What do you think?
Rate this book
Immodest Acts: The Life of a Lesbian Nun in Renaissance Italy
The discovery of the fascinating and richly documented story of Sister Benedetta Carlini, Abbess of the Convent of the Mother of God, by Judith C. Brown was an event of major historical importance. Not only is the story revealed in Immodest Acts that of the rise and fall of a powerful woman in a church community and a record of the life of a religious visionary, it is also the earliest documentation of lesbianism in modern Western history.
Born of well-to-do parents, Benedetta Carlini entered the convent at the age of nine. At twenty-three, she began to have visions of both a religious and erotic nature. Benedetta was elected abbess due largely to these visions, but later aroused suspicions by claiming to have had supernatural contacts with Christ. During the course of an investigation, church authorities not only found that she had faked her visions and stigmata, but uncovered evidence of a lesbian affair with another nun, Bartolomea.
The story of the relationship between the two nuns and of Benedetta's fall from an abbess to an outcast is revealed in surprisingly candid archival documents and retold here with a fine sense of drama.
Born of well-to-do parents, Benedetta Carlini entered the convent at the age of nine. At twenty-three, she began to have visions of both a religious and erotic nature. Benedetta was elected abbess due largely to these visions, but later aroused suspicions by claiming to have had supernatural contacts with Christ. During the course of an investigation, church authorities not only found that she had faked her visions and stigmata, but uncovered evidence of a lesbian affair with another nun, Bartolomea.
The story of the relationship between the two nuns and of Benedetta's fall from an abbess to an outcast is revealed in surprisingly candid archival documents and retold here with a fine sense of drama.
214 pages, Paperback
First published November 14, 1985
88 people are currently reading
5420 people want to read
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 139 reviews
August 10, 2020
But let us come to the deeds worked through Sister Benedetta by the said angels so that they may clarify whether they are angels of Paradise or demons from Hell.
Sister Benedetta Carlini garnered attention in the seventeenth century due to her holy visions and the reception of the stigmata. Sister Benedetta was elected as Abbess of the Convent of the Mother of God thanks to her closeness to Christ. However, her closeness to Christ and the fame it brought led to suspicion among the congregation and the church authorities. Investigations were conducted into the authenticity of her visions, the stigmata, and her marriage to Christ. The evidence was damning, but only if the witness accounts are viewed as trustworthy.
Immodest Acts: The Life of a Lesbian Nun in Renaissance Italy is an enlightening book about holiness and sexuality within monastic life. Sister Benedetta is a fascinating figure who was either a great liar and actress or an unanointed saint. She was either a terrible person that committed terrible acts or God acted through her.
Benedetta’s holy visions became controversial when they began to take on an erotic light. What makes this book interesting is that if Benedetta was a liar, then she committed some atrocious crimes. Benedetta may have sexually assaulted a fellow nun or the woman willingly engaged. Both ideas are explored within the text.
Benedetta believed/claimed that a male angel was acting through her during her sexual encounters with the other nun and that she was unaware of these experiences while the angel resided in her body. The commentary on male and female roles in society and the possibility that Benedetta believed she had to act as a male is fascinating. Benedetta was only aware of sex between males and females and thus believed that she had to act male in order to achieve sex with another female. The term “lesbian” did not exist in the seventeenth century, and the idea of two women having sex was rarely thought of—unless you happened to be a lesbian yourself.
Don’t approach this book expecting a large dose of lesbianism. This is a biography sourced from several documents and compiled into a working narrative about a nun who just so happened to have lesbian experiences. She is more than her sexuality. Sister Benedetta’s life is explored from birth to death. We see her experiences as a nun, her divine encounters, and the investigations into her claims. Imagine the drama this invoked.
It bordered on sacrilege.
Sister Benedetta Carlini garnered attention in the seventeenth century due to her holy visions and the reception of the stigmata. Sister Benedetta was elected as Abbess of the Convent of the Mother of God thanks to her closeness to Christ. However, her closeness to Christ and the fame it brought led to suspicion among the congregation and the church authorities. Investigations were conducted into the authenticity of her visions, the stigmata, and her marriage to Christ. The evidence was damning, but only if the witness accounts are viewed as trustworthy.
Immodest Acts: The Life of a Lesbian Nun in Renaissance Italy is an enlightening book about holiness and sexuality within monastic life. Sister Benedetta is a fascinating figure who was either a great liar and actress or an unanointed saint. She was either a terrible person that committed terrible acts or God acted through her.
Benedetta’s holy visions became controversial when they began to take on an erotic light. What makes this book interesting is that if Benedetta was a liar, then she committed some atrocious crimes. Benedetta may have sexually assaulted a fellow nun or the woman willingly engaged. Both ideas are explored within the text.
Benedetta believed/claimed that a male angel was acting through her during her sexual encounters with the other nun and that she was unaware of these experiences while the angel resided in her body. The commentary on male and female roles in society and the possibility that Benedetta believed she had to act as a male is fascinating. Benedetta was only aware of sex between males and females and thus believed that she had to act male in order to achieve sex with another female. The term “lesbian” did not exist in the seventeenth century, and the idea of two women having sex was rarely thought of—unless you happened to be a lesbian yourself.
Don’t approach this book expecting a large dose of lesbianism. This is a biography sourced from several documents and compiled into a working narrative about a nun who just so happened to have lesbian experiences. She is more than her sexuality. Sister Benedetta’s life is explored from birth to death. We see her experiences as a nun, her divine encounters, and the investigations into her claims. Imagine the drama this invoked.
It bordered on sacrilege.
June 21, 2020
judging by the title, i was expecting more abt her being a lesbian and less abt her being a fraud but alas, this is written based on the investigations made by the church, so it's not like we have actual knowledge on her love life
the intro chapter alone, on how homosexuality was perceived at the time, makes it a very interesting read tho
the intro chapter alone, on how homosexuality was perceived at the time, makes it a very interesting read tho
May 12, 2012
In the year 1600, at the tender age of nine, Benedetta Carlini was sent to a nunnery in the small city of Pescia in north-central Italy. What today might be considered cruel and highly unusual was then a way for Benedetta’s somewhat well-to-do parents to provide their daughter with protection. After several years at the nunnery which Brown describes as fairly unremarkable, Benedetta began to have a series of increasingly disturbing visions, including being sexually harassed by demons. Sister Benedetta was eventually assigned a companion named Bartolomea Crivelli (also a sister in the convent) whose presence, as the subtitle hints at, would later become problematic for her. Bartolomea’s job was to assist Benedetta through her “periods of ecstasy,” and was present when she supposedly received the stigmata and exchanged mystical hearts with Christ.
Naturally, this caught the attention of a Counter-Reformation Catholic Church whose main goal was maintaining a sense of propriety. Two separate people (men, naturally) were set out to Pescia to investigate what was happening. Stefano Cecchi was the first to investigate Benedetta over a number of visits throughout late 1619. Cecchi’s main purpose was to ensure that she was remaining within theologically accepted boundaries, which she was extremely conscious of doing, knowing that moving outside of them would have put her reputation, and more importantly her life, in danger. Cecchi, satisfied that Benedetta was not a heretic, left quietly to resume his position as the provost of Pescia. At least for a while, things appeared to return to normal inside the convent.
At some time between August 1622 and March 1623, the papal nuncio sent several representatives, led by Alfonso Giglioli, to examine Benedetta’s claims again. In 1620, she had become an abbess at the incredibly young age of thirty, but had been deeply troubled by the recent death of her father. The nuncio’s representatives proceeded much in the same way as in the earlier set of visits. Their final ruling on Benedetta’s case isn’t even given until the beginning of the epilogue:
“The story of Benedetta Carlini is shrouded in mystery for the next forty years. No records exist of the nuncio’s pronouncements, and it is only the chance survival of one fragment of one nun’s diary that allows us to know the outcome. On August 7, 1661, that nun, whose name has not come down to us, wrote in her diary: ‘Benedetta Carlini died at age 71 of fever and colic pains after eighteen days of illness. She died in penitence, having spent thirty-five years in prison’” (p. 132).
At this point, you might be wondering, “And the lesbianism? What about the lesbianism?” Its relevance and Brown’s discussion of it are extraordinarily fleeting. Bartolomea gave testimony that Benedetta sexually molested her and engaged in frottage with her while possessed by the spirit of a male demon known as Splenditello. While Benedetta and Bartolomea’s sexual behavior merits perhaps a few sentences in the book, in the Introduction and peppered throughout the text, Brown discusses how Benedetta used Splenditello’s “maleness” as a foil to explain away her rape of Bartolomea (and according to Bartolomea’s testimony, that’s exactly what it was). The book remains ambiguous as to whether Benedetta deliberately used her male demon as an excuse, or whether she actually thought he possessed her, but the nuncio’s representatives seem unconvinced as they accuse her of “pretending” to be a mystic, and being a “woman of ill repute.”
