Unusual Historicals: Livia Drusilla

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07 March 2017

Herstory: Writing from the female gaze

Boadicea, John Opie 1807 (Public domain)

History is full of remarkable women:

Boudica, queen of the British Iceni tribe who led an uprising against the occupying forces of the Roman Empire
Livia, whose background, strength of will and character made her the perfect partner for Augustus the first Roman emperor
Violette Szabo, Resistance operative in German occupied France a true story immortalised in Carve her Name with Pride – courageous, understated, self-sacrificing
Elizabeth I, who refused every marriage alliance as she declared herself married to her kingdom and ‘makes herself feared by Spain, by France, by the Empire, by all.’ (Pope Sixtus V).
Mary Wollstoncraft who against all convention called for the equality of men and women in A Vindication of the Rights of Woman

But these women shouldn’t be called remarkable; they should be noted as exceptional human beings, their gender ignored. But without doubt, they had to be tough, persistent and gifted. But for the average woman, her actions were often jotted down as a footnote, noted as unimportant or even omitted from the historical record by official sources. Their lives, the information that has come down to us, and much of the interpretation of them and their times has been through the eyes and work of mostly male historians. This has changed in recent years and is still changing as old sources are re-interpreted, new information is discovered and new, more ‘herstory’ approaches are used.

So how do you write a strong historical heroine today?
Readers need to see where a heroine came from, what turned her from an ordinary girl into the book’s heroine. Often she passes through a formative traumatic event but writers need to give hints about resilience, integrity and an ability to develop confidence as well as physical abilities. Undoubtedly, a strong female character has to have an equally strong will and a passion to drive through what she believes in.

In my first alternate history thriller, INCEPTIO, Carina starts off as an office worker, but we see from the first page that she’s prepared to stand her ground against people doing wrong. Within the first chapters we know she goes to the gym, we’re with her when she jogs in the park; she’s outdoorsy and sporty. Her disrupted childhood with a barren and loveless adolescence has made her learn to protect herself emotionally, and question everything. She demonstrates signs of mental and physical toughness and resilience, even when living in a ‘normal’ existence, to the level of not feeling completely at ease in her own skin. So when she becomes an undercover operative in a tough Roman society, she already has many of the latent characteristics required.

Beware of bunny rabbits and kittens…
The second challenge is not falling into the trap of making a strong character have moments of unbelievable weakness. Doubt, a temper, love for music, joking with other characters, buying gifts for friends round out a character, but writers must not go too far into fluffy-bunny-land and over-compensate for the toughness. That risks slotting her back into the ‘caring soft female’ stereotype.

Under pressure, a strong heroine often feels aggressive towards people who wish to hurt her family, friends or peers, but it’s her way of showing she cares. Other times she finds everything too much and we see tears and fears. But a habit of picking herself up and facing up to what has to be done is often not depicted as a normal female attribute in stories.

Courage doesn’t come from ‘boldly going’, but from ‘boldly going’ when you are half scared to death and not at all sure you’re going to get out of the situation without being injured or killed.

The Bechdel test
Now, the cliché of tough male hero leading the action and loyal, supportive heroine tagging along or carrying out secondary tasks is being challenged, albeit slowly. The Bechdel test, developed further since its origin in 1985, asks whether a work of fiction features at least two named women who talk to each other about something other than a man. Although there are excellent examples such as Elizabeth Chadwick’s Lady of the English, many contemporary works fail this basic test of gender bias.

So in an age still stumbling towards equality, it’s a good test to apply to one’s own writing and reading. Are the women instrumental in pushing the story forward? Do they make decisions at the critical points in a novel? But historical writing should always be in context; societal dynamics of history cannot be altered by parachuting in a 21st century feisty young miss against the norms of the period and locality even when writing in subgenres such as historical fantasy or alternative history.

Writing then and now
Writers write in the context of their own societal mores; we can’t help it, that’s what we are immersed

Livia Drusilla (Author photo)

in from babyhood. I remember the rather twee Ladybird history books of the 1960s; by today’s standards condescending, sexist and paternalistic, but at the time perfectly normal. Writing the same children’s history books now a historian would, I hope, take a startlingly different point of view. Today we still can’t have feisty Roman empresses ruling openly, but we can explore the sources containing information about them and their influences with a more open mind-set. Berenice, the queen of Judea and Livia Drusilla, the wife of Augustus, would be splendid examples of women of power to investigate.

In our modern historic fiction, we can transfer this openness into our stories and make connections between women characters unknown from the sources. Women acting together can become agents in the plot rather than the token ‘love interest’ or mother/daughter/sister of the male protagonist.

