Lately in my reading, I’ve been leaning towards history (and by lately, I mean the whole of my life; history has always been my favorite subject). One thing that I’ve learned in my latest batch of books is that infamy almost always accompanies fame, especially if the subject in question is a woman. Since fame requires that one stands out from the crowd in some way, the resultant isolation from one’s peers can and does inspire both admiration and resentment. For a woman, whose traditional role was supposed to occur behind the scenes, fame invited even greater condemnation. Historically, if women were behaving, then they were not famous, and they did not make history. The following are three books about women who behaved badly.

Georgiana: Duchess of Devonshire
Georgiana (ancestor of both Princess Diana and Sarah Ferguson, Duchess of York) was born into a good, respectable family, the Spencers, and she married into one of the most powerful and influential families in 18th Century England, becoming the Duchess of Devonshire upon her marriage to William Cavendish. Always insecure, Georgiana strived to please her new family, even changing the pronunciation of her own name (she began calling herself Geor-jayn-a) to accomodate their preferences. Despite her efforts, her marriage was a cold one, as the Duke was not interested in his wife beyond her ability to bear heirs.
In an effort to entertain herself, and to leave behind the grief of several miscarriages, Georgiana embarked upon a public life. She became a vocal supporter of the Whig party, and she campaigned on their behalf, even going so far as to visit townsfolk from door to door in order to win their support. She became a leader in fashion and her outrageous ensembles placed her on the papers on a regular basis. Through her politics and her beauty, she became the most famous woman of her day. Her lavish parties were the hot ticket of the season, and her attention was sought by the royal family itself. Georgiana was a crucial and valued asset for the Whigs, their public face, and she schemed and debated with the most poweful politicians of the English Parliament.
Georgiana’s busy public persona masked a deep unhappiness in her home life. She was a compulsive gambler whose debt and careless spending was driving her husband ever deeper into debt. Though she finally produced a son, her husband took a mistress, Georgiana’s best friend Elizabeth “Beth” Foster. So great was Georgiana’s loneliness that she accepted William’s decision to keep Beth permanently in their home. William, however, was not so understanding when Georgiana decided to take on a lover of her own, and heartbreak soon followed.
Through meticulous research into the correspondence, diaries, and newspapers of the era, author Amanda Foreman focuses on the politics of the English aristocracy in the time of George III without falling into melodrama. Most importantly, Foreman’s most vivid portrait is of Georgiana herself, a complex individual whose role cannot be reduced to that of victim, despite what the recent film adaptation starring Keira Knightley would have us believe. Georgiana was both victim and victimizer, a creature with incredibly low self-esteem, full of self-loathing, who nevertheless demanded to be the center of attention. It is in her illustration of this complexity through her attention the the smallest details of Georgiana’s life that Foreman succeeds in bringing her subject back to life.
The Murder of Helen Jewett

