Drag and transgender in the 1900s

Colette’s lover Missy / Max (Mathilde de Morny, the Marquise of Belboeuf) lived most, if not all, of her adult life in drag. Society in the 1900s was still rigidly divided into binaries: male/female, heterosexual/homosexual. Today, we are lucky enough not to have to define ourselves so strictly, but then, blurred boundaries, fluid identities, the rainbow spectrum of gender and sexuality, transgender identities, biculturalism, bisexuality, Adrienne Rich’s scale of lesbian continuum… all of these had yet to be invented.

In “Secrets of the Flesh”, Judith Thurman writes, “It is not clear whether Missy thought of herself as a lesbian or as a man”, but she didn’t like [other] women who dressed as men, and “a lesbian couple, both in drag, offended her.” (pp.152-153). From what I’ve read, it seems that Missy did think of herself as a man; those of Colette’s biographers who recognise their six-year relationship (not all of them do) agree that Missy liked to be addressed as “Monsieur le Marquis” (the masculine version of her correct title, “Madame la Marquise”), and “Max” or “Uncle Max” by her circle of intimate friends (“Colette” by Allan Massie, p.58). If she were alive today, it seems likely that Missy would identify as transgender, and so I’ve become used to thinking of Missy as Max.

However, while reading Colette’s letters to Missy, (“Lettres à Missy” edited by Samia Bordji and Frédéric Maget), I was surprised to find only one instance where Colette refers to Missy as Max. In a telegram dated 15 December 1908, Colette begs forgiveness for writing to “Max”, and explains that she was feverish and will never do so again. It is unclear whether she is begging forgiveness for calling Missy “Max” in a previous letter, or for the contents of that letter.

In the novel I’m writing about Colette and Anaïs Nin, Nights in Paris, I first had Colette addressing Missy as Max. However, after reading Colette’s letters, I’ve changed it to Missy, with Max as a special erotic name. I’ve also kept to female pronouns for Missy, unless she is being Max (again, I’m going by Colette’s letters). I want to be authentic, and for my Colette character to think about Missy as the real Colette did. However, I do think that, if they were living their relationship today, Missy would call her/himself “he” and “Max”. So which is the right thing to do? What would Colette do?

Review of Chéri — the film

Two of my favourite Colette novels, Chéri and La fin de Chéri, have been made into a sumptuous, lavish film. I couldn’t wait to see it! Colette wrote the novels — novellas, really — in the 1920s, but they are set in the dazzling, glorious days of La Belle Époque, circa 1900. Most of the story takes place, it hardly needs saying, in Paris.

Léa, a courtesan of “a certain age” takes Chéri as her last lover before retiring from the boudoir. To complicate matters, Chéri is the pampered 19-year-old son of Léa’s best friend and fellow courtesan, Madame Peloux (Kathy Bates).

Rupert Friend is perfect as the pretty, feminine boy for whom Léa is both mistress and mother. Michelle Pfeiffer is wonderful as Léa, but is too thin and pretty to embody the role. I’ve always imagined Léa as plump and bosomy, mature but still attractive — Helen Mirren, perhaps. The American accents were a jarring discord, and the lack of female body hair another jarring note, as well as being anachronistic. A woman in 1900 would no more have thought to shave her underarms than she would have thought of shaving her head.

The costumes and sets are gorgeous, and evoke the period’s love of beauty, extravagance and the exotic. Some of the story is set and filmed in Biarritz, one of my favourite places in France. Biarritz is a chic, elegant town in the Basque area (near the Spanish border) on the beautiful but rough Atlantic coast. Biarritz was the place to be if you were rich and gorgeous in the 1900s. My grandmother used to take me there for creamy hot chocolate and hot, salty buttered toast in a lovely, old-fashioned tea-room… what I would give to go there again!

Researching corsets for Colette

I’m writing the film script for a short film and it’s going really well: the script is simply steaming ahead! The film will be based on my story about Colette, The Silver Stopper, which is adapted from my novel in progress, Nights in Paris. In only three weeks the script is already halfway there: we are on scene six already! It’s very exciting. Although the script is the foundation for a short film — without a script there is nothing — this is also the easy bit. Once the script is finished, then it’s time for the real, hard work to begin!

There is so much to research: dresses, hats, gloves, shoes, corsets, jewellery, furniture, and all the little odds and ends: combs, plates, glasses, ornaments: they seem trivial but are crucial to a film’s authenticity. It’s like reading a fantastic story and then — arrgh — you come across a blazingly obvious error, and it’s so horrible that it ruins your enjoyment and respect for the story. Accidentally doing something like that in our film would embarrass me forever, so it’s essential that all the details are perfect.

Luckily, I adore research, especially historical research. Well, who wouldn’t enjoy researching corsets? Under their black dresses, tightly fastened with hundreds of tiny buttons from neck to toe, those supposedly stiff, proper Victorians wore the most sumptuous, gorgeous undergarments. I have found the perfect corset for Colette to wear on her wedding night: the corset is a beige-pink colour with pink ribbons threaded through the white broderie anglaise lace at the bosom. The corset hooks up at the front and laces up at the back with white ribbons.