An egalitarian example
In my alternate history thrillers, I’ve taken this much further and developed a society descended from fourth century Roman dissidents where women rule, but men are not disadvantaged. You can read the whole story here, but Roma Nova’s first few hundred years were unstable and dangerous so daughters as well as sons had to put on armour and carry weapons to defend their homeland and their way of life. Fighting danger side-by-side with brothers and fathers reinforced women’s status and roles. And they never allowed the incursion of monotheistic paternalistic religions. So it’s reasonably logical that in this context women developed leadership roles in all parts of Roma Novan life over the following centuries.

In the present day, my female protagonist’s story in INCEPTIO begins in a standard Western society. When she is compelled to flee to her dead mother’s homeland in Europe, Roma Nova, she finds the Roman-infused culture unnerving, but in a strange way liberating. Other strong female characters surround her; her grandmother, cousin, female colleagues and friends all drive the action. The ‘love interest’ is male and an integral part of the story, unlike many female love interests in standard historical thrillers. And I pursue this female hero/male love interest through the second trilogy starting in the 1960s.

Holding an alternate historical mirror up to the standard timeline produces very interesting reflections. As I write, I try to ensure that my heroine and other ‘active women’ are driving the story, but sometimes when I read through what I’ve written I see I may have fallen into the cliché hero/heroine placements. I then switch the gender of the speakers in the dialogue and/or the actors in the scene. I give this the rather grand name of ‘gender mirroring’; this technique clarifies the roles wonderfully.

The natural view of women’s and men’s status and roles in my imaginary Roma Nova is not oriented around how people see things in most of the rest of the world – the often unconscious ‘male gaze’. In Roma Nova, men are not disadvantaged – they are just equal. Not only does this make throw up delicious conflict when my characters interact with nationals from other countries, it piques the reader’s interest and starts them thinking about the gender roles in our real timeline. Of course, it’s an optimistic view, but as we see in Roma Nova, perfectly possible.

And historical fiction now?
When we read older historical fiction, it can seem very outdated in its gender attitudes, even our very favourite titles from childhood and early adulthood. Today, fiction explores a wider variety of possibilities and points of view. With writers like Philippa Gregory, Elizabeth Chadwick, Diana Gabaldon and Tracy Chevalier (and the writers contributing to this blog!) we see women portrayed as agents and influencers and their impact on lives and events in the past.

Making women as present as men in historical events and stories should be the norm whether the writer is female or male. But even now, the idea of women writing fiction in niche historical fiction areas or areas that have been seen as traditionally male still persists. Last year a prominent book programme presenter stated on air that there were no women writing alternative history fiction. She was quickly disabused as was the featured academic. After we discussed it, my writing friend Shannon Selin blogged about it in no uncertain terms.

While it isn’t possible for every female historical protagonist to be a tough heroine, writers are bringing forward more positive and active representations of women as courageous, decision-making and resilient. And stories of known events, but from a female point of view, the "female gaze", are filling the real and virtual bookshelves.

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Alison's latest Roma Nova thriller

‘The second fall of Rome?’
Aurelia Mitela, ex-Praetorian and imperial councillor in early 1980s Roma Nova, scoffs at her intelligence chief when he throws a red file on her desk. But it may be too late to save Roma Nova from meltdown and herself from destruction by her lifelong enemy.…

Early 1980s Roma Nova, the last province of the Roman Empire that has survived into the twentieth century, has problems – a ruler frightened of governing, a centuries-old bureaucracy creaking for reform and, worst of all, a rising nationalist movement with a charismatic leader who wants to destroy Aurelia.

Horrified when her daughter is brutally attacked in a demonstration turned riot, Aurelia tries to rally resistance to the growing fear and instability. But it may already be too late to save Roma Nova from meltdown and herself from entrapment and destruction by her lifelong enemy.…

Available as
- eBook from Amazon, iBooks, Kobo, B&N Nook
- paperback, author signed paperback and from other retailers

Historical Novel Society indie Editor’s Choice Spring 2016
Editor's Choice, Historical Novel Society, Autumn 2016
B.R.A.G. Medallion, October 2016
Chill With a Book Award Book of the Month February 2017

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Alison Morton is the author of the acclaimed Roma Nova thrillers INCEPTIO, PERFIDITAS, SUCCESSIO, AURELIA and INSURRECTIO.

