By
C.M. Fontana (Guest Blogger)
Writing
mystery novels set in the Victorian period throws up problems for how
one might write a heroic female lead. And writing Victorian erotica
with a strong woman at the fore has its own problems.
Writing
a Victorian erotic mystery with strong female characters therefore
becomes doubly difficult.
Mystery
novels need heroes who can be proactive, who can go out and confront,
investigate and engage with whatever crimes or secrets they are
investigating. And in a Victorian setting, realistically that means
that they almost certainly have to be male - and especially so if
they are middle or upper class.
The
Victorian period was the most rigid and unforgiving in Western
history when it came to the roles of women. The "gentler sex"
were supposed to be meek, self-sacrificing creatures, "domestic
angels" who stayed in safe, homely environments, did not go out
unchaperoned, did not express strong opinions, and supported the
males in their lives. Not only were business and professions barred
to women, and the doors of many institutions closed to them, but even
actions which we might consider common today - like going to a
restaurant alone - would have been considered scandalous.
The
idea of the "separation of spheres", in which women were
socially shunted into the private, supporting sphere of nurture and
domesticity, make it very difficult to write strong investigative
characters. How can a woman go out and get stuck into some dangerous
investigation when everyone around her expects her to stay meekly at
home? A cosy murder-mystery could doubtless be written about a
Victorian lady who (perhaps Miss Marple-like) solves cases while
chatting over tea and crumpets, but something edgier or more
action-packed becomes very hard.
And
then in erotica we also have problems. It is extremely limiting if
all the female characters have been socially conditioned to think
that they should be meek and accommodating: there may be people who
want to read about women who want nothing but to meekly do what they
are told, but for a range of hot, intriguing erotic situations we
need women who are more varied in their outlooks, and often
confident, both socially and sexually.
Of
course there is fun to be had in playing with conventions and
assumption. In the short novella, The Heir's
Mistresses, I have two characters (the
aforementioned mistresses) who seem ideally, perhaps unnaturally,
dedicated to the needs and wants of the patriarch in their lives.
Readers should immediately sense that all is not right, and will be
unsurprised when the man is rudely (and violently) confronted by the
truth that his doting mistresses were not, in fact, as meek and
selfless as they seemed. But that is an aside. The issue remains that
we need to be able to include, involve, and ideally focus on female
characters who are very far from the Victorian ideal, or the
Victorian reality.
So,
to make for exciting erotic mysteries focusing on female characters
we need characters who are freer to move around socially, more
confident, and more, frankly, powerful than is realistic in a
Victorian setting. So how do we approach this?
There
is an easy answer. And that is to ignore the whole issue. We could
just create a character who is, essentially, a 21st century woman,
and put her in a situation that seems superficially Victorian but
which is, really, the 21st century with set-dressing. And this is
easy for the writer and for the reader. To have modern characters and
settings, but in pretty costumes, makes everything very easy to
understand, to relate to. But is it the most interesting solution?
And having made the decision to set a story in the Victorian period,
do we really want to water it down?
Each
author needs their own solution to this. But I'll attempt to explain
how I handled this for the Sexual Sorcery series.
Sexual
Sorcery focuses on the investigations of a small group of accomplices
- two women and one man, informally led by a lady named Catherine
Wolseley. It is an erotic mystery, but it also has a supernatural
edge, being set in the occult underworld of Victorian London, where
sinister scholars and charlatans conspire and plot as they delve into
shadowy secrets.
The
setting, therefore, gives us our way to empower Catherine Wolseley.
In a world where intelligence and secret knowledge are prized, she
has access to a wealth of information, and has the brains to use it.
So, while the wider society expects men to tell women what to do, in
this context she is able to lead the investigation, directing her
hapless male colleague's efforts - not only because she is cleverer
than him, but because she knows much more about the situation that
they are in.
