interested in mine management. Connie sometimes feels like she might die. She feels constantly on the verge of fainting. Only visiting the hens and their chicks at the roost in the woods gives her any pleasure.

It is on page 121 of the Penguin edition, chapter 10, a little over a third into the text, that she comes to see the chickens one evening, and he shows her how to gently extract the tiny helpless chick from under its mother’s ruffled feathers, and she holds the helpless little mite in her hand, that she suddenly starts crying, for herself, for Clifford, for her entire forlorn generation.

And the sight of her tears makes Mellors reach out and touch then stroke her shoulders and he feels the old flame in his loins and he takes her silently into the hut, moves the furniture out of the way, gets a blanket out of a box and lays it on the floor, lays her on it, pulls down her pants and makes love to her, while she lies silent and numb.

Unlike with Michaelis, she doesn’t then do her wriggling thing. She has no climax. She is not really fully conscious. He helps her up and they adjust their clothes and he walks her down to the gate between the woods and the formal grounds of the house, and she asks if it’ll be OK for her to come again.

Walking back alone, Mellors is bitter. She has dragged him back into life. He had hoped to live utterly free and private, but now she’s dragged him back into ‘the world’. Why can he never free himself?

It was not woman’s fault, nor even love’s fault, nor the fault of sex. The fault lay there, out there, in those evil electric lights and diabolical rattlings of engines. There, in the world of the mechanical greedy, greedy mechanism and mechanised greed, sparkling with lights and gushing hot metal and roaring with traffic, there lay the vast evil thing, ready to destroy whatever did not conform. Soon it would destroy the wood, and the bluebells would spring no more. All vulnerable things must perish under the rolling and running of iron.

Oh, if only there were other men to be with, to fight that sparkling electric Thing outside there, to preserve the tenderness of life, the tenderness of women, and the natural riches of desire. If only there were men to fight side by side with!

Incidentally, if Connie has voiced quite a few criticisms of how useless modern men are, Mellors has parallel, mirror thoughts about modern young women.

Poor forlorn thing, she was nicer than she knew, and oh! so much too nice for the tough lot she was in contact with. Poor thing, she … wasn’t all tough rubber-goods and platinum, like the modern girl… Somewhere she was tender, tender with a tenderness of the growing hyacinths, something that has gone out of the celluloid women of today.

(Some academic must have done a study of Lawrence’s use of modern materials in his prose. Here we have platinum and celluloid. I was very struck by his use, in ‘Kangaroo’, of radium in his descriptions of the ocean.)

She goes back to the hut next day, in the drizzle, and waits, but Mellors doesn’t come. She goes back to the house, has dinner with Clifford, but that evening has to sneak out the house and out to the hut again. Eventually Mellors shows up and they make love again. He warns her about the dreadful risk, about the inevitability that everyone will find out, Clifford will find out, but she doesn’t care.

Clifford has got a big strong man as a chauffeur and next day has him drive the couple out to Shipley Hall at Uthwaite, the estate of his godfather, Leslie Winter.

A few days later Connie walks towards Marehay to pay a visit to Mrs Flint who shows her her pretty little baby daughter. On the walk back she bumps into Mellors and he is seized with lust and leads her through trees into a dense part of woodland, lays her down and has sex with her. This is described in purple prose for over a page indicating for the first time the depths of Connie’s physical response to his sex, and she manages to climax at more or less the same time as him. Mellors comments that it’s very rare, simultaneous orgasms.

Back at the hall Clifford senses a new life in her but when she describes Mrs Flint’s baby, ascribes it to the general female glow around babies. He reads to her from Racine (the French playwright) but she doesn’t hear a word and goes to bed without kissing him goodnight.

Clifford occasionally has night terrors and can’t sleep this night, so he calls Mrs Bolton to come and play cards with him. She, as always, is flattered to be invited into the upper class ambience, but she also has noticed a change in Connie and, with feminine sympathy, thinks she must have a lover.

Meanwhile, Mellors also cannot sleep, sitting by the fire thinking back on his army career, when he was promoted to lieutenant and might have made captain. But then nearly died of illness and was happy to make it back to England and to disappear back into the anonymity of the working class.

He frets about the future of this affair, knows it can only end badly and in exactly the kind of misery he was enmeshed in with his first, unfaithful, wife. To staunch these thoughts he goes out and does his gamekeeper rounds, beating the bounds of the property, 5 miles in total. But his still can’t sleep and finds himself drawn to the hall, as the first light is showing stands in front of it. He doesn’t even know which room she sleeps in.

But, as explained, Mrs Bolton has stayed up late as well, and as she finally leaves a sleeping Clifford, looks out the window, she sees the figure of the gamekeeper standing on the grass watching the house and in a flash realises it’s him! He is Lady Chatterley’s Lover. She is pleased. She, herself, was a little in love with him, years ago, when he was a lad of 16 and she was a married woman of 26. He was always handsome and had a way with the ladies. She isn’t scandalised at all. She is pleased for her ladyship.

Chapter 11

Connie is sorting out the lumber of accumulated possessions at the house. She happily gives a massive old Victorian to Mrs Bolton.

Somehow rumour starts to go around that Clifford might be able to father a child after all. His seed may be extracted and implanted in Connie. Other people don’t know these details but the godfather, other visitors, even the vicar get to hear of it, so many people ask Clifford about it that he starts to believe it himself.

Field (the chauffeur) drives Connie across country to Uthwaite. This allows Lawrence to deliver an extended eulogy for the death of old rural England and its grand old houses which are being demolished one by one, drowned in a sea of mines and machines, and immediately built over as rude red-bricked housing estates, a tidal wave of ugliness.

She felt again in a wave of terror the grey, gritty hopelessness of it all. (p.159)

A year after Connie’s visit, old Leslie Sharp died, his heirs immediately demolished the hall, cut down the beautiful avenue of yews. Connie is so alienated she wonders whether the colliers are even human or some kind of elemental sprites thrown off by the minerals they excavate.

A few days later Connie asks Mrs Bolton to help her plant out spring bulbs, and Mrs B tells her more about her love for her husband, killed in a mine explosion twenty years ago, describing love and fidelity in ways which make Connie think.

Chapter 12

On a beautiful spring afternoon she visits Mellor at his cottage. He’s just finishing lunch. It is a prickly encounter. She explains she’s accepted an invitation from Sir Alexander Cooper to stay at the Villa Esmeralda in Venice in July so she’ll be going away. She also explains that Clifford has accepted the idea of her getting pregnant by another man. Mellors jumps to the conclusion that she’s been using him and sarcastically says he’s flattered to have been of service. She’s offended and pleads she doesn’t mean it like that. She wants to be able to touch him as freely as he touches her, so (in a voice strangled with desire) he invites her upstairs but like squeamish, careful, cautious women everywhere she says no, not here, at his cottage. But she will at the hut.

So she leaves and goes back to the house for tea, loiters a bit, then leaves by a side door and walks to the hut. Finds him tending the hens and chicks. After a short exchange he asks if she wants to ‘go in the hut’, and she agrees. but even as he hoiks up her dress and kisses her breasts and then enters and ruts her, she feels completely detached oppressed by the absurdity of sex. Lawrence was and is condemned for being sex mad but really he was interested in the many and ever-changing moods we have about love and sensuality, and he’s an example of him very much not being pornographic.

This time the sharp ecstasy of her own passion did not overcome her; she lay with her hands inert on his striving body, and do what she might, her spirit seemed to look on from the top of her head, and the butting of his haunches seemed ridiculous to her, and the sort of anxiety of his penis to come to its little evacuating crisis seemed farcical. Yes, this was love, this ridiculous bouncing of the buttocks, and the wilting of the poor insignificant, moist little penis. This was the divine love! After all, the moderns were right when they felt contempt for the performance; for it was a performance. It was quite true, as some poets said, that the God who created man must have had a sinister sense of humour, creating him a reasonable being, yet forcing him to take this ridiculous posture, and driving him with blind craving for this ridiculous performance. Even a Maupassant found it a humiliating anticlimax. Men despised the intercourse act, and yet did it. (p.179)

She starts crying and he says don’t cry, it happens sometimes, that you’re not in the zone together. But her crying rouses him, makes him hard again, and he enters her again, and this time she is swept away as by a storm, described at some length. In fact they do it twice more, each time with a different feeling. At the end comes one of the passages which caused its prosecution for obscenity, so is worth quoting at length. She’s copying his dialect speech back to him and getting it comically wrong, when he suddenly says:

“Tha’rt good cunt, though, aren’t ter? Best bit o’ cunt left on earth. When ter likes! When tha’rt willin’!’
‘What is cunt?’ she said.
‘An’ doesn’t ter know? Cunt! It’s thee down theer; an’ what I get when I’m i’side thee, and what tha gets when I’m i’side thee; it’s a’ as it is, all on’t.’
‘All on’t,’ she teased. ‘Cunt! It’s like fuck then.’
‘Nay nay! Fuck’s only what you do. Animals fuck. But cunt’s a lot more than that. It’s thee, dost see: an’ tha’rt a lot beside an animal, aren’t ter? even ter fuck! Cunt! Eh, that’s the beauty o’ thee, lass!’
She got up and kissed him between the eyes, that looked at her so dark and soft and unspeakably warm, so unbearably beautiful. (p.185)

Chapter 13

Connie accompanies Clifford on one of his rare outings to the woods. En route he explains his social theories i.e. the masses are always with us and need to be ruled with a form hand for their own benefit. This develops into the idea that if he is given a baby, a hair, it’s not the ‘blood’ or ‘class’ of his father that counts, it’s how he’s raised. Give Clifford any baby and he’ll mould him into a Chatterley.

All this is prelude to an almighty scene. It’s to do with Clifford’s bath chair. It chugs through the woods but on the return journey has to motor up a steep rise and it can’t quite make it. Clifford obstinately refuses Connie’s help and only finally gives in to her suggestion of calling for Mellors. When Mellors comes he turns out to be useless with engines and despite wriggling under the car and getting dirty, can’t figure out what’s wrong, as Clifford becomes more furious. He insists on making the poor knackered engine power itself but Mellors and then Connie both end up having to push to get it up the hill to Clifford’s rage. In his obsession to make it work he seems to have burned out the engine and Mellors and Connie end up pushing it all the way back to the house. Connie disgusted by Clifford’s behaviour, lets fly her contempt at him – ridiculing all his talk of being a lord and master and member of the ruling class when he can’t even get one little motor to work – and storms off to her bedroom.

At 9pm that night she changes into light tennis dress and shoes and slips out the side door of the house with the aim of spending the night with Mellors.

Chapter 14

She goes to Mellors’ cottage and he lets her in. Things get off to a bad start when she notices a wedding photo of himself and his separated wife, a very young looking couple, and asks why he ever married her. The answer is simple. He was an attractive lad and a number of women fell in love with him and acquiesced in having sex with him but he discovered the hard way that many women will agree to have sex with their man but don’t enjoy it, regard it as a trial they have to undergo to keep ‘their man’. After several women like this he wanted a woman who wanted to have sex and Bertha Coutts was common enough and randy enough to want to. So he married her.

Now he overshares a bit when he explains that Bertha was vexing in her own way because she never climaxed at the same time as him, but always had to make a big fuss and climax ten or fifteen minutes later. Once again I was a bit astounded. As I mentioned when this issue came up with Michaelis, it is a well-known fact (and has been known for generations, surely: I knew it in the late 1970s and ’80s) that the large majority of women cannot climax from penile penetration alone, but need some other form of stimulation, most obviously masturbation but these days including everything from cunnilingus to umpteen mechanical gadgets.

In the fiction Mellors is depicted as the knowledgeable one but his supposed knowledge is dire. He thinks Bertha deliberately didn’t come at the same time as him, and makes her representative of women as a whole. Here’s his overview of different types of women:

‘Only to my experience the mass of women are like this: most of them want a man, but don’t want the sex, but they put up with it, as part of the bargain. 1) The more old-fashioned sort just lie there like nothing and let you go ahead. They don’t mind afterwards: then they like you. But the actual thing itself is nothing to them, a bit distasteful. And most men like it that way. I hate it. But 2) the sly sort of women who are like that pretend they’re not. They pretend they’re passionate and have thrills. But it’s all cockaloopy. They make it up. — 3) Then there’s the ones that love everything, every kind of feeling and cuddling and going off, every kind except the natural one. They always make you go off when you’re not in the only place you should be, when you go off. — 4) Then there’s the hard sort, that are the devil to bring off at all, and bring themselves off, like my wife. They want to be the active party. — 5) Then there’s the sort that’s just dead inside: but dead: and they know it. 6) Then there’s the sort that puts you out before you really ‘come,’ and go on writhing their loins till they bring themselves off against your thighs. But they’re mostly the Lesbian sort. It’s astonishing how Lesbian women are, consciously or unconsciously. Seems to me they’re nearly all Lesbian.’

Presumably Lawrence prided himself on his knowledge of this subject, so this speech given to Mellors indicates a dire combination of ignorance and bigotry.

This cold-blooded bad temper leads to something like an argument and he goes to get dressed and go out for a walk but she calls him back and they have sex in front of the fireplace then go to bed and fall straight asleep. Next morning they wake in bed and make love again. He goes to his clothes but she makes him turn and show her his nakedness and described his cock and falls and light pubic hair as he get another erection and they make love again. Then she closely observes it a limp and shy after sex. There is no mention of one of the basic facts of straight sex which is what to do with the semen which tends to uncomfortably leak back out of a woman’s vagina, nor of any little hand washbowl which they could use to wash and clean their parts.

Instead he entertains her by speaking in the dialect and calling his pecker John Thomas and her lady parts, Lady Jane. She is now hopelessly smitten. She asks if she can come and stay with him, but he is realistic about the world and delivers a little speech which, I imagine, still offends feminists.

‘Dunna ax me nowt now,’ he said. ‘Let me be. I like thee. I luv thee when tha lies theer. A woman’s a lovely thing when ‘er’s deep ter fuck, and cunt’s good. Ah luv thee, thy legs, an’ th’ shape on thee, an’ th’ womanness on thee… Ah luv thee wi’ my ba’s an’ wi’ my heart. But dunna ax me nowt. Dunna ma’e me say nowt. Let me stop as I am while I can. Tha can ax me ivrything after. Now let me be, let me be!’ (p.220)

They get dressed and it kills her to have to go back to the big house, whose doors have now been unlocked so she slips inside and goes to her bedroom with no issue.

Chapter 15

Her sister, Hilda, writes to say she’ll become coming to collect her on 17 June to take her off for this holiday in Venice. Clifford isn’t happy, he is frightened by her going. Even though they don’t spend much time together, her presence in the house gives him the faith to carry on researching mine improvements etc.

Connie spends almost every day at the cottage or hut. She listens to Morrell’s long diatribe on how mankind is being dehumanised and neutered, every spark of real life being sucked out. While he describes how he would try to reform the miners, to sweep away all traces of industry and clean the planet and make men walk tall and proud again, she listens while she kisses his navel and cups his soft balls and plaits forget-me-nots in his pubic hair.

She is genuinely worried that, if he sees the future as the collapse of civilisation, he won’t want her to be pregnant, won’t welcome the child she so wants, and he refuses to commit himself unequivocally.

Throughout his gloomy stormy predictions of the end of humanity it’s been raining hard outside and suddenly she can’t stand it any long, strips off and goes running outside in the rain. Perplexed for a moment, Mellors quickly does the same and goes running down the path in the rain till he catches her and they dance with glee then he lays her on the ground and takes her hard and fast like an animal.

Back in the house they dry themselves on sheets and sit naked before the fire and he plaits flowers in her pubic hair while she talks about going away. She asks if he doesn’t want her to go but he merely mocks. Will she tell Clifford about them when she gets back? He, for his part, has spoken to a solicitor about getting a divorce from his estranged wife. Obviously he should have done it years ago.

After more bantz, he walks her back towards the house when they are both surprised to bump into Mrs Bolton come to look for them.

Chapter 16

Turns out hours have passed of violent storm and, for once, Clifford has noticed her absence and has been going berserk with concern about Connie lost somewhere out in the wild storm. He was all for sending the male servants (Betts and Field) to find her but Mrs Bolton, strongly suspecting Connie is with her fancy man, does everything she can to put him off, insisting Connie’s probably sheltering in the hut and calmly saying she’ll go to find her.

On the walk back to the house, Connie is cross with Mrs Bolton but knows she covered for her. Back at the house Connie outfaces Clifford’s angry concern by falling in with the story that she sheltered from the storm in the hut, lit a fire and lost track of time but goes one further by saying she stripped off and ran round naked in the rain. This seems so outlandish a confession that it overshadows Clifford’s doubts and he calls her mad, eccentric etc, and the scene moves on.

That night he reads her excerpts from the latest work by some great scientific-religious ‘intellectual’. The key passage is:

The universe shows us two aspects: on one side it is physically wasting, on the other it is spiritually ascending.

Which Clifford literally believes but Connie fiercely mocks. It suits him to think the body is wasting away and giving rise to some spiritual nirvana, but Connie (like her creator) believes reality is rooted in the physical. Clifford patronisingly says, well a woman couldn’t be expected to understand ‘the life of the mind’, to which Connie replies ‘life of the mind’?

‘No thank you! Give me the body. I believe the life of the body is a greater reality than the life of the mind: when the body is really wakened to life. But so many people, like your famous wind-machine, have only got minds tacked on to their physical corpses.’ (p.244)

The life of the body was appreciated by the ancient Greeks but then was closed down by the over-cerebral Socrates and Plato, and then completely shut down by the Jewish Jesus. Only now, in Connie (and Lawrence’s) view, is it maybe reawakening.

(All this kind of thing is, as I’ve written so many times, just well-read tripe. It is wrong on two accounts: 1) in that it is so pathetically western-centric, treating the accidents of the European canon as if they represented ‘all mankind’, ignoring the traditions of India, China, Japan, all of Africa, all the non-western traditions; and 2) all generalisations about the development or evolution of ‘humanity’ are tripe. The technology changes but humans remain resolutely the same, in their fear, desperation, tribalism and violence. To anybody who talks or writes about the spiritual evolution of humanity, just mention Vladimir Putin, Benjamin Netanyahu, Xi Jinping, Donald Trump Islamic State, Reform UK, the Janjaweed. What spiritual evolution? Talk like that can only exist due to a wilful bourgeois blindness to the world as it actually is.)

Mrs Bolton helps her pack her things ready to go to Venice. On Thursday morning Hilda arrives in her two-seater car, as arranged. Connie promptly tells her sister all about Mellors. (Close female friendships or sisterhoods feature in many of Lawrence’s stories:

  • Ursula and Gudrun (Women in Love)
  • March and Banford (The Fox)
  • Yvette and Lucille (The Virgin and the Gypsy)
  • Hannele and Mitchka (The Captain’s Doll)

Hilda listens, understands but warns Connie she’ll regret it. As is typical with the novel, Lawrence goes out of his way to give more backstory and depth to Hilda by explaining that her attitude is coloured by the fact she’s getting divorced from her husband and so has a jaundiced view on the whole man-woman thing.

Hilda wanted no more of that sex business, where men became nasty, selfish little horrors. Connie really had less to put up with than many women, if she did but know it. (p.249)

(All these elements – Clifford’s ludicrous religio-scientific author and now Hilda’s sex aversion – are carefully, carefully placed so as to create foils for the novel’s pedagogical lesson, demonstrate ways to fail at securing a proper sexual-physical relationship designed to offset Connie and Mellor’s ideal way of doing it.)

Anyway, Hilda agrees to Connie’s ludicrous plan for spending a last night with Mellors i.e. the girls wave goodbye to Clifford and motor off to stay overnight at a hotel in Mansfield. But after dinner, Hilda drives Connie back to the entrance of a lane leading into Wragby woods and Mellors is waiting for them. He shows Hilda how to park the car so it’s concealed by bushes then walks the two sisters to his cottage.

Here he is, maybe, unnecessarily belligerent, for example insisting on talking in dialect when Hilda can’t really understand it, and calls Hilda dry and boney and undesirable, which isn’t tactful, while she says men like him ought to be ‘segregated’. He makes some supper (haven’t they eaten dinner) then escorts her back to the car and she drives back to her hotel and Connie and Mellors have their last night together. What is it like?

It was a night of sensual passion, in which she was a little startled and almost unwilling: yet pierced again with piercing thrills of sensuality, different, sharper, more terrible than the thrills of tenderness, but, at the moment, more desirable. Though a little frightened, she let him have his way, and the reckless, shameless sensuality shook her to her foundations, stripped her to the very last, and made a different woman of her. It was not really love. It was not voluptuousness. It was sensuality sharp and searing as fire, burning the soul to tinder.

Burning out the shames, the deepest, oldest shames, in the most secret places. It cost her an effort to let him have his way and his will of her. She had to be a passive, consenting thing, like a slave, a physical slave. Yet the passion licked round her, consuming, and when the sensual flame of it pressed through her bowels and breast, she really thought she was dying: yet a poignant, marvellous death.

In particular Lawrence deploys a telling phrase:

She would have thought a woman would have died of shame. Instead of which, the shame died.

Instead of which the shame died. I know what he’s describing: the burning beyond shame to realise it is alright, it is OK not to be embarrassed or ashamed of each others’ bodies and desires but to celebrate them for what they are and to revel in them.

Shame, which is fear: the deep organic shame, the old, old physical fear which crouches in the bodily roots of us, and can only be chased away by the sensual fire, at last it was roused up and routed by the phallic hunt of the man, and she came to the very heart of the jungle of herself. She felt, now, she had come to the real bedrock of her nature, and was essentially shameless. She was her sensual self, naked and unashamed. She felt a triumph, almost a vainglory. So! That was how it was! That was life! That was how oneself really was! There was nothing left to disguise or be ashamed of. She shared her ultimate nakedness with a man, another being.

The tremendous liberation in rising above self consciousness and shame: this is still the kind of thing you see being described and advocated by agony aunts in sex advice columns (to be honest, the main one I’m thinking about is the Guardian’s sex advice column, and it’s always about being at peace with your body, with what it tells you, how to give and take pleasure).

As to what exactly might be triggering the deepest oldest shames, we are not told. Sodomy? Fellatio? We are not told, in fact the text strongly implies against any form of sexual activity except the phallic. Lawrence here and in loads of other writings makes a cult of the phallus and here says how it was ‘the phallic hunt of the man’ which brought Connie to ‘the very heart of the jungle of herself’.

Anyway, all this burning beyond shame into self realisation emphasises another of Lawrence’s hobby horses, which is how wretched, shallow, mechanical and sordid most modern men are. In Connie’s view:

Ah God, how rare a thing a man is! They are all dogs that trot and sniff and copulate. To have found a man who was not afraid and not ashamed! She looked at him now, sleeping so like a wild animal asleep, gone, gone in the remoteness of it. She nestled down, not to be away from him.

Next morning they’re getting dressed when he’s startled by a knock at the cottage door. It’s the postman with a registered delivery. He cycles off but Mellors is paranoid that someone will see them and tell, and so takes her by a circuitous route to the end of the lane where Hilda, reliable, is waiting for them. He pushes her through a holly bush, stumbles down into and up the other side of a ditch and Hilda’s opening the car door and she’s in and they’re driving away before she’s really had time to say goodbye.

Chapter 17

On the drive to London, Connie continues to justify herself to Hilda. Once in London they are treated by their man-of-the-world father, Sir Malcolm, who takes them to fine restaurants and the opera. But predictably London seems full of dead people and, when they move on to Paris, it is no better, Paris:

weary of its now-mechanical sensuality, weary of the tension of money, money, money, weary even of resentment and conceit, just weary to death, and still not sufficiently Americanized or Londonized to hide the weariness under a mechanical jig-jig-jig! (p.265)

They drive across France, through Switzerland and into Italy and on to Venice but the spectacular scenery doesn’t touch Connie. They garage the car and take a boat to Venice then a gondola to the Villa Esmerelda where they’re staying.

Lawrence gives a bitingly satirical portrait of Venice, a pleasure city overflowing with half-drugged sensation seekers, the Lido packed with pink, half-naked bodies, the evenings full of jazz dancers pressing their stomachs against each other.

With all the cocktails, all the lying in warmish water and sunbathing on hot sand in hot sun, jazzing with your stomach up against some fellow in the warm nights, cooling off with ices, it was a complete narcotic. And that was what they all wanted, a drug: the slow water, a drug; the sun, a drug; jazz, a drug; cigarettes, cocktails, ices, vermouth. To be drugged! Enjoyment! Enjoyment! (p.270)

This is completely of a piece with all his other withering criticism of the younger generation, the post-war generation and its addiction to jazz and partying, the opposite of the isolated search for the self which Lawrence, of course, espoused.

Connie realises she’s pregnant, though this causes her surprisingly little upset. Lawrence doesn’t dwell on it, surprisingly. Instead he gives us the long well-written letters Clifford sends her. This informs her that Mellors’ wife has turned up (presumably triggered by his solicitor’s letter requesting a divorce) and broke into his cottage and installed herself there, so Mellors has fled to his mother’s place in Tevershall. Connie is desperate to know Mellors’ side of the story but they had agreed not to write during her Venetian trip.

Instead Mrs Bolton writes with a lot more detail of how his wife goes about telling everybody he’s been having fancy women at the cottage, she found a perfume bottle and gold-tipped cigarettes, a rumour confirmed by the postman who, on the occasion when he brought the registered letter, had heard voices coming from the bedroom window. All this is to show how you can’t escape the world which is made of other people, and how awful they are, how intrusive, prying and judgemental.

