In pocket-sized, coded diaries, an upper middle-class American woman named Mary Poor recorded with small x's the occasions of sexual intercourse with her husband Henry over a twenty-eight-year period. Janet Farrell Brodie introduces this engaging pair early in a book that is certain to be the definitive study of family limitation in nineteenth-century America. She makes adroit use of Mary's diaries and letters to lift a curtain on the intimate life of a Victorian couple attempting to control the size of their family.
Were the Poors typical? Who used reproductive control in the years between 1830 and 1880? What methods did they use and how did they learn about them? By examining a wide array of sources, Brodie has determined how Americans gradually were able to get birth control information and products that allowed them to choose among newer, safer, and more effective contraceptive and abortive methods.
Brodie's findings in druggists' catalogues, patent records, advertisements, vice society'' documents, business manuscripts, and gynecological advice literature explain how information spread and often taboo matters were made commercial. She retraces the links among obscure individuals, from itinerant lecturers, to book publishers, to contraceptive goods manufacturers and explains the important contributions of two nascent networks-medical practitioners known as Thomsonians and watercurists, and iconoclastic freethinkers.
Brodie takes her narrative to the backlash at the end of the century, when American ambivalence toward abortion and contraception led to federal and state legislative restrictions, the rise of special purity legions, the influence of powerful reformers such as Anthony Comstock, and the vehement opposition of medical professionals. In this balanced and timely book Brodie shows a keen sensitivity to the complex factors behind today's politically, emotionally, and intellectually charged battles over reproductive rights.
By no means a quick romp—I am a slow nonfiction reader already and it took me a solid three weeks to get through—but absolutely FASCINATING. Wow your friends and aggravate your enemies by sharing such factoids as "abortionists used to slip advertisements for their wares into cookbooks" and "condoms were, at one point, made of silk." It's also a testament to how thoroughly eradicated this information was by the Comstock laws (and Storer's efforts) that I had no idea 19th-century women had access to most of these methods, including early IUDs (intrauterine diaphragms, shudder) and spermicidal douching.
Brodie's book was first published in 1994, before the latest wave of abortion restrictions hit, and the last chapter in particular (which explains how two dedicated misogynists and their organizations of choice leveraged their fear of female power into literal decades of life-threatening legislation restricting contraception and abortion) rings awfully close to home today. (It also demonstrates how arguments about morality and women using contraception to—gasp!—have sex without getting pregnant have been around for more than a century. Sigh.)
This is a comprehensive, detailed analysis of family planning in nineteenth-century America. Sadly, I found it just too detailed for me--I managed to read less than 1/3rd over a *month*. The book is larded with minutia, much of it fascinating. (One man sued his wife for douching with cold water after sex, which he claimed was aborting their children!) For anyone who wants a historical perspective on contraception and abortion, this is a great resource and a good book to read.
This is a pretty old book, scholarship-wise, but incredibly informative about contraceptive practices in the nineteenth-century U.S. Anyone paying attention to the Supreme Court's reference to the Comstock Act in oral arguments about Mifeprestone will find a useful history here of Anthony Comstock and his purity crusade. The book opens with a fascinating analysis of a C19 woman's diary in which she noted when she had her period, when she had sex, and when she suspected she was pregnant. Brodie offers a compelling reading of that diary that suggests ways that the woman deliberately spaced out her pregnancy. Interesting stuff.