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Mistress Moderately Fair
Within this colorful and historically accurate romp through 17th century London's theater district, muddy streets and stimulating coffee houses, a sensitive romance develops between two womenMargaret Featherstone, a playwright, and Amy Dudley, a mysterious and talented actress. Meanwhile, the various personal and professional struggles of the King's Company are revealed through the multidimensioned personalities of Mr. Cary, the director and owner, Elizabeth Hill, the beautiful lead player, Margaret's African servant Kicharuzi and, of course, Margaret and Amy. Beyond the challenge of maintaining their illicit relationship, the women grapple with the choice of fulfilling love or ambition. Despite their intimacy, Amy does not reveal her troubled past to Margaretand her abrupt disappearance wounds her lover deeply. To assuage the pain, Margaret returns to "the strange, lonely world of invention" to write her finest play. The new work demands an exceptional actress, and both Cary and Margaret determine it must be Amy. The search for her moves rapidly toward the stunning and well-crafted denouement. Even if the pieces of this first novel fit too neatly, the reader is thoroughly charmed by Sturtevant's elegant prose and carefully conceived characters. Copyright 1988 Reed Business Information, Inc.
249 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 1988
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
May 1, 2017
Review originally appeared on The Lesbrary. The English Restoration, i.e. when Charles Stuart II returned to England to take his father’s throne back from the Puritans, fascinates me for being a renaissance of both art and hedonism. Theaters opened again after being banned, and all kinds of sexual openness flourished. I purposely sought out queer lit set in this time period–not that there’s much, given that historical LGBT romance skews heavily Regency–and was rewarded with Mistress Moderately Fair by Katherine Sturtevant. I think it’s out of print, but WorldCat has it at these libraries and Amazon has used copies.
Mistress is about a woman who comes to London to become an actress, and in the course of doing so falls for the lady playwright who’s been helping her hone her skills. It delivers most generously on lesbian romance, on plot twists and turns, and on evocative language. The author’s also done a remarkably good job at bringing a time period to life pretty vividly without falling prey to “look at meeee, I’m so well researched!” I felt the exciting earthiness of the time.
The actress, who is going by Amy but that isn’t her real name–she’s the Beauty with a Mysterious Secret Tragic Past trope–is scarred across her face, prompting the line: “I know I have a garden in my face–the roses and the thorns.” How it got that way, and what she’s hiding from, comprise the main conflicts of the book. She’s never heard of queerness before she came to London, not understanding why she’s so immensely, irrevocably drawn to her playwright friend Margaret, until one of her fellow actors gossips to her about their gay boss. Wait, that’s a thing people can do? Is that why I–
And straightaway, beautiful sensual sapphic prose starts gushing out all over the reader:
“I have deceived you,” [Margaret] said. “I have no poetry to share with you.”
“You are deceiving me now,” Amy said in a shaking voice, “For you are yourself a poem, and I have been hungering for you to share yourself with me.”
Their sex scenes glorify in sensuality, with that enthusiastic appreciation of breasts that validates my own impulses so soothingly. Amy is “my type”–a buxom, squishy, gorgeous brunette with luxurious hair and a tragic past. Margaret is one of those independent, outspoken, able to live slightly outside of society’s rules widow characters. They have chemistry from their very first encounter, and are totally believable as a couple.
“MARGARET AND I HAVE BECOME FRIENDS!” Amy gushes into her diary, too cautious to write what she really means. She goes on to add “I will say that we wrote poetry together, and whenever I read those words, I will know what they mean. And they are true indeed, for we have writ such poetry as I never dreamed of!” The metaphor doesn’t stop here, so the book is almost worth it for the “cunnilingus = poetry” jokes alone.
I love the way this book talks about writing inspiration and the way we create idealized and alternative versions of the people in our lives to interact with on the page. So very relatable.
The liveliness of the time period is evident in the snappy dialogue:
“I heard you had returned from the dead,” says the gay theater owner to someone recovering from violence. The man’s reply is “I did not like being dead, for the plays in heaven were quite dull and not the least bawdy.”
In one scene the two leading ladies recognize and mourn how it was easier for a man to be accepted for sleeping with men than a woman with other women, mainly because of misogyny. Incidentally this is a book that recognizes bisexuality as a phenomenon (without actually anachronizing by using the word), which was a nice touch.
My one quibble, and it’s a major one that’s the reason for the missing star, is the treatment of the book’s minor characters of color. Since it’s out of print, it would satisfy me deeply if this book were to return to print with those parts reexamined especially since they could be tweaked with zero impact on the actual story itself. I like the fact that the enslaved cook from next door insists right away that the main character call her by her real African name instead of the English name her own captor gave her–and that Margaret immediately does so–and I like the fact that the main character buys her and frees her at the end. But both she and her friend, another African captive, speak in broken English that felt awkwardly executed to me, and there are passages exoticizing her religious beliefs without actually adding anything to the story itself. I’m glad she was freed at the end but it would have been even more satisfying if she’d left England with the main character’s blessing after being freed instead of being asked to stay on as a servant and sneak out.
