Heidi Bostic
The
Bijoux
Talk Back: Some Thoughts on Women in Eighteenth-Century Studies
published in the collection A
History of the ASECS Women's Caucus 1975-2005, ed. Alison Conway
At the 2004 ASECS meeting in Boston, during a Women’s Caucus
Roundtable devoted to her work, Madelyn Gutwirth remarked that despite
the many gains of feminist scholars, “canonic structures still
basically persist.” With this sobering observation in mind, my remarks
here will center on the general question: What does it mean to be a
woman scholar whose research focuses on women writers, particularly
within French studies? I will touch upon three points: a problem in the
field, a problem with how the field is perceived, and an idea about one
strategy for confronting these problems.
First is a problem in the field of French eighteenth-century
studies. Not long ago, I received a notice via an e-mail listserv that
a new anthology had been published entitled Être dix-huitiémiste [Being an Eighteenth-Century Scholar].
I was intrigued by the description and ordered the book. It is
comprised of autobiographical pieces (or in one case, an interview)
with thirteen eighteenth-century scholars. Much to my disappointment,
the book creates the impression that there are no women in
eighteenth-century studies: all of the contributors are men. It
furthermore conveys the perception that no one in the field focuses
their research on women. The editor’s introduction describes prominent
scholars and teachers using exclusively masculine terms such as
maître [“master”] and even patriarche. One scholar describes the
French state, which is funding his retirement, as a bonne fille [“good
girl/daughter”]. Another scholar, when asked by an interviewer about
the absence of women in his work, points in self-defense to his
analysis of the novel Thérèse philosophe, a frankly
pornographic work featuring, for example, the sexual exploitation of a
young girl by a priest, which this scholar describes as a “manifesto
for women’s liberation.” Overall, the tenor of this collection is
accurately reflected in its visual aspects: each selection is
accompanied by a photograph of the scholar, emphasizing the all-male
cast, as well as the predominant whiteness of the contributors (calling
to mind what Susan Lanser and others have diagnosed as “the whiteness
of eighteenth-century studies”). The book’s cover (see Figure 1), a portrait of an unknown
man by Thomas Frey (dated 1760), accurately reflects the book’s
exclusive focus on men.
Other recent book covers in French eighteenth-century studies do,
however, acknowledge that the century included women. Take, for
example, the cover of an anthology of eighteenth-century French
libertine novels, Romans libertins du XVIIIe siècle, published
in the popular Bouquins series. This cover (see
Figure 2) features a detail from François Boucher’s painting
A Woman Fastening Her Garter, with
Her Maid (1742). While the painting in its entirety includes a
scene of a whole room, with the woman’s maid looking on as she dresses,
the book cover crops the painting in such a way that it dismembers the
woman, featuring her leg, a cat, and a fire. Nancy K. Miller, in her
book French Dressing, offers an analysis of this image in which she
links the book’s cover design to a discussion of the gender politics of
libertine literature, including Diderot’s Les Bijoux indiscrets [The Indiscreet Jewels], in which
women are shown to speak through their bijoux or “jewels.” Miller calls
this cover image an “elegant crotch shot” and analyzes, among other
things, the presence of the cat between the woman’s legs.
And yet, you may be thinking, surely the publisher was justified
in selecting a rather licentious image for the cover of a collection of
libertine works. But what about the cover of another book in this same
series, an anthology of novels by eighteenth-century French women
writers? This one is quite unbelievable. Entitled Romans de femmes du XVIIIe siècle,
the anthology includes works by the most prominent women writers of
eighteenth-century France, including Françoise de Graffigny’s
Lettres d’une Péruvienne and Marie Jeanne Riccoboni’s Lettres de
Mistriss Fanni Butlerd. For this book cover, the Laffont publishing
house selected Antoine Watteau’s painting La toilette intime (circa
1716–1721) (see Figure 3), calling to
mind Diderot’s idea that women speak through their jewels, that a woman
is reducible not just to her body but more specifically to her
genitals. And when I consider the important work of scholars who study
the reception of women’s writing by women readers, the use of this
image in this context seems particularly disturbing: the metaphorical
“reader” here is a kneeling servant woman holding a washbasin and
sponge, gazing affectionately at her mistress’s exposed bijoux.
Now, I do not claim any scientific status for this ultra-brief
survey of book cover images. However, this anecdotal evidence points to
a real problem in the way eighteenth-century French literary studies is
represented, at least in France. Women’s work still tends to be
excluded; when it is included, the ways in which it is represented
leave something to be desired.
I turn now to my second point, that is, the problem of
perception. A couple of years ago, the cognitive scientist Virginia
Valian visited my campus to talk about her book Why So Slow? The
Advancement of Women. Her book provides scientific, experimental
evidence of continuing discrimination against women in academe,
including a case in which women researchers were systematically given
less lab space than men and a study showing that identical grant
proposals were given a lesser score if a woman’s name appeared on them
as opposed to a man’s. During that visit, I had the opportunity to ask
Valian about the advisability of women scholars like me pursuing
research about women. She unequivocally recommended against it, on the
grounds that such work would not be taken seriously. Valian established
herself as an accomplished scholar in areas other than gender studies
before moving on to the study published in Why So Slow?. This exchange
has left me thinking, though, that if no one ever challenges such
advice, then women may continue to be left out of the picture, so to
speak, both on the covers and in the books.
And, finally, my third point: What can we do? I don’t have any
definitive answers, but I can describe a positive aspect of my own
experience. I have drawn support and encouragement for my work on women
writers from a cross-disciplinary Gender Research and Writing Group in
which I participate on my home campus. This group includes colleagues
from film studies, linguistics, new media, organizational
communication, philosophy, and rhetoric/composition. It has been a site
of positive strategizing, networking, and cross-generational mentoring.
For me, being called upon to explain to this admittedly sympathetic
audience why literary studies matter, and why the Enlightenment
matters, has helped me learn how to engage in advocacy for the
importance of the work we do in eighteenth-century studies. I think
this advocacy needs to occur among our colleagues in the humanities,
and to move beyond to include colleagues from other disciplines,
students, and the wider communities in which we live. In this way, the
bijoux can claim the right to talk back. More importantly, we can prove
that women are not mere adornment to the serious work of
eighteenth-century studies. In the conference presentation I cited
above, Madelyn Gutwirth urged us to keep working to confront women’s
exclusion. According to her, one way to do so is by creating "zones of
solidarity,” what the Women’s Caucus has been, is now, and will
continue to be for future generations.
Works
Cited
Karp,
Sergueï, ed. Être
dix-huitiémiste. Ferney-Voltaire: Centre international
d’étude du XVIIIe
siècle, 2003. See also the website advertising the book: <http://centre.c18.net/pu.etre.html>
Miller, Nancy K.
French Dressing: Women, Men, and
Ancien Régime Fiction. New York: Routledge, 1995.
Trousson,
Raymond, ed. and intro. Romans de
femmes du XVIIIe siècle. Paris: Laffont, Series “Bouquins”
1996.
---. Romans libertins du XVIIIe siècle.
Paris: Laffont, 1993.
Valian,
Virginia. Why So Slow? The
Advancement of Women. Cambridge: MIT, 1999.
Figure 1
Figure 2 
Figure 3 