Victorian sculpture is less well-served by the scholarship than Victorian painting, and biblical sculpture ignored comparative to pieces inspired by Greco-Roman mythology. Rather than treat these as two separate strands, or, alternatively, assume that statues of Old Testament figures such as Eve and Rebecca were interchangeable with those of Venus and Psyche, this chapter thinks harder about how they relate. Looking first at free-standing sculpture, then at religious works in the private house, and finally at sculpture in the church, it hones in on affect to determine how the classical and biblical and the interactions and discrepancies between the two spoke to nineteenth-century British society, gender, belief and so on. As well as revisiting artists such as Thomas Woolner and John Gibson, it puts an emphasis too on women sculptors such as Emmeline Halse and on female representation, patronage and response to show that sculpture was as important in sermon-making as pictures.

Chapter 3 describes the emergence of merit as a store of value. For professionals, merit was first earned and demonstrated in educational contexts, then ‘cashed in’ for access to professional pathways. There, further merit was accumulated doing virtuous work, and rapidly reinvested in advancement upwards. Each step on the career ladder was ‘earned’ by demonstrating one’s increasing merit, and directly translated into material and social benefits. Merit was built from conceptions of virtue that were already deeply gendered and which were becoming entangled with emerging ideas about race. As merit became the currency with which the professional class purchased and managed their influence, this systematized multiple, intersecting forms of inequality. As they structured career ladders, the professional class also built a ladder through society, so that each person’s class and financial status, from the rich and powerful to the poorest and most marginalized, seemed to be earned. This opened the opportunity for the professional class to extract moral and financial value from women, people of colour, and the working class, bolstering their own status and class identity.

The chapter explores the anxious cultural construction of women as intergenerational mediators that emerges from several epistles in Pliny’s collection (3.3 and 4.19; 4.2 and 4.7; 2.7 and 3.10). At once expected to be bearers of their father’s imprint and vehicle for the transmission of their husband’s identity, Roman women were the object of a discourse in which notions of biological filiation significantly intersected with issues of artistic reproduction and literary allusion. Building a typology of intra-, inter-, extra-, and alter-textual relations which connect Pliny’s topic and diction to relevant passages in Martial (6.37 and 38) and Tacitus (Dial. 28-29), my argument illuminates some crucial, common semiotic practices in his age.

The gender of metal and the relationships between the music, misogyny and women have long raised eyebrows amongst popular commentators and scholars. Yet many metal fans claim that the genre is at heart an inclusive, even equal one, ready to welcome all fans regardless of gender, race and sexuality. This chapter gives an overview of thinking about the gendered meanings of metal, its origins in the music of Black blues women, the constraints on women’s music-making, the 1980s moral panic around metal and sexual violence, the gendering and queering of genre, women’s empowerment in metal and metal as a vehicle for feminist fury. I argue that placing women’s metal stories at the centre of our focus reveals different aspects of metal and its culture, and opportunities for understanding metal’s relationship with gender. Claims to inclusivity are exaggerated because metal exists in a sexist world and is not immune to societal discourses. The myth of equality is problematic because it impedes progression towards better inclusion. And yet metal provides opportunities for joy, power and for challenging misogyny for women, opportunities which are beginning to be grasped.

This chapter is about Puccini’s operas and gender politics. It explains that Puccini’s operas have been read as particularly damaged and damaging in their representation of women, but argues that a nuanced study of gender in these works needs to look beyond a simple ‘body count’. The author examines how male and female deaths are differentiated musically, arguing that the former are contained and lacking in self-expression, whereas the latter tend to be extravagant and extended. The chapter discusses how gender has been considered in the Puccini literature, paying particular attention to Mosco Carner’s Freudian psychoanalytic reading of the works. It also examines Puccini’s own attitudes towards gender, so far as they are known. The chapter closes with a discussion of queer interpretations of Puccini’s oeuvre, a growing criticism of Puccini’s gender politics by feminist musicologists, and the recent casting of transgender and non-binary performers in Puccini’s works.

