DEPTHS, SHADOW, AND DAWN
Art by Ilia Kate
Author’s note:
A few months ago, I entered the Globe Soup Paranormal Flash-Fiction contest, and one of the genres I was assigned was “Mermaids”. Boy-howdy, I can tell you I had a tough time with this one. Writing about mermaids is something so far from what I usually tackle, and crafting a story involving them in under 1000 words that I could still be proud of was a challenge. I ended up writing a sapphic self-discovery story, set in the early 20th century USA. Or…I guess, technically, it’s set in the middle of the ocean, but the characters are from the USA.
I have approached this story, as I do for all, with a desire to provide an accurate portrayal of the cultural landscape of the time. Although I am proud of the story, I feel it warrants further discussion. After all, I only had 1000 words to toy with. So, here we are, an absolute essay of an author’s note. The most important source of information for me was a lecture by Professor Nancy Unger on homosexuality in the early 20th century, which I suggest you watch if you’d like to learn more after reading this story.
In the mid 19th century to early 20th century, psychological research and cultural perception of homosexuality was quite different when talking about men or women. Men’s homosexuality was more studied (and demonised) in comparison, mainly due to men possessing more freedom to live a public life, which meant homosexual acts between men were more public in themselves. In fact, women were most often left out of psychology papers completely when talking of homosexuality, as it was viewed as less important. There are a litany of reasons for this, which I do not aim to solve in this story. I bring up this disparity, as it is the reason I wanted to portray the subject matter of the story, and the time period it is set in.
As is the case for too much of humanity’s sordid history, being gay in early 20th century USA was generally considered “a bad time”. Prior to 1962, when Illinois became the first state to abolish sodomy laws, being discovered as homosexual in any state would earn you a lengthy prison sentence and/or hard labour. This criminalisation was technically applied for any gender, however only men would see this punishment, as women were not prosecuted. As far as I can tell, there is only one recorded case of conviction for lesbianism in US history, that being Sarah White Norman in 1650. Instead, lesbians were tolerated, as long as they hid their sexuality. Two women going away together was seen as nothing more than a “gals holiday”. However, this does not mean being a homosexual woman was a walk in the park. There may not have been direct legal action taken, but there was significant cultural pressure to never make their sexuality known. Demonising homosexuality (or any minority) is always accompanied with false truths, most likely because if bigots confronted the true definition of homosexuality, which is simply being sexually or romantically attracted to the same sex or gender, they’d have to admit there’s nothing wrong with it, like the rest of us. But no, they’ve got to carry on hating, so they fabricate additional definitions to identities, and hate those fictional portrayals instead. When bigots make their opinions known, it’s never just “having sex with the same gender is bad”, it always comes with additions to justify it to themselves. An example being homosexual men, who apparently don’t just want to have consensual same-sex relations. According to homophobes, they’re also perverts, sometimes satanists, and even secretly paedophiles, yada yada yada. When you see transphobic rants online, it’s never just about changing from ones assigned gender at birth, they’re apparently actually groomers, bathroom rapists, and…high-school sports victory stealers? I dunno, transphobes are weird. In the mid 19th and early 20th century, a host of descriptors was attached to being a homosexual woman, which had nothing to do with being homosexual. There are many, some surviving strong to this day, but I cannot highlight all such descriptors (only 1000 words to work with). Instead, I have focused upon three major false definitions of the time.
In the mid-19th century, the generally accepted psychological theory for homosexuality was “sexual inversion”. The idea of a person being attracted to the same sex was treated as a medical condition, one that must have stemmed from the individual being the opposite sex on the inside. The thought-process went like this, “well, men can’t be attracted to men, so they must, like, be women inside, or something. Oh, and the same for women, I guess. Must be men inside, I reckon. Seems right”. It was all very silly and this theory was mostly dropped in the academic world towards the end of the 19th century, however the terminology still very much persisted into the 20th century for the general public.
When the 20th century did roll around, a common belief was that homosexual women must be homosexual because, gosh darn it, they just really hate men. If only they got over this strange and irrational hatred for men they must have, they’d totally bag a husband and settle down. Apparently, it’s so impossible for some straight men to accept that if a woman doesn’t want to have sex with them it must be down to an aggrandised position of hating an entire gender. It’s an opinion that may, or may not, have started with men, but the opinion was greatly adopted by women as well. It’s a false opinion which still survives strong to this day, mostly by people who are definitely secure in themselves and are not projecting frustration.
When Theodore Roosevelt became president in 1901, he spawned a new era for public perception towards homosexuality. He was welcomed as a hyper-masculine role-model, and his own opinions on homosexuality where that it was not only a sign of weakness, but completely unpatriotic. Roosevelt’s term in office shifted the public opinion of homosexuality from “mentally ill”, to “mentally ill, un-american, and a threat to our nation”, a shift which would see lasting potency. Great job, Roosevelt, you proved you’re a big man and definitely not gay.