Connect with Alison on her Roma Nova site: http://alison-morton.com
Facebook author page https://www.facebook.com/AlisonMortonAuthor
Twitter https://twitter.com/alison_morton @alison-morton
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5783095.Alison_Morton

25 March 2016

First Ladies: Livia Drusilla of Rome

By Alison Morton

Who was Livia, first lady of Rome?

At seventeen, running through a burning forest in 41 BC, nearly betrayed by the cries of her baby son, Livia Drusilla fled through Sparta with her husband, a supporter of Mark Anthony. Pursued by Octavian’s forces during the two warlords’ bitter struggle, they barely made it to safety.

Livia carried the blood and prestige of both the Livii and the patrician Claudii, families long accustomed to power. Politics was in the very air she breathed. She’d married within her aristocratic circle to Tiberius Claudius Nero, whom Cicero described as ‘a nobly born, talented and self-controlling young man’ and who had risen to the rank of praetor, a senior magistrate. Unfortunately, he had backed the wrong side in the wars following Julius Caesar’s death.

During an amnesty between Octavian and Anthony, Livia and her husband were able to return to Rome in 39 BC, doubtless relieved after a life on the run. Stripped of three-quarters of their assets for their disloyalty, the patrician couple accepted this was the end of Tiberius’ political career. But 39 BC was the year Livia began as a political exile and ended as the consort of one of one of the most powerful men in the world at whose side she stayed for over fifty years.

Livia was introduced to Octavian in autumn 39 BC when she was six months pregnant with her second child, Nero Claudius Drusus. Legend says that Octavian fell immediately in love with her, despite the fact that he was still married. He divorced his wife, Scribonia, on the very day that she gave birth to his daughter, Julia. Livia’s husband, Tiberius, was ‘persuaded’ to divorce Livia and she then moved into Octavian’s house. On 14 January 38 BC her child was born; Octavian and Livia married on 17 January, waiving the traditional waiting period. Fantastically enough, Tiberius, her divorced husband, was present at the wedding, giving her in marriage ‘just as a father would’!

The importance of the patrician Claudii to Octavian's cause, and the Claudians’ own political survival provide more rational explanations. Octavian, a rising star but from a middle rank equestrian background, needed connections with aristocrats like Livia to provide an aura of Republican respectability to his growing power. As for Livia's feelings, at 20 years old she was probably content to be joined with a younger man of 25 with such overwhelming promise. The 47-year-old Tiberius, newly pardoned by Octavian, did not have a real choice, but he was aware that it did not hurt to bestow his wife on Rome's ascendant power. Everyone gained.

By all accounts, Livia played the role of a loving, dutiful and even old-fashioned wife. When Octavian rebranded himself as Augustus, Livia cooperated with his idea that upper-class women should behave in the austere fashion of earlier times, so she and other female members of his household spun and wove his clothing.

Livia's image appears in ancient visual media such as coins and portraits and evolved with different styles of portraiture that promoted imperial propaganda and the cult of Augustus. Becoming more than the "beautiful woman" described as in ancient texts, Livia served as a public image for idealised Roman feminine qualities and symbolised the renewal of the Republic with the female virtues of pietas and concordia that was supposed to set the public pattern for future imperial women.

She ignored Augustus’s notorious womanizing; Tacitus called her an "easy wife". But this was not unusual. The goal of a Roman marriage was the formation of a household and the production of children, not sexual gratification, which could be found elsewhere. Unfortunately, Livia never bore Augustus any living children. It demonstrated the strength of their relationship that Augustus did not divorce her because she failed to produce them. The two were a partnership; with her intelligence, connections and influence, she served him as a trusted confidante and advisor, even accompanying him abroad.

The perception that Livia schemed and was ambitious for Tiberius, her son with her first husband, fed the idea of her complicity in Augustus' death in AD 14. She supposedly smeared poison on figs, then guided him to pick one of these for himself while she selected untainted ones. Although implausible, the accusation shows how strongly she came to be perceived as championing her offspring at any cost.

Suetonius describes a loving and trusting relationship between Livia and Augustus at the end. The emperor's last words were 'Live mindful of our wedlock, Livia and farewell’; he died as he kissed her. This detail is probably no more accurate than the poisoned figs story, but it represents Livia’s double role: dutiful wife and ambitious schemer.

Livia remained an influential figure even after Augustus’s death. Gaius, her great-grandson who followed Tiberius in the principate as Caligula, lived with her when he was young. He called her Ulixes stolatus, (Ulysses in a matron's dress), a strong and manipulative woman.