Worst of all, Bertha is telling everyone what a beast Mellors was to her in bed. This triggers Connie’s memories of his animal behaviour on their last night together (what does this mean? Does it mean sodomy? Or just sex ‘doggy style’?) and the thought that Mellors had done those things to Bertha before he did them to her, makes her feel degraded and dirty. It makes her want to break her connection with him, it almost makes her want to abort the baby.

An artist named Duncan Forbes has joined the house party at the Villa. He is sensitive, with integrity. Connie shares some of her secret with him and he is very forthright, declaring society always drags down anyone who is true to their sex. Society does dirt on sex. Society revels in the ‘hyena instinct of the mob against sex’ (p.276). This gives her the resolve to stick by her experiences and cherish what Mellors has given her, which is worth describing at length.

Connie had a revulsion in the opposite direction now. What had he done, after all? what had he done to herself, Connie, but give her an exquisite pleasure, and a sense of freedom and life? He had released her warm, natural sexual flow. And for that they would hound him down.

No, no, it should not be. She saw the image of him, naked white with tanned face and hands, looking down and addressing his erect penis as if it were another being, the odd grin flickering on his face. And she heard his voice again: ‘Tha’s got the nicest woman’s arse of anybody!’ And she felt his hand warmly and softly closing over her tail again, over her secret places, like a benediction. And the warmth ran through her womb, and the little flames flickered in her knees, and she said: Oh no! I mustn’t go back on it! I must not go back on him. I must stick to him and to what I had of him, through everything. I had no warm, flamy life till he gave it to me. And I won’t go back on it. (p.277)

Tenderness is worth defending, love is worth sticking up for.

Clifford writes a long letter describing how this Bertha Coutts has gone supernova, destroying the gamekeeper’s life, laying siege to him in his mother’s home, broadcasting their sex secrets to the entire village. Clifford has the educated aristocrats’ disdain for all this, saying the secrets of the marriage bed should remain secrets (‘it is a matter of their own personal squalor, and nothing to do with anybody else’) but he uses a high-falutin’ phrase which finally confirms my hunch:

Humanity has always had a strange avidity for unusual sexual postures, and if a man likes to use his wife, as Benvenuto Cellini says, ‘in the Italian way,’ well that is a matter of taste.

When I Googled this it does appear to be sodomy. So Mellors had a penchant for sodomising his wife and this is the ‘shameful’ activity referred to on his and Connie’s last night together. (A bit more Googling informs me that this particular passage of cultural dressing-up proved beneficial in the 1960 obscenity trial, because the judge in the case simply didn’t understand the reference, as I didn’t, without the benefit of the internet.)

Clifford writes that he had to interview Mellors as his wife is in effect trespassing on Clifford’s land and there are questions whether Mellors can do the job any more. In fact things progressed to the stage where Mellors more or less quit and has trained up a fellow called Joe Chambers to replace him. When Clifford asks him whether rumours about women at the cottage are true, Mellors tells him to mind his own business; when he offers to pay him a month’s parting salary, Mellors tells him to keep his conscience money. He really is a difficult man. Meanwhile some kind of warrant has been taken out to arrest Bertha (for libel?) and so she’s disappeared.

A letter arrives from Mellors explaining that Bertha had identified Connie as Mellors’ lover, partly due to books of hers she found in the hut, and was broadcasting it to everyone. It was this that caused Sir Clifford to bring in the police and take legal steps against Bertha who promptly disappeared. Mellors is clearer that he and Clifford argued. Clifford said he was a disreputable character walking round with his breeches unbuttoned and Mellors replied well at least he had something between his legs worth unbuttoning them for. No surprise that he was sacked. He’s going to move to London and gives Connie the address.

What upsets Connie is that Mellors didn’t take advantage of the interview to proudly proclaim his affair with Connie, to announce it and defend it. Instead he shied away. But she realises this is to leave her free to chose, to go back to Clifford if she wants to. But she’s disappointed.

Chapter 18

Connie shares the train back to London with her father and tells him she is pregnant. He’s not shocked to learn it’s by another man, of course, as Clifford is impotent. And he’s secretly pleased his little girl has found a real man. But he advises her to go back to Wragby, specially if Clifford gave her permission. Then he will provide Clifford with the heir he wants, do the decent thing, but retain her freedom to love where she pleases. The traditional upper class solution.

In London there’s a letter waiting at her hotel and she goes to meet him at a rendezvous. Finally, after four weeks they are together. They painfully discuss the future. She tells him she’s pregnant but he is not pleased. He asks if she’ll go back to Wragby and give Clifford the heir he needs but she says no, she wants to be with him. But he has nothing, she’s the one with the private income, he doesn’t want to just be her concubine. But she defines the thing he has that makes him unique: he has the courage of his own tenderness.

She makes him take her back to his hotel, a small attic room where they strip and she asks him to take her and keep her, forever. He kisses her pregnant belly and mons Veneris and then slips inside her. Then more talk. He has to get divorced from Bertha. But that means 6 months of pure living or he will legally become the guilty party, guilty of adultery. Connie is appalled that this means they won’t be able to see each other during her entire pregnancy. The world is screwed up. Then again, he should have divorced Bertha years and years ago. He has mismanaged the situation.

Connie persuades her father to have lunch with Mellors at his club. A private room. Mellors dresses smartly. They talk about India (the role the colonies played in cementing class identity.) Sir Malcolm gets drunk and lecherous. He ends up talking dirty, hoping his daughter was a good fuck and betting Mellors has got a good cock on him. This is all pretty disgusting and there’s no practical outcome.

Next day he has lunch with Connie and Hilda. This is getting boring. To live in peace in the world as it is, they need to marry. In order to marry they both need to be divorced. Mellors must get his divorce from Bertha. More tricky is how Connie gets a divorce from Clifford. With her father and Hilda Connie has developed the idea of asking Duncan Forbes to agree to be cited as co-respondent: she could spend a night with him in a hotel or at his place, enough to work for legal purposes. Mellors asks why they can’t be honest and cite him? Because then he will never get his divorce from Bertha.

So there’s yet another meal, this time a dinner with Duncan Forbes, Mellors and the Reid sisters. Mellors manages to insult Forbes’ modernist painting, thus casting a pall. With angry self control, Forbes agrees to the plan on condition Connie will pose for her. Seems cheap at the price.

Chapter 19

Connie writes Clifford a brief letter saying she’s met another man, her old friend Duncan Forbes, the artist, and fallen in love and won’t be coming back to Wragby. Clifford has a kind of nervous breakdown and has to be nursed by Mrs Bolton. He becomes a man-baby, loving to be washed and cleaned and kissed by her and he, in a naughty boy way, slips his hand in her bosom to feel her boobs. And, with typically Lawrentian ambivalence, Mrs Bolton thrills to all this and yet despises it as well.

Surprisingly, out in the real world, Clifford becomes much more effective, an effective cut throat businessman.

And in this spirit he writes a tough letter to Connie saying she promised to come back to Wragby so come back she must and face him, or he will regard them as married till their deaths. Mellors says he’s getting his revenge, but he holds the legal whip hand, so…

She goes with Hilda. Clifford ignores Hilda who he blames. Connie hates every second inside Wragby Hall. She used to be its mistress and now she feels like its victim. Formal dinner. Only after Hilda retires does Clifford say he doesn’t believe all this nonsense about her being in love with Duncan Forbes.

So she comes clean, admits it’s not Forbes – she is in love with and pregnant by his gamekeeper, Mellors. Clifford is absolutely flabbergasted, shocked, and enraged.

‘My God, you ought to be wiped off the face of the earth!’ (p.308)

And Clifford simply refuses to divorce her for such a cad, such a scoundrel. Refuses. Connie tries everything but he won’t budge. Even if the child is legally his and legally becomes heir to Wragby. He refuses to budge.

Connie goes up to see Hilda who tells her to pack so she does and sends her stuff first thing to the station. She says goodbye to Mrs Bolton (who in many ways emerges as the most sympathetic character in the book) and drives off with Hilda.

And then the novel ends hurriedly like a damp squib. Connie goes back with Hilda to Scotland. Mellors gets a job on a farm. And the final pages amount to a long letter from Mellors to Connie. This last-minute swerve, this avoidance of a neat happy ending, is very characteristic of ‘modern’ novels of the 1910s and ’20s. There’s stuff about Mellors pursuing his divorce against Bertha and his encouragement that Clifford will eventually divorce her…

But what makes this concluding letter interesting is Lawrence uses it to preach against modern capitalist society. He has Mellors say his farm is in a mining district and the mines are experiencing a recession. And the trouble with modern society is the young are trained up to spend money, to live for shopping and jazzing, but what happens when the money dries up? They have no resources to fall back on. If only they had been trained to live they could get by with very little money, make their own clothes and furniture and entertain themselves. He sees a bad time coming:

I feel great grasping white hands in the air, wanting to get hold of the throat of anybody who tries to live, to live beyond money, and squeeze the life out. There’s a bad time coming. There’s a bad time coming, boys, there’s a bad time coming! If things go on as they are, there’s nothing lies in the future but death and destruction, for these industrial masses.

And, of course, the year after the book was published came the Wall Street Crash, leading to a decade of mass poverty, leading up to the unfathomable catastrophe of the Second World War.

Against all this he sets the little forked flame between him and Connie, the little forked flame to set against the great global catastrophe. Mellors is enjoying their chaste separation now, he feels clean and pure. In the spring (the letter is written in September) he will get his divorce and he and Connie will be able to reunite, in body and mind, as the new warmth revives the spring flowers.

So the novel ends on this tiny affirmation of life and defiance of the coming darkness. It is a profoundly moving and humanitarian conclusion and, in my opinion, mistaken.


Credit

‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ by D.H. Lawrence was published in 1928 by Martin Secker. References are to the 1981 Penguin Classics paperback edition.

Related links

Related reviews

BERRY: But you do believe in something?
TOMMY DUKES: Me? Oh, intellectually I believe in having a good heart, a chirpy penis, a lively intelligence, and the courage to say ‘shit!’ in front of a lady. (p.42)

Three Essays on Sexuality by Sigmund Freud (1905)

Note: to avoid misunderstanding, I believe Freud is a figure of huge cultural and historical importance, and I sympathise with his project of trying to devise a completely secular psychology building on Darwinian premises. Many of his ideas about sexuality as a central motive force, about the role of the unconscious in every aspect of mental life, how repressing instinctual drives can lie behind certain types of mental illness, his development of the talking cure, these and numerous other ideas have become part of the culture and underlie the way many people live and think about themselves today. However, I strongly disapprove of Freud’s gender stereotyping of men and women, his systematic sexism, his occasional slurs against gays, lesbian or bisexuals and so on. Despite the revolutionary impact of his thought, Freud carried a lot of Victorian assumptions into his theory. He left a huge and complicated legacy which needs to be examined and picked through with care. My aim in these reviews is not to endorse his opinions but to summarise his writings, adding my own thoughts and comments as they arise.

***

Introduction and overview

Freud’s aim was to show the ubiquity and the strangeness of sex and use the sex instinct, massively expanded and redefined, as the basis of an entire new theory of human psychology.

According to historian of psychoanalysis Frank Sulloway, Freud found the sex instinct most suitable as the central vehicle or basis for the new and emphatically physiological type of psychology he wanted to devise, because it is a) so strong and b) so flexible.

In these three ground-breaking essays on sexuality, Freud set out to widen the concepts of sexuality, the sex instinct, libido, so as to encompass a much broader sphere of activity than ever previously imagined in order to make them underpin almost every aspect of human nature.

In Freud’s psychology people’s characters are like complicated family trees, all descended from the same one huge fountain of libido which is channelled and rechannelled into ever-smaller rivers and streams.

It is these rechannellings, the repressions and redirections and reaction-formations and sublimations and so on which come to make up your character – a collection of habits based on infantile pleasures, of disgust or shame (reaction-formations) or heroic ambition (sublimation) or guilts and anxieties (the neuroses).

Thus the Three Essays On The Theory of Sexuality (1905) is Freud’s second most important book after The Interpretation of Dreams (1900).

Essay 1 begins with a detailed look at the state of Victorian knowledge about homosexuality and perversions, because they reveal:

  1. the infinite malleability of the sex instinct
  2. how easily the sex instinct can be rerouted away from its ‘proper’ channel of ‘normal’ sexuality
  3. how even ‘normal’ sexuality is in fact built up of a network of pretty weird behaviour (Freud’s most striking example is kissing, which doesn’t make any sense the more you look at it)

In Essay 2 Freud shows that sexuality is not only present but vitally important in the life of infants and children. This idea was the biggest single cause of opposition to Freud’s theories in his lifetime, from Church and State, from commentators and populist politicians, and from decent people everywhere. It still is.

Freud is not very much interested in ‘love’. Love is the psychological effect of the ‘overvaluation of the sexual object common to almost all manifestations of the libido’:

It is only in the rarest instances that the psychical value set on the object as being the goal of the sexual instinct stops short at the genitals. The appreciation extends to the whole body of the sexual object and tends to involve every sensation derived from it. The same overvaluation spills over into the psychological sphere: the subject becomes, as it were, intellectually infatuated (that is, his powers of judgment are weakened) by the mental achievements and perfections of the sexual object and he submits to the latter’s judgments with credulity.

For Freud sex and love are interchangeable terms. He contrasts the overvaluation of the love-object found in the Western tradition with the more relaxed approach of the ancient world:

The most striking distinction between the erotic life of antiquity and our own no doubt lies in the fact that the ancients laid the stress upon the instinct itself, whereas we emphasise its object. The ancients glorified the instinct and were prepared on its account to honour even an inferior object; while we despise the instinctual activity in itself, and find excuses for it only in the merits of the object.

The Greeks held Bacchic orgies and had a god, Priapus, dedicated to the male organ; by contrast we in our time appear to fear the penis more than ever and instead reverence the idealised object of libido, the dream partner of the opposite sex (or the same sex), and the institution of Marriage.

And despite all the rhetoric from feminists and LGBTQ+ activists about interrogating and subverting this, that or the other stereotype and convention, we still appear to be in thrall to the narrow concept of finding ‘love’ in a faithful, monogamous, committed relationship, every bit as much as our Victorian forebears – very narrow and limited compared to the polymorphous, open and pluralistic attitudes of the 30 or so ancient Roman authors I read last year.

THREE ESSAYS ON THE THEORY OF SEXUALITY (1905)

This long work sets out to show the importance of sexuality in all human achievements, to establish a wider-than-usual definition of sexuality, and to prove the existence of infantile sexuality.

Freud’s recurring tactic is to make the ordinary, the everyday, look strange; to look again without conventional blinkers at things we think we know, and to show that our attitudes are complacent, superficial and contradictory.

1. The sexual aberrations

Popular opinion credits two universal instincts, Hunger and Sexuality. Sex is supposed to set in at the time of puberty and manifest itself in irresistible attractions between adults of the opposite sex with the ultimate end of genital sex, itself with the purpose of reproduction (as taught in Christianity and most of the other world religions).

Let us call the desired one the sexual object, the act towards which the instinct tends, the sexual aim.

(1) Deviations in respect of the sexual object

If popular opinion is true and God made sex solely for reproduction, how do we account for homosexuals?

(A) Inversion

Behaviour of ‘inverts’. For a start there are different types:

  • a) absolute inverts, totally repelled by the opposite sex
  • b) amphigenic inverts i.e. bisexuals
  • c) contingent inverts, depending on circumstances

Some inverts accept their condition as natural; others feel it a torment. Some were gay as far back as they remember; for others, homosexuality cropped up at puberty; others only ‘come out’ as adults, sometimes after they’ve followed a straight career with wife and kids.

Nature of Inversion

The first observers thought inversion the result of nervous degeneracy because it was first found among mental patients studied in asylums.

Degeneracy

But then it was late-Victorian fashion to blame anything you didn’t understand on ‘degeneracy’: criminals are degenerate, the working class is degenerate, Africans are degenerate etc.

Freud defines degeneracy in rigorous Darwinian terms as the actual impairment of an organism’s efficiency and survival probability. In these, practical, terms inversion is not degenerate. Not only is it found in people otherwise perfectly normal, but it is found in people ‘who are indeed distinguished by specially high intellectual development and ethical culture.’

Innate character

Some gays insist homosexuality is absolutely innate. But the existence of the late-developers or of contingent homosexuals argues against this. Far from being innate, much evidence suggests that homosexuality is acquired:

  • the case of many ‘inverts’ in whom an early impression left a permanent gay after-effect
  • later influences and life experiences which have fixed contingent gayness e.g. the army, prison, monastery etc

Almost all ‘inverts’ will be found to have been subjected to some experience like this (for example, public school). But on the other hand, so were many people who went on to be perfectly hetero. So it remains hard to say whether homosexuality is acquired or innate.

Bisexuality

Havelock Ellis says a clue might be that homosexuality is a form of psychical hermaphroditism, a mental equivalent of having the organs of both sexes.

Richard von Kraft-Ebing says that the brain contains female and male brain centres which are activated by a ‘sex gland’. (It wasn’t only Freud who was having batty, speculative ideas at this time.)

Whoever is right, it seems that most authorities accept the idea of an innate bisexuality in everyone, and that ‘inversion’ owes something to early disruption of development.

Later, Freud would write:

It is well known that at all times there have been, as there still are, human beings who can take as their sexual objects persons of either sex without the one trend interfering with the other. We call these people bisexual and accept the fact of their existence without wondering much at it … But we [psychoanalysts] have come to know that all human beings are bisexual in this sense and their libido is distributed between objects of both sexes, either in a manifest or a latent form.

Sexual object of inverts

Popular opinion holds that ‘inverts’ simply desire the qualities of the opposite sex. An inverted man is like a woman in desiring the qualities of the opposite sex, of masculinity, in his sex object.

But what about gays who love pretty boys, boys who demonstrate all the qualities of a girl, being beautiful, hairless, young and coquettish?

What about transvestites who do a good trade dressing up as women for gay clients? In ancient Greece older men regularly looked after shy, young, girlish boys.

So the sex object is a compromise between an impulse that seeks for a man and one for a woman (in the same way that a symptom is a compromise between a wish and reality).

Psychoanalysis’s explanation is thus: in his childhood the future ‘invert’ passes through a brief but intense attachment to a woman (normally his mother). After leaving this behind he identifies himself with this woman and take himself as his sexual object. Invoking infantile narcissism, ‘inverts’ identify themselves with a woman and set out to find a boy whom they can mother and love as their mother loved them.

The situation will be exacerbated by the absence of a strong father. Think of Oscar Wilde and his imperious mother; of W.H. Auden’s father away at the Front while his mother dressed him in girl’s clothing; of the plays of Joe Orton.

So, says Freud, being gay is being in endless flight from women.

But, Freud emphasises, this isn’t weird. Psychoanalysis has established that everyone makes homosexual object choices in their unconscious mind; that the freedom to range wide over male or female objects is found in childhood, in primitive societies, in early history and in the ancient world, and is the original basis of sexuality.

It is only as a result of later, Victorian social restrictions that people are forced into one fixed, standardised and regimented mould, heterosexual or homosexual, or their modern equivalent which demands that people be in monogamous committed couple relationships.

In reality a person’s final sexual orientation is not decided until after puberty, and then only as the result of innumerable obscure influences. That there is a multiplicity of determining factors is indicated by the extraordinary range of sexual practices and attitudes to be found in mankind.

Thus psychoanalysis regards so-called ‘normal’ sexuality as achieved only under intense pressure and great restriction of the original wider options for pleasure. In fact it’s so-called ‘normal’ sexuality, the genital attraction between man and woman, which is historically problematic and just as much in need of explanation as any other form.

Sexual aim of ‘inverts’

No one single aim can be laid down for the sexuality of ‘inverts’, as it can for the ‘normal’ behaviour of straights; there is too great a variety.

Conclusion

We have been in the habit of regarding the link between the sexual aim and the sexual object as more solid than it is. In fact the object appears to be no more than soldered onto the instinct, and which aim takes which object is a great deal more problematical than previously thought, because the sexual instinct is more free-flowing and independent than we previously suspected.

(B) Sexually immature person and animals as sexual objects

Light is thrown on the sexual instinct by the fact that it permits of so much variation in its objects and such a cheapening of them.

That children can be the objects of sex, or even animals, tells us about the vicissitudes of the sex instinct (along with rapes, sexual assaults and perverse murders). It seems as if the sex instinct will do almost anything to achieve satisfaction.

The impulses of sexual life are among those which, even normally, are the least controlled by the higher activities of the mind… In the process of human cultural development, sexuality is the weak spot.

(2) Deviations in respect of the sexual aim i.e. perversions

Popular opinion says the sexual aim is the union of the genitals in copulation which leads to the release of sexual tension. But a moment’s reflection tells you that, even in ‘normal’ sexuality, people kiss – bringing together two parts of the digestive system – for pleasure. And most people linger to some extent over intermediate stages, such as looking and touching. So the seeds of ‘perversity’ are all around us.

Perversions are sexual activities which either:

  • extend in an anatomical sense beyond the parts of the body designed for sexual union
  • linger or halt at the intermediate stages on the path to sexual union

(A) Anatomical extensions

Overvaluation of the sexual object

The first and prime perversion of sex from its object is the overvaluation of the object i.e. ‘love’. For all practical purposes ‘love’, for Freud, is this (potentially pathological) overvaluation of the love object.

It is only in the rarest instances that the psychical value set on the object as being the goal of the sexual instinct stops short at the genitals. The appreciation extends to the whole body of the sexual object and tends to involve every sensation derived from it. The same overvaluation spills over into the psychological sphere: the subject becomes, as it were, intellectually infatuated with (that is, his powers of judgment are weakened) by the mental achievements and perfections of the sexual object and he submits to the latter’s judgments with credulity.

This sexual overvaluation is something that cannot easily be reconciled with [society’s] restriction of the sexual aim to union of the actual genitals and it helps to turn activities connected with other parts of the body into sexual aims.

Once a sexual object has been chosen, the ordinarily effective higher activities of the mind – judgment and civilised restraint – all too often go out of the window. In most people this results in crushes, infatuations, sometimes in grands amours: once the libido sees an opening, it tends to pour forth like a flood.

How the subject (carried away by powerful libido) and the (perhaps reluctant) object cope with the situation is the theme of most of Western literature from Hero and Leander to Madame Bovary.

(I can see an evolutionary explanation for all this which Freud doesn’t mention, which is that: having made a sexual choice, overvaluation follows from a) opening the floodgates of an instinct otherwise fiercely repressed b) to ensure a strong libidinal attachment to the woman who you’re planning to impregnate – so it is a blind Darwinian instinct designed to make the impregnator bond with their mate  and remain to look after their offspring; but, as all of human history tells us, this often clashes with the other biological imperative affecting men which is impregnating as many women as possible, hence the many men who eat, shoot and leave.)

Sexual use of the mucous membrane of the lips and mouth

Freud proceeds with his agenda of making everything about sex and love look strange and uncanny.

The use of the mouth as a sexual organ is regarded as a perversion if the lips (or tongue) of one person are brought into contact with the genitals of another, but not if the mucous membranes of the lips of both of them come together.

Why do people find kissing acceptable and cunnilingus or fellatio disgusting? Freud here points to the purely conventional, culturally-determined nature of our feelings.

Has ‘disgust’ (a powerful reaction-formation) played a large part in forming our cultural conventions – or is it simply a product of the increasing self-repression which characterises us in the West (unlike other contemporary civilisations, primitive cultures and the cultures of the ancient world, which were and are much more liberal in their sexual practices)?

Freud seems to think the ancients were more honest in this, as in so much else.

The most striking distinction between the erotic life of antiquity and our own no doubt lies in the fact that the ancients laid the stress upon the instinct itself, whereas we emphasise its object. The ancients glorified the instinct and were prepared on its account to honour even an inferior object; while we despise the instinctual activity in itself, and find excuses for it only in the merits of the object.

The progress of civilisation seems to require a steadily increasing restriction of the sexual instinct, bought at the price of a growing sense of disgust. Hence the genitals of men and women, worshipped by the Greeks as holy, are now banned as dangerously corrupting.

There is no doubt that the genitals of the opposite sex can in themselves be an object of disgust and that such an attitude is one of the characteristics of all hysterics.

One thinks of John Ruskin (allegedly) driven into paroxysms by the discovery on his wedding night that, unlike the Greek statues which he adored, his wife had pubic hair. Or, more up to date:

Indecent exposure, sometimes known as ‘flashing’, is a serious sexual criminal offence, which carries a custodial sentence of up to 2-years at its most severe. (Old Bailey solicitors)

Does ‘disgust’ drive the repression of sexuality i.e. is disgust natural, a ‘God-given’ reaction of the ‘God-given’ conscience to the spectacle of fallen sexuality? A question related to: is conscience ‘God-given’ and so universal? Or is ‘conscience’ created by culture and therefore morally relative across different cultures? Morality and disgust on the one side, pragmatism and sexual libertarianism on the other.

Or is disgust an entirely material, biological reaction-formation to the compulsory repression of sexuality enforced by a coercive society, no God or morality required?

Sexual use of the anal orifice

People who think sodomy is disgusting because we defecate through the anus are as correct as women who say the penis is disgusting because men urinate through it or men who think the vulva is disgusting because women menstruate through it.