The corsets on www.antiquecorsetgallery.com are simply fabulous: this site has the most beautiful antique corsets from the 1600s to the 1900s. You can click on any corset to view a close-up from both the front and back view. It answered some questions I had, such as Colette’s corset should lace up at the front or at the back (lacing varied in different countries and periods). It seems that French corsets around 1900 were back-lacing. But I would love to hear from any corset experts!

Another site, www.1860-1960.com, has the most incredible vintage clothes for sale. It’s stunning to think that it’s possible to actually own a pair of those white, Victorian wedding boots, or that Edwardian glittering black lace dress. It’s so tempting to reach for the credit card — mind you, I probably wouldn’t fit in any of the dresses anyway — even the dresses for larger ladies have tiny, 22 inch waists! We’ll have to work out a budget, and hope that there is room to buy at least one genuine item for our costume department. The rest will have to be hired, but perhaps we can stretch to a small luxury item… a pair of gloves, maybe, or an embroidered handkerchief!

Le scénario pour le film de mon histoire de Colette avance super bien: on est déjà à la scène six! Je pensais que ça allait être difficile, mais en fait, être scénariste, ça me plaît bien!

A script for Colette

Something wonderful and completely new is happening with The Silver Stopper, my Colette short story based on my novel Nights in Paris. The Silver Stopper may be made into a short film — which makes me almost hysterical with joy! My writing is visual and descriptive, so I can see the whole film in my mind, which may be useful for Toni, the director… or annoying! We plan to start writing the script this weekend. I’ve had a look at a script writing program: writing a script is hugely different to a novel or story, but I am full of naïve, idealistic energy at the moment, so I’m not (yet) daunted.

There are already some difficulties we’ll have to contend with, such as: how much of a historical film should we make it? It’s set circa 1907, and Wellington has some historical homes, but not many. Also, how erotic to make it? There’s nothing worse than bad erotica, whether you’re reading or watching it. We could have corsets, shifts and lots of ruffles and ribbons: vintage clothing can be more suggestive and erotic than plain, unadorned nudity. And what about the accents? Do we make our Kiwi actors speak their lines in fake French accents? Aïe aïe aïe, I have a feeling that this could turn très mal, so we need to be careful! Still, it’s a very exciting time, the world is filled with possibilties…

J’ai la possibilité de faire un film de mon histoire de Colette! Je vois déjà le film tout fini dans ma tête — bien sur, c’est un film sensuel, voluptueux et très beau.

The Silver Stopper

The Silver Stopper, my Colette story, has graduated from the long-list to the short-list, and now sprints to runner-up! Thank you, Fish publishing, thank you! It’s so wonderful to know that someone else thinks that all those hours (years, if you add them up) tapping away at the keyboard and getting RSI are not wasted — my stories are worth reading, it’s not just an egomaniacal delusion on my part! The Silver Stopper will be published in the Fish anthology, which is fantastic!

The anthology will be launched in Ireland in July: now I have the terrible dilemma of deciding whether to participate. On one hand, it’s a fabulous opportunity for me as a writer (how can I pass up a rare moment of glory, however brief?!), on the other, it would be extravagant and irresponsible of me to go, as I made that long and expensive journey only a few months ago, the toilet roof is leaking in three places (the ceiling’s come off) and the boiler needs to be replaced… Oh, the conflicting worlds of writing and home ownership! Perhaps we should sell up and rent a tiny attic garret somewhere warm and dry, where someone else has to worry about annoying, practical things!

The Colette chapter that The Silver Stopper is adapted from is growing nicely, and has passed the 10,000 words mark! That’s the first milestone: only another 7 to go! (Not really, the Anais chapter is over 10,000 words as well, so the Nights in Paris novel is over a third completed.) That’s the wonderful advantage of writing a novel over writing a short story: with the strict word limit of a short story, you have to be much more disciplined and cut anything that’s not absolutely necessary. A novel allows you to indulge in digressions and details… of course, the challenge is not to indulge yourself too much! I find it fascinating that the acceptable corseted female waist measurement was a tiny 18 inches (46 cm) in 1870, increased only very cautiously during the 1880s, then started to speed up in the 1890s, shooting up to a relatively expansive 23 in (58 cm) in 1908 (still very small by today’s standards). However, this is a novel, not a textbook, so I’ve condensed my research into a mere half-sentence in the novel (sigh). But I’m sure Colette wouldn’t want me to write about centimetres, she would want me to write about the lobster and caviar sandwiches, the Pommery champagne, the cherries in liqueur and, of course, the loves that she enjoyed…

J’ai (presque) gagné! Mon histoire courte sur Colette a gagné un prix chez Fish Publishing! L’histoire sera publié dans un livre en juilet l’année prochaine. Maintenant, l’affreux dilemme, c’est de décider si je peux me permettre de participer au lancement du livre, car c’est en Irelande, et de la Nouvelle Zélande, ça fait loin…

Next Page »