How to Burn a Book: Radclyffe Hall’s The Well of Loneliness
By Francis Booth | On July 26, 2024 | Comments (0)
In a forthcoming book, I argue that 1928, when The Well of Loneliness (Radclyffe Hall) and Lady Chatterley’s Lover (D.H. Lawrence) were published, was the year in which sex and sexuality were first described openly in the novel without any authorial moral judgement.
So the passage below, from The Well of Loneliness, would not have been a problem in 1928 if Stephen Gordon had been a man; but Stephen is a woman.
But her eyes would look cold, though her voice might be gentle, and her hand when it fondled would be tentative, unwilling. The hand would be making an effort to fondle, and Stephen would be conscious of that effort. Then looking up at the calm, lovely face, Stephen would be filled with a sudden contrition, with a sudden deep sense of her own shortcomings; she would long to blurt all this out to her mother, yet would stand there tongue-tied, saying nothing at all. (Radclyffe Hall, The Well of Loneliness, 1928)
By 1928 it was accepted that women in novels should have a sexual life – younger women and older women, women married and unmarried, modern women and flappers.
A sexual relationship in the 1928 novel could be inside or outside marriage, with the woman as an adulteress or as a single woman with an adulterous man. The novels of 1928 mostly did not judge. Fidelity was no longer considered a necessary virtue for women, just as it had never been for men; 1928 saw women in Great Britain get equal voting rights to men and novelists gave them equal sexual rights to match.
The only caveat was that a woman’s sexual life should not involve other women, though even then the serious literary critic was prepared to accept such a serious treatment of such a serious subject as Radclyffe Hall’s, especially if it made being gay (in the contemporary sense) seem the opposite of gay (in the 1928 sense), as it certainly did.
No one in The Well of Loneliness is having any fun and lesbianism is made to seem very gloomy indeed. Surely no bi-curious adolescent has ever been converted to the Sapphic cause by reading it.
The Well of Loneliness is often regarded as the first lesbian novel though this is an assertion which I have tried to refute elsewhere.
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Positive early reviews
Radclyffe Hall’s fifth published novel, The Well of Loneliness was released as a very high-priced hardback in 1928 and treated with the same polite earnestness by the erudite reviewers in the heavyweight British literary magazines and newspapers as her previous four. All had received mostly respectful but unenthusiastic reviews in the “serious” press.
Hall and her partner Una Troubridge were well-known and accepted on the British literary and social scene despite always cross-dressing in a very provocative manner. Because of its high price, the novel was expected only to sell to these cognoscenti: educated, progressive people who would not be expected to be upset by its lesbian subject matter.
The early reviewers mostly treated it as a literary, even a philosophical work, rather than a provocatively sexual one – not that there is any sex in The Well of Loneliness. There is a sympathetic forward by the prominent sexologist Havelock Ellis.
Here are a couple of positive early, published before a sensational article in a tabloid newspaper stirred up a public outrage.
Miss Radclyffe Hall’s latest work, The Well of Loneliness (Cape, 15s. net) is a novel, and we propose to treat it as such. We therefore rather regret that it should have been thought necessary to insert at the beginning a “commentary” by Mr. Havelock Ellis to the effect that, apart from its qualities as a novel, it “possesses a notable psychological and sociological significance” as a presentation, in a completely faithful and uncompromising form, of a particular aspect of sexual life to the book as a work of art this testimony adds nothing; on the other hand, the documentary significance of a work of fiction seems to us small.
The presence of this commentary, however, points to the criticism which, with all our admiration for much of the detail, we feel compelled to express – namely, that this long novel, sincere, courageous, high-minded, and often beautifully expressed as it is, fails as a work of art through divided purpose. It is meant as a thesis and a challenge as well as an artistic creation. (Times Literary Supplement, August 2, 1928)
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The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall, is a very difficult work to review. Should I praise it, then I can literally hear the huge army of the narrow-minded hinting that I am in sympathy with its publication.
Should, on the other hand, I dismiss it as a novel written on a subject which is unmentionable, then I should condemn a work of considerable art; a story which is poignantly tragic to a degree; one of the few books I have ever read which illustrates the pitiful loneliness of sexual perversity as it is, apart from the pervert’s psychological and biological significance.
Every work of art, every undertaking designed in all seriousness, must, however, be viewed objectively. One may have little or no sympathy with the subject – but that is not the point. Criticism should not be prejudice disguised as erudition, though only too often it is thus bedecked. In any case, only the bigoted and the foolish seek to ignore an aspect of life which is as undeniable a fact as any concrete thing. To deny something because you dislike to confess that it is true belongs to the mentality of the undeveloped. (Richard King, The Tatler, August 15, 1928)
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Quotes from The Well of Loneliness
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“The Book That Must be Suppressed”
On August 19, 1928, the editor of the British tabloid paper The Sunday Express published a hysterical article entitled “The Book That Must be Suppressed” accompanied by a picture of Hall with her severe haircut, then called an Eton crop, dressed in a very masculine black smoking jacket with bow tie, holding a cigarette and looking out disdainfully.