Which is to say, all these opinions are correct in their own terms, but missing the point. These organs can (clearly) be put to various uses. Should they be? Or should they be restricted to their ‘God-given’ purposes? But then who is to say what their correct usage is? A bunch of old men wearing purple dresses in the House of Lords? Imams and rabbis? Agony aunts? TV shows. Gender studies lecturers? Where is the authority for this?

Significance of other regions of the body

What seems to be common to all human sexuality is:

  1. overvaluation of the sexual object
  2. a versatile ability on the part of the sexual aim to use any part of the body as the sexual object for gratification

Unsuitable substitutes for the sexual object: fetishism

In fetishism the sexual instinct replaces the primary object (the genitals) and the overvalued secondary object (the person attached to the genitals) with unlikely tertiary objects – parts of the body, locks of hair, feet – or linked objects, such as underwear or other items of clothing.

A certain amount of fetishism is habitually present in normal love, especially of those stages of it in which the normal sexual aim seems unattainable or its fulfilment prevented.

A lock of your true love’s hair. Or as Goethe put it in Faust:

‘Get me a kerchief from her breast,
A garter that her knee has pressed.’

These objects can justifiably be likened to the fetishes of primitive peoples. Inscribed in fetishes is a primitive symbology, comparable with the symbolism of dreams. For example, the foot is an age-old symbol for the penis. Fur is linked to the hair of the mons Veneris. The shoe or slipper is a symbol of the female genitals (as in Cinderella) into which the male foot neatly slips, and so on.

(B) Fixations of preliminary sexual aims

Appearance of new aims

External factors (danger, unavailability of a sexual object, risk of disease) tend to fix libido at the preparatory activities. Truly, every normal aspect of ‘love’ carries the seeds of a perversion.

Touching and looking

Seeing is an evolutionary derivative of touching. A look can be as exciting as a touch.

Both seeing and touching are ‘ordinary’ parts of ‘normal’ sexual activity – unless lingered over, or unless they become ends in themselves, in which case we have voyeurism/exhibitionism and various types of masturbation.

Freud thought exhibitionism the result of either wishing for a reciprocal showing of the other person’s genitals; or a triumphant assertion against the Castration Complex: ‘Look, I’ve still got my willy!’

He doesn’t seem to take into account the sadistic urge to offend or scare women, a kind of sublimated form of rape, visual rather than physical rape.

The power of vision is shown by just how upset some women can feel, how physically defiled, just because a strange man showed them his penis. I’m not downplaying the offence or upset caused.

The concealment and revelation of the sexual parts of the body go hand in hand with the rise of civilisation and progressive sexual repression. It is unlikely that the Greeks had strip clubs; instead they had orgies, the real thing. We have strip clubs because of the immense repression to which our sexuality has been subjected.

For Freud the concept of ‘beauty’ itself originates in sexual excitement but is sublimated away from the genitals onto the body as a whole, which is perceived as ‘beautiful’, a concept or feeling which can then  be transferred onto other types of object, and then onto objects created and enjoyed for their ‘beauty’ alone i.e. works of art.

This explains why women are more often the object of art than men – even in women painter’s paintings – because men are more sexually predatory than women. And why the sight of the genitals themselves is rarely ‘beautiful’; all pleasure has been sublimated out of them leaving only the reaction-formation of ‘disgust’.

Sadism and masochism

These were given their names by Richard von Kraft-Ebing (Viennese) in the 1890s, after the Marquis de Sade (French) and Leopold von Sacher-Masoch (Viennese) As with the other perversions, a moderate amount of sado-masochism is generally regarded as ‘normal’:

The sexuality of most male human beings contains an element of aggressiveness – a desire to subjugate. The biological significance of it seems to lie in the need for overcoming the resistance of the sexual object by means other than the process of wooing. Thus sadism would correspond to an aggressive component of the sexual instinct which has become independent and exaggerated and, by displacement, has usurped the leading position.

Many types of sexual relationship which are regarded as ‘normal’ contain a high amount of aggression; sadism becomes an actual perversion when pleasure is derived from violence alone.

Masochism is sexual excitement aroused purely by receiving pain or humiliation. Later in his career, after he’d outlined the new theory of the superego, Freud distinguished between purely physical masochism and moral masochism, the desire to be found guilty of sins, to be punished for them and so on, an internal submission of the ego to the overbearing superego which plays such a large part in religious life.

Freud thinks masochism is secondary, a deflection of primary sadism – which the subject is too weak to inflict onto others – back onto the self. Masochism is for weaklings; or for the weakling part of even strong people.

The history of human civilisation shows beyond any doubt that there is an intimate connection between cruelty and the sexual instinct.

But nobody really knows why. Some people think aggression is a development of the primal desire to eat, to master objects by putting them in the mouth – an instinct seen in children and in the holy meals at the centre of many religions. Others think there is some intimate biochemical link between pleasure and pain.

Suggestive for Freud’s bisexual thesis – the mingling of the ‘feminine’ and the ‘masculine’ in all of us – is Havelock Ellis and Kraft-Ebing’s agreement that masochism and sadism are often found in the same person.

(3) The perversions in general

Variation and disease

Medical men first identified perversions in the insane and perversion was blamed (like homosexuality) on ‘degeneracy’. What Freud has shown is that the perversions are implicit in even ‘normal’ love.

No healthy person, it appears, can fail to make some addition that might be called perverse to the normal sexual aim; and the universality of this finding is enough to show how inappropriate it is to use the word ‘perversion’ as a term of reproach. In the sphere of sexual life we are brought up against peculiar and, indeed, insoluble problems as soon as we try to draw a sharp line to distinguish mere variations within the range of what is physiological from pathological symptoms.

On one side the liberal Freud, on the other a vast army of censorious Christians, trying to draw precisely that line, trying to tell people exactly just which type and forms of ‘love’ are permissible and which aren’t, from the Pope to Mary Whitehouse.

For the Moral Majority it is always other people who are degenerate, other people who are the helpless prey of, for example, homosexual men in the homosexual age of consent debate.

Freud is saying, if you only look at the acts themselves you may be tempted to define them as unchristian or degenerate, pathological or perverted etc. But if you look at the instinct which carries so many people to such lengths, it is the same instinct and it is in all of us – it is what our minds are made of.

The mental factor in perversions

Despite the sometimes disgusting ends to which the love instinct is put, all these behaviours are to some extent idealisations of the libido, in the sense of abstractions of it away from its normal role.

The omnipotence of love is perhaps never more strongly proved than in such of its aberrations as these. The highest and the lowest are always closest to each other in the sphere of sexuality.

Two conclusions

Every individual plays a double existential role:

  1. to reproduce, to pass on its genes and preserve the species
  2. to preserve itself while it does this

Sometimes the two purposes clash and this is the basis of Freud’s psychology, the clash between the unconscious libidinal drive to have sex, all the time, with everyone and everything; and the rational ego’s struggle to redirect this blind drive into socially acceptable forms which help the individual survive and help it be at peace with itself. So the origins of any person’s sexuality must be looked for in two places: in the history of the species and the accidents of the individual.

Our study of the perversions has shown us that the sexual instinct has to struggle against certain mental forces which act as resistances, and of which shame and disgust are the most prominent. It is permissible to suppose that these forces play a part in restraining that instinct within the limits that are regarded as normal; and if they develop within the individual before the sexual instinct has reached its full strength, no doubt they then determine the course of its development.

These forces, which act like dams upon sexual development – disgust, shame and morality – must also be regarded as historical precipitates of the external inhibitions to which the sexual instinct has been subjected during the psychogenesis of the human race. We can observe the way in which, in the development of individuals, they arise at the appropriate moment, as though spontaneously, when upbringing and external influence give the signal.

In the second place we have found that some of the perversions are only made intelligible if we assume the convergence of several motive forces. If such perversions admit of analysis, that is, if they can be taken to pieces, then they must be of a composite nature. This gives us a hint that perhaps the sexual instinct itself is no simple thing but put together from components which have come apart again in the perversions.

(4) The sexual instincts in neurotics

Psychoanalysis

Here Freud reiterates his belief that all the psychoneuroses are based on sexual instinctual forces and that the psychoneuroses can only be investigated using the method perfected by Josef Breuer and himself – psychoanalysis. He gives a useful summary of the famous cathartic method:

By this I do not merely mean that the energy of the sexual instinct makes a contribution to the forces that maintain the pathological manifestations (the symptoms). I mean expressly to assert that that contribution is the most important and only constant source of energy of the neurosis and that in consequence the sexual life of the persons in question is expressed in these symptoms. The symptoms constitute the sexual activity of the patient!

The removal of the symptoms of hysterical patients by psychoanalysis proceeds on the supposition that those symptoms are substitutes – transcriptions, as it were – for a number of emotionally cathected mental processes, wishes and desires which, by the operation of a special psychical procedure (repression) have been prevented from obtaining discharge in psychical activity that is admissible to consciousness.

These mental processes, being held back in a state of unconsciousness, strive to obtain an expression that shall be appropriate to their emotional importance – to obtain discharge; and in the case of hysteria they find such an expression (by means of the process called conversion) in somatic or bodily phenomena, that is, in hysterical symptoms [cf Anna O’s inability to drink water, choking sensation etc].

By systematically turning those symptoms back (with the help of psychoanalysis) into emotionally cathected ideas – ideas that can now become conscious – it is possible to obtain the most accurate knowledge of the nature and origin of these formerly unconscious psychical structures.

Findings of psychoanalysis

Psychoanalysis has shown that:

Symptoms represent a substitute for impulses the source of whose strength is derived from the sexual instinct… The character of hysterics shows a degree of sexual repression in excess of the normal quantity, an intensification of resistance against the sexual instinct (which we have already met with in the form of shame, disgust and morality), and what seems like an instinctive aversion on their part to any intellectual consideration of sexual problems.

In the case of someone predisposed to hysteria, the onset of his illness is precipitated when, either as a result of his own progressive maturity or of the external circumstances of his life, he finds himself faced by the demands of a real sexual situations. Between the pressure of the instinct and his antagonism to sexuality, illness offers him a way of escape. It does not solve his conflict but seeks to evade it by transforming his libidinal impulses into symptoms.

(See Jensen’s Gradiva, written two years later, which is a textbook example of hysteria as the self-deluding flight into illness. The archaeologist Norbert’s escape from the reality of an emotionally demanding sexual situation – his awakening love for Zoe – into delusions about the light-tripping woman on the antique frieze whom he names ‘Gradiva’, and then Norbert’s actual fleeing to Italy, to Pompeii, to escape the sexual situation, only to meet Zoe magically transformed into the woman in the frieze –– from the heart of the reaction-formation returns the repressed. In the novel Norbert is then cured through love, by the redirecting of his libido – unhealthily cathected onto the Gradiva-delusion – back to the reality of his flesh-and-blood love, Zoe, by the love object herself.)

Neurosis and perversion

Moreover, neurotics’ symptoms, upon psychoanalysis, often turn out to be conversions not just of ‘normal’ sexuality, but to include what are called the perversions i.e. neurotics’ unconsciousnesses are often raging with perverse wishes deflected into symptoms. Hence Dora’s persistent cough is a (transmuted) wish for oral sex with Herr K.

a) The unconscious life of all neurotics shows inverted impulses, fixation of the libido on persons of their own sex.

b) The unconsciouses of neurotics show tendencies to every kind of anatomical extension of sexual activity, particularly oral and anal.

c) An especially prominent part is played by the fact that the instincts involved are component instincts. Thus the perversions often come in opposing pairs: exhibitionism and voyeurism; the active and passive forms of the instinct for cruelty.

It is through such an opposition, a component tying together of libido and cruelty, that the transformation from love into hate takes place, the transformation from affectionate into hostile impulses.

(You can see here the embryonic shape of Freud’s later division of all the instincts into Sex instincts and Death instincts, Eros and Thanatos which would formulate nearly 20 years late, in Beyond the Pleasure Principle.)

(5) Component instincts and erotogenic zones

If we trace back the positive and negative aspects of the perversions (masochism/sadism, voyeurism/exhibitionism) they appear to derive from component instincts which themselves admit of further analysis.

When sexual excitement derives from a particular organ or area of the body we refer to that as the erotogenic zone.

Thus, under the right circumstances, the anus or the mouth can become an erotogenic zone. Or the surface of the skin in touching. Or the eye itself in voyeurism where, through the eye alone is felt excitement comparable to that of sex in a ‘normal’ person.

(6) Reasons for the apparent preponderance of perverse sexuality in the psychoneuroses

But just because neurotic symptoms often contain a perverse wish doesn’t mean that neurotics are closer to perverts than to ‘normal’ people. Neurotics are normal people whose libido, either because of innate predisposition or due to accident, has been dammed up.

Most psychoneurotics fall ill after the age of puberty as a result of the demands made upon them by normal sexual life. Or else illnesses of this kind set in later, when the libido fails to obtain satisfaction along normal lines. In both these cases the libido behaves like a stream whose main bed has become blocked. It proceeds to fill up collateral channels which may hitherto have been empty.

Where the constitution is predisposed to illness maybe no external factor will be required. On the other hand, a great shock in real life may tip a robust constitution into neurotic illness.

Might there be a link between the perversions wished for by the neurotic’s unconscious, between the erotogenic zone it highlights, and innate constitution?

In a word, can you define personality types by predisposition to a particular perversion/erotogenic zone? (This is what Freud does in the following essay, about childhood sexuality, defining and describing the oral, anal types and so on.)

(7) Intimations of the infantile character of sexuality

“By demonstrating the part played by perverse impulses in the formation of symptoms in the psychoneuroses, we have quite remarkably increased the number of people who might be regarded as perverts. It is not only that neurotics in themselves constitute a very numerous class, but it must also be considered that an unbroken chain bridges the gap between the neuroses in all their manifestations and ‘normality’….

Thus the extraordinarily wide dissemination of the perversions forces us to suppose that the disposition to perversions is itself of no great rarity but must form a part of what passes as the ‘normal’ constitution…

There is indeed something innate lying behind the perversions but it is something innate in everyone, though as a disposition it may vary in its intensity and may be increased by the influences of actual life. What is in question are the innate constitutional roots of the sexual instinct. In one class of cases (the perversions) these roots may grow into the actual vehicles of sexual activity; in others they may be submitted to an insufficient suppression (repression) and thus be able in a roundabout way to attract a considerable portion of sexual energy to themselves as neurotic symptoms; while in the most favourable cases, which lie between these two extremes, they may by means of effective restriction and other kinds of modification bring about what is known as ‘normal’ sexual life.

Thus the germs of our character, the way our sexual instincts will be channelled, are probably laid down in childhood. In the next essay Freud looks at the play of influences which govern the evolution of infantile sexuality until its outcome in perversion, neurosis or normal sexual life.

Essay 2. Infantile sexuality

Neglect of the infantile factor

In Essay 2 Freud sets out to smash the popular opinion that children have no sexual feelings; that sexual feelings only set in with puberty. On the contrary, all the literature, and a chat with any nurse, will tell you that many babies play with their willies or fannies and suck various bits of themselves, but these stories are generally only mentioned as exceptions and monstrosities.

Why do we not remember our sexual feelings from our own childhood years?

Infantile amnesia

We definitely behave lively in every respect during childhood, giving every evidence of feeling joy, love, rage, delight. Why do we forget so much of this? Freud says that under analysis patients often remember events from their earliest years. Therefore the memories are stored somewhere – but are repressed from everyday access. Why? Nobody knows.

(1) The period of sexual latency in childhood and its interruptions

Based on a) scattered reports of the so-called exceptional behaviour of infants in the literature and b) the memories of neurotics revealed by psychoanalysis, Freud will sketch out a theory of infantile sexuality.

Freud thinks of the sex instinct as being innate in the child; that it grows as the child grows; that it is overtaken by suppression at the age of 5 or 6; then it revives and develops further at puberty, developing in a pattern of fits and starts. Childhood sexuality only emerges into the light of observable day in the third or fourth year of life.

Sexual inhibitions

It is during this same period that the mental forces are built up which are later to impede and block the flow of the sexual instinct – feelings of disgust (at an object), feelings of shame (at oneself) and moral and aesthetic ideals (as it were, objective guidelines we build for ourselves).

Reaction formation and sublimation

These are the two methods by which these dams are erected to prevent the return of repressed material into the conscious mind.

Sublimation is a widely reported phenomenon, the diverting of instinctual sexual energies into ‘higher’, more socially acceptable ones.

A reaction formation is:

a defence mechanism in which emotions and impulses which are anxiety-producing or perceived to be unacceptable are mastered by exaggeration of the directly opposing tendency

Freud thinks that reaction formations are the result of a series of unpleasurable experiences, either of internal unpleasure (excessive playing with the genitals leads to unpleasure) or external tellings-off, which create, as it were, a psychological allergic reaction to the erotogenic zone and experiences in question. Told off for touching his winkle enough times and the small boy genuinely come to believe it is dirty and disgusting.

[A digression on Freud’s final theory of sexual development

A lot later, Freud was to elaborate and fine-tune the notion that the human infants evolve through a set number of stages, namely:

  • polymorphous perversity – undifferentiated pleasure in the whole body
  • oral phase (0 to 1 year) – the infant gets most of their pleasure from their mouth, for example eating and thumb-sucking: if an infant’s oral needs aren’t met it can develop an develop oral fixation which continues into adult life
  • anal phase (1 to 3 years) – controlling bladder and bowel movements, potty training, when successfully accomplished leads to praise from parents and a sense of achievement and independence; but if parents take an approach that is too lenient, Freud suggested that an ‘anal-expulsive personality‘ – could develop whereby the adult has a messy, wasteful, or destructive personality, while if parents are too strict, he believed this could lead to an ‘anal-retentive‘ personality which is over-strict, rigid, and obsessive.
  • phallic stage (3 to 5 years) – focus of the libido is on the genitals and children begin to discover the difference between boys and girls
    • in boys this gives rise to the Oedipus complex as boys view their fathers as a rival for the mother’s affections: the Oedipus complex describes these feelings of wanting to possess the mother and replace the father. But at the same time the little boy worries that his father will punish him for having these feelings, a fear Freud termed castration anxiety
    • other Freudians suggested the term Electra complex to describe a similar but mirror set of feelings experienced by small girls, namely the wish to be possessed by their father and rid of their mother, accompanied by parallel feelings of guilt and anxiety
    • Freud, however, believed that instead of the Electra complex, girls experience what he notoriously called penis envy i.e. the wish to be a boy, the lack of a penis forever leaving girls feeling inadequate. Even in Freud’s own day female psychoanalysts deplored this idea, and female followers have denied it and overwritten it ever since]
  • latency phase (6 to puberty) – the superego or conscience gains in power, the libido and memories of all those early physical pleasures are suppressed; instead boys or girls enter school and become more concerned with peer relationships, hobbies, and other interests; a time of exploration in which the sexual energy repressed or dormant, still present but sublimated into other areas such as intellectual pursuits and social interactions
  • genital stage (11, 12, 13 onwards) – at puberty the libido becomes active again and teens develop a strong sexual interest in the opposite sex: if all the previous stages have been successfully navigated, the person becomes a rounded, balanced individual]

Freud therefore thinks that the development through the oral, anal and phallic stages is partly achieved by the erection of these reaction formations which act as ‘dams’ or road blocks saying ‘No Going Back’.

That this may be the origin of feelings of ‘shame’ and ‘disgust’ is an interesting theory to ponder; that this process is the basis of all civilised morality, as Freud claims, was clearly a provocative thing to say, and which sparked much outraged opposition to him and his theories.

Interruptions of the latency period

Not all children’s sexuality goes underground at about five years old. There may be all sorts of exceptions, single strands of sexual pleasure continuing into the latent period.

(2) The manifestations of infantile sexuality

Thumb-sucking

This emerges early and often persists into adolescence. Sometimes accompanied by the rubbing of an erotogenic zone it can act as an introduction to masturbation. Because it is accompanied by pleasurable rubbing, and sometimes even by orgasm-type physical reactions, Freud makes thumb-sucking the prototype of infantile sexuality.

Auto-erotism (coined by Havelock Ellis in 1898)

Infants initially derive pleasure from their own bodies. Sucking thumbs or lips or any other part of the body is a repetition of the initial oral activity, sucking at the breast.

No-one who has seen a baby sinking back satiated from the breast and falling asleep with flushed cheeks and a blissful smile can escape the reflection that this picture persists as the prototype of the expression of sexual satisfaction in later life.

As the child grows it experiments with enacting the sexual pleasure of sucking when the breast is absent: sucking any part of its own body, taking itself as a source of pleasure. In later life the pleasures of lingering kissing re-enact this primal sexual experience. In some children there is a constitutional intensification of the labial region (lips):

If that significance persists, these same children will grow up to become epicures in kissing, will be inclined to perverse kissing or, if males, will have a powerful motive for drinking and smoking. If, however, repression ensues, they will feel disgust at food and will produce hysterical vomiting.

Thus, for Freud, entire character types and types of adult behaviour can be traced right back to earliest childhood behaviour.

(3) The sexual aim of infantile sexuality

Characteristics of erotogenic zones

Erotogenic zones are a moveable feast. Particular parts of the body seem predisposed to resonate with sexual pleasure (the genitals, lips, nipples, anus, the surface of the skin generally) and if an infant, in its auto-erotic stage, chances on one of these to suck or play with, that part easily becomes the model of sexual pleasure, of reassurance etc in later life.

Any part of the body can acquire the same susceptibility to stimulation as is possessed by the genitals and can become an erotogenic zone.

It is hard to think of a view more contrary to the popular, conventional view that a) infants have no sex life and that b) sex appears only at puberty and is exclusively confined to the genitals.

The infantile sexual aim

Although all the body is susceptible to sexualisation, certain zones seem predisposed to be especially erotogenic, generally zones which are physiologically designed for other activities and pleasures which the child can then repeat by auto-erotic stimulation: the lips for eating, the penis for peeing, the anus for defecating can all be co-opted by the libido.

(4) Masturbatory sexual manifestations

Activity of the anal zone

Psychoanalysis of patients has revealed the surprising extent to which the anus is not only a source of pleasure in infancy but retains its pleasurable power throughout life.

Children who are making use of the susceptibility to erotogenic stimulation of the anal zone betray themselves by holding back their stool till its accumulation brings about violent muscular contractions and, as it passes through the anus, is able to produce powerful stimulation of the mucous membrane. In so doing it must no doubt cause not only painful but highly pleasurable sensations.

One of the clearest signs of subsequent eccentricity or nervousness is to be seen when a baby obstinately refuses to empty its bowels when he is put on the pot and holds back that function till he himself chooses to exercise it. He is naturally not concerned with dirtying the bed, he is only anxious not to miss the subsidiary pleasure attached to defecating.

Faeces come to have another important meaning for the child.

They are clearly treated as part of the infant’s own body and represent his first ‘gift’: by producing them he can express his active compliance with his environment and, by withholding them, his disobedience…

The retention of the faecal mass, which is thus carried out by the child intentionally to begin with, in order to serve, as it were, a masturbatory stimulus upon the anal zone or to be employed as a weapon in his relation to the people looking after him, is also one of the roots of the constipation which is so common among neuropaths.

Activity of the genital zone

The glans of the penis in boys and the clitoris in girls:

The anatomical situation of this region, the secretions in which it is bathed, the washing and rubbing to which it is subjected in the course of a child’s toilet, as well as accidental stimulation, make it inevitable that the pleasurable feeling which this part of the body is capable of producing should be noticed by children even during their earliest infancy, and should give rise to a need for its repetition.

Girls often masturbate simply by rubbing their thighs together. Boys tend to use hands.

The preference for the hand which is shown by boys is already evidence of the important contribution which the instinct for mastery is destined to make to masculine sexual activity.

Second phase of infantile masturbation

In this early essay Freud posits three periods of sexual activity: a first phase of infantile sexuality; a second phase flourishing around the fourth year; then the eruptions of puberty.

The second phase of infantile sexual activity may assume a variety of different forms which can only be determined by a precise analysis of individual cases. But all its details leave behind the deepest unconscious impressions in the subject’s memory, determine the development of his later character, if he is to remain healthy, and the symptomatology of his neurosis, if he is to fall ill after puberty.

Return of early infantile masturbation

The return of infantile sexuality at around 4 and 5 years is determined by all sorts of factors, internal and external. But Freud is careful to mention the external factor of infantile seduction (or child abuse, as we would say) as a way many of his patients recall being jolted, as it were, into sexual life, and made aware of the erotogenicity of the genitals.

Polymorphously perverse disposition

In and as a result of sexual abuse, children can be induced to all manner of perversions thus revealing, for Freud, an innate disposition to polymorphous perversion.

The same, he asserts, is true of many women, as witness the large number of prostitutes who can accommodate any type of sexual taste for their clients.

It becomes impossible not to recognise that this same disposition to perversions of every kind is a general and fundamental human characteristic.

[At one and the same time this notion is typical of Freud’s throwaway sexism, but also of the immense tolerance and acceptance of a huge variety of sexual predilections implicit in his theory.]

Component instincts

Exhibitionism, voyeurism and cruelty are all apparent as perversions in potentia in children. Small boys proudly display the thing which gives them so much pleasure and which they pee through, their penis, which thus symbolises at least two types of infantile ‘mastery’.

Looking is the child’s earliest way of relating to the world. Once it has established its own erotogenic zones it is curious to see them in others: voyeurism.

