Johns Hopkins University Press
Abstract

This essay explains why The Woman of Colour cannot assimilate Olivia Fairfield into Romantic-era marriage: a black matriline and Jamaican upbringing imbue the heroine's abolitionism with a racial consciousness white women could not claim. Such an articulate criticism, while necessary for the novel's anti-slavery stance, is at odds with its domestic ideology, which requires instead the translucent, dependent figure of Angelina as the ideal wife. By setting up such a contrast of feminine subjectivities, the novel aligns a global feminist consciousness with women of color rather than the dependent white women associated with British marriage.

Keywords

marriage, gender, abolitionism, race, novel, slavery.

Within moments of beginning the woman of colour: a tale (1808), readers learn about the abduction, enslavement, rape, evangelization, and death of Olivia Fairfield's mother Marcia. Like the heroine's opening epistle, this essay foregrounds Olivia's black matriline, arguing that it endows her with an abolitionist consciousness that ultimately cannot be assimilated into the novel's social order. The heroine's nullified marriage tells us a great deal about Romantic-era British conjugality, about what it can and cannot tolerate in wives. The novel recognizes Olivia as a global citizen, lucid on matters of colonial injustice and prepared to disrupt a culture of politeness that would prefer to efface the materialities of slavery. This verbalized consciousness, I argue, makes Olivia resistant to the dependency that characterized British wives in the cultural imagination. Sharply critical of white domestic femininity, the novel argues, I believe, that the colonial woman of color uniquely possesses a capacity to resist the narrowness of idealized British wifehood, and that it is in the woman of color that we should look for early forms of feminist consciousness.

Politicized by her proximity to slavery, Olivia is constituted by her awareness of racial injustice. She brings its materialities into polite conversation: when served rice under the racist assumption it is her preferred food, Olivia explains to her British relations that "in Jamaica, our poor slaves (my brothers and sisters …) are kept upon rice as their chief food, yet they would be glad to exchange it for a little of your nice wheaten bread here," and later that "black slaves are … obliged to work like horses … but God Almighty created them men, equal with their masters."1 These statements are spoken in dialogue and recorded in epistles, narratively doubled as didactic moments that embed emancipatory sentiment into the British household. The novel shows her persuading nearly all listeners, granting authority and moral weight to full-scale abolitionist claims made even at the breakfast table: "the feelings of humanity, the principles of my religion would lead me … to pray for the extermination of this disgraceful traffic, while kindred claims [End Page 113] … would likewise impel me to be anxious for the emancipation of my more immediate brethren!" (81). What kind of wife—empirically and racially shaped by plantation capitalism—does such a principled critic make? Not a British one, according to The Woman of Colour.

Its anti-marriage plot reveals Olivia's marriage to her cousin Augustus to be unwittingly bigamous, and she thereafter refuses marriage altogether, proclaiming herself Augustus's perpetual widow. The novel's refusal to make its heroine a wife seems, to some, unjust;2 but Olivia never entertains naïve fictions about marriage. She recognizes it does not guarantee affection and that her primary function is to transfer capital. During her voyage, she hopes for love in her marriage to Augustus, but she knows she appears "a mere state machine!—conveyed over the water at the instigation of political contrivance," and she writes and talks openly about her "dower of nearly sixty thousand pounds … which is to become the property of my cousin" (59, 60; emphasis original). Olivia's knowledge of her father's property and will is foregrounded, and she is candid about her status as a conveyor of wealth.3 Her polarizing reception in Britain—admired as "above the standard of her sex" and reviled as an "outlandish creature"—testifies that for only some, her white patrimony tempers her descent from an enslaved mother sufficiently for her social incorporation (102, 101). Olivia is made both hypervisible and highly legible by her inheritances, her mixed race a point of aesthetic scrutiny to be weighed against her widely known net worth.4 [End Page 114]

Marriages between white men and biracial women, Lyndon Dominique argues, attempted to "resolve Britain's ethical quandary over the slave trade"; but this penance is interrupted by Olivia, who, refusing to marry anyone after Augustus, undermines her status as "an object designed to whitewash [her father's] hereditary line."5 Olivia's encounter with British marriage and her ultimate rejection of it shed critical light on how the institution is practiced, what it values in women, and how it deactivates anti-racist feminist consciousness. The particularities of Olivia's history and inheritances invite us to think about why she in particular is refused assimilation into domesticity. By so minutely considering Olivia as Augustus's betrothed, and by summoning readers to desire her marriage to him, the novel analyzes and rejects the heroine's fit for marital coverture and comments sharply on what kind of subjectivity coverture formalizes.6