In 1836, New York prostitute Helen Jewett (an alias for Dorcas Doyen) was found murdered in her bedroom on Thomas Street. The murder and the ensuing trial of Richard Robinson (one of Helen’s clients) captivated the media and ignited a national discourse of gender relations and public morals. Interestingly, the focus of the book lies not with the investigative technique, or even trying to solve the murder, although Cohen does put forth a suspect. Rather, the emphasis is on the perception of Helen and her trade in 19th Century New York, and how that perception differed in the rest of the nation.
The novel begins with the murder itself, or rather the discovery thereof. Found in a brothel in New York City, Helen’s case was quickly discovered by the rest of the nation thanks to the efforts of the penny press. Unlike the more respectable publications of the time, the penny press delved into the seedier side of crime, including sex crimes, and this case had all the elements of front page material: the prostitute was beautiful, the suspect was a “good boy”, and the killing was brutal. Interestingly, the New York press was sympathetic towards Helen, at least in comparison to the rest of the nation. In its reporting of the case, the NY press emphasized Helen’s beauty and good manners, her sense of culture and fashionable clothing. To a lot of people in NY, Helen’s murder was a tragedy. Not so with the rest of the country, wherein Helen’s murder became a convenient morality tale, a parable meant to teach an important lesson to good girls anywhere who were tempted to stray from the good path. In fact, several publications of the age focused on education as the cause of moral bankruptcy, though only as far as girls were concerned. According to this view, Helen’s education (and she was fortunate enough to get a good one) was the cause of her fall. Stories and reading in general made girls more willing to question their station in life, and to aspire to lives away from their families. Reading, in effect, was the gateway to infamy and lost virtue. The only appropriate reading material was the Bible.
From the various accounts of Helen’s life, Cohen tries to arrive at the person that Helen truly was. Helen herself was very creative in the retellings of her adventures, and she presented different accounts of her life to different people. She was not only beautiful, but very intelligent and strong willed, something surprising for a woman of her time and station. This was a woman who was willing to take men to court if they mistreated her, something that was due, in part, to the city itself, which was willing to hear a whore’s case just as easily as it would hear anyone else’s complaint (something that would change in the coming years, with the resurgence of religious reform, which looked down upon the idea of offering protection to prostitutes).
In addition to the exploration of Helen’s background, the book delves into the background of her accused killer, Richard Robinson, as well as the coverage that surrounded him in the national press. Robinson, a clerk, was judged by the nation to be a good boy who fell in with the wrong crowd, a naive young man who fell into the clutches of an experienced manipulator of the demimonde. He was a man in the wrong place at the wrong time, and with the only testimony against him being from prostitutes, it would be difficult to secure any kind of case against him. Of course, the testimony in question spoke of a dark and violent streak within Robinson, but the court was instructed to disregard it, and the nation soon followed suit.
Though the case was shockingly brief by today’s standards, lasting only a few days, it was very long by the standards of 19th Century jurisprudence. It was also a very high profile case, packing the courtrooms with hundreds of spectators and reporters. The nation was captivated by the scandal, and specifically by its sexual nature. Though quick to condemn the sexuality of the victim, the public delighted in the sordid details of the affair, and the case of Helen Jewett would go on to play a significant role in the history of gender dynamics as played on the national stage.

Other Powers: The Age of Suffrage, Spiritualism and the Scandalous Victoria Woodhull
The American Suffragist movement, organized and galvanized to great strength during the 19th Century, was put on hold when the nation went to war over the question of slavery. During the Reconstruction that followed, women hoped that the support they had lent to the abolitionist cause would be reciprocated as the government re-considered requirements for citizenship and the vote. If the Constitution could be amended to to grant voting rights to blacks, women figured, why could it not be altered to grant these same rights to women? On this account, Suffragists would discover that they were wrong. Not only were the abolitionists unwilling to risk their chances at suffrage by aligning themselves with women, but the women themselves were divided on the issues at stake. The more conservative branch of the movement, supported by the likes of Catherine Beecher, advocated a soft entreaty for the vote, and only the vote. The more liberal branch, headed by Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, wanted to eradicate several forms of oppression against women, most notably marriage laws favoring the husband’s ownership of his wife and children. This challenge against the sacred institution of marriage tore the women’s movement into two resentful factions.
Enter Victoria Woodhull, Spiritualist from a family of con artists. Woodhull, who believed in and practiced the idea of free love, was an incendiary character who blazed to New York City after a life of poverty, prostitution, and communion with the spirits. In NYC, she allied herself with none other than Cornelius Vanderbilt and made a fortune for herself on the stock market. When she decided that wasn’t enough, Victoria tried to lead the women’s movement to Washington, D.C., where she demanded and received an audience from Congress, asserting that women would not be denied the vote. She founded a paper to spread her ideas, and submitted herself as a candidate for the presidency of the United States….all at a time when women could neither vote nor serve in a jury. Her controversial ideas on marriage, which she equated to institutionalized prostitution, and her peculiar living arrangements (she lived with both her former husband and her current lover) brought her into great conflict with the conservative New England branch of Suffragists, and into an alliance with the liberal NYC branch. Her refusal to back down also landed her in jail (several times) and plunged her into one of the greatest scandals of the 19th Century, one centering on one of America’s most pious families, the Beechers.
Author Barbara Goldsmith manages the incredible feat of introducing dozens of characters into the narrative and keeping them in play for hundreds of pages as they move inoxerably towards each other. Though her focus is Victoria Woodhull, Goldsmith places Woodull in the context of America’s Reconstruction, the corruption of the Gilded Age, the politics of the women’s rights movement, and the wave of Spiritualism that captivated the nation in the wake of the Civil War. It is not simply a tale about Woodhull herself, but about her interaction with the nation’s most famous personalities: Horace Greeley, Frederick Douglass, Mark Twain, Ulysses S. Grant, and especially the powerful Beecher family (Henry Ward, Harriet Beecher Stowe and Catherine). Woodhull’s life, as recounted by Goldsmith, is the story of a nation in the midst of chaos and change.