Cruelty comes relatively easily to the childish nature, since the obstacle that brings the instinct for mastery to a halt at other people’s pain – namely a capacity for pity – is developed relatively late…

It may be assumed that the impulse of cruelty arises from the instinct for mastery and appears at a period of sexual life at which the genitals have not yet taken over their later role…

Children who distinguish themselves by special cruelty towards animals and playmates usually give rise to a just suspicion of an intense and precocious sexual activity arising from erotogenic zones…

The absence of the barrier of pity brings with it a danger that the connection between the cruel and the erotogenic instincts, thus established in childhood, may prove unbreakable in later life.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s Confessions show that early beating on the buttocks can easily be linked with erotogenic pleasure and form the basis of a fusion of the instincts of sex and cruelty in later life.

(5) The sexual researches of childhood

The instinct for knowledge

At the same time as children reach an early peak of sexuality (3 to 5 years) they display an instinct for knowledge. For Freud this is a sublimated form of the instincts for mastery and of seeing, voyeurism.

Psychoanalysis has shown that the first problem to awaken the childish thirst for knowledge are sexual problems, where do I come from? why does my wee-wee make give me pleasure?

The Riddle of the Sphinx

Freud gave this typically grandiose title to the core question of infancy: where do babies come from?

Sex differences aren’t important at this stage since boys assume all babies have penises.

Castration complex and penis envy [this section was added in 1915]

Only painfully do boys realise there’s a whole category of person who doesn’t have a penis and become petrified that they too might lose their mighty weapon. This he calls the castration complex.

The discovery that girls don’t have one gives many boys an enduringly low opinion of girls. For girls, the discovery that boys have this toy which they can play with induces in them penis envy and an enduring sense of being second-rate. Penis envy culminates in the girl’s wish to be a boy.

[The whole concept of ‘penis envy’ is probably the single most outrageous example of Freud, despite being a revolutionary on one level, nonetheless often reinscribing the sexist prejudices of his Victorian times in a new language.]

Theories of birth

All children speculate about where babies come from, especially if their mother is pregnant again. The central feature of most theories is that the baby is got by eating something (as in many fairy tales) and delivered through the anus.

Sadistic view of sexual intercourse

Many children see or overhear their parents making love. Children feel intense curiosity about it. It seems to have to do with some joint activity involving peeing or defecating. But many children pick up on the apparent violence involved (hard physical movements, screaming) and this is another way in which cruelty may attach itself to a child’s fantasy world and resurface in a person’s adult attitudes to sex.

Typical failure of infantile sexual researches

No matter how subtle the sexual theories of children they are invariably wrong; for how could they know about semen and ovaries? But the whole attempt is important to Freud as a symbol of the growing independence of the child. These researches:

constitute a first step towards taking an independent attitude in the world, and they imply a high degree of alienation of the child from the people in his environment who formerly enjoyed his complete confidence.

(6) The phases of development of the sexual organisation

Infantile sexual pleasure is the opposite in every way of ‘normal’ adult sexuality. It is essentially auto-erotic, and its component instincts are generally disconnected and scattered over all manner of activities: this is the meaning of polymorphous perversity.

Compare and contrast with adult sexuality aims at genital contact with some external object.

Pregenital organisations

I.e. sexual patterns before the instinct settles on the genitals:

1. The oral or cannibalistic phase: the aim is the incorporation of the sexual object, to eat it, to master it by ingesting it and stimulating the mucous membranes of the lips at the same time.

This is the origin of cannibalism in primitive peoples; of the primitive relic of a holy meal found in most religions; and of the higher intellectual activity of identification with a hero figure.

The primitive and intellectual functions are brought together in the Eucharist where we eat the body of Christ at the same time as we acknowledge Him lord and master.

2. The sadistic-anal phase: it is at this early stage that the sex instinct can be seen dividing into the active-passive division which characterises all later sexuality: the masculine drive to mastery, of defecating at our own time and pleasure; and the feminine pleasure derived from the anus; a sadistic and a passive pleasure intermingle.

Ambivalence

This duality is the basis of later ambivalence, a word coined by the Swiss psychiatrist Paul Eugen Bleuler (Bleuler was a prolific coiner of neologisms; he also invented the terms ‘schizophrenia’, ‘schizoid’ and ‘autism’).

Ambivalence became central to Freudian theory. It describes the holding of contradictory feelings, classically love and hate, towards the same object. Thus the child can both love but be terrified by their father.

Phallic phase

Freud distinguishes one last phase of infantile sexuality, where a love-object has emerged but the instinct in both boys and girls focuses on the penis alone, when boys develop pride in their penis and girls develop a painful sense of lack of penis, giving rise to penis envy (see comments above).

Diphasic choice of object

To summarise, Freud can claim that, completely contrary to the popular view, the distinctive thing about human sexuality is:

  • that it is present, in various forms, in infants from the earliest time
  • that it develops through a series of stages
  • that each of these stages carries the risk of arrest or error which deforms the child’s feelings and emotions around libido
  • that infantile sexual choices and activity are progressively repressed by reaction-formations (guilt, shame) by the age of about 5
  • that the entire set of experiences goes underground during the latency period (5 or 6 to puberty), is repressed and forgotten
  • that it resurfaces in a more explicitly sexual mode at puberty but with shapes and flavours conditioned by those earliest experiences

These infantile longings become the basis of later ‘affectionate’ feelings:

Their sexual aims have become mitigated and they now represent what may be described as the ‘affectionate current’ of sexual life. Only psychoanalytic investigation can show that behind this affection, admiration and respect there lie concealed the old sexual longings of the infantile component instincts which have now become unserviceable.

(7) The sources of infantile sexuality

These conclusions have been reached by the psychoanalysis of adult patients and the observation of children. Sexual excitation in children seems to arise from:

a) repetition of satisfaction achieved in normal organic processes (sucking, defecating)
b) through external stimulation of erotogenic zones
c) as the expression of fundamental instincts

Mechanical excitations

Children love swinging and being thrown and caught. Psychoanalysis has shown the recurrence of these sensations in adult dreams i.e. that they lay down patterns of the earliest pleasures, for example, fantasies of flying, air blowing against the skin and genitals.

It is well known that rocking is habitually used to induce sleep in restless children. The shaking produced by driving in carriages and later by railway travel exercises such a fascinating effect upon older children that every boy, at any rate, has at one time or another in his life wanted to be an engine driver.

It is a puzzling fact that boys take such an extraordinarily intense interest in things connected with railways and, at the age at which the production of fantasies is most active (shortly before puberty), use those things as the nucleus of a symbolism that is peculiarly sexual. A compulsive link of this kind between railway travel and sexuality is clearly derived from the pleasurable character of the sensations of movement.

In the event of repression, which turns so many childish preferences into their opposite, these same individuals, when they are adolescents or adults, will react to rocking or swinging with a feeling of nausea, will be terribly exhausted by a railway journey, or will be subject to attacks of anxiety on the journey.

Muscular activity

Many patients report their first memories of sexual excitation when romping, fighting and playing with playmates. Organised games are done at school to keep the body healthy and divert adolescent attention away from sexuality: Freud says what this is doing is channel sexuality back into one of its specific components.

Affective process

Powerful emotions have sexual effects. Terrified or anxious children may touch their genitals for reassurance. The erotic aspect of terror, fright and so on may become intimately associated with sexuality so that adults find fear and terror thrilling; either in real life, in fantasies of rape or masochistic punishment; or in imaginary worlds of books or the cinema.

Pathways of mutual influence

If the taking in of food gives rise to sexual pleasure then the reverse may be true. If healthy sexuality accompanies healthy eating, then disturbance of sexuality may lead to disturbance of nourishment. Thus a sexually disturbed hysteric may cease eating.

We can speculate about a whole network of pathways by which sexual instincts may be channeled both towards basic organic functions (for example, eating) and also rerouted towards higher functions (that is, sublimated, into thinking, planning, deciding).

Essay 3. The transformations of puberty

Infantile sexuality is polymorphously perverse and auto-erotic, finding pleasure as it learns to control and play with its own body.

The latency period sees the repression of sexuality in the name of various reaction-formations and sexuality’s sublimation into all kinds of games and fantasies.

With puberty the genitals become active and the subject actively seeks a love object outside itself. The new sexual aim of genital union appears and all the scattered erotogenic zones with their sex impulses become focused on, and subordinate to, genital union. Hopefully.

‘Normal’ sexuality consists of the uniting of the affectionate current (the sublimated remains of childhood sexuality) and the sensual current (mainstream libido).

So proper human sexual development is the coming together of affection/love and sex/pleasure, focussed on the genitals, to produce the ‘normal’ healthy adult. But, as always, there can be all kinds of hiccups along the way.

(1) The primacy of the genital zones and fore-pleasure

At puberty the sex organs grow and become ready for use. They can be excited in three ways:

  1. excitation of the erotogenic zones from outside
  2. from the organic interior
  3. from mental life, the storehouse of impressions and ideas

Sexual excitement is felt in two ways:

  1. perception of a mental tension of an extremely compelling type
  2. physical preparation: erection of the penis, lubrication of the vagina

Sexual tension

How come sexual excitation is perceived as both pleasurable but also as an unpleasurable tension?

The mechanism of fore-pleasure

Touching or seeing clearly give rise to a) pleasure in themselves b) a perceived raising of sexual tension.

It is as if the fore-pleasure derived from stimulating the erotogenic zones is designed to increase the incentive to move onto the act of sexual union.

Initial pleasure thus disguises increasing tension (unpleasure) so you are led relentlessly on towards copulation, the aim of the entire organism.

The whole pattern leads up to orgasm and the release of the appropriate sexual substances. It would seem that orgasms are designed to extinguish libido, if only temporarily. They are the height of pleasure, the abrupt release of tension by the blood thronging the penis or clitoris rushing back into the body as the scrotum or vagina undergoes a series of muscular contractions perceived as pleasurable.

And this release of tension takes you right the way back to square one i.e. normal bodily function; the overwhelming compulsion towards sex evaporates, the rational mind returns to full control.

Freud divides the two stages into fore-pleasure and end-pleasure.

A distinction similar to the fore-pleasure offered by the telling of jokes which prepare you for the greater release of libidinal pressure (laughing).

[He uses the same division in his essay Creative Writers and Daydreaming to describe the fore-pleasure afforded by aesthetic or formal literary techniques which prepare the way for the deeper pleasure of sharing unconscious fantasies (tales of damnation and salvation, risk and adventure, Ian Fleming and Barbara Cartland).]

Dangers of fore-pleasure

But fore-pleasures are clearly yet another balancing act; the incentive of pleasure must be balanced by an increase of tension which successfully propels you towards sex. If the yield of orgasmic pleasure doesn’t live up to the growth in tension, you may become stuck at the fore-pleasure stage.

Obviously enough, you may be predisposed to this through any number of accidents which emerge in infancy. Extreme attachment to various types of fore-pleasure, to a particular erotogenic zone or to the mental equivalents of them (stimulation of the anus – masochism/inversion) may develop into full-blown perversion.

But these very complex combinations will have some influence over the shape of even the most healthy adult sexuality.

Not only the deviations from normal sexual life but its normal form as well are determined by the infantile manifestations of sexuality.

Again, if this is an accurate account of the growth of sexuality, it shows that it will be very hard to police, to draw a hard and fast line between ‘normal’ and perverse.

Freud is making the controversial claim that ‘the normal’ is built on ‘the perverse’ and most of its activities contain the seeds of perversity.

(2) The problem of sexual excitation

Part played by the sexual substances

Maybe sexual tension is produced, in men, by the accumulation of semen in the testicles? Kraft-Ebing thought so. But if so, how can this account for sexual excitation in children and women?

Importance of the internal sexual organs

Arguing against that theory, observation of castrated men shows that sexual excitement continues to operate with no semen at all.

Chemical theory

Freud speculates that the key role is played by substances released by the sex glands. In his day there was no convincing biological theory of sex.

The discovery of the class of chemicals called ‘hormones’ (at around this time, 1905, in England) paved the way to our present understanding of how sex works.

It’s worth pointing out, though, that even today one of the great mysteries is: Why Sex? And, as Steve Jones says, If Sex, why only two sexes?

(3) The libido theory

Libido is:

a quantitively variable force which serves as a measure of processes and transformations occurring in the field of sexual excitation

A kind of electricity. Freud imagines that libido is distinguished from the other main instinct, hunger, chemically. Libido is a chemically unique force. Psychoanalysis has shown that libido is derived not just from the genitals but from all sorts of organs, including the skin.

We thus reach the idea of a quantity of libido, to the mental representation of which we give the name of ego-libido, and whose production, increase or diminution, distribution and displacement should afford us possibilities for explaining the psychosexual phenomena observed.

Psychoanalysis can only observe ego-libido as it becomes attached to objects i.e. becomes object-libido, as it is attached to, detached from, swapped around various objects (for example, images, fixations, words and ideas) directing the subject’s activity towards sex. For the act of sex, in particular orgasm, results in the temporary extinction of libido.

Psychoanalysis observes the outflowing of libido from the ego and its return thereto.

The ego acts as a psychic reservoir for libido.

In the earliest phases every ego is narcissistic, that is, focusses libido on itself (during the auro-erotic stages of infantile sexuality). Only later does the ego develop the ability to project energy onto external objects and Freud (or his English translators) label these object-cathexes.

The slightest damage to the organism (for example, illness) results in a return to infantile narcissism, as do psychic wounds.

Narcissism is also evoked by particularly self-contained objects, by aloof women, by cats, and by babies (see Freud’s 1914 essay On Narcissism).

In later editions of the Three Essays Freud attacks Jung for watering down libido to make it mean psychical instinctive forces in general.

But the whole point of having a distinct sexual instinct, chemically differentiated from all other instincts, whose special operations can be studied through observation and analysis, in fact all Freud’s efforts and theories, are destroyed if you thus throw out the distinguishing sexual element of libido theory.

(4) The differentiation between men and women

Libido is masculine i.e. active, in character.

In levels of autoerotism and masturbation boys and girls are similar, though girls develop the reaction-formations of shame and disgust more easily than boys (i.e. mental forces which damp down their libido).

Freud suggests three meanings of masculine and feminine:

  • passive versus active personalities
  • biological i.e. defined by sex organs
  • sociological i.e. observing the actual behaviour of men and women

Freud uses masculine and feminine to denote active and passive. To say libido is masculine means it is, in this value system, always active. As to the sociological aspect:

Such observation shows that in human beings pure masculinity or femininity is not to be found either in a psychological or biological sense. Every individual, on the contrary, displays a mixture of the character-traits belonging to their own and to the opposite sex and shows a combination of activity and passivity…

Without the fundamental idea of innate bisexuality I think it would scarcely be possible to arrive at an understanding of the sexual manifestations that are actually to be observed in men and women.

Leading zones in men and women

The clitoris is what little girls masturbate, as boys the penis. Both become erect i.e. engorged with blood during excitation. But Freud thinks that at puberty, whereas boys receive a fresh wave of sexual excitement, girls undergo a profound sexual repression; this takes the form of moving their chief erotogenic zone from the clitoris to the vagina.

The ‘normal’ woman has thus repressed her masculine active organ (the clitoris) in the name of vaginal excitation designed for sex and procreation:

The fact that women change their leading erotogenic zone in this way, together with the wave of repression at puberty which, as it were, puts away their childish masculinity, are the chief determinants of the greater proneness of women to neurosis and especially to hysteria.

[This is, of course, complete rubbish. Women retain their chief sexual excitation through the clitoris. The rediscovery and widespread publicisation of clitoridal sexuality was one of the great achievements of the feminists in the 1960s and 1970s. By the 1980s I was well aware that many women cannot orgasm through vaginal stimulation alone but need clitoral stimulation as well and I think (I hope) this has now become common knowledge. Thus Freud’s theorising away of the clitoris, along with all his theories about the inevitable inferiority of women, are the grossest example of his simply recasting the patriarchal prejudices of his time in a new language.]

(5) The finding of an object

[Expanded in the 1915 essay On Narcissism.]

A person may love:

1. according to the anaclitic (attachment) type:

  • the woman who feeds him
  • the man who protects him

2. according to the narcissistic type:

  • what he himself is
  • what he himself was
  • what he himself would like to be i.e. an idol
  • someone who was once part of themselves i.e. a baby

Suckling at the breast is the prototype of all pleasure and love.

From 1915 Freud introduces the idea of narcissism into his theory. The physical pleasure of suckling at the breast is now accompanied by the psychic pleasure of self-love, the earliest attachment of libido to the ego, the ego to itself, as it grows and comes to consciousness.

After puberty all love objects will partake of these two earliest loves; all love objects will have an element of narcissism and of attachment (cupboard) love.

The finding of a love-object is always a refinding of this original pleasure. A recapturing of what we once had. Falling in love is always a return to lost happiness.

The sexual object during early infancy

Everyone’s first love is for their mother. Freud goes further to say everyone’s first sexual object is their mother. Mothers stroke and kiss and caress babies, thus awaking the erotogenic zones and sex instincts. There is nothing perverse in this. The mother is only fulfilling her task in teaching the child how to love. Later in life, the former baby will itself stroke and kiss and caress a love object. How else does it learn to do this except by unconscious recall of its own childhood caresses?

Infantile anxiety

Infantile anxiety is caused by the loss of the person the infant loves. They are afraid of the dark because in the dark they cannot see the person they love. An infant who turns his love/libido into anxiety when it cannot be satisfied is behaving exactly like an adult neurotic.

The barrier against incest

‘Normal’ development means the transmutation of the early sexual attachment to the mother into ‘affection’ i.e. aim-inhibited libido. One of life’s great tasks is overcoming this love and learning to reattach it to socially acceptable objects.

This happens partly due to internal psychic development but is hugely reinforced by social and moral pressures. In Totem and Taboo (1913) Freud writes about the fundamental taboo against incest which is, in his view, the beginnings of society and morality.

Nonetheless, incest remains a possibility in the unconscious mind, in dreams and fantasies.

Puberty is particularly rich in fantasies as the adolescent tries out various combinations of object and experiments with its new strong feelings obsessively in the mind, before attempting to put them into practice.

Some fantasies are particularly common: the adolescent’s fantasies of overhearing his parents having sex; of having been seduced in infancy; of having been threatened with castration; fantasies of life in the womb; and the so-called Family Romance, the fantasy of being the abandoned child of rich beautiful parents – a rationalisation of infantile perception of parental omnipotence.

In overcoming renewed childhood sexual fantasies about his parents the adolescent also has to make the crucial break with them; to rebel against parental authority, particularly the father.

Some people never make it and remain in thrall to their parents. Many women never properly escape and remain as loving and passive as they were in childhood. Girls have a tendency to rebel against their sexual destiny, against sexuality itself and to flee into exaggerated affection for siblings or parents. To become virgin carers.

It falls to some men to become the complete rebels against authority which are required by the furtherance of the race.

After-effects of infantile object-choice

These powerful loves of childhood cast a pall over the rest of our lives. Women often look for older, more mature, authoritative husbands who are quite obviously father-substitutes. Men, even more often, are looking for the unconditional love of their mothers.

Prevention of inversion

It seems that the presence in our childhood of the same sex parent as a figure of a) resented authority and b) sexual rivalry, contributes to our early love for the opposite sex parent, all of which is motivated by the hormones at puberty.

But if the family unit is disturbed, if one of the parents is lacking, this is a powerful accidental stimulus to homosexuality (innate predispositions aside).

SUMMARY

* Neuroses are the mirror image of perversions: both represent aberrations from normal sexuality. Neurotic symptoms are generally a reinvoking of infantile perversions, at least in fantasy and transferred symptoms, as libido flees an unbearable sexual situation.

* Perversions are the fixation of the libido onto particular components of sexuality at the expense of normal heterosexual genital union.

A disposition to perversions is an original and universal disposition of the human sexual instinct and ‘normal’ sexual behaviour is developed out of it as a result of organic changes and psychical inhibitions occurring in the course of maturation.

* Any departure from established sexuality is therefore an instance of developmental inhibition and infantilism, a regression.

* The sexual instinct is put together from various factors and, in the perversions, these components fall apart.

* ‘Normal’ sexuality integrates these instincts and submits them to socially-condoned genital aims.

* Children bring sexuality into the world with them. After an efflorescence of sexuality from ages 2 to 5 the sex instinct undergoes a repression, entering the latency period. Sexual feelings continue during this period but rerouted:

a) to develop secondary characteristics such as affection and friendship (aim-inhibited libido)
b) into ‘reaction-formations’ to sexual activities, which are now perceived as dirty, shameful, disgusting and so on, into a predisposition to receive moral education. These reaction-formations will be critical in establishing the channels along which libido can flow after puberty; too strong and they will react badly to the arrival of puberty and real sexual situations, causing all sorts of havoc, not least the flight into illness which characterises neurosis.

* Children develop through three phases: oral (breastfeeding), anal-sadistic in which ambivalence emerges, and phallic, part of which is the Oedipus complex. Then it is all buried in the latency period.

* The diphasic onset of sexuality i.e. in two stages, allowing for a latency period during which the socialising process can get going, seems to be a precondition for humanity’s civilised achievements. But, being so long and precarious, the latency period also explains mankind’s predisposition to neurosis and mental illness, and to the various failures and perversions of the sex instinct.

* The perversions of infancy, the finding of pleasure in erotogenic zones, returns with puberty but subordinated, as fore-pleasures, to the great act of copulation itself.

* Children find their first sex object in the opposite sex parent but this lust is repressed and redirected by the primeval psychological taboo against incest.

Factors interfering with development:

Every step on this long path of development can become a point of fixation, every juncture in this involved combination can be an occasion for a dissociation of the sexual instinct.

Constitution and heredity

Nature/nurture, which comes first? Imponderable. Except to say that in families with a predisposition to sexual failure, the men will tend to be perverts, the women, “true to the tendency of their sex to repression”, will become negative perverts i.e. hysterics.

Further modification

Whatever the hereditary predisposition, it is clear the sex instincts undergo further modifications:

Perversion: at puberty the libido may find the genital zone too weak for the tasks asked of it, and so revert to fixation on earlier infantile perverse zones.

Repression: the instincts in question are repressed and travel underground until they can find their expression disguised as hysterical symptoms. They can have perfectly normal sex lives but accompanied by psychological problems.

Sublimation: excessive sexual dispositions can be redirected into socially acceptable fields, thus yielding greater psychic efficiency and providing a strong evolutionary advantage. Maybe this is the reason why sublimation is the basis of much human mental life.

Reaction-formation: the building up during the latency period of strong counter-forces to perverse instincts, abetted by education which is designed to channel sexuality into ‘normal’ ends.

What we describe as a person’s character is built up to a considerable extent from the material of sexual excitations and is composed of instincts that have been fixed since childhood, of constructions achieved by means of sublimation, and of other constructions, employed for effectively holding in check perverse impulses which have been recognised as unutilisable.


Credit

All Freud’s works have complicated histories in translation. The Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality were first translated into English in 1953 as part of The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. References in this blog are to the revised version, published in 1977 as part of ‘On Sexuality’, Volume 7 of the Pelican Freud Library.

More Freud reviews

Juvenal Satires

Juvenal wrote just 16 satires but they are considered among the best and most influential in Western literature. Tackling them now, for the first time, I discover that his poems are considerably more strange, gnarly and uneven than that reputation suggests, and also that the man himself is something of a mystery.

Potted biography

Decimus Junius Juvenal was probably born around 55 AD, the son of a well-off freedman who had settled in Aquinum near Monte Cassino, 80 miles south-east of Rome. According to two stone inscriptions found in the area, in 78 a ‘Junius Juvenal’ was appointed commander of a cohort and served in Britain under Julius Agricola (father-in-law of Tacitus the historian). The supposition is that this is the same Juvenal as our author, but scholars disagree. The satires contain a number of surprisingly detailed references to life in Britain which seem to reinforce this view, but…Nothing conclusive. (Introduction, pages 16 to 18)

The same inscription describes the return of this Junius Juvenal to Rome in 80, when he was made a priest of the deified Vespasian. A year later, in 81, Domitian became emperor and it is likely that Juvenal cultivated his position in society, writing verses. But in 93 a lampoon he’d written caused offence and he was exiled to Egypt (at least that’s what some scholars believe; Introduction p.18 to 20).

After Domitian’s assassination in 96, it seems that he was allowed back to Rome. Another decade passed and then, in 110-112 he published his first book of satires, containing satires 1 to 5.

  • Book 2 (published around 116 AD) consists of the long sixth satire against women.
  • Book 3 (around 120) consists of satires 7 to 9.
  • Book 4 (around 124) contains satires 10, 11, 12.
  • Book 5 (around 130) contains satires 13 to 16.

The dates of these publications are deduced from what seem to be contemporary references in some of the poems and are themselves the subject of fierce debate.

Unlike the satires of his predecessors in the genre, Horace and Statius, Juvenal’s satires contain no autobiographical information. They are hard, external, objective.

Contemporary references to Juvenal are few and far between. Martial’s epigrams contain three references to a ‘Juvenal’, the longest being epigram 18 in book 12 where Martial writes to someone named Juvenal, as to an old friend, gloating that while his friend is still living in noisy, stinky Rome, he (Martial) has retired to a beautifully quiet farm back in his native Spain. Scholars assume this is the same Juvenal, though there is no proof beyond the text itself.

The earliest satires are bitter and angry. In the later ones a change of tone is noticeable. Scholars assume this is because he went from being an utterly penniless poet, dependent on the good will of patrons handing out dinner invitations or a small portula or ‘dole’, to somehow acquiring a moderate ‘competency’. We learn from these later poems that he owned a small farm at Tivoli (satire 11) and a house in Rome where he entertained modestly. How did he acquire these? Did a grateful emperor gift them to him, as Augustus gave Horace a farm and a pension? We don’t know.