It is Olivia's racial consciousness, not her complexion, that the novel believes disqualifies her for English marriage, and it opens by foregrounding this consciousness as an inheritance of blackness and whiteness from her parents.7 She embodies blackness but, by virtue of her patrimony, deflects enslavement, and her analysis of slavery from this position might be considered within what C. Riley Snorton calls transatlantic "movements across blackness," a capacity to occupy racial identity strategically in response to social context.8 Perhaps unusually given her mixed race, she is fully recognized and enriched by her father: she bears his name and his fortune to England, and Augustus, should he accept her, will take the Fairfield name as well.9 While Olivia's "European" father's fortune grants her privilege and social visibility in British culture, her late mother Marcia's "strong soul" endows her with the [End Page 115] integrity to speak with authority about racial injustice (55). Her maternal line associates Olivia with African nobility, Christian virtue, racial consciousness, and abolitionism, her mother's story evidence of the human trafficking conducted by colonizers like her father. "Sprung from a race of native kings and heroes," Marcia was abducted and sold into slavery, purchased and raped by Fairfield, then inculcated with Christian doctrine sufficiently to regard their sex as sinful.10 She dies in childbirth, barred from marriage to Fairfield by his "prejudices" (55). Olivia derives an emancipatory ethos from this familial history, a bequeathal she traces to both parents: "I love to dwell on the character of my mother; it is here that I see the distributions of Providence are equally bestowed, and that it is culture not capacity, which the negro wants! It was from my father that I adopted this opinion of my mother" (55). Her father's validation of Marcia's fortitude and virtue allows Olivia to access her mother's history and character. This legacy must be constituted through memory and imagination, "the black maternal nonbeing" Snorton sees as the abject backdrop necessary for black subject formation.11 With Marcia deceased, the novel can entertain her noble influence while unburdening Olivia of unmarried parents and, more unimaginable still for Romantic-era British readers, a resilient, "scholar[ly]," enslaved black mother (54). "The stamp of the commodity haunts the maternal line," writes Saidiya Hartman, "and is transferred from one generation to the next."12 While for Olivia this transferal does not entail enslavement—a fate from which she is protected by her father's assertion of her whiteness—it roots her memory and sense of justice outside herself, with her mother and the enslaved "brethren" to whom she continually iterates kinship (53).

This kind of authority makes Olivia unfit for English marriage, and her pronounced exclusion from it, I suggest, refracts the attenuated subjectivity fetishized in British wives. I believe the novel knows this, and that it builds a conspicuous contrast with the forms of desire raised by Olivia and those activated by figures of white feminine domesticity. The woman of color gathers her readers' attention around the conventional British feminine—Angelina, Augustus's abandoned first wife—to convert that attention into a skeptical question: are wives people? The answer is no; and this revelation constructs Olivia as a counter-domestic heroine possessing the capacity for feminist collaboration but denied its enactment in Britain.

The Woman of Color facilitates an analysis that complements Nancy [End Page 116] Armstrong's account of domestic fiction taking on the instructive function of women's conduct books, which encouraged feminine compliance.13 Olivia's exclusion from marriage lays bare the perversity of a cultural and literary tradition that brandishes dependence as ideal femininity. The novel braids the domestic—Olivia's quasi-marriage—with what Hortense Spillers calls the "counter-narrative to notions of the domestic" entailed in enslavement and the Middle Passage, a history affiliated with Marcia and installed in Olivia's racial memory. Wrested from enslaved counter-domesticity by her "patronymic," Olivia comes near to the domestic, that sphere of "cultural fictions" where naming, individuating, and gendering occur, and which bars, and therefore ungenders, enslaved black people.14 The novel suggests that because of her affiliations with this counter-domestic, Olivia cannot be assimilated into a conjugal system that, Armstrong argues, "conjoins different modes of subjectivity to produce [a] gender-divided world" in which women perform a morally edifying function couched in the private, familial realm.15 Marcia's history politicizes Olivia, and the combination of Olivia's abolitionism with her black matriline makes her insufficiently feminine—in the British domestic sense—to occupy wifehood. Only white wives, it seems, could practice abolitionism as domestic subjectivity.16 The power of Olivia's abolitionism—and its lack of fit with polite culture—is pronounced by the counter-domestic plot that draws Olivia close to marriage before releasing her into an indeterminate, nonmarital orbit, a plot that gives the novel the opportunity to grant domesticity appeal while condemning it for its exclusion of a worthy heroine. In this light, what Sara Salih considers Olivia's eugenic expulsion from English "white heteroproductivity" might be seen rather as a feminist victory of resistant non-assimilation.17

