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South of the Line
Book by Ennis, Catherine
197 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 1989
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October 16, 2023
Spoiler warning- content warnings for racism, rape, (pseudo)incest, and torture.
I'm not the type to really like the devil's advocate approach in most fiction pieces- but it's inherently tone deaf when this applies to real life events and history with unequal impacts on marginalized groups.
I start this review saying I had purchased this book with zero synopsis about it and no information about the content within- a fault I chose at the time to overlook. Perhaps it would have been logical to take a more in depth look at the cover of the novel, but never have I been one to truly judge a book off appearance alone- and perhaps most importantly- I did not realize minor details that pointed towards the key plot (see American and Confederate flag directly on the bottom). Of course, when the book arrived, it was the first thing I noticed after unboxing it with other fiction pieces, and a glance into the synopsis seemed bleak and unpromising in addressing the serious topics within- an intuitive gut feeling that remains correct after reading the book in full.
War novels are a subgenre in the literary world that fascinate and enthrall many, a group of readers which I am not a part of. I hardly get a thrill from any war fiction pieces, especially as I find all too often that many address the issues within with far too little consideration. I feel that most people wouldn't go searching for war fiction in a lesbian romance novel and yet it seems that South of the Line is that very rare intersection that I could not have anticipated finding.
I suppose in writing about sapphic love in the Civil War period, from a writer's perspective, perhaps the main goal was to do a very brave thing in defying political and social expectations of the time period. However, the extreme negligence to convey both the lovers and the Black characters in any realistic light was immediately tossed aside in pursuit of creating a sappy romance- one which lacked any real sustenance from beginning to end.
Dominique is meant to be a progressive character advocating for the freedom and liberation of slaves in the south. However, it remains of extreme importance to note that she retains loyalty to the American South and the Confederacy by the end of the novel, albeit discussed in vague terms. Throughout the book, there was the existing theme of Dominique being from the South whereas her cousin by marriage, Faith, was loyal to the North and the Union. This is a tension that is never really explored nor touched upon, which given the rest of the book, I might be grateful for! If anything, I feel the book is at least supposed to end by garnering sympathy for Dominique and by extent the Confederacy- which is not only troubling but also, completely baffling, as I highly doubt there would be a sapphic woman seen as worthy of praise during this time period. Fiction, yes, but if it's meant to be in any form a realistic commentary, then this entirely falls apart in the first 20 pages. Nobody cares about two female cousins being romantically involved, nobody even batted an eye- not even the main villain (who appears extremely late in the book, by the way) cares! That's so odd!
It isn't anything dealing with the romantic pairing that troubles me the most, however. The main problem of this novel is that it very carelessly handles the reality of slavery in the time period, and because of the "both sides" mentality it plays, it really erases the severity of the struggle real people have endured. Characters Henry and Malissa stood in in a way that made them feel nearly like props. If this is seen as representation during the time, fine, but under no set of circumstances can this representation be seen as good or respectable when it downplays very real exploitation and torment.
Henry is brutally beat and abused multiple times within the story and it feels like none of the other characters seem to care, except maybe Faith at the end of the novel when Henry is questioned by police and heavily injured. Even then, this was dealt with in a way that drew more attention to Faith, the non afflicted party, versus Henry, who actually had to simply accept the awful conditions he was put through for the entire book. But never before was there a moment where there was anything to indicate what happened to him was wrong, not even when he was locked in a storage room alone throughout the character's (short) time in boat lodgings, where as Malissa was allowed to be with Dominique, her half-sister/mistress while suffering nothing at all. The way in which Dominique supposedly sees her as a sister, yet is complacent in her role as a maid beneath her, leaves behind a sour taste. But not one nearly as sour as the context of their sisterhood stemming from sexual abuse from an accurate historic standpoint.
Dominique is made to play a safe haven, a hero, that is about as real as any justice in the time of the Civil War. Overall, this book reads as Gone with the Wind would if the main characters were cousins and sapphic, and one of them tried to be progressive and anti-slavery, and then in the middle of the novel, just FLAT OUT GAVE UP. Did I mention that? Dominique gave up on helping escaped slaves to prioritize her own health and safety, while remaining loyal to her sense of Southern Pride and identity, and also being a slave owner.
If somehow, you can tolerate the likening of race and slavery to being a lesbian, while the lesbians in question suffer no direct consequences or backlash, all for the romance and the sexual scenes- I'll say it now. The romance is rushed, with hardly any created chemistry. The "attraction" between them burns faster than a matchstick. Their conflicts feel superficial aside from Dominique's illness, and even that fails to contribute any furthering of the relationship that makes any sense. There is no real plot or direction in their love. For the time this book was written, 1989, I will say that the greatest risk Ennis probably took in creating this book and getting it published was just how frequent and long the sex scenes usually were. She chose to be prolific in explicit content in exchange for voicing disdain towards the actual war, which was supposed to be a huge contribution to the book, I thought- but it ends up merely serving as a setting for the scene. No matter what, it remains zero excuse for the blatant erasure of real struggles of the war and romanticizing of the Confederacy. This is not the type of event to garner pity and play devil's advocate for- even if it can be done, it never should.