Scholars estimate that books 4 and 5 appeared in 123-5 and 128-30. It is likely that he survived the emperor Hadrian to die around 140, having lived a very long life. (Green refers to him as ‘the bitter old man from Aquinum’, p.10).

Soon after his death sometime in the late 130s, Juvenal’s work disappears and isn’t mentioned by anyone until the 4th century when he begins to be cited by Christian writers. Lactantius established the tradition of regarding Juvenal as a pagan moralist with a gift for pithy phrases, whose scathing contempt for corrupt pagan and secular society could be usefully quoted in order to contrast with the high-minded moral behaviour of the Christian believer – a tradition which was to hold true for the next 1,500 years.

Peter Green’s introduction

If you’ve read my notes on Peter Green’s translations of Ovid you’ll know that I’m a big fan of his. Born in 1924, Green is still alive, a British classical scholar and novelist who’s had a long and lively career, latterly teaching in America. Green’s translations of Ovid are characterised by a) long, chatty, informative, opinionated notes and b) rangy, freeflowing, stylish translations. Same here.

At 320 pages long, the Penguin edition of the Green translation feels like a bumper volume. This is because, with characteristic discursiveness, it starts with a 54-page introduction, which summarises all scholarly knowledge about, and interpretations of, the satires. And then each of the satires are immediately followed by 6, 7 or 8 pages of interesting, chatty notes.

I found Green’s introduction fascinating, as usual. He develops a wonderfully deep, complex and rewarding interpretation of Juvenal and first century Rome. It all starts with an explanation of the economic, social and cultural outlook of the rentier class.

Rentier ideology

At its most basic a rentier is ‘a person living on income from property or investments’. In our day and age these are most closely associated with the large number of unloved buy-to-let landlords. In ancient Rome the class system went, from the top:

  1. the emperor, his family and circle
  2. the senatorial class and their family and clan relatives
  3. beneath them sat the eques, the equestrian or knightly class

To belong to the senatorial class required a net worth of at least a million sesterces. To belong to the equestrian order required at least 400,000 sesterces.

Beneath these or attached to them, was the class Juvenal belonged to – educated, from a reputable family with maybe roots in the regional administrative class, who had come to Rome, rejected a career in the administration or the law courts, preferred to live by their wits, often taking advantage of the extensive networks of patrons and clients. Both Martial and Juvenal appear to have chosen to live like this. They weren’t rentiers in the strict sense of living off ‘income from property or investments’; but they were rentiers in the sense of not working for a living, not having a profession or trade or position in the administration.

Thus their livelihood depended on the existing framework of society remaining the same. Their income, clothes, property etc , all derived from finding wealthy patrons from the classes above them who endorsed the old Roman value and lived up to aristocratic notions of noblesse oblige i.e. with great wealth and position comes the responsibility to look after men of merit who have fallen on bad luck or don’t share your advantages i.e. supporting scroungers like Martial and Juvenal.

What Juvenal’s satires promote, or sometimes clamour for, is the continuation of the old Roman social structures and the endurance of the good old Roman (republican) virtues.

His approach to any social problem is, basically, one of static conservatism. (Introduction, p.23)

Green sums up the characteristic beliefs of the rentier class as:

  • lofty contempt for trade and ignorance of business
  • indifference to practical skills
  • intense political conservatism, with a corresponding fear of change or revolution
  • complete ignorance of the economic realities underpinning his existence
  • a tendency, therefore, to see all social problems in over-simplified moral terms (p.26)

The rentier believes that, because they are ‘good’ and uphold the ‘old values’ and traditional religion and so on, that they deserve to be rewarded with the old privileges and perks. They cannot process the basic reality of life that just being good, won’t make you rich.

And so the enemy of this entire worldview, of all its traditional values and relationships, is change, and especially economic change.

For in the century leading up to Juvenal’s time, Rome had not only transitioned from being a republic to becoming a full-blown empire but had also undergone sweeping economic changes. The old family farm, which was already a nostalgic fantasy in the time of Virgil and Horace, had long been obliterated by vast latifundia worked by huge gangs of shackled slaves.

But far more importantly, there had arisen an ever-changing and ever-growing class of entrepreneurs, businessmen, merchants, loan sharks, import-export buffs, hustlers and innovators who swarmed through the capital city, the regions and provinces. Sustained peace (apart from the disruption of the bad year, 69) had brought undreamed of wealth. Money, affluence, luxury was no longer restricted to the emperor, his family and the better-off senatorial classes, but had helped to create large numbers of nouveaux-riches. And these people and their obsession with money, money, money seemed to have infiltrated every aspect of Roman society.

It is this which incenses Juvenal and drives him to paroxysms of bile. He wants social relations in Rome to stay the same, ideally to revert to what they were in the fabled Golden Age, before money ruined everything. It is these floods of unprincipled money and the luxury, corruption and loss of traditional values which they bring in their wake, which obsess Juvenal. It expresses itself in different ways:

Money

Money is the root of all evil. It corrupts all social relationships.

Patron and client

Applied to Juvenal’s specific social position as an educated dinner-scrounger, parasite and hanger-on, he is incensed that the Grand and Noble Tradition of patron and client, which he likes to think applied some time back in the Golden Age, has now been corrupted and brought low by a flood of unworthy parasites among the clients, and the loss of all noble and aristocratic feeling among the patrons.

One of his recurring targets is the decadent aristocrat who has betrayed the upper-class code, whose money-mad, sexually profligate behaviour – adultery, gay sex, appearing on stage or in the gladiatorial arena – undermines all the old values Juvenal believes in.

Business

Green makes the excellent point that very often writers who find themselves in this position, dependent on charity from patrons, don’t understand how money is actually made. They’ve never run a business, let alone an international import-export business, so have only the vaguest sense of what qualities of character and responsibility and decision-making are required. This explains why Juvenal’s portraits of the nouveaux riches are so spiteful but also generalised. Somehow these ghastly people have become filthy rich and he just doesn’t understand how. With no understanding of the effort involved, of the changes in the Mediterranean economy or transport and storage or markets which are involved, all Juvenal has to resort to is abuse. The most hurtful spiteful sort of abuse is to attack someone’s sex life.

Sex

The thought of other people having sex is, for many, either disgusting or hilarious. Sex has always been an easy target for satirists. Conservatives like Juvenal, concentrate all their disgust at the wider ‘collapse of traditional values’ onto revulsion at any form of sex which doesn’t conform to traditional values (the missionary position between a married heterosexual couple). Hence the astonishing vituperation levelled at the vast orgy of deviant sex which Juvenal thinks Rome has become. He singles out a) deviant sex practiced by straight people, such as fellatio and cunnilingus; b) homosexual sex and in particular the stories of men and boys getting married: the way these couples (allegedly) dress up in the traditional garb of bride and groom, use the same priests reciting the traditional wedding ceremony etc, drives him to paroxysms of fury.

As so often with angry men, Juvenal’s vituperation is especially focused on the sexual behaviour of women, and indeed Book 2 consists of just one satire, the unusually long sixth satire against women. As Green points out, the focus of Juvenal’s fury is not women in general but aristocratic women for falling so far short of the noble values they should be upholding. What drives Juvenal mad is that their sexual liaisons are with men from the lower classes such as gladiators or actors. He contrasts their irresponsible promiscuity with the behaviour of women of lower classes who actually bear children instead of having endless abortions, and would never dream of performing on the stage or in the arena. There is a great deal of misogyny in the sixth satire but Green suggests that it is driven, like all his other anger, not quite by woman-hating alone but by the failure to preserve traditional values.

Immigrants

As mentioned several times, Rome saw an ‘invasion’ of new money and entrepreneurial rich. What gets Juvenal’s goat is how many of them are foreigners, bloody foreigners, coming over here, buying up our grand old houses, buying their way into the equestrian class, even running for public office, bringing their bloody foreign religions. A virulent strain of xenophobia runs alongside all Juvenal’s other rages and hates, in particular hatred of Egyptians who he particularly loathes. A recurrent hate figure is Crispinus (‘that Delta-bred house slave’, p.66) who, despite originating as a fish-hawker from Egypt, had risen to become commander of the Praetorian Guard!

Freedmen

Alongside loathing of the newly rich and foreigners goes hatred of freedmen, jumped-up social climbers who come from slave families or who were once slaves themselves! My God! What is the city coming to when ex-slaves rise to not only swanky houses on Rome’s grandest hills, but even become advisers to emperors (as Claudius, reigned 41 to 54, had notoriously let state affairs be run by a small coterie of freedmen.) Unhampered by the dignified self-restraint and lofty morality of the old Romans, these base-born parvenus often acquired immense fortunes and thrust themselves into positions of great political power.

This, of course, is precisely the type who Petronius nails with his extended description of the grossly luxurious dinner party of the upstart arriviste Trimalchio, in his Satyricon.

It was not just economic and social power: Juvenal raged against the fact that he and his shabby-genteel friends were kept out of the seats reserved for Knights at the theatre and the games, while the same seats were filled with the sons of pimps, auctioneers and gladiators! They were everywhere, taking over everything! What could any decent person do, he argues in satire 1, except write bilious anathemas of these crooks and careerists and corrupters?

Bad literature

I find it the most predictable and least amusing thread in the satires, but it is a recurring theme that literature itself has been debauched by the collapse of these values. Somehow the old world of mythology, ancient myths and legends, all the twee genres of pastoral and idyll which accompanied them, none of these are appropriate for the current moronic inferno which faces the poet.

All this is entertainingly expressed in Satire 1 which is a justification of his approach i.e. rejecting all those knackered old mythological tropes and forms (idyll, epic, what-have-you) because these are all forms of escapism, in order to write blistering broadsides against the actual real world which he saw all around him.

In other words, wherever he looked, from the details of his own day-to-day livelihood to the counsels of the highest in the land, to the private lives of pretty much every citizen of note, Juvenal was aghast that a tide of money and corruption had tainted every aspect of Roman society, destroying the old aristocratic values, undermining traditional religion, destroying family values, turning the place into an Oriental bazaar run by foreigners who have imported their filthy decadent sexual practices.

Solutions?

Do Juvenal’s 16 satires offer a solution or alternative to this sorry state of affairs? Of course not. The satirist’s job is to flay abuses not fix them. Insofar as a solution is implied by the 16 satires, it is a return to traditional old Roman values and virtues. But as with so much satire, the pleasure comes not from hopes of solutions and improvements, but from sharing the sadistic glee of the demolition. He is a caricaturist, creating a rogues’ gallery of outrageous portraits.

Juvenal does not work out a coherent critique of institutions or individuals: he simply hangs a series of moral portraits on the wall and forces us to look at them. (p.43)

Philosophy

In a similar vein, Green points out that, at moments the poems appear briefly to espouse formulas from one or other of the three main philosophies popular in Rome at the time (Stoicism, Epicureanism and Cynicism), but never enough make you think he understands or cares for them. Generally they’re referred to in order to mock and ridicule their practitioners, as in the extended passage in Satire 3 which accepts the conventional view that most philosophers are homosexual and then exaggerates this idea for comic effect.

An unstructured torrent of bile

Juvenal’s lack of any theory of society or economics, any understanding of business, his lack of any coherent philosophical framework, all these go to explain the lack of structure which critics have always lamented in the satires.

Instead of coherent argument, Juvenal is notorious for bombarding the reader with powerful, vitriolic, scabrous images in paragraphs or couplets which often bear little relation to each other. Each satire has a broad subject but, within it, Juvenal’s ‘thought’ jumps all over the place. Juvenal:

picked a theme and then proceeded to drive it home into his reader’s mind by a vivid and often haphazard accumulation of examples. He is full of abrupt jumps…and splendidly irrelevant digressions. (p.44)

He obtains his effects by the piling up of visual images, paradoxical juxtapositions rather than step-by-step development. (p.46)

A principle of random selection at work, a train of thought which proceeds from one enticing image to another like a man leaping from tussock to tussock across a bog. (p.47)

Green points out that, in addition, although we have many manuscripts of the satires, all of them contain textual problems and issues – at some points there appear to be gaps in the logic of sentences or paragraphs, some passages or lines seem to be in the wrong place.

This has made Juvenal’s satires, over the centuries, a happy hunting ground for generations of editors, who have freely cut and pasted lines and passages from where they sit in the manuscript to other places where editors think they make more sense. Editors have even made up sentences to connect two passages which contain abrupt jumps. Green in his introduction laments that this is so, but himself does it quite freely, with interesting notes explaining each of his edits.

The point is that the problematic nature of all the manuscripts only exacerbate the issue which was always there, which is that Juvenal’s poems lack the kind of logical discursive narrative you find (up to a point) in ‘architectonic’ poets such as Horace or Ovid. Instead they generally consist of illogical but fantastically angry, vivid bombardments of bile and imagery.

The best attitude in a reader, then, is not to look for cool, considered argument, which simply isn’t there; it’s to sit back and enjoy the fireworks. The pleasure is in watching a clever, learnèd man, with advanced skills in writing verse, exploding with anger and bile.

Juvenal’s style

Green mentions ‘Juvenal’s technical virtuosity; his subtle control of rhythm and sound effects, his dense, hard, verbal brilliance.’ (p.7) According to Green few Roman poets can equal his absolute control over the pace, tone and texture of a hexameter, and no translator can hope to capture the condensed force of Juvenal’s enjambed hexameters, his skilful rhythmic variations, his dazzling displays of alliteration and assonance and onomatopoeia (p.59).

He goes on to elaborate that Juvenal’s use of Latin was ‘distilled, refined, crystallised.’ Of the 4,790 words used in the satires now fewer than 2,130 occur here once only and nowhere else. His entire lifetime’s work amounts to barely 4,000 lines. Rarely has a writer’s oeuvre had less spare fat. This helps to explain the number of Juvenal’s pithy phrases which went on to become well-known Latin tags:

  • quis custodiet ipsos custodes? (satire 6) = ‘who will guard the guards themselves?’, also translated as ‘who watches the watchers?’. The original context dealt with ensuring marital fidelity by setting watchers to guard an unfaithful wife, but the phrase is now used to refer to the problem of controlling the actions of persons in positions of power
  • panem et circenses (satire 10) = ‘bread and circuses’, meaning to generate public approval, not by excellence in public service or policy but by diversion, distraction, by satisfying the basest requirements of a population
  • mens sana in corpore sano (satire 10) = ‘a healthy mind in a healthy body’, the phrase is now widely used in sporting and educational contexts to express that physical exercise is an important part of mental and psychological well-being

The 16 satires

Book 1

Satire 1: A justification for satire (171 lines)

He’s sick to death of rubbish poets declaiming the same exhausted stories about old mythology. He too has cranked out suasoria in the school of rhetoric. Why is he writing satire in the mode of old Lucilius? With Rome overrun by money and vulgarity, what else is there to do? Then gives a long list of types of social climber, frauds, embezzlers, men who rise by screwing rich old women, or pimp out their own wives, forgers carried round in litters, chiselling advocates, sneaky informers, the young buck who squandered his inheritance on horses, the lowly barber who used to shave Juvenal but is now as rich as any aristocrat, the distinguished old lady who’s an expert in poisoning. Everyone praises honesty, but it’s crime that pays.

Why, then, it is harder not to write satires, for who
Can endure this monstrous city and swallow his wrath?

Since the days of the flood has there ever been
Such a rich crop of vices? When has the purse
Of greed yawned wider?…Today every vice
Has reached its ruinous zenith…

Though talent be wanting, yet
Indignation will drive me to verse, such as I or any scribbler
May still command. All human endeavours, men’s prayers,
Fears, angers, pleasures, joys and pursuits, these make
The mixed mash of my verse.

An extended lament on the corruption of the relationship of patron and client, and all the thrusting crooks who now join the morning scrum outside a patron’s house for the ‘dole’, including many who are actually wealthy, but still scrounge for scraps. Describes the typical day of a client i.e. hanger-on, trudging round Rome after their patron, getting hot and sweaty and hungry. He rages against the greedy patron who feeds his cadgers scraps while he gorges on roast boar and peacock. One day he’ll have a heart attack but nobody will care.

He ends by saying Lucilius in his day felt confident of shared civil values to name the guilty men; in Juvenal’s day, naming an imperial favourite or anyone with pull could end you up as a burning torch illuminating the games. Better not name names, better restrict himself to using only the names of the dead, safer that way.

Satire 2: Against homosexuals and particularly gay marriage (170 lines)

The hypocrisy of bogus moralists, people who quote the great philosophers, who fill their halls with busts of the great thinkers, but don’t understand a word. Most philosophers are effete fairies. He prefers the eunuch priest of the Mother goddess, at least he’s open about it. Just recently Domitian was reviving laws about public morality while all the time tupping his niece; he forced her to have an abortion which killed her.

He has a courtesan address one such manicured, perfumed moralist for his hypocrisy, going on to say men are far worse than women; women wouldn’t dream of licking each other’s parts; accuses men of pleasuring their boy lovers ‘both ways’. She laments how most women, when they marry, have to take second place to a favoured boy or freedman.

He describes the scandalous advocate who prosecuted a case before the public wearing see-through chiffon, ‘a walking transparency’. It’s a slippery slope which leads to involvement in the secret rites of the Mother Goddess, for men only, who wear elaborate make-up, wear women’s clothing, use women’s oaths and ‘shrill, affected voices’. Throws in an insulting comparison to ‘that fag of an emperor, Otho’ who fussed over his armour in front of a mirror.

What about the young heir who went through a wedding ceremony with a trumpeter? Or the once-honourable priest of Mars who dresses up in ‘bridal frills’.

O Father of our city,
What brought your simple shepherd people to such a pitch
Of blasphemous perversion?

When men marry men why doesn’t great Mars intervene? What’s the point of worshipping him if he lets such things happen? Mind you, they can’t have children, so can’t preserve the family name (and, Juvenal appears to suggest, do try magic remedies so that the passive homosexual can get pregnant. Can that possibly be true, can ancient Romans have really thought a man can get pregnant?)

Juvenal goes on that what’s worse than holding a wedding ceremony to marry another man was that this blue-blooded aristocrat then took up a trident and net to fight in gladiatorial games. This really seems to be the most outrageous blasphemy of all, to Juvenal.

A digression to claim that nobody in Rome now believes in the ancient religion, Hades, Charon the ferryman and all that. But if they did wouldn’t the noble dead, fallen in so many battles to make Rome great, be scandalised to welcome such a degenerate aristocrat into their midst? Wouldn’t Hades itself need to be purified?

Yes, even among the dead Rome stands dishonoured.

Even the barbarians at Rome’s borders are not so debauched; although if we bring them as prisoners to Rome, they soon learn our decadent, effeminate ways and, when released, take our corruption back to their native lands.

Satire 3: Unbricius’ monologue on leaving Rome (322 lines)

His friend Umbricius is leaving Rome to go and live in Cumae. He’s jealous. He gives Umbricius a long speech in which he says he leaves Rome to fraudulent developers, astrologers, will-fixers, magicians, the go-betweens of adulterous lovers, corrupt governors, conspirators. Above all he hates Greeks, actually Syrians with their awful language, flutes and tambourines and whores. Sly slick dexterous Greeks from the islands can turn their hand to anything. These are the people who now wear the purple, precede him at dinner parties, officiate at manumissions. They can blag anyone, which explains why they’re such great actors, especially in women’s roles. Mind you, no woman is safe from a Greek man in the house, ‘he’ll cheerfully lay his best friend’s grandmother.’

This morphs into the misery of the client or hanger-on to dismissive rich men. He describes being kicked out of a prime seat at the theatre to make way for a pimp’s son, an auctioneer’s offspring or the son of a gladiator because they have more money. A plain white cloak is fine for the provinces, but here in Rome we must beggar ourselves to keep up with the latest decadent fashions.

And the misery of living in apartment blocks which are falling down or liable to fire at any moment. (Umbricius implies he lives on the third floor, as Martial does in one of his epigrams.) If your block goes up you lose everything, compared to the rich man; if his house burns down he is flooded with presents and financial aid to rebuild it from clients and flatterers and connections.

No, Umbricius advises to buy the freehold on a nice place in the country rather than a rented hovel in Rome. The worst of it is the noise at night from all the wagons wending through the winding alleyways. Insomnia’s causes more deaths among Roman invalids than any other cause. He gives a vivid description of the muddy, jostling misery of trying to get through Rome’s packed streets without being involved in some gruesome accident.

Walking at night is even worse, with the risk of being brained by a falling roof tile or drenched in slops chucked out the window by a housewife. And then the possibility of being beaten up by some bored, drunk bully. Or the burglars. Or some ‘street apache’ who’ll end your life with a knife.

So farewell Rome, he begs the author won’t forget him and, when he goes back to his home town for a break, will invite him round to celebrate a country festival.

Satire 4: A mock epic of the turbot (154 lines)

Starts off by ridiculing Crispinus for buying a red mullet for the ludicrous price of 60 gold pieces. Then morphs into a mock epic celebrating a fisherman in the Adriatic who catches an enormous giant turbot and carries it all the way to Rome to present to the emperor. This 100 lines of mock epic poetry contains a mock invocation to the Muses, extended epic similes etc. Then – and this appears to be the real point of the poem – it turns into a list of the emperor Domitian’s privy councillors, each one a crook or sadist or nark or creep.

Satire 5: Trebius the dinner-cadger (173 lines)

Is dinner worth every insult which you pay for it?

In the miserable figure of Trebius Juvenal lists the humiliations the ‘client’ must undergo in order to wain a grudging, poor quality ‘dinner’ from his patron (here called Virro), at which he will be offered the worst wine, rocky bread and humiliated by sneering slaves, served half an egg with boiled cabbage while the patron eats a huge crayfish with asparagus garnish.

Now if you had money, if you got yourself promoted to the Equestrian Order, then at a stroke you’d become Virro’s best friend and be lavished with the finest food. As it is, he serves you the worst of everything out of spite, to amuse himself. He wants to reduce you to tears of anger and frustration.

Don’t fool yourself that you are his ‘friend’. There is none of the honour of the old Republican relationship of patron and client. He simply wants to reduce his clients to the level of a buffoon, the stupidus of Roman pantomime who has his head shaved and is always being kicked or slapped by his smarter colleagues. He wants to make you an abject punchbag.

Book 2

Satire 6: Don’t marry (661 lines)

Postumus, are you really taking a wife?
You used to be sane…

Wouldn’t it be quicker to commit suicide by jumping out of a high building or off a bridge? Surely boys are better: at least they don’t nag you during sex or demand endless gifts or criticise your lack of passion.

Juvenal gives a funny account of the Golden Age, when humans lived in cave and women were hairier than their menfolk, their big breasts giving suck to tough babies. But long ago Chastity withdrew to heaven and now infidelity and adultery are well-established traditions.

Fidelity in a woman! It’s be easier to persuade her to have an eye out than keep faithful to one man! Posh women are mad for actors and entertainers. If he marries his wife will make some flute player or guitarist or gladiator father to his children.

He profiles Eppia the senator’s wife who ran off to Egypt with a gladiator, abandoning her children and her country. Then a searing portrait of Messalina, the nymphomaniac wife of Claudius, who snuck off to a brothel where, wearing a blonde wig and gilded nipples, she let herself be fucked by all-comers, all night long. A profile of Bibula who has her husband in thrall and goes on monster shopping sprees which morphs into a dig at Queen Berenice who lived for many years in an incestuous union with her brother, Agrippa of Judaea.

What point a beautiful wife if she is proud and haughty. Juvenal cites Niobe who was so vain she called down disaster on herself and her 12 children.

Modern girls doll themselves up like the bloody Greeks and express themselves with Greek language which (apparently) reeks of the bedroom.

Our provincial dollies ape Athenian fashion, it’s smart
To chatter away in Greek – though what should make them blush
Is their slipshod Latin. All their emotions – fear,
Anger, happiness, anxiety, every inmost
Secret thought – find expression in Greek, they even
Make love Greek-style.

It may be alright for schoolgirls to act this way, but Roman women in their eighties!

A flurry of sexist stereotypes: Women want money money money. They’ll take control of household spending, veto your business plans, control your friendships. She’ll force you to include her lover’s in your will.

Yet another shocking insight into Roman’s and their slaves when it’s played for laughs that a husband will order ‘crucify that slave’ and Juvenal paints it as typically feminine of a wife to want to know why, what the slave has done, before they’re hustled off to be crucified.

And the mother-in-law! She’ll egg her daughter on to every sin, adultery, spending all your money. Women are behind virtually all law suits, and insist on defending or prosecuting. And what about women athletes! And women fencers! And women who want to fight in the ring, ‘helmeted hoydens’, gladiatresses!

But bed is the place where wives are at their worst, endlessly bitching, about your boyfriends or imaginary mistresses, all the time hiding letters from her lover or making plans to visit her mother as an excuse to meet her lover. Bursting into tears if you accuse her, but quick to insist it was always an open marriage if you find her out.

What triggered all this corruption? In the good old days of relative poverty wives were too busy working, cooking, cleaning, darning to play the whore. All this wickedness is the result of a ‘too-long peace’. The world Rome conquered takes its revenge by afflicting Rome with Luxury, from which all vices spring, money – filthy lucre – leading to ‘shameless self-indulgence’.

He accuses religious festivals: the Floralia which celebrates fertility with phallus images and prostitutes; the worship of Venus; the mysteries of the Great Goddess whose frenzied worship makes women wet between the thighs, get drunk, bump and grind – then they call in the slaves to fuck them and if there aren’t any slaves, a donkey will do. The shrine of Isis might as well be called the brothel of Isis.

