Build A Regency Reference Library: ‘Married Women’s Separate Property in England, 1660 – 1833’

Married Women’s Separate Property in England, 1660 – 1833 

by Susan Staves. 1990, Harvard University Press, 290 pages

Reviewed by Alice VonKannon

I really struck gold when I found this book. It was a topic that had always confused me, women’s property rights, but one you’ll get into in just about any Regency that touches on marriage contracts, widowhood, dowries or related subjects. And what Regency romance never touches on any of these?

 Yes, there’s some legalese in the writing, but it’s not unintelligible. The author jokes about this herself in the preface, that historians are not lawyers, and may have difficulty with some of the concepts. To illustrate this, she quotes from a Cambridge monograph on the subject: In attempting to explain the invalidity of a gift over of a remainder for the life of the tenant in tail in the conveyance of an entail, Coke argued that the remainder must be void.

Little wonder, as Staves says, that women of the period hated getting into the whole messy subject of their property settlement, and often, perhaps foolishly, left it to their father’s lawyers. You, however, don’t have to be a lawyer to understand it as explained in this book, though it’s not a popular history, and you may want to keep your dictionary at hand. Usually, with the avalanche of period money terms, from “pin money” to “jointure,” the author will explain the term before using it for the first time. And though you may wish to, it’s not really necessary to read the book in its entirety to get the info you need, since it’s arranged mostly by time period, and has an excellent index. Also, Ms. Staves often highlights attitudes from literature and plays of the period to make her point, making it more accessible.

It’s out of print, of course, which can be tougher when it’s an academic rather than a popular history. However, at the moment there are twenty-four copies of it on ABE Books, a good sign of general availability, and most are reasonably priced.

These are very confusing waters, choppy and changeable – what was true in 1780 might not be true at all in your story that takes place in 1812, and blithe blogs speaking in general can get it wrong. When I wrote a scene for my last book about dowry rights, with a character protecting a young girl from a potential intemperate husband, I felt much more confident having read this. A keeper.

Pride, Prejudice and Paper Knives

 

Lizzie isn't holding a cake knife. Or a letter opener.

Guys, this one is way cool.

Ever see the 1940 version of Pride and Prejudice with Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier? Great MGM film, with a polished Aldous Huxley screenplay. I’d seen it about a dozen times. The last time it was on, I dropped what I was doing to enjoy a famous scene again, after Elizabeth has barged into Netherfield Park to care for her sister Jane, who’s ill. All and sundry, Darcy, the Bingleys and Elizabeth, are gathered in the Netherfield library. The dialog, I’m sure fans will remember, is charmingly acidic. (“I’m no longer surprised, Mr. Darcy, at your knowing only six accomplished women; I wonder at your knowing any.”) Greer Garson is very relaxed, about to read the book in her hand. What she does with it always escaped me - I was laughing too hard. But watch the scene carefully, as I finally did. 

She’s perusing the open book, and finds a funky page. Then she reaches for this flat thing on the desk, the size of a big feather, but solid. She slips it into the book and then flicks it smoothly up the page. I suddenly realized she wasn’t turning the page. She was cutting it.

Books used to be made by hand, full sheets of paper with two or four or eight pages printed on it that were then folded for binding, and it was common for some to accidentally remain uncut. They were like folded pamphlets before being gathered and bound, with names like quarto, octavo, or just folio. When I started collecting old books, I’d see this problem now and again, a dead giveaway that the book had never been read. One rainy weekend I was trying to get through a 1912 edition of The Ships and Sailors of Old Salem, and about every dozen or so pages I was coming across one that, to my annoyance, couldn’t be read because it hadn’t been cut. Cutting them with scissors was a nightmare. I kept accidentally slicing into pages, because I needed something much sharper.

Seeing this scene again set me on a quest, and I finally found the answer, in the only book ever published on the subject – Reading and Writing Accessories, by a very clever New Zealand gentleman named Ian Spellerberg. He set the antiques world on its ear in 2016, when dealers supposedly knowledgable about history were referring to these odd devices as “letter openers” for an age that didn’t use envelopes as a rule. Spellerberg properly identified them as “paper knives,” a large, flat, sharp-edged device that was a common part of a Regency desk set. You slipped it in between the pages, moved it to the fold, drew up and out, and easily razor cut those uncut pages. Brilliant! You can still find versions of them in online stationers, though they tend not to be so elegant. Most look more like X-acto knives.

As far as I know I’ve never seen a paper knife being used in any other films, including the many versions of Jane Austen I’ve seen. MGM had great art directors on staff, but it helped that some of these guys were old enough to remember the 19th century. In the end, it’s amazing how quickly everyday things are forgotten as technology changes. Amazing how many things that were an ordinary part of my own life are now museum pieces. Go on YouTube and watch two teenage boys try to figure out how to use a rotary dial phone. It will make you feel very old.

Build A Regency Reference Library: Annotated 'Pride and Prejudice'

 

The Annotated 'Pride and Prejudice' 

by Jane Austen, Annotated by David M. Shapard

Reviewed by Alice VonKannon

Were you confused when Miss Bingley recommended to Elizabeth an express be sent to town for a doctor? Wonder what Austen meant when she said that, at Netherfield, Mr. Bingley had a good house and the liberty of a manor? Ever wonder what a coppice-wood is, or a mews, for that matter? Historian and Austen expert David M. Shapard explains it all, quickly and clearly in The Annotated Pride and Prejudice. He offers valuable insights into the subtleties of the language of the period, while giving delightful details on clothes, homes, food, shopping, money, travel, war, politics, social status and just about anything you can think of, all of it illuminated by wonderful, well-chosen period engravings and artwork.

Actually, there are five more of these annotated versions of Austen: Persuasion, Emma, Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park and Northanger Abbey, hitting all her major novels. And they’re not out of print! All are still available in oversize paperback editions on Amazon, for between fifteen and twenty dollars.

For an Austen newbie, these books might be a necessity. For a researcher into Regency life, they’re pure joy. Open the book and you’ll find the complete text on the left side, and on the right a treasure trove of notes, definitions, and helpful general information. I’m probably like a lot of people in that, the first time I read Pride and Prejudice, I was sixteen and tended to just skim over any term I didn’t understand, trying to judge its meaning by context in order to simply enjoy the story. Now, so many years later, I know a great deal about the period, but with Shapard, there’s always something new to learn.

Is there a downside? Okay, I’ll be honest; I prefer to read the book itself in a normal edition. It can drive you a little crazy, stopping every minute or so to look to the right and read the comments. And trust me, the comments are so good, they can’t be resisted. Me, I’ll read a few chapters, and while they’re still fresh, pull out the annotated version and scan the notes. That way you still have the proper rhythm of the read without its being interrupted, but you’ll get the insights, as well.