One wonders what Brown’s motivation was in giving the book such a gratuitous title. The content of the book, a scholarly interpretation of a set of documents couched deep in the State Archive of Florence entitled “Papers relating to a trial against Sister Benedetta Carlini of Vellano, abbess of the Theatine nuns of Pescia, who pretended to be a mystic, but who was discovered to be a woman of ill repute,” isn’t really commensurate with the sensationalism of the title. The book provides an intelligent analysis of a lot of topics, from early seventeenth-century life to cultural assumptions of sex and gender. I almost wished the publishers would have chosen one of those horribly academic titles to give a better impression of what it was all about. I vote for “Transgressing Normative Gender Identities Through Self-Conscious Afflatus in Renaissance Italy.” But then someone’s going to pick it up thinking that “afflatus” means something dirty. Sometimes you just can’t win.
Naturally, this caught the attention of a Counter-Reformation Catholic Church whose main goal was maintaining a sense of propriety. Two separate people (men, naturally) were set out to Pescia to investigate what was happening. Stefano Cecchi was the first to investigate Benedetta over a number of visits throughout late 1619. Cecchi’s main purpose was to ensure that she was remaining within theologically accepted boundaries, which she was extremely conscious of doing, knowing that moving outside of them would have put her reputation, and more importantly her life, in danger. Cecchi, satisfied that Benedetta was not a heretic, left quietly to resume his position as the provost of Pescia. At least for a while, things appeared to return to normal inside the convent.
At some time between August 1622 and March 1623, the papal nuncio sent several representatives, led by Alfonso Giglioli, to examine Benedetta’s claims again. In 1620, she had become an abbess at the incredibly young age of thirty, but had been deeply troubled by the recent death of her father. The nuncio’s representatives proceeded much in the same way as in the earlier set of visits. Their final ruling on Benedetta’s case isn’t even given until the beginning of the epilogue:
“The story of Benedetta Carlini is shrouded in mystery for the next forty years. No records exist of the nuncio’s pronouncements, and it is only the chance survival of one fragment of one nun’s diary that allows us to know the outcome. On August 7, 1661, that nun, whose name has not come down to us, wrote in her diary: ‘Benedetta Carlini died at age 71 of fever and colic pains after eighteen days of illness. She died in penitence, having spent thirty-five years in prison’” (p. 132).
At this point, you might be wondering, “And the lesbianism? What about the lesbianism?” Its relevance and Brown’s discussion of it are extraordinarily fleeting. Bartolomea gave testimony that Benedetta sexually molested her and engaged in frottage with her while possessed by the spirit of a male demon known as Splenditello. While Benedetta and Bartolomea’s sexual behavior merits perhaps a few sentences in the book, in the Introduction and peppered throughout the text, Brown discusses how Benedetta used Splenditello’s “maleness” as a foil to explain away her rape of Bartolomea (and according to Bartolomea’s testimony, that’s exactly what it was). The book remains ambiguous as to whether Benedetta deliberately used her male demon as an excuse, or whether she actually thought he possessed her, but the nuncio’s representatives seem unconvinced as they accuse her of “pretending” to be a mystic, and being a “woman of ill repute.”
One wonders what Brown’s motivation was in giving the book such a gratuitous title. The content of the book, a scholarly interpretation of a set of documents couched deep in the State Archive of Florence entitled “Papers relating to a trial against Sister Benedetta Carlini of Vellano, abbess of the Theatine nuns of Pescia, who pretended to be a mystic, but who was discovered to be a woman of ill repute,” isn’t really commensurate with the sensationalism of the title. The book provides an intelligent analysis of a lot of topics, from early seventeenth-century life to cultural assumptions of sex and gender. I almost wished the publishers would have chosen one of those horribly academic titles to give a better impression of what it was all about. I vote for “Transgressing Normative Gender Identities Through Self-Conscious Afflatus in Renaissance Italy.” But then someone’s going to pick it up thinking that “afflatus” means something dirty. Sometimes you just can’t win.
April 12, 2022
UPDATE 4/12/2022: If y'all are coming here after watching Paul Verhoeven's film, y'all are gunna be greatly disappointed.
UPDATE 4/12/2020: Below in my initial review, I accuse Brown and the publishers for using the terms "lesbian" and "lesbian affair" as a way to draw in readers. Having done some historical research on the usage and prevalence of both the terms "lesbian" and "bisexual", I must admit that my accusation is unfounded. Although, both lesbian and bisexual women have existed forever (I still believe Benedetta Carlini falls into the later), the term "lesbian" itself was applied to any woman who engaged romantically and sexually with another woman, whether or not they also engaged with men, up until the late 1980s when "bisexual" started to take off. Immodest Acts was first partially published as an article entitled "Lesbian Sexuality in Renaissance Italy: The Case of Sister Benedetta Carlini" in a 1984 edition of Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society. Brown most likely did her research in the earlier part of the 80s when "bisexual" hadn't taken root yet. So, for clarification my below accusation is probably unfounded; but whether or not Brown considers Carlini bisexual is another matter that might never be answered.
I decided to read this book after hearing that there was going to be a movie about Bendetta Carlini, which will be, let's face it, a nunsploitation film.
To get to the point, I share the other reviewers' criticism towards the book's subtitle and the back cover's statement that this was an affair between two women. At most, Benedetta may have been bisexual due to her erotic visions of marrying Christ and the other nuns witnessing her being affectionately close to a priest. Also, Bartolomea Crivelli, the woman Benedetta was sexually involved with, claimed that she was sexually assaulted; we really shouldn't be calling sexual assault an affair. It appears Judith Brown may have use "lesbian" and "lesbian affair" as an attempt to to draw people to her work.
All of that aside, this really is a wonderful biography and study of a relatively unknown Catholic mystic. Her visions were interesting and inquire investigation and the mixture of her rural mountain spirituality with that of the urban is an interesting development from an anthropological point of view. The investigations themselves and Benedetta's responses were all interesting on their own. Brown does a wonderful job of contextualizing the religious and sexual concepts of time. It's just a shame about how the book is promoted.
UPDATE 4/12/2020: Below in my initial review, I accuse Brown and the publishers for using the terms "lesbian" and "lesbian affair" as a way to draw in readers. Having done some historical research on the usage and prevalence of both the terms "lesbian" and "bisexual", I must admit that my accusation is unfounded. Although, both lesbian and bisexual women have existed forever (I still believe Benedetta Carlini falls into the later), the term "lesbian" itself was applied to any woman who engaged romantically and sexually with another woman, whether or not they also engaged with men, up until the late 1980s when "bisexual" started to take off. Immodest Acts was first partially published as an article entitled "Lesbian Sexuality in Renaissance Italy: The Case of Sister Benedetta Carlini" in a 1984 edition of Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society. Brown most likely did her research in the earlier part of the 80s when "bisexual" hadn't taken root yet. So, for clarification my below accusation is probably unfounded; but whether or not Brown considers Carlini bisexual is another matter that might never be answered.
I decided to read this book after hearing that there was going to be a movie about Bendetta Carlini, which will be, let's face it, a nunsploitation film.
To get to the point, I share the other reviewers' criticism towards the book's subtitle and the back cover's statement that this was an affair between two women. At most, Benedetta may have been bisexual due to her erotic visions of marrying Christ and the other nuns witnessing her being affectionately close to a priest. Also, Bartolomea Crivelli, the woman Benedetta was sexually involved with, claimed that she was sexually assaulted; we really shouldn't be calling sexual assault an affair. It appears Judith Brown may have use "lesbian" and "lesbian affair" as an attempt to to draw people to her work.
All of that aside, this really is a wonderful biography and study of a relatively unknown Catholic mystic. Her visions were interesting and inquire investigation and the mixture of her rural mountain spirituality with that of the urban is an interesting development from an anthropological point of view. The investigations themselves and Benedetta's responses were all interesting on their own. Brown does a wonderful job of contextualizing the religious and sexual concepts of time. It's just a shame about how the book is promoted.
July 13, 2025
Benedetta Carlini of you read this I'm free on Thursday night and would like to hang out. Please respond to this and then hang out with me on Thursday night when I'm free.