Gladiator trainers keep the gay ones segregated from the straight, but in a rich woman’s house queers are encouraged, man with kohl-ringed eyes, see-though clothes and hairnets. Mind you, half of them turn out to be straight after all, and well able to give your wife a good stuffing.

Juvenal accuses a specific fag of being a straight man in disguise. His friends tell him it’s best to lock up a wife and bar the doors. And here comes one of Juvenile’s most famous quotes. Yes, by all means lock up your wife and put a guard on the doors but will keep guard on the guards? ‘quis custodiet ipsos custodes?’ They, also, will be bribed by your whore wife to turn the other eye when her lover calls. Or will screw her themselves.

He profiles a generic aristocratic woman, Ogulna, who’s mad about the games and attends with a big expensive entourage, example of women who spend everything you have then get you into debt.

Then the wives who love eunuchs, if they’ve been neutered the right way they still can get erections and no worries about abortions! Especially the big bull black ones!

Women will lavish your money on music, musicians and musical instruments. The temples are packed with woman asking the gods to favour this or that performer or actor or gladiator or whatnot.

But they’re not as bad as the flat-chested busybody, who runs round town, buttonholing men, interrupting their conversations, an expert on every subject under the sun. overflowing with gossip about politics or military campaigns. Then goes off to the baths after dark, works out with weights, has a massage from an expert who oils her and makes her climax. Making her guests wait till she arrives late and proceeds to drink gallons on an empty stomach then spew it up all over the dining room tiles.

Worse is the bluestocking who holds forth about literature at dinner, comparing Virgil and Homer. God how he hates a female pedant and grammarian, always correcting your speech, ‘a husband should be allowed his solecisms in peace’.

Juvenal gives a description of the elaborate process of an upper class woman putting her make-up on, looking ridiculous in face-pack and thick creams at home, reserving her ugliness for her husband. The kind of woman who has her wool-maid or cosmetician or litter bearers flogged till they bleed while she fusses about her eye make-up or the hem of a gown.

God, the number of helpers and assistants required just to do her hair till it stands up like a ridiculous pomade.

Then a passage ridiculing the absurd requirements of foreign religious cults and superstitions, Bellona, Cybele, requiring total immersion in the Tiber, crawling across the field of Mars on your hands and knees, going a pilgrimage to Egypt. Or admires the shaven-headed devotees of the dog god Anubis who run through the streets wailing for dead Osiris. Or a palsied Jewess arrives ready to interpret the secret laws of Jerusalem.

Then the fortune tellers, Armenians and Syrians, or the Chaldean astrologers, all knowing they’ll get a credulous hearing from the rich woman of the house, the kind of woman who won’t make any decision, who won’t accompany or agree with her husband unless her astrologer says it’s written in the starts, or the augur tells her it’s written in the entrails of some chicken or pigeon or puppy.

Poor women go to the races to consult palmists or phrenologists, but at least they actually bear children, keep their pregnancies to full term. Not like rich women with their drugs to be made sterile or prompt abortions. Well, it could be worse, you could find yourself ‘father’ to a black child, obviously not yours, obviously fathered by a slave or gladiator.

If you start forgetting things, chances are you’re being poisoned by your wife. After all, emperors’ wives have poisoned their husbands and so set an example to us all! Beware step-mothers, scheming to kill the biological son and promote their boy. He cites the example of Pontia, daughter of Petronius, who is said to have poisoned her own two sons.

He doesn’t mind the old myths about women who murdered in a white hot frenzy; what he loathes is modern matrons who cold-bloodedly scheme to do away with husbands or stepsons and care about their lives less than they do about their lapdogs.

Book 3

Satire 7: The misery of a writer’s, but especially a teacher’s, life (243 lines)

Modern poets in Juvenal’s day would make a better living opening a bakery or becoming an auctioneer. The emperor (probably Hadrian who came to power in 118) has let it be known he’s looking for poets to patronise, but the run-of-the-mill writer looking for a decent patron, forget it! The modern patron begrudges funding even a small recital in an out of town hall. After all, he’s probably a poet himself and ranks his work higher than yours!

It’s a very contrast between the lofty diction the modern poet aspires to and the sordid reality of his own life, forced to pawn his coat and dishes for his next meal. Horace on the old days, and Lucan more recently, could write magnificent verse because they weren’t hungry.

He gives an interesting sketch of the poet Publius Papinius Statius and how popular his public recitals were of his great epic, the Thebaid, reeled off in his mellifluous voice. But even has to make a living by flogging libretti to the head of the ballet company. Because:

Today the age
Of the private patron is over; Maecenas and co.
Have no successors.

Does the historian make any more, slaving away in his library, covering thousands of pages? No.

What about lawyers, huffing and puffing and promoting their skills? Look closely and you’ll see a hundred lawyers make less than one successful jockey. He profiles an aristocratic advocate, Tongilus, ‘such a bore at the baths’, who is carried about in a litter by 8 stout Thracian slaves. For what’s valued in a court of law is a dirty great ring, flash clothes and a bevy of retainers. Eloquence is dead. Juries associate justice with a flashy appearance. Cicero wouldn’t stand a chance.

What about teachers of rhetoric, wasting their lives getting boys to rehash tired old topics in stale old catchphrases. Better to drop logic and rhetoric and become a singer, they get paid a fortune.

Juvenal profiles a typical nouveau riche building private baths and a cloister to ride his pampered horses round and a banqueting hall with the best marble and ready to cough up for a first class chef and a butler. But a teacher of rhetoric for his son? Here’s a tenner, take it or leave it.

Really it’s down to luck or Fortune as the ancients called her, ‘the miraculous occult forces of Fate’. Luck makes a first class speaker or javelin thrower, if Fortune favours you can rise from teacher to consul.

In the olden days teachers were respected, even Achilles still feared the rod of his tutor Chiron as he turned man; but nowadays pupils are likely to beat up their teachers who go in fear. God, why be a teacher stuck in some hell-hole cellar before dawn, working by the light of filthy oil lamps, trying to knock sense into pupils who answer back, and all for a pittance, from which you have to give a cut to the boy’s attendant to make sure he even attends lessons?

And if the pupils are awful, what about the parents? Expecting each teacher to be a 100% expert in all knowledge, buttonholing him on the way to the baths and firing off all kinds of impossible questions. All for a pittance which, nine times out of ten, you’ll have to go to court for just to get paid.

Satire 8: Family trees and ‘nobility’ are worth nothing next to personal virtue (275 lines)

What good are family trees?

What good is tracing your family back through venerable ancestors if your own life is a public disgrace?

You may line your whole hall with waxen busts, but virtue,
And virtue alone, remains the one true nobility.

And:

Prove that your life
Is stainless, that you always abide by what is just
In word and deed – and then I’ll acknowledge your noble status.

Unlike the other satires which are often strings of abuse and comic caricatures, this one has a thread of argument and logic and is addressed to a named individual, Ponticus who is depicted as preening himself on his ‘fine breeding’..

Juvenal claims nobility is as nobility does. A racehorse may come from the noblest ancestry imaginable but if it doesn’t win races it’s pensioned off to work a mill-wheel. Just so, claiming respect for having been born to a particular family is ludicrous. Instead, show us one good deed in order to merit our respect.

Lots of the most useful work in the empire, from soldiers on the frontier to the really effective lawyers in the city, are done by ‘commoners’. He is surprisingly programmatic and non-ironic in listing the virtues:

  • be a good soldier
  • be a faithful guardian
  • be an honest witness in law cases
  • be a good governor:
    • set a limit on your greed and pity the destitute locals
    • have staff that are upright and honest (not some corrupt long-haired catamite)
    • have a wife above suspicion not a rapacious harpy
  • observe the law
  • respect the senate’s decrees

This leads into a lament for the way Rome used to govern its colonies wisely, but then came ‘the conquistadors’, the looters, Anthony and his generation, and its been rapacity, greed and illegal confiscations ever since.

Then Juvenal goes on to flay aristocratic wasters, dissipating their fortunes with love of horseracing and gambling, to be found among the lowest possible company down at the docks; or reduced to acting on the stage (clearly one of the most degraded types of behaviour Juvenal can imagine). Or – absolute lowest of the low – appear in the gladiator fights and he names a member of the noble Gracchii clan who shamefully appeared as a retiarius.

This leads to a profile of the most scandalously debased of leaders, Nero, with his insistence on performing as a musician and singer onstage, not only in Rome but at festivals across Greece. Super-noble ancestry (membership of the gens Sergii) didn’t stop Lucius Sergius Catilina planning to burn Rome to the ground and overthrow the state. It was an upstart provincial, Cicero, who saved Rome. Or Marius, man of the people, who saved Rome from invasion by Germanic tribes in 102 and 101 BC.

Achievement is what counts, not family. Juvenal ends with a surprising general point, which is that the very first settlement of Rome was carried out by Romulus who then invited men to join him, men who, according to the Roman historian Livy, were either shepherds, or escaped convicts and criminals. Ultimately, no matter how much they swank, all the ‘great and noble’ Roman families are derived from this very ignoble stock.

Satire 9: Dialogue with Naevolus the unemployed gay gigolo (150 lines)

According to green some scholars think this was an early work, added in to bulk out the book. This is one explanation of why it is, unlike any of the other poems, in dialogue form. A character named Juvenal swaps dialogue with a character named Naevolus.

Juvenal starts by asking why Naevolus, previously a smart man-about-town, a pick-up artists who shagged women by the score (and their husbands too, sometimes) is now so long-in-the-mouth, pale, thin and unkempt.

Naevolus explains that his time as a gigolo has ground to an end and brought him few returns, specially since he was working for a very tight-fisted gay patron, Virro (presumably the same dinner party host who enjoyed humiliating his hangers-on in satire 5). Virro seems to have got bored of him and dumped him.

There is an extremely graphic moment when Naevolus describes how difficult it was having to stuff his hard cock up Virro’s anus, till he was ‘stopped by last night’s supper.’ Yuk.

The dialogue becomes a dialogue-within-a-dialogue as Naevolus imagines a reproachful conversation with Virro. Why does he, Naevolus, have to send his rich patron gifts on his birthday? What’s Virro going to do with his huge estates when he dies, will Naevolus get even a little cottage?

As it is Naevolus doesn’t have enough to clothe and feed his one lousy slave. Naevolus reproaches Virro that he not only had to service the fat man but his wife too!

I sired you a son and a daughter: doesn’t that mean
Anything to you at all, you ungrateful bastard?

(In the Roman context this means Naevolus has only provided Virro with heirs, but with the legal advantages of being a father.) So Juvenal interrupts to ask what Virro says in his own defence. Nothing, apparently, he’s too busy looking for Naevolus’s replacement, a mere ‘two-legged donkey’. Suddenly Naevolus gets nervous. He begs Juvenal not to whisper a word of all this, or Virro will have him bumped off, knifed or poisoned, or his house burned down.

Juvenal mocks the idea that a master can keep any secret from his slaves who will, in turn, blab to everyone they meet. There’s no such thing as secrecy in a slave society.

So Naevolus asks what Juvenal advises him to do. Juvenal replies a) there’ll always be more customers for him, b) ‘chew colewort; it’s a fine aphrodisiac.’

the poem ends with Naevolus saying he doesn’t want much, but then – surprisingly – including in his list of modest requirements a pair of brawny Bulgarian porters to carry him in a chair, a silver engraver and a portraitist, all of which seem wildly extravagant and commentators have worried about for the past 1,900 years.

Book 4

Satire 10: The vanity of human wishes (366 lines)

This is the comprehensive overview of the futility of human ambition which formed the basis for the 18th century English author, Samuel Johnson’s great poem, ‘The Vanity of Human Wishes: The Tenth Satire of Juvenal Imitated‘.

Mankind is gripped by a self-destructive urge. What man was ever guided by Reason? Any man with belongings is the toy of Fate. He invokes Democritus the laughing philosopher and Heraclitus the weeping philosopher and goes on to mockingly describe the progress of a modern consul through the streets preceded by his lictors. Democritus thought the worries of the people as absurd as their joys, the gods listen to neither. So what should we ask the gods for?

He gives Sejanus as an example, not only of Fortune turning her wheel to bring the second highest figure in the land down into the gutter, but at the fickleness of the change, since there was no legal process involved, it all resulted from one single letter from Tiberius in Capri to the Senate. And the mob? They don’t care for proof or law, they just cheer the victors and jeer the losers. They all rushed to kick Sejanus’s corpse or pull down his statues, but if Tiberius had dropped dead of a heart attack, the same mob would have been cheering Sejanus to the rafters as the new emperor. Fickle.

In the olden days, when their votes were vital for the election of consuls, praetors, governors and so on, the public took an interest in public affairs. But in 14 AD Tiberius transferred the election of magistrates from the popular assemblies to the senate, with the far-reaching consequences that Juvenal describes. After nearly a century of non-involvement, now the catchphrase is ‘who cares?’ Now there’s only two things that interest the people: bread and the games. (Another famous tag, panem et circenses in the Latin.)

No, he’d rather be the small-time governor of some sleepy backwater, with no glory but no risk, than rise to the giddy heights of a Sejanus only to be be dragged to his death. Same goes for the first triumvirate, Pompey and Crassus and Julius Caesar – lust for ultimate power took them to giddy heights and then…catastrophic fall, miserable murder.

Setting off on a tangent, Juvenal claims what everyone seeks is eloquence, the gift of swaying crowds, but look what happened to the two greatest orators of all time, Cicero was beheaded at the insistence of his arch enemy Anthony, and the great Demosthenes was forced to commit suicide.

How many national leaders thirst for glory, for the spoils of victory, for triumphs and a triumphal arch.

The thirst for glory by far outstrips the pursuit of virtue.

Vladimir Putin thinks murdering thousands of men, women and children is a price well worth paying for restoring Ukraine to the Russian motherland. Killing pregnant women is worth it to get a place in the history books. ‘The thirst for glory by far outstrips the pursuit of virtue.’

Yet countries have come to ruin
Not once but many times, through the vainglory of a few
Who lusted for power, who wanted a title that would cling
To the stones set over their ashes…

Or take Hannibal, one-time conqueror of the Mediterranean, vaingloriously vowing to capture Rome but, in the end, routed from Italy, then defeated in Africa and forced into exile to become the humiliated hanger-on of ‘a petty Eastern despot’ eventually, when his extradition was demanded by Rome, committing suicide by poison.

Same with Alexander the Great, at one point commanding the entire known world, next moment filling a coffin in Babylon. Or Xerxes whose exorbitant feats of engineering (a bridge across the Hellespont, a canal through the peninsula of Mount Athos) all led up to complete military defeat at the Battle of Salamis in 480 BC and Xerxes’ miserable return to Persia.

Juvenal makes one of his jump cuts to a completely different theme, the triumph of old age over all of us. Men start out full of hope and individuality and all end up looking the same, senile sexless old dodderers. All your senses weaken, you can no longer appreciate music, you fall prey to all kinds of illnesses.

And senility. Old men forget the names of their servants, their hosts at dinner, eventually their own families, and end up disinheriting their children and leaving everything to a whore whose expert mouth has supplied senile orgasms.

But if you live to a ripe old age, as so many people wish, chances are you’ll witness the deaths of everyone you loved, your wife, your siblings, maybe your own children. ‘Perpetual grief’ is the reward of old age. Examples from legend: Nestor outliving everyone he loved; Peleus mourning his son; if only Priam had died in his prime he wouldn’t have seen all his sons killed and his city destroyed. And Mithridates, and Croesus.

Then he turns to specific Roman examples: if only Marius had died after his triumph for defeating the Teutons instead of going on to humiliation and then tyranny; if only Pompey had died at the peak of his powers instead of being miserably murdered in Egypt.

Then the theme of beauty. Mothers wish their daughters to be beautiful and their sons handsome but beauty brings great risks and he cites Lucretia raped and Virginia murdered by her own father to keep her ‘honour’. Then handsome young men generally go to the bad, become promiscuous, sleep around, and then risk falling foul of jealous husbands. Even if he stays pure and virginal, chances are he’ll fall foul of some middle-aged woman’s lust, just look at Hippolytus and Phaedra.

Or take the case of Gaius Silius, consul designate, who Claudius’s third wife, Messalina was so obsessed with she insisted they have a public wedding, even though she was already married to Claudius, precursor to a coup. With the inevitable result that when Claudius found out he sent the Praetorian Guard to execute both Silius and Messalina. (The story is told in Tacitus’s Annals 11.12 and 26.)

Juvenal concludes the poem by answering the question he asked at the start of it, what should we pray to the gods for? Answer: nothing. Leave it to them to guide our destinies without our intervention. The gods give us what we need, not what we want. Humans are led by irrational impulses and blind desires so it follows that most of our prayers are as irrational as our desires. But if you must insist on making silly sacrifices and praying for something, let your requirements be basic and practical. Ask for:

a sound mind in a sound body, a valiant heart
Without fear of death, that reckons longevity
The least among Nature’s gifts, that’s strong to endure
All kinds of toil, that’s untainted by lust and anger…
…There’s one
Path and one path only to a life of peace – through virtue.
Fortune has no divinity, could we but see it; it’s we,
We ourselves, who make her a goddess, and set her in the heavens.

So that’s the context of another of Juvenal’s most famous quotes or tags, mens sana in corpore sano – it comes at the end of an enormous long list of the futilities of seeking long life or wealth or power or glory. It is the first and central part of Juvenal’s stripped-down, bare minimum rules for living.

Satire 11: Invitation to dinner at Juvenal’s modest place in the country (208 lines)

This starts out as a diatribe against spendthrifts, against the young heirs who take out big loans and blow it all on luxurious foods. If you’re going to host a dinner, make sure you can afford it.

This leads into an actual dinner party invitation Juvenal is giving to his friend Persicus. He lists the menu and assures him it’s all ‘home-grown produce’: a plump tender kid ‘from my farmstead at Tivoli’; mountain asparagus; eggs still warm from the nest; chicken; grapes, baskets of Syrian pears and Italian bergamots, and apples.

[This mention of the farmstead is what makes Green and other commentators deduce that Juvenal had, by this point, ceased to be the impoverished and consequently very angry satirist of the earlier works, has somehow acquired a ‘competence’ and so his tone is more mellow.]

Juvenal says even this relatively modest menu would have appeared luxury in the good old republican days, and lists various high-minded old Roman heroes (Fabius, Cato, Scaurus, Fabricius) and the tough old Roman legionaries they led, uncorrupted by luxury and money, who ate their porridge off earthenware bowls. Those were the days.

The gods were closer back then, their images made of humble baked clay, not gold, and so they warned us e.g. of the approaching Gauls.

How changed is contemporary Rome whose aristocrats demand obscene levels of luxury in food and ornamentation. Nothing like that for Persicus when he comes round, there won’t be a pupil of Trypherus’s famous school of cuisine where students are taught the correct way to carve antelope, gazelle and flamingo!

His slaves, likewise, are honest lads dressed practically for warmth, a shepherd’s son and a ploughman’s son, not smooth imported Asiatics who can’t speak Latin and prance around in the baths flaunting their ‘oversized members’.

[Green notes that the Roman historian Livy dates the introduction of foreign luxuries to the defeat of the Asiatic Gauls in 187 BC. Whereas Sallust thought the introduction of corrupt luxury dated from Sulla’s campaign in Asia Minor in the 80s BC. Whatever the precise date, the point is the author always thinks things started to go to hell a few generations before their own time.]

And don’t expect any fancy entertainment like the Spanish dancers who wiggle their bums to arouse the flagging passions of middle-aged couples, no such obscene entertainment in his modest home, no, instead he’ll have a recitation of Homer or Virgil.

Like Horace, Juvenal tells his guest to relax. Discussion of business is banned. He won’t be allowed to confide his suspicions of his wife who stays out till all hours, or the ingratitude of friends. ‘Just forget all your troubles the minute you cross my threshold.’

Let all Rome (the Colosseum seated 300,000 spectators) go to the Megalesian Games (4 to 10 April) and cheer the Blues and the greens (chariot racing teams) and sweat all day in an uncomfortable toga. Juvenal prefers to let his ‘wrinkled old skin’ soak up the mild spring sunshine at his nice place in the country.

Satire 12: A storm at sea (130 lines)

The first 20 or so lines describe to a friend a series of sacrifices Juvenal is going to make, and the even bigger ones he wishes he had the money to make. Why? To celebrate the safe arrival in harbour of a dear friend of his, Catullus (not the famous poet, who died 170 years earlier, in 54 BC).

Juvenal gives a vivid description of a storm at sea, ending with the sailors seeing ‘that lofty peak so dear to Ascanius’ in diction which evokes Virgil’s Aeneid with no irony or mocking. And he’s just as sincere when he returns to describing how he’ll burnish his household gods, make oblations to Jupiter, burn incense and so on.

Up to this point this combination of devout piety and picturesque description are very much not the viciously angry Juvenal of the Roman streets that we are used to. But in the final 30 or so lines Mr Angry reappears a bit, to make the distinction between his genuine, devout sacrifices and those of legacy hunters and it turns into a stock diatribe against this class of parasites who seek out the wealthy but childless and do anything, including making extravagant sacrifices for them when they’re ill, in the hope of being included in their wills. May all their tricks and scams work but ‘May they love no man and be loved by none.’

[Incidentally, this last section has a passage about elephants, saying the legacy-hunters would sacrifice elephants if they could but none live naturally in Italy except for those of the emperor’s personal herd, near modern Anzio. Elephants are mentioned in quite a few Juvenal poems. At some level they fascinated him, maybe because they’re the biggest animal and so attracted a poet interested in extremity and exaggeration.]

Book 5

Satire 13: The futility of revenge, the pangs of a guilty conscience (249 lines)

On putting up with life’s vicissitudes. Juvenal reproaches someone called Calvinus for making a big fuss and going to court about a loan not being repaid. Doesn’t he realise the age he’s living in? Honour long since departed. It’s not like it was back in the good old days, in the Golden Age when there were only a handful of gods who dined modestly, back in those days youth respected the elderly, everyone was upstanding and dishonesty was vanishingly rare. The decent god-fearing man is a freak like the sky raining stones or a river issuing in milk.

While guilty people, whether they believe in the gods or not, tell themselves they’ll be OK, the gods won’t get round to punishing them yet and so on. In fact many make a histrionic appeal to the gods to vouchsafe their honesty, banking on ‘brazen audacity’.

Juvenal mentions the three philosophies current in his day, Cynicism, Stoicism and Epicureanism, only to dismiss them all. Instead he mocks Calvinus for making such a fuss about such a common, everyday bit of dishonesty and goes into a list of far worse crimes starting with the temple robbers who steal devoted statues or plate and melt them down or sell them off. Think of arsonists or poisoners or parricides. If you want to find the truth about human nature you should visit a courtroom.

Many unusual things are taken for granted in the appropriate context, for example big breasted women in Upper Egypt or blonde, blue-eyed men in Germany, or pygmies in Africa. Well, so does this kind of embezzlement or fraud feel completely at home in its natural setting, Rome. What’s the point of pursuing his legal vendetta. Rise above it.

Benign
Philosophy, by degrees, peels away our follies and most
Of our vices, gives us a grounding in what’s right or wrong.

[This is surprisingly reflective and thoughtful of Juvenal, supporting the thesis that the poems are in chronological order and the later ones reflect middle-age and having come into some property and generally stopped being so vitriolically angry at the world.]

He goes on to say that paying off scores is for the small-minded. Anyway, people who break laws and commit crimes are often punished most of all in their own minds, by their own guilt. ‘The mind is its best own torturer.’ He gives examples of people who suffered the pangs of conscience but what’s striking is:

  1. how didactic he’s become; instead of depicting bad behaviour with satirical glee, now he’s lecturing the reader on good behaviour
  2. how much he sounds at moments like a Christian, preaching about the power of conscience; when he says that he who meditates a crime is as guilty as he who commits one, he sounds like Christ (‘I tell you that everyone who gazes at a woman to lust after her has committed adultery with her already in his heart.’ Matthew 5. verses 27 to 28)

The guilty man is wracked with conscience, can’t eat or drink or sleep. In fact it turns into a vivid proto-Christian depiction of the miseries of Guilt, interpreting the weather as signs from God, the slightest setback as punishment, the slightest physical ailment as payback.

Satire 14: The disastrous impact of bad parenting (331 lines)

Again this satire has a direct addressee, Fuscinus. Juvenal takes the theme that parents hugely influence their children, generally for the worse. ‘Bad examples are catching.’ By the time he’s seven a boy’s character is fixed for life. He gives examples of terrible parents starting with ‘Rutilus’ who is a sadistic brute to his slaves.

[As with so much Roman literature, the examples of brutality to slaves tend to eclipse all the subtler argumentation: here, Rutilus is described as ordering a slave to be branded with a red-hot iron for stealing a couple of towels.]

Or the girl who’s brought up into a life of adultery and sexual intrigues by her mother. We are all corrupted by examples of vice in the home. This is a spur to good behaviour – that our bad behaviour is quickly copied by our children.

All this turns into a surprisingly preachy lists of dos and don’ts and turns into almost a harangue of bad parents, telling them to set better examples.

For some reason this leads into a short passage about the Jews who Juvenal sees as handing on ridiculously restrictive practices, circumcision and avoiding certain foods, along with taking every seventh day off for idleness, to their children. So Judaism is taken as an example of parents handing down bad practices to their children in an endless succession.

