A deservedly hefty literary biography of English's first female professional writer*, who got things off to a good start by also being a bisexual libertine and spy (given which, is it any wonder that I find the anointing of Jane Austen as The Canonical Female Writer rather anodyne in comparison?). Although one of the disappointments here is that on the whole Behn doesn't seem to have been a very good spy, which is a shame, because I was rather fond of the more accomplished fictional version in Daniel O'Mahony's underappreciated Newtons Sleep. Still, one can cling to the get-out that in the early years, much of the life is necessarily surmise - though unlike some biographers, Todd is always careful to admit as much. And even if the version of Behn she pieces together is sometimes unprovable, at the very least it sheds fascinating light on her world. At times it feels almost like a Squire Haggard pastiche of history: livestock had to be imported to Surinam because bats would eat their udders; important documents have been consumed by rats; there's a very Big Lebowski passage where the author is going through a colony's records looking for Johnsons. Things settle down slightly once Behn is back in London, and the historical detective work is more a case of reading the various sources, lampoons and counterblasts which together record the fascinating/incestuous literary scene of the Restoration capital, in which Behn settles down to the writing that would make her name - as against her letters from the Low Countries during the spying phase, which more recall Monty Python's great Scottish poet, or Peter Ackroyd's life of Poe.
And at her best, what a writer she was! Like her contemporary and chum Rochester, she was Cavalier in the best possible sense (whereas the previous generation of Cavalier poets, the peers of Charles I rather than II, tend on the page to be a little bit limp, a tad Fotherington-Thomas). One of my favourite lines in the book: "Behn did not equate intelligence with this introspection, as later ages would do; she considered that a resolute triviality was as intellectually reasonable a response to an analysis of the human predicament as concentrating on the 'depths' of something presumed to be the 'self'." Which is slightly harsh on later ages - what of Wilde, Coward, Cabell? The resolutely and defiantly flippant intellect was not, thank heavens, unique to Behn's moment. But by heavens they did it with aplomb. Obviously, even at the time that didn't go down well with everyone - Todd is interesting in tracing the tides in the degree to which, at any given point, Behn is being attacked for her gender, her lewdness, her plagiarisms, or simply for being a jobbing writer rather than a leisured amateur. Apart from anything else, the old argument about rules in drama was having one of its flare-ups. The faction with a hard-on for Aristotle's unities was on this occasion exemplified by the tedious Shadwell, declaiming at anyone fool enough to listen that a 'proper' play should take a year to write, which was hardly viable if you had bills to pay. This passage had already made me think of Keats' knife-beautiful line about a later swarm of the same dull breed, who played upon a rocking horse and thought it Pegasus - so it came as no surprise when Todd added that a subsequent and more notorious exponent of this tediously constrained school of writing, the odious Pope, had also set himself against Behn. Though, typically of that mendacious little worm, he needed to misquote her to make the charges stick. And still fails, just like always. But, for all that giving that prick a kicking is always fun (he would surely be the first card in any deck of Great Incels In History), I digress. The point being, Behn was important not only in taking on the prigs, but in how she took them on. Rather than insisting that no, drama was moral, she had the wit to shift the goalposts and assert, quite correctly, that morality was not its purpose nor its metric. It was fun, and that was enough.
Still, Todd is careful to remind us that, while Behn was ahead of her time in many respects, that certainly doesn't make her a modern in petticoats. Oronooko may be Behn's most famous work, with a noble black hero and a villainous slaver, but in principle Behn was fine with slavery so long as only the baser sort were enslaved. Which was not necessarily a racial thing - in these early days of empire, indentured white servants in Surinam faced treatment roughly as appalling as black slaves, and while there could obviously be a racial angle to proceedings, the spurious intellectual architecture of later imperial racism had not yet been erected. Similarly, she was a Tory in the oldest sense, being firmly Jacobite and writing several works intended to undermine Monmouth and his faction, or shore up James II against the threat of William. Which makes a degree of sense given when she lived - her scepticism of the bourgeois mob, her belief that democratic rhetoric was only ever a fig-leaf for would-be tyrants, made ample sense given she lived through the grim, hypocritical, authoritarian years of Puritan rule. The notion that she'd been lucky in her monarch, that they might not all be as liberal as Charles II, seems simply not to have occurred to her - a legitimate monarch was simply safer than the alternative, even if that meant hewing to James II, who generally comes across as one of our least likable sovereigns, but by whom Behn seems to have been genuinely enthused. Still, I suppose he did like the theatre...and you can understand why she was unimpressed by the the ludicrous paranoia around the supposed Popish Plot, which more than slightly recalls Paul Dacre's Mail in its attempts to uncover a purported enemy within, plotting to drag Britain back under Continental dominion. And indeed, the way in which Charles was fought over as symbol, despite his own actions not always helping the narrative, is not dissimilar to the way Parliamentary sovereignty is now exactly the thing for which the Heil et al fight, unless and until it does something they don't like when...look! Over there! An enemy of the people!