Further,
a story about occult conspiracies immediately brings into play other
characters who are not typical, conventional Victorians, in a range
of situations which are equally unusual. As the seductive Signora
Cenci tells Catherine's hapless male accomplice, "You have been
taught to be a gentleman by following a set of rules. And now you
find yourself in situations where the rules do not seem to work;
situations for which no rules have been written." Catherine also
gains freedom to act because she, unlike him, does understand these
situations and their unspoken rules: just as he is baffled because it
is not enough for him to behave as a conventional gentleman, she is
liberated because it is unnecessary for her to act as a conventional
lady.
This
creates a situation in which unusually confident, capable female
characters can take a proactive role. This in turn makes the story
much more interesting for the reader, and means that our plot doesn't
have to be dominated by male characters.
The
next step, then, is to introduce to this situation characters who are
unusually proactive without falling into the trap of making them
modern people in fancy-dress. Each needs their own past, their own
motivations.
This
is where there are no rules - each character has to be freed to
develop honestly, plausibly, without me, as the writer, imposing on
them.
Catherine
and her female accomplice, Emma, are both unusual enough women to
thrive in this shadowy Victorian subculture. Emma has her own
novella, Charity and
Deception, which explains how she came to
prosper in this unconventional environment. Catherine's story is
being revealed more slowly, with references in Sexual
Sorcery to an unusual and privileged family
background, but the details remaining, at present, vague. But in both
cases, these are women who have grown out of their setting - who are
products, however unusually, of the Victorian world - rather than
being modern characters parachuted into the story.
In
this way it has been possible to create female heroines for Victorian
erotic mystery novels. And they should be convincing, interesting
characters. Indeed, the fact that the situation requires them to be
such remarkable women makes them, I hope, better heroines.
Sexual
Sorcery: An Erotic Tale of Sex, Mystery and the Occult, in Victorian
England by C M Fontana
An
unwitting academic stumbles into the erotically-charged occult
underworld of Victorian London. With a cast of characters including
an investigator with a talent for seduction, a mesmerist collecting a
harem of beautiful ladies, and a woman who believes she has had sex
with Satan, Sexual Sorcery is a sizzling story of decadence,
conspiracy and carnality.
When
a collection of books go missing from the University's collection,
Fredrick Clifford travels to London in search of the likely culprit,
an apparently respectable gentleman named Victor Braystone. But he
soon finds that he is not the only one with an interest in Mr
Braystone, and the manipulative Catherine Wolseley soon draws him
into her own schemes.
As
he, Miss Wolseley and their seductive accomplice begin to unravel Mr
Braystone's plots, Fredrick Clifford finds himself both confused and
entrapped in a shocking world of of sex and duplicity. And as the
trail leads him from the seductions of a London club to a Satanic
altar in the wilds of the Welsh borders, he struggles to make sense
of both the dark uncertainties of the occult, and of an unfamiliar
realm of debauchery and sex.
Excerpt
By
Saturday morning, Fredrick had still not had time to visit the agency
to advertise for a new domestic servant, and he was becoming heartily
sick of bread and marmalade for breakfast – or, indeed, for any
other meal that he could not reasonably eat out. It was also an
irritation that he had to answer his own front door, and now he found
himself greeted at his front step by a small grubby boy, in bare feet
and ragged trousers, presenting him with a sealed envelope.
He
took the letter, tipped the boy a coin, and closed the door.
The
paper was expensive, that handwriting feminine. Inside, a note simply
read:
Two
o’clock. My carriage will collect you. We cannot have gaps in your
education as a gentleman. Please be an attentive student. Such
classes are not inexpensive.
And
that was all. He assumed that it was from Miss Wolseley, and resigned
himself to having to follow her cryptic instructions. In the
meantime, he thought, he would finish his newspaper, and then visit
the agency to and see if they could alleviate his domestic
difficulties.
And
so, soon after lunchtime, after a satisfactory visit to the agency he
found on returning to his house a familiar carriage parked outside.
“My
good man, am I late?”
“Not
at all Sir,” the gruff coachman tipped his hat. “I’m early.
Take your time, Sir. We aren’t due til ‘alf past.”
