In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, venereal disease, or the 'pox,' was a dreaded diagnosis throughout Europe. Its ghastly marks, along with their inexorable link to sex, were so stigmatizing that it was commonly called 'the secret disease.' How do we capture everyday experiences of a disease that so few people admitted having? Olivia Weisser's remarkable history invites readers into the teeming, vibrant pox-riddled streets of early modern London. She uncovers the lives of the poxed elite as well as of the maidservants and prostitutes who left few words behind, showing how marks of the disease offered a language for expressing acts that were otherwise unutterable.
This new history of sex, stigma, and daily urban life takes readers down alleys where healers peddled their tinctures, enters kitchens and gardens where ordinary sufferers made cures, and listens in on intimate exchanges between patients and healers in homes and in taverns.
Slip back a few hundred years and catch a carriage (maybe after a ship?) to London, and maybe you have an idea of what you could expect—or maybe not. And probably the pox doesn't factor into those calculations, but it should...because if The Dreaded Pox is anything to go by, the pox was everywhere.
In London of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, "the pox" was something of a catch-all diagnosis for just about everything that we now know as sexually transmitted infections, and there was a thriving economy built around the pox: potions and pills and recipes and, ah, rather more disturbing cures.
Weisser doesn't get into what those cures actually did. I'm guessing that in most cases the answer was "nothing good" (honestly, the book made me wonder just how humanity has survived this long; I will spare you the description of some of the side effects of mercury treatments, but...), but the point is more how the pox, and pox treatments, came into play socially: how society understood the pox and how it was transmitted; who was considered suspect or blameable (hint: racism, sexism, and classism, plus general xenophobia, were major players); how the pox factored into certain types of trials; how it could tell a story that people sometimes socially could not.
And yet, midwives did not wield the same authority in court as medical men. The very subject of midwives' expertise – women's bodies – paradoxically made their knowledge suspect. (loc. 2303*)
The actual text of the book is short—some 40% is notes—but it makes for an engaging read and an unusual lens into history. Somewhat academic but very accessible for the lay reader. I'm not sure, after all this, just how much brain space the pox took up in the average Londoner's mind or how likely one was to end up with said pox (or, for that matter, what the scene was like in smaller places), but I loved the comparisons Weisser draws to more modern ailments. How far we've come, and yet how little some things have changed.
One for those who like those corners of history that are often left to gather dust in the corner, and also for those interested in medical curiosities of both the then and the now.
*Quotes are from an ARC and may not be final.
Thanks to the author and publisher for providing a review copy through NetGalley.
This is the kind of history I appreciate most: archival, grounded, and attentive to the lived realities behind abstract medical information.
The Dreaded Pox argues that venereal disease in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century London was not confined to secret back rooms or seedy margins. It was everywhere - in taverns, bookshops, kitchens, coffeehouses, courtrooms. Remedies were sold alongside pamphlets. Pills could be purchased anonymously from printers. Consultations happened in semi-public spaces. The disease was stigmatized as “secret,” yet woven into daily urban life.
What resonated most for me was Weisser’s focus on stigma. The parallels to later epidemics — especially HIV/AIDS — are subtle but clear: shame shapes care. Distrust of patients shapes clinical practice. Moral assumptions often drive treatment culture more than scientific certainty. The idea that what feels “modern” about venereal disease responses may stem more from stigma than medical innovation is particularly sharp.
I was also struck by the courtroom analysis. In a patriarchal legal system that discounted women’s words, bodily evidence of disease could sometimes function as proof of assault.
The research on urban retail networks is fascinating, with booksellers, watchmakers, taverns, and coffeehouses all participating in the system of cures. The city becomes a map of care and commerce intertwined.
Where the book loses a bit of momentum for me is in repetition. The central claim about ubiquity and stigma is strong, but occasionally reiterated in ways that felt slightly circular. There were also moments where interpretive framing (particularly around clinical descriptions) felt more suggestive than necessary.
Still, this is a smart, readable, well-crafted history that expands how we think about disease — not just as biology, but as moral discourse, urban geography, and lived experience. If you’re interested in medical history, gender, stigma, or how epidemics shape everyday life, this is worth your time.
Thank you to Cambridge University Press and NetGalley for the advance copy.
Thanks so much to NetGalley for the free Kindle book. My review is voluntarily given, and my opinions are my own.
What really bothered me while reading this, was the reminder that there are people who still hold the views about sexually transmitted diseases. It doesn't matter that science has proven it wrong; they still think it's caused by 'sinful' acts of sex. God's wrath on sinners. Or that the opinions of women don't matter. If a woman is a witness to a crime, her testimony is worth less than that of a man. It's crazy to think there are people still around today that think that.
