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But
Hall will always be known for writing The Well of
Loneliness, in part because of the sensationalistic nature
of the obscenity trial that followed. Forced to sell her London
home to pay for the trial, Hall stood by her work, and several
notable writers were prepared to testify in her defense, including
E.M. Forster, Virginia Woolf, and Vita Sackville-West. But the
book was banned in Britain and was not reprinted there until the
1960s.
Nonetheless,
the novel remained available in France, and an attempt to ban
it in the United States failed. Within the first year of its American
publication it had sold 10,000 copies.
Critics
have questioned whether the novel underlines heterosexual norms
or undermines them: does Hall merely accept Havelock Ellis’s
biological determinism model of homosexuality, which also pathologizes
it? Or does Hall’s allegiance with the character of the
mannish lesbian allow her to claim a female sexual identity separate
from the romantic (but non-sexual) friendships between women in
19th century literature?
Esther
Newton, in her classic essay “The Mythic Mannish Lesbian,”
argues the latter, and Sonja Ruehl contends that in fact Hall’s
acceptance of the congenital inversion theory was a way to reclaim
the identity as gays and lesbians have reclaimed originally pejorative
words like “queer,” “dyke,” and “fag.”
Even
though the character of Stephen Gordon does not have a happy life
or experience a happy ending, her very existence has clearly been
a touchstone for countless lesbians over the course of the twentieth
century who clung to any affirmation that people like them existed.
Early
on in the novel Hall writes of young Stephen, “How she hated
soft dresses and sashes, and ribbons, and small coral beads, and
openwork stockings! Her legs felt so free and comfortable in breeches;
she adored pockets too, and these were forbidden—at least
really adequate pockets.”
Stephen’s
love of pockets, and numerous other little details like this,
must have seemed like a revelation to lesbian readers. It is arguable
that The Well opened up a demand for literature about
lesbians that continues to this day. Lesbian pulp novels of the
1950s and 1960s continued to tell dramatic, depressing stories
about lesbians who were ostracized by heterosexual society, by
and large accurately reflecting the times in which they were published.
These
books, like The Well of Loneliness, enabled
lesbian readers to recognize themselves, to know that they weren’t
alone in the world, even though the world might not accept them.
It wasn’t until Rita Mae Brown’s Rubyfruit Jungle
was published in 1973 that a truly happy lesbian love story
was told.
Radclyffe
Hall and her character Stephen Gordon have both become lesbian
icons of a bygone era: masculine women of the romantic 1920s,
moneyed elites who moved in literary society despite, or because
of, their sexuality.
Indeed,
Radclyffe Hall has been romanticized by numerous biographers,
beginning with her lover Lady Troubridge. Since her death at least
seven biographies of Hall have been published, as well as one
volume of her love letters and one biography of Una Troubridge.
One
look at the photos of Hall in her youth make it clear why she
is such a fascinating subject: posting with her cigarette, looking
straight out at the camera, dressed unapologetically like a fashionable
gentleman, it seems clear that Hall lived a life of passion as
well as pathos. She—and Stephen Gordon—are the perfect
tragic heroes of lesbianism.
Thankfully,
their existence helped pave the way for lesbian heroes who were
able, at last, to experience joy.