Almost all press photographs of Hall from the time show her apparently wearing a man’s suit; in fact she nearly always wore a bespoke, tailored, knee-length skirt rather than trousers to match the tailored jacket but photos hardly ever showed below the knee.
In the Express article, the editor states that, “So far as I know, it is the first English novel which presents, in a completely faithful and uncompromising form, one particular aspect of sexual life as it exists among us today.”
The editor notes that the book is intended to present the lives of its characters sympathetically in order that they may be understood.
But he is not convinced. “This is the defence and the justification of what I regard as an intolerable outrage – the first outrage of this kind in the annals of English fiction.” The editor also says that artistic merit is no defense; quite the reverse in fact.
The adroitness and cleverness of the book intensifies its moral danger. It is a seductive and insidious piece of special pleading designed to display perverted decadence as a martyrdom inflicted upon these outcasts by a cruel society. It flings a veil of sentiment over their depravity. It even suggests that their self-made debasement is unavoidable, because they cannot save themselves.
In the most infamous quote in the article, the editor says, “I would rather give a healthy boy or a healthy girl a phial of prussic acid than this novel. Poison kills the body, but moral poison kills the soul. . . The book must at once be withdrawn.”
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Rebuttal to the negative reviews
At least one serious British newspaper returned fire to the growing number of negative reviews, including this article titled “The Stunters and the Stunted.”
Will stunt journalism be allowed to cripple and degrade English literature? The question is raised by an article in a Sunday newspaper clamouring for the suppression of a novel, The Well of Loneliness, written by Miss Radclyffe Hall and published by Messrs. Jonathan Cape, Ltd, price 15s.
The book is the story of an abnormal woman. It is a restrained and serious psychological study. It is written “with understanding and practice, with sympathy and feeling,” says The Nation. It is “sincere, courageous, high-minded and often beautifully expressed,” says The Times Literary Supplement.
But the stunt journalist, writing for a Sunday newspaper which revels in the revelations of murderers and in the views and confessions of the unfortunate persons made notorious by the terrible ordeal of trial for murder, can see here an opportunity for sensation-mongering . . .
In this book there is nothing pornographic. The evil-minded will seek in vain in these pages for any stimulant to sexual excitement. The lustful sheikhs and cavemen and vamps of popular fiction may continue their sadistic course unchecked in those pornographic novels which are sold by the millions, but Miss Radclyffe Hall has entirely ignored these crude and violent figures of sexual melodrama. She has given to English literature a profound and moving study of a profound and moving problem. (Arnold Dawson, The Daily Herald, August 20, 1928)
The British Establishment very quickly came down on the side of the tabloids; the British publishers offered to withdraw it just a few days later in a letter to The Times – knowing, however, that they could quickly reprint it in France and sell it there without fear of censorship.
Sir, – We have today received a request from the Home Secretary asking us to discontinue publication of Miss Radclyffe Hall’s novel: “The Well of Loneliness.” We have already expressed our readiness to fall in with the wishes of the Home Office in this matter, and we have therefore stopped publication.
I have the honour to be your obedient servant,
Jonathan Cape (for and on behalf of Jonathan Cape, Ltd), August 23, 1928
Just a few days later, another British tabloid newspaper, The People, also jumped on the censorship bandwagon, claiming that it was them who had originally asked for a ban of this “revolting” book.
The “secret novel” to which “The People” drew attention last week has been withdrawn by the publishers at the request of the Home Secretary.
While other newspapers were trying to make up their minds about the book, “The People” had already decided that the revolting aspect of modern life with which it dealt made its publication undesirable.
Further, “The People” announced exclusively, a week ago, that the novel, and the banning of it, were under official consideration.
The Home Secretary’s acceded request for the books withdrawal is a triumphant vindication of “The People’s” judgement. (The People, August 26, 1928)
Banning and, in the case of The Well of Loneliness, literally burning copies of a book is always a great way to increase sales, as the writer of a letter to another newspaper very quickly found.
I happened to visit two well-known London bookshops today, and I had not been in either five minutes before I heard mention made of Miss Radclyffe Hall’s suppressed book.
In one shop a customer enquired whether a copy could still be obtained through the circulating library department, and was told that the probable policy of the library would be to withdraw all copies in circulation as soon as they were returned, and issue no more.