Then a passage attacking misers, characterising them especially by their recycling scraps of leftover food at revolting meals. And insatiable greed for more land, the kind of men who won’t rest till they’ve bought up an estate as the entire area cultivated by the first Romans. Compare and contrast with pensioned off Roman legionaries who are lucky to receive 2 acres of land to support themselves and their families.

then he invokes the old mountain peasants and the wisdom of living simply and plainly on what a small parcel of land provides. [This strikes me as straight down the line, entry level, the good old days of the Golden Age clichés, such as centuries of Roman writers had been peddling.]

The logical corollary of praising the simple lives and virtues of his farming forefathers, is dislike and contempt for the vices of luxury which are attributed to foreigners, especially from the exotic East.

[I always thought Edward Said, in his lengthy diatribe against ‘Orientalism’, should have started not in the 18th century, but 2,000 years earlier, with the ancient Greeks writing pejoratively about oriental despotism (with Persia in mind), a discursive tradition which was handed on to the Romans who also associated decadence and luxury with the East (Cleopatra of Egypt, Mithridates of Pontus and so on), centuries of stereotyping and anathematising the East and the Oriental to which Juvenal adds his own contribution and which was merely revived, like so much other ancient learning, in the Europe of early modernity – xenophobic clichés and stereotypes which were dusted off and reapplied to the Ottoman Empire.]

Juvenal then gives an interesting portrait of the ambitious father of a modern youth, recommending all the ways he can get on and rise in the world, studying to become a lawyer, or aiming for a career in the army, or becoming a merchant. Juvenal reprimands this made-up figure, telling him to lay off inculcating greed and deceit quite so early; his kids will learn it all by themselves in good time. ‘But’, claims the made-up father, ‘I never taught my son his criminal ways!’ Yes, replies Juvenal, but you taught him the principles of greed at an early age, and all the rest follows. You set the spark, now watch the forest fire rage out of control.

And you’ll have created a peril for your own life. For such a greedy offspring will grow impatient to see his parent snuff it so he can inherit his patrimony.

In the final passage he compares the life of a merchant with that of a tightrope walker at the circus and says watching greedy merchants trying to juggle their many deals is far more entertaining. He mocks harbours packed with huge merchant ships, prepared to go to the ends of the earth and beyond to make a profit.

Juvenal goes so far as to say these far-trading merchants are mad, as mad as mad Ajax at Troy, mad to risk his life and fortune and for what? Little silver coins printed with someone else’s head. One minute he’s at the prow of his mighty ship, laden with precious cargo; next moment it’s sunk in a storm and he’s clinging to the wreckage. Only a madman would commit his life and wealth to capricious Fortune and then…he’s a beggar in the streets, waving an artist’s impression of the storm which ruined him at passersby. Right at the end he cites Diogenes the Cynic, who abandoned all earthly possessions in order to have a calm mind. Compared to the merchant who risks losing everything and even drowning at sea:

The tub of the naked Cynic
Diogenes never caught fire: if it broke, he could pick up another
The following day – or put some lead clamps in an old one.
Alexander perceived, on seeing the tub and its famous
Occupant, how much happier was the man who desired nothing
Than he whose ambitions encompassed the world, who would yet
Suffer perils as great as all his present achievements.

And he concludes with another straight, unironic recommendation of the bare minimum required by philosophers and the old Roman tradition, in phrasing very similar to the barebones advice at the end of satire 10.

If anyone asks me
Where we’re to draw the line, how much is sufficient, I’d say:
Enough to meet the requirements of cold and thirst and hunger
As much as Epicurus derived from that little garden,
Or Socrates, earlier still, possessed in his frugal home.

Satire 15: In praise of kindness (174 lines)

Addressed to Volusius of whom we know nothing. The poem opens by reviewing the fantastical beliefs of the Egyptians in their animal gods, then takes a comic view of Odysseus’s telling of his adventures at the court of King Alcinous whose guests, if they had any sense, would dismiss such a pack of lies.

The point of this introduction is to contrast fantastical myths and legends with what Juvenal now intends to tell us about which is a real-life atrocity which happened in the recent past. In fact, Peter Green in a note tells us it took place in 127AD. Juvenal goes on to describe the rancorous feud which broke out between the neighbouring towns of Ombi and Tentyra (real neighbouring towns in ancient Egypt).

the fighting becomes savage, involving thousands. One of the leading Ombites stumbled, fell and was immediately seized by the Tentyrans who tore him to pieces and ate every morsel. This gives rise to a digression about cannibalism practiced by the Spanish in the besieged town of Calagurris who were reduced by starvation to eating human flesh. Then onto the Tauri in Crimea who worshipped Artemis by making human sacrifices of travellers who fell into their hands.

But the Tauri don’t actually eat the victims they kill and the Spaniards had the excuse of starvation. nothing excused the horror of contemporary men tearing each other to pieces and eating each other’s raw bodies. It triggers an outburst of virulent xenophobia.

And then, to our complete surprise, Juvenal turns mushy. Describing these horrors turn out to have been preparation for a hymn to tenderness and kindness.

When nature
Gave teas to mankind, she proclaimed that tenderness was endemic
In the human heart: of all our impulses, this
Is the highest and best.

We weep at funerals of children, or to see adolescents in court cases. ‘What good man…thinks any human ills outside his concern?’

It’s this
That sets us apart from the dumb brutes, it’s why we alone
Have a soul that’s worthy of reverence, why we’re imbued
With a divine potential, the skill to acquire and practice
All manner of arts…

Who are you, O wise Stoic teacher, and what have you done with the angry, fire-breathing Juvenal?

When the world was still new, our common Creator granted
The breath of life alone, but on us he further bestowed
Sovereign reason, the impulse to aid one another…

Juvenal identifies this God-given sovereign reason with everything noble and altruistic in man, proof of his difference from the animals and that he has a soul. This makes him a Stoic, doesn’t it?

Then, right at the end, the poem returns to the disgusting story of the Egyptian torn apart and eaten raw, and laments that man, blessed with all these gifts, creates swords and spears, man alone of the animals, goes out of his way to kill and massacre his own kind.

Satire 16: The military life (60 lines; incomplete)

The final satire in the series is incomplete. It is addressed to one Gallius, about whom nothing is known. Were all Juvenal’s addressees fictional or real people? No-one knows.

the poem obviously set out to ironically praise the great advantages of the soldier’s life. First is that you can beat up anyone you like and either be too intimidated to take legal action against them or, if you do, you’ll end up in a military court where the judge and jury will find for the soldier and you’ll end up being beaten up a second time.

Next advantage is that, whereas most people caught up in law suits have to endure endless delays and adjournments, a soldier will get his case seen straightaway. Plus, if you earn money as a soldier it is exempt from control by your father (which other earnings aren’t). The reverse; doddering old fathers court their sons to get a cut of their pay…

Here the poem simply breaks off. Scholars speculate that Juvenal died before he completed it. or maybe the emperor Hadrian censored this mocking of the Roman army. But Green sides with the Juvenal expert, Gilbert Highet, who thinks the earliest version of the manuscript, from which all surviving manuscript copies derive, early on lost its final few pages.

Common tropes

1. Juvenal’s position really is based on a profound belief that the olden days were best, the Golden Age of Saturn, when Rome’s ancestors lived in mud huts and farmed small allotments, and lived frugally, and taught honour and respect to their sons and daughters.

Mankind was on the decline while Homer
Still lived; and today the earth breeds a race of degenerate
Weaklings, who stir high heaven to laughter and loathing.
(Satire 15)

2. The logical corollary of thinking his primitive ancestors knew best is Juvenal’s virulent xenophobia, blaming Rome’s decline into luxury and decadence on the corrupting wealth and example of foreigners, especially the tyrannies of the East (note p.238).

3. As usual, I am left reeling by the casual way he describes the brutal, savage, sadistic treatment meted out to Roman slaves. Branded with a red-hot iron for stealing a few towels, crucified for speaking out of turn, horse-whipped for trivial mistakes serving dinner. What a brutal, cruel, inhumane society. ‘Cato, in his Res Rustica, recommends the dumping of worn-out horses’ harnesses and worn-out slaves in the same breath,’ (p.276)

Thoughts

Very simply, Juvenal is the Lionel Messi of satirists, producing high-octane, intense, bitterly angry and often very funny masterpieces of the genre.

Second thought is that Augustus had Ovid exiled, supposedly for the amorality of his ‘Art of Love’ which is a guide for pick-up artists. How things had changed a hundred years later when Juvenal not only mentions the places to hang out if you want to pick up women (or boys) but goes way, way beyond Ovid in his depiction of a pungently promiscuous society with, apparently, no consequences from the powers that be.

Summary

Final thought is that this is another brilliant volume from Peter Green, containing not just a zingy, stylish translation from the Latin but also long and fascinating introduction, and then encyclopedic notes which are full of fascinating titbits of information, opinion and insight. Of course most editions of ancient texts have notes, but Green’s are distinguished by their length and engaging chattiness. Here’s a random selection of brief but typical nuggets:

  • Women swore by Juno. (page 83)
  • After the sack of Jerusalem by Titus in 70 AD many Jews made their way to Rome and eked out a living as fortune tellers or beggars. (99)
  • No wheeled traffic was allowed in Rome for ten hours after dawn, so the city was incredibly noisy all through the night as farmers and merchants drove their carts through the narrow cobbled streets. (102)
  • Any of the (six) vestal virgin caught having sex was buried alive. (111)
  • Nine days after a funeral, offerings of eggs, salt and lentils were left on the grave of the deceased. (125)
  • It is hard to realise the influence which the Roman ballet (or pantomimus) exerted on Roman citizens. It was not only immensely popular but formed a centre for violent factions like those of the chariot races and sometimes led to riots and bloodshed. (153)
  • The secret rites of the Bona Dea were held at the home of one of the consuls. It was attended by women only. The house owner and all male slaves had to leave the premises. Even statues or images of men were covered up to protect the secret ceremonies. (156)
  • Eclipses of the moon were said to be caused by witchcraft. Beating pots and pans was said to put the witches off their wicked spells. (158)
  • A lawyer who won a case could advertise the fact by hanging palm branches outside his door.
  • People who survived a shipwreck often commissioned a painting of the event either to hang in a temple as an offering or to display to passersby in the street, if they were begging. (246)
  • the emperor kept a herd of elephants on a ranch at Laurentum, near Ardea. (248)

Among his many fascinating comments, one theme stood out for me:

Useless natural history

It’s odd that 2,000 years of writers or scholars in the humanities continue to quote, praise or base their writings on the literature or philosophy of the ancient world, when the ancients’ knowledge of the natural world, the world around them, its geology, and geography, and weather, and all the life forms we share the planet with, was fantastically ignorant.

As Green points out in a note, it is staggering that all the ancient authors whose writings have survived held ludicrous and absurd beliefs about animals and nature which you’d have thought the slightest actual observation by any rational adult would have disproved in a moment (note, page 238).

No, elephants do not get rid of their over-heavy tusks by thrusting them in the ground (satire 11). No, sparrows are not more highly sexed than other birds (satire 9). No, cranes flying south do not engage in pitched battles with pygmies in Ethiopia (satire 13). No, stags do not live to over 900 years old (satire 14).

‘A collector of natural history fallacies would do quite well out of Juvenal’ (note, page 291).

It is testament, maybe, to the way their culture preferred book learning to even the slightest amount of actual observation. And on a par with their credulous belief in no end of signs, omens and portents. Not only are these reported in all the histories as preceding momentous occasions but most official ceremonies in Rome, including whether to do battle or not, depended on the reading of the weather or flight of birds or entrails of sacrificed animals. It was an astonishingly credulous culture.

Only with Francis Bacon in the 1600s do we have an author who bravely declares that we ought to throw away most ancient ‘learning’ and make our own scientific observations about the phenomena around us. Such a long, long time it took for genuinely rational scientific method to slowly extract itself from deadening layers of absurd and nonsensical ‘learning’.


Credit

Sixteen Satires by Juvenal, translated by Peter Green, was published by Penguin Classics in 1967, then reprinted with revisions in 1973. Page references are to the 1982 paperback edition.

Related links

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Razor Girl by Carl Hiaasen (2016)

‘This is Florida, the land of batshit, trigger-happy motherfuckers.’
(Razor Girl, page 82)

Andrew Yancy

The most notable thing about Hiaasen’s 14th novel is that it is a direct sequel to his 13th, featuring the same protagonist (former Monroe County detective Andrew Yancy), the same girlfriend he ended that novel with (Dr Rosa Campesino), and the same running feud with the owners of the vacant lot next to his, on the island of Big Pine Key, who are threatening to build a mansion which will block out Yancy’s restful view of the sunset.

At the start of book 13 Yancy was kicked off the small Monroe County police force for assaulting the husband of his then-mistress. Bonnie Witt. The easy-going head of the Monroe police, Sonny Summers, had to drop Yancy after the press furore about the assault, but got him a job he cordially hates, as a health and safety or ‘roach’ inspector of local restaurants.

Yancy is ‘a tall, lean man with a baked-in Florida tan’ (p.134) in his early 40s. He is a regular smoker of dope, who sometimes does his job or gets involved in the novel’s various criminal escapades, half-stoned. Like other Hiaasen heroes he is too honest and blunt for his own good, ‘prone to an acid bluntness that produced poor results careerwise…’ (p.55)

As usual with Hiaasen, Yancy was soon joined by a blizzard of other characters, all of whom are given complicated backstories and then placed in ever-complexifying situations and interlinking storylines.

Buck Nance

The central thread which just about keeps all the complex storylines of this novel together concerns a popular reality TV show titled Bayou Brethren, about a family of rednecks who live and bicker on a chicken farm in the Florida panhandle.

The star of the show is one Buck Nance, a middle-aged redneck with a long salt-and-pepper beard, who runs the chicken farm and so has acquired the ironic nickname Captain Cock (p.58). He lords it over his brothers, has a tough bitching wife, Krystal, but is also screwing a ‘sex-crazed’ mistress with the porny name of Miracle, on the side. (It is a given in all Hiaasen novels, that American marriage entails infidelity.)

In reality, like everything in Hiaasen, the entire show is a meretricious fake and a scam. Buck’s real name is Matthew Romberg and he and his three brothers ( Bradley (TV name: Junior), Henry (TV name: Buddy) and Todd (TV name: Clee Roy, p.68) are actually from rural Wisconsin.

They were in an unsuccessful band named Grand Funk Romberg (a jokey riff on the actual American hard rock group, Grand Funk Railroad) when they were talent-spotted on account of their hick appearance and cast as the central characters in the new show (p.71). The brothers have had to be extensively coached in every aspect of the Florida redneck life which their adoring fans consider them to epitomise: the Cajun accent, the chewing tobacco, the down-home oaths and jokes, it’s all fake.

Lane is kidnapped

The novel opens with Buck’s agent, Lane Coolman, a no-nonsense, cynical New York talent agent working for Platinum Artists Management who owes his career and wages and expense account lifestyle to Buck’s success, arriving in Miami to supervise some ‘gigs’ Buck is scheduled to give. These ‘gigs’ consist of Buck sitting up on stage telling good ole boy stories and jokes while a guitarist noodles folk melodies behind him and Lane supports and whispers prompts from the wings.

Instead, as he drives from the airport to his hotel, Lane is kidnapped by the criminal Zeto (full name Juan Zeto-Fernandez) and his sexy, unhinged sidekick, Merry Mansfield. They use a technique known as ‘bump and grab’ whereby Merry bumps her (stolen) car into the rear of Lane’s hire car. When he pulls over and gets out to remonstrate, he notices her jeans are down to her knees and her knickers pulled down and she is shaving her pubic hair while she is driving. Merry is the Razor Girl of the book’s title.

Lane is speechless with astonishment and anger, as he watches Merry apologetically pull up her panties, then quickly becomes addled with lust. Thus, when Merry declares her car a write-off and asks if he can give her a lift to the nearest service station, Lane readily agrees. But when they get there, Zeto is waiting with a gun, climbs into the passenger seat and orders him to drive. He’s done gone and been kidnapped, the sucker.

Martin Trebeaux and beach renourishment

In fact, typically for Hiaasen’s comedies of accidents and misadventures, it turns out Zeto and Merry have grabbed the wrong guy. Zeto had been hired by a New York mobster, Dominick ‘Big Noogie’ Aeola, from the Calzone crime family (p.139) to kidnap a crooked businessman named Martin Trebeaux, who was scheduled to drive a similar colour car along the same highway at the same time and looks similar to Lane. Oops.

Why was Trebeaux the intended target of a grab? This requires a bit of explanation. Trebeaux runs a big company resanding Florida beaches in a process known as ‘beach renourishment’. This is because global warming and rising sea levels are washing away lots of Florida’s luxury sandy beaches. Trebeaux’s company, Sedimental Journeys, rakes up tonnes of sand from just offshore and replenishes vanishing beaches.

So far, so reasonable. But Trebeaux is a crook. His company has been dogged by scandal. Firstly, the resanding process tends to muddy up the water and produce thousands of dead fish which wash up ashore, putting off the very tourists it’s meant to attract. Discovering this early on, Trebeaux moved his sand dredging operation to the Bahamas, shipping the sand back to Miami. But it had the same environment-destroying impact in the island and when this was reported on the news and even prompted a BBC investigation, he was forced to shut it down, too (p.32).

Then Trebeaux took some bad advice from a contact who told him he could use sand from a ‘burrow pit’ (something I think we would call a gravel pit) on the edge of the Everglades. This Trebeaux proceeds to excavate and ship to the beach behind the Royal Pyrenees hotel. But the sand from this source turns out to be not only hard and sharp but to contain recycled asphalt and even broken glass! Soon after it is laid, tourists start cutting themselves to shreds and trade to the hotel plummets.

And this is where the mob comes in because the Royal Pyrenees hotel is owned by them and managed by their man, Dominick ‘Big Noogie’ Aeola. This is why Big Noogie had hired Zeto to kidnap Trebeaux. But Zeto screws up and kidnaps Lane, who quickly makes it clear he’s the wrong guy. Nonetheless, Zeto and Merry tie and gag Lane while they ponder what to do with him, Zeto casually weighing the pros and cons of killing him.

Long story short, after failing to bump Len off on a boat, Zeto reluctantly agrees to take him along with them when they have another go at bumping and grabbing the actual Martin Trebeaux the next day and, during the confusion, Lane manages to wriggle out the window of the car he’s being held in and run off, eventually finding a payphone and calling his boss in LA.

Buck’s disastrous gig

Now the important thing about Coolman being mistakenly kidnapped is that he provides a vital psychological support to his TV star Buck Nance when the latter does his ‘gigs’. Buck has a guitarist strumming along in the background but it is Lane’s reassuring presence just offstage that gets him through the gigs, giving him confidence beforehand and prompting him if he dries, as he tells good ole boy stories and jokes to his redneck audience.

So Buck turns up for his ‘gig’ at a bar called the Parched Pirate on Duvall Street in Key West and, without either the guitar player (whose absence is unexplained) or Lane (who we have seen being kidnapped en route to the gig) Buck’s set goes disastrously awry. Instead of the usual stories he panics, forgets his script and ad libs some off colour jokes from Wisconsin about blacks and then about gays. This turns out to be a terrible idea because the Parched Pirate is actually a gay hangout.

The upshot is there’s a riot, Buck is grabbed, beaten up, has his shirt ripped off and his long grey beard forcibly chopped off with scissors before he can flee for his life, ducking through a maze of back alleys and eventually hiding out in the tangled branches of a huge banyan tree where he stays, thoroughly razzled, for the entire night.

During the ruckus he has lost his wallet and his mobile phone and he looks like crap. He has been reduced to bum status.

Enter Yancy

Believe it or not, this is where Yancy comes in, because next day he’s called to a restaurant run by Irv Clipowski (‘a long-distance runner with a goatee which he dyed goosewhite’), which generally has good hygiene standards, but where they’ve found hanks of grey hair in the quinoa vat. The hair has apparently been chucked there overnight and the reader quickly realises it’s the remnants of Buck Nance’s beard, forcibly cut off him by an enraged crowd and chucked through an open window.

Yancy clears up the sample of rogue hair cuttings and orders the restaurant owners to do a thorough deep clean of their kitchen.

As it happens, later that day, Rogelio Burton, a friend of Yancy’s who’s still a detective on the Monroe police force, mentions that a big fuss has kicked off about this TV star, Buck Nance, who’s gone missing and when, that evening, Yancey watches a few old episodes of Bayou Brethren out of boredom, he suddenly realises the grey hair in the quinoa looks identical with Buck Nance’s grey beard in the TV show. Huh. A clue!

Now, Yancy is bored with his job and pissed off because his long-term girlfriend, smart Dr Rosa Campesino, formerly of the Miami morgue (her job when he met her), now working in a hospital emergency room, has abruptly announced that she’s going to Europe, to Norway, without him. It feels like a snub and they part at the airport on bad terms. At a loose end, on impulse, Yancy decides, what the hell, he’ll have a go at tracking down this missing TV star.

Fallout from Buck’s bad gig

Meanwhile, the president of Platinum Artists Management, John David Ampergrodt, known as Amp, is going nuts because Nance’s homophobic, racist jokes were recorded by some of his audience and immediately posted on YouTube. Not only that, but Buck’s unhinged girlfriend, Miracle, becomes convinced that the missing Buck has run off with some other woman and so hacks into the Bayou Brethren‘s Facebook page, adding a photo of Osama bin Laden and making it look like Buck is jokily comparing his own beard with the famous terrorist’s.

So Amp finds himself in the midst of a major PR disaster, when Zeto lets Lane rings up desperately begging for a ransom to be paid so that mad Zeto doesn’t waste him (while Zeto and Merry are still holding him). You can see why Amp doesn’t immediately believe Lane or grasp the seriousness of the situation. 12 hours later Lane rings from a roadside phone box to say he’s managed, as we’ve seen, to free himself from his kidnappers but, again, Amp is too distracted by the crisis in hand to take him seriously.

(There’s a running thread that Lane has a wife, Rachel, who is planning to divorce him and is currently ‘revenge fucking’ her way through all the men in Los Angeles, notably Lane’s boss John David Ampergrodt, who routinely meets her at the Wilshire Hotel for quick cunnilingus and boning sessions [p.144]. We are given graphic descriptions of comic moments when Amp has his head rammed firmly between Rachel’s parted thighs and is slurping away when his phone goes off with an important business call. The hard life of a Hollywood agent, eh. Lane has a divorce lawyer working for him and trying to discredit Rachel. The lawyer’s name is Smegg [p.278].)

Pause for breath

So: what’s going to happen to Martin Trebeaux, who by now Zeto and Merry have successfully kidnapped? Where’s Buck Nance hiding out and what’s going to happen to him, now beaten up, penniless and beardless? Will Yancy manage to find Buck or will he get dragged into the whole Zeto-Merry-Trebeaux storyline? Will there be a happy resolution to Yancy and Rosa Campesino’s relationship, which seems to have fallen on hard times? Stay tuned, folks.

Main plot developments

There are so many complicated plot ramifications and complexifications it’s hard to keep track. Here are the highlights:

Zeto electrocutes himself trying to adjust the plug on the cable to an electric car he’s stolen, so he’s out of the story quite early on.

Trebeaux is handed over to Big Noogie who, with a hardass assistant (‘the man with the ivory toothpick’), attaches surgical clamps to Trebeaux’s ‘nutsack’ (scrotum) and then dangles him from a local railway bridge until Trebeaux admits the sand he rebeached the Grand Pyrenees with was sub-standard and promises to do everything in his power to fix it.

Merry astonishes Lane by bumping into Lane a few days after he escaped from her and Zeto and calmly asking if she can move into his motel room with him. Merry is a splendid fictional creation, a constant fount of unexpected and unpredictable behaviour. She refuses to conform to any conventions, kidnapping someone one minute then wanting to be their friend. She concocts extravagant and hilarious lies at the drop of a hat. After a brief period with Lane she then arrives on Yancy’s doorstep (see below). There’s a funny piece of dialogue where she explains to Yancy that she doesn’t regard herself as a criminal at all, but more of a performance artist (p.93).

Brock and Deb I need to mention Yancy’s neighbours. After he drove away the property developer who was trying to build on the lot adjacent to his house in the previous novel, the lot has now been purchased by a shyster lawyer, Brock Richardson, and his good-looking spoiled fiancée, Debbie. As with the previous owner, Yancy embarks on a campaign to drive them away, which includes drunkenly firing his rifle at beer bottles he lobs into the air close to the border fence when Brock and Deb are around. In a later gag he gets a buddy of his that he plays poker with to pretend to be a state archaeologist and ‘discover’ ancient teeth on the site, which he claims must have belonged to the Calusa native Americans who occupied this land thousands of years ago. The fake archaeologist immediately declares that all building works will have to be suspended while the site is fully excavated, much to Brock’s fury (p.177).

Pitrolux Worth mentioning that one of the book’s dozen or so storylines focuses on Brock’s role as the lawyer for a series of class actions he’s managing against a new wonder-product named ‘Pitrolux’. This is a combination underarm deoderant which also cures erectile dysfunction i.e. gives men boners which last for hours. Despite what he knows about its ill effects, Brock himself starts taking Pitrolux and his rock-hard, everlasting erections rekindle his love life with Debs, until he starts to suffer from the same side effects as all his clients, namely a) the erections won’t go away, last for hours and become really painful, and b) the growth of unsightly skin tags or polyps in the shape of tiny penises in his armpit, which Debs discovers and freak her out.

