The Trials of Radclyffe Hall by Diana Souhami (interesting novels to read txt) 📕

if it was now to renounce the enlightened policy of recent trials, ‘brand this book as obscene and open the door henceforth to the wanton and undiscerning prosecution of legitimate literature’. He referred to two books recently cleared of the obscenity charge: Madeleine, the Autobiography of a Prostitute and Mademoiselle de Maupin by Théophile Gautier. The first, the ‘life story of a strumpet’, was badly written and without moral motive but not banned. Gautier had set out to shock with his salacious novel. Even so, the Court of Special Sessions acquitted the bookseller, who then got damages for malicious prosecution.

Both Gautier and Radclyffe Hall had respected reputations and high moral purpose. Gautier protested about prudery and moral bigotry, Radclyffe Hall about misunderstanding and intolerance. Morally, Radclyffe Hall occupied the higher ground. Much of Gautier’s book was ‘undoubtedly vulgar and indecent’, The Well of Loneliness was ‘free from salacious and objectionable allusions’. The tone of Mademoiselle de Maupin was ‘light, bantering, pagan and frivolous’; it was anonymously published and had sexy pictures. The Well of Loneliness was ‘characterized by seriousness, dignity and restraint’, published by a reputable company and without ‘sensuous word pictures’ or illustrations. Ernst gave the judges a taste of Gautier’s prose:

She came up to me, sat down on my knees more quickly than lightning, passed her arms around my neck, crossed her hands behind my head and clung with her lips to mine in a furious embrace; I felt her half-naked and rebellious bosom bounding against my breast, and her twined fingers twitching in my hair. A shiver ran through my whole body, and my heart beat violently. Rosette did not release my mouth; her lips enveloped mine, her teeth struck against my teeth, our breath mingled. I drew back for an instant, and turned my head aside two or three times to avoid this kiss; but a resistless attraction made me again advance, and I returned it with nearly as much ardour as she had given it. I scarcely know how it would all have ended had not a loud barking been heard outside the door together with the sound of scratching feet …

No such passages spiced The Well. Nor, like a dirty postcard, could it be ‘absorbed at a single glance’ or like a sleazy pamphlet ‘perused in a few minutes’. It was a voluminous work which required protracted reading, assiduous application. The seeker of obscenity would be thwarted after thirty pages. ‘Readily corruptible persons’ would be in for a hard time. ‘No child, no moral defective, no impressionable seeker after prurient details would ever get far.’

It was in its sixth American edition, widely circulated, stocked by reputable stores like Brentano’s and Macy’s and was sold openly at five dollars, a price that precluded a cheap thrill. Dirty postcards went for a few cents. Children and ‘moral weaklings’ would not have five dollars. ‘Vile postcards are vended by gutter peddlers. Booklets full of revolting details are sold in dives. Filthy motion pictures are filmed in secret and constitute back-door midnight entertainment.’

The Well of Loneliness, Morris Ernst declared, was nothing less than literature, defended by the great and good. A ‘strenuous letter of protest’ against its suppression had been signed by Sherwood Anderson, Theodore Dreiser, Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Upton Sinclair and many more. It had received serious reviews. The New York Herald Tribune deemed it ‘courageous and honest, more of a sermon than a story, a passionate plea for the world’s understanding and sympathy, as much a novel of problem and purpose as Uncle Tom’s Cabin, as sentimental and moralistic as the deepest dyed of Victorian novels.’ The Philadelphia Inquirer called it ‘remarkably fine literature’. The reviewer in the Nation said no subject of human interest and social significance should be per se undiscussable.

Ernst backed his arguments with the opinions of experts. Dr Logan Glendening thought the censor, not the author, had a pornographic imagination. Dr Joseph Collins said ‘genuine homosexuality’ was an endowment, not a vice or disease. Edna Ferber feared what would happen when the New York Vice Society discovered the Old Testament. Llewellyn Jones said prosecution was ‘a silly piece of fanaticism’, Herbert Asbury blamed the idiotic attitude of the British authorities, Rabbi Felix H. Levy said here was fine literary work without a single objectionable feature from the moral point of view.

The court adjourned, the judges went away for eleven days with copies of The Well of Loneliness and Ernst’s brief. They reconvened on 19 April 1929 and gave their verdict:

The book in question deals with a delicate social problem which in itself cannot be said to be in violation of the law unless it is written in such a manner as to make it obscene. This is a criminal prosecution and as judges of the facts and the law we are not called upon nor is it within our province to recommend or advise against the reading of any book, nor is it within our province to pass an opinion as to the merits or demerits thereof, but only as to whether the same is in violation of the law. The people must establish that the defendants are guilty of violation of Section 1141 beyond a reasonable doubt. After a careful reading of the entire book, we conclude that the book in question is not in violation of the law.

Donald Friede sent a cable to the Hotel Osborne with the good news. John and Una found it when they got back to their hotel from a cocktail party. Covici-Friede planned a celebratory edition. There was money to be made. ‘The most controversial book of the century’, he advertised. ‘Suppressed in England and vindicated by an American court.’

Donald Friede asked Radclyffe Hall for a preface. She wanted to use extracts from ‘letters received from my public’. Rubinstein warned of copyright problems and warned again of proceedings for contempt of court if she commented on the English legal process. She kept the piece neutral – effusive with thanks but that was all. Friede