I'm not the type to really like the devil's advocate approach in most fiction pieces- but it's inherently tone deaf when this applies to real life events and history with unequal impacts on marginalized groups.
I start this review saying I had purchased this book with zero synopsis about it and no information about the content within- a fault I chose at the time to overlook. Perhaps it would have been logical to take a more in depth look at the cover of the novel, but never have I been one to truly judge a book off appearance alone- and perhaps most importantly- I did not realize minor details that pointed towards the key plot (see American and Confederate flag directly on the bottom). Of course, when the book arrived, it was the first thing I noticed after unboxing it with other fiction pieces, and a glance into the synopsis seemed bleak and unpromising in addressing the serious topics within- an intuitive gut feeling that remains correct after reading the book in full.
War novels are a subgenre in the literary world that fascinate and enthrall many, a group of readers which I am not a part of. I hardly get a thrill from any war fiction pieces, especially as I find all too often that many address the issues within with far too little consideration. I feel that most people wouldn't go searching for war fiction in a lesbian romance novel and yet it seems that South of the Line is that very rare intersection that I could not have anticipated finding.
I suppose in writing about sapphic love in the Civil War period, from a writer's perspective, perhaps the main goal was to do a very brave thing in defying political and social expectations of the time period. However, the extreme negligence to convey both the lovers and the Black characters in any realistic light was immediately tossed aside in pursuit of creating a sappy romance- one which lacked any real sustenance from beginning to end.
Dominique is meant to be a progressive character advocating for the freedom and liberation of slaves in the south. However, it remains of extreme importance to note that she retains loyalty to the American South and the Confederacy by the end of the novel, albeit discussed in vague terms. Throughout the book, there was the existing theme of Dominique being from the South whereas her cousin by marriage, Faith, was loyal to the North and the Union. This is a tension that is never really explored nor touched upon, which given the rest of the book, I might be grateful for! If anything, I feel the book is at least supposed to end by garnering sympathy for Dominique and by extent the Confederacy- which is not only troubling but also, completely baffling, as I highly doubt there would be a sapphic woman seen as worthy of praise during this time period. Fiction, yes, but if it's meant to be in any form a realistic commentary, then this entirely falls apart in the first 20 pages. Nobody cares about two female cousins being romantically involved, nobody even batted an eye- not even the main villain (who appears extremely late in the book, by the way) cares! That's so odd!
It isn't anything dealing with the romantic pairing that troubles me the most, however. The main problem of this novel is that it very carelessly handles the reality of slavery in the time period, and because of the "both sides" mentality it plays, it really erases the severity of the struggle real people have endured. Characters Henry and Malissa stood in in a way that made them feel nearly like props. If this is seen as representation during the time, fine, but under no set of circumstances can this representation be seen as good or respectable when it downplays very real exploitation and torment.
Henry is brutally beat and abused multiple times within the story and it feels like none of the other characters seem to care, except maybe Faith at the end of the novel when Henry is questioned by police and heavily injured. Even then, this was dealt with in a way that drew more attention to Faith, the non afflicted party, versus Henry, who actually had to simply accept the awful conditions he was put through for the entire book. But never before was there a moment where there was anything to indicate what happened to him was wrong, not even when he was locked in a storage room alone throughout the character's (short) time in boat lodgings, where as Malissa was allowed to be with Dominique, her half-sister/mistress while suffering nothing at all. The way in which Dominique supposedly sees her as a sister, yet is complacent in her role as a maid beneath her, leaves behind a sour taste. But not one nearly as sour as the context of their sisterhood stemming from sexual abuse from an accurate historic standpoint.
Dominique is made to play a safe haven, a hero, that is about as real as any justice in the time of the Civil War. Overall, this book reads as Gone with the Wind would if the main characters were cousins and sapphic, and one of them tried to be progressive and anti-slavery, and then in the middle of the novel, just FLAT OUT GAVE UP. Did I mention that? Dominique gave up on helping escaped slaves to prioritize her own health and safety, while remaining loyal to her sense of Southern Pride and identity, and also being a slave owner.
If somehow, you can tolerate the likening of race and slavery to being a lesbian, while the lesbians in question suffer no direct consequences or backlash, all for the romance and the sexual scenes- I'll say it now. The romance is rushed, with hardly any created chemistry. The "attraction" between them burns faster than a matchstick. Their conflicts feel superficial aside from Dominique's illness, and even that fails to contribute any furthering of the relationship that makes any sense. There is no real plot or direction in their love. For the time this book was written, 1989, I will say that the greatest risk Ennis probably took in creating this book and getting it published was just how frequent and long the sex scenes usually were. She chose to be prolific in explicit content in exchange for voicing disdain towards the actual war, which was supposed to be a huge contribution to the book, I thought- but it ends up merely serving as a setting for the scene. No matter what, it remains zero excuse for the blatant erasure of real struggles of the war and romanticizing of the Confederacy. This is not the type of event to garner pity and play devil's advocate for- even if it can be done, it never should.
Displaying 1 of 1 review