The Ignored Woman: The Problem of Unembodied Femininity
Queer and gender theorists’ fascination with embodiment has long assumed that Shakespeare’s
women are at least ‘part’ man. The terms ‘female character’ and ‘boy actor’ become inseperable.
Traub, writing of the ‘gender asymmetry’ in Renaissance theatrics, explains: ‘female characters are
conceived, interpreted, and (originally) acted by men’ (1992: 6). But Traub assumes that all female
characters are ‘acted’.1 Women who exist in the offstage periphery are lost sight of in the backstage
gloom. This makes them no less important, however, and it is about time that unseen, unembodied,
and unembodiable female characters are explored. It is no surprise, perhaps, that gender and queer
theorists have hitherto appeared blind to these unembodied women. In their relentless pursuit of
the anti-normative and the anxious, the return to convention as often symbolised by the offstage
woman threatens to undermine theoretical assumptions. But it is because of the unseen woman’s
defiance of categorisation, deviance from theoretical footholds, that she is such a rich object of
exploration; in how she exhibits a particular femininity, and how this femininity destabilises widely
held assumptions.
An overreliance on Judith Butler had forced gender theory on to the stage, rather than
considering what remains off. Gender performativity theory fits too nicely into discussions of
theatrical performance; the neatness is too satisfying to resist. But gender, I would argue, cannot be
contained merely in embodiment and performance, but its construction spans the verbal and
imaginative too. And, therefore, women can be constructed, appreciated, and interpreted, without
being seen onstage at all. Not only this – but these women are perhaps the most legitimate
examples of femininity in early modern theatre. Utilising the lexicon of Lorna Hutson’s
Circumstantial Shakespeare: the unseen woman holds an imaginative fabula which cannot be
surpassed through embodiment. Rosaline in Romeo and Juliet, for example, exhibits a self-conscious
feminine subjectivity. It is an ironic self-reflexive piece of metatheatre when, in Act 1, scene 1,
Romeo proclaims: ‘In sadnesse Cozin, I do loue a woman.’ (I.i.l.212) The climax of a pacey stretch of
interrogatio, this line – markedly short and precise – is a particular truth. The syntactical placement
of ‘woman’ at the end of the verse line lends it a weight that emphasises femininity – offstage, and
not played by a male body. Appearing in both quartos and the folio, our introduction to the
character of Rosaline is the absolute title of ‘woman’. Gender theory’s tenets of the boy player’s
‘oscillation between boy and woman’ (Dusinberre, 274) and the subsequent ‘dual consciousness’
(Shapiro, 2) suffered by audiences are here undermined: here we have a woman, plain.
Unembodied, but richly imagined:
1
See also: Lesley Ferris, Acting Women (1989)
, I coniure thee by Rosalines bright eyes,
By her High forehead, and her Scarlet lip,
By her Fine foote, Straight leg, and Quiuering thigh (II.i.ll.20-2)
Noteworthy here is the voyeuristic attention paid to the female body – the onstage impossibility, but
the offstage delight. Mercutio’s list employs erotic climax; the erogenous lips, towards the hidden
foot, leg, and creeping suggestively upwards in rhetoric incrementum towards a thigh which is
‘quiuering’ orgastically. All this is possible through erotic effictio – since Rosaline never appears as an
male-embodied player, our illusion of a feminine ‘quiuering thigh’ need never be shattered. The
audience’s heterosexual voyeurism is sated verbally. Similarly, note the lexicon Richard attaches to
the Princess Elizabeth in Act 4, scene 4 of Richard III: barely more than a ‘wombe’ (l.310) within
which he will ‘beget mine yssue’ (ll.3082-3). The climax of Richard’s logos is Elizabeth’s place in ‘a
Conquerors bed’ (l.348). Elizabeth is imagined as an assembly of female biology – and Shakespeare is
allowed this luxury in that she never appears. Furthermore, Richard’s final line to the Queen reads –
‘Beare her my true loues kisse’ (l.453) – often interpreted in performance as an enacted kiss, thereby
offering a stark visual image of the erotic charge generated by mere description of the unseen
woman, transferred even onto the mother. Even if this stage direction is not inferred, the
culmination of the scene is powerful in being the moment of romantic physicalisation. It is notable
that these examples of offstage women contain some of Shakespeare’s most sexually explicit
enargeia. The self-conscious eroticism allowed to Shakespeare’s unseen women is only allowed since
they are unembodied. Comparing this to the duality, instability, and falsity stressed in the
presentations of onstage women – the particular erotic character of the offstage is made all the
more potent: take, for example, Olivia’s inventory metaphor in Act 1, scene 5 of Twelfth Night. In
jesting on the ‘diuers scedules’ (l.244) of her beauty, Shakespeare reminds us of the boy beneath the
theatrical façade. From Rosaline’s ‘Scarlet lip’, we are given Olivia’s ‘Item two lippes indifferent
redde’ (l.246). The dissection of top and bottom lip offers a clinically unerotic tone, repeated in the
severing of eyes from lids. The flippant and bathetic conclusion of ‘& so forth’ captures the tone of
the speech: Olivia’s beauty is being belittled, its fabrication exposed as mere ‘particle and vtensile’
(l.245). Similarly, when Viola/Cesario asks questions ‘if God did all’ (l.235), a wry acknowledgement
of the greasepaint is implicit. Dusinberre argues that such examples of metatheatre may act to
‘confirm’ femininity (273), but how useful or legitimate is this as a mode of gender representation?
How legitimate can a female really appear if she is defined only by her difference from masculinity,
as in As You Like It, in which Rosalind’s ‘Is his chin worth a beard?’ (III.ii.l.210) confirms the theatrical
fiction of femininity due to her lack of such a ‘beard’? The unseen female occupies a unique position
Queer and gender theorists’ fascination with embodiment has long assumed that Shakespeare’s
women are at least ‘part’ man. The terms ‘female character’ and ‘boy actor’ become inseperable.