Olivia's exclusion from conjugality is previewed by Augustus's regard for her as a "citizen of the world," agile and dignified in her contact with a white society (103). He is drawn to Olivia not by "the rapture of passion," but by "the chaste dignity of her manners, and the action which characterizes and enforces her expressions" (104). Augustus admires Olivia's integrity, a union between her behavior and her speech which, as we've seen, openly draws on her transatlantic experience and her direct knowledge of slavery. Such fullness of character contrasts markedly with the flimsiness of the figure [End Page 117] that absorbs his love, a differentiation that marginalizes Olivia's politicized femininity in the dramatic scene of Augustus's reunion with Angelina. The bigamously married couple has moved to Devonshire, and after a storm they, along with Letitia Merton and two neighboring women, check on the inhabitants of a cottage in the woods. When Olivia knocks at the cottage door, it "burst open—a female rushed out … crying … 'Augustus, save me!'—She sank on the turf at the feet of Mr. Fairfield." Augustus's reaction attracts narrative attention: "Astonishment and surprise were the expressions which momentarily overspread his features,—but to these appeared to succeed, fear, apprehension, anxiety, love!" The figure he beholds performs no action, and Augustus bestows significance on her through a series of epithets: "He held the inanimate form of the lady to his bosom; he … called her his wife—his best-beloved, his lamented Angelina!" Angelina, a "female" and "inanimate form," is her husband's "best-beloved," apprehended as such instantaneously upon her reappearance. The femininity associated with marriage here is evacuated and spiritless, and yet immediately loveable for the propertied man. Augustus's desire excludes Olivia: "He saw, he heard me not, even while I franticly knelt at his feet, and conjured him to tell me the meaning of the words he uttered!" (140). Assuming the posture of the famous Wedgwood slave medallion, Olivia kneels and pleads; but Augustus's perception is so consumed by Angelina's "form" that Olivia's very social being becomes imperceptible to him. This triangulation reconstitutes a colorless English heterosexuality—Augustus has been previously described as "abstracted," "pale, wan" (82, 119, 151), and Angelina is a mere outline—and expels Olivia and the critical eye she brings to British practices of property, marriage, colonialism, and slavery.

By reinstating her marriage, The Woman of Colour imbues Angelina's empty form with transformative cultural power, deriving not from her actions but from her overvaluation. But importantly, readers watch this process sympathetically from Olivia's stance, and so, like her, behold Angelina with exactitude and fascination. Olivia sees as Augustus sees. "I saw Augustus only," she writes of the tumultuous moment, aligning her readers with his fetishizing gaze (140). Olivia's consideration of Angelina brings the reader into an extended consideration of her contents. After her initial shock, Olivia carries out his desire by facilitating a kind of vow renewal for Augustus and Angelina, visiting the cottage to express her "earnest hope that [Angelina's] reunion with her husband may be lasting" (153). Angelina's fragility is nearly nonhuman from Olivia's perspective: the "bashful timidity of Angelina, her dove-like eyes, her transparent complexion, the delicacy of her fragile form, all rendered her a most interesting object" (155). While Dominique sees Angelina embodying a "seraphic whiteness" that purges blackness from marriage and bloodlines, I find [End Page 118] it remarkable that these scenes render her as see-through, incapacitated, and colorless.18 Olivia's anthropological fascination attests to Angelina's strangeness. Her translucence distinguishes her from Olivia, to be sure, but also from Dido and Caroline Lumley, women whose position to marriage is different, Dido excluded by her blackness and association with slavery, Caroline voluntarily delaying marriage for financial reasons; and it is distinguished too from women with more dubious forms of agency, like villainess Letitia and nabobina Lady Ingot.19