November 10, 2012
I read this kind of hoping for some picaresque escapades of a lesbian nun going on adventures around Renaissance Italy, but instead it wound up being a very sad story about a failed mystic who was accused by papal investigators of faking all of her visions and repeatedly raping her cell mate in her convent. Bummer.
Judith Brown's microhistory is a very interesting read on one hand, and it shines some interesting light on a woman who attempted to follow in the mystic tradition of celebrated saints like Birgitte of Sweden or Catherine of Siena but wound up failing dramatically. By following the life of Benedetta Carlini, Brown can venture off and talk about issues ranging from the prospects of women in 17th century Italy, contemporary attitudes towards lesbianism, and how female mystics could use their visions to attain public influence or public notoriety. Also interesting is how those around Benedetta viewed her visions: potentially problematic, but also a potential boon for the convent.
The problem is that the title (and the introductory chapter) doesn't particularly match with the book that Brown has written. It's not really a book about sexuality - Brown herself admits that Benedetta's eventual imprisonment had more to do with her fabrications than her sexual activities. Also, it's a bit misleading to refer to Benedetta as a lesbian: there is evidence that she was involved in a same-sex relationship of some sort, but there's no evidence that she self-identified as a lesbian or was even aware of such a conceptualization. She certainly had some interesting gender things going on - when sleeping with her cellmate Bartolomea she often pretended to be channeling a male guardian angel or Christ himself; she had frequent semi-erotic dreams about men - but Brown doesn't have enough information to properly explore what was going on in Benedetta's head. She tries to, but the attempt to label her a lesbian that used an alternative male persona to fulfill her desire seems like an anachronistic projection.
In any case, Brown can't really explore what any of this would mean, anyways: while Benedetta's alleged actions caused some shock in the trial, the lack of articulated response to the accusations means that Brown can't really say anything substantial about public responses to 17th century lesbianism (besides that it was mute). The substantial part of this work is Benedetta's mysticism, and the degree to which it was faked or genuine. This part of the work is genuinely interesting, and making the whole work about Benedetta's sexuality instead seems forced. While the chance to explore a nun's sexuality in this period would be fascinating, Brown's sources don't really offer the opportunity. Because of this, the work gets bogged down in the attempt to make this a book about lesbianism, when it's really a story about the failed attempt to utilize spiritual power.
I feel like this review wound up being a bit harsher than I'd intended. It's a really interesting book, and well worth reading. I just feel like the lesbianism angle is a bit sensationalist, and would have been much more effectively explored if it hadn't tried to support the center of the book.
Judith Brown's microhistory is a very interesting read on one hand, and it shines some interesting light on a woman who attempted to follow in the mystic tradition of celebrated saints like Birgitte of Sweden or Catherine of Siena but wound up failing dramatically. By following the life of Benedetta Carlini, Brown can venture off and talk about issues ranging from the prospects of women in 17th century Italy, contemporary attitudes towards lesbianism, and how female mystics could use their visions to attain public influence or public notoriety. Also interesting is how those around Benedetta viewed her visions: potentially problematic, but also a potential boon for the convent.
The problem is that the title (and the introductory chapter) doesn't particularly match with the book that Brown has written. It's not really a book about sexuality - Brown herself admits that Benedetta's eventual imprisonment had more to do with her fabrications than her sexual activities. Also, it's a bit misleading to refer to Benedetta as a lesbian: there is evidence that she was involved in a same-sex relationship of some sort, but there's no evidence that she self-identified as a lesbian or was even aware of such a conceptualization. She certainly had some interesting gender things going on - when sleeping with her cellmate Bartolomea she often pretended to be channeling a male guardian angel or Christ himself; she had frequent semi-erotic dreams about men - but Brown doesn't have enough information to properly explore what was going on in Benedetta's head. She tries to, but the attempt to label her a lesbian that used an alternative male persona to fulfill her desire seems like an anachronistic projection.
In any case, Brown can't really explore what any of this would mean, anyways: while Benedetta's alleged actions caused some shock in the trial, the lack of articulated response to the accusations means that Brown can't really say anything substantial about public responses to 17th century lesbianism (besides that it was mute). The substantial part of this work is Benedetta's mysticism, and the degree to which it was faked or genuine. This part of the work is genuinely interesting, and making the whole work about Benedetta's sexuality instead seems forced. While the chance to explore a nun's sexuality in this period would be fascinating, Brown's sources don't really offer the opportunity. Because of this, the work gets bogged down in the attempt to make this a book about lesbianism, when it's really a story about the failed attempt to utilize spiritual power.
I feel like this review wound up being a bit harsher than I'd intended. It's a really interesting book, and well worth reading. I just feel like the lesbianism angle is a bit sensationalist, and would have been much more effectively explored if it hadn't tried to support the center of the book.
May 29, 2017
Just wrote an academic book review of this for class.
To summarize that, the title of this book is very misleading because the book is mostly biographical starting from birth and ending in death, very little of it actually having to do with her sexuality. I would also argue that taking into consideration some other evidence presented in the book (and working within the fairly modern concept of sexuality as an identity as opposed to a behavior/act), the nun may have been bisexual.
Overall, it was well-researched and written, but the title was basically academic clickbait.
To summarize that, the title of this book is very misleading because the book is mostly biographical starting from birth and ending in death, very little of it actually having to do with her sexuality. I would also argue that taking into consideration some other evidence presented in the book (and working within the fairly modern concept of sexuality as an identity as opposed to a behavior/act), the nun may have been bisexual.
Overall, it was well-researched and written, but the title was basically academic clickbait.
November 28, 2023
im feeling so unhinged rn. benedetta and bartolomea's lesbian renaissance romance between two nuns one of which claimed to be a vessel for god that He spoke through, having their 'immodest acts' be a connection to the divine but also maybe to the devil and how thin that line is. benedetta's being possessed by jesus christ while claiming her love for bartolomea????? bartolomea believing she was having sex with an angel and the divine therefore the lesbian sex wasn't a sin??? but also fearing it might be a fallen angel tempting her? what the fuuuuuck
my insane feelings for it aside and contrary to appearances, this book's focus isn't on the homosexual side of benedetta's life. in fact only the prologue and the last chapter mention it at all, so beware of that before going in. if you don't care about catholic mysticism, biographical accounts of benedetta's life or claims of sainthood and fraud this book will probably disappoint you. if you're only interested in the lesbianism part of this, i would highly suggest the prologue bc it's mainly its own thing. it gives historical context for how homosexuality was perceived by society and the church, how male homosexuality vs female homosexuality differ on that account, how that changed throughout the years etc.
is this a 5 star book? probably not but this fundamentally changed me as a person and i will be thinking about it for a long time
my insane feelings for it aside and contrary to appearances, this book's focus isn't on the homosexual side of benedetta's life. in fact only the prologue and the last chapter mention it at all, so beware of that before going in. if you don't care about catholic mysticism, biographical accounts of benedetta's life or claims of sainthood and fraud this book will probably disappoint you. if you're only interested in the lesbianism part of this, i would highly suggest the prologue bc it's mainly its own thing. it gives historical context for how homosexuality was perceived by society and the church, how male homosexuality vs female homosexuality differ on that account, how that changed throughout the years etc.
is this a 5 star book? probably not but this fundamentally changed me as a person and i will be thinking about it for a long time
September 30, 2021
most disappointing read of the year :( i went into this with such high hopes and was sorely disappointed. The author was working in some archives when she came across this story of a nun who claimed to be a mystic who was also a ~~queer icon~~ sounds brilliant, but what the book really is is a historical description of all the alledged miracles performed by Bernedetta and how they came under scrutiny before finally being debunked. At the VERY end of the book there is a brief mention of a « relationship » she had with another nun that is essentially rape and coercion. Not the wholesome nun love i was hoping for by any means. I feel like the author did us a great injustice perhaps hoping to reach a greater market by subtitling the book as if it was going to focus on the homosexuality of the nun when it was merely a footnote (also she appears to have in fact been a bisexual - but i guess thats a less punchy title)
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
December 1, 2023
Niet lezen als je op een spannende roman over een lesbische non hoopt, zoals het omslag lijkt te beloven. Wel lezen als je zin hebt in een supersterk cultuurhistorisch werk, meer wil weten over de positie van vrouwen tijdens de contrareformatie, 17e-eeuws kloosterbestaan in omgeving Florence, omgang met (/ontkenning van) vrouwelijke seksualiteit, mystieke geloofsbeleving en gedetailleerd verslag van kerkelijke rechtspraak. Bizar verhaal.
May 11, 2020
This book was a lot of nun but not a lot of lesbian. I was a little bit mislead.