Traub, writing of the ‘gender asymmetry’ in Renaissance theatrics, explains: ‘female characters are
conceived, interpreted, and (originally) acted by men’ (1992: 6). But Traub assumes that all female
characters are ‘acted’.1 Women who exist in the offstage periphery are lost sight of in the backstage
gloom. This makes them no less important, however, and it is about time that unseen, unembodied,
and unembodiable female characters are explored. It is no surprise, perhaps, that gender and queer
theorists have hitherto appeared blind to these unembodied women. In their relentless pursuit of
the anti-normative and the anxious, the return to convention as often symbolised by the offstage
woman threatens to undermine theoretical assumptions. But it is because of the unseen woman’s
defiance of categorisation, deviance from theoretical footholds, that she is such a rich object of
exploration; in how she exhibits a particular femininity, and how this femininity destabilises widely
held assumptions.
An overreliance on Judith Butler had forced gender theory on to the stage, rather than
considering what remains off. Gender performativity theory fits too nicely into discussions of
theatrical performance; the neatness is too satisfying to resist. But gender, I would argue, cannot be
contained merely in embodiment and performance, but its construction spans the verbal and
imaginative too. And, therefore, women can be constructed, appreciated, and interpreted, without
being seen onstage at all. Not only this – but these women are perhaps the most legitimate
examples of femininity in early modern theatre. Utilising the lexicon of Lorna Hutson’s
Circumstantial Shakespeare: the unseen woman holds an imaginative fabula which cannot be
surpassed through embodiment. Rosaline in Romeo and Juliet, for example, exhibits a self-conscious
feminine subjectivity. It is an ironic self-reflexive piece of metatheatre when, in Act 1, scene 1,
Romeo proclaims: ‘In sadnesse Cozin, I do loue a woman.’ (I.i.l.212) The climax of a pacey stretch of
interrogatio, this line – markedly short and precise – is a particular truth. The syntactical placement
of ‘woman’ at the end of the verse line lends it a weight that emphasises femininity – offstage, and
not played by a male body. Appearing in both quartos and the folio, our introduction to the
character of Rosaline is the absolute title of ‘woman’. Gender theory’s tenets of the boy player’s
‘oscillation between boy and woman’ (Dusinberre, 274) and the subsequent ‘dual consciousness’
(Shapiro, 2) suffered by audiences are here undermined: here we have a woman, plain.
Unembodied, but richly imagined:
1
See also: Lesley Ferris, Acting Women (1989)
, I coniure thee by Rosalines bright eyes,
By her High forehead, and her Scarlet lip,
By her Fine foote, Straight leg, and Quiuering thigh (II.i.ll.20-2)
Noteworthy here is the voyeuristic attention paid to the female body – the onstage impossibility, but
the offstage delight. Mercutio’s list employs erotic climax; the erogenous lips, towards the hidden
foot, leg, and creeping suggestively upwards in rhetoric incrementum towards a thigh which is
‘quiuering’ orgastically. All this is possible through erotic effictio – since Rosaline never appears as an
male-embodied player, our illusion of a feminine ‘quiuering thigh’ need never be shattered. The
audience’s heterosexual voyeurism is sated verbally. Similarly, note the lexicon Richard attaches to
the Princess Elizabeth in Act 4, scene 4 of Richard III: barely more than a ‘wombe’ (l.310) within
which he will ‘beget mine yssue’ (ll.3082-3). The climax of Richard’s logos is Elizabeth’s place in ‘a
Conquerors bed’ (l.348). Elizabeth is imagined as an assembly of female biology – and Shakespeare is
allowed this luxury in that she never appears. Furthermore, Richard’s final line to the Queen reads –
‘Beare her my true loues kisse’ (l.453) – often interpreted in performance as an enacted kiss, thereby
offering a stark visual image of the erotic charge generated by mere description of the unseen
woman, transferred even onto the mother. Even if this stage direction is not inferred, the
culmination of the scene is powerful in being the moment of romantic physicalisation. It is notable
that these examples of offstage women contain some of Shakespeare’s most sexually explicit
enargeia. The self-conscious eroticism allowed to Shakespeare’s unseen women is only allowed since
they are unembodied. Comparing this to the duality, instability, and falsity stressed in the
presentations of onstage women – the particular erotic character of the offstage is made all the
more potent: take, for example, Olivia’s inventory metaphor in Act 1, scene 5 of Twelfth Night. In
jesting on the ‘diuers scedules’ (l.244) of her beauty, Shakespeare reminds us of the boy beneath the
theatrical façade. From Rosaline’s ‘Scarlet lip’, we are given Olivia’s ‘Item two lippes indifferent
redde’ (l.246). The dissection of top and bottom lip offers a clinically unerotic tone, repeated in the
severing of eyes from lids. The flippant and bathetic conclusion of ‘& so forth’ captures the tone of
the speech: Olivia’s beauty is being belittled, its fabrication exposed as mere ‘particle and vtensile’
(l.245). Similarly, when Viola/Cesario asks questions ‘if God did all’ (l.235), a wry acknowledgement
of the greasepaint is implicit. Dusinberre argues that such examples of metatheatre may act to
‘confirm’ femininity (273), but how useful or legitimate is this as a mode of gender representation?
How legitimate can a female really appear if she is defined only by her difference from masculinity,
as in As You Like It, in which Rosalind’s ‘Is his chin worth a beard?’ (III.ii.l.210) confirms the theatrical
fiction of femininity due to her lack of such a ‘beard’? The unseen female occupies a unique position