Olivia directly connects Angelina's physical attributes to gender as it plays out in conjugality: "She seems peculiarly to require the assistance and support of the lordly creature man, and to be ill-calculated for braving the difficulties of life alone. [Her] speechless astonishment … I shall never forget" (155). Explicitly contrasted with Olivia, Angelina is incapable of physical, discursive, or social action—she cannot "brave" the forms of empirical subjectivity Olivia has accrued. Olivia describes this absence of full personhood—and the absence of the desire for it—as a "peculiar" form of being, unfamiliar to one who has stood outside the privilege of inaction. Prior to this visit, Olivia had longed to see "this (to me) most interesting of females" (151). The parentheses punctuate the contrast between the two feminine figures. Olivia in particular finds Angelina "interesting" as a "female" so unlike herself, a figure whose degree of dependency is an impossible condition for a free woman of color transported to the heart of empire. Olivia is politicized by her unusual combination of blackness, freedom, wealth, virtue, and transatlantic consciousness, all of which capacitate her, as we saw earlier, to promote abolitionism. "Such progressive behavior," argues Dominique, "can only come from a woman of color."20 It cannot, these scenes assert, arise from a white English wife.

The Woman of Colour experiments with the marriage plot to suspend its biracial heroine in the trappings of domestic fiction without securing her there, as if to evaluate from every angle not if she suits marriage, but if marriage suits her. It does not. The desire activated in this plot twist differentiates Olivia's politicized personhood starkly from the femininity associated with British marriage. Angelina, marriage's object of desire, is incapable of outward action, inviting us to question why such a figure would have, in novels, sufficient "centripetal" force to "wrest [moral] authority from [End Page 119] the male institutions of church and state."21 The Woman of Colour shows not moral strength but enervation as the nucleus of the British domestic imagination, a figure confined by the dynamics of heterosexual desire from coalition with other women. Fetishized by systems of desire that overvalue their dependency and coverture, white British women lack context for the forms of action Olivia undertakes—travel, advocacy, or coalition—outside the conjugal unit, a realm whose cultural importance had intensified across the eighteenth century. The late Mr. Fairfield tries to bind Olivia to this function in order to concentrate his accumulated wealth at once conjugally and consanguineally—privatizing it through a marriage to Augustus and ensuring it becomes incorporated with his brother's patriline (either through Augustus or George, as a clause in the will stipulated), a plan ultimately undone by Olivia's vow to redistribute it by funding ameliorative projects back in Jamaica.22 This public form of care will take Olivia's actions and wealth outside the domestic, familial context Fairfield stipulates. While Angelina trembles in a cottage, Lady Ingot practices bad taste, and Letitia Merton and Miss Danby contrive mercenary plots, Olivia moves outward, released by the novel, according to Brigitte Fielder, into a "more radical potential" for "abolitionist collaboration in the black Atlantic."23

The Woman of Colour thus posits that the first feminist is not—cannot be—British, white, and married. The novel recognizes, as Mary Wollstonecraft did, that culture produces a "false system of female manners" that distorts women's capacity to think or want outside the self; also like Wollstonecraft, it specifies the damage of this socialization to "those in the middle class."24 But unlike Wollstonecraft's Vindication, The Woman of Colour invents a three-dimensional feminist, and situates that subject against empire. She is politicized, and so is the abolitionist-era novel in which she circulates.25 But her impact is deactivated within British culture, where she is made obscure by marriage's inability to [End Page 120] assimilate her. Before casting Olivia as a widow, the novel gathers women around her so that we may perceive a possibility for coalition, perhaps even recognizing a potential "common point of rebellion" among them.26 Social and financial factors impede marriage for Dido and Caroline, marital wealth corrupts Letitia and Lady Ingot, and abusive plots make marriage fragile for Angelina. Estranged from the institution upon Angelina's reappearance, Olivia is poised to expose its injustice, as she regularly does when addressing slavery. The novel, though, militates its domestic ideology against her, protecting the conjugal sphere from her intervention, and directing her politics toward Jamaica. Within Britain, we see Olivia's politics defanged, her feminism overwritten by characters' adherence to their own marriage plots (even Dido tries to arrange a marriage for the heroine, post-Augustus). Olivia's feminism is halted at being, in Sara Ahmed's terms, "included," "a form of repair, a way of mending" a plot made awry by her politicized intrusion into a British family and its wealth.27 The Woman of Colour's counter-domesticity cannot retain Olivia, but her temporary British residency exposes how imperial cultural forms work against feminist possibility.

Kathleen Lubey
St. John's University
Kathleen Lubey

Kathleen Lubey is Professor of English at St. John's University in New York and author of What Pornography Knows: Sex and Social Protest since the Eighteenth Century (Stanford University Press, 2022) and Excitable Imaginations: Eroticism and Reading in Britain, 1660-1760 (Bucknell University Press, 2012). Her articles on eighteenth-century literature, gender, sexuality, and book history have appeared in journals including ELH, differences, Eighteenth-Century Fiction, Eighteenth-Century Studies, and Tulsa Studies in Women's Literature.