This chapter investigates ancient accounts of women Epicureans and considers how critics of Epicureanism attempted to undermine hedonism by sexualizing their accounts of the school’s women. The misogyny directed at women Epicureans was noteworthy insofar as its primary goal seems not to have been to undermine the women themselves but rather to undermine the school’s main ethical tenets; in other words, anti-hedonists used misogyny as a tool for philosophical criticism. The chapter aims to show that, despite the scarcity of extant philosophical works by Epicurean women, there is still much to be gained from studying the extant accounts of their activities and relationships: we stand to deepen our understanding of the place of women in the school, particularly our knowledge of how they were viewed by other members, as well as our understanding of the polemical tactics employed by ancient critics of Epicurean hedonism.

The Stoics argued for women’s moral equality, companionate marriage, education, and participation in philosophy. And yet we have no writings from Stoic women, even from the Roman imperial period, when we know of several who could be considered Stoics. This silence of the written record coheres with the centrality within Stoicism of manliness (virtus), exemplified by heroes like Hercules. We must therefore examine indirect evidence, including writings by Stoic men on marriage and society, in order to glean anything about Stoic women. But this chapter suggests that writing tragedy provided the Roman Stoic philosopher Seneca the opportunity to stage the voice of a Stoic woman facing the most crucial choice – between life and death – and responding as her own moral agent. Acting as a Stoic exemplar, Megara, Hercules’ wife, chooses death over a life inconsistent with her ethically determined role.

A history of Shakespeare in wartime could not be complete without including an object representing the only built memorial in London for Shakespeare’s Tercentenary of 1916, the Shakespeare Hut for servicemen on leave in London. However, material traces of this extraordinary building are extremely scarce. Focusing for the first time on the material and paradigmatic significance of one surviving object from this building and a sister document, this essay examines a paper programme that epitomizes the multilayered significance of women’s Shakespearean performance in wartime. This programme presents an evening of Shakespearean speeches, scenes, and songs, performed by diverse practitioners from theatre superstar Ellen Terry to a troupe of teenaged girls from Miss Italia Conte’s school. Terry kept a copy of this piece of ephemera for the rest of her life. The programme’s flimsy physical form (a small, folded piece of thin paper) reveals how necessary wartime austerity contrasts starkly with the cornucopia of star talent and entertainments presented within, reminding us of the ephemeral and uniquely transient nature both of wartime performance and of the specific fragility and rarity of material traces of women’s wartime Shakespeare production.

Two aspects of identity shaped the lives of women, men, and children in the Song more than anything else: gender and generation. Gender determined an individual’s place and role both within the family and in society. Generation – position in a descent line – defined an individual’s place and role within the family, and this was also reflected in society. Some individuals and groups lived outside the molds created by gender and generation – Buddhist and Daoist nuns and monks, for example – but these exceptions highlight the norms. Legal cases and government law codes inform us about the official structures that circumscribed daily life in marriage, family, and community. Other sources, such as funerary inscriptions, biographies, and anecdotal collections, allow us to flesh out both the customary and the extraordinary practices of marriage and family life. Extrafamilial relationships, such as those of men and courtesans, friendships between women and between men are also important features of individual social and emotional engagement with others. Due to reticent sources, we know far less about childhood. Ideas of gender, marriage, and family among the Khitan and Jurchen differed greatly from those of Song people, and encounters between and among them generated new configurations for all.

Having explored the extensive amount of high-profile, large-scale theatrical activity at Bournville that took place before the factory’s first dramatic society was established in 1912, Chapter 5’s focus is the emergence of this group, its key players, and the connections between the society, Birmingham Repertory Theatre, and the city’s wider cultural networks. Cadbury’s first recreational theatrical society proved a useful resource for the firm, and its repertoire, personnel, wartime activity, and programmed appearances at Bournville functions are explored alongside the challenges faced by leaders and members.