Trigger warnings: sexual assault in a flashback, and also for a brutal attack sustained by the gay supporting character from his lover’s brother’s henchmen. I found the lesbian positivity in the book so overwhelmingly affirming that it didn’t bother me as it ordinarily might have, but it’s there all the same.
Mistress is about a woman who comes to London to become an actress, and in the course of doing so falls for the lady playwright who’s been helping her hone her skills. It delivers most generously on lesbian romance, on plot twists and turns, and on evocative language. The author’s also done a remarkably good job at bringing a time period to life pretty vividly without falling prey to “look at meeee, I’m so well researched!” I felt the exciting earthiness of the time.
The actress, who is going by Amy but that isn’t her real name–she’s the Beauty with a Mysterious Secret Tragic Past trope–is scarred across her face, prompting the line: “I know I have a garden in my face–the roses and the thorns.” How it got that way, and what she’s hiding from, comprise the main conflicts of the book. She’s never heard of queerness before she came to London, not understanding why she’s so immensely, irrevocably drawn to her playwright friend Margaret, until one of her fellow actors gossips to her about their gay boss. Wait, that’s a thing people can do? Is that why I–
And straightaway, beautiful sensual sapphic prose starts gushing out all over the reader:
“I have deceived you,” [Margaret] said. “I have no poetry to share with you.”
“You are deceiving me now,” Amy said in a shaking voice, “For you are yourself a poem, and I have been hungering for you to share yourself with me.”
Their sex scenes glorify in sensuality, with that enthusiastic appreciation of breasts that validates my own impulses so soothingly. Amy is “my type”–a buxom, squishy, gorgeous brunette with luxurious hair and a tragic past. Margaret is one of those independent, outspoken, able to live slightly outside of society’s rules widow characters. They have chemistry from their very first encounter, and are totally believable as a couple.
“MARGARET AND I HAVE BECOME FRIENDS!” Amy gushes into her diary, too cautious to write what she really means. She goes on to add “I will say that we wrote poetry together, and whenever I read those words, I will know what they mean. And they are true indeed, for we have writ such poetry as I never dreamed of!” The metaphor doesn’t stop here, so the book is almost worth it for the “cunnilingus = poetry” jokes alone.
I love the way this book talks about writing inspiration and the way we create idealized and alternative versions of the people in our lives to interact with on the page. So very relatable.
The liveliness of the time period is evident in the snappy dialogue:
“I heard you had returned from the dead,” says the gay theater owner to someone recovering from violence. The man’s reply is “I did not like being dead, for the plays in heaven were quite dull and not the least bawdy.”
In one scene the two leading ladies recognize and mourn how it was easier for a man to be accepted for sleeping with men than a woman with other women, mainly because of misogyny. Incidentally this is a book that recognizes bisexuality as a phenomenon (without actually anachronizing by using the word), which was a nice touch.
My one quibble, and it’s a major one that’s the reason for the missing star, is the treatment of the book’s minor characters of color. Since it’s out of print, it would satisfy me deeply if this book were to return to print with those parts reexamined especially since they could be tweaked with zero impact on the actual story itself. I like the fact that the enslaved cook from next door insists right away that the main character call her by her real African name instead of the English name her own captor gave her–and that Margaret immediately does so–and I like the fact that the main character buys her and frees her at the end. But both she and her friend, another African captive, speak in broken English that felt awkwardly executed to me, and there are passages exoticizing her religious beliefs without actually adding anything to the story itself. I’m glad she was freed at the end but it would have been even more satisfying if she’d left England with the main character’s blessing after being freed instead of being asked to stay on as a servant and sneak out.
Trigger warnings: sexual assault in a flashback, and also for a brutal attack sustained by the gay supporting character from his lover’s brother’s henchmen. I found the lesbian positivity in the book so overwhelmingly affirming that it didn’t bother me as it ordinarily might have, but it’s there all the same.
March 4, 2016
In contrast to the previous century, women in mid-17th century Restoration England could not only act upon the stage, but even become playwrights. Margaret Featherstone (possibly inspired by the real playwright Aphra Behn) competes for the talents of London’s theatrical set, and for the attention of patrons even as high as King Charles II. Actress Amy Dudley could be the talent that brings fame to her work. But both women share a secret and forbidden desire, and Amy hides another secret that could send her to the gallows. Braided in among this are other stories, such as that of the African slave Kicharuzi.