In the other shop a customer was expressing at some length to an assistant his views on the unfairness, not so much of the suppression, as of the methods adopted to bring it about. (Yorkshire Post, August 28, 1928)
Nevertheless, even some of the more serious, upmarket British journals also jumped swiftly onto the ban-the-book bandwagon, including The Tatler which only two weeks earlier had reviewed The Well of Loneliness fairly and sympathetically.
The Home Secretary is to be congratulated on having secured the suppression of “The Well of Loneliness” without setting the Public Prosecutor in action. The book is mischievous and unwholesome; but a prosecution would certainly have failed, because there is not an indecent word or an obscene image in it from the first to the last page.
The police authorities are well aware that prosecutions for sexual abnormality, even when a conviction is obtained, do more harm than good, and always, if they can, avoid proceedings . . . The female “invert,” up to now regarded as a hysterical half-wit, is by Miss Radclyffe Hall described as the victim of a pre-disposition or pre-natal taint.
Possibly, but is not the same true of the male invert? Happily the question has been settled by the good taste and common sense of Messrs. Cape, who agreed at once to withdraw the book. (The Tatler, September 5, 1928)
The Home Secretary in question was the aristocratic Sir William Joynson-Hicks, Viscount Bedford, who had been described as “the most prudish, puritanical and protestant Home Secretary of the twentieth century.” Jix, as he was known, was loved by the tabloid press but treated as a laughing stock by the serious journals.
As Home Secretary he cracked down on many aspects of the Roaring Twenties of which he disapproved, including the existence of London nightclubs, many of which he ordered the Metropolitan police to raid. Hicks said he was trying to stem “the flood of filth coming across the Channel,” banning the works of D. H. Lawrence whose Lady Chatterley’s Lover was published privately in 1928 in Italy partly because of him – Jix forced the publishers to issue an expurgated version in Britain.
He also clamped down on books on birth control and a translation of Boccaccio’s admittedly raunchy The Decameron which nevertheless dates from the 1350s. Hicks even opposed the revision of The Church of England’s Book of Common Prayer in his own book The Prayer Book Crisis, published in May 1928.
However, despite his disapproval of the “modern woman,” Hicks did personally drive through Parliament the Equal Franchise Act of 1928 which gave women equal voting rights to men – rights they unhesitatingly used to unseat Hicks’ own Conservative party in the General Election of the following year.
Fellow writers try to appeal to reason
Fellow writers generally agreed that books should not be banned because of their subject matter. British novelist E. M. Delafield (whose 1928 novel What is Love? has contrasting heroines in Vicky and Ellie who are reminiscent of Vanity Fair’s Becky and Amelia but with more of a sex life) gave a talk to a woman’s group in Leeds while the controversy was raging in which she directly addressed the issue.
Virginia Woolf, whose pansexual novel Orlando was also published in 1928, was tepid about The Well of Loneliness, though it was the literary style she disapproved of rather than the content. She wrote in a letter, “At this moment our thoughts centre upon Sapphism. We have to uphold the morality of that Well of all that’s stagnant and lukewarm and neither one thing or the other; The Well of Loneliness.”
And in another letter, “The dulness [sic] of the book is such that any indecency may lurk there — one simply can’t keep one’s eyes on the page.” She also wrote in her diary about the publisher’s appeal in court of “The pale tepid vapid book which lay damp and slab all about the court.”
However, she and E. M. Forster attended the appeal together and wrote a letter to The Nation in support.
The Well of Loneliness is restrained and perfectly decent, and the treatment of its theme is unexceptionable. It has obviously been suppressed because of the theme itself. May we add a few words on this point?
The subject-matter of the book exists as a fact among the many other facts of life. It is recognised by science and recognisable in history. It forms, of course, an extremely small fraction of the sum-total of human emotions, it enters personally into very few lives, and is uninteresting or repellent to the majority; nevertheless it exists, and novelists in England have now been forbidden to mention it by Sir W. Joynson-Hicks.
May they mention it incidentally? Although it is forbidden as a main theme, may it be alluded to, or ascribed to subsidiary characters? Perhaps the Home Secretary will issue further orders on this point.
Seizure of and destruction of printed copies proceeds
Despite the support of well-known writers, the publisher’s appeal against the seizure of two hundred and forty seven copies of the book and the decision to destroy them failed; the appeal judge made no attempt to hide his prejudice, as reported in another tabloid newspaper.
In giving the decision of the Court, Sir Robert Wallace said there were plenty of people who would not be depraved or corrupted by reading this book, but there were also those whose minds were open to such immoral influences.
The view of this Court is that this book is very subtle, insinuating in the theme it propounds, and much more dangerous because of that fact.
It is the view of this Court that this is a most dangerous and corrupting book . . . that it is a disgusting book, a book which is prejudicial to the morals of the community, and in our view the order made by the magistrate was a fair one, and the appeal is dismissed with costs. (Daily Mirror, December 15, 1928)
After the appeal court decision, the seized copies of the novel were very quickly burned “in the King’s furnace” – five years before the first fascist book burnings in Germany – a notorious occasion reported, mostly approvingly, in the popular press.