May 29, 2011
In Judith Brown’s Immodest Acts: The Life of a Lesbian Nun in Renaissance Italy, we are introduced to an early seventeenth century nun named Benedetta Carlini. As revealed in a review by Sofia Boesch-Gajano, Brown first became familiar with Carlini while researching Tuscan society, inadvertently coming upon a file dated 1619 - 1623 in the State Archives that described a woman who had supposedly been affected by supernatural/ divine spiritual events. The case spanned several years and two official investigations by ecclesiastical authorities, ending in a charge of false divine interventions and homosexual behavior on the part of Carlini, precipitating the loss of her position as abbess. In Immodest Acts, Brown places the events of Benedetta's life, gleaned from the state files, in historic and socioeconomic contexts.
Carlini was considered a blessed child at birth. She was supposed to have died in birth, but miraculously survived. Her entire life was centered on religion. Soon after entering the convent at Pescia at age nine, she became the focus of supernatural events that singled her out from the other nuns in her cloister. After fasting and being in a state of intense pain, she claimed to have favor with the Madonna and to have received visions. Men, beautiful but cruel men, angels, and even Christ himself occupied these visions. The visions brought Carlini local fame. Upon receiving this attention, Carlini then claimed to be stricken with stigmata. The evidence of stigmata propelled her into the position of the abbess of the convent. After gaining the power of the position of the abbess, Carlini performed a marriage ceremony with the adult Christ, in front of the entire abbey, closely mirroring but not exactly imitating Saint Catherine of Siena (who married the infant Christ). Carlini then claimed to have been given Christ's heart and to have temporarily "died" and been resurrected by him. Such fantastic claims eventually led to the two official investigations (a local investigation and a papal nuncio). During the course of the investigations it was determined that the divine signs had been faked and that Carlini had committed "immodest acts" with another nun.
Brown has written a solid piece of microhistory that puts the story of a socioeconomically challenged character in the context of her world, while at the same time investigating some important gender issues. She proceeds in a Foucaultian manner, pointing out scenarios of turmoil and conflict that result in exchanges of power, such as the stigmata leading to her position of abbess (Brown, 57-59) or the probing of the investigators into the actions of the nun's "special companions" that lead to the exposition of Carlini's sexual behavior (Brown, 117). The biggest failings of the book in many ways are the title and introduction, reviewer Lillian Faderman supports this stating, “Such a title may alienate the serious reader” (Faderman, 576). Its titillating subtitle, The Life of a Lesbian Nun in Renaissance Italy, and the introduction unnecessarily focus the reader on sexual exploits, when the book has so much more interesting scholarship to offer. The title was meant to sell books, but the introduction concentrates on implied homosexuality, when that does not seem to be the main drive of the rest of the text; sexual behavior occupies only a small place at the end of the second investigation. Brown herself, quoting the ideas of Foucault and others, even questions the use of the nomenclature "homosexuality" before the nineteenth century, given the ideas of the time about sexuality (introduction, notes). The reaction of Carlini’s investigators seem to support this; although shocked at her behavior, they did not seem to put as much importance on sexual actions as they did on her other indiscretions involving falsified divine interventions.
The value of the book is well beyond finding seventeenth century nuns in a compromising lesbian position. A far more interesting subject is the socio-psychological idea that Brown puts forth about the heteronormative conditions into which the actions of Carlini and her companion Bartolomea fell during their sexual exploits. According to Brown, "Western tradition" permeated the actions of the two nuns when one assumed a male role; the assumption of that role revealed a paradox that "such relations tended to reaffirm, rather than subvert, the assumed biological hierarchy" (Brown, 12). This passage demonstrates the presumption, even by the nuns involved in these actions, that males occupied a superior biological level compared to females; it was believed at the time that, in order to perform such sexual acts, at least one of the women involved must ascend to a phallocentric male persona. The discussion as to whether Carlini assumed a male persona to "ascend to a more perfect state of nature" (Brown, 12) or to obtain and exercise power usually out of reach for a Renaissance/ Early Modern European woman is one of the book’s strongest argument. Religious beliefs aside, the position of an abbess was the most powerful position that a woman could gain, next to becoming a queen (and from what we know of the struggles of Elizabeth I, the abbess may have been in a far superior day-to day power position). Moreover, as evidenced by Carlini's rise, it was the only available power position for a woman in her socioeconomic standing to aspire to at the time. Throughout the book, one of the most fascinating characteristics of Carlini, exposed by Brown, is the sense one gets of her sincere drive to achieve a powerful position and to bring her abbey to a standing above the norm, thus achieving a better life for herself (even if briefly) and in general, the women of her abbey, despite the ideas of the day regarding women's, and more specifically nun’s roles.
Immodest Acts is a valuable historical text, forwarding the body of scholarship on women in early modern Europe while simultaneously advancing historical scholarship that concentrates on defining the microcosm and placing it to a larger macrocosm. Although Brown quotes such “male-authored” works as Eric Midelfort’s Witch-hunting in Southwestern Germany, 1562-1684 and Fernand Braudel’s The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II, she is able to achieve a much fresher and
more interesting intimate study by upending their (and other earlier authors’) larger-scale, tables and maps, sociological type of study by concentrating on a single individual’s life and including gender issues into her argument. It is a shame that it takes a titillating cover title to sell a book and to appeal to the voyeuristic attitudes of the masses, when Judith Brown's book is a far deeper and more interesting intellectual exercise.
Carlini was considered a blessed child at birth. She was supposed to have died in birth, but miraculously survived. Her entire life was centered on religion. Soon after entering the convent at Pescia at age nine, she became the focus of supernatural events that singled her out from the other nuns in her cloister. After fasting and being in a state of intense pain, she claimed to have favor with the Madonna and to have received visions. Men, beautiful but cruel men, angels, and even Christ himself occupied these visions. The visions brought Carlini local fame. Upon receiving this attention, Carlini then claimed to be stricken with stigmata. The evidence of stigmata propelled her into the position of the abbess of the convent. After gaining the power of the position of the abbess, Carlini performed a marriage ceremony with the adult Christ, in front of the entire abbey, closely mirroring but not exactly imitating Saint Catherine of Siena (who married the infant Christ). Carlini then claimed to have been given Christ's heart and to have temporarily "died" and been resurrected by him. Such fantastic claims eventually led to the two official investigations (a local investigation and a papal nuncio). During the course of the investigations it was determined that the divine signs had been faked and that Carlini had committed "immodest acts" with another nun.
Brown has written a solid piece of microhistory that puts the story of a socioeconomically challenged character in the context of her world, while at the same time investigating some important gender issues. She proceeds in a Foucaultian manner, pointing out scenarios of turmoil and conflict that result in exchanges of power, such as the stigmata leading to her position of abbess (Brown, 57-59) or the probing of the investigators into the actions of the nun's "special companions" that lead to the exposition of Carlini's sexual behavior (Brown, 117). The biggest failings of the book in many ways are the title and introduction, reviewer Lillian Faderman supports this stating, “Such a title may alienate the serious reader” (Faderman, 576). Its titillating subtitle, The Life of a Lesbian Nun in Renaissance Italy, and the introduction unnecessarily focus the reader on sexual exploits, when the book has so much more interesting scholarship to offer. The title was meant to sell books, but the introduction concentrates on implied homosexuality, when that does not seem to be the main drive of the rest of the text; sexual behavior occupies only a small place at the end of the second investigation. Brown herself, quoting the ideas of Foucault and others, even questions the use of the nomenclature "homosexuality" before the nineteenth century, given the ideas of the time about sexuality (introduction, notes). The reaction of Carlini’s investigators seem to support this; although shocked at her behavior, they did not seem to put as much importance on sexual actions as they did on her other indiscretions involving falsified divine interventions.
The value of the book is well beyond finding seventeenth century nuns in a compromising lesbian position. A far more interesting subject is the socio-psychological idea that Brown puts forth about the heteronormative conditions into which the actions of Carlini and her companion Bartolomea fell during their sexual exploits. According to Brown, "Western tradition" permeated the actions of the two nuns when one assumed a male role; the assumption of that role revealed a paradox that "such relations tended to reaffirm, rather than subvert, the assumed biological hierarchy" (Brown, 12). This passage demonstrates the presumption, even by the nuns involved in these actions, that males occupied a superior biological level compared to females; it was believed at the time that, in order to perform such sexual acts, at least one of the women involved must ascend to a phallocentric male persona. The discussion as to whether Carlini assumed a male persona to "ascend to a more perfect state of nature" (Brown, 12) or to obtain and exercise power usually out of reach for a Renaissance/ Early Modern European woman is one of the book’s strongest argument. Religious beliefs aside, the position of an abbess was the most powerful position that a woman could gain, next to becoming a queen (and from what we know of the struggles of Elizabeth I, the abbess may have been in a far superior day-to day power position). Moreover, as evidenced by Carlini's rise, it was the only available power position for a woman in her socioeconomic standing to aspire to at the time. Throughout the book, one of the most fascinating characteristics of Carlini, exposed by Brown, is the sense one gets of her sincere drive to achieve a powerful position and to bring her abbey to a standing above the norm, thus achieving a better life for herself (even if briefly) and in general, the women of her abbey, despite the ideas of the day regarding women's, and more specifically nun’s roles.