Livia died in AD 29 at the advanced age of 86. She received a public funeral, although a relatively modest one, and was buried in the Mausoleum of Augustus. Gaius (the future Caligula) delivered the eulogy. When he became emperor, he paid the bequests that she had provided for in her will that her own son Tiberius had ignored. Her grandson Claudius would oversee her long-deferred deification in AD 42. Women were to name Diva Augusta in their oaths; she received an elephant-drawn chariot to convey her image to the games; a statue of her was set up in the temple of Augustus; races were held in her honour. The woman who played an important role in two principates joined the imperial pantheon at last. Tacitus' obituary calls her "An imperious mother and an amiable wife, she was a match for the diplomacy of her husband and the dissimulation of her son", a concise statement of the reputation that she left behind.

05 October 2011

Villains: Livia Drusilla, the Evil Empress

By Stephanie Dray
Powerful women got a bad rap in ancient history. This was especially the case for Rome’s first empress, Livia Drusilla, the wife of Augustus Caesar. She comes down to us as a sort of wicked step-monster of the Julio-Claudian family--one who murders, manipulates and maligns everyone who gets in her way. The ancient writers didn’t much like her. Modern writers don’t like her either.

Played to perfection by Sian Phillips in the mini-series of Robert Graves’ famous I, Claudius, Livia emerges as a delicious villainess. She makes Cruella de Vil look rather civilized for merely wanting to turn spotted puppies into fur coats.

Personally, I find the lure of such extravagant evil too hard to resist.

When writing about my heroine, the orphaned daughter of Cleopatra, who was taken as a prisoner of war at the age of nine and marched through the streets in chains, there were plenty of villains for me to choose from. But my novels aren’t about the the tragedies this real life princess lived through; my novels are ultimately about Cleopatra Selene’s triumphs. Consequently, I needed an antagonist who could show the darker sides of my heroine’s ambitions.

Livia fit the bill.

It’s true that in my novels, Cleopatra Selene plays a dangerous and twisted game with the ruthless Emperor Augustus, who was obsessed with her mother and is now obsessed with her. But I wanted to show the other side of the coin--a woman who was nothing whatsoever like Cleopatra of Egypt, but almost as powerful.

That’s where Livia came in.

Unlike the seductive Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile, Livia was known for chaste and modest public behavior. (At least, after she married Augustus.) She always dressed in voluminous garments that practically covered her from neck to ankle, and of course, her husband would brag that she spun the wool and wove the cloth to make those baggy clothes as well. She was a veritable goddess of domesticity, our Livia. And one who supposedly eschewed expensive jewelry, claiming that her children were the only jewels she needed.

In spite of all this puritanical posturing, Livia was, nonetheless, associated with sexual scandal. According to Suetonius, she was rumored to procure young virgin girls for her husband’s bed. That made me wonder if such girls came from within the emperor’s own household and included vulnerable orphans like Cleopatra Selene.

Livia was also rumored to be a poisoner. She’s known to have concocted tonics and elixirs that she said accounted for her extraordinarily good health and long life, but if you were supping at the imperial palace, you might be better off not drinking the wine. At various points, she’s been accused of murdering Marcellus, Drusus, Germanicus, Posthumous and even Augustus himself. In my novel, she offers Cleopatra Selene a poisoned cup.

But was Livia really such a she-devil?

Her biographer, Anthony Barrett, paints a picture of a much maligned mother of the empire. She had a documented record of altruism against which her detractors could only conjure up rumor and innuendo. She went to the emperor on behalf of the citizens of the Isle of Samos to return them to independence. She is known to have intervened on behalf of one woman accused of witchcraft; she also saved the life of a man who accidentally appeared naked before her, saying that to chaste women such men were like looking at statues. Known to advise her husband on political matters, Livia enjoyed a marriage with him of more than fifty years. Especially tricky, considering that she never gave him a child and he rather desperately needed an heir.

I can’t point to a single documented event in which Livia did an evil deed. Her worst crime, it seems, was to have lived for so long, and exerted such power over the empire as the wife or ancestress of every Julio-Claudian emperor.

For the misogynistic Romans, the only way to explain her political success was to make her a monster.

In the end, Livia was deified and worshipped as a goddess, so maybe she’ll have the last laugh. Certainly, the one regret about my own novels is that I so enjoyed exploiting her bad reputation.

Expect lots of wickedness and depravity in Song of the Nile, but in the third and final book of the trilogy, I hope to redeem myself by giving Livia a little bit of empathy. So, what about you? Are there women in history that you love to hate?

Stephanie Dray's SONG OF THE NILE, sequel to her debut historical fiction novel, LILY OF THE NILE, is available now from Berkeley Books. Both novels are set in the Augustan Age and feature Cleopatra's daughter.