the meaning of female bodies and bonds.16 Emerging at certain moments, silently disappearing from view, and then reemerging as particularly relevant (or explosively volatile), these recurrent explanatory logics seem to underlie the organization, and reorganization, of women’s erotic lives. Sometimes these preoccupations arise as repeated expressions of identical concerns; sometimes they emerge differently or under an altered guise. Recurrence, in other words, does not imply transhistoricity, and cycles can be nonidentical to themselves. As endemic features of erotic discourse and experience, these logics and definitions, as well as the ideological fault lines they subtend, not only contribute to the existence of historically specific types and figures but also enable correspondences across time. At the same time, the forms these metalogics take, their specific content, the discourses in which they are embedded, and the angle of relations among them all are subject to change. Social preoccupations come in and out of focus, new political exigencies emerge, discourses converge and the points of contact between them shift—and in the process, the meanings of female-female desire are reconfigured.
The methodological reassessment I am offering is made possible by a wealth of published studies. Thanks to social and cultural history, as well as to an even larger body of work by literary critics analyzing cultural representations, we now possess a densely textured picture of what it might have meant for women to love, desire, and have sex with each other at various times in specific communities.17 The research that has taken place in almost every historical period, particularly for England, France, and North America, offers a heretofore unimagined opportunity to confront the conceptual challenges of change and continuity on a larger, more capacious scale than typically has been tried—including pushing against the analytical paradigms and geographic boundaries of the Anglo-European West. Lesbian history will continue to locate its subjects in specific temporal and spatial contexts, while also addressing how their histories intersect and diverge across national, ethnic, racial, and geographical borders. However, by identifying certain axes of definition that have been developed largely out of the histories of white women in western Europe and the United States, analyzing the reasons for their recurrence, and then submitting these narratives to comparative analysis across the boundaries of race, religion, and geography, it may, over time, be possible to fashion a broadly synoptic account of historical regimes of eroticism—without losing sight of each regime’s specificity, complexity, relative coherence, and instability. In short, recognition of these periodic cycles of salience—flaring up and abating—could provide us with a means to collectively write that which, for good reason, has not been attempted since Faderman’s inaugural study: a transnational, culturally specific, and comparative history of lesbianism over the longue durée.
A search for “types” has framed much of the scholarship on lesbian history of England and the United States. From my own book on the relations between representations of the “masculine tribade” and the “chaste feminine friend” in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,18 to Susan Lanser’s work on the “sapphist” as a flashpoint for modernity in the eighteenth century,19 to Martha Vicinus’s early delineation of four antecedents to modern lesbianism and, more recently, her exploration of nineteenth-century familial models for female intimacy such as mother/daughter and husband/wife,20 to Judith Halberstam’s exploration of twentieth-century forms of female masculinity,21 an implicit typological impulse has framed efforts to render female-female desires intelligible—both in their own historical terms, and in ours.
In part this typological inclination results from the medical taxonomies from which the modern category of homosexuality was derived.22 Thus, a reliance on systems of classification similarly has dominated studies of male homosexuality, both within the West and cross-culturally.23 David M. Halperin has provided the most explicit description and theorization of typologies of male homosexuality across a broad temporal expanse. Halperin—previously one of the most influential advocates of historical discontinuity—attempts in How to Do the History of Homosexuality “to rehabilitate a modified constructionist approach to the history of sexuality by readily acknowledging the existence of transhistorical continuities, reintegrating them into the frame of the analysis, and reinterpreting their significance within a genealogical understanding of the emergence of (homo)sexuality itself.”24
Revisiting his own historicist practice in order to balance the conceptual appeals of historical continuity and change, Halperin offers a sophisticated analytical paradigm based on four “transhistorical” “pre-homosexual categories of male sex and gender deviance”: effeminacy; pederasty or active sodomy; friendship or male love; and passivity or inversion.25 This rehabilitation implicitly relies on classical models of male-male relations, which are viewed as variously applicable at different times and places. Halperin proposes, however, a transhistorical model only up to the emergence of modern homosexuality—when, owing to a “long historical process of accumulation, accretion, and overlay,” the relations among these categories definitively changed.26
Although I have been inspired by Halperin’s engagement with continuist arguments, my current interest lies not in creating a transhistorical taxonomy of categories or figures—or, at least, this would only be one task in a larger project I envision. I am less interested in describing the contents of typologies and exposing the conceptual strands that contribute to them than in investigating the cultural conditions that render such types culturally salient at particular moments.27 This reflects my desire to build methodologically on the project pursued in The Renaissance of Lesbianism in Early Modern England while also moving beyond it. There I argued that, under the auspices of divergent discourses circulating in England, a symptomatic break in the representation of female homoeroticism occurred over the course of the seventeenth century, a shift in the terms of female embodiment, which led to a “cultural perversion” of female-female desire. This process of perversion, which involved particular negotiations of significance and insignificance, articulation and negation, intelligibility and unintelligibility, provided some of the primary materials out of which modern identity categories were fashioned. I also argued, however, that early modern representations are definitively estranged from modern conceptual categories. Rather than attempt to forge links between the tribade, the tommy, the invert, and the butch, for instance, I focused on certain conceptual axes that, within the temporal parameters of two centuries, organized the meanings of tribadism and female friendship. Building on the work of Annamarie Jagose on the terms of “lesbian inconsequence,”28 the book attempts to expose the fragile nature of a governing regime of visibility (and its corollary, invisibility) by focusing on the specific incoherences that have governed the intelligibility—and lack of intelligibility—of female-female desire.
The two figures whose genealogies I traced nonetheless appear strangely similar to subsequent emanations of female homoerotic desire. Figures that, since the foundational work in lesbian history, have been treated as prototypical for the nineteenth century (the passing woman and the romantic friend), as fundamental to the pathologizing discourses of sexology and early psychoanalysis (the invert and the pervert), and as vital to twentieth-century selfdefinitions (butch and femme) seem to have been cut from much of the same cloth as the early modern tribade and friend. Noting such resemblances linking various manifestations across time, I asked in closing: why do such apparent resonances assert themselves?
It would seem that certain representational features of female bodies and bonds slip into and out of historical view; some acquire more importance and visibility as others decline and fade, only to reappear in a different guise under changed social conditions. The discourses in which they are articulated shift and mutate as well. By the late eighteenth century, for instance, the sexually deviant figure that arguably had the most potential to signify transgressively—the tribade who supposedly used her enlarged clitoris to “imitate” the sex acts of men—had almost disappeared from the medical discourse that first gave her cultural intelligibility. Given the changes during this period to the practice of anatomy and physiology, it makes sense that she waned as an object of medical curiosity; but
