Chels

To celebrate pride month, this week I want to share some of my favourite books that focus on queer women in the 20th century. Some of them are more well known, and others are hidden gems. 

I think the 20th century was a great time for queer literature – censorship was beginning to lift, and we were able to get some really incredible queer romances, but since the topic was still a little taboo, and there was still a lot of censorship happening, the stories had very deliberate takes – they really capture a delicate moment in time, they’re brave, yet cautious, with very gripping plots. This was an era where forbidden romance had significantly different implications – and I think we’re so lucky to have these stories as a reminder of our history.

I also picked a few modern novels set in the 20th century that I think do a great job of capturing the essence of the early novels, and that tell important stories.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

Starting off with one of the more well known picks, Seven Husbands might not sound like a queer story based on the title alone, but despite her seven husbands, the true love of Evelyn’s life is Celia St James. Partially based on the lives of Elizabeth Taylor (and her seven husbands), Ava Gardner, and Rita Hayworth, the novel chronicles Evelyn Hugo’s life as an Old Hollywood icon. I really love the concept of a novel telling a life story through the lens of a tell-all interview, and I think the structure suited the story incredibly well. I personally didn’t love the ‘twist’ which reveals just why Evelyn chose Monique to tell her life story to, but I know so many people did. It’s not that I found it poorly executed or anything, it just wasn’t my cup of tea. But that’s such a small side plot compared to Evelyn’s life, anyway, so it by no means spoiled the book for me. The book is heavy on the forbidden romance trope, which is not at all a criticism, but I can see why it became so popular, especially on BookTok. It has all the hallmarks of popular modern romance novels.

Seven Husbands is a really beautiful story, and it touches on some really quite dark themes – a lot of terrible things happen to Evelyn. I absolutely recommend it though – there’s a reason it’s so well loved and so often recommended.

Carol, or, The Price of Salt

Originally published as The Price of Salt, Patricia Highsmith’s romance saw a resurgence in popularity after the release of the Cate Blanchett film, and was subsequently retitled. The book is slightly different from the novel, and I’d recommend both of them. The interesting thing, though, is I rarely see discourse claiming that one is better than the other, like many film adaptations, instead, they’re just seen as different.

The novel follows Therese, a young shop assistant who falls for an older woman who buys a toy from her for her daughter. It’s a story of romantic obsession, set (once again) during a time when their romance was forbidden. Carol explores the aspects of fear and suspense, and the implications of being found to be queer in the 1950s, especially for women. Especially for mothers. Patricia Highsmith is a master of suspense, which is a cliche thing to say, but it’s true, and you can see her expertise so clearly in Carol, even in a less typically suspenseful setting. Carol is also a bit of an icon of the queer literary scene – most lesbian literature of the time ended with death or insanity for their lesbian protagonists (likely influenced by the cultural attitudes brought on by the Hays code in film), but Carol and Therese get their positive, if a little ambiguous, ending.

I Prefer Girls

Sticking with the 1950s theme, I want to recommend a lesbian pulp novel. They may not have the greatest reputation, especially morally, but they’re an important part of queer literary history. I Prefer Girls is an interesting mystery – the author, Jessie Dumont, wrote under a pseudonym, and all we know is that they were a ‘well known author’, at least at the time of publication. The novel also has a pretty iconic cover, and if you’re around in online creative or fandom spaces, you’ve probably seen the cover used as an art prompt.

The story, though, is not quite what you might expect. It follows Penny, who is arguably a terrible person, and while there’s nothing wrong with an anti-hero, this quickly lets us know that this is not one of the pro-lesbian (as they were known) pulp novels. Instead, this novel sets out to be raunchy and taboo, and not necessarily sympathetic to its lesbian characters. Penny prefers to seduce straight women, especially those with husbands and boyfriends. In this story, we see her tumultuous relationship with Bernice, who is much younger, and engaged to a man. As is common in this genre, the novel deals with suspense, domestic violence, and unhealthy relationship dynamics. I normally wouldn’t put a content warning like this, but so many reviews for lesbian pulp novels seem to forget the context, and just consist of sanctimonious outrage that queer characters are portrayed as bad people. It’s part of queer literary history, and while it’s uncomfortable, it’s important. These books are definitely not for everyone, but they’re a fascinating look into history.

The Danish Girl

Onto a book with a much more sympathetic point of view. The Danish Girl loosely follows the real life story of Lili Elbe, a Danish trans woman painter, and her partner, Gerda Wegener. Lili underwent four gender affirming surgeries, including the first known uterus transplant. Unfortunately, her body rejected the uterus, and she died of an infection shortly after. The novel differs in that the ending is ambiguous – Lili still suffers with an infection after her surgery, but her fate is not determined.

The novel portrays Lili’s journey with empathy and care, and her relationship with Gerda, as well as her self-discovery, is written beautifully. It’s a really touching novel that focuses on Lili’s slow, steady self-acceptance, and the patience and care that Gerda shows to her. The relationship between Lili and Gerda is supportive and tender, and it’s Gerda, in fact, who asks Lili to wear a dress for the first time, standing in for a model she’s painting at the time.

Towards the end of the novel, Lili stays in a research centre with many other women awaiting surgeries and treatments, and the glimpses we get of these supporting characters are equally touching. I could have read a whole novel dedicated to the women in the institution and their troubles.

The Offing

I had to save my favourite for last. Honestly, I don’t talk about this novel nearly as much as I should. It’s partially the reason I pursued my Master’s degree, and I’m not sure if this blog would exist if Karly and I didn’t enjoy the Offing as much as we do. The majority of the Offing focuses on the friendship between Robert Appleyard, a young man looking for his place in the world, and Dulcie Piper, the eccentric older woman who lets him stay with her and teaches him all she knows about life. Dulcie doesn’t have a husband, and never has, and there are some things that she keeps secret from him.

There’s a run down and overgrown studio attached to Dulcie’s cottage, and Robert offers to fix it up in exchange for food and shelter, and Dulcie agrees, beginning their summer together. During his work, Robert discovers Dulcie’s lost lover, Romy Landau, a poet, and the manuscript she left behind before taking her own life.The Offing manages to be tragic and heartwarming at the same time, and while there’s arguably much less of the love story than the story of friendship, it’s still important, and the novel does a great job of portraying Dulcie’s grief.

Have you read any of these? Did I miss your favourite? Let me know!