All the seized copies of Miss Radclyffe Hall’s novel, “The Well of Loneliness,” will early this week help to warm the many rooms of New Scotland Yard.
It is understood that the copies of the book, which are now under lock and key, will be fed into the furnaces in the basement of New Scotland Yard and be destroyed. The destruction of the books will be conducted under the supervision of at least one officer of high rank. (Aberdeen Press and Journal, December 17, 1928)
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More about Radclyffe Hall
(photo, ca 1930, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)
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Reprinted immediately in Paris
Meanwhile, The Well of Loneliness had swiftly been reprinted in Paris and was openly and very successfully on sale there, as attested by a couple of sympathetic female journalists, including the Paris correspondent of the very Tatler which had just the week earlier condemned the book.
At my flat in Paris I found a copy of Radclyffe Hall’s “Well of Loneliness” and, incidentally, many thanks to the sender whose handwriting on the address I did not recognise! I read it from cover to cover with breathless interest, and very soon, no doubt, I shall read it again.
Rarely has Paris “been so well done,” and not only the pages referring to a certain Paris and a certain milieu of that certain Paris, but the whole atmosphere of my beloved city. I am told that this novel has started a certain amount of yapping, and this seems curious to me, for I have read several notices of it in the columns of such “pillars of the Press” as “The Sunday Times,” “The Morning Post,” “The Saturday Review,” and “The Telegraph,” which were, in most cases, understanding and appreciative.
Strange the difficulty that some people have to keep calm when any pitiful aspect of sexual life is discussed. Pitiful? Why, of course. No one deliberately wants to be uncomfortable, and anything abnormal is dashed uncomfy. (“Priscilla in Paris,” The Tatler, September 12, 1928)
And early the next year the Paris correspondent of the prestigious New Yorker, a journalist and novelist – and lesbian – herself, reported that the novel was openly on sale and highly popular there.
It may be interesting to know that Radclyffe Hall’s novel about Lesbians, The Well of Loneliness, though banned in England and under fire in New York, has escaped condemnation in France, where it now enjoys a local printing. Its biggest daily sale takes place from the news vendor’s cart serving the deluxe train for London, La Flèche d’Or, at the Garde du Nord.
The price is one hundred and twenty-five francs a copy. For first English editions, dealers in the Rue de Castiglione offered to buy for as high as six thousand francs, and to sell at as high as anything you are silly enough to pay. (Janet Flanner, ‘Letter from Paris,’ New Yorker, 1929)
In Flanner’s native New York however things did not go so well for the Well, as reported in the New York Times for February 22, 1929.
Magistrate Hyman Bushel in the Tombs Court ruled yesterday that the book “The Well of Loneliness” by the Englishwoman writer Radclyffe Hall is obscene and was printed and distributed in this city in violation of the penal law. He ordered a complaint drawn against the Covici, Friede Corporation, American publishers of the book . . .
Mr. Friede, who was in court when the decision was announced, was promptly arrested, but freed in $500 bail, which he furnished in cash. No bail was fixed in the case of the corporation. Hearings were held several weeks ago by the magistrate in the West Side Court in a proceeding started by John S. Simner, superintendent of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, who had seized 855 copies of the novel at the publisher’s office.
Friede had gambled big by taking out a huge $10,000 dollar loan to buy the US publication rights from Cape in England but he could still easily afford to pay the $500 bail, which he probably did with a triumphant smile, since he had already sold 100,000 copies of the paperback at $5 each – double the normal price of a paperback novel at the time.
As Una Troubridge said, “What nobody foresaw was that the re-publication in Paris would be followed by translation into eleven languages, by the triumph of the book in the United States of America and the sale of more than a million copies.” Censorship works in the short run, but rarely in the censor’s favor.
Contributed by Francis Booth, the author of several books on twentieth-century culture: Amongst Those Left: The British Experimental Novel 1940-1960 (published by Dalkey Archive); Everybody I Can Think of Ever: Meetings That Made the Avant-Garde; Girls in Bloom: Coming of Age in the Mid-Twentieth Century Woman’s Novel; Text Acts: Twentieth-Century Literary Eroticism; Comrades in Art: Revolutionary Art in America 1926-1938; High Collars & Monocles: 1920s Novels by British Female Couples; and A Girl Named Vera Can Never Tell a Lie: The Fiction of Vera Caspary.
Francis has also published several novels: The Code 17 series, set in the Swinging London of the 1960s and featuring aristocratic spy Lady Laura Summers; Young adult fantasy series The Watchers; and Young Adult fantasy novel Mirror Mirror. Francis lives on the South Coast of England.
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