Fredrick
re-emerged promptly at two o’clock, and climbed into the carriage,
and sat back while it bounced and swerved through the city’s
congested streets. Out of the window he saw gentrified houses, and,
as the traffic moved slowly on the main roads, although the journey
was barely two miles, it took over twenty minutes. He was relieved to
find that they stopped in a fashionable West End street.
He
stepped down from the carriage, and the coachman indicated the door
across the road.
He
crossed the street and rapped with the brass door knocker.
Promptly,
the door was opened, and a short, grey haired maid opened the door.
“Fredrick
Clifford,” he introduced himself. “I may be expected?”
“Of
course,” the maid curtseyed, with a hint of an accent, perhaps
Italian or French, and stepped back to let him in.
She
took his coat, hat and cane, and then led him up the stairs, and into
a well furnished sitting room. Tall windows let light flood into the
room through lace curtains, the room was decked with a range of
plushly upholstered chairs and settees, the largest of which,
unusually, seemed to be the size of a single bed, but with ornate
arms and a high back.
The
maid motioned him to take a seat in a plush chair by the window. She
assured him, “I will say that you have arrived,” and then
withdrew.
As
he waited, he looked around. The décor was, the more he considered
the details, eccentric.
Not
only were the chairs unusually deeply upholstered, and the main sofa
far wider than was needed, but there were numerous sturdy hooks,
which looked like they might have hung chandeliers before gas
lighting was installed, both in the ceiling and also, inexplicably in
the skirting board at the foot of the wall. There was also a faint
but spicy scent in the air, which he suspected might be incense –
an unusual scent to encounter outside of a High or Catholic church.
The
door opened, and he turned to see a tall, graceful woman step into
the room. She wore a red silk robe like a dressing gown, and around
her neck an ornate necklace of black beads. Her brown hair hung
loosely in flowing curls, cascading over her shoulders, and
Fredrick’s eyes were drawn further down, to the sides of her firm
breasts, indecently visible where the two sides of the robe met.
“I’m
so sorry!” he instinctively stood up and turned his back on her, to
stare fixedly out of the window.
“And
why, Mr Clifford, are you sorry?” The voice was soft, the accent
unmistakably continental.
“I
am… that is to say…” He could barely hear her approach, her
bare feet on the carpet. “Perhaps I should return when you are
properly dressed.”
Her
voice, now just over his shoulder, chided, “Mr Clifford, I was told
that you were a gentleman.”
“Well,
yes!” he replied, indignantly.
“And
is it polite, when a lady enters a room, turn your back on her, and
then proceed to criticise her choice of clothing.”
“Well,
I… there is a question of what is appropriate!”
“Your
lessons today,” she corrected him, “are to deal instead with the
question of what is courteous – gentlemanly. You may be quite right
about what is appropriate. But this afternoon, that is not our
subject.”
To
Frederick, what was gentlemanly and what was appropriate seemed
intimately connected. But Miss Wolseley had, presumably, some purpose
in sending him here.
“I
apologise,” he conceded, turning to face her. It would be a shame
to argue with such an attractive hostess.
She
smiled and inclined her head. “Then shall we start again?”
Fredrick
nodded.
The
woman turned and walked softly back to the door. He watched her robe
sway against her legs, and was impressed by her grace. She left the
room, and shut the door after herself. Fredrick sat down again, and
waited.
After
a minute, the door opened again, and the woman returned.
Fredrick
stood up, and stepped forwards to greet her. “Fredrick Clifford,
Madam. At your service.”
She
held out her hand, palm down, and he took it gently, and bowed
slightly as he motioned to kiss it. He could not help, bending
forward, but appreciate the gentle curve of her breasts, barely
draped in thin red silk.
“Signorina
Maria Cenci,” she replied with a hint of a curtsey. “Charmed to
meet you, Sir.”
She
motioned him across to the wide sofa, strewn with cushions, and when
he sat she took a seat next to him. Her robe fell open at the knee,
revealing her slender, pale calf, and Fredrick made an effort not to
look too intently.