Sturtevant has a strong command of the feel for historic English and brings the era to life both in her descriptions and dialogue. This is not a simple formulaic romance. The story revolves around the complex social politics of the theatrical world and the legal perils and consequences for women trying to make lives for themselves without the safety of marriage. Within that world, two women find each other and carefully negotiate the possibility of future happiness. This is a book that deserves to be better known. Sturtevant’s more recent books are set in the same era, but aimed at more of a YA readership and without the lesbian interest.
Sturtevant has a strong command of the feel for historic English and brings the era to life both in her descriptions and dialogue. This is not a simple formulaic romance. The story revolves around the complex social politics of the theatrical world and the legal perils and consequences for women trying to make lives for themselves without the safety of marriage. Within that world, two women find each other and carefully negotiate the possibility of future happiness. This is a book that deserves to be better known. Sturtevant’s more recent books are set in the same era, but aimed at more of a YA readership and without the lesbian interest.
May 23, 2015
What a fun book! I guess it's a little bit silly, and could have stood for some beefing up - there are lots of longer, more involved works of fan fiction out there (though maybe not with lesbians?) - but the writing is lovely and the two characters are very sweet together. I think if you want something like early Sarah Waters, but can't just read Fingersmith again (I have a 1 year rereading rule, myself), this would be a good pick. It's a shame that it's out of print, particularly now - it would make an excellent beach read.
I enjoyed it a lot. Four stars for fun. The best-drawn characters are Margaret and Amy, of course, but I thought the villain of the book was also kind of interesting, and there were a few side characters with interesting depths. Kicharuzi, Margeret's borrowed enslaved cook was definitely under-used; I welcomed the third perspective, but I'm not sure Sturtevant was quite comfortable with the outsider's viewpoint. Some of the trappings of AMMF are a bit reminiscent of Ace, King, Knave, I thought, though there are about 70 years between them.
I enjoyed it a lot. Four stars for fun. The best-drawn characters are Margaret and Amy, of course, but I thought the villain of the book was also kind of interesting, and there were a few side characters with interesting depths. Kicharuzi, Margeret's borrowed enslaved cook was definitely under-used; I welcomed the third perspective, but I'm not sure Sturtevant was quite comfortable with the outsider's viewpoint. Some of the trappings of AMMF are a bit reminiscent of Ace, King, Knave, I thought, though there are about 70 years between them.
Read
February 9, 2016There aren't too many lesbian novels set in the 17th century so A Mistress Moderately Fair was a surprise. Sturtevant's speciality is historical fiction and her excursion into lesbian romance was well done.
May 1, 2017
I don't have enough background knowledge of Restoration Era London to know whether Sturtevant's depiction was historically accurate, but it was certainly convincing to my untrained eye. She's quite skilled at using language to transport the reader to another time and place, and I especially loved the way she pulled off the kind of dialogue that's full of intrigue, like a dance.
I was also particularly impressed with Richard Cary's character, where we see that being gay in no way makes a man less misogynistic. And that it's possible for the same person to have both likable/relatable qualities as well as hateful ones, to be neither hero nor villain. Indeed, there was a poignant commentary on how those in positions of power can come off as the nicest, kindest, smartest people, people you trust, people you'd consider your friend... and yet still be rapists and abusers. Alongside the main love story, the book contains a surprisingly complex analysis of how a misogynist society enables and normalizes that violence.
This commentary on (white) women's social position in restoration England made Sturtevant's negligence in representing the enslaved Black cook she calls Kicharuzi that much more glaring. I wonder if she realized the irony of criticizing '[white] women being bargained for like bales of hay' on one page, only to have her heroines quite literally buy another human being 20 pages later. Likely not, or she would have made Kicharuzi central to the story rather than an awkward accessory to Amy and Margaret's plot.
I was also particularly impressed with Richard Cary's character, where we see that being gay in no way makes a man less misogynistic. And that it's possible for the same person to have both likable/relatable qualities as well as hateful ones, to be neither hero nor villain. Indeed, there was a poignant commentary on how those in positions of power can come off as the nicest, kindest, smartest people, people you trust, people you'd consider your friend... and yet still be rapists and abusers. Alongside the main love story, the book contains a surprisingly complex analysis of how a misogynist society enables and normalizes that violence.
This commentary on (white) women's social position in restoration England made Sturtevant's negligence in representing the enslaved Black cook she calls Kicharuzi that much more glaring. I wonder if she realized the irony of criticizing '[white] women being bargained for like bales of hay' on one page, only to have her heroines quite literally buy another human being 20 pages later. Likely not, or she would have made Kicharuzi central to the story rather than an awkward accessory to Amy and Margaret's plot.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews