The Evolution of The French Courtesan Novel: From de Chabrillan to Colette by Courtney Sullivan (review)

Mention of the “demi-monde” and “nineteenth-century France” often conjures up thoughts of Dumas fils’s La Dame aux Camélias (1848) or Zola’s Nana (1880)—novels that objectify and critically portray their socially deviant eponymous characters. However, Zola and Dumas fils were far from alone in their fictional representation of nineteenth-century prostitutes. As Courtney Sullivan demonstrates in The Evolution of the French Courtesan, the second half of the century witnesses the birth of a sub-genre of courtesan-authored works that challenge the contemporary misogynistic portrayal of the French female prostitute. Sullivan’s book is unique because it “frame[s] Zola and Dumas fils’s work within the context of literary and historical research [of] writings by courtesans” (10). She not only defines the courtesan genre, but also analyses “the way the courtesan writers influence one another” (10). Sullivan further contends that her work re-legitimizes works that were “all but forgotten” but “were best sellers when they came off the presses” (110).

Sullivan’s analysis of works by both male and female authors spans the Second Empire to the Belle Époque and beyond. After a detailed analysis of the intertextuality between the works of courtesan authors Céleste de Chabrillan, Valtesse de la Bigne, and Liane de Pougy in Chapter two, Chapter three focuses exclusively on de Pougy’s turn-of-the-century texts, Idylle saphique (1901) and Les Sensations de Mlle de Bringue (1904), presenting them as “intertexts that dialogue with Nana” (41). Chapter four turns to the male-authored courtesan “faux mémoires” by Ernest Blum, Louis Huart, and Victor Joze as means to examine “male writers’ motives for stealing the demimondaine’s identity and reworking her stories” (11). Chapter five provides a feminine bookend to the manuscript with an analysis of what may be termed “courtesan-sympathetic” fiction—Colette’s Chéri, La Fin de Chéri and Gigi. Although Colette was not a courtesan herself, she “could definitely relate to demi-mondaines since she shared many similarities with them” and “socialized with [them]” (91). The crux of Sullivan’s theory, at first blush, appears essentialist in nature: men write about courtesans one (negative) way while women write another about them another (better) way. However, Sullivan points up exceptions to such a reading. For example, in Encore un livre rose, Jules de Neuville “shifts blame from the courtesan to the male writers” (81) who co-opted the courtesan genre. Similarly, Colette, Sullivan contends, did not fully understand the “psychological damage” (101) that the courtesan endured.

In the conclusion to the manuscript, Sullivan astutely asks: “Can a woman retain a sense of agency all the while selling her body?” (111). This excellent question summarizes the thrust of the volume’s examination: what does it take to be an agent in autobiographical and fictional representations of prostitution? Can anyone—male or female—write a prostitute’s story? Were nineteenth-century courtesans educated sufficiently in order to write their own novels or did they “receive help” (114)? Agency is central to a study of the prostitute of the nineteenth century when French women “were discouraged from writing and stigmatized for going public through publications” (114). Finally, although the book could have used a critical editing eye to clear up typographical errors, to smooth out some awkward phrasing, and to add in some missing key bits of information (publication dates, names of film directors, etc.), thanks to The Evolution of the French Courtesan Novel, the courtesan-authored genre is (re)legitimized and likely to inspire future investigations of prostitution and agency in literature and film.