Feminism, History and Christianity: The Medieval Women Who Unite the Three

 by Dawn Sands

Recently I have found myself fascinated by the lives of Margery Kempe and Julian of Norwich, two female mystics and writers living in the 14th century who can both be considered instrumental in the formation of modern English literature. My interest in these figures was sparked by two books — firstly Anna Beer’s Eve Bites Back, a non-fiction text which aims to build an ‘alternative history of English literature’ formed solely of female writers; and secondly Victoria Mackenzie’s 2023 debut For Thy Great Pain Have Mercy On My Little Pain, a historical fiction novella which imagines the stories of these two women in vivid detail.

Following a legacy of literature and scholarship dominated by men, there has been an increase in recent years in the number of works of historical fiction which reframe women’s voices and perspectives against the male-centric backdrop which has long worked to erase these stories from history. Though all historical fiction is by its nature speculative — if it relied only on what was historically proven, it would be biography — I would be inclined to view each literary interpretation of historical women as restoring an outlook on life which has been lost to time and patriarchal priorities, and perhaps one of the preeminent writers currently doing this is Maggie O’Farrell, the author of Hamnet and The Marriage Portrait, both of which imagine the lives and internal workings of two sixteenth-century women about whom very little is known. It is interesting, then, that Mackenzie’s For Thy Great Pain should join these rankings — after all, Margery Kempe is considered to be the writer of the first English autobiography, so plenty of first-hand narrative exists from her, and Julian of Norwich also wrote in detail about her own experiences. Why, then, has Mackenzie chosen to write about these figures seven hundred years later? 

Both The Book of Margery Kempe and Julian of Norwich’s Revelations of Divine Love are profoundly religious in nature: Revelations details sixteen ‘shewings’, or visions of Christ, witnessed by Julian when she was believed to be on her deathbed, and Margery Kempe’s Book also gives in-depth accounts of her visions of and interactions with Biblical figures. In Eve Bites Back, Beer writes that the texts also ‘challenge their society’s deeply ingrained beliefs about the physical, intellectual and moral inferiority of women to men, beliefs which underpinned each and every institution from Church to state to family’. It is this difficulty — the unification of their genuine faith and the incredibly hostile environment towards women created by institutionalised religion at the time — which lies at the heart of For Thy Great Pain: the novella brings this social situation to life and paints it out for a modern reader, allowing us to read about the spiritual experiences of the historical Margery and Julian alongside a realistic representation of the oppressive religious atmosphere of their era.

What fascinates me most about For Thy Great Pain, and by extension about the historical figures at it centre, is the fact that they are able to maintain a positive relationship with their religion and turn to it for solace and refuge despite the fact that, rather paradoxically, it is also the source of their oppression. Mackenzie imagines how Margery is regularly abused and accused of heresy — when she goes on pilgrimage to Leicester and tells the mayor about her visions, she is called ‘a Lollard and a false deceiver of the people’ and imprisoned in the company of a steward intent on sexually abusing her. And yet, she keeps her faith: Margery ‘knew that God would not let [her] be harmed by this man’, and indeed she is not, and does not let traumatic encounters such as this deter her from speaking passionately about the visions she has seen. Julian’s character is rather more mellow, and prior to secluding herself in a cell as an anchoress, she lives in constant fear of being labelled a heretic. Therefore, she tells no one of her shewings, knowing the consequences of such an accusation — ‘The smell of burnt flesh hangs over this city, shaming it’, she says, but it is strongly implied that she disagrees with heresy as a concept: ‘That’s what they call people who […] believe that men are saved by God’s love; or who feel close to God without the need of a priest to intercede for them; or who question whether the buying of pardons is really God’s will’. All of the above beliefs are demonstrated by Julian in her Revelations of Divine Love, directly in opposition to the attitude of the Church at the time — an incredibly radical set of beliefs to hold, given the absolute power enjoyed by Christianity as an institution and the lack of such power that Julian would have held given her status as a woman. 

The fact that neither Margery or Julian allow their identities and values to be permanently altered as a result of their persecution makes For Thy Great Pain unique among many other works of literature depicting the struggles of women, in which they are often forced to change by the harsh treatment inflicted by the men around them. Though not a work of 21st century historical fiction, a prime example of this may be found in Thomas Hardy’s 1891 novel Tess of the D’Urbervilles — having been consistently abused and manipulated by men, Tess renounces her religious beliefs, though allows the potential of their truth to haunt and distress her throughout the text. Tess endures an experience similar to one Julian faces in For Thy Great Pain — Tess’ newborn child, who was conceived through brutal rape, dies of illness before having had the chance to be baptised, while Julian’s husband Simon dies without having been absolved of his sins; both characters believe at the time that their loved ones will be condemned to hell because of this. Yet, while Julian is comforted by God, Tess spends a night in agonising existential fear, attempts to baptise her child herself, and names the baby ‘Sorrow’ in order to reflect the circumstances of their existence. Another interesting contrast is Learwife by J.R Thorp, a historical fiction novel published in 2021 which speculates on the fate of King Lear’s wife following the end of Shakespeare’s play. In the novel, the unnamed protagonist is left alone in the world to navigate the grief of having lost her entire family, on top of the prolonged trauma she has endured through being a noblewoman in a society where she has been permanently treated as a political tool. The narrative takes place in an abbey, where her relationship with religion is also troubled: religion again becomes associated with a conflict for power, and instead of recovering, Lear’s wife longs for escape.

Tragedy sits at the heart of so many historical fiction books about women — rightfully so, as this is unfortunately accurate — and it certainly has its place in For Thy Great Pain, too, especially towards the beginning, where both women believe that their suffering is something God has deliberately subjected them to endure. Its overall tone, however, is extremely different, and it manages to present a narrative of genuine female empowerment while in no way downplaying the serious trauma inflicted upon both of them by a religious hierarchy intent on accumulating power above all else. This is, of course, made even more incredible when we consider that Margery and Julian were historical figures whose religious writings are documented, despite the fact that their opinions could easily have resulted in their executions: for centuries following the period in which they lived, women who defied social conventions would continue to be persecuted, with witch hunts in the UK persisting into the eighteenth century.

Every single work of literature that rewrites women’s perspectives in history is important, and some might argue that For Thy Great Pain is less so, given that the historical narratives of Margery Kempe and Julian of Norwich still exist and can be read. However, Mackenzie’s novella is rare in that it presents a situation in which significant societal oppression does not have to mean female silence, and I believe this is an incredibly significant message. Especially given the extreme prejudice that unfortunately still exists within so many Christians across the globe, it is also extremely pertinent to have secular literature (Victoria Mackenzie has stated that she has no religious beliefs) which explores how personal religion can prove beneficial, even though these beliefs are so often weaponised. For Thy Great Pain Have Mercy On My Little Pain preaches equality on so many levels, and is a fascinating unification of feminism, history and Christianity, and two very real historical women who somehow managed to live in harmony with all three.