As you might infer from the subtitle, teasing out the unresolved contradictions in Behn feels like the part of this project which Todd most enjoyed. Behn was a firm believer in absolute monarchy - while never accepting what was usually its corollary, the domestic power of men over women. Hell, she was ambivalent even about the effect of Stuart reforms on the squirearchy - which was at once a local replica and image of the monarchy to the nation, yet a brake and barrier to the very power it figured. And as for the importance of organised religion, again normally co-morbid with Tory sentiments...well, she was far too much the freethinker and libertine for that, even if she was sometimes given to dissembling on the point. Similarly, given the age and the milieu in which she lived, Behn's attitude to sex and gender is a most fascinating mess. Particularly in some of the earlier plays, Todd finds the most compelling female characters tend to be animated by a shared sense of gender as a game and sex a pleasure - but this vision seems very much to darken as Behn ages, and be overtaken by an awareness of the double standard by which women are judged, and the knowledge that men may rage or bluster, but women must plan and choose their steps carefully. Part of this seems tied to a sense that Behn felt like 'one of the boys', hanging out with rakes and wits whose verse and manner might be misogynous, but not towards her. Which in turn might inform the way that, in the plays, it's only the bashful and conventional female characters at risk of male sexual violence, never the lively and witty ones (and as if any reminder were needed of how wrong that assessment is, it was right after reading that section that I saw last week's dreadful news of an Australian stand-up raped and murdered on her way back from a gig). And then as Behn grew older, and the friends died or fell out, to be replaced by a new generation of literary men...well, the jibes grew nastier. And so there comes a more pointed sense of how fucked up the relations between the sexes were, where men can be put off by willingness in women, but so too women by an excess of biddability in men. Todd suggests that it was incresingly brought home to Behn that the male rake remains part of society in a way the female rake cannot, and by the later plays it seems as if the relationship of pimp and punk - think Brecht and Weill's 'Tango Ballad', a quarter-millennium early - is about as good as it gets.
And yet, set against what might seem a gender essentialism there, always a certain queerness. Behn's probable longest-term lover, Hoyle, was bi, and whether because of his orientation, some ailment, the contraceptive limitations of the day, or simple personal preference, Todd suspects that the relationship may never have been conventionally consummated. Here, because even a writer considered bawdy in the 17th century doesn't go into the sort of detail one expects from a modern sex blogger, we return again to realms of surmise - but Todd makes a fairly convincing case. Particularly when she also draws in the symbolism and language of Behn's pastoral writing to suggest an identification of the mythical Golden Age with a gentler, non-penetrative sexuality. Against which, a keen awareness of the less gentle forms polymorphous perversity can take. The most bleakly amusing, for me, being the observation of how that Renaissance stage mainstay, cross-dressing disguise, tends to work in Behn plays: young women can dress as men, sure, but since they will only ever convince as young men, it often doesn't profit them much. They're still lust objects for older men, after all, on top of which they can now legitimately be attacked in bouts of non-sexual violence.
Like most biographies, it gets more depressing as it goes along; friends die, health fails, opinions harden. The Jacobite sympathies, never easy to like, extend as far as defending the bloodthirsty Judge Jeffreys, and ever more tawdry hymns of praise to James II and his intimates - to which were often appended not-so-subtle hints that the best way for them to show what magnificent and rightful rulers they were would be to spend a little more in support of the arts [nudges, winks, extends hand]. You might expect a little light from the fact that Oronooko, for which Behn is best known nowadays, was a late work. But it's slightly eclipsed in the chapters addressing the period of its composition, much of its matter having already been dealt with in the earlier chapters discussing the overseas adventures which inspired it. And so, less than a week after the Glorious Revolution is sealed with coronation, Behn dies - as Todd notes, a rare case of a historical personage obligingly fitting into the era with which they're associated. And one is left with a nagging sense that it should have been a happier life, and a more productive one - but then, isn't that so often the way? And like Stoppard's vision of Wilde in The Invention of Love, Behn accomplished so much more by living when she did, at once ahead of her time and a perfect expression of it.
*In traditionally 'literary' forms, at any rate. Which Todd addresses in an early footnote, so I shall do likewise.
(Netgalley ARC. Over which I took far too long. Sorry, publisher. Sublisher)