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Allen, Regulus. "'The Sable Venus' and Desire for the Undesirable." SEL: Studies in English Literature 1500–1900 51, no. 3 (2011): 667–91.
Armstrong, Nancy. Desire and Domestic Fiction: A Political History of the Novel. New York: Oxford University Press, 1987.
Dominique, Lyndon J. Imoinda's Shade: Marriage and the African Woman in Eighteenth-Century British Literature. Columbus, OH: The Ohio State University Press, 2012.
Ferguson, Moira. Subject to Others: British Women Writers and Colonial Slavery, 1670–1834. London: Routledge, 1992.
Fielder, Brigitte. "The Woman of Colour and Black Atlantic Movement." In Women's Narratives of the Early Americas and the Formation of Empire. Edited by Mary McAleer Balkun and Susan C. Imbarrato. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016.
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Footnotes

1. The Woman of Colour: A Tale (1808), ed. Lyndon J. Dominique (Peterborough, Ontario: Broadview, 2007), 77–78, 80. Citations are to this edition and henceforth appear parenthetically.

2. Reviewers believed marriage would reward Olivia's virtue; see Appendix F in Dominique's Broadview edition, 257-58. Recent criticism also locates injustice in Olivia's disappointed marriage plot. Jennifer Reed argues that Britain systematically assimilated plantation wealth while excluding Caribbean women from marriage in "Moving Fortunes: Caribbean Women's Marriage, Mobility, and Money in the Novel of Sentiment," Eighteenth-Century Fiction 31, no. 3 (2019): 509–89; and Melissa Adams-Campbell finds Olivia, despite her nullified marriage, bound to mimicking the conventions of British domesticity, a reading challenged by my discussion below of Olivia's matriline. See Adams-Campbell, New World Courtships: Transatlantic Alternatives to Companionate Marriage (Hanover, NH: Dartmouth College Press, 2015), 108-11..

3. Her uncle addresses her as an expert on the operations of the Fairfield plantation on the particulars of her father's will (75, 89–90). In light of Gillian Skinner's work, Olivia's facility with legal and transactional concepts seems unusual; see Skinner, "Women's Status as Legal and Civic Subjects: 'A Worse Condition than Slavery Itself'?" in Women and Literature in Britain, 1700–1800, ed. Vivien Jones (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 99–100. While I emphasize that "state machine" draws attention to Olivia's sexual instrumentality in transmitting wealth, Deven Parker perceives in this phrasing a reference to the epistolary circulation of military intelligence by packet boats in the era of the Napoleonic Wars. See "Precarious Correspondence in The Woman of Colour," Essays in Romanticism 27, no. 2 (2020): 135–51; 144–45.

4. I have in mind Claudia Rankine's description of being "hypervisible" in Citizen: An American Lyric (New York: Graywolf, 2014), 49. This desire for the mixed-race woman is distinct from that which accrues around African women in literature; see Regulus Allen, "'The Sable Venus' and Desire for the Undesirable," SEL: Studies in English Literature 1500–1900 51, no. 3 (2011): 667–91.

6. On coverture's layering of legal, social, and financial implications for women, see Skinner, "Women's Status," 92–93.

10. I discredit the novel's claim that their sex expresses reciprocal love. As Marisa Fuentes argues, intercourse under enslavement is "labor extracted" that effaces the terms associated with volitional sex. Fuentes, Dispossessed Lives: Enslaved Women, Violence, and the Archive (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2016), 64.

19. Wives of the profiteers of the East India Company, despite their small demographic numbers, were "suspected of harboring a passion for material consumption that verged dangerously on the edge of immorality." Tillman W. Nechtman, "Nabobinas: Luxury, Gender, and the Sexual Politics of British Imperialism in India in the Late Eighteenth Century," Journal of Women's History 18, no. 4 (2006): 8–30; 10.

22. Despite Fairfield's will, Olivia's uncle restores her fortune to her, a "reparation" voluntarily made (170). The Woman of Colour redoubles the concentration of wealth Ruth Perry sees shifting from consanguineal to conjugal kinship structures across the eighteenth century. Perry emphasizes these economic dimensions of marriage through the era of sentimentality, disputing Lawrence Stone's classic account of a rise in affection within conjugality. See Perry's Novel Relations: The Transformation of Kinship in English Literature and Culture, 1748–1818 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 213–17.

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