The diamond ring A simple incident occurs early on which turns out to become central to the plot. Yancy spies Deb poking around in the as-yet-unbuilt-on plot. He jumps over the fence and aggressively questions her. Turns out she has lost the massive engagement ring Brock gave her which cost him $200,000. She’s pissed off because it was slightly too big for her finger, Brock having originally bought it for an earlier, tubbier fiancée. Yancy pretends to help until Debs gets fed up and leaves, at which point Yancy picks it up from where it was lying concealed in long grass.

Yancy stores the monster ring in a tub of hummus in his fridge and what happens is, through various coincidences, a series of bad guys hear about the missing ring and come to pay Yancy visits. Thus, at one point Trebeaux and Richardson meet by complete accident in a bar and both mouth off about their woes. But when Richardson mentions the missing $200,000 ring, and that he thinks Yancy has stolen it, Trebeaux passes the news along to Big Noogie in a bid to impress his new mafioso boss.

Big Noogie immediately decides the ring will be just perfect for his son to give to his fiancée, and sends a couple of hard men round to Yancy’s to intimidate or, if necessary, torture its whereabouts out of him. They only have to start slashing up Yancy’s sofa before Yancy gives in and hands it over.

Merry moves in By this point half a dozen other things have happened. For a start, when Lane moves out of his motel into a smarter hotel, Merry has nowhere to stay and so turns up on Yancy’s doortstep. To his own surprise he takes a keen liking to her, for her independent, free-spirited sassiness. She’s great fun, an outrageous liar and flirt and fantasist. Some of her extended riffs are very funny and help to make this, at least in the first half, arguably Hiaasen’s funniest novel (for example, page 166).

‘You don’t know what to do with me, do you? I love that!’ (p.257)

There’s also broad comedy when Yancy’s estranged girlfriend, Dr Campesino, phones from Oslo and every time it seems, by bad luck, to be Merry who answers the phone. One time by bursting into the bathroom where Yancy is having a shower so that she answers the call from Rosa but then hands it over to an obviously naked Yancy (p.148). Yancy finds this (understandably) difficult to explain and Rosa for her part announces that she wants to stay in Norway.

Comedic though the shape of this storyline is, it contains a very serious social point. Rosa has worked all her life in either the Miami morgue or Miami emergency ward and she’s had enough. She’s snapped. She’s had a sort of breakdown. She just can’t face the sound of endless police sirens from morning to night, and she can’t face any more the task of patching up children – children – with extensive gunshot wounds. On one of their long, difficult calls Rosa tells Yancy how many murders there have been in Oslo that year. The answer: one. Two farmers got into a drunken fight and one hit the other with a shovel a bit harder than he meant to. Guns are illegal in Norway, so there is no gun crime, compared to:

a place as ethnically diverse and gun crazy as Florida. (p.298)

It’s a serious point about the stupidity of America’s gun laws and its out-of-control epidemic of violence and I read it on the same day there was a mass shooting in the very same Miami Rosa is talking about, Hiaasen’s Miami.

‘These people [the Norwegians] have evolved in a positive direction,’ Rosa said. ‘Americans are heading the other direction.’ (p.377)

Anyway, the fact that Merry seems to have moved in with him explains why she is present when Big Noogie’s goons arrive and why she helps to persuade Yancy to give in and hand over the diamond. Mind you, Yancy is easily persuaded because he is, at the time, lying on his sofa recovering from a bad knife wound to the gut. Knife wound?

Yes, because there is an entirely separate plotline which only really gets going in the middle of the book but then comes to dominate it. This rotates around a redneck cretin named Benjamin ‘Blister’ Krill who is a fanatical fan of the Bayou Brethren, so fanatical that he has a massive tattoo inked across his shoulders reading HAIL CAPTAIN COCK.

When Buck climbs down from the banyan tree the morning after the riot in the bar he sets about shoplifting a new shirt and hat and shades etc. But Blister Krill recognises his hero and tries to engage him in conversation. When Buck repeatedly rebuffs him (p.200), idiot Blister gets furious, whips out his knife and frogmarches Buck through the tourist crowds in Key West, out to the dock and onto a little put-put boat which he drives out to a knackered old boat he owns, a cabin cruiser named Wet Nurse. Here he handcuffs Buck to a bunk in the cabin until he learns some manners.

From this point onwards Blister becomes a sort of daemon ex machina, the wild card driving the plot. Things escalate when Blister, inspired by the kind of racist language Buck used at his ill-fated gig and which has triggered an outpouring of redneck bigotry across the internet, spots a foreign-looking guy on the tacky touristy Conch Train which weaves through Old Key West, goes up to him and starts yelling Islamophobic abuse.

This poor man, Abdul-Halim Shamoon, is from New York where he has a family and children and runs a harmless electronics retail shop (p.126). He’s loaded up on tacky souvenirs which he’s planning to take home for the kids when a rough redneck confronts him and starts spitting insults in his face. So Shamoon tries to get off the train while it’s still moving but falls awkwardly onto a tacky porcelain gewgaw he’s bought which pierces his sternum and punctures his aorta. There and then he bleeds to death all over his tropical tourist shirt and souvenir knick-knacks. Blister runs off into the crowd.

Hiaasen’s early novels feature some outrageously grotesquely violent incidents, such as the hitman who gets a dead pitbull attached to his arm in Double Whammy and the angry New Yorker who crucifies a crooked property developer to a satellite dish in Stormy Weather. Later novels try but, I think, generally fail to match the first fine careless insanity of these early incidents. Having Shamoon fall on some tourist gewgaws and bleed to death isn’t outrageous enough to be blackly funny. Instead it feels genuinely tragic and sad.

Anyway, Blister runs off, but some bystanders provide identification of sorts and the ‘murder’ of Shamoom gets mixed up with the ongoing disappearance of TV star Buck Nance in a whole load of complicated and twisted ways.

Yancy, bored and hoping to impress his ex-boss by solving the crime, picks up various clues which lead him to Blister in his crappy apartment, where he’s barely begun questioning him (with absolutely no authority; he is no longer a detective and the head of Monroe’s Police force has emphatically told him to stop interfering) when Blister takes a ‘spazzy’ swipe at him with a knife, not stabbing him but raking a cut across his stomach.

Luckily enough Yancy was accompanied by Merry, who manhandled him out the apartment, into their car and ran all the red lights to get home to a hospital ER in 6 minutes.

Being the tough guy hero of a thriller / obstinate failed cop and stoner (take your pick) Yancy refuses to stay in hospital overnight after he’s been stitched up, and insists on going home where he can lie on his own sofa and get pleasantly stoned while Merry tends to him. Which is precisely the moment Big Noogie’s hoods choose to arrive and threaten to turn over his house till they find the $200,000 engagement ring.

Complicated, isn’t it? There’s a lot more. Blister then kidnaps Lane Coolman as well as Buck and ends up with both of them handcuffed to bunks in the cabin of his rancid old motor yacht. The only way the two men can persuade Blister to let them go is with a plan which goes beyond any bounds of sanity or probability: the three concoct the idea that Blister will join the cast of Bayou Brethren as Buck’s long lost brother. It’s Blister’s idea, and he comes up with a long and extravagant backstory to justify his sudden appearance in the show. Lane is one tough, cynical agent and, despite having been kidnapped and handcuffed to a bunk in a rancid old boat, he can actually see Blister’s plot twist working.

The result is that Blister releases them from their handcuffs, takes them back to the mainland, Lane calls Amp at the agency’s office in Los Angeles, pitches the story and, to the reader’s increasing disbelief, Amp flies out to meet the (by now genuinely psychopathic and dangerous) Blister in person.

This storyline now spins way out of control leading to a scene where Blister is taken for a spin in Amp’s private jet along with his common law wife, Mona, and Lane and Buck as they drink champagne and discuss the finer points of the contract he’s going to be signed to. All is going well until Amp’s big black bodyguard, Prawney, makes a grab for Blister’s Glock semi-automatic which he’s been carrying round for the past hundred pages. The gun goes off, shooting Prawney through the cheeks and in the chest. Amp orders the pilot to turn the plane round and land back in Key West. Well, as business meetings go, that wasn’t a great success.

Trebeaux and Juvenile

Now he’s come all this way south to sort out the sand situation, Big Noogie likes it in Key West. After Trebeaux had been hung off the bridge and made the wise decision to co-operate fully with the mob, he’d been flown to New York to meet the heads of the Calzone family who made him an offer he couldn’t refuse i.e. took over his company wholesale (p.139). On the way Trebeaux had introduced Noogie to a scam he’d never heard of before, which was to get hold of a dog and dress it in a hazard jacket and pretend to be disabled so as to blag a better seat on the plane. Americans appear to call this a ‘service dog’ (p.410). When they fly back to Key West together, Trebeaux wants nothing more to do with the dog and the Noogie finds himself looking after it and slowly getting to like going for regular walks through the tourist crowds of Old Key West and along the beach. Yes, life here is nice and relaxing.

Anyway, Trebeaux is still orientating himself in his dangerous new situation vis-a-vis the mafia, and is unpacking in his hotel room when there’s a knock on the door and Big Noogie’s mistress, a big florid flake nicknamed Juveline (a name she acquired when a New York cop couldn’t spell ‘juvenile’ on her arrest sheet) walks into his room and asks whether he fancies a mind-blowing fuck. Trebeaux says yes and they go for it. Soon she has become his mistress, two-timing the Big Noogie.

Trebeaux knows this is a very bad idea but is turned on by the sheer outrageousness of the situation and they keep having regular sex, Juveline explaining that Big Noogie is such a big, fat, middle-aged guy that he isn’t that interested in it. Also, Noogie doesn’t get jealous if she disappears for days on end to her relatives’ houses or shopping and such, which gives her plenty of opportunity to be unfaithful.

This plotline reaches a peak when Trebeaux tries to pull a scam on the Big Noogie, bullshitting that he has heavyweight connections in Havana Cuba who will do a deal to supply world-class pink sand from Cuban beaches to make the Royal Pyrenees beach the envy of Florida. Unwisely, Trebeaux lets Juveline talk him into taking her on the 2-day jaunt to Havana.

Only trouble is that Juveline talks in her sleep and one night cries out ‘Harder, Marty, harder’, much to the surprise of Big Noogie lying next to her, who instantly realises what’s going on (p.389). Thus, when Trebeaux has landed and made himself at home in Havana, and goes to meet Juveline off a later flight, it is not Juveline he sees walking through passport control but the same hardman who applied the surgical clamps to his nutsack and helped dangle him off the bridge. Ah. Oh. Bad. In fact Trebeaux’s body is discovered a few days later, buried on a beach. So, that’s the end of him, then.

Funny

Razor Girls may well be Hiaasen’s funniest novel, meaning the one which made me laugh out loud the most. For two reasons: Yancy develops a really buddy-buddy routine with fellow detective Rogelio, which leads to lots of snappy repartee:

YANCY: ‘The human bloodhound is what they call me.’
ROGERIO: ‘A pain in the sphincter is what they call you.’ (p.87)

OK, so it’s not Oscar Wilde, but in the context of a fast-moving, American crime comedy caper, and in the context of the sustained backchat between the pair, it’s good, it works.

But the main reason is for the indefatigably unpredictable behaviour of fantasist and survivor Merry Mansfield. Almost everything she says and does is wonderfully confident, bluff and canny. Unquenchably amoral. At several points Yancy realises it would be wise to tell her to move out and make a break with her, but she’s just so much fun to have around.

It was hard to picture an even-keeled relationship with a person who took her last name from a dead movie star and and crashed automobiles half-naked for a living. (p.284)

Men

Once again, as in many previous Hiaasen novels, the entire male sex comes in for sustained criticism, yet again, for their pitiful addiction to sex. Flash most men some boob or a whiff of your panties and they turn into drooling slaves. Most of this comes from the mouth of Merry, inventor of the shaving pubes scam, who has the lowest possible opinion of pathetic men.

  • Merry said, ‘Men. I swear.’ (p.44)
  • ‘Men are so pitiful.’ (p.93)
  • ‘his poor little pecker…’ (p.119)
  • ‘You men.’ (p.134)
  • He said, ‘Yeah, I know. Us men, we’re pitiful.’ ‘Totally, Andrew.’ (p.190)
  • ‘Men, I swear.’ (p.285)
  • She had had ‘a lifetime of being disappointed by men.’ (p.360)
  • ‘Men are the worst.’ (p.364)
  • ‘Men are so freakin’ predictable.’ (p.415)

One touch on the pecker and men become ‘immune to rational thought’ (p.388). I wonder if Hiaasen made the same kind of sustained criticism of women or Jews or blacks or Muslims, whether his liberal readers would take it all in good spirit and laughingly accept the sustained barrage of negative stereotypes.

American slang

Hiaasen’s novels are notable not only for their very dense plots, overflowing with colourful characters and garish incidents, but for the aggressive ‘attitude’ of the narrator himself, who freely uses street slang and swearwords to describe his characters and their doings, and liberally sprinkles the text with those handy terms for things and actions which Americans just seem to have and we Brits don’t. I found this novel particularly rich in new terminology, in fact I became addicted to collecting them.

  • app = short for appetiser. ‘His calamari app.’
  • baggie = a brand of plastic bag, Yancy uses them for stashing mank he finds on his restaurant inspections, such as rodent ‘scat’
  • baked = stoned
  • to ball = to fuck cf. to bone. ‘Is she still balling that dickface Drucker?’ (p.370)
  • to bang = to fuck, cf, to ball, to bone. ‘Don’t bang a stranger.’ (p.404)
  • bank = big money. ‘You saved the agency some serious bank.’ (p.63)
  • a beat-down = a severe beating. ‘So I can cancel your beat-down?’ (p.414)
  • berserk-o = adjective meaning wild, crazy. ‘The beserk-o side of the place [Miami] was basically all you saw, if you were a cop or a coroner.’ (p.190)
  • to bitch someone out = nag someone, generally a woman bitching out a man (p.252)
  • blow smoke = to bullshit, make something up. ‘… that didn’t mean Trebeaux wasn’t blowing smoke.’ (p.182)
  • to bone = to fuck
  • bonehead = ‘A stubborn, thickheaded and determined person that doesn’t think things through before acting upon them’
  • boner = erection (p.374)
  • to brace = to meet, to confront (p.393)
  • a bumblefuck = insult
  • Bumfuck = generic term for inconsequential settlement in the middle of nowhere, as in Bumfuck Wisconsin or any of the other anonymous mid-Western states.
  • a bump and grab = a type of criminal scam: one crim bumps their car into the back of the victims car; when the victim stops, they’re hijacked / kidnapped
  • to bus tables = to be a waiter
  • buy the farm = to die. ‘… a biker who’d bought the farm at Mile Marker 19.’ (p.304)
  • buzzed = adjective meaning ‘stoned’
  • to can = to fire. ‘No wonder the sheriff canned your ass.’ (p.188)
  • chunk-muffin = fat person (p.36)
  • cockhead = variation on dickhead, an idiot, an annoying or vexatious person (p.367)
  • cold one = a beer (p.306)
  • cooch = pussy, fanny, vulva. ‘…shaving cream all over her cooch…’ (p.260)
  • to crack the blinds = of closed blinds, to prise them apart to spy through them (p.327)
  • courtesy fuck = a guy buys a woman dinner, chocolates etc, she owes him a courtesy fuck
  • cracker = term of contempt for poor whites, particularly of Georgia and Florida, dating back to the American Revolution, and derives from the cracked corn which was their staple diet
  • to dick around = to waste time (p.309)
  • dickface = loser, idiot (p.370)
  • dickweed = an asshole or idiot so pernicious they are like a weed (p.384)
  • dirtbag = person who is committed to an alternative lifestyle to the point of abandoning employment and other social norms i.e. washing
  • to do = have sex with. ‘I’d do her.’
  • Dogpatch = name of a fictional poor rural community in the U.S., especially in the South, whose inhabitants are unsophisticated and have little education. Hence its use as an adjective: ‘A Dogpatch moniker like Clee Roy should have stuck in his head.’ (p.188)
  • a doobie or doob = a joint, cannabis cigarette (p.328)
  • dopp kit = small bag made for transporting toiletries in a convenient and portable manner
  • douche, short for douche bag = ‘a dick, an asshole, a jerk, whose crass behaviour has led them to be compared to a cleansing product for vaginas.’
  • a dust bunny = ball of dust and fluff (p.326)
  • dweeb = abbreviation of ‘dick with eyebrows’, implying the person is a walking penis
  • flake = an unreliable person; someone who agrees to do something, but never follows through (p.311)
  • four-top = table for four in a diner
  • to frog = to punch someone in the upper arm or chest with the middle knuckle partially extended to inflict a sharp concentrated blow
  • fry cartons = generic name for the kind of flimsy, grease-stained cardboard cartons you get takeaway fast food in
  • fuckwhistle = idiot, moron, one who lacks the most basic common sense to make correct decisions
  • fuckweasel = person who behaves in a sneaky manner to create favourable circumstances for themselves at the expense of others
  • gank = to steal. ‘I think the asshole who lives next door might’ve ganked it.’ (p.181)
  • gas up = fill a car with petrol (p.346)
  • goatfuck = a monumental screwup. (p.410)
  • goober = term of affection for a lovable, silly, lighthearted person: ‘…a crew from ET [was] interviewing some sunburned goober’ (p.97)
  • googan = a person wearing trendy sports clothing that is completely clueless in the ways of fishing
  • goomah = a mafioso’s mistress
  • grab-ass = the act of wrestling or chasing another person with the intention to touch or squeeze that person’s butt
  • a grow house = a room or rooms or larger space where marijuana plants are grown (p.245)
  • a hardass = someone who takes no shit off anyone, someone who expects to get their own way and won’t take no for an answer; dominating (p.364)
  • hard chargers = party animals. ‘Rogelio didn’t screw around on his wife, never stayed out late with the hard chargers.’ (p.82)
  • hardcore = adjective meaning serious, intense, relentless. ‘This judge is hardcore.’ (p.370)
  • honcho = a person in charge of some group or function. ‘The network honchos…’ (p.247)
  • horn, on the = on the phone
  • horndog = a guy or girl that is always horny. ‘He couldn’t rule out the possibility that he was a hopelessly shallow horndog.’ (p.284)
  • iced = adjective meaning killed or completed, depending on context. ‘I’ll have [the contract] iced by the next time we walk.’ (p.238)
  • an innie = belly buttons come in two shapes, innies and outies
  • to jack = ​jack something or somebody (for something) to steal something from somebody, especially something small or of low value (p.322)
  • jackoff = a stupid, irritating, or contemptible person
  • jag = ‘To “be on a jag” or “go on a jag” means to be completely unrestrained, whether you’re on a drinking jag or a crying jag.’
  • jazzed = expression of extreme happiness. ‘I am totally jazzed to hear your voice.’ (p.238)
  • jewels = penis and testicles. ‘I mean she’ll kill me, cut off my fuckin’ jewels and kill me all over again.’ (p.90)
  • jizz = semen (p.268)
  • Johnson = penis (p.374)
  • junk = cock and balls. ‘Next she made him dunk his junk in a bucket of ice cubes…’ (p.287)
  • landing zone = woman’s genitals (p.331)
  • look fly = look smart, well presented (p.359)
  • mash = press hard. ‘He mashed the Lobby button half a dozen times…’ (p.309)
  • meathead = overmuscular man, too much time at the gym, can’t string a sentence together (p.292)
  • meat hog = muscle i.e. goons i.e. hired enforcers (p.322)
  • mick = Irish (noun or adjective) (p.373)
  • mo-fo = adjective, short for ‘motherfucking’, suggesting ‘big’ (p.180)
  • a mope = a person of any race or culture who presents themselves as uneducated and possibly criminal either by behaviour or clothes
  • a mouthbreather = a retard: someone so stupid they never learned to breathe through their nose
  • nooner = a sex session during a lunch break or around noon; made famous by Al Bundy of ‘Married with Children’. ‘She promised him that she was done with payback nooners at the Wlshire.’ (p.409)
  • nosebleed heels = heels so high your head is in the upper atmosphere, hence the nosebleed
  • a numbnut = someone who is a constant source of trouble, an individual who screws up, or constant makes mistakes
  • nut sack = scrotum; male characters in Hiaasen novels are always getting something bad happen to their nut sacks, in this novel Trebeaux has some surgical clamps (hemostats) attached to his balls
  • nuts = testicles
  • on the lam = on the run, very old slang
  • a peckerwood = used by Afro-Americans to describe a rural white southerner, usually poor, undereducated or otherwise ignorant and bigoted (p.381)
  • to peel out = to drive or go away. ‘Yancy grinned at the sight of the Taurus peeling out.’ (p.190)
  • to peel rubber = to accelerate an automobile very rapidly (p.364)
  • piece = gun (p.370)
  • poon = woman’s genitals. Short for ‘poontang‘, ditto (p.308)
  • a pop tab = the flip top on drink cans
  • to pop a tent = to have an erection that shows through your trousers, or erects a bedsheet
  • pussy hound = ‘a dude who’s main goal in life is balling ladies.’
  • rearview, to put someone in your rearview = get over someone, move on (p.302)
  • rebar = reinforcing steel used as rods in concrete.
  • revenge fuck = joins mercy fuck, courtesy fuck and sportfucking as categories of fuck. ‘Rachel was the undoubted queen of the revenge fuck in a town with many contenders for the title.’ (p.42)
  • the root prong = of a tooth (p.178)
  • salvor = ‘a person engaged in salvage of a ship or items lost at sea’
  • sawbuck = $10
  • scat = poo; ‘rodent scat’ (p.84)
  • schlep = noun: a long and tiresome journey; verb: to make a long and tiresome journey. Yiddish (p.373)
  • to screak = to make a harsh shrill noise : screech
  • shit-bird = a completely useless individual who is unaware of their own complete uselessness
  • shit-heel = adjective. ‘…his shit-heel brothers…’ (p.221)
  • shitkicker = insult
  • shitstick = insult
  • shitsucker = insult
  • shitweasel = person who is sly, sneaky, and opportunistic; someone who is looking to slip their way into a shitty situation and make it even shittier
  • a shucker = someone who shucks oysters, clams, corn, walnuts etc out of their shells
  • sick = adjective meaning really good, cool or very impressive
  • a slim jim = a tool used to open doors on cars, by ‘pulling up’ the lock within the door, hence the verb, to slim jim a car. ‘… content in mid-life to be slim-jimming cars…’ (p.275)
  • slut puppy = person who uses their adorable looks to attract a partner or partners for a casual sexual encounter
  • to snitch out = to betray. ‘A million bucks says you wouldn’t never snitch out your wife.’ (p.358)
  • to spazz out = sudden, fast movement(s); to go mental (p.373)
  • spazzy = adjective meaning clumsy or inept, with an overtone of demented or mad. ‘Benny Krill had made one spazzy swing with the blade…’ (p.192)
  • to stare down = verb: to look fixedly at someone in a hostile or intimidating way till they look away
  • a stare-down = noun: the act of looking fixedly at someone in a hostile or intimidating way till they look away (p.386)
  • stoner = someone who regularly smokes marijuana: there are many different types of stoner
  • swag = merchandise. ‘He promised to donate a truckload of Brethren swag to an auction benefiting the local kids’ baseball league…’ (p.248).
  • tanked = stoned
  • tank suit = a woman’s one-piece swimsuit with high-cut legs. Merry wears one (p.300)
  • a thundercunt = that much more cunty than an ordinary cunt. ‘She’s a major thundercunt.’ (p.62)
  • toot = to snort, generally cocaine (p.329)
  • to tune up = to give someone an attitude adjustment by beating their ass. ‘… the man who’d just tuned up Rick and Rod…’ (p.275)
  • a tweaker = a methamphetamine addict; derives from ‘tweak’ which is a slang name for methamphetamine’. ‘Mr Nance isn’t just some homeless tweaker.’ (p.47)
  • unspooled = adjective meaning unhinged, bonkers
  • weed = marijuana aka grass
  • a whack job = a nutcase, a lunatic
  • to whale at something = to hit something forcefully and repeatedly
  • to whorehop = to go from one (loose) woman to another, regardless of consequences (p.61)
  • to wig out = ‘to suddenly become unnecessarily worried, anxious, upset, or paranoid most often while under the influence of an intoxicating substance, especially marijuana’
  • wild-ass = adjective meaning crazy. ‘The van driver figured out they were being tailed, and made a wild-ass turn off Flagler Avenue.’ (p.362)
  • wood = an erect penis; thus ‘to get wood’, ‘to have wood’. Brock Richardson: ‘Never waste good wood.’ (p.288)

Englishisms

In among the blizzard of Americanisms I was struck by a handful of times Hiaasen uses what I think of as very English terms, such as nitwit (p.361) and thick (p.215). I wonder whether he was deliberately trying to include as much novel slang as possible in this book i.e. it has a conscious philological interest over and above the storyline.

Once again I note that the woman riding cowboy style is Hiaasen’s (fictional) sexual position of choice, Merry riding Yancy (p.254) just as Dr Rosa Campasino rode him on the morgue dissection table and, later, in his bath. Appropriate for the general ‘girls on top, men are pitiful’ theme of so many of his novels.

Handy phrases

  • Sonny Summers wasn’t the sharpest tack on the corkboard. (p.47)
  • ‘Not my circus, not my monkey.’ (p.185)

Credit

Razor Girl by Carl Hiaasen was published by Alfred A. Knopf in 2016. Page references are to the 2019 Vintage Crime paperback edition.

Carl Hiaasen reviews