Beyond that, I really enjoyed this book. There was tons of information that I learned. I was thinking that Samuel Pepys could have been the original Lady Whistledown if he had published some of that information. That man wrote down everything. He must have been a terrible gossip to know so much.
Imagine a time when no-one understood how diseases were transmitted; then throw in that certain parts of the body or symptoms were shameful to talk about; and then add a disease that is potentially deadly, difficult to diagnose, and common amongst certain parts of the population. This is the scenario of The Dreaded Pox, a scholarly look at a disease which was rife in the 17th and 18th centuries, but couldn't be talked about openly. This fascinating book considers in detail various aspects of the pox in the context of the day; such as treatment, thoughts about contagion, social impact, and citation of the pox in divorce cases. I found particularly interesting the juxtaposition of medical knowledge, such as it was at the time (ie disease had to be expelled from the body) with the available treatments. The latter consisted of constituents such as mercury and sarsaparilla, which induced heavy sweating or salivation. Indeed, for a remedy to be ‘effective’ the patient may have to hide away for weeks to conceal the effects of the ‘cure’. Another interesting twist was the popular concept of “Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed.” Ironic indeed, as disease was frequently spread via illicit sexual activity, but a trip to the confessional could undo the harm! A truly interesting book that deals in detail with the social attitudes to and effect of the pox, and is highly readable, in language not just accessible to academics.
Sometimes, you just have to learn about diseases in old-timey England.
This was a very short book (like 40% of it is notes and references).
I found this to be really interesting, although, I do wish it was written differently. I could tell the author was trying to make it easy to read or relatable or whatever you would call it, but it was still rather dense. It read very textbook-y. And I don't really like that in non-fiction.
I thought the "cures" were absolutely insane. That was probably my favorite thing to learn about. Some were random and some were just plain dumb.
Thanks to NetGalley for the e-ARC of this book in exchange for my honest review!
*The publisher has provided me with an advance readers copy in exchange for an honest review.*
A solid, readable social history that never sacrifices detail for popular appeal. Weisser traces the ways in which sexually transmitted infections ("the pox," or gonorrhea) interacted with the social and legal systems of the day, from the shame and stigma attached to patients to the various at home remedies utilized to treat the symptoms, to the ways in which pox popped up in legal records of the time. The latter chapter was especially interesting, as it explored how pox symptoms could be utilized as evidence in both divorce and sexual assault cases, often proving more valuable to the complainants than their actual testimony. It's a short little book, but very valuable if you're interested in social-medical history. Of course Pepys is here.
I liked the subject matter; it was a different way to talk about the history of infectious diseases. I also found some of the writing clever and would re-read certain passages. Some splendid art enhanced the reading. And unquestionably, Weisser demonstrated her extensive knowledge of the field. But I found the tone of the writing less conversational than I prefer and there was, at times, too much detail. I also didn’t feel any of the author’s enthusiasm for the material. Overall, though, it was a worthwhile read. Thank you to Netgalley and Cambridge University Press for the advance reader copy.
Thank you Olivia Weisser, Cambridge University Press, and NetGalley for the ARC!
This was a really cool and fascinating read about the Great Pox within the context of everyday life in 18th century London. I felt like no stone was left unturned as Weisser took us through narrow, bustling roads lined with street vendors, dimly lit coffee houses with doctors treating patients in shadowy corners, closets where recipes are marked up and homemade salves are made, and finally- courthouses where evidence of the disease gave a voice to the voiceless. At times it could be a little technical- bordering on a history textbook- but I don't think that made it any less readable for me.
This a look at the impact of social diseases on society. Weisser discusses how rampant venereal diseases affected not only medical practices and societal attitudes towards disease, but also how even laws and fashion were shaped by them.
This is a bit more academic than popular non-fiction, but those willing to put a little effort into reading will gain a great deal of knowledge—and will most like come to the sad conclusion that while diseases change, people do not.
This is a tediously dull book. I've read much better books on subject and would recommend sex death and punishment or plague pox and pestilence instead.
**My thanks to Cambridge UP for providing me with an advanced review copy via NetGalley**
4.5 stars
I found this study of pox-ravaged early modern London to be a fascinating and accessible work of well-researched and -articulated scholarship, which I would recommend to historians and laypeople alike. Weisser’s project is to examine how residents of early modern London experienced and narrativized venereal disease, how venereal disease and its threat impacted the everyday lives of ordinary Londoners (from poor to wealthy), and the stigmas and stereotypes that colored both impressions of the poxxed and how afflicted individuals navigated their life with the disease. If you’re even remotely curious about how STIs were portrayed, contracted, and managed during Shakespeare’s time, this book is definitely worth picking up.