The
door opened again, and the elderly maid entered, carrying a tray,
which she set down on the table by the settee.
“Milk
and sugar, Mr Clifford?” Signorina Cenci asked.
“Please,
yes.”
“Tell
me Mr Clifford, she asked, as she poured the tea and the maid
withdrew, “how should a gentleman behave towards a lady?”
Fredrick
considered for a moment, and then, taking the cup and saucer offered
to him, replied: “A gentleman should always be respectful.”
“And
why is that important?” she asked. And when Fredrick had no ready
answer, she clarified, “Why should a gentleman be respectful to a
lady, and not, perhaps, to a tree or stone?”
“Obviously,
trees and stones don’t have feelings!”
“So
when you say respectful, you mean that you should be aware of the
lady’s feelings?”
“Quite
so,” Fredrick said, taking another sip of tea and then setting the
cup aside. “The male is the stronger sex. It is our duty to
protect, both physically and mentally, the frailer gender. It shows
us to be civilized human beings, and not savages.”
“And
so,” Signorina Cenci asked, “you see that, if a man turns his
back on a woman as she enters the room, she might be upset. In which
case, the gentlemanly response is to greet her courteously, perhaps?”
“I
see your point, Madam,” Fredrick acknowledged, not wanting to
argue.
“But
is it also gentlemanly,” she teased, “as you bend down to kiss
her hand, to stare so intently at her breasts?”
Fredrick
blushed, “I am so sorry, Madam, I didn’t intend to.”
She
laughed, and stood. “Then shall we try again?”
“Of
course, if you wish.”
She
left her tea cup on the table, walked to the door, turned, paused,
and then returned towards the sofa.
Fredrick
stood, stepped forward, and took her hand when she offered it. This
time, as he bent and motioned to kiss her hand, he kept his eyes
fixed firmly on the floor.
Again
Signorina Cenci laughed.
“Mr
Clifford,” she smiled, placing her hand on his arm. “Do you
really think that if a lady deliberately appears dressed like this –
” she raised her other hand to her neck and let her index finger
slowly trace a line along the hem of the robe, down her chest, over
the mound of her breast “ – that she does not want to be
admired?”
“Really,
Madam, I protest,” Fredrick sighed, “You say that I should not
stare, and now you say that I should stare. What am I to do?”
“Mr
Clifford, you are to be a gentleman. You are to behave with
consideration for the lady’s feelings.” Seeing that he was still
confused, she continued. “If you stare dumbly at my chest – “
she turned slightly, so that he could fully appreciate the silhouette
of her breasts – “I might consider the stare to be aggressive, or
I might worry that you are no longer capable of rational thought. You
are still capable of thought, Sir?”
He
raised his eyes from the curve of her robe, to look her in the eye
again. “Yes, of course.”
“But
if you ignore me entirely, I might think that I have failed to
impress you, or that you consider me ugly. You do not consider me
ugly, do you?”
“No!
Of course not!”
“Then,
Mr Clifford, please, stop trying to guess what the rules are. There
is but one rule to being a gentleman. Consideration for the feelings
of the other person. And so, consider my feelings, and act
accordingly.”
“Very
well,” Fredrick acquiesced.
“Then
shall we try once more?”
She
walked back to the door, and again turned to face him. She paused for
a moment. “Are you ready, Sir?”
Fredrick
nodded.
She
ran her finger down the front of her robe, and deliberately opened
the gap at her chest a little further, so that the sides of both
breasts were quite bare. “Are you certain?”
Fredrick
paused for just a second and then answered confidently: “Yes,
Madam.”
Buy
Links
Author
Bio
C
M Fontana is a British erotic author, fusing plots of mystery,
intrigue, and the supernatural with racy erotica. The first
full-length novels, Sexual Sorcery, was published for Kindle in
September 2015, with two novellas continuing the series released soon
after.
Author
Twitter: @mystic_erotica
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