Immodest Acts is a valuable historical text, forwarding the body of scholarship on women in early modern Europe while simultaneously advancing historical scholarship that concentrates on defining the microcosm and placing it to a larger macrocosm. Although Brown quotes such “male-authored” works as Eric Midelfort’s Witch-hunting in Southwestern Germany, 1562-1684 and Fernand Braudel’s The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II, she is able to achieve a much fresher and
more interesting intimate study by upending their (and other earlier authors’) larger-scale, tables and maps, sociological type of study by concentrating on a single individual’s life and including gender issues into her argument. It is a shame that it takes a titillating cover title to sell a book and to appeal to the voyeuristic attitudes of the masses, when Judith Brown's book is a far deeper and more interesting intellectual exercise.
November 7, 2025
too much nun not enough lesbian. but such is life.
December 27, 2025
Ottimo saggio di microstoria che ricostruisce la vita di una giovane monaca "visionaria" e forse bisessuale nella Toscana del Seicento.
È un libro scorrevole, che si legge agevolmente in 3 o 4 ore. Nonostante la brevità, esplora tanti temi interessanti ed è frutto di una ricerca lunga e meticolosa.
È una storia vera supportata da valide fonti, ma a tratti mi è parso di leggere un thriller, perché contiene anche dei colpi di scena non scontati. Lo consiglio a chiunque ami scoprire vicende storiche poco note di persone comuni.
È un libro scorrevole, che si legge agevolmente in 3 o 4 ore. Nonostante la brevità, esplora tanti temi interessanti ed è frutto di una ricerca lunga e meticolosa.
È una storia vera supportata da valide fonti, ma a tratti mi è parso di leggere un thriller, perché contiene anche dei colpi di scena non scontati. Lo consiglio a chiunque ami scoprire vicende storiche poco note di persone comuni.
August 23, 2009
One doesn't expect an academic treatise on an early 17th century nunnery to be a quick read. I read Immodest Acts in three sittings, and the author, Judith Brown, doesn't even get around to the smutty parts until the last chapters. The book is a fascinating portrait of Benedetta Carlini, an Italian girl whose backwoods parents pledge her to convent life before her birth and then raise her to believe that she is a gift from god. After taking her vows, Benedetta begins to describe powerful and strange religious visions, rises to the position of abbess, and stages, elaborately, her own wedding to Jesus. Brown creates cultural context to explore both Benedetta's visions and the way she was treated by church officials, who launched several investigations of the dramatic, potentially mad, potentially conniving abbess. The author must be commended for the unusual depth of information she is able to provide about a hitherto unknown 17th century woman and for her ability to write in an academic style without leaching the story of its engrossing drama.
October 9, 2018
The lesbian angle is seriously oversold. This is an ordinary, indeed typical, case of nun who saw visions but was later denounced as a fraud. She had trances, stigmata and a yellow mark on her finger like a wedding ring. She prophesied, spoke in tongues, channelled saints, angels and Christ himself, and was recalled from the dead.
The book also contains a good description of small town convent life, petty ambition and church politics. This is interesting precisely because it is so unremarkable. Benedetta and women like her are a neglected chapter in the story of Christianity.
The book also contains a good description of small town convent life, petty ambition and church politics. This is interesting precisely because it is so unremarkable. Benedetta and women like her are a neglected chapter in the story of Christianity.
September 8, 2013
The title is a little sensationalist: the same-sex relationship doesn't come up until near the end of the book, and it's not exactly "lesbian" (the nun has at least one other heterosexual relationship, and claims to be a male angel during the "lesbian" relationship). Still, an interesting read with lots of historical context. But it is more about a discredited mystic than it is about a lesbian. (More in depth review to come at the
July 18, 2021
A little dry and academic for my usual tastes (although the last chapter is kind of a banger), it was a really fascinating look at 17th century Catholic mysticism and practices. Cannot wait to see what I assume is going to be a totally accurate and incredibly respectful depiction of this story from the director of Showgirls.
May 15, 2025
me when im a renaissance nun named benedetta and i have no societal framework for queerness so i imagine myself as the beautiful boy angel splenditello to have sexy times with my companion bartolomea. also i’m married to jesus and he thinks im awesome. if u saw someone stealing salami from the kitchen it wasnt me
Read
August 21, 2025«SPACCIATASI PER MISTICA, FU SCOPERTA ESSERE DONNA DI BASSI COSTUMI...»
: letteralmente io.
Datato 1986, e tornato da poche settimane nelle librerie italiane dopo anni di latitanza fuori commercio, il libello di Judith Brown incontrò all’epoca un discreto successo di pubblico, oltrepassando la nicchia dei cultori di storia rinascimentale, tanto da interessare, a distanza di decenni, persino il cinema (il film di Verhoeven, Benedetta, è del 2021).
La ragione è facile da indovinarsi con quel titolo che non sfigurerebbe su una copertina d'antan di Cronaca Vera, ma i bollori dei lettori andarono, e vanno, incontro ad una doccia fredda se si è in cerca di descrizioni particolareggiate di incastri proibiti; al centro del discorso sono le visioni mistiche e le successive indagini volte a smascherarne la falsità (o meglio: la diabolicità) - più che per lesbismo, la vicenda di Benedetta a me pare un caso esemplare di personalità multipla (che spiegherebbe le sue trance, i cambi di personalità con mutamento di voce e di lingua, i vuoti di memoria e i mutamenti di fisionomia notati da chi le stava vicino - Brown vi si sofferma anche a suggerirlo in una nota).
Benedetta Carlini non fu certamente mistica nel senso elevato del termine: la sua esperienza non ebbe alcuna postura intellettuale, utilità nel mondo o profondità di ispirazione; le sue visioni iniziali, che possiamo ritenere ancora ingenue e senza secondi fini, rientravano piuttosto in un’esperienza comune a quanti, per disposizione d’animo e per indole, erano aperti alla visione mentale vivida, in tempi in cui l’unica fantasia lecita (cronologicamente siamo nell’asfissiante epoca post-tridentina) doveva muoversi fra simboli religiosi. Questo parossismo immaginativo era favorito da un’infanzia pia e solitaria fra le montagne, e da un successivo stile di vita sedentario e claustrale, segnato da digiuni, rapporti sociali obbligati o negati, fissazioni iconografiche, conflitti psicologici somatizzati nel corpo, lettura di manuali di preghiera che spingevano a visualizzare carnalmente scene della vita di Cristo e di testi devozionali e vite dei santi improntate a facili e intensi trasporti sentimentali.
Col tempo, Benedetta iniziò a servirsi delle sue visioni e delle sue dissociazioni/scivolamenti di personalità/trance come di un mezzo retorico per avere controllo della realtà intorno a lei, acquisendo fra l’altro il titolo di badessa nonostante la giovane età, con la speranza forse di conquistarsi un giorno quello di santa, secondo l’esempio di Caterina da Siena, dalla cui vita dovette ricopiare più dettagli. A tradirla sarà la sua identificazione con Cristo che la spinse a mettere in scena un rito matrimoniale con la collaborazione delle consorelle, e la sua finta morte e ritorno dal paradiso: due eventi che attirarono l’attenzione prima del funzionario ecclesiastico di paese, poi del nunzio papale. L’inganno sarebbe forse continuato se a parlare, dopo anni di silenzio, non fossero state le consorelle: probabilmente stanche dell’arroganza esibita da Benedetta, si decideranno a denunciarne i sotterfugi, e la stessa Benedetta ammetterà poi di essere stata vittima di manipolazione diabolica.
