Looking for queer heroes? Consider the life of subversive librarian Jeannette Howard Foster. If you want daring, there’s plenty in this account of how she came to write Sex Variant Women in Literature, the first book to show that lesbian, bisexual and cross-dressing women could be traced back at least 3,000 years through more than 300 texts. As a self-supporting woman at a time when homosexuals were often fired from their jobs, Foster risked her livelihood by self-publishing this cornerstone of modern queer studies under her own name in 1956.
If you want drama, consider Foster’s four year stint working with Alfred Kinsey at the Institute for Sex Research, right after his controversial 1948 publication of Sexual Behavior in the Human Male. There, she faced down the sexual advances of both Kinsey and his associate Wardell Pomeroy, though both men were fully aware that she preferred women. She also found a confidant for her disillusionment with the great sexologist in Hazel Tolliver, a scholar of Latin and Greek hired by Kinsey to translate accounts of sex crimes extracted by Catholic confessors, who became Foster’s partner of 30 years.
Notable lesbians rarely get full-scale biographical treatment these days, never mind those who aren’t as famous as Gertrude Stein or Natalie Barney. So Joanne Passet’s incisive new biography, Sex Variant Woman: The Life of Jeannette Howard Foster, is especially welcome — not just because Foster deserves to be better known as a lesbian author, poet and translator, but because her life spanned all but the last decade of the 20th century, and opens a window on lesbians in the Midwest and South.
Foster’s coming out was both wilder and milder than you might guess. Born in 1895 as the oldest daughter of an upper middle class family in Oak Park, Illinois, she came of age when women’s romantic friendships offered a convenient cover for intense same-sex infatuations. Despite her frowning mother, Foster found self-acceptance as a teenager though fiction like Mary Constance DuBois’s “The Lass of the Silver Sword,” about a school girl’s crush on an older female student, and the work of sexologist Havelock Ellis. Her unrequited love affairs with several female professors led to a breakdown after Foster’s first year at the University of Chicago in 1914. But she regained emotional stability with the help of a sympathetic psychoanalyst, and gradually managed to connect with women who could reciprocate her feelings, sexually and emotionally—though she never quite found anyone who could do both in a lasting way.
In Passet’s fascinating depiction, Foster’s career and her 20-year project of uncovering a lesbian literary lineage were shaped not just by her passionate lesbianism, but by the sexism of her profession. Foster surely had a knack for attaching herself to female teachers who could guide her studies and professional advancement as one of the few U.S. women to hold a doctorate in library science. But they couldn’t protect her from academic sexism’s powerful kick, which kept her searching for a better position every five years or so. Yet in the long run, Foster prevailed in her iconoclastic mission to track down the coded lesbian literature that affirmed her deepest feelings. Living and working in 17 states brought her unprecedented access to lesbian literature in public and private collections from Chicago to Boston to Atlanta, which she cataloged in a single volume for the first time.
The book’s poignant final chapters unfold against the flowering of the lesbian and gay movement in the 1970s, when Sex Variant Women in Literature was plucked from obscurity and reprinted by a new generation of women. Several of them, including Naiad Press publisher Barbara Grier and activist and editor Karla Jay, embraced Jeannette personally after discovering her work, going so far as to visit her in a nursing home in rural Arkansas, where Foster lived near Hazel Tolliver and Tolliver’s later companion Dorothy Ross. Coming after the many years Foster had been pushed aside professionally, it’s a satisfying ending to Foster’s life, which richly deserves Passet’s sensitive and scrupulous attention — and ours.