“Clothes outlived people, she knew that. Clothes were more of a sure thing.”
“Slammerkin” refers to both a loose woman and a loose gown, and the sartorial is a constant motif in this story about a teen-aged prostitute named Mary Saunders in London and Monmouth, a Welsh border town, in the 1760s. There was an actual person of this name, but Emma Donoghue had only a very few sketchy facts from which she created this moving fiction that effectively illustrates that, in the mid-18th century anyway, life was short and brutal, and then you died. The journey was especially harsh if you didn’t have any money, and for women, it was even more harrowing due to the paucity of options.
Donoghue’s Mary has a grim-faced mother who works as a low-paid sewer of piece work, the bottom of the seamstress barrel. Drabness and drudgery are something the 14-year-old Mary abhors and she’s sure she’s meant for finer things. She wants color in her life, freedom from the work that’s making her mother prematurely old, and a future that is better than the dreary existence she sees all around her. Dream on, little Mary, dream on.
Her path is chosen by fate when she becomes covetous of a pretty red ribbon, is molested by the ribbon vendor, becomes pregnant, and is thrown out on the streets by her hard-working, pious mother. After a gang rape leaves her close to death, she is taken in by a local whore who shelters her and trains in the tricks of the trade. Despite the hardships of this life, she still finds it suits her better than the more respectable but constricting, back-breaking, and soul-crushing alternatives open to her. It allows her to attain her most important desire, which is her liberty. She also learns that, out in the world, “clothes make the woman” and that “clothes are the greatest lie ever told.” Her appearance is a means to getting what she wants. Not only does she want to look pretty – what girl doesn’t?—but there is a practical aspect too. It keeps her from falling even further socially and economically, into the kind of destitution that means rapid death by starvation in a freezing alley or being murdered by someone even more desperate. And her realization that appearances can be deceiving reinforces her belief that the better-dressed are not necessarily superior to her, further strengthening her desire for social mobility.
There is much description throughout the book of clothing, fabrics, and women’s accessories which are integral to the story, but that might be off-putting to some readers (read: “men”). But this emphasis on apparel and fashion all ties in with Mary’s need for some beauty in her world and with her conviction that a certain appearance is a survival technique.
Concern about survival is at the core of Mary’s motivations and her capacity for caring about others or her actions’ effects on them is sorely limited, understandable given her youth and her small experience with anything resembling trusting or nurturing relationships. Nor is she is temperamentally suited to the resignation displayed by so many working class types she has contact with, such as her mother, or a mother-substitute later in the story when she takes temporary shelter at the home of a family friend. Their philosophy is, where you are is where you’re supposed to be; it doesn’t occur to them to question or try to change their lot. They keep their heads down and spend their grueling days being grateful it isn’t even worse. At her mother’s old friend’s home Mary manages to fake a life as a respectable servant girl / seamstress apprentice for a while, learning more about sewing and fashion that she hopes to use to elevate herself later, daydreaming, as girls will, about a glamorous life. Getting an education about better quality clothing stokes her desires for even finer things, without getter her any closer to a real means of attaining them.
Mary yearns for freedom, class mobility and beauty. For life to be nothing but servitude, under the control of other for bare sustenance, and daily bleakness without hope is not something her young and spirited but rather cold heart can ever come to terms with. And in that time and place, this drive rebounds on her to a world of hurt. Mary’s narcissistic character might not be an admirable one, but I did feel some compassion for this girl, slightly more than a child, who hardly stood a chance in these circumstances, and who had few opportunities to develop close emotional connections or a moral compass. There was a point where a couple of tenuous threads connecting her with others began to be spun, but in the end they are too thin to withstand the events that befall her and her own weaknesses, ambition, and restlessness. Mary at 14 and 15 doesn’t have the maturity to develop any view other than that which centers on her immediate wants and needs and fears. It is not a happy story, but a well-told one.
In spite of the potential for this to be a depressing story, I did not find it so, although parts of it were sad. Donoghue manages to weave a compelling tale about distressing situations in an engaging way, just as she did in Room. The details of this world are colorful and vividly drawn, from the symptoms of the diseases the whores were prone to, to the sumptuous embroidered fabrics worn by the well-to-do, to the customs at seasonal festivals and funerals, to all the family fun to be had at public executions, with their picnicking and rope-bit souvenirs.
Recommended for fans of historical fiction.