Tra le testimonianze spicca quella sua compagna di stanza, Bartolomea, la cui analisi copre dieci pagine del libro di Brown - e tante bastano a decretarne titolo, sottotitolo e valore. Se al lettore casuale paiono decisivamente poche, in realtà non è così scontato anche solo che ne esista notizia: la calligrafia dello scrivano che mise per iscritto la confessione di Bartolomea, ci fa notare Brown, trema e si fa più confusa nei passaggi arditi, a tal punto è scossa dalla rivelazione dell’impensabile, e così deve essersi sentita anche la studiosa del XX secolo a leggere gli incartamenti dell’indagine, di fronte a un tema raro da trovare in forma di fonte storica diretta femminile - da qui il suo voler strappare la vicenda all’oscurità dell’oblio.
Probabile Benedetta abusasse del suo potere con l’analfabeta Bartolomea - che dovette rispondere con poca convinzione, credendo che badessa vult, ergo deus vult - ma dall’altro lato è difficile non sentire simpatia umana per la Nostra malessere misticheggiante: il linguaggio religioso doveva prestarsi da giustificazione - ai suoi occhi, a quelli di Dio e a quelli della sua compagna - ai propri sentimenti non altrimenti definibili: che una donna giacesse con un’altra era invero diabolico, ma se una delle due fosse stata posseduta da un angelo maschio, a volte da Cristo stesso, le cose avrebbero assunto un altro contorno, naturale nella sua blasfema anormalità. Una logica che rientrava, per quanto di basso costume, in quel genere di eccezionalità che veggenti da strapazzo e mistiche di più alto livello avevano sempre avocato a se stesse: sì, le altre donne saranno stupide, imbelli, peccaminose, degne di rimprovero, vulnerabili all’apparizione satanica che si finge divina, ma io - Teresa, Caterina, Ildegarda, Giovanna, Benedetta... - no. Pur non negando la genuinità d’ispirazione di signore più rispettabili della badessa toscana, va anche detto che il non sentirsi like other girls e l’avere un contatto diretto con il Principale - con cui il clero maschile parlava a gesti, mentre la mistica vi parlava da pari, fino a entrare nella sua camera nuziale - era il tentativo di poter dire la propria verità in un contesto che non lo consentiva, perché si era donne, in primo luogo, e poi perché si era povere, provinciali, vecchie, giovani, celibi, vedove, senza istruzione, amanti dell’azione, dell’indipendenza e del potere a cui non si aveva accesso, e perchè no, lesbiche- a seguire. E ci sarebbe poi da aprire una parentesi enorme sulla concezione dell’amore nel linguaggio delle mistiche, per cui lo spirito è il vero corpo e i sensi sono tutt’uno con la mente, fino al picco raggiunto dalla più famosa delle estasi di cui abbiamo una descrizione, quella di Teresa d’Avila, che - con sommo imbarazzo dei suoi confessori e per maggior gioia espressiva del Bernini - coincide con l’orgasmo fisico. «Dove ci sono io non c’è vergogna» aveva detto Cristo a Benedetta in una delle sue prime visioni, santificando anche il profano, in maniera squisitamente pagana, e fu questo dettaglio, insieme alle false stimmate e ai discorsi in lode di se stessa, a precipitarla nella prigione a vita.
Da un punto di vista storiografico, l’indagine è ben inquadrata: Brown si era occupata in uno studio precedente del tessuto sociale della Pescia rinascimentale, di cui la vicenda di Benedetta Carlini doveva occupare lo spazio di una singola nota - nota che andò prendendo sempre più attenzioni, fino ad espandersi in un libro a sé stante. Quando l’autrice scriveva, portando alla luce le carte relative al processo della suora teatina, prendeva atto desolata che la sessualità lesbica pre-contemporanea, a differenza di quella gay, non aveva ancora una sua storia né una bibliografia, anche in ragione di un silenzio delle fonti: giuristi, censori e moralisti poco sapevano di quanto accadesse fra le donne quando loro non erano presenti, e la loro bassa considerazione per l’intelletto femminile li poneva talvolta in una disposizione d’animo più tesa all’incredulità o al perdono: che una donna si accendesse di passione per un’altra era impensabile, non era cosa nemmeno di cui parlare o a cui dare una definizione, e quando anche accadesse, avveniva per una debolezza di mente e di spirito che andava corretta e punita, senza ricorrere a soluzioni definitive, in cui incorrevano gli uomini omosessuali (o per meglio dire “gli uomini che compivano atti omosessuali”, data la mancanza di sentimenti identitari dell’epoca). Questo stato di cose andò cambiando verso la fine del Medioevo, quando si iniziò a prendere molto sul serio la presenza di Satana nel mondo e a criminalizzare pesantemente il suo agente del caos preferito, e si iniziò anche a essere molto edotti sulle modalità di “sfregamento” e sulla natura delle protesi tese alla ricerca del piacere - la prigione, la tortura con amputazioni e il rogo divennero allora luogo dove estinguere ogni forma di eresia, non solo quelle dottrinali-religiose-politiche, ma anche quelle sessuali.
Tralasciata la tristezza delle vicende umane, è comunque divertente leggere dell’aspetto teorico del lesbismo pre-contemporaneo filtrato dall’occhio maschile che nulla sa e tutto ignora, molto giudica e ognuna condanna: l’assurdità è dietro l’angolo. Ad esempio, nel XVI secolo, il barone pettegolo Brantôme, passato alla storia dei dizionari per aver coniato la parola 'lesbica', scriveva che “questa nuova [sic] maniera d’amarsi [saffica] è stata portata dall’Italia da una donna di altissimo rango, della quale assolutamente non dirò il nome”: certo, perché quelle frufru delle francesi aspettavano giusto un’anonima italian diva... Sebbene, effettivamente, l’Italia - e una certa maledetta regione in particolare - in epoca rinascimentale potesse fregiarsi di essere agli occhi del resto d’Europa patria di sodomiti e di tribadi (non so perché questo traguardo storico non trovi spazio sulla facciata del Palazzo della Civiltà Italiana all’EUR).
Questo studio è allora tanto più da apprezzare, e per il suo essere uno dei primi su di tema di cui è difficile parlare, e per l’eccezionalità del ritrovo delle carte processuali in una raccolta miscellanea dell’Archivio di Firenze; consiglio magari di affiancarvi la lettura di Storia di Caterina che per ott’anni vestì abiti da uomo di Marzio Barbagli per un altro caso, questa volta senese, di “safficina moderna che da grattacapi ad uomini nati ieri” alla luce di acquisizioni bibliografiche più recenti.
: letteralmente io.
Datato 1986, e tornato da poche settimane nelle librerie italiane dopo anni di latitanza fuori commercio, il libello di Judith Brown incontrò all’epoca un discreto successo di pubblico, oltrepassando la nicchia dei cultori di storia rinascimentale, tanto da interessare, a distanza di decenni, persino il cinema (il film di Verhoeven, Benedetta, è del 2021).
La ragione è facile da indovinarsi con quel titolo che non sfigurerebbe su una copertina d'antan di Cronaca Vera, ma i bollori dei lettori andarono, e vanno, incontro ad una doccia fredda se si è in cerca di descrizioni particolareggiate di incastri proibiti; al centro del discorso sono le visioni mistiche e le successive indagini volte a smascherarne la falsità (o meglio: la diabolicità) - più che per lesbismo, la vicenda di Benedetta a me pare un caso esemplare di personalità multipla (che spiegherebbe le sue trance, i cambi di personalità con mutamento di voce e di lingua, i vuoti di memoria e i mutamenti di fisionomia notati da chi le stava vicino - Brown vi si sofferma anche a suggerirlo in una nota).
Benedetta Carlini non fu certamente mistica nel senso elevato del termine: la sua esperienza non ebbe alcuna postura intellettuale, utilità nel mondo o profondità di ispirazione; le sue visioni iniziali, che possiamo ritenere ancora ingenue e senza secondi fini, rientravano piuttosto in un’esperienza comune a quanti, per disposizione d’animo e per indole, erano aperti alla visione mentale vivida, in tempi in cui l’unica fantasia lecita (cronologicamente siamo nell’asfissiante epoca post-tridentina) doveva muoversi fra simboli religiosi. Questo parossismo immaginativo era favorito da un’infanzia pia e solitaria fra le montagne, e da un successivo stile di vita sedentario e claustrale, segnato da digiuni, rapporti sociali obbligati o negati, fissazioni iconografiche, conflitti psicologici somatizzati nel corpo, lettura di manuali di preghiera che spingevano a visualizzare carnalmente scene della vita di Cristo e di testi devozionali e vite dei santi improntate a facili e intensi trasporti sentimentali.