All of these additional descriptors to homosexuality—sexual inversion, male hatred, unpatriotism—were so strongly held that many homosexual individuals did not recognise themselves as homosexual for their entire lives. There are records of men and women who describe their same-sex relations, yet do not accept the label of homosexuality, because they did not fit the additional descriptors culture had created. It is these false descriptions, and overcoming them, that I have chosen to write a story on. I have focused on how strong a wall of denial cultural depictions can erect within us, and how they can fall away. Other such cultural descriptors persist to this day, and can affect our perceptions of ourselves and our own sexuality and identity. In fact, I did not recognise myself as bisexual until my mid-twenties, as I was instilled with beliefs of what a bisexual man was, that didn’t fit my perception of myself.
I hope this story finds you well, and that the story and this author’s note aid in some way with whatever you might be feeling. Thank you so much for taking the time to read. It means the world to me that you have. Stand proud and strong, all those in the wonderful LGBTQIA+ world. You aren’t the false descriptions invented to hate you.
Tom Hollow
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DEPTHS, SHADOW, AND DAWN
by Tom Hollow
It was without hatred that I fell to my death. Barnacles adorning the ship’s hull skimmed my breath as I plummeted through the darkness. I looked up and saw the moon, fractured and rippled, dancing across inky black waves that ended my fall in muted thunder. I was drummed by the impact—aware, but paralysed. Even if I remembered how to swim, bearing and gravity had been swept away, leaving me aimless in the briny dark. My heavy dress and corset fashioned me as an anchor, sinking into the deep without struggle.
Yet, I did not hate Nathaniel, whose hand struck me overboard, for he was blameless. When returning to our bunk to escape the storm, I had decided to hold his arm unannounced—a folly bid at wifedom. It had been so long since my last unprompted touch that I had forgotten his condition. Trauma had scarred his mind, causing him to involuntarily lash when affected unawares. The spine of his hand cracked against my cheek and tumbled me over the ship’s railing. He called my name as I slipped into the night.
I was weightless in the dark, with no breath to hold. Above the waves the chaos of the storm churned, but below everything was calm. Death moments away, a memory I thought lost rose to meet me.
‘It’s only practice,’ Helen had told me. We faced each other cross-legged on undergrowth, indifferent to the dirtying of our school uniforms. Her lips parted like the softest orchid blooming, revealing a breath of lemon nectar. The goosebumps on the back of my neck were comforted by her palm. She leaned in, so close.
I told her to stop and pushed her away. I had never wanted anything more than her lips before, but I feigned disgust. I never allowed myself to be alone with her again. Only on the edge of death did I ask myself why I rejected her.
When I had first fallen into the water, I felt its icy grip across every inch of me, but in that stillness the cold left me. Instead, I was warm, almost glowing. It was then that she emerged from the void ahead—the mermaid. I heard stories about them when I was a girl, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight. Her hair was a luscious river, and her eyes were vibrant gems, sparkling as brilliantly as her tail’s ruby scales. I was sure nothing else could be as beautiful as her.
I remembered feeling that way before. When starting part-time at the garment factory, I knew no one. Lisa was the first to introduce herself. She was kind and generous, but most of all, she was beautiful. I did not know someone so lovely could exist. The nights when I performed my duty with Nathaniel, I found myself picturing her in my place. At the time, I had believed it a symptom of my fading self-value, visualising a worthy wife for my husband. But in the deep, the truth was plain. I simply ached for the sounds she would make.
One by one, more mermaids emerged, schooling around me like mourners around a loved one. Every hue of flowing locks was unique, claiming their own domain across the rainbow. Each as heavenly and bewitching as the last—so beautiful I was sure tears would have streamed down my cheeks if I were not submerged.
What I had always desired became so obvious to me then. It was not just young Helen with her orchid lips. It was not just sweet Lisa with her kind words. It was not just the graceful mermaid with her emerald hair. It was women.
With the thought came a demon—a shadow that lurked within me, keeping me blind since I was a girl. I could not be what I was. It was known that homosexual women hated men. I have never hated men, not even Nathaniel when he struck me overboard. Moreover, it was known that lust for the same sex was a symptom of sexual inversion, but I did not pine to be male. I was a woman inside, and sure of it. Then, the final jagged splinter stabbed into me—how it was unamerican. I loved my country. Not a sliver of me was unpatriotic. None of it pieced together. I simply could not be what was apparent. I had to have been mistaken.
The emerald-haired mermaid approached, so close I could see my drowning reflection in her eyes. She took my head in her hands and drew my face to hers. In an eternal moment, she pressed her lips to mine, and suddenly, life.
Oxygen filled my lungs, snatching me from the brink of death. More than this, her breath became a gale that swept away my shadow, for it was lost in that kiss that I understood, none of it mattered. Each diagnosis presented to me—male hatred, sexual inversion, unpatriotism—none of it stood up to the overwhelming truth that blossomed within me. I love women, I have always loved women, and I will love women until the day I die. It is who I am, and it is not a symptom.
My life was saved by the mermaids. They each kissed me and gave me breath, until they had safely ushered me to the coast. I swept onto the sands of a foreign shore, weak and sodden, but present in a way I had never been before. The waves revealed me to the world, my curtains drawn back and the light of my dawn spilling forth. I was born anew, for someone—the wife of Nathaniel—fell into the ocean that night, ready to die. But there I stood, emerged from the chaos of the storm within my heart, finally ready to live.
The End