Col tempo, Benedetta iniziò a servirsi delle sue visioni e delle sue dissociazioni/scivolamenti di personalità/trance come di un mezzo retorico per avere controllo della realtà intorno a lei, acquisendo fra l’altro il titolo di badessa nonostante la giovane età, con la speranza forse di conquistarsi un giorno quello di santa, secondo l’esempio di Caterina da Siena, dalla cui vita dovette ricopiare più dettagli. A tradirla sarà la sua identificazione con Cristo che la spinse a mettere in scena un rito matrimoniale con la collaborazione delle consorelle, e la sua finta morte e ritorno dal paradiso: due eventi che attirarono l’attenzione prima del funzionario ecclesiastico di paese, poi del nunzio papale. L’inganno sarebbe forse continuato se a parlare, dopo anni di silenzio, non fossero state le consorelle: probabilmente stanche dell’arroganza esibita da Benedetta, si decideranno a denunciarne i sotterfugi, e la stessa Benedetta ammetterà poi di essere stata vittima di manipolazione diabolica.
Tra le testimonianze spicca quella sua compagna di stanza, Bartolomea, la cui analisi copre dieci pagine del libro di Brown - e tante bastano a decretarne titolo, sottotitolo e valore. Se al lettore casuale paiono decisivamente poche, in realtà non è così scontato anche solo che ne esista notizia: la calligrafia dello scrivano che mise per iscritto la confessione di Bartolomea, ci fa notare Brown, trema e si fa più confusa nei passaggi arditi, a tal punto è scossa dalla rivelazione dell’impensabile, e così deve essersi sentita anche la studiosa del XX secolo a leggere gli incartamenti dell’indagine, di fronte a un tema raro da trovare in forma di fonte storica diretta femminile - da qui il suo voler strappare la vicenda all’oscurità dell’oblio.
Probabile Benedetta abusasse del suo potere con l’analfabeta Bartolomea - che dovette rispondere con poca convinzione, credendo che badessa vult, ergo deus vult - ma dall’altro lato è difficile non sentire simpatia umana per la Nostra malessere misticheggiante: il linguaggio religioso doveva prestarsi da giustificazione - ai suoi occhi, a quelli di Dio e a quelli della sua compagna - ai propri sentimenti non altrimenti definibili: che una donna giacesse con un’altra era invero diabolico, ma se una delle due fosse stata posseduta da un angelo maschio, a volte da Cristo stesso, le cose avrebbero assunto un altro contorno, naturale nella sua blasfema anormalità. Una logica che rientrava, per quanto di basso costume, in quel genere di eccezionalità che veggenti da strapazzo e mistiche di più alto livello avevano sempre avocato a se stesse: sì, le altre donne saranno stupide, imbelli, peccaminose, degne di rimprovero, vulnerabili all’apparizione satanica che si finge divina, ma io - Teresa, Caterina, Ildegarda, Giovanna, Benedetta... - no. Pur non negando la genuinità d’ispirazione di signore più rispettabili della badessa toscana, va anche detto che il non sentirsi like other girls e l’avere un contatto diretto con il Principale - con cui il clero maschile parlava a gesti, mentre la mistica vi parlava da pari, fino a entrare nella sua camera nuziale - era il tentativo di poter dire la propria verità in un contesto che non lo consentiva, perché si era donne, in primo luogo, e poi perché si era povere, provinciali, vecchie, giovani, celibi, vedove, senza istruzione, amanti dell’azione, dell’indipendenza e del potere a cui non si aveva accesso, e perchè no, lesbiche- a seguire. E ci sarebbe poi da aprire una parentesi enorme sulla concezione dell’amore nel linguaggio delle mistiche, per cui lo spirito è il vero corpo e i sensi sono tutt’uno con la mente, fino al picco raggiunto dalla più famosa delle estasi di cui abbiamo una descrizione, quella di Teresa d’Avila, che - con sommo imbarazzo dei suoi confessori e per maggior gioia espressiva del Bernini - coincide con l’orgasmo fisico. «Dove ci sono io non c’è vergogna» aveva detto Cristo a Benedetta in una delle sue prime visioni, santificando anche il profano, in maniera squisitamente pagana, e fu questo dettaglio, insieme alle false stimmate e ai discorsi in lode di se stessa, a precipitarla nella prigione a vita.
Da un punto di vista storiografico, l’indagine è ben inquadrata: Brown si era occupata in uno studio precedente del tessuto sociale della Pescia rinascimentale, di cui la vicenda di Benedetta Carlini doveva occupare lo spazio di una singola nota - nota che andò prendendo sempre più attenzioni, fino ad espandersi in un libro a sé stante. Quando l’autrice scriveva, portando alla luce le carte relative al processo della suora teatina, prendeva atto desolata che la sessualità lesbica pre-contemporanea, a differenza di quella gay, non aveva ancora una sua storia né una bibliografia, anche in ragione di un silenzio delle fonti: giuristi, censori e moralisti poco sapevano di quanto accadesse fra le donne quando loro non erano presenti, e la loro bassa considerazione per l’intelletto femminile li poneva talvolta in una disposizione d’animo più tesa all’incredulità o al perdono: che una donna si accendesse di passione per un’altra era impensabile, non era cosa nemmeno di cui parlare o a cui dare una definizione, e quando anche accadesse, avveniva per una debolezza di mente e di spirito che andava corretta e punita, senza ricorrere a soluzioni definitive, in cui incorrevano gli uomini omosessuali (o per meglio dire “gli uomini che compivano atti omosessuali”, data la mancanza di sentimenti identitari dell’epoca). Questo stato di cose andò cambiando verso la fine del Medioevo, quando si iniziò a prendere molto sul serio la presenza di Satana nel mondo e a criminalizzare pesantemente il suo agente del caos preferito, e si iniziò anche a essere molto edotti sulle modalità di “sfregamento” e sulla natura delle protesi tese alla ricerca del piacere - la prigione, la tortura con amputazioni e il rogo divennero allora luogo dove estinguere ogni forma di eresia, non solo quelle dottrinali-religiose-politiche, ma anche quelle sessuali.
Tralasciata la tristezza delle vicende umane, è comunque divertente leggere dell’aspetto teorico del lesbismo pre-contemporaneo filtrato dall’occhio maschile che nulla sa e tutto ignora, molto giudica e ognuna condanna: l’assurdità è dietro l’angolo. Ad esempio, nel XVI secolo, il barone pettegolo Brantôme, passato alla storia dei dizionari per aver coniato la parola 'lesbica', scriveva che “questa nuova [sic] maniera d’amarsi [saffica] è stata portata dall’Italia da una donna di altissimo rango, della quale assolutamente non dirò il nome”: certo, perché quelle frufru delle francesi aspettavano giusto un’anonima italian diva... Sebbene, effettivamente, l’Italia - e una certa maledetta regione in particolare - in epoca rinascimentale potesse fregiarsi di essere agli occhi del resto d’Europa patria di sodomiti e di tribadi (non so perché questo traguardo storico non trovi spazio sulla facciata del Palazzo della Civiltà Italiana all’EUR).
Questo studio è allora tanto più da apprezzare, e per il suo essere uno dei primi su di tema di cui è difficile parlare, e per l’eccezionalità del ritrovo delle carte processuali in una raccolta miscellanea dell’Archivio di Firenze; consiglio magari di affiancarvi la lettura di Storia di Caterina che per ott’anni vestì abiti da uomo di Marzio Barbagli per un altro caso, questa volta senese, di “safficina moderna che da grattacapi ad uomini nati ieri” alla luce di acquisizioni bibliografiche più recenti.
December 15, 2007
Immodest Acts, Judith C. Brown's study of Benedetta Carlini, a lesbian nun in 17th century Italy, is interesting and enlightening. A lot of fascinating ideas and concepts come to light while reading the story of a nun who became Abbess of her convent, made claims of holy visions and, all the while, carried on a lesbian affair with fellow nun, Bartolomea Crivelli. The peek into Church politics and the beliefs of the time is frightening but sometimes darkly humorous. More interesting than that is the overview of sexuality in the Renaissance. Women were thought to be more lustful than men, the complete opposite of which seems to be the belief now.
The investigations into Benedetta's claims to have been supernaturally visited by Christ, angels and Satan are documented thoroughly. It was found that Benedetta faked the signs of visitation and even intimidated her fellow nuns into lying or, at the very least, not contradicting her claims. However, instead of making her out to be a criminal and a liar, one is left wondering at the circumstances compelled her to lie so she could practice the sexuality that she preferred. Some of the testimony was so "disturbing" to the investigators that the hand written record of the investigation becomes illegible when discussion turned to the sexual acts that took place between Benedetta and Bartolomea.
While Immodest Acts isn't a titillating account of lesbian sex in a 17th century convent, it is a fascinating and disturbing expose on the narrow minded anti-sexuality of the era's law and church (one and the same in those days) and what the people went ahead and did anyway because it felt good. The ideas of what constituted illegal and immoral sex boggle the mind. It seems male homosexuality was more tolerated than female homosexuality, which comes as no surprise considering the only slightly less patriarchal society we live in today. It's hard not to laugh when you read of two nice nuns "defiling" themselves with one another. The introduction to this book alone is worth the price of admission.
Brown's writing is a little dry at times but she does an outstanding job of laying out the facts as they stood. That Brown found out about Benedetta Carlini by chance while researching the first Medici grand duke makes this tale all the more awesome. A very good and very interesting book!
The investigations into Benedetta's claims to have been supernaturally visited by Christ, angels and Satan are documented thoroughly. It was found that Benedetta faked the signs of visitation and even intimidated her fellow nuns into lying or, at the very least, not contradicting her claims. However, instead of making her out to be a criminal and a liar, one is left wondering at the circumstances compelled her to lie so she could practice the sexuality that she preferred. Some of the testimony was so "disturbing" to the investigators that the hand written record of the investigation becomes illegible when discussion turned to the sexual acts that took place between Benedetta and Bartolomea.
While Immodest Acts isn't a titillating account of lesbian sex in a 17th century convent, it is a fascinating and disturbing expose on the narrow minded anti-sexuality of the era's law and church (one and the same in those days) and what the people went ahead and did anyway because it felt good. The ideas of what constituted illegal and immoral sex boggle the mind. It seems male homosexuality was more tolerated than female homosexuality, which comes as no surprise considering the only slightly less patriarchal society we live in today. It's hard not to laugh when you read of two nice nuns "defiling" themselves with one another. The introduction to this book alone is worth the price of admission.
Brown's writing is a little dry at times but she does an outstanding job of laying out the facts as they stood. That Brown found out about Benedetta Carlini by chance while researching the first Medici grand duke makes this tale all the more awesome. A very good and very interesting book!
January 16, 2008
This is the kind of book I went back to college to read - it deals with the historical story of a lesbian nun in Renaissance Italy. The story comes to us from the Church's legal investigation, or inquisition, of heresies the nun was accused of committing. It is not a casual read, but for those willing to navigate the scholastic nature of the book it well worth the time.
April 22, 2010
LJ user 102bb:
The book drags on sometimes, and the prose leaves a lot to be desired, but the sheer amount of information on women's sexuality during the renaissance makes up for it.
The book drags on sometimes, and the prose leaves a lot to be desired, but the sheer amount of information on women's sexuality during the renaissance makes up for it.
February 27, 2024
stunt queen of the (seventeenth) century
March 27, 2024
i made a lot of scissoring jokes and they did pay off
October 11, 2024
nun, interrupted
December 19, 2024
Intriguing read. Wish it were gayer.
3.5 stars
3.5 stars
June 24, 2022
Having read Saint Hildegard of Bingen (12th century), the disparity in reactions to female mystics pre- and post-plague is striking (not to mention non-nuns, like Jeanne d’Arc and Margery Kempe in the 14th and 15th centuries.) Benedetta Carlini lived from 1590 to 1661, truly in the Renaissance, so though a lot of her experiences are common with Saint Hildegard, instead of being the Oprah of her day she was scrutinized and discredited (ultimately, never reaching sainthood.) Something Paul Verhoeven’s film holds in common with Immodest Acts is that it maintains that, whether or not Benedetta’s miracles were fabricated, she was a very devout nun. She faked her stigmata wounds, but at the same time, what could compel someone to such extreme self-infliction save for religious frenzy? So ironically, religious lobbyists picketing the film Benedetta has an eery similarity to what Benedetta herself went through at the hands of the Catholic church: a counter-reformation spirit of quashing mysticism in favor of bureaucracy and order.
The subtitle The Life of a Lesbian Nun in Renaissance Italy is interesting because in the grand scheme of things, the lesbian part of this book is not a focus (unlike the film). The highlight of this book though, was actually its introduction, not any of the biographical information. In the introduction, Brown very concisely explains the medieval and renaissance attitudes towards homosexuality: it was seen as more of a sin than rape or pedophilia because the latter two upheld “God’s natural order,” or male hegemony, while homosexuality in both sexes presented a challenge towards it. However, the Catholic church was more concerned with male sexuality, seemingly because they just couldn’t figure out how lesbians even worked. Female homosexuality was so outside of their phallic worldview that they didn’t even think it was possible! This introduction was eye-opening because it talked about issues that affect our society today, not just Renaissance Italy.
As a biography, Immodest Acts suffers because we never get a glimpse of Benedetta’s actual personality. Brown does a good job of explaining the sociopolitical factors that led to these events (for example, mystics being common for backcountry folk but discouraged by the Vatican in light of the counter-reformation) but very little about Benedetta or Bartolomea as living breathing people. To be fair, this is very hard to do when the only sources available are legal records… but when this is the case, for the pure sake of entertainment, I suppose I prefer fictionalized narratives like Verhoeven’s adaptation.
The subtitle The Life of a Lesbian Nun in Renaissance Italy is interesting because in the grand scheme of things, the lesbian part of this book is not a focus (unlike the film). The highlight of this book though, was actually its introduction, not any of the biographical information. In the introduction, Brown very concisely explains the medieval and renaissance attitudes towards homosexuality: it was seen as more of a sin than rape or pedophilia because the latter two upheld “God’s natural order,” or male hegemony, while homosexuality in both sexes presented a challenge towards it. However, the Catholic church was more concerned with male sexuality, seemingly because they just couldn’t figure out how lesbians even worked. Female homosexuality was so outside of their phallic worldview that they didn’t even think it was possible! This introduction was eye-opening because it talked about issues that affect our society today, not just Renaissance Italy.
As a biography, Immodest Acts suffers because we never get a glimpse of Benedetta’s actual personality. Brown does a good job of explaining the sociopolitical factors that led to these events (for example, mystics being common for backcountry folk but discouraged by the Vatican in light of the counter-reformation) but very little about Benedetta or Bartolomea as living breathing people. To be fair, this is very hard to do when the only sources available are legal records… but when this is the case, for the pure sake of entertainment, I suppose I prefer fictionalized narratives like Verhoeven’s adaptation.
January 8, 2026
This is a 3.5 for me, but I rounded down instead of up because I felt like the book promised some things that the reader just doesn’t get. The label Lesbian is very nuanced especially since that term wasn’t really a thing for a while and I understand this is not a book about a modern person, but Sister Benedetta Carlini was most likely bisexual and the label “sapphic” which has been around longer would probably have been a better fit. It was super insightful to read about a woman who acted on homosexuality, but I would say the beginning of the book when Brown is only setting up the information and describing how homosexuality was viewed and further labeled is the strongest part of her writing in this book. This is amazing information and Brown does what she can with limited information and without applying too much of a modern lens, but I also think if we are researching queerness, the patriarchy, and bigotry, it’s okay to promote this book as research on a sapphic nun who received visions/premonitions instead of advertising it as a “look into the life of a lesbian nun”. I still recommend this because it is unique and full of information I never knew. For example, I learned the origins of the word “sodomy” (crazy how I didn’t know) and the arguments around the different kinds of “sex” (which they didn’t see it as) between women. There was a lot of nuance around what acts would be considered to result in the death penalty, death by burning, death penalty and THEN being burned, losing a member, or just a punishment that would result in societal shame. Lesbian sex with “an instrument being inserted into the belly of another” was punishable by death, while “rubbing” was often not. Brown also discusses how authorities struggled to label how sinful these acts were, but how they were often compared and contrasted with sex between two men, a heterosexual couple having anal intercourse, and bestiality. Please read this book, but also don’t expect to read too much about a Lesbian nun 💔
October 17, 2022
As a historian I’m full of disappointment, the ‘lesbian nun’ title is literary clickbait because the source material used by the author was so limited in the insight it could give into anything that really went on in the day to day. In this time period no one really cared about sexuality, it’s only in the modern day that it has become an identity in itself so there is no real documentation discussing it - even in this piece it is limited to brief mention amongst the nun’s visions and miraculous encounters thus it cannot be explored in depth here or produce any questions of value. Still an interesting bit of history but save yourself time by reading a review article or watching a YouTube video if you’re coming for the lesbianism lol
Displaying 1 - 30 of 139 reviews